The man kept to his search, looking up every twenty or thirty seconds to scan the area. The first time he did so Dante pulled his head down so fast he barked his chin on the rock and almost cried out.
"What do you think?"
"I think," Dante breathed, "he's alone."
Blays nodded. "There's two of us."
"Think so?"
"Better now than when the odds are back in their favor."
"I don't know."
Blays touched the hilt of his sword. "We can get him if we sneak up on him."
"He's on horseback," Dante said, swallowing against the dryness of his throat. "He'll ride away. Or ride out of range, then turn around and trample us."
"What if we went down a little closer, then ran out on the banks screaming and running away?"
"Like scared little kids?" Dante said, giving him a look.
"Exactly like that," Blays grinned.
"But we're not little kids."
"What do you bet he thinks we are? If you're strong, you're supposed to fake being weak. It's like the first rule of the field."
"Um," Dante said, wrapping his head around that. "He's still on horseback. He'll murder us."
"That's where you come in." Blays lifted himself a couple inches and started backing on elbows and hips into the protection of the trees. Dante did the same. When they could no longer see the rider and the river showed in faint flashes behind the wall of reddening leaves, they got up and drew closer, placing their feet in the forest carpet like the first steps onto the uncertain ice of a pond. After what felt longer than an hour's march, Blays put a hand on Dante's shoulder and snuck forward to where the trees thinned, peeking around a bole.
"Still there," he breathed when he got back. "Grab a couple rocks."
"Rocks aren't going to make any difference."
"Every little advantage," Blays said, then bit down hard to stop a laugh when he saw the look on Dante's face. "You never know. Might get lucky."
"I bet." Dante rolled his eyes and scooped up two smooth stones, heavy for how well they fit his palm. He followed Blays toward the river. Insane, he thought. All this chasing had driven them insane. Knowing this was the smart play did nothing to slow his charging heart, to dry the dampness under his arms.
"Ready?"
"I guess."
"Go," Blays whispered, then ran out on the bank and began shrieking for his mother. Dante followed him, body tight with panic when he saw the rider not a hundred feet downstream. He heard him actually laugh, then ran harder at the thunder of hooves in the grass. Within moments the rider had halved the distance between them. He whipped his sword from his back and crouched in the saddle, lining the two boys in his sights. Dante tripped, flailing his arms for balance, and his screams were real.
"Now!" Blays yelled, but the stumble had stolen Dante's focus on the nether. He reached out again, the edges of his mind roaring like the wind. "Now, you son of a bitch!"
The rider raised his sword. Light flashed over Dante's eyes. He could see the sod leaping from the horse's strides. He stopped and turned, laughing in horror, and when he imagined he could feel the horse's hot breath he flung out his hand and the beast's head disappeared in a ball of blackness. A stone hurled past his shoulder and the rider swiped at it as his mount locked its legs and skidded on the damp grass. One of its front legs buckled and then it was down, sliding and rolling in the grass, the snap of its bones and the suddenly scared curses of its rider as he leapt free and collapsed to the ground. The boys charged then: Dante threw both rocks with all his strength, missing the first and clipping the man's shoulder with the second; Blays' blade bobbed beside him and Dante tore loose his own and they were on the downed man before he'd found his feet.
"You tricky shits!" he screamed. He struck from his knees, a fierce blow Dante blocked but which sent him staggering. The man's eyes were bright with some feral emotion when Blays' counter cut off his left hand. He swung wildly, forcing the boy to
"What do you think?"
"I think," Dante breathed, "he's alone."
Blays nodded. "There's two of us."
"Think so?"
"Better now than when the odds are back in their favor."
"I don't know."
Blays touched the hilt of his sword. "We can get him if we sneak up on him."
"He's on horseback," Dante said, swallowing against the dryness of his throat. "He'll ride away. Or ride out of range, then turn around and trample us."
"What if we went down a little closer, then ran out on the banks screaming and running away?"
"Like scared little kids?" Dante said, giving him a look.
"Exactly like that," Blays grinned.
"But we're not little kids."
"What do you bet he thinks we are? If you're strong, you're supposed to fake being weak. It's like the first rule of the field."
"Um," Dante said, wrapping his head around that. "He's still on horseback. He'll murder us."
"That's where you come in." Blays lifted himself a couple inches and started backing on elbows and hips into the protection of the trees. Dante did the same. When they could no longer see the rider and the river showed in faint flashes behind the wall of reddening leaves, they got up and drew closer, placing their feet in the forest carpet like the first steps onto the uncertain ice of a pond. After what felt longer than an hour's march, Blays put a hand on Dante's shoulder and snuck forward to where the trees thinned, peeking around a bole.
"Still there," he breathed when he got back. "Grab a couple rocks."
"Rocks aren't going to make any difference."
"Every little advantage," Blays said, then bit down hard to stop a laugh when he saw the look on Dante's face. "You never know. Might get lucky."
"I bet." Dante rolled his eyes and scooped up two smooth stones, heavy for how well they fit his palm. He followed Blays toward the river. Insane, he thought. All this chasing had driven them insane. Knowing this was the smart play did nothing to slow his charging heart, to dry the dampness under his arms.
"Ready?"
"I guess."
"Go," Blays whispered, then ran out on the bank and began shrieking for his mother. Dante followed him, body tight with panic when he saw the rider not a hundred feet downstream. He heard him actually laugh, then ran harder at the thunder of hooves in the grass. Within moments the rider had halved the distance between them. He whipped his sword from his back and crouched in the saddle, lining the two boys in his sights. Dante tripped, flailing his arms for balance, and his screams were real.
"Now!" Blays yelled, but the stumble had stolen Dante's focus on the nether. He reached out again, the edges of his mind roaring like the wind. "Now, you son of a bitch!"
The rider raised his sword. Light flashed over Dante's eyes. He could see the sod leaping from the horse's strides. He stopped and turned, laughing in horror, and when he imagined he could feel the horse's hot breath he flung out his hand and the beast's head disappeared in a ball of blackness. A stone hurled past his shoulder and the rider swiped at it as his mount locked its legs and skidded on the damp grass. One of its front legs buckled and then it was down, sliding and rolling in the grass, the snap of its bones and the suddenly scared curses of its rider as he leapt free and collapsed to the ground. The boys charged then: Dante threw both rocks with all his strength, missing the first and clipping the man's shoulder with the second; Blays' blade bobbed beside him and Dante tore loose his own and they were on the downed man before he'd found his feet.
"You tricky shits!" he screamed. He struck from his knees, a fierce blow Dante blocked but which sent him staggering. The man's eyes were bright with some feral emotion when Blays' counter cut off his left hand. He swung wildly, forcing the boy to
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