The Sword, The Ring And The Chalice - The Sword Part 8

"My papa! Don't leave me! My papa!"

What had he forgotten? What was there left for him to do? Spinning in the lost currents of nowhere, Tobeszijian struggled to remember what had been so important to him. He felt shame lingering on his senses, shame for all he'd left undone. It was time he proved himself, time he stuck with his duty.

But hadn't he done enough? He had lost his throne, but he had saved the Chalice from the hands of evil.

Was that not duty enough performed? He found himself at the shining barrier of light. How beautiful and wondrous it was. How brightly it shone. He squinted and thought he could see shapes moving behind it.The third world, he thought with a rush of excitement and joy. He tried to reach out to it, wanting to find Nereisse, wanting to find happiness.

But his duty was unfinished. Had he stayed home instead of going hunting, his enemies would not have had such an easy opportunity to strike against him. Had he chosen his travels more wisely, he might have needed to use the Ring only thrice, as commanded. Had he imprisoned Muncel or exiled him when he first succeeded their father, his half-brother would not have found it so convenient to betray him.

So many mistakes, but this time he would not make another. The barrier's radiant glow shone across his face. He could feel its warmth, so lovely and refreshing. But when he tried to reach through the light, his hand bounced off something. He could not see the shapes behind it except as motion and color. He could not see Nereisse. He tried to call out, but he had no voice here in the gray void of the second world.

And he knew that he must finish his task before he could pa.s.s through. For once in his life he must be the king his father and his subjects had expected him to be. Muncel must not stay on the throne of Nether.

The evil that had crept into the land must be driven out. These remained his responsibilities. Sighing, feeling hollow with regret, Tobeszijian turned back from the gateway to the third world and found himself plunging forever in the gray mists, unable to escape them, his obligations like a chain that held him shackled. On the narrow road in the forests of Nold, all lay quiet and still. There remained nothing to see of the battle which had raged in King Tobeszijian's final moments except the churned ground and the stripped bones of his darsteed's eaten carca.s.s.

A week or so later, a peddler came wandering along in a drizzling rain, whistling softly to firm his courage there in the gloom of forest. Many tales were told about the legendary Dark Forest of Nold.

These woods had seen centuries of evil aprowl, and old battles fought by G.o.ds, and long terrors, and darkness, and doom.

The peddler had traveled the length and breadth of Nold often enough to keep him wary but not unduly afraid. Stories were stories. He had a sharp dagger in his belt and a set of good wits. He was a small man, quick of thought and keen of eye.

He paused when he came to the battleground, sensing some lingering disquiet in the air. Doffing his cap, he made a quick sign with his nimble fingers to ward off evil and left the narrow track to tiptoe around the spot where clearly death had struck.

The drizzle stopped and the clouds overhead parted for a moment to let sunshine fall into the forest. In the moisture-laden air, the light sparkled with the soft, magical colors of rainbow.

A wink of something glittering in that beautiful light caught the peddler's eye, and he stopped.

Stooping low, he peered at the ground a long, cautious while. At last, satisfied that no invisible trap of evil had been set there to snare him, he took one quick step onto the torn, muddy ground. He picked up the object and held it aloft.

The ring glittered and flashed in the sunlight. It was finely wrought, its band stamped all around with intricate rune carvings. The top was set with a large oval stone as pale and smooth as milk. He had never seen anything so fine except on the fingers of rich n.o.blemen. Now here, on this lonely road, lay the long bones of a n.o.ble's rather large horse, lay also the chewed and tattered remains of a fine leather saddle, lay the n.o.ble's fine finger ring; in fact, lay all but the bones of the n.o.ble himself.

The peddler grinned to himself at his good luck, and couldn't resist polishing the ring on the front of hisjerkin. A fine piece, worthy of a king, he thought. It would bring him luck. It would bring him a pretty price when he sold it. Not in Nold, of course. The scattered villages and burrows held only rude dwarves willing to buy a few trinkets, colored ribbon, or tea leaves bound up in little bags of coa.r.s.e cloth, but nothing better. No, he'd not sell this fancy ring until he crossed the border into the rich land of Mandria.

