left and plodded on.
An hour or so later, when the sun had dried her almost entirely, she came to a bend in the river where the bank simply disappeared. Nothing was left save a sharp incline along which she could not crawl, much less walk. Carefully marking the position of the sun to guide her, Rycca struck inland.
The forest was dense and the going hard but at length she emerged onto what appeared to be a well-traveled road. That was both good and bad. She could make much faster progress but the chances of being caught were vastly greater. Listening constantly for the sound of anyone approaching, she hurried along as quickly as she could.
She managed several more miles, her pace slowing as weariness crept over her. Despite her best resolve, she was sinking into a daze of mingled fatigue and sorrow. Through it, the sound of approaching horsemen did not reach her until long and precious moments after it should have. Even so, once she recognized her peril, Rycca responded swiftly. She had almost reached the safe obscurity of the trees when the lead rider spotted her and called out.
"Halt! You there, boy! Halt!"
Not for an instant did Rycca consider obeying. One swift glance at the banners carried by the outriders told her that she was in far more danger than she had been when she fled from the unknown man. She darted into the forest and ran, zigzagging among the trees, praying to find a route a horse could not follow. But her efforts were in vain. She felt the ground tremble beneath pounding hooves just as she was snatched up. The horse turned, she was scratched and snapped at by swiftly passing bushes, and in scarcely a heartbeat she was dropped, firmly and unceremoniously, back on the road.
"Boy—" The voice was harsh and haughty. It reverberated through Rycca, casting up in its wake fragments of haunting memories. Swept with cold, struggling to show no fear, she got to her feet slowly. Slower still, she raised her head and faced her fate.
The man before her, mounted on a proud war horse, had known forty and more years, most violent, even more dissipated. He was balding, with tufts of gray-streaked hair clustered in an unruly fringe around his ears. He had a big head but it went with the rest of him. His skin was weathered and creased, his jowls drooping. What had been muscle had long ago turned to fat, yet he was still formidable if only for a will that did not hesitate to kill or otherwise dispose of anyone who challenged, annoyed, or merely inconvenienced him. Of late, with the peace of blessed Alfred, he had enjoyed little chance to vent his spleen. Hence was he unusually ruddy and narrow-eyed as he looked at what he thought, at first glance, to be a lone boy.
Alas, that mistake did not last long. He knew her too well.
The eyes, set deep beneath layers of folded skin, widened with effort. The small mouth twisted.
"Rycca." He said her name with a mixture of loathing and satisfaction that sent a shudder down her spine.
"What?" A younger version of himself appeared at his side, cruelly yanking at his horse's reins. "
Rycca
?"
"Look for yourself." The older man waved a hand contemptuously in her direction. "I knew we'd find her." He rested his hands on the pommel of his saddle and nodded, well pleased with the turn of events. "You stupid bitch. Did you really think you could get away? Gad yourself up as your weakling brother and hie for Hawkforte? What were you thinking, to take ship for Normandy?" He laughed, a deep and rasping sound. After a moment the younger man joined in, grinning broadly as he surveyed her.
"By God, you were right. She and Thurlow are in this together. First he takes off and then she disappears. They plotted this as one to humiliate and harm you."
"No!" Despite her fear, which was sensibly real, Rycca could not let such libel pass. "Thurlow had nothing to do with this. I acted alone."
At once, the younger man reached out to strike her. She sidestepped him quickly and his blow fell on
An hour or so later, when the sun had dried her almost entirely, she came to a bend in the river where the bank simply disappeared. Nothing was left save a sharp incline along which she could not crawl, much less walk. Carefully marking the position of the sun to guide her, Rycca struck inland.
The forest was dense and the going hard but at length she emerged onto what appeared to be a well-traveled road. That was both good and bad. She could make much faster progress but the chances of being caught were vastly greater. Listening constantly for the sound of anyone approaching, she hurried along as quickly as she could.
She managed several more miles, her pace slowing as weariness crept over her. Despite her best resolve, she was sinking into a daze of mingled fatigue and sorrow. Through it, the sound of approaching horsemen did not reach her until long and precious moments after it should have. Even so, once she recognized her peril, Rycca responded swiftly. She had almost reached the safe obscurity of the trees when the lead rider spotted her and called out.
"Halt! You there, boy! Halt!"
Not for an instant did Rycca consider obeying. One swift glance at the banners carried by the outriders told her that she was in far more danger than she had been when she fled from the unknown man. She darted into the forest and ran, zigzagging among the trees, praying to find a route a horse could not follow. But her efforts were in vain. She felt the ground tremble beneath pounding hooves just as she was snatched up. The horse turned, she was scratched and snapped at by swiftly passing bushes, and in scarcely a heartbeat she was dropped, firmly and unceremoniously, back on the road.
"Boy—" The voice was harsh and haughty. It reverberated through Rycca, casting up in its wake fragments of haunting memories. Swept with cold, struggling to show no fear, she got to her feet slowly. Slower still, she raised her head and faced her fate.
The man before her, mounted on a proud war horse, had known forty and more years, most violent, even more dissipated. He was balding, with tufts of gray-streaked hair clustered in an unruly fringe around his ears. He had a big head but it went with the rest of him. His skin was weathered and creased, his jowls drooping. What had been muscle had long ago turned to fat, yet he was still formidable if only for a will that did not hesitate to kill or otherwise dispose of anyone who challenged, annoyed, or merely inconvenienced him. Of late, with the peace of blessed Alfred, he had enjoyed little chance to vent his spleen. Hence was he unusually ruddy and narrow-eyed as he looked at what he thought, at first glance, to be a lone boy.
Alas, that mistake did not last long. He knew her too well.
The eyes, set deep beneath layers of folded skin, widened with effort. The small mouth twisted.
"Rycca." He said her name with a mixture of loathing and satisfaction that sent a shudder down her spine.
"What?" A younger version of himself appeared at his side, cruelly yanking at his horse's reins. "
Rycca
?"
"Look for yourself." The older man waved a hand contemptuously in her direction. "I knew we'd find her." He rested his hands on the pommel of his saddle and nodded, well pleased with the turn of events. "You stupid bitch. Did you really think you could get away? Gad yourself up as your weakling brother and hie for Hawkforte? What were you thinking, to take ship for Normandy?" He laughed, a deep and rasping sound. After a moment the younger man joined in, grinning broadly as he surveyed her.
"By God, you were right. She and Thurlow are in this together. First he takes off and then she disappears. They plotted this as one to humiliate and harm you."
"No!" Despite her fear, which was sensibly real, Rycca could not let such libel pass. "Thurlow had nothing to do with this. I acted alone."
At once, the younger man reached out to strike her. She sidestepped him quickly and his blow fell on
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