Arutha ordered a halt. ‘We’ve seen no signs of being followed. Perhaps we’ve shaken them.’
Martin dismounted. ‘Not likely. If they have a skilled tracker among them, they’ve found our spoor. They’ll be moving as slowly as we are, but they’ll be keeping pace.’
Dismounting, Arutha said, ‘We’ll rest here for a while. Jimmy, break out the oats behind Laurie’s saddle.’
Jimmy grumbled slightly as he began caring for the horses. He had learned after his first night on the road that, as Squire, he was expected to care for his liege’s horse – and everyone else’s as well.
Martin shouldered his bow and said, ‘I think I’ll backtrack a ways and see if there’s anyone close. I’ll be back within the hour. Should anything happen, don’t wait for me. I’ll find you at the Ishapian abbey tomorrow night.’ He slipped off into the gloom.
Arutha sat on his saddle, while Jimmy set about caring for the horses, with assistance from Laurie. Gardan kept a vigil, scanning the murk of the forest.
Time passed and Arutha became lost in thought. Jimmy watched him from the corner of his eye. Laurie caught Jimmy studying Arutha in the dim light and moved alongside the boy, helping him brush down Gardan’s horse. The singer whispered, ‘You worry about him.’
Jimmy only nodded, a gesture almost lost in the dark. Then he said, ‘I don’t have a family, singer, or a lot of friends. He’s … important. Yes, I worry.’
When he was finished, Jimmy crossed to where Arutha sat staring off into the blackness. ‘The horses are fed and groomed.’
Arutha seemed pulled from his brooding. ‘Good. Now get some rest. We’ll move out at first light.’ He glanced about. ‘Where’s Martin?’
Jimmy looked back along the trail. ‘He’s still back there somewhere.’
Arutha followed his gaze.
Jimmy settled in, his head on his saddle, a blanket pulled about him. He stared off into the darkness for a long time before sleep came.
Something woke Jimmy. Two figures approached and Jimmy made ready to leap to his feet when he saw they were Martin and Gardan. Then Jimmy remembered Gardan had remained on watch. They reached the small campsite, both walking quietly.
Jimmy roused the others. Arutha wasted no time when he saw his brother had returned. ‘Did you find any sign of pursuit?’
Martin nodded. ‘A few miles back along the trail. A band of … men, moredhel, I don’t know which. Their fire was low. One at least is a moredhel. Save that one, to a man they were dressed in black armour, with long black capes. Each wore a strange helm that covered the entire head. I didn’t need any more to decide they were not likely to prove friendly. I cut a false trail across ours. It should lead them away for a while, but we should be off at once.’
‘What of this one moredhel? You say he wasn’t attired like the others?’
‘No, and he was the biggest damn moredhel I’ve ever seen, barechested except for a leather jerkin. His head was shaved save for a long scalp lock that was tied so it hung behind like a horse’s tail. I could see him clearly in the firelight. I’ve never seen his like, though I’ve heard of his sort.’
Laurie said, ‘Yabon mountain clan.’
Arutha looked at the singer. Laurie explained, ‘When I was growing up near Tyr-Sog, we’d hear of raids by the northern mountain clans. They’re different from the forest dwellers. The topknot of hair says he’s also a chieftain, an important one.’
Gardan said, ‘He’s come a long way.’
‘Yes, and it means some new order has been established since the Riftwar. We knew that many of those driven north by the Tsurani were seeking to join their kin in the Northlands, but now it seems they’ve brought some of their cousins back with them.’
‘Or,’ said Arutha, ‘it means they’re under his command.’
Martin said, ‘For that to have happened …’
‘Alliance, a moredhel alliance. Something we’ve always feared,’ said Arutha. ‘Come, it’s almost light, and we won’t puzzle this out any better for standing still.’
They readied their horses, and soon they were back on the Forest Road, the major inland road between Krondor and the north. Few caravans used it; while it was a time-saver, most travellers chose to travel through Krondor and up the coast, as that was the safer route. Laurie claimed they were now riding even with the Bay of Ships, about a day’s ride from the Ishapian abbey at Sarth. The town of Sarth rested on a peninsula at the north end of the bay. The abbey was in the hills to the northeast of the town, so they’d intercept the road between the abbey and the town. If they pushed, they would reach the abbey just after sundown.