He was not an impatient or a greedy man, but when luck came his way he knew what to do with it.

Still grinning to himself, the peddler secured the ring in a safe place inside his clothing. Putting his cap back on, he shouldered his pack and continued on down the road, whistling to himself. Never once did he see the silent shadows which slid forth from among the trees to follow him on his journey.

Part Two - years later

The sound of hunting horns-faint at first, then swelling louder-filled the air and silenced the forest.

Startled, Dain lifted his head from the shallow pool of water where he'd paused for a drink. He listened intently. The wailing blat of the horns came again, from his left, the southwest. Dain glanced at the gray clouds scudding low above the treetops, and tried to gauge distance and time. He knew he must be nearly out of the Dark Forest. Rising to his feet, he listened, straining to hear hoofbeats.

Ah . . . yes, crashing like the muted thunder of a distant summer storm. That meant the hunters were Mandrian, for no one in Nold hunted with such noise and fanfare. Most especially not now, when the dwarf clans were at war, their drumbeats throbbing late at night and the smoke from burned-out burrows hanging in the air.

Dain swallowed hard. Never before had he ventured this close to the border. But now was no time to lose his courage. Thia's life depended on what he managed to accomplish today.

Down deep within the knot inside his belly, he felt an ache of fearful despair, but he ignored his emotions and set off at a ground-eating trot, determined to get help for his injured sister.

Dodging and darting through the undergrowth of dense forest, he angled toward the approaching sound of the hunters.

If he was close enough to the border for men to be venturing into the forest, that meant he was nearing settlements and villages, places where he could steal food and perhaps a horse.

Sudden terror, alien and fierce, burst through his mind. With it came a stag that burst from cover and bounded across Dain's trail. The animal pa.s.sed so close to him that he saw the blood splattering its dusty coat, the heaving flanks, the white of its eye, the dark pink flare within its nostril. Awash in fear and pain, the creature's mind swept across Dain's, making him stagger to one side and grip a tree trunk for support. Dain closed the stag's senses from his own, shaking his head to clear it.

Seconds later, he heard a deep baying sound that made the hairs rise on the back of his neck. A pack of tall, brawny red dogs came crashing through the thickets and closed in on the faltering stag.

Dain felt the purposeful flick of their minds: chaseIchaseIchaseIchase. He dived for cover, for now the horses and riders were upon him, crashing and blundering through the undergrowth and trees. They were shouting and blowing their horns in great excitement. One rode past Dain so closely he was nearly hit in the face by the rider's spurred foot.

In a heartbeat, they thundered past, kicking up dirt and leaves behind them. He left his cover and followed them, knowing the stag could not run much longer. Indeed, only a few minutes later the stagwent down in a small clearing. The dogs leaped on it with yelps and snarls. For a moment there was milling confusion while the hunters beat off the dogs. Someone shot an arrow into the stag's creamy throat. The n.o.ble creature turned its gaze toward its killer for a moment, then its head sank to the ground and it lay still. Whooping, the hunters surrounded their prey. They were four youths, each about Dain's own age. Richly dressed in velvet cloth and furs, gilded daggers gleaming at their belts, their bows held slack in their hands, they slapped each other on the back and congratulated each other. Three older men in chain mail and green surcoats without crests and one muscular man wearing the crossed-axe crest of a protector stayed in the saddle and watched the proceedings silently. Dain crept closer, focusing all his attention on the bulging saddlebags of finely worked leather. He could smell food inside-the pale tender bread baked in a puff, wedges of cheese, hanks of cold meat all wrapped in neat waxed-linen bundles.

His own hunger was like a living thing inside him, driving him forward, almost making him forget caution.

