As tempting as it was to check their progress, I kept my eyes glued to the forest in front of me. Dark, twisting branches struck out at my face and ripped across my skin. Harsh wind tore at my already-chapped lips. I willed myself to ignore the numbing cold and sudden, jarring cuts from above.
I hoped Alex was having better luck in his bit of the woods. I could barely see five feet in front of me and had to rely on the mare for navigation. Now that she knew our general direction, it was up to her to avoid what I could not.
The subtle whistle of steel slicing through air alerted me a second too late. One of the men's blades flew past, nicking the back of my right thigh in its course. I cried out and then immediately regretted the noise.
The wound felt shallow, but it was still sudden and biting enough for me to lose balance. I fell back against the saddle, and the mare startled at the sudden shift in weight, slowing her gallop to a canter. I hastily moved to correct the error, ignoring the added pressure on my leg as I attempted to crouch once more in the stirrups and return her to speed.
At that same moment the mare stumbled over some loose footing and sent me pitching forward. My hands, slick with sweat, lost hold of her mane, and I was sent careening to the ground. I barely registered what was happening before I hit the dirt with a sickening thud. I had only a fraction of a second to roll before hooves came clamoring past.
The mare took off into the darkness. I attempted to stand and ignore the shaking of my legs. My entire right side ached, and I had new cuts on my hands from trying to brace my fall. I wondered if the hammering in my ears was from the pulsing of blood or the approaching of bandits.
Maybe they hadn't seen me fall. Maybe they still thought I was astride. It was dark enough. I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the stabbing pains as I stumbled toward the nearest brush. I took a couple of hobbling steps until the hammering gave way to the shouts of men and the unmistakable sounds of heavy footfall.
The bandits had dismounted and were searching the area.
I ducked under the bush, ignoring the many thorns that raked across my face and arms, and prayed that the loud snapping of branches was just a quiet rustle outside my head.
Burrowing as deep as I dared, I waited. My breath was shaky and ragged, and I tried not to imagine all the horrible possibilities that could await me if I were found. I willed myself to breathe slowly, letting my racing heart ease. It was no use.
I could hear their voices. They were getting louder. A flutter of soft wind brought the rancid smell of days' old sweat and ale, and I wondered how close they were. The bush I hid under smelled oddly sweet, like some sort of forest berry. I hoped its leaves would hide me well.
How many had followed me? I wondered. Where was Alex right now? Was he still riding west? I strained to hear the approaching voices.
"…Saw the boy limping…" one was saying.
Another man cleared his throat. "He couldn't have gone far."
There were only two that I could distinguish. If there were a third man, he was staying silent. Judging from the number of footsteps, however, I was inclined to go with the former.
The crunching of pine needles a mere step away froze my heart in my throat.
One of the men was right beside the bush. I could hear the shuffling of feet against some of the outlying roots. I made a silent prayer to the gods that he would continue on.
"I reckon he went the other way, Jared," the man said. "There's nothing this way but brush."
"Naw, he's got to be this way."
The voices were now both coming from the same spot just above me. My pulse pounded so violently I was certain they could hear it. I refused to breathe as I waited for them to pass.
"Smells good out here," the first was saying.
"It's the blackberries, you dolt," the second man, Jared, replied. He shoved a hand in to grasp at a dark clumping of fruit and pulled it back back with a curse: "Fool thorns!"
The other man pushed past and reached in further, managing to catch a hand full of berries and my hair in the process. I didn't realize some of it had come loose from my braid, tangled in the thorns until the man yanked his fist back. As the hair ripped from my scalp an unwilling cry escaped my lips.
I slapped a hand over my mouth, but it was too late. They had heard me.
The next second flew past in a blur as the men yanked me from my den and tossed me roughly to the bare forest ground at their feet.
"Well, well," Jared drawled. "Seems your appetite has it uses, Erwan." He slapped the second man, a tall fellow with a big gut and muddy boots, on the back.
It was hard to see either of their faces as I struggled to push myself up off the ground. The bandits allowed me to draw myself onto my knees, making crude remarks and laughing as I fumbled once or twice before finally sitting upright.
"Now, boy," said Erwan. "Tell us where you and your little friend were headed."
I breathed a small sigh of relief. With all the blood and grime covering my brother's riding clothes they had mistaken me for a redheaded young man. The tunic was baggy, and though ripped at the arms, it still hid my form well.