He was now as wanted as a man could be in the Kingdom of Westland. He reminded himself of this fact, over and over, when his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. It helped keep his dire situation in perspective but didn’t make him feel any better about what he had done. Taking a man’s life was a monumental thing. Though he had witnessed more than one man’s end, Mikahl had never had to kill anyone. He fought through the powerful emotions that were assailing him, and found a way to continue on. He had no choice. Ironspike was strapped to Windfoot’s saddle, and the horse was running scared. He had to find him and quickly.
Mikahl’s distraught condition kept him from noticing that the sun had crept high overhead. He was getting deeper than he would’ve ever intended into the forest. By the time he realized this, the morning had turned into afternoon. Now he would have to spend the night out here in the woods. Even if he found Windfoot soon, it would be dark before he could work his way back out to the road. He took another look around and found that he wasn’t sure he could even find his way out of the forest again, much less find the trade road.
He cleared his mind of the ill feelings about killing the bandit. The fear of being caught had eased now that he had other things to worry about. King Balton’s sword, as well as his own weapons, were secured to Windfoot’s saddle. He had to catch up to the horse no matter what the cost. Windfoot’s trail was leading generally northward, so Mikahl wasn’t losing ground; but if the horse was allowed to wander throughout the night, there was no telling what sort of forest creature might get a hold of him. Rumors of dread wolves and saber cats had been spread for as long as he could remember, but he didn’t recall ever seeing any such higher predators come out of the Reyhall Forest. There were things out here that would, and could, kill a horse, or a man for that matter. Of that there was no doubt.
“Think, then act,” he told himself again.
Mikahl began trying to mimic the distinct whistle he had often heard the stable man use to call the Royal Herd in from pasture. He felt a little better now. Knowing that none of Prince Glendar’s men would be looking for him way out here in the middle of nowhere went far to that effect. He would find Windfoot and Ironspike and get himself up into the Giant Mountains, even if it killed him. He winced at the thought, and then bit back a laugh as the weight of it sank in.
After he whistled for the fourth time, he thought he heard the horse in the distance, snorting its disapproval at something. He quickened his pace and noticed that the trees were thinning somewhat. The sound came again, and this time he was sure that it was Windfoot.
The forest eventually gave way to a sizable clearing. On the far side of it, across the lush, green, flower filled expanse, was a pond. Not too far from the water, was Windfoot. His reins were tangled in a shrub. The poor horse wanted to drink desperately and was fighting the plant with all he had. It seemed to Mikahl that the bush was winning. As he approached the disgruntled animal, he saw the King’s blade still tied securely to the saddle, and a tidal wave of relief washed over him.
The pack horse whinnied and stomped. It was glad to see its companion again. Windfoot gave a frustrated snort of acknowledgement in return. Soon, Mikahl had them picketed side by side at the ponds edge, where they took to drinking and grazing contentedly.
The glade was full of life. Insects buzzed by busily, and the birds sang, calling out to one another. Mikahl saw a rabbit tearing across the tree line as it fled some invisible predator, and by the variety and quantity of tracks pressed in the mud by the water’s edge, he knew that this was a popular watering hole. It was a beautiful and peaceful place, and Mikahl decided to rest here for awhile.