They rode on through the night, keeping a westward course until sunrise then turning to the north, only dismounting to walk the horses when the heat began to make them stagger. They stripped the mounts of all excess weight, throwing their mail away but keeping their weapons and the remaining canteens of water.
“No sign of ‘em,” Dentos said, shielding his eyes as he scanned the southern horizon. “Not yet anyway.”
“They’ll be along,” Vaelin assured him. He held a canteen to Spit’s mouth, the animal snatching it between his teeth and tipping the contents down his throat in a few gulps. Vaelin wasn’t sure how much longer the stallion could last in the heat, the desert was a cruel environment for a north-born animal, evidenced by the foam that covered his flanks and the weary blink of his normally bright and suspicious eye.
“With any luck they’re following the Baron’s trail,” Dentos went on. “More of ‘em to follow after all.”
“I think we used up our share of luck last night, don’t you?” Vaelin waited until Spit had finished drinking then took hold of his reins. “We keep walking. If we can’t ride in this heat, neither can they.”
It was early evening when they saw it, small and faint in the distance, but undeniably real.
“Fifteen miles, maybe?” Dentos wondered, eyeing the dust cloud.
“Closer to ten.” Vaelin hauled himself into the saddle, wincing at Spit’s weary snort of annoyance. “Seems they can ride in the heat after all.”
They kept to a canter for most of the night, wary of pushing the horses to collapse, glancing continually to the south, seeing only the desert and the star rich sky but knowing their pursuers were gaining with every mile.
The northern shore came into sight with the dawn, the desert sands giving way to scrub and, six miles to the east, the white walls of Linesh gleaming in the morning light.
“Brother,” Dentos said softly.
Vaelin turned his gaze southward, the dust cloud was larger now, the riders raising it clearly visible. He leaned forward to pat Spit’s neck, whispering in his ear. “Sorry.” Leaning back he kicked his heels against the horse’s flanks and they spurred into a gallop. He had expected Spit to have lost much of his speed, but if anything he seemed to find some kind of relief in the gallop, tossing his head and snorting either in pleasure or anger. His hooves churned the dusty ground and they quickly outdistanced Dentos and his struggling mount, so much so that Vaelin was forced to rein in after four miles. They had crested a small rise overlooking the plain before the city walls. The gates were open and a line of horsemen were making their way inside, sunlight gleaming on their armour.
“Seems the Baron made it back,” Vaelin observed as Dentos reined in.
“Glad someone did.” Dentos upended a canteen and let the water bathe his face. Behind him Vaelin could see their pursuers were closing fast, barely a mile behind. He was right, they weren’t going to make it.
“Here,” he said making to dismount. “I have the faster horse. It’s me they want.”
“Don’t be fucking stupid, brother,” Dentos said wearily. He unhitched his bow from the saddle and notched an arrow, wheeling his horse around to face the oncoming horsemen. Vaelin knew there was no dissuading him.
“I’m sorry, brother,” he said, voice laden with guilt. “This fool’s war, I…”
Dentos wasn’t listening, looking off to the south, a puzzled frown on his brow. “Didn’t know they had them here. Big bugger too, isn’t he?”
Vaelin followed his gaze and felt the blood-song surge in a fiery tumult of recognition as his eyes picked out the form of a large grey wolf sitting a short distance away. It regarded him with the impassive, green eyed stare he remembered so well from that first meeting in the Urlish. “You can see him?” he asked.
“’Course, he’s hard to miss.”
The blood-song was raging now, a piercing cacophony of warning. “Dentos, ride for the city.”
“I’m not going anywhere…”
“Something’s going to happen! Please, just go!”
Dentos was going to argue further but his gaze was drawn by something else, a great dark cloud rising above the southern horizon, ascending from the desert to at least a mile into the sky, swallowing sunlight in its billowing fury as it swept towards the city, dunes disappearing as it gathered them to its hungry breast.
An arrow thumped into the ground a few feet away. Vaelin turned to see their pursuers now barely fifty yards distant, at least a hundred men, preceded by a swarm of arrows launched at the gallop, a desperate attempt to end the chase before the sand storm bore down.