With his mind, he stilled the nearest horse, turning it around and luring it toward him at the edge of the clearing. Snorting, the handsome animal tossed its head and came forward a few steps, then nibbled at a few blades of gra.s.s before coming another few steps closer. Finally it stopped and began to eat in earnest, its reins dragging on the ground.

Dain admired its sleekness, seeing how well groomed and cared for it was. Its splendid leather saddle and cloth alone would bring a fine price. Dain could sell the trappings and the horse for enough gold to support him and Thia for a year. But most of all, he wanted the food in those saddlebags. Hovering at the edge of the thicket, Dain dared not venture into the open. Keeping a wary eye on the armed men, he crouched close enough to a tangle of briars for the thorns to snag his tattered clothing, and used his mind to lure the horse into coming yet closer.

The young hunters joked and yelped in high spirits. The largest one, with shoulders as burly as a grown man's, pa.s.sed around a wineskin with a furtive giggle while another boy knelt to dip his fingers in the stag's blood. He smeared crimson streaks across his face, then marked the faces of his companions.

Fascinated despite his sense of urgency, Dain stared at these Mandrian youths, who were his own age and size, yet as different from him as night from day. He had seen Mandrians before, of course. Jorb had done much trade with the n.o.bles, who valued a well-crafted sword. But it was seldom that Dain saw boys of such wealth and magnificence, with such beautiful horses and fine leather tack. Bold youths indeed, to enter the Dark Forest after game. Dain had heard many tales among the dwarves, tales of the foolish Mandrians who quested in the Dark Forest for the legendary Chalice of Eternal Life or the mythical Field of Skulls, which Jorb said was no place for any common mortal to see. Such searchers often failed to return. The Dark Forest was a mysterious place, full of impenetrable sectors and traps for the unwary. Even the dwarves knew there were parts of the forest where no living creature should go.

But these young hunters laughed and sucked blood from each other's fingers and boasted, each claiming in turn to have shot the arrow which first wounded the stag. The red dogs twisted and circled among them, panting and whining for attention. Dain returned his concentration to the horse, which would not quite venture to the edge of the clearing, despite all his enticements. Perhaps he should risk being seen. If he mounted the horse, he could outrun the others and lose himself quickly in the dense undergrowth.

After all, what harm could such boys do him? They were nothing but brave talk and blowing wind. Right now they were discussing whether they should break off the stag's antlers or cut off its entire head. The rich, wasteful fools weren't interested in its flavorful, dark meat or the beauty of its hide.

A corner of Dain's mind urged him to wait out of sight, safe and quiet, until they left with their prize.

Then he could help himself to all the venison he could carry. He knew how to build a slow, smoking fire, how to cut the meat into strips and dry it into leathery jerky.

Wait, he cautioned himself. But the horse was so close. A fleet-footed, strong animal that would carry Thia to a village large enough to support a healer. The Bnen arrow point had snapped off inside her. It festered there, bringing her much pain and fever. Right now she needed tending as much as they both needed food. Drawing a deep breath, Dain cautiously sent his thoughts in the direction of the four men overseeing their charges. Look at them, he urged. Watch what they do. Help them. The protector turned his mount to ride toward the hunters, who were now hacking inexpertly at the stag's head. The other men looked that way. Quick as thought, Dain slipped from cover and went to the horse. Alarmed, it lifted its head from the gra.s.s, but Dain soothed it with a thought and swept his fingers gently across the animal's shoulder.

Rea.s.sured, the horse bent its head again to eat. Dain drew in scents of warm horse, leather, the boy who'd ridden the saddle, and the ham that was so enticingly close. He gathered the reins and put his foot in the stirrup. Without warning, the horse squealed in fury and swung away from him. Hopping on one foot, Dain tried to climb into the saddle, but the horse reared, lashing out with its forefeet.

AttackIattackIattack. Its mind was awash with heat. It lunged at him, snapping with huge, yellow teeth.

Dain smacked its muzzle and stumbled back, falling in the process.

