The Exotic Enchanter Read Online Free PDF

their helms low over their eyes, so that might have been the only reason they seemed to look suspiciously at Shea.
    Minus the infestation, Chalmers was as uneasy as his enemy. "This looks more like a challenge than a trade," he whispered.
    "Or a trap," Shea noted. Everyone who had been riding with bows unstrung had now started stringing them. Those whose bows were already strung seemed to be displaying great interest in the number of arrows in their quivers.
    "A lousy son of a mangy she-goat, am I?" the chieftain bellowed. " I'll show you, you dung-weaned boars get of a Rus!"
    Shea braced for an arrow in his mail or in him, but nothing happened—yet. Instead the chieftain shouted something loud but wordless. All the Polovtsi who hadn't mounted now did so. The ones already mounted started shifting outward, to the flanks. The Polovtsi would be stretched thin, but they would be able to hit the Rus with archery from three sides, and disperse rapidly if the Rus charged in any of the three directions.
    The psychologist looked behind him. The Rus also knew what they were doing. Several bowshots away, the scouts who'd led the way toward the camp and then stopped were spreading out. They would be able to cover the retreat.
    Except that Igor didn't look like a man planning to retreat. Lances were coming out of their slings and the fading daylight sparked ruddy fire from steel points. If the Rus could get to close quarters without losing too many men to archery, their armor and longer reach would give them an advantage. The Polovtsi were going to have to fight their way off this battlefield.
    Shea scratched his sunburned nose. He was going to have to fight his way into the ranks of the Polovtsi, or lose his useful reputation as a bogatyr . He wished for a helmet with a nasal, to keep his nose from leading the way.
    Hell, he wished (as he had done at other times) that he'd given up syllogismobiling across the continua after he'd married Belphebe! He wanted to see her. He wanted to see their child, other children, their grandchildren.
    Not to mention that an all-out fight now would probably end any chances of rescuing Florimel. He could see what that thought was doing to Chalmers; the older man's face was even grimmer than before.
    Shea looked at his colleague. "Doc, make your passes!"
    Shea hastily began reciting:

    "O would some power the giftie gie them
    To see themselves as others see them!
    From many a hurtful notion free them!
    The truth make known:
    The sight o' vermin carried wi' them
    To them be shown!

    A Polovets bowman, stretched to the limit, sighted along his arm. It might have just been Shea's imagination, but he seemed to be aiming at Igor.
    Then the man seemed to turn to stone, except for his eyes, which grew very wide. A moment later, he reanimated himself—and let out the scream of a banshee with a migraine headache.
    The scream was only the first of many, not to mention shouts and curses. All the Polovtsi grew bug-eyed, and some of them leaped from their horses to roll frantically on the ground. One of them rolled into a campfire and out the other side, jumping up with his clothes on fire.
    He threw himself down again, rolled until the flames were out, then ran off toward the river, tearing off his clothes as he ran.
    He wasn't the only one. Polovtsi swatted, punched, and clawed at themselves, making their ragged clothes even more so. Some drew their knives and started slashing at their garments or even stabbing at themselves, although Shea noted that none of those seemed to hit a vital spot.
    Hardly any of the Polovtsi paid any attention to their horses, and it would have been a waste of time to do so. Their riders apparently going mad had thoroughly spooked all the ponies, and they were running off as fast as the Polovtsi themselves. Some of the ponies threw their uncaring riders off; others didn't bother with that courtesy and ran away with them.
    Shea took a firm grip on his own mount's reins, thrust his own feet