Jimmy hazarded a glance over his shoulder, and through the trees behind he could see black-clad figures following. “Too late! They’ve seen us!” he shouted.
Arutha’s party spurred their mounts forward, the thunder of hooves echoing through the trees. All bent low over the necks of their mounts, and Jimmy kept glancing back. They were putting distance between themselves and the black riders, for which Jimmy gave silent thanks.
After a few minutes of hard riding, they came to a deep defile, impossible for horses to jump. Across it stood a sturdy wooden bridge. They sped over it, then Arutha reined it.
“Stand here!” They turned their horses, for the sound of pursuit could be heard.
Arutha was about to order them to ready a charge when Jimmy leaped off his horse. He pulled his bundle from in back of his saddle. Running to the end of the bridge, he knelt. Arutha shouted, “What are you doing?”
Jimmy’s only answer was “Keep back!”
In the distance the sound of approaching horses grew louder Martin leaped down from his mount and unshouldered his longbow. He had it strung and an arrow nocked when the first of the black riders hove into view. Without hesitation he loosed the clothyard shaft, and without error it flew, striking the black-armed figure full in the chest with the thundering force only a longbow could deliver at such a distance. The rider was propelled backward out of his saddle. The second horseman avoided the fallen man, but a third was thrown as his mount stumbled over the body.
Arutha moved forward to intercept the second rider, who was about to cross the bridge. “No!” shouted Jimmy. “Keep back!” Suddenly the boy was dashing away from the bridge as the black rider crossed. The horseman was almost upon the spot where Jimmy had knelt when a loud whooshing noise sounded, accompanied by a large cloud of smoke. His horse shied and spun on the narrow bridge, then reared up. The animal stumbled back a step, its rump striking the rails of the bridge. The black-clad warrior was tossed backward over the rail while his horse pawed the air, then he fell, hitting the rocks below the bridge with an audible thud. The horse turned and fled back the way it had come.
Arutha’s and the others’ horses were far enough away from the explosion of smoke not to panic, though Laurie had to ride forward and quickly grab the reins of Jimmy’s mount while Gardan held Martin’s. The bowman was busy shooting at the approaching riders, whose animals bucked and shied as their masters fought to bring them back under control.
Jimmy was now racing back toward the bridge, a small flask in his hands. He pulled a stopper from its end and tossed it at the smoke. Suddenly the near end of the bridge erupted in flames. The black riders pulled up, their horses nickering at sight of the fire. The balky animals rode in circles as their riders sought to force them across the bridge.
Jimmy stumbled away from the blaze. Gardan swore. “Look, the fallen ones rise!”
Through the smoke and flame they could see the rider with the arrow in his chest staggering toward the bridge, while another that Martin had felled was slowly rising to his feet.
Jimmy reached his horse and mounted. Arutha said, “What was all that?”
“The smoke bomb I carry out of habit. Many of the Mockers use them to cover escape and create confusion. They make a little fire and a great deal of smoke.”
“What was in the flask?” asked Laurie.
“Distillation of naphtha. I know an alchemist in Krondor who sells it to farmers to start fires when they slash and burn.”
“That’s damned dangerous stuff to be toting around,” said Gardan. “Do you always carry it?”
“No,” said Jimmy as he mounted. “But then I usually don’t travel where I’m likely to run into things you can only stop by roasting. After that business at the whorehouse I thought it might come in handy. I have one more in my bundle.”
“Then toss it!” shouted Laurie. “The bridge’s not caught yet.”
Jimmy pulled out the other flask and nudged his horse forward. With careful aim he tossed the flask into the fire.
Flames rose up, ten, twelve feet in height, as the wooden bridge became engulfed. On both sides of the defile horses whinnied and tried to run as the fire rose higher and higher in the sky.
Arutha looked across the bridge at the enemy horsemen, who now sat patiently waiting for the flames to burn out. From behind them another figure rode into view, the unarmored moredhel with the scalp lock. He sat watching Arutha and the others, no expression evident on his face. Arutha could feel blue eyes boring into his soul. And he felt hate. Here, then, for the first time he saw his enemy, saw one of those who had harmed Anita. Martin began shooting at the black riders, and with a silent signal the unarmored moredhel led his companions back into the trees.
Martin mounted and came to his brother’s side. Arutha watched as the moredhel vanished into the trees. Arutha said, “He knows me. We were so clever, and they knew where I was all along.”