It was only chance that the flash of red caught his eye and compelled him to peer down the cramped alley. On the other side, a man sat atop a large crimson stallion. A man whose eyes searched desperately until they met Valdemar's own.
Even as Valdemar's mouth opened in a furious roar, Marcellus booted Daemon forward and out of sight. The alley was too cramped for even a single horse to enter, so Valdemar was forced to wheel his borrowed mount around until he raced down an adjacent street. He could hear his guard following but didn't care if they kept up or not. He caught glimpses of his quarry as they flashed along the streets. They both spurred their horses as though in the races.
An arrow whizzed by Marcellus' head. Archers ran on the rooftops, following his flight. They did not hit him, however. Valdemar noticed with satisfaction that they missed purposely; striking the nearest building to mark his path so the others could follow.
A horn bellowed, and black-garbed men on foot and horse spilled forward like ants behind Valdemar. His horse leaped over a hedge wall, hooves shattering the top bricks as it barely cleared it. Valdemar ruthlessly spurred it even faster.
The streets came alive with soldiers. They flooded over the wall as Valdemar and Marcellus streaked ahead. The city was left behind, and the street opened to a view Valdemar knew Marcellus had dreamed of seeing — the distant, jagged points of the Dragonspine.
But he was determined to make sure that view would be Marcellus' last. He pulled sharply and exploded from the foliage nearly on top of Marcellus, whose eyes widened in surprise. Valdemar's sword flashed. Marcellus managed to parry, but the force of the blow knocked the weapon out of his hand. Valdemar raised his arm again, wild with the urge to kill. Marcellus jerked the reins and the horses collided, giving him the chance to grab Valdemar's upraised arm. They grappled, snarling with mirrored fury as the sword flashed between them.
Unbelievably, Valdemar's own stolen horse decided enough was enough. Daemon turned and savagely bit the other steed on the neck, forcing its head downward. With a curse, Valdemar flung himself away as the horse toppled. Marcellus somehow managed to keep his grip on the pommel of the saddle and was lost in a cloud of dust.
Valdemar rolled quickly to avoid being trampled by his riders. He stood slowly, ignoring the pain as he furiously watched his quarry escape again. Pain was for lesser men — like mercy, like love. Such things did not touch the Lord of Bruallia.
He caught the saddle of the next horse that passed, snatched himself up, and unhorsed the soldier that rode. That the man was immediately trodden made no difference to him. His soldiers had sworn to die for him, and he would have them fulfill that vow at one time or another. He flogged the horse's neck with the bridle ends and dug in its ribs until he joined the riders up front. The knight had the better mount, but Valdemar knew where the road ended.
The sparse brush and thicket gave way to rocky plain, and Daemon ran as if he never meant to stop; as if running was a dream finally realized. Valdemar signaled his men to pull rein. Marcellus still was at full gallop, but he had to pull up short as Valdemar expected. Even with his back turned, the knight's disappointment was obvious.
A hundred spans away, the ground simply ran out. Nothing lay beyond except clouds and empty space. Somewhere deep in the canyon was the River Hun, the border between Bruallia and Komura. Marcellus could go nowhere.
It was over.
Valdemar exhaled softly as Gile Noman pulled up. The one-eyed foreigner had been the one to deliver Marcellus from the battlefield, but Valdemar still did not trust the man completely. He was just a paid sword, a man loyal to no one.
"He's just beyond arrow range, m'lord. You want for us to pull forward?"
"No. Stay where you are." Valdemar brought his horse forward a few spans, shadowed by two of his Dragonists.
"Marcellus Admorran!" He spread his arms. "You have nowhere to go. Come, return my horse in peace and I will grant you a clean death right here, upon my honor. You have proven your valor, and you deserve that much."
Marcellus' face was unreadable from the distance. For a moment all was quiet. The wind tugged at cloaks and scattered dust in stinging clouds as he looked from white-filled canyon beyond to where Valdemar and his company stood expectantly.
Marcellus wheeled Daemon around and faced the misty chasm.
No.
Valdemar opened his mouth, but Daemon had already trotted forward. His speed picked up, and then he flew. The edge of the cliff rushed toward them. Nothing was real except the sound of iron-shod hooves tearing great clods of earth apart as steely muscles took horse and rider to the end of the world.
Rock and pebbles exploded as Daemon leaped like an eagle soaring, legs outstretched as though the stallion believed it could fly. Marcellus released the bridle and threw back his arms, whether in triumph or surrender Valdemar could not tell. Beneath them was nothing but pure white cloud, and they sailed above as though borne on wings.
Then they fell.
Chapter 14: Marcellus
The stallion dipped forward with flailing limbs. His screaming whinny forced Marcellus to open his eyes.
That was when he saw it.
Cloud had hidden it, but in front of them was the gray, slightly dampened rock of the facing cliff. The horse had already missed it, but as it continued to fall, Marcellus leaped with his feet on the saddle. He knew it was an impossible chance even as he launched forward. The wind howled and seemed to push him across the void as his arms desperately stretched.
His breath exploded from his lungs when he slammed into the cliff face and slid, grabbing at anything. The ground was moist; the soft rock came apart in his hands. His fingers dug grooves in the stone as his descent continued.
He found thick green branches and clutched them in sheer desperation. The brush tore partway out, but the roots managed to hold. The shock of the sudden stop sent jolts of pain from his shoulders to fingers, but he hung on with all his strength. Stone and dust powdered his head and shoulders; his legs dangled precariously over empty air. Below him, the clouds swallowed the stallion as he continued to fall; his terrified whinny filled the canyon. Despite Marcellus' danger, he felt a stab of sadness to see another great steed die because of him.
His thoughts were interrupted by the voice of Valdemar Basilis, Lord of Bruallia.
"Is that you I see, Marcellus? Has Fate allowed you yet another chance to cheat death? Tell me if you are no ghost."
Marcellus opened his mouth, but found it dry and parched. It took several tries to get his voice back. "You lose," he finally croaked.
There was an unbelieving silence on the other side. He risked a look over his shoulder and saw the faint outlines of mounted men on the cliff edge. Looking at the distance, he could not believe he had made it. Valdemar was evident by his fluttering cape.
"I congratulate you," the warlord said finally. "You have done what no man has done before. You have escaped from out my hand."
Was there suppressed admiration in his voice? That was impossible.
"For that achievement, I will not have my archers pierce you with their arrows. Do not take it as an act of mercy. There is a crossing two days ride from here. Enjoy your head start — weak and on foot. You will find no shelter in Komura. They belong to me now. Birds will fly ahead with word of the punishment that awaits any who would think to house you or give you aid. Mark my words: I will track you down. This is war, do you hear me? You will see my face again. And when you do, I will drink from your open veins. You will scream for an end to your torment, you will beg for death!" His voice reverberated across the canyon walls.