“There’s a trick to it,” Gar wheezed. “There sure is,” Dirk said darkly.
Gar grunted again as he pushed the stone over the edge. It rolled downhill faster and faster, landing with a dull thud.
“Rolled halfway up the other side and rolled down again,” Gar panted with satisfaction as he came up to them. “It wiped out our tracks on the way down—and should cause them a little trouble getting past it.”
“Yes, if no one there is smart enough to realize we pushed it!” Dirk snapped.
Cort nodded. “It will show them where we left the gully.”
Gar looked surprised, then crestfallen.
“At least the hounds won’t have a trail to follow,” Dirk sighed. “Come on! If you can run, do. If you can’t, jog!”
They set off toward the city while the sky reddened behind them. They were halfway there before the belling began.
“Boulder didn’t fool ‘em for long,” Dirk grunted. “Run!”
The hounds grew louder, and hooves drummed, oddly muffled by the mist. The three fugitives stumbled wearily on, eyes fixed on the wall ahead, none able to spare breath to cheer the others on. The hoofbeats grew louder and louder. Glancing back, Cort saw riders coming out of the mist a hundred yards behind. “Run!” he shouted, and sprinted hard.
The hoofbeats came faster.
“Hello the wall!” Dirk cried. “Sanctuary! Help! Save us!”
“We were your guests!” Cort shouted.
“These riders are the men you banished!” Gar bellowed.
Figures appeared atop the wall, staring, then raising bows. One sprinted off along the battlements. The others weighed the sight, then pointed their arrows upward and loosed. Cort cried out in despair—but the arrows arced over their heads and down, thudding into the earth in a line between hunters and hunted.
“They recognized us!” Dirk cried in jubilation. The Hawks reined in, shouting in alarm. On the wail, a voice barked orders, and the gate swung open. The companions cried out in relief and thanks and forced themselves into one final, stumbling run. The Hawks shouted again, but in anger now, and spurred their horses.
Another line of arrows fell, these right beside them and in front of their mounts. Horses reared, shying from the swift points, and horsemen bellowed.
The companions pounded through the gate. A voice shouted atop the wall, and the great panels began to shut. The Hawks howled in rage and frustration and galloped toward the gate, their spears high.
Another volley of arrows stitched a line in front of them.
This time they took the warning; they sheered off and rode away, turning back to shake their fists with angry shouts.
The gates shut with a boom, and the great bar dropped across them. The three companions fell to the ground and lay or knelt, heaving great gulps of air. The officer of the day came down from the wall and knelt by Gar. “They were waiting for you, hey?”
Gar could only wheeze and nod.
“What of the rest of your men?” the officer asked, his face somber.
“I sent them back by another route,” Cort gasped.
The officer turned to him, surprised. “Won’t they have been slain?”
“No,” Gar panted, “because … we found out … they’re only after me.”
The officer stared at him in alarm, and Dirk didn’t need to be a mind reader to see the unspoken exclamation: Throw him out! But he didn’t say so, for which Dirk was unreasonably grateful.
Then his reason arrived with a flurry of hooves and a cry from the heart.
CHAPTER 18
Looking up, Dirk saw an escort of soldiers surrounding Magda, all reining in. She swung down from her horse and ran to him, hair disheveled, gown very obviously the first thing that came to hand. Dirk could only think, So this is what she looks like first thing in the morning, and found himself wishing he could be there to see the sight for years to come. He shoved himself to his feet, arms wide to catch her.
Magda threw herself into his arms and planted a long, delirious kiss on his lips. When she shoved herself away, she demanded, “Have they hurt you?”
“Nothing that won’t heal in a few days.” Dirk panted. After all, he hadn’t caught his breath the first time.
“If they had slain you, I would have warred on the Hawk Company!” Magda told him, her voice hinting at massacres. “If they dare come against you again, I will slay them all, even if it means my death!”
“No!” Dirk pressed both her hands between his own. “I don’t want your death, I want your life! With mine!”
She stared, suddenly trembling. “I don’t think you meant that as it sounded, sir.”
“I think I did,” Dirk said slowly.
She swayed toward him, eyelids drooping, and their kiss was even longer. When it ended, Dirk held her at arm’s length and said, very seriously, “No matter what happens, you have to live!”
“Then I must go.”
Turning, they saw Gar looming over them like Fate, his face somber.
“Not a word of it!” Magda snapped. “The friend of my friend is mine, too! You shall stay, and we shall fight to the last for you!”
“I will not have the deaths of a whole city on my conscience,” Gar told her, “nor of you and Dirk, when you might be beginning a whole life of joy. I’ll only ask that you give me a horse, preferably your biggest.”
Dirk turned to her, his heart wrenching. “Please understand. I have to go with him, no matter how much I want to stay with you. I can’t let him face them alone.”
“Nor can I,” she said, chin firming with stubbornness. She turned back to Gar. “I will not risk this man for your noble wish of death! You must stay and live!”
“And how many of your people will die?” Gar demanded.
“Few or none!” Magda looked around at her officers and saw the same resolve on their faces. She turned back to Gar. “It’s too late in any event. If we give you up now, the Hawk Company will think us weak, and ripe for the taking—and like as not, they’ll league with several other mercenary companies. All their captains dream of becoming bosses in their own right, and will see Quilichen as their chance!”
“That’s true,” Cort said grimly. Breath caught, he came to his feet and confronted Gar. “If you wish to save them, my friend, you had better think up a way to give them a quick victory.”
Four days later, a caravan appeared, heralded by the hoarse cries of the drivers as they urged their exhausted donkeys to one last effort. Their leader rode ahead of them, waving to the guards and crying, “Sanctuary!”
Gar was taking his turn as officer of the watch at the time, and trying to ignore the resentment of some of the troopers—not that he could blame them for it. The merchant was a welcome diversion. He looked down from the wall, then stared. “Master Ralke?”
“Gar Pike!” The merchant stared back, completely amazed. “So this is why you didn’t return to guard us again!”
“Let him in,” Gar called to the gate guards. “I know him; he’s an honest man.”
Ralke rode in, dismounted, and hurried up to the wall as his caravan entered the city. Once inside, the donkeys slowed, stopped, and dug in their heels in sheer exhaustion. Ralke bustled up to Gar. “Beware, sergeant! There are two companies of mercenaries riding toward you, and a boss with all his bullies!”
“Two companies?” Gar stared. “The Hawks I know of—but who else?”
Ralke shook his head. “I saw them from the top of a ridge, and rode for the nearest town; I couldn’t tell who they were.”
“Serves me right for not listening,” Gar muttered. “I should be more suspicious.” Then, to Ralke, “So the Hawks have managed an alliance.” He made a mental note to investigate telepathically when he could find a few minutes alone. “Thank you for the news, merchant. I believe the castellan will welcome you and your men, but you’ll have to help in the defense.”