She kept sweeping, letting the rhythmic movement of her body relax her mind. She drifted, daydreaming as she worked, but Mordecai kept returning to her mind, until finally she saw him, as he must be now. He was riding hard, driving his horse through sparse woods and past large oaks. The sun was shining on his face, lighting his eyes up like sapphires while he laughed and rode on. He looked over his shoulder to see something, and then he was flying. The horse fell and she could see that it would never recover from such a fall. Mort flew from the courser’s back at the speed of a full gallop and flew head first into the trunk of a large oak.
The force had been so great his head had sheared the bark from the tree where it struck; while his body lay on the ground, blood running from his nose and mouth. He must surely be dead, yet even at that thought new hope arose. His eyes fluttered and she could see his chest heaving as he fought to draw air. The wind had been knocked out of him, or perhaps his ribs were broken, in either case it was a miracle he was alive. No one should survive such a blow, no one could survive such a blow. Magic! she thought, and she knew it had to be true.
Then she saw Devon Tremont approaching. He had dismounted and was walking up with a sinister gleam in his eye. He stopped when he reached Mordecai and she saw him speak, gloating over his fallen foe. Mordecai went rigid and his face began to turn red, while in the background Penny could hear a woman screaming, a raw ragged sound. The voice of someone beyond hope, someone with nothing left but one long note of despair rising up from the depths of their soul. Finally she realized it was her own voice.
Someone was shaking her, “Snap out of it! Penny! What’s wrong?!” Her eyes focused on the face of Ariadne Lancaster. She was staring at her with a worried look.
“He’s dead, he’s dead, oh god I saw this before! Why? Why didn’t I tell him?” Penny was beyond distraught now. “Devon’s killed Mordecai.” The words fell from her mouth like dead leaves in autumn, dry and empty.
“Penny you’re dreaming… you’re in the hall. Mordecai isn’t here… he’s out hunting, everything is fine.” Ariadne tried to calm her down.
“I have to go… do you know where Lady Rose is? She’ll know what to do, please Ariadne you have to help me.” Something in her eyes must have gotten through to the younger woman because she answered her without further questions.
“She was in the parlor just a moment ago, taking tea with mother and Elizabeth,” she replied. “I don’t understand what’s wrong though…”
Penny was already running, and she reached the Duchess’ parlor well ahead of the younger girl. Without pausing to knock she burst in, something she normally would not have dared to do. Inside she found Lady Rose sipping tea with Genevieve Lancaster and Elizabeth Balistair. They looked up in alarm at her sudden intrusion. The Duchess spoke first, “Penny you really should knock before you come bursting in…”
Rose laid a hand on her arm, “Wait Genevieve, something is wrong.”
Penny shook her head, “Yes, yes, your grace, might I have a word with Lady Rose?”
Genevieve nodded, clearly annoyed but she kept her peace. Rose stepped out into the hallway with Penny. “What’s the matter dear?” She sounded calm but she could sense Penny’s desperation. Sparing few words Penny described what she had seen, including the fact that this was not her first vision of the event.
“You don’t think this could be a dream? Or a moment’s fancy?” Rose asked.
“No it’s real. I can’t explain how I know, I just do. It’s happening right now!” Penny was close to tears.
“Come then, there isn’t any time.” One remarkable thing about Rose Hightower was her ability to judge people, and she knew beyond doubt that what might be happening was deadly serious. She hurried down the corridors with Penny, all thought of stately manners forgotten, until shockingly, she hiked up her dress like a common maid and ran, long legs moving with surprising speed. Penny was hard pressed to keep up with her and she considered herself a fair runner.
They reached the stables in record time and scared one of the young grooms half to death when they threw the doors open. “Pardon milady!” he cried, unsure what to think.
“I need two horses now.” Rose said in a tone that brooked no argument. One could hardly tell she had but a moment before been running like a dairy maid late to milk the cows.
“Certainly ma’am,” he promptly answered and headed for where the palfreys were in their stalls.
“Not some placid mare, dolt! I need fast horses, are any of the coursers left?” Rose barely raised her voice but she sounded as if she were shouting all the same. Long minutes later, they were riding out the gate. Rose pulled up for a moment and looked at Penny, “Which way?”
Without thinking Penny pointed, “That way, almost a mile off…” At this point she didn’t even care how she knew; she just needed to find him.
Some distance from them Dorian Thornbear was riding through the trees. He had heard a loud noise and now there was the sound of a horse screaming in fear and pain. He nudged his mount to a faster pace and soon came into sight of the dying animal. It was lying on its side, feebly kicking with broken legs. He looked for the rider and spotted Devon Tremont nearby, standing over the fallen rider. He looked positively ominous. That was Mort’s horse! he thought to himself.
Kicking his horse into a gallop, he reached the spot in less than a minute. He might almost have thought Devon was there to help his fallen friend but the man was standing quietly without moving to do anything. Then Devon noticed him and his face twisted into a grimace, angry at being interrupted. Dorian could see Mort on the ground, his face red as he slowly strangled. Without a second thought Dorian drew his sword and leapt from his horse before it had even come to a stop.
Devon Tremont looked at him and lifted his hand, “Grethak,” he said, in some language Dorian did not recognize, but the warrior paid him no heed. Dorian came at him like a berserker from the legends, his face terrible to behold, and the young lord knew fear, for his spell had completely failed. He might have tried another, something more potent, but Dorian was on him already, sword sweeping out to remove his head. Quick as he was, Devon had his own sword out and stopped the stroke before it ended his life.
The exchange that followed was brief. Dorian pressed him back, raining blows upon him with a speed and fury that Devon had never encountered. Despairing he threw up his hands, “Wait! If you kill me he will die!” Lightning quick, Dorian struck the sword from his hand and had his blade against the other man’s throat.
“If he dies you will follow,” the words grated from his throat like gravel, the sword pressing so hard against Devon’s neck that blood sprang up from the wounded skin.
“I was only trying to help. Let me try something and it may save him!” Devon’s eyes were wide with fear, he could see his death in the other man’s eyes.
Dorian’s sword never moved, instead he moved closer and grabbing the young lord by the neck he forced him to his knees alongside Mordecai’s now still form. “Save him now or your head will join his upon the ground.” Without raising his voice he radiated such violent intent that it would have chilled the heart of a hardened killer.
Devon reached out to Mordecai but Dorian jerked his head back roughly, “Betray me now and you won’t live past your next breath.”
“I need to touch him, to get him breathing.” Devon was desperate with fear now, for he knew time was short and the man holding him would kill him if Mordecai failed to recover.