Hadrian sighed, “I don’t think we have a choice.”
“Daddy!” Thrace shouted, running into the ring of firelight, her face streaked with tears. “Daddy,” she cried again and reaching the old man, threw her arms around him.
“Thrace, what are you doing here?” Theron yelled. “It’s not safe.”
“I came to get you.”
“I’m staying here,” he pulled his daughter off and pushed her away. “Now you take your hired thugs and get back to the Bothwicks right now. You hear me?”
“No.” Thrace cried at him, her arms raised, still reaching. “I won’t leave you.”
“Thrace,” he bellowed, his huge frame towering over her, “I am your father and you will do as I say!”
“No!” she shouted back at him, the firelight shining on her wet cheeks. “I won’t leave you to die. You can whip me if you want, but you’ll have to come back to the castle to do it.”
“You stupid little fool,” he cursed. “You’re gonna get yourself killed. Don’t you know that?”
“I DON’T CARE!” her voice ran shrill, her hands crushed into fists, arms punched down at her sides. “What reason do I have to live if my own father—the only person I have left in the world—hates me so much he would rather die than look at me.”
Theron stood stunned.
“At first,” she began in a quivering voice, “I thought you wanted to make sure no one else was killed, and then I thought maybe it was—I don’t know—to put their souls to rest. Then I thought you wanted revenge. Maybe the hate was eating you up. Maybe you had to see it killed—but none of that is true. You just want to die. You hate yourself—you hate me. There’s nothing in this world for you anymore, nothing you care about.”
“I don’t hate you,” Theron said.
“You do. You do because it was my fault. I know what they meant to you—and I wake up every morning with that.” She wiped the tears enough to see. “If it was me, it would have been just like it was with Mom—you would have driven a stick into Stony Hill with my name on it, and the next day gone back to work. You would have driven the plow and thanked Maribor for his kindness in sparing your son. I should have been the one to die, but I can’t change what happened and your death won’t bring him back. Nothing will. Still, if all I can do now—if all that’s left for me—is to die here with you, then that’s what I’ll do. I won’t leave you, Daddy. I can’t. I just can’t.” She fell to her knees exhausted and in a fragile voice said, “We’ll all be together again at least.”
Then as if in response to her words, the wood around them went silent once more. This time the crickets and frogs stopped so abruptly the silence seemed suddenly loud.
“No,” Theron said shaking his head. He looked up at the night sky. “NO!”
The farmer grabbed his daughter and lifted her up. “We’re going.” He turned. “Help us.”
Hadrian pulled Millie around. “Up both of you.” Millie stomped her hooves and started to pull and twist, nostrils flaring, ears twitching. Hadrian gripped her by the bit and held tight.
Theron mounted the horse and pulled Thrace up in front of him then with a swift kick, he sent Millie racing up the trail back toward the village. Royce leapt on the back of Mouse and throwing out a hand, swung Hadrian up behind him even as he sent the horse galloping into the night.
The horses needed no urging as they ran full out with the sweat of fear dampening their coats. Their hooves thundered, pounding the earth like violent drum beats. The path ahead was only slightly lighter than the rest of the wood and for Hadrian it was often a blur as the wind drew tears from his eyes.
“Above us!” Royce shouted. Overhead they heard a rush of movement in the leaves.
The horses made a jarring turn into the thick of the wood. Invisible branches, leaves, and pine boughs slapped them, whipped them, beat them. The animals raced in blind panic. They drove through the underbrush glancing off tree trunks, bouncing by branches. Hadrian felt Royce duck and mimicked him.
Thrump. Thrump. Thrump.
He could hear a slow beating overhead, a dull, deep pumping. A blast of wind came from above, a massive downdraft of air. Along with it came the frightening sound of cracking, snapping, splintering. The treetops shattered and exploded.
“Log!” Royce shouted as the horses jumped.
Hadrian kept his seat only by virtue of Royce’s agile grab. In the darkness, he heard Thrace scream, a grunt, and a sound like an axe handle hitting wood. The thief reined Mouse hard, wrestling with her, pulling the animal’s head around as she reared and snorted. Ahead, Hadrian could hear Millie galloping.
“What’s going on?” Hadrian asked.
“They fell,” Royce growled.
“I can’t see them.” Hadrian leapt down.
“In the thickets, there to your right,” Royce said, climbing off Mouse who was in a panic, thrashing her head back and forth.
“Here,” Theron said, his voice labored, “over here.”
The farmer stood over his daughter. She lay unconscious, sprawled and twisted. Blood dripped from her nose and mouth.
“She hit a branch,” Theron said, his voice was shaking, frightened. “I—I didn’t see the log.”
“Get her on my horse,” Royce commanded. “Move, Theron, take Mouse, both of you ride for the manor. We’re close. You can see the light of the bonfires burning.”
The farmer made no protest. He climbed on Mouse who was still stomping and snorting. Hadrian picked up Thrace. A patch of moonlight showed a dark blemish on her face, a long wide mark. He lifted. Her head fell back limp, her arms and legs dangled free. She felt dead. He handed her to Theron who cradled his daughter to his chest and held her tight. Royce let loose the bit and the horse thundered off racing for the open field, leaving Royce and Hadrian behind.
“Think Millie’s around?” Hadrian whispered.
“I think Millie is already an appetizer.”
“I suppose the good news is that she bought Thrace and Theron safe passage.”
They slowly moved to the edge of the wood. They were very close to where Dillon and his boys were hauling logs earlier that day. They could see three of the six bonfires blazing away, illuminating the field.
“What about us?” Royce asked.
“Do you think the Gilarabrywn knows we’re still in here?”
“Esrahaddon said it was intelligent, so I presume it can count.”
“Then it will come back and find us. We have to reach the castle. The distance across the open is about—what? Two hundred feet?”
“About that,” Royce confirmed.
“I guess we can hope it’s still munching on Millie. Ready?”
“Run spread out so it can’t get both of us. Go.” The grass was slick with dew and filled with stumps and pits. Hadrian only got a dozen yards before falling on his face.
“Stay behind me,” Royce told him.
“I thought we were spreading out?”
“That’s before I remembered you’re blind.”
They ran again, dodging in and out, as Royce picked the path up the hillside. They were nearly halfway across when they heard the bellows again.
Thrump. Thrump. Thrump.