“Erin? What is this?”
“A spell of invisibility, a lesser magic I learned a few years ago. We must hurry, Gaelin – it won’t last long.”
“But I can still see you,” he protested.
“It’s impenetrable from the outside. Those who look at us will see nothing. They’ll have a tough time finding targets for their crossbows in this, I believe.”
Toere rode a little closer and slid down from his horse, coughing. He leaned on the animal’s side and said, “Go now, Mhor Gaelin. I’ll stay behind to hold the gate.”
“Toere, you’ll be killed,” Gaelin said.
The sergeant grimaced and coughed again. “I’ve not got much longer, anyway. I may be able to discourage them from following you for a few minutes.” He staggered over to one of the Ghoerans and began winching the fellow’s crossbow.
“Go on, Prince Gaelin, get going!”
Gaelin bowed his head. “My thanks, Toere.” He tapped Blackbrand’s flanks and rode out into the open again, under the looming walls. Gaelin could hear the men moving around up there, shouting to each other. Erin stayed beside him.
“Don’t move too far from me, or you’ll be seen,” she said.
“And keep silent! We can still be heard.”
Gaelin walked Blackbrand to the cliff’s edge and peered down. “Good, it’s still here,” he whispered. “Follow me exactly – this is a damned dangerous stunt, but we don’t have time to ride around the castle.”
Erin leaned out of her saddle and looked down the rocky slope. “You must be kidding,” she hissed.
“I tried it once, years ago,” he replied. “Tuorel’s men would have to be fools to follow us, right?” Blackbrand balked at first, but Gaelin coaxed him over the edge, and instantly found himself sliding down the slope sideways.
Blackbrand neighed in terror in a scree of dust and gravel. He reached the first outcropping and turned the horse to the other side, scrabbling desperately for the next foothold.
The voices above shouted an alarm. Gaelin could only guess what they might be seeing, but he knew that the rockfall and the horses’ panicked whinnies made it fairly obvious that they were here. Erin gasped in fright as her horse lurched and slid. “Gaelin! This is madness!”
Behind her, one of the remaining guards lost control of his horse. Both animal and man toppled forward, their descent turning into a lethal plunge. Gaelin ignored them, since every ounce of his attention was devoted to keeping himself alive.
Then the slope leveled, and in a few heartbeats Gaelin and Blackbrand were plunging downhill through the pines that clung to Shieldhaven’s flanks. The castle seemed impossibly high and distant, and the forest now screened them from view.
At the foot of the hill, Gaelin reined in Blackbrand and looked around. Erin was still with him, along with two guardsmen.
He was stunned. That’s it? he thought. Twenty of us rode into Shieldhaven, not half an hour ago. The brilliant white madness that had preserved his life through the ambush and the wild escape died as quickly as it had come, and the pain of his injury – the bolt that transfixed his hand – came surging back.
Erin trembled in terror, pain, and exhaustion. “I don’t believe I did that,” she said, looking back up the hillside.
Gaelin winced. “When I was fifteen, I made a bet with Cuille Dhalsiel that it could be done. I killed the horse trying it.” He met her eyes and added, “What other choice did we have?”
In the distance, he could still hear the clatter of the castle readying a pursuit – horses whinnied, and men shouted orders at each other.
“We’d better go, and quickly.”
One of the guards spoke. “Which way, my lord?”
Gaelin swayed in the saddle, suddenly dizzy and weak. As the brilliant fire died in his heart, exhaustion flooded his body and clouded his mind. “Anywhere but here,” he said.
Chapter Nine
High on the battlements overlooking the sally gate, Tuorel stood impassively, his arms folded across his chest. Down in the shadows of the forest, he thought he could catch a glimpse of motion or the glint of light on armor, but it was too dark to be certain. The guards who surrounded him kept their silence and their distance. Quietly, he grated, “Are we in pursuit yet?”
One of his officers nodded. “Yes, my lord baron. A squadron of cavalry is riding down the causeway this very moment.”
“Good. No one will rest until the prince is recaptured.” He waited patiently, and after a few minutes was rewarded by the footfalls he’d been expecting, a light tread punctuated by the sound of a staff striking the stone.
Bannier peered down the hillside after the fleeing Mhoriens.
His mouth tightened in disgust. “Bah! A simple bard’s trick. If you hadn’t insisted on holding me at swordpoint, I could have dispelled it easily.”
Tuorel turned slowly, watching the wizard from behind his wolf-mask visor. “It’s your own doing. No one trusts a traitor, after all.”
“I warned you Gaelin would return, didn’t I? I made certain that a messenger lured him here. Your own oafish soldiers covered me with their crossbows, when I could have worked a spell to stop Gaelin in his tracks.” Bannier’s eyes blazed. “Call me a traitor if you like, but you owe me your thanks, Tuorel, not your contempt. Without me, your army would be bottled up in Riumache. Without me, you’d not have taken this castle, and the Mhor would be leading his troops against you.”
Tuorel smiled in a dangerous way. “Who am I to fathom the heart of a wizard? For all I know, it suited your purposes to let Gaelin escape.” He shrugged. “I’ll say this for the lad: he has courage. Riding through the castle and down that hillside, that was inspired. I’ve more respect for Gaelin than I did an hour ago.”
Bannier looked down into the forest and scowled. “Call it what you want, once again my part of our bargain remains unfulfilled.”
“My men have orders to capture Gaelin and avoid killing him at all costs. If you’re concerned that they might not have your best interests at heart, maybe you should follow them.”
“Indeed.” Bannier wheeled and strode away. Tuorel didn’t watch him leave.
Dawn was approaching, and the four of them – Gaelin, Erin, and the two guards who survived from Toere’s company – rested in an old barn in some farmer’s field, twenty miles from Bevaldruor.
“Think they’re on our trail?” Erin asked quietly.
“Tuorel must have trackers or scouts in his army. But there are only four of us, and we know the countryside.” Gaelin winced as she tugged at the crossbow bolt that had penetrated his hand. “I know that I would have had a hard time following our trail, but it would not be impossible. Especially if Bannier has some magic he can use to find us.”
Erin handed him a piece of leather. “Here, bite down on this,” she said. “I’m ready to take out the bolt.” She called one of the guards over. The fellow took a strong, sure grip on Gaelin’s forearm, and turned his torso so that Gaelin’s upper arm was locked under his own arm.
“Sorry, my lord,” he said. Gaelin didn’t reply – he had the leather strip clenched between his teeth. He raised his eyes to the barn’s dilapidated roof, fixing his sight on the patches of dark sky overhead.
Without warning, Erin grasped the head of the quarrel and drew it through his broken hand in one smooth motion.
Gaelin gasped and jerked away, but the guard held him securely, and a moment later Erin held up the bloody bolt.
“Your hand’s bleeding again, but it won’t kill you,” she said.
“I’ll bind it for now.”
The guard released him with a sympathetic look, and stood up. “Thanks, Boeric,” Gaelin said, spitting out the leather.
“Thank you for getting us out of that fix, Lord Gaelin,” Boeric replied. He was a plain, stoop-shouldered man with lank blond hair and a round face. He looked like a cobbler, not a soldier. “A lot of my mates didn’t get away, but none of us’d be seeing the sun today if you hadn’t led us out of Ghoere’s trap.”