went back to sleep.
The next morning, they continued westward. The air was bright and warm, the birds were singing, the flowers were blooming, the bees were buzzing, and Sam was plotting.
Arcie had awakened at the smell of breakfast being heated and had wriggled out of his hollow log with no ill effects. He was surprised to see both Sam and Valeriana still with the group, and with a shrug passed the whole incident off as a dream.
As they rode, Sam looped Damazcus's reins around the saddlehorn and let the animal follow placidly behind Arcie's. The ground was dry and even, and the animals spread about and shifted position as they walked along.
The sun rose in the sky, becoming a burning on Sam's face and arms, and he suffered in his black garb.
Valeriana had her hood up again, he noticed, to protect her precious face. The raven, sleepy from its night vigil, rode her shoulder in silence with its head under its wing.
Good. He took up the end of his cloak and inspected it.
Dirty from prison and mud and blood, torn by sword and thorn and wear, the whole thing was altogether too long and hot for this weather. It carried too many items to simply discard, however. Ah well, he would trim it. He flipped out his fourth-best dagger, the one with the pearl set in the pommel, and went to work.
The odd sound of tearing cloth prompted first Arcie, then Valeriana, to look around. Sam, busy at his tailoring, glanced up and gave them a bored look. "Too long," he commented, by way of explanation. After a last suspicious glance, Valeriana turned back, as did Arcie... but a moment later the Barigan turned to look at him quizzically and Sam winked. Arcie grinned and "looked away, but continued to watch the assassin out of the corner of his eye.
The assassin was tearing strips off of the edge of his cloak; cutting, checking the line of the cut, cutting again to even the edge, checking, cutting... and collecting variously sized strips of black fabric, which he was knotting together stealthily. He worked fast but innocently, whistling softly through his teeth. No one trusts an assassin who's being very quiet. At last he dropped his shortened cloak to fall down behind his back and picked up his reins again. Valeriana rode her liver-chestnut horse to the side and a little ahead. Arcie's was only a few paces away.
He urged Damazcus forward a little and caught up with the pony. Wordlessly he handed Arcie a double handful of black strips, tied into an untidy but strong net, about three feet in diameter. As he did so, he signed in the silent language: "Get bird. Hold. Listen me." He looked ahead.
Valeriana was just heading down "the other side of a hill.
"Go!"
The two criminals whomped the sides of their horses in unison. The horses leaped forward in surprise, bolted up and over the hill in a few strides, and came scrambling down upon Valeriana, one on each side. Her horse shied and reared, and then there was chaos.
Arcie made an astonishingly quick and dexterous lunge, tossing the folds of the net out over the startled raven just as it was spreading its wings. He yanked, tangling its head and wings in the mesh and ripping the taloned black feet from Valeriana's hooded cloak. It cawed and squawked in fury.
Even as the bird was snatched from its perch, Sam was standing in the saddle. A flash of the fire that came with sudden action sprung him out of the seat like an arrow, and he crashed into Valeriana in midair as she turned to grab her torn shoulder. The force of his leap threw them both off the horse and sent them crashing onto the grass.
A struggle, then Sam held the sorceress pinned on the ground, one hand holding both her wrists painfully tight, the other holding a dagger to her throat. Valeriana, her impressive chest heaving theatrically, her eyes almost magenta with rage, opened her mouth to call words of power that would blast the assassin into oblivion. Then she saw over his shoulder the figure of Arcie, cockily sitting on his pony
The next morning, they continued westward. The air was bright and warm, the birds were singing, the flowers were blooming, the bees were buzzing, and Sam was plotting.
Arcie had awakened at the smell of breakfast being heated and had wriggled out of his hollow log with no ill effects. He was surprised to see both Sam and Valeriana still with the group, and with a shrug passed the whole incident off as a dream.
As they rode, Sam looped Damazcus's reins around the saddlehorn and let the animal follow placidly behind Arcie's. The ground was dry and even, and the animals spread about and shifted position as they walked along.
The sun rose in the sky, becoming a burning on Sam's face and arms, and he suffered in his black garb.
Valeriana had her hood up again, he noticed, to protect her precious face. The raven, sleepy from its night vigil, rode her shoulder in silence with its head under its wing.
Good. He took up the end of his cloak and inspected it.
Dirty from prison and mud and blood, torn by sword and thorn and wear, the whole thing was altogether too long and hot for this weather. It carried too many items to simply discard, however. Ah well, he would trim it. He flipped out his fourth-best dagger, the one with the pearl set in the pommel, and went to work.
The odd sound of tearing cloth prompted first Arcie, then Valeriana, to look around. Sam, busy at his tailoring, glanced up and gave them a bored look. "Too long," he commented, by way of explanation. After a last suspicious glance, Valeriana turned back, as did Arcie... but a moment later the Barigan turned to look at him quizzically and Sam winked. Arcie grinned and "looked away, but continued to watch the assassin out of the corner of his eye.
The assassin was tearing strips off of the edge of his cloak; cutting, checking the line of the cut, cutting again to even the edge, checking, cutting... and collecting variously sized strips of black fabric, which he was knotting together stealthily. He worked fast but innocently, whistling softly through his teeth. No one trusts an assassin who's being very quiet. At last he dropped his shortened cloak to fall down behind his back and picked up his reins again. Valeriana rode her liver-chestnut horse to the side and a little ahead. Arcie's was only a few paces away.
He urged Damazcus forward a little and caught up with the pony. Wordlessly he handed Arcie a double handful of black strips, tied into an untidy but strong net, about three feet in diameter. As he did so, he signed in the silent language: "Get bird. Hold. Listen me." He looked ahead.
Valeriana was just heading down "the other side of a hill.
"Go!"
The two criminals whomped the sides of their horses in unison. The horses leaped forward in surprise, bolted up and over the hill in a few strides, and came scrambling down upon Valeriana, one on each side. Her horse shied and reared, and then there was chaos.
Arcie made an astonishingly quick and dexterous lunge, tossing the folds of the net out over the startled raven just as it was spreading its wings. He yanked, tangling its head and wings in the mesh and ripping the taloned black feet from Valeriana's hooded cloak. It cawed and squawked in fury.
Even as the bird was snatched from its perch, Sam was standing in the saddle. A flash of the fire that came with sudden action sprung him out of the seat like an arrow, and he crashed into Valeriana in midair as she turned to grab her torn shoulder. The force of his leap threw them both off the horse and sent them crashing onto the grass.
A struggle, then Sam held the sorceress pinned on the ground, one hand holding both her wrists painfully tight, the other holding a dagger to her throat. Valeriana, her impressive chest heaving theatrically, her eyes almost magenta with rage, opened her mouth to call words of power that would blast the assassin into oblivion. Then she saw over his shoulder the figure of Arcie, cockily sitting on his pony
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