“If he betrays us—”

“Then you have my permission to draw and quarter him,” Lord Odfrey said grimly.  He glanced back at Dain, who sat very still and wary at his back now. “That is,” the chevard added, “after I take off his head. Still eager to save men who are strangers to you, boy?”

Dain swallowed hard, but he knew he could not waver now, before this challenge.  “The Bnen killed my family. If I can bring them harm by leading your men to them, I will.” He pointed again. “That way, lord.”

The chevard turned his gaze on Sir Roye, who backed his mount out of his master’s way. Lord Odfrey spurred his horse, and they leaped away in a gallop.  The horse’s mind was a dim flicker of go/go/go. Grinning with eagerness, Dain tipped back his head to savor the rush of wind against his face. This was like flying. He jounced along, as high as the tree branches, clinging to the back of the chevard’s saddle. The rhythmic thunder of the army’s hoofbeats filled his ears.

He pointed the way, and the column of riders arrowed into the Dark Forest as fast as the snarled undergrowth would allow. The horses snorted their white breath and ran tirelessly. Leaves were falling, as golden as bright coins, and the small, furry denizens of the forest fled to their dens at the noisy passage of horses and riders. Always, Dain was questing with his mind, seeking the Bnen raiders.

Some remained at the clearing. The rest were scattered. He murmured this in Lord Odfrey’s ear, and the chevard nodded.

“The clearing first,” he said.

They crossed a road no wider than a trail that wound through the ever-thickening trees. Although a weak, wintry sun shone this day, it barely penetrated the canopy overhead. Here and there, pale shafts of light pierced down to the springy mold underfoot. Vines looped low from branches, creating hazards of their own. The riders slowed down to a trot, ducking vines and branches, sometimes halting to cut their way through.

“This,” Sir Roye muttered behind the chevard’s horse, “is why we don’t bring cavalry into the Dark Forest.”

Dain ignored him, as did the chevard. “There,” Dain whispered, pointing at the clearing ahead. His keen eyes, long accustomed to picking out the movement of a quarry from the trembling of leaves, saw a group of the dwarves working to pile something in the middle of the clearing. The bonfire blazed less brightly than earlier. He wondered if the wise-sayers had succeeded in bringing their spell to life. Sniffing suspiciously, he detected no dark magic.  The chevard drew his sword, as did Sir Roye and the riders behind them. “This is their smallest force,” the chevard said in a soft voice. “Strike quick and hard.  We’ve more work to do elsewhere.”

“My lord,” asked a cultured voice from among the men. “What degree of mercy do we show?”

Growls of protest rose up, but a glare from Lord Odfrey silenced them all. “No mercy,” he said, and spurred his horse forward.

Behind him rose a howling battle cry such as Dain had never heard before. It was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. He realized he was being hurtled into battle without arms or weapons, but at that moment he felt immortal and did not care.

He drew his own dagger, gripping the back of the chevard’s saddle with his other hand. Lifting his own voice, he cried out Thia’s name, and rode the galloping charger into the clearing for blood and battle, seeking her vengeance.  By the time they burst upon the dwarves, the twenty or so Bnen there had thrown down the loot they were stacking in piles and reached for their war axes.  Gathering themselves into a knot with their backs guarded, they tried to withstand the initial rush of the riders, but they were too few.  Lord Odfrey did not swerve around them as Dain expected him to. Instead, he set his charger straight at the enemy and rode right into their midst and over the top of them. Several dwarves were trampled beneath the charger’s hooves, their screams blending with the shouts and battle cries of the others. Hearing a skull crunch and shatter, Dain swallowed hard and leaned down to swipe the enemy with his dagger. He missed his mark as the charger leaped sideways. Then there came a great whistling whoosh of air as Lord Odfrey’s long broadsword swung and sent a Bnen head flipping in an arc to bounce and tumble on the ground.  Blood from the headless dwarf spurted across Dain’s leg, then the charger was on the other side of the clustered dwarves. The horse swung around without any command. Dain noticed that the reins were lying slack on the horse’s heavy neck.  Both of Lord Odfrey’s hands gripped the long hilt of his broadsword. His shoulders bunched with effort as he lifted and swung again.  Another dwarf went down, cleaved in two. From the other side, Sir Roye was hacking and cursing steadily.

The dwarves broke ranks and scattered. In a few minutes, all of them lay dead, even the wise-sayers. One of the knights stirred among the loot with the tip of his spear and brought up a child’s rag doll impaled on the end of it.  “These are our raiders, sure enough,” Lord Odfrey said grimly. Raising his visor, he glanced around at Dain. “Is this all of them?” “Nay, there are eighty or so more,” Dain answered breathlessly. Brief though it had been, this battle had filled his mind with scenes of shock and slaughter. He wanted more. “They’re coming.”

Lord Odfrey exchanged a glance with Sir Roye. “Hard to maneuver in the trees.

Still, the advantage is ours. Give the orders.”

Sir Roye wheeled his horse around and bawled out commands. The knights scattered and rode out of the clearing in various directions. In the distance, a drum began to pound. Dain heard it before Lord Odfrey did. Both of them tensed.  “Ah,” Lord Odfrey said quietly. He settled himself deeper in the saddle and gathered his reins. “Lead me to where you left Nocine and the others, boy.” On the way to the gully, they encountered two more attacking parties of dwarves.  The Mandrian knights had all the advantages of being on horseback and having spears and broadswords. The dwarves were fearless, ferocious, and used both arrows and axes, hesitating not to attack horses as well as men. But the chargers were trained fighters, rearing and trampling with deadly forefeet.  Both times Lord Odfrey fought his way through, with Sir Roye sticking grimly to his side. Two other knights also rode close, protecting the chevard.  Leaving dead or dying dwarves behind them, they rode on in the direction Dain showed them. Before he reached the gully, however, he knew his spell had failed.  Dismay swept his heart, followed by exasperation. The two saplings that should have been standing in the bottom of the gully were gone. Only the real stands of crimson-leaved shtac remained, along with the briars and the clumps of perlimon laden with bright orange globes of intensely sour fruit. It took a hard frost to ripen perlimon, and even then the fruit was often too tart to enjoy. Dain stared into the gully while the charger pawed the edge restlessly.  “Well?” Lord Odfrey asked in a harsh voice.

“They did not stay,” Dain said, wondering what had become of the men. “I told them they would be safe if they—” He broke off, feeling the knights’ suspicion gathering around him like a net.  “No cover to hide in here,” Sir Roye said, glaring at Dain with his yellow eyes.