roof dumped water on the hot spot. The nesters had trenched themselves behind the bodies of their mounts—some dead, most of them hog-tied and thrown on their sides. They were unaware of him. The chemical fire he'd started was now a blackened mass, embers and ashes and smoke drifting around.
It was mid-afternoon. The wind off the ocean should blow soon. It would change the direction of the wind blowing now. The only question was: how long would he have to wait and did he have the time?
He shrugged his white scarf about on his jacket collar, where it lay sodden with sweat and fear around his neck. Harley put his head down, blowing for air. Stick figure fire fighters got agitated on the Warden manor roof, and dark smoke began to billow up in earnest. He could hear the screams of the occupants. Breeze or not, he would not leave Lady to that death.
A cold tickle across his forehead. His scarf billowed up sluggishly, a damp sail to that omen.
Harley was spent. Blade dug his boot heels in viciously, hand fisted deep in the horse's mane. "C'mon!"
Between curls of smoke he rode. Harley was wheezing with every jump—they had to hear him, had to know he was bearing down at their backs. He did not care.
He pumped both shots as nesters yelled in fury. They scrambled to their feet to turn about, crossbows and rifles now aimed at him. He squeezed his knees and gave Harley the signal to jump as the vials shattered on impact.
The gelding refused. He ran at the line, bulling his way through as a cloud of yellow-green gave out a fatal hiss and obscured the fighters.
They broke through. Harley stumbled, going downhill toward the crescent driveway. Thomas held his breath, as weak as that first stirring of ocean breeze had been. His scarf snapped outward behind him as they staggered into the driveway, a line of death at his back.
Lady met him at the door. Her face gray with psychic fatigue. She literally fell into his arms as he dismounted and reached for her.
"They're leaving."
He nodded. "Kill enough of them and they will."
She looked over his shoulder. "You said you'd never use that stuff—that or the defoliant.''
"I guess I lied." He smelled the ash and smoke in her hair, and the underlying gentle herbal smell that was always Lady. He pressed his jawline into the soft mass of her hair, and held her tighter.
From somewhere to his flank, Governor Irlene said, "They're on the run. The troopers are after them." She sounded out of breath.
"Good. And Kopek?"
"He . . . didn't make it out. The hayloft collapsed on him."
A pang went through Blade's tiredness. That shouldn't have happened. "A damn shame," he said.
"Yes," the governor responded. She waited as Blade released Lady and stepped back. "You've got some real heroes among the new candidates."
"Where's Alma?" Lady said immediately. She gathered up Thomas' hand as if she could not bear to lose all contact with him. She turned on one heel to face the governor as she did.
Irlene had shed her new dusky rose riding jacket. Her undershirt was smudged and torn. She did not answer Lady, looking at Thomas as she said, "They broke in at the barracks—"
His thoughts raced. What he had hoped was illusionary shielding had been disaster.
"Three wards are dead, the rest are safe. With the exception of four who are missing."
"Who's dead?" he asked evenly. Lady's hand gripped his as if for life.
"Roanne, baby Tranh, and Valentin. The baby died of smoke inhalation from the fire. Roanne was guarding the door. Franklin said she put out some admirable effort before they slit her throat.''
"Wh-what about the missing?" said Lady. Her throat sounded dry.
Irlene looked at her. She frowned. "Alma's one of the missing. Nesters took four of the wards with them."
Blade wheeled and grabbed for Harley's mane. "I'll be back—"
"No." Irlene's voice was sharp. "That's not necessary. Troopers rode out on their heels—they won't get far."
Blade looked at the woman. "Irlene," he explained, "they
It was mid-afternoon. The wind off the ocean should blow soon. It would change the direction of the wind blowing now. The only question was: how long would he have to wait and did he have the time?
He shrugged his white scarf about on his jacket collar, where it lay sodden with sweat and fear around his neck. Harley put his head down, blowing for air. Stick figure fire fighters got agitated on the Warden manor roof, and dark smoke began to billow up in earnest. He could hear the screams of the occupants. Breeze or not, he would not leave Lady to that death.
A cold tickle across his forehead. His scarf billowed up sluggishly, a damp sail to that omen.
Harley was spent. Blade dug his boot heels in viciously, hand fisted deep in the horse's mane. "C'mon!"
Between curls of smoke he rode. Harley was wheezing with every jump—they had to hear him, had to know he was bearing down at their backs. He did not care.
He pumped both shots as nesters yelled in fury. They scrambled to their feet to turn about, crossbows and rifles now aimed at him. He squeezed his knees and gave Harley the signal to jump as the vials shattered on impact.
The gelding refused. He ran at the line, bulling his way through as a cloud of yellow-green gave out a fatal hiss and obscured the fighters.
They broke through. Harley stumbled, going downhill toward the crescent driveway. Thomas held his breath, as weak as that first stirring of ocean breeze had been. His scarf snapped outward behind him as they staggered into the driveway, a line of death at his back.
Lady met him at the door. Her face gray with psychic fatigue. She literally fell into his arms as he dismounted and reached for her.
"They're leaving."
He nodded. "Kill enough of them and they will."
She looked over his shoulder. "You said you'd never use that stuff—that or the defoliant.''
"I guess I lied." He smelled the ash and smoke in her hair, and the underlying gentle herbal smell that was always Lady. He pressed his jawline into the soft mass of her hair, and held her tighter.
From somewhere to his flank, Governor Irlene said, "They're on the run. The troopers are after them." She sounded out of breath.
"Good. And Kopek?"
"He . . . didn't make it out. The hayloft collapsed on him."
A pang went through Blade's tiredness. That shouldn't have happened. "A damn shame," he said.
"Yes," the governor responded. She waited as Blade released Lady and stepped back. "You've got some real heroes among the new candidates."
"Where's Alma?" Lady said immediately. She gathered up Thomas' hand as if she could not bear to lose all contact with him. She turned on one heel to face the governor as she did.
Irlene had shed her new dusky rose riding jacket. Her undershirt was smudged and torn. She did not answer Lady, looking at Thomas as she said, "They broke in at the barracks—"
His thoughts raced. What he had hoped was illusionary shielding had been disaster.
"Three wards are dead, the rest are safe. With the exception of four who are missing."
"Who's dead?" he asked evenly. Lady's hand gripped his as if for life.
"Roanne, baby Tranh, and Valentin. The baby died of smoke inhalation from the fire. Roanne was guarding the door. Franklin said she put out some admirable effort before they slit her throat.''
"Wh-what about the missing?" said Lady. Her throat sounded dry.
Irlene looked at her. She frowned. "Alma's one of the missing. Nesters took four of the wards with them."
Blade wheeled and grabbed for Harley's mane. "I'll be back—"
"No." Irlene's voice was sharp. "That's not necessary. Troopers rode out on their heels—they won't get far."
Blade looked at the woman. "Irlene," he explained, "they
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