“Yes,” agreed Tris. “I think that you’ll find Terran’s journal most—” He broke off and flinched as a searing pain touched his back.
Laeth gripped his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
Tris shook his head grimly, reaching for Rialla through the bond between them; but he couldn’t touch her mind. All that had reached him over the distance was the brief lash of pain.
“I have to get back,” he said. “Read the journal… and keep an open mind.”
Tris had requested a horse, knowing that it would be faster to ride until he reached the forests. Laeth led him to the stable, and produced a sleek gray gelding.
Urgency replaced fatigue for the first hour that Tris rode, the gelding moving smoothly in a ground-eating trot. Sianim grew distant and was gradually replaced by the farmland that surrounded the city, which in turn gave way to rolling hills as Tris fretted about Rialla. As soon as the last of the farmland fences ended, he left the road.
Though the distance was too great for him to contact Rialla mentally, the bond they shared gave him a direction to follow. If he assumed that her pain meant that she was in Winterseine’s hands, then it would take speed on his part to catch them before they returned to the slave trader’s hold.
Tris wanted to catch them in the forest, where his powers were at their greatest, instead of the cold stone building that housed Terran’s shrine to Altis. He suspected that Rialla was correct; Terran and Winterseine were too powerful to attack directly. However, the forest was his domain, and in the forest there were other methods of combat.
He rode on, until the horse hung its head in exhaustion and he was in little better shape. His connection with Rialla might allow him to locate her, but it required concentration; twice he had to correct his course when fatigue distracted him.
Reluctantly Tris decided that he would have to stop or risk losing his mount and his trail. The decision was made slightly easier when he concluded that, even if he managed to find Rialla, he would be too exhausted to do anything other than surrender out of hand.
Rialla shifted stiffly when Terran untied her hands. The discomfort from her bonds had kept her awake for most of the night. Her hands were numb, and her arms ached despite Terran’s gentle chafing.
When she could move her hands, Terran handed her a cup of something hot and spicy that she didn’t recognize. It must have had some medicinal property, as she felt considerably better by the time she’d finished drinking it.
When the camp was broken and the horses saddled and packed, Winterseine untied her leash from the tree and secured it to a ring on his saddle.
It took a long time for Rialla to work out the awkwardness from having been tied up all night. The long chase, combined with lack of sleep, was wearing her down. Her weak leg protested the punishment that she’d given it; after midday her scar began to bum from the abuse.
They finally worked through the worst of the underbrush and came to a clearing bisected by a shallow stream, and Winterseine pushed his horse into a trot. Rialla managed to follow for several paces, then her leg cramped. As she fought for balance, the leash around her neck snapped tight and she fell to the ground with punishing force.
Winterseine dragged her several lengths before stopping his horse, adding to the mounting number of bruises and scrapes that covered her. She coughed and choked from the force of the collar on her neck as she fought grimly to straighten her leg out, but the large muscle in her thigh kept it firmly pressed against her chest.
Terran dismounted and placed one knee on her shoulder and both hands on her knee. With his greater leverage he was able to straighten her leg, forcing the muscle to elongate. As her leg stretched out, he slid his knee down until it rested on her hip and began kneading the rigid muscle.
Rialla stared at his long-fingered hands working on her bare thigh and thought of another time they had done the same. She shuddered as revulsion swept through her; tired and in pain, she didn’t have the strength to control her thoughts. She twisted violently to the right at the same time her abhorrence hit Terran with the force of a blow.
Terran flinched instinctively, loosing his hold on both her leg and shoulder. Rialla rolled away from him, crying out as her leg snapped back and the muscle cramped again. She twisted and fought, but she couldn’t straighten her leg and keep the collar from choking her at the same time.
Winterseine’s horse was used to leading slaves who might jerk or fight the leash. But this mad thing writhing on the ground was something else. It snorted uneasily, then reared and fought in earnest as Rialla’s barriers dropped, and exposed the animal to her frenzy.
Terran drew his knife and sawed at the tough leather that bound Rialla to the frantic horse. Winterseine managed to keep the horse from bolting, but the leash wasn’t long enough for safety. Both Rialla and Terran were within easy reach of the flashing hooves.
Terran had cut most of the way through the strap when a particularly violent tug from either Rialla or the horse snapped it the rest of the way. Prudently, Winterseine let the animal get some distance from Rialla before he tried to calm it down.
Half-strangled and blinded by panic and the matted hair in her face, Rialla fought tenaciously against any attempt on Terran’s part to get anywhere near her. Coughing, she rolled on the ground, unable to run because she still couldn’t extend her leg.
She was aware of a sharp sound, as if someone clapped his hands, and then she didn’t hear anything at all.
Panic and pain woke Tris up from a sound sleep, and he came to his feet before he was fully awake. When he realized that it was Rialla’s emotion he was feeling, he called to her, demanding answers, but it was useless.
He swore, once, then collected himself. He was still too far from the heart of the forest; the sylvan ways would be slower than riding.
He tightened the cinch on the saddle and mounted. She was too far from him for his arrival to make any difference to what had happened. It would take him better than half a day to reach her—if she stayed where she was. He touched his calves to the gray’s sides, and the gelding leapt gamely into a run.
From somewhere Rialla heard her name being called. Something about the voice made her fight out of the darkness that succored her. Just as she was awake enough to respond, Tris quit calling her.
Her offending leg had subsided to a dull ache that was matched by one in her jaw. She assumed Terran had hit her to calm her down. Her throat ached from the slave collar, making it painful to swallow. Her cheek, shoulder and good leg were abraded from being dragged behind Winterseine’s horse, but all things considered, she was in better shape than she deserved for acting like an idiot.
Rialla opened her eyes slowly and sat up, rubbing her sore chin. She couldn’t have been out long, because Terran and Winterseine were both still trying to calm down Winterseine’s horse. Terran’s horse and the pack animal weren’t in the clearing.
If she could trust her leg, she could sneak off into the forest and call Terran’s mare to her. Mounted, she just might be able to get away. When she started to get to her feet, her thigh muscle cramped warningly, so she subsided. There would be a better time.
When Winterseine’s horse stood still at last, foam lathered his flanks and chest, a testimony to the violence of his fight. The gelding held his head low, and his ribs heaved with the effort of breathing.
As soon as he’d gone over the horse to check for injury, Winterseine mounted. “I’ll go find your mare and the packhorse; you stay with the slave and see that she doesn’t go anywhere.”
Terran nodded his head and watched his father ride through the brush. Rialla could have told them that he was riding the wrong way, but she wasn’t feeling particularly helpful just now.
When Winterseine was out of sight, Terran walked over to Rialla.
“Are you all right?” he asked, kneeling beside her.