Alfrigg looked up to see the two guards running toward us with drawn swords. Immediately he dropped my wrist and went for his own weapon. His confusion in no way hindered his deadly intent. He would kill the man who touched him or me, even if the attacker was a member of the Ridemark clan in the heart of their camp. I couldn’t let him do it.
Using every scrap of strength I possessed, I laid my left arm across the Udema’s head, knocking him against the stone wall. I had no doubt that the blow pained me far more than it did him. But it dazed him long enough for me to grab my dagger from under my cloak, clamp one hand over the other on its hilt, praying I could hold it long enough for my purpose, and press it to his throat.
“You’ll not take me, Udema,” I shouted. “You’ve been MacEachern’s pawn the whole time, haven’t you ... toying with me ... leading me into this trap?”
Alfrigg was mumbling curses. I had only a moment before he gathered his wits and realized he could flick me off him like a fly. Only a few moments beyond that and the others would recover from their confusion and realize that Alfrigg was certainly not MacEachern’s pawn. Before they dared attack him, I had to convince them he was not my pawn either. I hated what I was going to do.
“I’ll not allow it, Udema scum!” I screamed, jamming the dagger into the fleshy part of his shoulder, twisting it enough to ensure there was plenty of blood and plenty of pain, but not enough damage to truly hurt him. “You’ll never get me back to Mazadine!” He couldn’t have heard my whispered apology, as he was roaring a blistering litany of curses and maledictions of such creative grotesquerie that the gods themselves could never have heard the like.
Unable to get enough purchase on the dagger to pull it out again, I left it in him, leaped backward, and ran for the rear door. My chance of escape was so small as to be invisible, but I would not stand still and let them take me. Quickly I retraced my own rapidly disappearing footprints across the snow-covered platform to the gap in the wall. They would assume I’d take the downward path. Beyond the gap the path was dark enough and the wind fierce enough that they wouldn’t expect traces. But I leaped onto the wall itself, and without even thinking how impossible it was, ran lightly along its snow-packed top to the corner where the ice-crusted snowdrift lay piled all the way to the roof of the headquarters.
I didn’t quite reach the roof before the door burst open, spilling torchlight onto the windswept stone. Flattening myself against the mountain of snow, I dared not breathe until the shouting crowd of warriors disappeared through the gap in the wall and down the path. Quickly I scrambled the rest of the way to the peak of the rooftop, just in time to see a second wave of men follow the first toward Cor Neuill, and a third, smaller group fan out in front of the headquarters.
MacEachern soon arrived at the headquarters running, met by the quartermaster at the door. “Where is he?” the commander screamed.
“Bolted. Into the valley. Before we could—”
“You let him go for the dragons? Gods’ teeth, you fool!” With the back of his hand MacEachern bashed the quartermaster in the head, knocking him to the ground. “Incompetent idiots. I should have all of you flogged. What if he—Everlasting damnation!” He stormed through the leather curtain, while the quartermaster picked himself up from the snowy threshold and followed slowly on his commander’s heels.
For half an hour I lay on the roof, the sweat on my face turning to ice, my clothes freezing hard under my cloak. It might have been prudent to wait until MacEachern was finished dispatching his searchers and emptying the headquarters building of the unpaid carters and laborers, but I could stay no longer. I had to go while I could still move. My joints were already so stiff I dared not lower myself behind the roof peak when another party of warriors returned. My gloveless fingers could scarcely bend. So I crept carefully down the pitch of the roof to the corner of the building nearest the stable and the lean-to where visitors’ horses were tethered. Gritting my teeth, I dropped to the snow.
From the corner of the building to the open-sided shelter was twenty-five paces across open ground within plain sight of anyone stepping out of the headquarters doorway. I pulled up the hood of my cloak, crammed my frozen fingers close to my body, praying them to warm up enough that I could convince my horse to do my will, and stepped out of the shadows. Slowly. I fought the temptation to make a dash for it, instead forcing myself to shamble across the snow, as if sent to do cold, unpleasant, boring duty at the stables. The distance seemed as vast as the frozen wastes of Sunderland, where men travel over ice for days on end to reach the next village. Every shout made me cringe, as I expected to see one of the shadowy forms outlined against the campfires pointing a finger my way. Every movement in the swirling snow induced my feet to move faster. But I kept it slow, and with relief passed into the shadow of the shelter, only to come near leaping out of my skin when a hand fell on my arm.
“Hold! Hold!” said the ferocious whisper as I raised my arm to use as a bludgeon again. “My skull is not half so thick as the Udema’s, and it would be a shame to crush it after saving it only two hours ago.”
“Davyn!” I sagged limply against the thick timbers of the shed.
“Well done,” he said. “Using the roof. They’re sure you’ve gone to steal a dragon, so they’ll search the whole valley before they figure out you’re still up here. And you’ll be far away by then.”
Yes, get away ... My limbs felt like dough. “My horse,” I said thickly. “I’ve got to get going.”
“Not your horse. If anyone found it missing, your ruse would be spoiled. Besides, your horse doesn’t know the way and would get you lost and frozen.”
“The way?” I felt dull and sluggish. I hadn’t even considered where I could go. Of course Camarthan was no longer safe.
The Elhim led me into the stables and past the line of nervous horses, most of them still skittish from the passage of the dragon flight. But in a corner box stood a smallish roan, peaceably champing at a bucket of oats until he caught sight of the Elhim and whinnied agreeably. “Hey, ho, Acorn,” said Davyn, patting the horse’s nose and producing an apple that the beast happily snuffled off his palm. “Acorn will carry you,” he said, noting my skeptical assessment of the undersized horse. “I promise your feet won’t drag the ground. And he’s carried heavier men than you. Give him his head, and he’ll bear you safely.”
“In the dark ... ?”
“... and the storm. He’s an intelligent horse. He knows where to take you.”
“Yours?”
“He allows me to ride him, and he will allow you. Now be quick.”
Davyn held Acorn’s head as I mounted, and he spent a goodly time whispering in the horse’s ear before stepping back. “Give him his head, and don’t be concerned. You’ll be met by friends. Tell them I’ll be along as soon as it can be done inconspicuously.”
“But I—”
Footsteps crunched beyond the stable doors. Davyn pressed his fingers to his lips and laid a hand on Acorn’s nose.
“Don’t touch me, you creeping ferret.” It was Alfrigg. “You’ll not hold me here another moment. I’m going back to Camarthan and search out the egg-sucking, flea-bitten Senai pig. I’ll nail his hide to the walls of my shop. I don’t care what he’s done. I’ll gut him with his own bloody knife, I will.”
A quiet murmur was identifiable as the quartermaster’s high-pitched voice, but I couldn’t catch his words before Alfrigg broke in again. “No, I don’t need a guide. I was riding these roads before you were whelped. And in worse weather. Why did I ever think I needed a Senai tongue-flapper? Tell your commander the deliveries will commence as soon as one or the other of us has slit this highborn bastard’s throat.”