"Messengers for the Spearthrower!" Most jumped back but one brighter man realized that
something was amiss when he saw the fair-haired passenger.
He swiped at Ramil with his spear, only to be kicked in the head by Gordoc.
A horn sounded up in the citadel. With dread, Ramil knew they were galloping towards trouble
at the main town gates. These were bound to be defended now that the alarm had been raised.
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As he feared, a group of soldiers waited with drawn swords and pikes, the front row kneeling in
the road to stop their flight. Ramil had not, however, reckoned on the warhorses. Trained for
combat, the stallions kicked out and reared, fearless of the blades, stamping a way through the
line of unfortunates who had been on duty. Gordoc reached from the saddle and lifted aside the
heavy bar locking the gates from the inside. With a roar he hurled it at the reinforcements
rushing from the guardhouse, knocking them over like ninepins.
The way clear before them, Ramil spurred his horse
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onwards. The blue roan streaked down the road, taking them beyond
bowshot from the wall. Heading north, the two horses ran towards the mountains for a mile,
passing through the checkpoints before the sleepy soldiers had a chance to react. Horns and
bells sounded in Felixholt as the garrison mobilized, soldiers shaken from their drunken stupor.
Taking advantage of a quiet stretch in the trees, Ramil steered his horse off the road and took to
the countryside, looping round to head south. He had long since decided that this was their only
hope of escape. North was where Fergox would look for them and was where he was massing
his troops. The
warhorses plunged through the woods and broke out into open fields. Ramil could hear the
snorts of the grey working hard to keep up so he knew Gordoc was still with them.
"Run, boy, run!" he urged his mount as the first flake fluttered from the sky.
The horses galloped on into the night, twin tracks in the white fields soon filled by the blessing
of a heavy fall of snow.
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Two hours later, Ramil judged they could risk a brief rest. Their steeds could not go much further
at this pace, burdened as they were, and he was worried about Tashi. He could hear her breath
coming in pained gasps as she pressed her hand to her wound to staunch the bleeding. He
spotted a wooden barn situated quite far from a farmhouse. There were no lights--it seemed as
if the
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inhabitants were asleep. It would have to do. Signalling to Gordoc, he directed his horse to slow
to a walk.
"Can you hold yourself in the saddle, Tashi?" he whispered.
She nodded.
Throwing the reins to Gordoc, he slid off the horse and crept to the side of the barn. It was not
unknown for farm workers to sleep in such buildings. He had to hope this farmer was kinder to
his men in winter. He unbarred the door and peered inside. The smell of cows hit him: a whole
herd was sheltering on the ground floor. Climbing up into the hayloft he paused, waiting for his
eyes to adjust to the poor light. It was empty of inhabitants, apart from a cool-eyed owl up in the
rafters. He returned quickly to his companions.
"All clear. We have about an hour or two, I guess, until the farmer stirs--
longer maybe if they were celebrating Midwinter tonight. Let's see to the Princess and the
horses."
The cows made no fuss as Ramil led the horses to their trough for a well-earned drink and a
share of the fodder. Gordoc carried Tashi up to the hayloft and laid her on a pile of straw. Ramil
joined him. They both looked down at Tashi who had her eyes closed, fighting the pain.
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"And what was all that about, Your Highness?" Ramil muttered angrily as he assessed the
wound. The arrow had passed through her robe and into the fleshy part of her leg. From the
limited amount of blood, he guessed it had missed the major artery but it had done enough
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damage. He ripped the cloth away from the shaft. "I told you it was too dangerous but you had
to dance around like that and scare us all!"
"You should've listened to him, my pretty," Gordoc said sorrowfully. He put the leather strap of his belt between her teeth for her to bite down. Ramil knew he was going to make the wound
worse drawing out the arrowhead, but they could not leave it there to fester. Better to be quick.
Tashi cried out as he tugged the barbed points free; it hurt even more than when the arrow had
first entered. Her leg began to bleed again. Ramil ripped up the black robe to put pressure on
the wound, then bandaged it tightly. The sharp pain receded, leaving a dul insistent ache.
"Sloppy shot," Ramil remarked, able to smile now that the worst was over.
"Hit nothing vital. And now I've ruined your robes, you'd better put these on."
He pulled some warmer clothes out of his bundle: shirt, leggings, thick jacket and scarf. "Sorry I couldn't find any shoes your size, but there are some woollen socks that'll do while we ride."
Gordoc helped Tashi lift herself up so she could slip the leggings on under her robe, then the two
men turned their backs as she changed into the shirt and jacket. The effort almost made her
swoon as every movement
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reawakened the pain in her leg, but she knew it was worth it once she began to feel warmth.
She lay back on the straw gratefully, covering herself with the remnants of the penitent's robe.
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Ramil knelt beside her and brushed her hair off her forehead gently. His heart twisted with
concern: she looked so pale and fragile. "Rest now, Your Highness. We've got to be gone before
the sun's up."
Tashi nodded and fell immediately into a deep sleep, feeling safe for the first time in weeks.
Moving before dawn, the three travellers spent the rest of that day riding through the barren
countryside of Brigard, steering due south. Ramil and Gordoc spoke only briefly, the attention of
both devoted to putting as much distance between them and Felixholt as they could. Tashi said
nothing at all, sunk far into herself, allowing the others to make decisions for her.
Fortunately for Ramil, Gordoc knew the land around these parts well, having travelled them
many times in the past with Orboyd's circus.
"We should make for the Fens," he advised. "It's a wild place. Fergox's rule is felt only weakly there. We'll be able to hide until she is fit to ride further."
They reached the outlying regions of the Fens by evening, entering a strange empty landscape
with stands of tall bulrushes and networks of ditches, slow going for the horses. The wind cut
through their clothes with a biting edge.
"We can't spend the night outside," Ramil told Gordoc. "Do you know somewhere we can stay?"
The big man wiped a droplet from his nose with his sleeve. "Aye. There's a windmill not far from
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here. The keeper used to let the circus stop in his yard.
He may let us stay if we pay him well."
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Ramil shook his head. "I've no money, and I doubt the priests left Tashi with any gold."
Gordoc chuckled and patted his pockets. "But I, young Prince, have my winnings from last night
on me. You can thank the weak-armed soldiers of the Spearthrower for that."
The windmill sat at the head of a drainage ditch, a dark cross against the night sky, its purpose to