Dezra caught her breath. "War?" she echoed furiously. "I thought you said there were only a few rebels!"
Trephas glanced away, his mane fluttering in the wind. "I was going to tell thee the truth, before we entered the Wood," he said. "I didn't think we'd run afoul of Thenidor. I meant to go the long way around, through Shadow Canyon, and enter the forest from the west-that part of Darken Wood doesn't belong to the Skorenoi yet."
"Skorenoi?"
"The Fallen Ones," Trephas explained. "Those who've given themselves to Lord Chrethon."
"Oh," Dezra said. "Like Thenidor."
Trephas spat on the ground. "Just so. I didn't think they'd be bold enough to waylay us on the open road."
Dezra studied Trephas's handsome, ruddy face as he stared into the distance, then she slapped her hands on her knees and pushed to her feet. "So what happens now?"
"That's thy choice to make," Trephas said. "I lied to thee- if thou dost not wish go on into Darken Wood, I shall understand. I'll take thee to Haven, and seek other help there."
"Oh, I'll go on," Dezra declared. "But my price for riding into a war is higher than we agreed on. Another hundred pieces of steel."
Trephas pondered, stroking his beard, then nodded. "Very well."
Dezra smiled. "Good. Now, we should get moving again. The sun's going to go down, and there's still a long-"
She broke off, a shiver running up her back. She'd heard something-something that wasn't the wind or a far-off rock-fall. Presently it rose again, echoing among the peaks: hoof-beats. They were still distant, but there they were, behind them and coming closer.
"Sharp stones and ,loose shoes," Trephas swore.
Muttering a curse Of her own, Dezra peered back down the path. She could see them now, in the distance: three of them. One was small and wiry, another fat, the third massively muscular.
Trephas had an arrow nocked, and was tapping it against his bow. "Thou had best climb on my back again," he ventured. "Our flight isn't over yet, it seems."
9
The wind shrieked like a banshee as they charged through Sentinel Gap, blasting their faces with stinging ice. Patches of pebbly snow covered the stony ground, wreathed in meltwater. In the midst of the pass, a deep pool had accumulated. Trephas plunged into it without hesitation. Dezra gritted her teeth as the frigid water splashed her. If it bothered the centaur, he gave no sign.
Then they were out the other side, the road rising steeply. They stopped atop the ridge at the gap's far side. Before them, the road descended again, winding south through the mountains. Behind, the narrow defile stretched out beneath them.
Trephas squinted. "Chislev's withers," he cursed. "I see them."
Peering, Dezra spotted them too: three indistinct forms, halfway down the near slope. "Damn," she swore. "They've gained ground."
"The climb slowed us," Trephas said. "We should waste no more time. Shadow Canyon still lies ahead, and night comes on."
Several miles farther on, two mountains rose like fangs on either side of the road. They were the twin peaks, Tasin and Fasin, each more than twice as tall as Prayer's Eye. Between them, the path narrowed into a crevasse that was swathed in gloom. It was early evening now, and Tasin blocked the sunlight, so Shadow Canyon was as dark as a starless night when Trephas and Dezra rode into it.
The darkness deepened the farther they went, forcing Trephas to slow to a trot. This turned out to be good fortune: It kept them both from being killed when, suddenly, he threw one of his shoes. He stumbled, and Dezra pitched sideways, clutching his war harness to keep from falling. She swung awkwardly to the ground and bent down beside him.
“Lift your hoof," she said. "Let me see."
He did as she bade, twisting and craning so he could look too. She shook her head.
"Came off clean, looks like," she said, rising. "I'll go find the shoe. Maybe I can bang it back in-"
"No!" Trephas yelped.
She stopped, startled. "What?"
"Hast thou ever shod a horse before?" he asked.
"No, but… ."
"Then don't try now. Thou couldst lame me. I'd rather go unshod." He shuddered. "Bang it back in indeed."
Using his lance, he pried off his remaining shoes. He tucked them into a pouch, then walked forward a few halting paces.
"I should be fine," he said. "There isn't much farther to go over stone-there's a valley that leads to Darken Wood on the gap's far side." He glanced back. "I can't keep the pace we've been making, though."
Dezra couldn't hear their pursuers' pounding hooves yet, but that wouldn't last. "They'll be on us soon."
"We can't outrun them," Trephas said grimly. "We'll have to find another way."
"You mean fight."
"If need be, aye."
Dezra nodded grimly. "We'd better find some way to even the odds, then."
A hundred yards on, they found what they sought: an old, fallen walnut tree. It lay at the road's edge, abristle with broken branches. Together, they dragged it across the pass. Its sharp limbs formed an invisible picket in Tasin's shadow.
Trephas wiped his brow, then made his way around the log and stooped low on the other side. Dezra started to follow, then stopped, glancing up Tasin's slope. Carefully, she climbed onto the log. She ran her hands over the cliff face and found a crack in the stone, wide enough for her to wedge her fingers inside. Gritting her teeth, she pulled herself up.
"Dezra!" Trephas hissed. "Get back down here-we have to make ready for them!"
"What do you think I'm doing?" she shot back.
She continued to pull herself up until she reached what she'd seen from the ground: a ledge ten feet above the canyon floor, just wide enough to stand on. She hauled herself up onto it, flattening against the stone.
"Art thou all right?" Trephas asked.
"Fine," she replied, sucking on a tom fingernail and tasting blood. Slowly she sidled away from Trephas and the log. She reached for her sword, then checked herself and drew her dagger instead. "All right," she said. "You keep them busy. I'll jump them from behind."
Trephas regarded her uncertainly. "Thou hast done this before?"
"Of course not."
The centaur turned back to the road. His arrow tapped softly against his bow. Before long, they heard it: the faint clamor of iron-shod hooves. It grew steadily louder and closer, trotting straight toward the fallen tree. Dezra strained to see, and managed to make out the shapes of their pursuers in the gloom. She counted three heads, which seemed right, but there was something strange about the shadowed figures. She concentrated, holding her breath, as she tried to figure out what it was.
Reckless riders would never have seen the log, and would have impaled themselves on its branches. Their pursuers' gait was only a trot, though, and the lead rider-from its muscular shape, she guessed it was Thenidor-reined sharply in. Hooves skittered as the threesome drew to a halt, not far from the fallen tree. The fat one stared at it, almost straight at Trephas. He'd stopped right beneath Dezra. Looking at him, she realized what wasn't right. It was something about the the way he fingered his bow, and pulled on his reins… .
Reins?
She knew, then. They weren't Thenidor and his fellows at all. They were men on horseback. She swallowed, realizing how close she'd come to leaping on the fat one and plunging her dagger into his ribs.
Then, from behind the fallen walnut, she heard the creak of a drawn bowstring.