Across the clearing, the boys stood frozen, staring at him with astonishment. Then the handsomest, best dressed of the lot stepped forward and pointed at Dain.

"A thief!" he called out. "Sir Los, he's stealing my horse!" With shouts, the armed men drew their swords and came rushing at Dain. He was busy trying to escape from the horse, which sought to trample him, but a shrill whistle from the boy in the blue, fur-trimmed tunic swung the horse away from him. It trotted to its master, and Dain jumped to his feet and ran. At that moment, two more riders-one clad in chain mail and green surcoat, the other in plain green wool, with a horn slung across his barrel chest and a pointed cap on his head-galloped into the clearing between Dain and his pursuers. The men swore at each other, while the boys ran to mount up. The dogs milled and circled, barking.

"It's an eld!" someone shouted in a shrill voice.

"It's a thief!" said someone else.

"Get him!"

One of the men bore down on Dain, but he ducked to one side, evading swing, and scrambled away.

He dived into a briar thicket where the horseman couldn't follow. Burrowing deep, Dain scratched his hands and face and snagged his clothing. Squinting his eyes to protect them, he wiggled deeper into the thicket, his heart pounding too fast, his breath coming quick and short. There was no time to curse the horse that had turned on him, no time to tell himself he should have just stolen the food and been satisfied.

The Mandrians valued their horses the way dwarves valued their treasures. He was in for it now.

"Dogs, go't" came the command, and with yelping barks the brutes came after Dain the same way they'd coursed the stag.

Hearing one dog bay over the noise of the others, Dain felt a chill go through the marrow of his bones.

He was now their prey, their quarry, and the dogs would run him until they caught him and tore him apart.

With a little sob, he burst clear of the briars on the other side, gaining himself a few seconds of time, and ran for his life. Dodging and darting on foot, unable to take cover in an underground burrow because the dogs would only dig him out, he ran with all the fleetness he possessed. Dogs and horses drew ever closer, and only his quick wits and sudden changes of direction kept him ahead of them.

His best chance of escape was to head deep into the forest, but his pursuers seemed to know what he would try. They kept driving him the wrong way, pushing him more and more toward the west. He tried to double back and slip between them, knowing that the depths of the Dark Forest would save him. But an arrow hit him, slicing through the meat of his forearm, just below his elbow. The pain came swift and sharp. He stumbled and fell, then rolled desperately back onto his feet while one of the boys shouted, "I hit him! Did your highness see? My arrow caught him."

Clamping his left hand on his bleeding arm, Dain struggled on, but by then a horse and rider blocked his path east. Dain turned west yet again, cursing to himself and wishing he had the powers of a sorcerel that would char them to ashes. He called on Fim and Rod, dour G.o.ds of the dwarves, to bring a war party of Bnen forth to attack these trespa.s.sing Mandrians, but the dwarf G.o.ds did not hear the prayers of an eldin boy. No one interceded. No one rescued him. He had only his wits and his nimbleness, and all the while his pursuers kept maneuvering him the wrong way, until the dense thickets grew spa.r.s.e and the trees spread apart, thinning into open country.

Beyond the edge of the forest, Dain could see a wide, empty marshland-all water and sky. On the horizon, a black rim of trees stood along the opposite side of the river, too far away to offer him any hope. Out there in the open, he could not outrun them. They would hunt him down and kill him without mercy, the same way they'd killed the stag.

For sport, with no need for meat or survival.

He was pagan, with pagan blood. They would not let him go- With his breath sobbing in his throat, he dropped down into a briar-choked gully where the horses couldn't go. He doubled back, ducking low to keep himself hidden beneath the canopy of shtac and perlimon saplings growing thick on the banks. Pushing apart their intertwined branches, the smell damp crimson and orange-gold leaves thick in his nostrils he splashed through a trickle of ankle-deep water and ran along the course to throw the dogs off his scent. Then he dived into a stand of russet-leaved harlberries and crouched low and still, making no sound or movement, even to breathe deeply while the riders cantered past him, up on the bank of the gully. He was a hare, his clothing the dappled color of bark and leaves, his hair dark, his pale skin dark enough to blend with the land. Blood from his wounded oozed between his fingers. He could smell it, hot and coppery. He feared the dogs would smell it too.

