“Which trees?”
Jenrosa moved her horse so it was standing next to Kumul’s roan, and physically moved his head with her hands. “Are you blind! Those trees!”
At first Kumul noticed nothing, but after a moment he could see shapes moving in the shade of the small copse Jenrosa had found for him. He straightened in the saddle.
“That’s them,” he said with certainty.
By now, Ager had seen the distant figures also. “That was well seen, Jenrosa. It’s hard to be sure with only one eye, but I reckon they’re at least four hours’ ride ahead of us.”
Kumul lined up a finger with the copse, looking along the line with his right eye and then his left. He muttered a quick calculation and said: “Closer to three hours.”
“They’re moving,” Jenrosa said. “They’re riding out, heading straight for the river.”
“If we get to the Barda before they find a barge, we have them,” Ager said.
“The sooner we’re there, the better, then,” Kumul answered, and the companions kicked their horses into a ground-loping canter, trying to conserve the mares’ strength for a last dash. They left the wood behind and rode out onto the plain into the light, their hopes high for the first time since they had discovered Lynan missing.
The horses beneath Prado and his men could not continue their canter for long, and Prado slowed them down to a steady walk before they were blown.
“They will catch up!” Aesor shouted.
“We will get to the river first,” Prado told them. “That’s all that matters. Their horses cannot continue that pace for any longer than ours.”
“They could have fresher mounts,” Bazik said.
“And at least ten leagues to make up,” Prado angrily returned.
“But what if there are no barges at the river?” Aesor asked.
“The Barda bends sharply here, forming a steep bank. Pilots anchor there for the night. We’ll find something.”
“I bloody hope so,” Bazik said to Aesor in a voice low enough for Prado not to hear. “I’m not keen on tangling with Kumul Alarn.”
Aesor looked sourly at Bazik but did not reply. He fought the temptation to spur his horse into a gallop, but knew that if they exhausted their mounts too soon they were lost. He threw a glance at the prince, still slumped in Prado’s arms like a sack of wheat, and wished he was as blissfully ignorant of events. He told himself to concentrate on staying on his horse, but could not resist looking furtively over his shoulder every few minutes; each time he looked, he was sure the enemy was closer. He saw that they alternated riding between a quick walk and a canter. Bazik was right, they had fresher mounts and were pushing them to the limit.
They were over a league from the river when two things happened. The prince jerked into consciousness and groggily sat up; the sudden shift in weight upset Prado’s horse, and Prado had to pull back on the reins to stop the beast pulling to one side. Aesor cursed and for the hundredth time looked behind him.
“Prado!” he cried. “They’ve gone to the gallop!”
Prado savagely kicked his horse and it bucked, tossing its head high before breaking into a gallop and heading straight for the river, with Bazik and Aesor close behind.
Lynan had no idea what was happening, and all he could make out was the green blur of the plain and the smell of fresh water somewhere up ahead. His captors were in full flight, and he could tell from the rigid expressions on their faces that they were afraid. A deep recess in his mind figured out his friends might be the threat, but he had not the strength or the will to do anything about it. He tried closing his eyes to regain some kind of clarity, but the effect made him feel so unbalanced he had to open them again.
They were riding between trees now and their pace slowed. Lynan heard shouts behind him, distant and carried on a breeze. He recognized Kumul’s rumble and tried to shout back but could manage only a croak. The horse swerved to avoid a thorn tree, galloped forward again, then came to a halt when Prado pulled back on the reins. It stamped its feet and shook its head, foam whipping from its mouth.
Lynan could see a river about fifty paces ahead, and what looked like two broad-beamed boats at anchor near the bank. Bazik and Aesor appeared next to them, and Prado shouted, “Now! Our last chance!”
They spurred their horses forward again. Just before they reached the bank, Bazik and Aesor dismounted. Aesor ran to the barge on the right, the smaller of the two, and Bazik to the one on the left. Prado dismounted and took the reins of all three horses. Again, Lynan heard Kumul’s battle cry.
“Kumul!” he shouted, but it was a weak call, and only Prado heard. The mercenary lifted a foot and kicked the prince in the knee. Lynan cried out in pain and twisted sideways, only his binding keeping him in the saddle. He heard shouts in front of him and then screams. Prado used his sword to cut the rope and free Lynan’s hands, then hauled him off the horse. Aesor reappeared and pulled on Lynan’s hair until he stood up.
“Move!” Aesor ordered, and shoved him from behind.
Lynan tottered forward, carefully moving one foot in front of the other to keep himself from falling over. He reached the bank, and rough hands directed him to a plank, then guided him across. He felt the world shift under his feet and he remembered the last time he had tried to board a boat. “Oh, no…” he groaned, but before anything could happen he was manhandled aboard and pushed to the bottom. He tried to raise his head and received a punch in the face for his efforts. His jaw seemed to explode and he screamed. He heard the neighing and stamping of the horses as they were led on board. Twice, hooves missed his head by no more than the width of a finger. Prado was shouting orders and he felt the boat move out onto the water. Kumul’s cries were now closer than ever.
“Kumul…” Lynan tried again to lift his head, but it felt as if it weighed more than all the stone in Kendra’s palace.
Then he heard a loud crack, and he rolled on his back. A white sail flurried, fluttered, and then filled above him, and Kumul’s voice trailed behind and was eventually lost.
Kumul waited until he was sure the horses could make the distance, then lifted his head and shouted the war cry of the Red Shields, kicking his mount to the gallop. Ager and Jenrosa matched him. Kumul drew his sword and leaned over the saddle to hold it forward, parallel with the horse’s head; he had seen enough enemies peel away from him in a charge to know how formidable a sight he made in full flight, and he hoped it was enough to make Prado and his men panic and do something stupid.
They had obviously seen him, for they whipped their own horses to a gallop. It was now a race to the river, and Kumul realized with horrible certainty that unless something happened to stop them, the mercenaries with their prize would win the race easily. His heels dug into the roan’s flanks, trying to urge more speed from her tired muscles, but her head was beginning to sag and he knew she could give no more. Ager and Jenrosa had started to fall behind.
In fury and anger he shouted his war cry again and again. He saw the enemy disappear behind the trees of the river when he was still five hundred paces from them. The next minute was one of the longest in his life. He started pulling on the reins when the first trees whisked by him, and he looked for a clear passage to the river. He heard the sounds of fighting ahead and to his left, and he jerked the mare toward them. The vegetation grew more dense and at last he had to dismount. He started to run, tripped over a root, picked himself up, and rushed forward again. He burst through the last ring of trees and bushes and saw a barge starting to pull away from the bank, Prado with his men and horses aboard. He could not see Lynan, and a cold fear clogged his throat. He sprang forward, but by the time he reached the bank the barge was in mid-stream and the sail was unfurling.