Out in the forest there was no hint of danger, but Martin judged it likely the moredhel-led band was coming. He could hear subtle changes in the early morning sounds of the forest behind that told him something not too distant was disturbing the natural order of things in its passing.
Martin rode beside Arutha, behind Laurie. ‘I think I might drop back and see if our friends still follow.’
Jimmy hazarded a glance over his shoulder, and through the trees behind he could see black-clad figures following. ‘Too late! They’ve seen us!’ he shouted.
Arutha’s party spurred their mounts forward, the thunder of hooves echoing through the trees. All bent low over the necks of their mounts, and Jimmy kept glancing back. They were putting distance between themselves and the black riders, for which Jimmy gave silent thanks.
After a few minutes of hard riding, they came to a deep defile, impossible for horses to jump. Across it stood a sturdy wooden bridge. They sped over it, then Arutha reined it. ‘Stand here!’ They turned their horses, for the sound of pursuit could be heard.
Arutha was about to order them to ready a charge when Jimmy leapt off his horse. He pulled his bundle from behind his saddle. Running to the end of the bridge, he knelt. Arutha shouted, ‘What are you doing?’
Jimmy’s only answer was ‘Keep back!’
In the distance the sound of approaching horses grew louder. Martin leapt down from his mount and unshouldered his longbow. He had it strung and an arrow nocked when the first of the black riders came into view. Without hesitation he loosed the clothyard shaft, and without error it flew, striking the black-armoured figure full in the chest with the thundering force only a longbow could deliver at such a distance. The rider was propelled backwards out of his saddle. The second horseman avoided the fallen man, but a third was thrown as his mount stumbled over the body.
Arutha moved forwards to intercept the second rider, who was about to cross the bridge. ‘No!’ shouted Jimmy. ‘Keep back!’ Suddenly the boy was dashing away from the bridge as the black rider crossed. The horseman was almost upon the spot where Jimmy had knelt when a loud whooshing noise sounded, accompanied by a large cloud of smoke. His horse shied and spun on the narrow bridge, then reared up. The animal stumbled back a step, its rump striking the rails of the bridge. The black-clad warrior was tossed backwards over the rail while his horse pawed the air, then he fell, hitting the rocks below the bridge with an audible thud. The horse turned and fled back the way it had come.
Arutha’s and the others’ horses were far enough away from the explosion of smoke not to panic, though Laurie had to ride forward and quickly grab the reins of Jimmy’s mount while Gardan held Martin’s. The bowman was busy shooting at the approaching riders, whose animals bucked and shied as their masters fought to bring them back under control.
Jimmy was now racing back towards the bridge, a small flask in his hands. He pulled a stopper from its end and tossed it at the smoke. Suddenly the near end of the bridge erupted in flames. The black riders pulled up, their horses nickering at sight of the flames. The balking animals rode in circles as their riders sought to force them across the bridge.
Jimmy stumbled away from the blaze. Gardan swore. ‘Look, the fallen ones rise!’
Through the smoke and flame they could see the rider with the arrow in his chest staggering towards the bridge, while another that Ma
rtin had felled was slowly rising to his feet.
Jimmy reached his horse and mounted. Arutha said, ‘What was all that?’
‘The smoke bomb I carry out of habit. Many of the Mockers use them to cover escape and create confusion. They make a little fire and a great deal of smoke.’
‘What was in the flask?’ asked Laurie.
‘Distillation of naphtha. I know an alchemist in Krondor who sells it to farmers to start fires when they slash and burn.’
‘That’s damned dangerous stuff to be toting around,’ said Gardan. ‘Do you always carry it?’
‘No,’ said Jimmy as he mounted. ‘But then I usually don’t travel where I’m likely to run into things you can only stop by roasting. After that business at the whorehouse I thought it might come in handy. I have one more in my bundle.’
‘Then toss it!’ shouted Laurie. ‘The bridge’s not caught yet.’
Jimmy pulled out the other flask and nudged his horse forward. With careful aim he tossed the flask into the fire.