When the riders went past him, he waited a little while, then scuttled out from beneath the bush and went on until the gully ended and he had to climb out. But ahead of him, blocking the way back into the Dark forest, was one of the guards, the oldest and wiliest of them, gaze sweeping the area without mercy, his drawn sword silver in his hand.

Dain hissed softly, cursing the man in his heart, and slithered back unseen down the damp, leaf-strewn bank of the gully, retraced his steps until the gully grew shallow and wide, opening to the bank of marsh.

Ahead of him lay open country, a a of mud, water, and weeds with a river flowing beyond. The boys milled about on the bank with their sleek horses lathered and steaming. The dogs whined and snuffled, casting back and forth for the scent they'd lost. Careful to stay upwind, Dain crept along behind the boys and angled his way into the marsh unseen.

When he stepped into the water, he nearly yelped aloud was icy cold, so cold it burned. He plunged forward as fast he could without splashing until he reached the freshly reeds growing in the water.Shivering and breathing hard, he struggled through them, bruising his feet on the sharp stalks by the cutters. Reaching some taller, uncut reeds, he crouched there, his head level with their tops. His lungs burned in his chest; his muscles ached with exhaustion. Clouds as dirty as undyed wool scudded low over the marsh. No wind blew, but the cold air was numbing enough. With his breath fogging about him, Dain waited a moment, then waded through the knee-deep water even farther into the reeds and crouched again. Constant shivers ran through him, as much from fear as from cold. He clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering. He had to be silent now, as still and silent as the mist lying upon the river that flowed behind him. The wound in his right forearm dripped pale blood into the water. He held his arm beneath the surface in hopes of stanching the bleeding and hiding the smell from the dogs.

The coldness of the water burned his skin and raised huge goose b.u.mps across his body. Sucking in his belly, he bowed his head and let quick breaths hiss in and out through his gritted teeth. His pulse thumped so fast it bruised his throat. His mind was wide open, receiving the crimson bloodl.u.s.t of the dogs-chaseIchaseIchase; killIkillIkill-and the flick, flick, flick of men-minds, blurs of thoughts, shapes, and colors he could barely shut out. A whimper came from between his jaws. He held his breath, savagely starving himself for air. He'd already made enough mistakes today. No need now to lead them right to him because he could not hold his fear silent. To his right he saw a great levee built of dirt to hold the marsh back. A road paved with stone topped the levee, which curved to accommodate the lazy bend of river. Beyond, trees stood silhouetted against the dirty sky. Spangled in colors of gold, scarlet, and rust, most of them were dropping their leaves. Distant, thin spirals of smoke rose into the sky. A village, he thought, feeling a faint measure of hope. If he could get there, get to the smithy and call himself Jorb's apprentice, he might find refuge of a sort. Most Mandrians were suspicious of strangers, let alone those of his kind, and were inclined to toss those of the bent eye into the nearest horse trough or stream, for despite their priests and large churches, the old beliefs of Mandria claimed that those of pagan blood melted in water.

Dain glanced down at the muddy water enclosing him at the rib line and grimaced. He wished at this moment that the superst.i.tion were true. Melting would be a more merciful end than what the hunters planned for him. He tried to calm himself. Jorb always said no good came of panic. He understood now that he'd tried to steal a war-trained horse, one taught not to let a stranger mount it. Even had he it into the forest, he could never have gotten on its back without being thrown. It would have been useless for his purposes. Well, the mistake had been an honest one. It was past. He set it aside and wasted no more thought on self-recrimination. Only let these hunters go, he thought impatiently, holding his muscles rigid against the shivers which racked him. Let them go before he froze to death in this icy water. Keebacks perching in a nearby copse of trees on the rose with a sudden flurry of wings. Their harsh squawking startled Dain. A cry choked in his throat, and he nearly burst his miserable hiding place on the force of their instinct. But he could not run another step. His legs were spent, muscles cramped and trembling. His stomach felt as though it had been knotted and was being drawn up by slow degree; his throat to choke him. He crouched lower in the icy water, his gaze on the boys still searching for him among the trees though at this distance he could not distinguish their wore could hear the frustration in their voices as they called to each other.

