Jorian wolfed down his last mouthful. "Finish up, my dears, and let us to horse—or to mule."
Soon they were again trotting along the road to Othomae. An hour later, Karadur said: "I caught another glimpse. I estimate them as not above two leagues behind us."
"Jorian," said Margalit, "why do you not gallop on, leaving us? We can turn into some side road and let them go past. We must not slow your steed to a trot, when you can reach the border safely ahead of them."
"And leave you to their mercies? Be not silly, wife!" snorted Jorian. "Besides, this country is too open for playing hide-and-seek with pursuers. They'd see you in no time."
"Then," said Karadur, "why not mount Margalit on the horse behind you and gallop on? I can drive the cart, and if they stop me, I am but a poor fortune-teller who knows naught of Xylar and its fugitive kings. I can change my appearance by a small illusion spell. What ails that plan?"
"Two things," said Jorian, speeding up his trot while Margalit lashed Filoman to hasten the placid mule. "Imprimus, Margalit's weight would slow Cadwil almost as much as my staying with the cart. She's a big girl. Secundus, we have been seen together enough so that they'll be looking for you as well as me."
"Belike," said Margalit, "they would not punish us severely. Karadur and I could.say you deceived us."
"Count not upon the Regency's mercies. At the least, you would likely spend most of your lives in dungeons dank. If anyone shall play fox to their hounds, ' Karadur is small and slight. You and he together weigh no more than I. You twain could gallop in tandem to the border, trusting me to dodge or cozen the pursuers."
"Nay!" said Karadur. "My old bones are too brittle for such a dash. The mere thought of perching precariously atop your great destrier makes me dizzy."
"Well, we had better do something, and speedily," said Jorian. "Try your astral vision again."
Karadur closed his eyes. After a while he said: "They are less than a league behind us. I make ten or twelve."
Margalit: "Perchance they are not concerned with us."
Jorian shook his head. "They would not push their beasts so hard, save in flight or pursuit."
For several minutes they trotted as briskly as the pace of the cart allowed. As they topped a rise, Jorian called out: "Ha! I see woods! I remember now; when I was King, this tract was the subject of a lawsuit betwixt a syndicate of magnates, who wished to cut the timber, and the Xylarian Navy, who wished to preserve the forest for future ship timbers."
"How did you decide?" asked Margalit.
"Grallon decided for the Navy, and I supported him. It was a close thing. He might have ruled the other way had not one of the magnates made the error of trying to bribe him, as Abacarus did lately."
"What then? Mean you to hide in the forest?"
"Nay; the tract is not large enough. But—Karadur, you have your magical rope, do you not?"
"Aye. But its magical charge is nearly exhausted. After two or three more usages, it will require to be ensorcelled again."
"Canst use it against our pursuers?"
"I can inflict a painful overthrow upon them, but that will not necessarily slay them."
"I would not fain kill the poor fools, but I urgently yearn to get my hands on their commander. Here is what we shall do…"
Half an hour later, the cart had been pulled well off the road and concealed behind several saplings. Jorian had cut these with his sword, trimmed them at the butt end to points, and thrust them into the ground. Out of sight behind the cart, the horse and the mule were tethered.
Karadur unwound the rope from his waist and tossed it so that it lay athwart the road. He muttered an incantation, and the two ends of the rope groped around until they found tree trunks. These ends, like questing serpents, then crept up the trunks and wound around them. The bulk of the rope still lay limply, hardly visible, in the dust.
They waited for what seemed hours to Jorian but was in fact less than half an hour. Then the squadron of horse appeared on the road, coming at a tired gallop. The panting horses were flecked with foam from hard riding. Jorian suspected that some would never be good cavalry mounts again; they had been used up.
On came the soldiers, in scarlet coats under their mail shirts, the afternoon sun flashing from their silvered helmets. The lieutenant, distinguishable by the little silver wings on his helm, rode in the lead.
"Now!" breathed Jorian.
Behind him, Karadur muttered another spell. At once the ends of the rope coiled around the tree trunks came to life, like serpents constricting their prey. The bulk of the rope rose from the dust to stand as a rigid horizontal bar at knee height.
The rope snapped into position just as the lieutenant's horse reached it, so the rider had no chance to jump his mount over this not very formidable barrier. The horse did a somersault, throwing the lieutenant ahead of him into the dirt. With a hideous clatter, the following horses piled up in a kicking heap.
Before any of the thrown soldiers had time to rise, Jorian leaped out from behind his tree and sprinted to where the lieutenant had fallen. As he arrived, the man was sitting up with a dazed look. One of the silver wings on his helmet was crumpled.
Jorian seized the lieutenant around the neck from behind and pressed his dagger against the young man's throat. "Order them back!" he roared, "or you're a dead man!"
Those soldiers who had regained their feet paused, taking in the situation. So did the three troopers who had pulled up their mounts in time to keep their saddles. Of the fallen soldiers, one lay still with his neck twisted; another was calling out something about a broken arm. Others nursed lesser injuries.
"Stand back!" wheezed the lieutenant. "Do nought to disturb this man!" He turned his head a little. "Are you King Jorian?"
"Never mind who I am. You shall come with me as hostage. Karadur!"
"Aye, my son?"
"Give your rope that other command."
Karadur muttered another spell. The rope came alive, snaking out from under a fallen horse and slithering to where Jorian held the lieutenant. The rope coiled around the captive's wrists and ankles. In a trice the lieutenant was tied as securely as a hog on the way to market.
"Order them to return to their quarters!" said Jorian. "And tell them that, the instant I see we are again pursued, away goes your tender young throat!"
The lieutenant repeated the command. The soldiers gathered in a group, arguing in low, tense tones. Jorian guessed that they were debating whether to ignore the officer's orders, as given under duress, and try to seize Jorian anyway. Jorian suspected that he had some sympathizers, who would be glad to see him escape.
At last the soldiers mounted and rode off, the dead man draped across his saddle and another with his arm in a sling.
"I regret that young man's death," said Jorian. "One would think you people would learn that seeking to lay violent hands on me entails risks."
"I do my duty," rasped the lieutenant between set teeth.
Margalit led Jorian's horse from the woods, and Karadur followed with the mule and cart. Jorian boosted Lieutenant Annyx, whose horse had gone off with the rest of the troop, into the cart. Margalit said:
"Jorian, do you go through life taking hostages? In the short time I've known you, you have done it thrice already."
Jorian shrugged. "Only when I must. Forsooth, I never took them ere meeting you; that is just how events have fallen out."
The sun was a crimson ball on the horizon when Jorian came in sight of the fence marking the border between Xylar and Othomae. A Xylarian border guard was closing the gate on the Xylarian side but opened it again as Jorian and his party appeared. The guards gave them a bored, perfunctory glance, not inspecting the cart, wherein Lieutenant Annyx lay bound, gagged, and covered by a blanket. The horse and mule proceeded into the neutral strip, three or four fathoms wide, between the two nations. At the far end of this strip stood another fence and gate.