Flames rose up, ten, twelve feet in height, as the wooden bridge became engulfed. On both sides of the defile horses whinnied and tried to run as the fire rose higher and higher in the sky.
Arutha looked across the bridge at the enemy horsemen, who now sat patiently waiting for the flames to burn out. From behind them another figure rode into view, the unarmoured moredhel with the scalp lock. He sat watching Arutha and the others, no expression evident on his face. Arutha could feel blue eyes boring into his soul. And he felt hate. Here, then, for the first time he saw his enemy, saw one of those who had harmed Anita. Martin began shooting at the black riders, and with a silent signal the unarmoured moredhel led his companions back into the trees.
Martin mounted and came to his brother’s side. Arutha watched as the moredhel vanished into the trees. Arutha said, ‘He knows me. We were so clever, and they knew where I was all along.’
‘But how?’ asked Jimmy. ‘There were so many diversions.’
‘Some black art,’ said Martin. ‘There are powers at play here, Jimmy.’
‘Come,’ said Arutha. ‘They’ll be back. This will not stop them. We’ve gained only a little time.’
Laurie led the way towards the northbound road to Sarth. They did not look back as the fire crackled loudly.
For the rest of that day they rode nearly continuously. Of their pursuers they saw nothing, but Arutha knew they were close behind. Near sundown, light fog filled the air as they neared the coast again, where the Bay of Ships turned the road eastwards. According to Laurie, they would reach the abbey after sundown.
Martin moved up to ride next to Gardan and Arutha, who stared out into the shadows, absently directing his horse. ‘Remembering the past?’
Arutha looked at his brother thoughtfully. ‘Simpler times, Martin. Just remembering simpler times. I rage to be done with this mystery of Silverthorn and have Anita returned to me. I burn for it!’ He spoke with sudden passion. With a sigh, his voice softened as he said, ‘I was wondering what Father would have done in my place.’
Martin glanced at Gardan. The captain said, ‘Exactly what you’re doing now, Arutha. Man and boy I knew Lord Borric, and I’ll say there’s not another more like him in temper than you. All of you are like him: Martin in the way he watches things closely. Lyam reminds me of him when the lighter moods were upon him, before he lost his lady Catherine.’
Arutha asked, ‘And I?’
It was Martin who answered. ‘Why, you think like him, little brother, more than Lyam or I do. I’m your eldest brother. I don’t take orders from you only because you wear the title Prince to my Duke. I follow your lead because, more than any man I’ve known since Father, you make the right choices.’
Arutha’s gaze was distant as he said, ‘Thank you. That is high praise.’
A sound came from the trail behind, just loud enough to be heard without being identified. Laurie tried to lead as quickly as he could, but the dark and fog confounded his sense of direction. The sun was close to setting, so little light penetrated the deep woods. He could see only a small part of the trail in front of him; twice he was forced to slow down to separate the true trail from false ones. Arutha rode up beside and said, ‘Keep it steady. Better to continue at a crawl than halt.’
Gardan fell back next to Jimmy. The boy peered into the woods, seeking a glimpse of whatever might be hiding just behind the boles of the trees, but only wisps of grey fog in the last light of the setting sun could be seen.
Then a horse came crashing from out of the brush, one moment not there, the next nearly knocking Jimmy from the saddle. The boy’s horse spun in a full circle as the black-armoured warrior pushed past. Gardan swung a late blow at the horseman and missed.
Arutha shouted, ‘This way!’ and tried to force his way past another horseman cutting across the trail. He faced the rider, the unarmoured moredhel. For the first time Arutha could see the three scars cut into each of the Dark Brother’s cheeks. Time froze for an instant as the two confronted one another. There was a strange recognition in Arutha, for here was his enemy made flesh. No longer did he struggle with unseen assassins’ hands in the dark or mystic powers without substance; here was someone he could vent his rage upon. Without sound the moredhel swung a vicious blow at Arutha’s head, and the Prince avoided being decapitated only by ducking over the neck of his horse. Arutha lashed out with his rapier and felt its point dig in. He came up and saw he had taken the moredhel in the face, cutting deeply across the scarred cheek. But the creature only moaned, a strange tortured sound, half gurgle, half strangled cry. Then Arutha realized the moredhel possessed no tongue. The creature looked at Arutha for a brief moment and turned his horse away.