Dain grinned to himself, feeling his whole body shake. His toes had gone numb. He could barely feel his feet now. Clenching his jaw tight to keep his teeth from chattering, he watched his baffled pursuers and knew they hadn't expected him to actually come out here into the open.

Go away, he thought with all his might. But he was too and spent now to focus his thoughts enough to really persuade them.

"A track!" shouted the huntsman. "He took to the water!" Hoofbeats came thudding across the muddy banks of the marsh. A horse neighed as it floundered belly-deep in water. The dogs' noise changed note,and Dain stopped breathing, watched the dogs rush to the water's edge, only to leap 1 With lolling tongues and waving tails, they barked in his direction as though they could see him in his paltry hiding place. The riders rode back and forth, discussing the matter. Go away, Dain thought fiercely while the terrible numbness crept up his legs. His strength was waning. He did not think he could hold himself crouched there and still in the freezing water much longer.

Two of the dogs jumped into the water, then scrambled out to shake themselves and whine at their masters.

For an instant the sun broke through the storm clouds to shine upon supple leather, velvets, and fur-trimmed caps. It tipped the hunting spears with gold. "He's gone to the water, right enough," said one of the men in chain mail. His gnarled voice carried clearly across the marsh. "Morde a day, but he's sly as a vixlet. Yer highness's fine dogs cannae catch scent in yon marsh." The boy he spoke to s.n.a.t.c.hed off his cap to reveal hair that shone as bright as gold coin. It was the handsome one, the boy whose horse Dain had tried to steal. "I'm aware of that," he said angrily. His voice rang out in a clear tenor, like the song of crystal. "But he's not gone far. He's spilled enough of his cursed white blood to weaken him. I'll wager a gold dreit he's out there in those very reeds now, shivering and trying to cast a spell on us.

Thum! Mierre! Attend me, both of you. What say you to it?"

Dain shrank even lower in the water. His eyes were wide and unblinking, focused on nothing save the hunters. His heart thudded harder than ever. Why had fate crossed his path with that of a prince? And G.o.ds, this prince guessed his intentions too plainly.

The youth called Thum made no answer to the prince's call, but the other one-burly in the shoulders and moon-faced-kicked his mount closer to his prince. They faced each other at the water's edge, their bodies slack in the saddle while their horses drank. Overhead, the keebacks sailed the skies, crying out their harsh call. In the distance, a bell began to ring, and another hunting horn blew.

"Hear that?" Thum said. "We're being called in."

The others ignored him.

"I say aye, my prince," the boy called Mierre answered. "Our quarry's nearby, all right. The marsh is narrow this way between the road and the river. If he goes on he'll have to swim the river, and I doubt he can do that. Not after the run he's had."

"Cornered," the golden-haired prince said in satisfaction. "Prince Gavril," Thum said, his voice fine and clear. "It's to be a d.a.m.ned cold wetting, riding into that muck just to fish out a thief. A poor end to fine hunting. Let's leave the wretch to freeze and go back to the hold as we are bidden."

His sensible words gave Dain a trickle of hope.

"No!" Prince Gavril said. "I've not run my horse hard to go home now. If you're afraid of wet feet, go in and yourself fire. I'm not finished here." The boys glared at each other. Even at a short distance I could feel Thum's exasperation and Gavril's iron-hard determination.

"He's nothing, the poor wretch," Thum said quietly. "Not worth our trouble."

