CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

MATTHIEU SCRAMBLED THROUGH the scrubby brush. He ran at an angle, away from the road and back toward Turga’s. There it was—the big outcropping of rock.

“Gabrielle!” She was sitting with Madeleine’s head in her lap, but thank the gods not in her spooky trance.

“Matthieu, what on—”

“I need the mule. There’s no time to explain. They’re in trouble down there, and I have an idea. Gabrielle, just trust me—it’s not that dangerous, and it might help. But it has to be now.”

Uncertain green eyes rested on him while Matthieu squirmed with impatience. Then they cleared, and Gabrielle nodded.

“Go then. But for pity’s sake, Matthieu, be careful.”

He untied the mule and began urging her through the woods. She was happy to follow—she didn’t like this rough country and sensed the road ahead. Matthieu aimed to reach it just ahead of the hairpin turn. He should be able to walk right onto it and still be out of sight.

He gave a quick glance up and down as they reached the roadside, but there was no time for real caution. If there were more men in wait there, they were scuppered anyway. He led the mule into the road, faced her toward the caravan and skirted around to her back end.

“Sorry, girl,” he murmured. And quickly, before he could get cold feet, he drew his sword and stabbed her in the flank.

Searing pain branded his thigh. He sprawled in the dust, clutching his leg to his chest, while behind his eyes the great black shape of a hoofprint flared and throbbed.

“Serves me right,” he croaked.

But his plan, such as it was, had worked. The mule had bolted down the road in a lather. Maybe she would actually crash into them. Matthieu hoped so. He hoped it wasn’t too late to matter.

He hoped his leg still worked.

DOMINIC KEPT HIS EYES trained on the approaching horseman while he hefted the weight of the knife in his hand. It was years since he had practiced knife-throwing and never with a blade like this. It was slim, beautifully balanced, but longer than he was used to. That would mean slower rotations—so he would need a little more distance to get a stick. And he needed to get his throw in ahead of the spear cast. His fingers closed down into the hammer grip that General Fortin had taught him. He would aim at the broadest part of the horse’s neck. Harder to miss.

The Tarzine coming at him hefted the spear back in preparation for his throw. Dominic’s arm swung up. A screaming bray shattered the air, a large brown shape shot clattering and skidding around the bend, and the Tarzine’s taut features dissolved into slack-mouthed surprise. A mule—their mule—streaming blood and already out of control from the sharp turn, screamed again in panic as it saw the obstacles before it, tried to swerve, slewed its back end into the Tarzine’s horse and lashed out with a frightened kick. The Tarzine yelled in pain and clutched at his calf—and Dominic had his chance.

He eyeballed the distance, took two quick steps back and snapped his arm in a smooth arc. The knife sailed away, made two lazy turns and sank into the horse’s broad neck.

The horse collapsed at the knee and pitched forward. Dominic’s sword was at the Tarzine’s throat before the poor beast came to rest. He hauled the man off the saddle and shoved him up against the wagon with the long blade pressed across his neck.

Over his own heavy breathing, he heard the scuffle and grunt of fighting. Derkh and Féolan had followed his lead, but they had not had so good an opening as he.

This time there was no avoiding it; he would have to kill the man in cold blood. He couldn’t stand here waiting while his friends were hard pressed.

Gritting his teeth, he took a firm, two-handed grip on his sword.

“Wait! I call them off.”

Dominic stared, his brain not quite believing his ears.

“You speak Krylaise?”

The man gave a tiny careful nod around the sword. “I stop them.”

Easing back just slightly on the pressure, Dominic said, “Do it.”

A BRIGHT BLAZING sun popped over the eastern tree line and washed the world in lavish pink as Dominic hoisted Matthieu onto Gabrielle’s horse and settled him in front of his aunt. There were enough horses that the boy could have ridden alone, but the swollen livid lump on his thigh argued against it. Dominic wanted badly to have Matthieu on his own horse, but Derkh had pointed out that would leave only one trained fighter unencumbered. Madeleine rode with Féolan though Gabrielle was loath to give her up. The girl was not much smaller than her aunt, too heavy for Gabrielle to support securely at a gallop.

Dominic sent the Tarzines down the road on foot, their wounded man slung over the mule.

The only debate was about what to do with the extra horse. Dom was not anxious to bring it along—a tether would be nothing but a hindrance in case of attack—nor did he want to provide the Tarzines with swift transportation back to Turga. It would certainly overtake them if he set it free.

In the end, they waited until the Tarzines were well away, hobbled the horse and left it to make its slow way home.

PUSHING THE HORSES, but not exhausting them, they were able to make the journey from Rath Turga to Niz Hana in one long hard day. It was not fast enough for Gabrielle’s liking; she could feel Madeleine weakening with each slow mile and fretted against the lazy dogleg road that looped inland before angling back to the coast. Once, at a nameless crossroads settlement, Dominic called a halt to buy bread and ale at the tiny market. Gabrielle spent every minute of their brief stop sitting with Madeleine, struggling to check the advances the disease had made through the morning. Féolan’s efforts to lend Madeleine strength were helping, but they were no substitute for Gabrielle’s powers.

She had no appetite for the rough round of bread Féolan pressed on her, but she chewed it dutifully as they traveled. “Stoke your fire,” she remembered her father urging. “No heat without fuel.”

They all quickened with hope as their road branched left, back toward the coast. Surely if they had not been overtaken by now, they would reach Niz Hana safely. The road sloped downhill, gradually taking them out of the dry uplands and into the green low pocket of lusher country that surrounded the harbor town.

Matthieu whooped in triumph as they passed through the town gates, the sound so infectious that everyone but Derkh had to laugh. Derkh was somber, his dark brows creased. Gabrielle caught a trace, like a scent carried on the wind, of the stew of feelings behind his frown: fear, loss, anger, determination. Love. He was deeply, irrevocably in love with Yolenka, she realized, and she felt her own gust of anger against the Tarzine woman. What was she playing at? If she wanted to stay in her own homeland there was no blame to it, but to disappear without a word of explanation...

They were at the harbor now, and there was the ship at the end of the pier, waiting as promised. Had anything ever looked so lovely as that ship? She would settle Madeleine into the captain’s room and get to work undisturbed and heal her niece, and the ship would carry them home.