‘Try to break free!’ shouted Arutha, spurring his own horse forward. Suddenly Arutha was away, the others behind.
For an instant it seemed the moredhel-led company was too shocked to react to the break, but then the pursuit began. Of all the mad rides in Arutha’s life, this one stood out as the maddest. Through the forest, shrouded with fog and night’s black cloak, they dashed among trees, following a road little wider than a path. Laurie passed Arutha, taking the lead.
For long minutes they raced through the woods, somehow avoiding the certainly fatal error of leaving the roadway. Then Laurie was shouting, ‘The road to the abbey!’
Slow to react, Arutha and the others behind Laurie barely made the turn onto a larger road. As they steered their mounts onto the new path, they could see the faint large moon rising.
Then they were out of the woods, racing down a well-travelled road passing through farmlands. Their horses were lathered and panting, and they spurred them on to more heroic efforts, for while the black riders were not gaining on them, they were not falling behind either.
They sped through the dark, climbing upwards, as the road rose out of the gentle hills around a plateau that dominated the valley farmlands near the coast. The road narrowed and they strung out along it in single file, Martin pulling in until the others were past.
The trail became treacherous and they were forced to slow, but so were those behind. Arutha dug his heels into his horse’s sides, but the animal had given all it had left to climb this road.
The evening air was heavy with haze and unseasonable cold. The hills were widely spaced, lazy rolling ridges that gently rose and fell. The highest could be climbed in less than an hour. All were covered in wild grasses and brush, but they were free from trees, for this had been farmland.
The abbey at Sarth sat atop a high, craggy place, a small mountain rather than a hill, an upthrust thing of rock and granite facings, flat on top like a table.
Gardan looked downwards as they hurried up the side of the mount and said, ‘I’d not want to storm this place, Highness. You could hold this road with six grandmothers wielding brooms … forever.’
Jimmy looked back but couldn’t see their pursuers in the gloom. ‘So tell those grannies to get back there and slow down the black riders,’ he shou
ted.
Arutha looked behind, expecting to be overtaken by black riders at any second. They rounded a curve and followed the road upwards to the summit. Suddenly they stood before the arched entrance to the abbey.
Beyond the wall a tower of some sort could be seen in the moonlight. Arutha pounded on the gates and shouted, Hello! We seek aid!’ Then all heard what they had waited for, the pounding of horses’ hooves upon the hard road. Drawing weapons, Arutha’s party turned to face those who followed.
The black riders rounded the curve before the abbey gates, and the battle was again joined. Arutha ducked and parried as he tried to protect himself. The attackers seemed possessed of unusual frenzy, as if there was a need to quickly dispatch Arutha and his party. The scar-faced moredhel nearly rode over Jimmy’s mount to reach Arutha, his disregard for the boy being the only reason Jimmy survived. The Dark Brother headed straight for Arutha. Gardan, Laurie, and Martin all strove to keep the black riders at bay, but they were on the verge of being overwhelmed at last.
Suddenly it was light on the road. As if full daylight multiplied ten-fold had burst forth in the gloom, a dazzling brilliance surrounded the combatants. Arutha and the others were forced to cover their eyes, which watered from the blinding light. They could hear muffled moans from the black-clad figures around them, then the sound of bodies hitting the ground. Arutha peeked through narrowed lids behind his upraised hand and saw enemy horsemen falling stiffly from their saddles. The exceptions were the unarmoured moredhel, who shielded his eyes against the sudden light, and three of the armoured riders. With a single motion the mute rider waved his three companions away and they turned and fled down the road. As soon as the black riders were out of sight, the brilliant light began to diminish.
Arutha wiped tears from his eyes and began to pursue, but Martin shouted, ‘Stop! Should you overtake them, it’s your death! Here we have allies!’ Arutha reined in, loath to lose his opponent. He returned to where the others stood rubbing their eyes. Martin dismounted and knelt over a fallen black rider. He pulled off a helm and quickly stood away, it’s a moredhel, and it smells as if it’s been dead for some time.’ He pointed at its chest. ‘This is one I killed at the bridge. My broken arrow is still in its chest.’