“But how?” asked Jimmy. “There were so many diversions.”
“Some black art,” said Martin. “There are powers at play here, Jimmy.”
“Come,” said Arutha. “They’ll be back. This will not stop them. We’ve gained only a little time.”
Laurie led the way toward the northbound road to Sarth. They did not look back as the fire crackled loudly.
They rode nearly continuously for the rest of that day. Of their pursuers they saw nothing, but Arutha knew they were close behind. Near sundown, light fog filled the air as they neared the coast again, where the Bay of Ships turned the road eastward. According to Laurie, they would reach the abbey after sundown.
Martin moved up to ride next to Gardan and Arutha, who stared out into the shadows, absently directing his horse. “Remembering the past?”
Arutha looked at his brother thoughtfully. “Simpler times, Martin. Just remembering simpler times. I rage to be done with this mystery of Silverthorn and have Anita returned to me. I burn for it!” He spoke with sudden passion. With a sigh, his voice softened as he said, “I was wondering what Father would have done in my place.”
Martin glanced at Gardan. The captain said, “Exactly what you’re doing now, Arutha. Man and boy I knew Lord Borric, and I’ll say there’s not another more like him in temper than you. All of you are like him: Martin in the way he watches things closely. Lyam reminds me of him when the lighter moods were upon him, before he lost his lady Catherine.”
Arutha asked, “And I?”
It was Martin who answered. “Why, you think like him, little brother, more than Lyam or I do. I’m your eldest brother. I don’t take orders from you only because you wear the title Prince to my Duke. I follow your lead because, more than any man I’ve known since Father, you make the right choices.”
Arutha’s gaze was distant as he said, “Thank you. That is high praise.”
A sound came from the trail behind, just loud enough to be heard without being identified. Laurie tried to lead as quickly as he could, but the dark and fog confounded his sense of direction. The sun was close to setting, so little light penetrated the deep woods. He could see only a small part of the trail in front of him; twice he was forced to slow to separate the true trail from false ones. Arutha rode up beside and said, “Keep it steady. Better to continue at a crawl than halt.”
Gardan fell back next to Jimmy. The boy peered into the woods, seeking a glimpse of whatever might be hiding just behind the boles of the trees, but only wisps of grey fog in the last light of the setting sun could be seen.
Then a horse came crashing from out of the brush, one moment not there, the next nearly knocking Jimmy from the saddle. The boy’s horse spun in a full circle as the black-armored warrior pushed past. Gardan swung a late blow at the horseman and missed.
Arutha shouted, “This way!” and tried to force his way past another horseman cutting across the trail. He faced the rider, the unarmored moredhel. For the first time Arutha could see the three scars cut into each of the Dark Brother’s cheeks. Time froze for an instant as the two confronted one another. There was a strange recognition in Arutha, for here was his enemy made flesh. No longer did he struggle with unseen assassins hands in the dark or mystic powers without substance; here was someone he could vent his rage upon. Without sound the moredhel swung a vicious blow at Arutha’s head, and the Prince avoided being decapitated only by ducking over the neck of his horse. Arutha lashed out with his rapier and felt its point dig in. He came up and saw he had taken the moredhel in the face, cutting deeply across the scarred cheek. But the creature only moaned, a strange tortured sound, half gurgle, half strangled cry. Then Arutha realized the moredhel possessed no tongue. The creature looked at Arutha for a brief moment as his horse turned away.
“Try to break free!” shouted Arutha, spurring his own horse forward. Suddenly Arutha was away, the others behind.
For an instant it seemed the moredhel-led company was too shocked to react to the break, but then the pursuit began. Of all the mad rides in Arutha’s life, this one stood out as the maddest. Through the forest, shrouded with fog and night’s black cloak, they dashed among trees, following a road little wider than a path Laurie passed Arutha, taking the lead.
For long minutes they raced through the woods, somehow avoiding the certainly fatal error of leaving the roadway. Then Laurie was shouting, “The road to the abbey!”
Slow to react, Arutha and the others behind Laurie barely made the turn onto a larger road. As they steered their mounts onto the new path, they could see the faint light of the large moon, rising.