Her father was dead.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hannah remained with the Old Mage until Sir James bodily snatched her off of him and tossed her over his shoulder to carry her away. In the distance, she heard the horses of their attackers returning on the road. The pounding of their hooves grew. The archer in the darkness may have another arrow ready to fly at any time, or there may be more of them waiting their turn. She lost awareness of the danger as she wept for a father she had known for less than a full day.
Other pursuit sounded in the form of two dogs barking and howling. “I’ll take care of them,” the younger guard said, reaching for the bow the older one carried in his free hand. That left Sir James to grab Hannah and throw her over his shoulder like a sack of flour. She looked at the younger guard. They passed a look between them. She understood she wouldn’t see him again if they caught him.
Hannah bounced along scared but fighting any emotion. She put up as little fight as any ever had, and yet despite the danger, her tears returned again and again.
Not long after, one of the dogs howled painfully, then quieted. The second dog no longer barked either. To her surprise, the younger guard again caught up with them, shy two arrows. “Want me to carry her for a while?”
“I got her,” the other grunted. “You watch our backs.”
They rushed on through the night, across fields, streams, and one small river. The old guard ran so long and so hard Hannah’s stomach couldn’t take more pounding. She said, “Put me down.”
He slid her off his shoulder and fell to his knees, wheezing for each breath. Hannah used the time to look around. The crescent moon had risen, and she saw they were on the slope of a long hillside. Beyond rose another hill, but she saw no sign of the road, lantern, house, or field cleared by people.
The guard started to stand, and she grabbed his arm and helped him up. His eyes glazed, and she felt tiny tremors under his skin where she touched him. While she had pitied herself and rested over his shoulder, the man had almost run himself to death. Hannah had heard Cleanup tell tales of dedicated horses doing the same.
“Let me carry some of your things.”
He stood taller as if the words insulted him. “I’ll carry them. You just try to keep up with me, or I’ll have you back over my shoulder.”
The words came staccato, almost one at a time, between his panting. However, he managed to stay on his feet and began walking. Hannah followed, and as she convinced herself of how good she was at keeping up, he caught his second breath. His pace increased, and she struggled to maintain the same speed.
A sound behind them drew her attention. Her hand found her knife, and she hissed a warning to Sir James as she spun to face whatever approached. The young guard came into view and gave a half-wave as he stumbled forward.
“He’s not just tired,” she said. “I think he’s hurt.”
They rushed to him, finding an arrow high up on his back where he couldn’t reach it, and he hadn’t had time to try. Sir James reached out and snapped it off, leaving almost half the arrow inside. A stream of blood soaked his left thigh where another arrow left a round hole in his pants leg. He must have pulled that one out himself.
The old guard threw him over his shoulder like he’d carried Hannah. He looked at her, “Take his bow and a few arrows. Stay behind us and let an arrow fly at anything you see. If nothing else, that might slow them.”
Hannah looked at the weapon in her hand and the arrows in the other. She had never held either, but she had watched the palace guards practice. How hard could it be?
She followed them at a distance, never so far she would lose sight, but far enough to hear anyone crashing through the forest after them. The old guard moved slowly. At a ridge he and his cargo disappeared. She raced forward.
They were at the bottom of a stream bed. The banks stood taller than her head. A recent flood had torn away at the bank, and a massive tree fell exposing the roots. The two men were almost there, and when they reached it, he placed the injured young one gently on the ground.
Sir James said, “Hannah, can you rip my shirt into strips and wet them in the water?”
She accepted the proffered shirt and rushed to the water. She cut the sleeves off with her knife and ripped them into several strips before wetting them. When she returned to the pair of guards, the younger one lay on the ground, breathing in shallow breaths, sweat coating his body.
She handed Sir James the strips, and he knelt and wrapped the wound on the leg with the first strip. He folded a pad and slipped it under the wrapping where the wound began to bleed again. He examined the broken arrow and muttered, “Maybe at dawn we can do something about this.”
“You’re going to leave it in there?” Hannah asked, her anger rising. “I can pull it out.”
“No. Do that and he’ll die on us. He’s already lost too much blood.”
“So you’re going to leave that arrow stuck in him?”
“It’s the best way. It will help plug the hole.”
Hannah went to her knees in the sand beside the wounded man. His eyes watched her, and he whispered, “Water.”
She ran back to the edge of the river, but found she had nothing that would carry water. She stripped off her smock and used it to soak up water, then rushed it to the injured guard and dribbled it into his mouth. “More?”
The merest nod of his head sent her back to the river two more times. His eyelids closed, and she held her cheek next to his mouth to feel his breath, shallow but regular. She wore no smock, had no blanket or coat, and the night chill closed in about her. Sir James returned from making a wide circle around them, searching for enemies. From the look on his face, Hannah decided she wouldn’t want to be one of them if he found any. After making sure Hannah had things in hand, he left again.
Her smock hung over a branch to dry as well as it could in the night air, but if he woke and wanted more water, she’d soak it again. A shiver took her by surprise. Then another, and she realized how cold the night had become. Her smock was too wet and cold to wear, the carriage held blankets and extra clothing, but by now their pursuers must have found it. The danger was too great for a fire.
She wrapped her arms around herself and watched the younger guard until he died. She tugged and pulled at his limp body until he lay flat. She crossed his arms over his chest and wished him a safe journey. Then she stood and pulled the knife from her scabbard and dared any of the pursuers to come her way.
Sir James slid down the bank, took one look at the other guard, and nodded at how she’d placed him. “We have three less after us than a while ago, but it’s time we put some distance between them and us.”
She nodded, shivered again, and stood ready to follow.
“I’ll get his shirt,” Sir James said.
“No. I won’t wear it.”
Sir James paused, then turned away as he gently removed the shirt from the other guard and placed his arms crossed over his chest again. “You will. I cannot have you die of cold tonight. If we move fast, your body will warm. You’ll wear his shirt with no argument.”
She cast one last look at the other guard and nodded. Sir James also looked one last time and even in the dim moonlight, she saw the glint of the tear in his eye and the prayer he muttered for the other knight. She grabbed her wet smock and carried it.
“Let me know if I’m moving too fast,” he said over his shoulder. The knight climbed down the stream’s banks to where the sides of the stream were low. After a pause at the top to make sure they were alone, he broke into a sort of ground-eating trot, faster than a walk, slower than running. They stayed away from the thick of the forest as they followed the stream, but were prepared to duck under cover of the trees at any time.