"He stole from me," Gavril said. "Such an offense cannot go unpunished." "He was after food, nothing more, I wager," Thum said refusing to back down. "He looked scrawny enough. Maybe a refugee from the clan wars." Mierre laughed. "He's an eld, you fool, not a dwarf, haven't you seen either before?" Thum's freckled face turned red. "A starving thief is not worth a flogging for failing to come in when we are called." Gavril pointed at him. "You," he said loudly and contemptuously, "are a fool. I fear no flogging. Lord Odfrey would not dare."

Thum's face turned even redder. He bowed low over his saddle, and Dain could feel the force of his angry embarrasment. "As my lord prince says," he replied curtly.

Gavril wheeled his horse away. "You and you," he said to the men, "spread yourselves along the bank.

Sir Los, go there. Mierre, you and Kaltienne stand ready to catch him when I flush him out. Thum, you are excused." The freckle-faced boy gave his prince a small salute wheeled his horse harshly around.

Spurring the animal with unnecessary force, he went galloping away, his horse's hooves throwing up big chunks of mud behind him. Mierre shrugged his burly shoulders and muttered something to Kaltienne, who laughed unkindly.

Prince Gavril raised a curved horn that he wore slung across his shoulders by a long leather cord. He blew a note that made the dogs howl. It pierced Dain's head. He clapped both hands to his ears in pain, and when the sound faded, taking his hands away, he found Gavril splashing halfway to his hiding place.

On the bank, the dogs milled and circled around the legs of the horses, the plumes of their tails waving proudly, while the riders spread themselves along the bank in readiness.

Dain shifted his feet in the water, feeling increasingly cornered. Behind him stretched the expanse of marsh, dotted with reeds and little hillocks of mud that gave way to the channel of the river. Out there, the water ran swift and deep. Dain knew he could not go that way, for the river's current would suck him under in a twinkling should he try to swim it.

Thia, he thought in despair. Forgive me. I have failed you. But Thia was too far away to hear him.

Would she wonder when he did not return tonight? Would she surface from her burning fever long enough to worry about him? Would she ever know of her abandonment as she slipped closer to death?

Would she have to go into the hands of the G.o.ds unshriven and unsung, lacking salt on her tongue to ease her journey into the third world? Would she die without his hand gripping hers, alone in the darkness? His grief was like an anvil in his chest, holding him down. Dain tried to stay in his hiding place, hoping that if he did not move he would remain unseen. However, the rational part of his mind knew that the uncut reeds provided too thin a cover to hide him for more than a few moments longer. If he jumped up, all would see him. He couldn't outrun the horse, even in the water. No, his only chance was to completely submerge himself in the shallow water and try to crawl to safety.

Breathing ... He needed a hollow reed, but there was no time to search for one. The reeds growing around him were green. Their centers would be full of a pale, fleshy substance. Fighting desperation, Dain crouched lower in the water. Gavril rode closer, urging his reluctant horse onward with little nudges of his spurs. By now, Dain could see the boy's white, set face, the dried streaks of blood still on his cheeks.

The look of murderous intent in his violet-blue eyes made Dain's blood run cold.

Those vivid blue eyes flashed over him and beyond, searching the marsh, then flashed back. They stared right at Dain and widened. It was as though the curtain of reeds had been swept aside, leaving Dain exposed. Time froze to a standstill in which Dain saw every detail of his pursuer, from the clenched knuckles of Gavril's rein hand, to the golden bracelet of royalty upon his wrist, to the purple st.i.tching on the chest strap of the horse. Gold and purple ... colors of the Mandrian king's household. Dain felt small and faint. Even when he'd tried to steal the horse, he hadn't noticed the colors, hadn't paid heed.

I am not your rightful prey! flashed his thoughts. Gavril winced. "Get out of my head, d.a.m.n you!" he shouted. He drew a short hunting javelin from his stirrup quiver and hurled it.