And in that moment, the horse—the thief’s horse—squealed and twisted like a snake, fastening its teeth in his left leg, crushing his boot, grinding, yanking at his leg with all the strength of its powerful jaws and neck, pulling him out of the saddle. He dropped both jewel and sword, grabbing for the saddle, the mane, trying to stay on, but the horse shook his leg like a rag, kicking out behind. His own soldiers, aghast, could do nothing before he finally fell hard on the ground. The horse dropped his leg and bolted back the way they had come. No one pursued it.
He knew as he fell that he must get up at once and take control; without the jewel-caused terror, the enemy forces would return to the fight. His own forces might break. But the fall stunned him for a moment, and he heard a low moan from those nearest. He struggled up, mouth too dry to yell over the noise, but as soon as he put weight on his left leg, pain lanced through his twisted knee, and his leg gave way. He lurched but managed to hop on one foot. He felt for the red jewel on its chain but found neither chain nor jewel. He saw his sword at a little distance … then one of his men was there with a horse, and another on foot. Together, they boosted him onto that horse; one of them handed up his own sword for Alured to use as the Fallo troops closed in.
His left leg dangled, painful and useless; he struggled to say atop the horse, let alone use the sword he’d been given. His troops, surprised by the turn of fortune, looked to him, expecting the familiar magery. The enemy, heartened, closed again; arrows flew from their bows. Even as he shouted orders—close up, hold the ground—he wondered where the jewel was. What if the enemy found it?
The battle now going on had a different feel to it; his troops were giving way—stubborn in their resistance but outnumbered. A fighting retreat was still possible—was necessary; Alured gathered his wits and gave the orders. Movement between the horses caught his eye. The man who had given up his horse and sword looked around—bent down and came up with Alured’s sword … and then, backing up two steps, stooped again, with a handful of chain and the red jewel glowing in the light.
Kill him!
His advisor was back, angry as his master had ever been at seeing the jewel in a stranger’s hand. The pressure of that other mind filled Alured’s head, punishing: the pain in his leg was as nothing to the agony in his head.
Kill him! Taken the jewel! Hurry!
The man had turned toward him, his mouth open, calling something, but Alured could hear nothing over the voice inside. The man held up the jewel even as battle raged around them … he was coming to give it back.
KILL! He knows too much!
They were too close to the roiling edge of battle; Alured could see Ganarrion’s troopers only a few horse-lengths away now. The man on the ground ran the last few steps, holding up the necklace. “My lord—I found it! Here it is!” Alured reached out for it, overbalancing as his injured leg could not grip the horse’s side; the man pushed the jewel into his hand and then pushed Alured back upright. “My lord—you’re hurt—you must retreat. I’ll lead your horse.”
The jewel warmed in Alured’s hand; strength flowed back into him as the pain in his head receded. Even his injured leg obeyed his command; his foot found the stirrup, and the leg snugged against the horse’s side. By then the man had caught hold of the reins and turned the horse, leading it toward the safer interior of his troops. Though his advisor still told him to kill the man, Alured-not-Visli felt relief. The man had saved his life; the man was not a thief but had given back the jewel. He did not want to kill the man; if enemies should be punished, surely those who gave good service should be rewarded.
Fool! He knows too much; he must die.
They might all die if he did not concentrate on the battle and drive back the enemy once again. Yet he knew the jewel offered only one power at a time—he could not use it for strength for himself and at the same time send terror to his enemies. Had enough healing already occurred that he could use his leg without the jewel’s help?
He shifted his concentration, ignoring the pain that gripped his leg, and felt once more his own troops’ renewed confidence and the enemy’s loss of it. But this time the effect was not so powerful, and he could not maintain that concentration—and his balance in the saddle—very long. By worse mischance, an arrow struck his injured leg.
All that day the battle wavered back and forth, but by nightfall they were farther from the village, with the enemy testing their camp’s defenses.
The surgeon who attended him insisted he must not ride again until the leg healed—if it did. “The bite of a horse is a crushing wound, my lord. And the fever demons delight in a crushing wound. And your knee, my lord, was wrenched, I suppose when you fell. This is a serious wound, my lord—”