mounts—Tavis’s own, as it turned out—loosely securing the young lord’s hands to one stirrup and his feet to the other.
It wasn’t as uncomfortable as Tavis had thought it would be. Or so he thought. As soon as they started moving, he realized that he wouldn’t be able to bear much of this at all. Every step of the mount bounced him, making his head spin and his stomach heave. He closed his eyes, but that didn’t help. He could only imagine how Grinsa was suffering.
The brigands had horses of their own, and they set what seemed to Tavis a punishing pace.
“Gleaner!” he called.
“I know,” came Grinsa’s reply.
“Keep quiet!” the brigand growled.
“Ready?”
“Yes! Just get on with it!”
“Damn ye both! I said—”
Before the leader could finish, one of the horses neighed loudly and someone shouted a curse. An instant later, Tavis’s horse bolted, jostling him mercilessly. He gritted his teeth, his eyes shut once more. He could hear another mount running beside him and he hoped with all his heart that it was Grinsa’s. They seemed to gallop over the grasses for an eternity, until at last his horse slowed, then halted altogether.
“Gods,” Tavis managed to say. “That was—”
“No time, Tavis. They’re coming. Hold out your hands and pull them as far apart as the ropes will allow.”
“What?”
“Just do it.”
Tavis did as he was told. An instant later, the small expanse of rope between his wrists burst into flames, singeing his skin.“Demons and fire!” He jerked his hands apart and the rope snapped. Immediately he began beating on first one wrist, then the other, trying to put out the flames. “You could have warned me!”
“Never mind that! I’ll do the same for your feet. When they’re free, ride northward, as fast as you can!”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be right behind you.”
Tavis nodded. He could hear other mounts approaching quickly. Soon his feet were free. He jumped down to the ground and made certain that the burning scraps of rope were off of his boots and his mount. Then he swung himself back into his saddle and kicked at the flanks of his horse. “Ride, Fean!” he called to the mount. “Ride hard!”
He glanced back. True to his word, the gleaner was with him. He could see the brigands behind Grinsa. They were bearing down on them, their weapons drawn. The twins led the way, followed by the tall man and his stout friend. The leader trailed the others by some distance. It seemed that his was the mount to which Grinsa had whispered.
An instant later, the two lead riders abruptly halted, one of them screaming and flailing at his head. It took Tavis a moment to realize that his hair was ablaze.
“That should stop them,” Grinsa said. He smiled, but he looked deathly pale, as if the use of so much magic had drained him.
Tavis nodded, gazing back at the men. “They have our weapons, our food, our gold!”
“I know. But we can replace all those things in Glyndwr. We can’t fight them, Tavis.”
He was right, of course. He and the gleaner were alive: they had their mounts. He should have been pleased. But he couldn’t help feeling that they had failed, or rather, that he had failed them both. They were about to ride to war. They intended to do battle with a Weaver and his army of sorcerers. And somehow they had allowed five brigands to take nearly all their most valued possessions.
“It’s all right,” the gleaner said, seeming to read histhoughts, as he did so often. “Sometimes a warrior proves himself best by knowing when to retreat.”
A warrior. He nearly laughed aloud. Whatever he was, he certainly didn’t feel like a warrior.
Chapter
Five
Curtell, Braedon
t gnawed at his mind like wood ants attacking old timber.
He could see the emperor’s plans taking shape, and so the Weaver’s as well. The master of arms trained his men with growing urgency; the quartermaster gathered provisions for Braedon’s army like some forest
It wasn’t as uncomfortable as Tavis had thought it would be. Or so he thought. As soon as they started moving, he realized that he wouldn’t be able to bear much of this at all. Every step of the mount bounced him, making his head spin and his stomach heave. He closed his eyes, but that didn’t help. He could only imagine how Grinsa was suffering.
The brigands had horses of their own, and they set what seemed to Tavis a punishing pace.
“Gleaner!” he called.
“I know,” came Grinsa’s reply.
“Keep quiet!” the brigand growled.
“Ready?”
“Yes! Just get on with it!”
“Damn ye both! I said—”
Before the leader could finish, one of the horses neighed loudly and someone shouted a curse. An instant later, Tavis’s horse bolted, jostling him mercilessly. He gritted his teeth, his eyes shut once more. He could hear another mount running beside him and he hoped with all his heart that it was Grinsa’s. They seemed to gallop over the grasses for an eternity, until at last his horse slowed, then halted altogether.
“Gods,” Tavis managed to say. “That was—”
“No time, Tavis. They’re coming. Hold out your hands and pull them as far apart as the ropes will allow.”
“What?”
“Just do it.”
Tavis did as he was told. An instant later, the small expanse of rope between his wrists burst into flames, singeing his skin.“Demons and fire!” He jerked his hands apart and the rope snapped. Immediately he began beating on first one wrist, then the other, trying to put out the flames. “You could have warned me!”
“Never mind that! I’ll do the same for your feet. When they’re free, ride northward, as fast as you can!”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be right behind you.”
Tavis nodded. He could hear other mounts approaching quickly. Soon his feet were free. He jumped down to the ground and made certain that the burning scraps of rope were off of his boots and his mount. Then he swung himself back into his saddle and kicked at the flanks of his horse. “Ride, Fean!” he called to the mount. “Ride hard!”
He glanced back. True to his word, the gleaner was with him. He could see the brigands behind Grinsa. They were bearing down on them, their weapons drawn. The twins led the way, followed by the tall man and his stout friend. The leader trailed the others by some distance. It seemed that his was the mount to which Grinsa had whispered.
An instant later, the two lead riders abruptly halted, one of them screaming and flailing at his head. It took Tavis a moment to realize that his hair was ablaze.
“That should stop them,” Grinsa said. He smiled, but he looked deathly pale, as if the use of so much magic had drained him.
Tavis nodded, gazing back at the men. “They have our weapons, our food, our gold!”
“I know. But we can replace all those things in Glyndwr. We can’t fight them, Tavis.”
He was right, of course. He and the gleaner were alive: they had their mounts. He should have been pleased. But he couldn’t help feeling that they had failed, or rather, that he had failed them both. They were about to ride to war. They intended to do battle with a Weaver and his army of sorcerers. And somehow they had allowed five brigands to take nearly all their most valued possessions.
“It’s all right,” the gleaner said, seeming to read histhoughts, as he did so often. “Sometimes a warrior proves himself best by knowing when to retreat.”
A warrior. He nearly laughed aloud. Whatever he was, he certainly didn’t feel like a warrior.
Chapter
Five
Curtell, Braedon
t gnawed at his mind like wood ants attacking old timber.
He could see the emperor’s plans taking shape, and so the Weaver’s as well. The master of arms trained his men with growing urgency; the quartermaster gathered provisions for Braedon’s army like some forest
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