“Good thinking, lad,” he said, breathing hard. From somewhere behind, Jaryd could hear yells; hooves thundering one direction, and another.
“They'll split around the perimeter,” said Jaryd. “About half of them. The other half will come in through the trees and try to flush us out.”
“Couldn't they dismount and crouch down?” Sofy asked, looking dubiously at the surrounding trunks. “Can't they see the legs of our horses?”
Jaryd was impressed-it was exactly what they'd done, sometimes, hiding from irate farmers, or opposing teams in boyhood games. “In a younger orchard, yes. But this is mature, see how the branches hang down?” Sure enough, many fruit-laden boughs were pressing the grassy ground. “You can't see more than two or three furrows in any direction.”
Sofy was breathing hard and clearly a little frightened, yet she looked remarkably composed for all that. Her hair, though, was now thoroughly tangled, and she bore a red scratch on one cheek.
“What now then?” asked Teriyan. “Do we split up?”
“Better to stay together,” said Jaryd. “Splitting up just increases the odds they'll find one group or another. They've got holes in their formation now-if we can find one, best we get all of us through it.” Teriyan nodded. “They'll think we'll be heading across the stream into the forest…I reckon we keep going across the valley, they won't expect it, there'll be less of them guarding that side. I'll ride down on my own and be seen, draw them into chasing me back into the orchard, while you lot take off to the east. I'll follow as I can.”
“Wait, wait!” Sofy protested. “You said we'd stick together!”
“I said you'd best stick together,” Jaryd retorted. “I know these idiots chasing us, I know this country, I've escaped mobs chasing me before and I can do it again-my biggest problem is other people slowing me down.” With a firm stare at the princess. Sofy's return stare suggested she didn't believe him. “Ryssin, scout forward near the edge of the orchard…when you hear my diversion, ride like a demon.”
The woodsman nodded. “We'll head for the trees further up,” he said, “and risk the slower trails.”
“Aye,” Jaryd agreed, “I think we're far enough east by now anyhow.”
“Head for the highest point along the ridge if we're split up,” said Ryssin. “I'll find you.”
Jaryd nodded, turned and rode downslope, the mare ducking and weaving uncertainly through the tangling branches. He heard the others moving off. Then other hooves, somewhere more distant, horses moving through the trees. He unsheathed his sword. If he came upon one of the nobles in this thicket, there was not going to be much time to react.
He paused, several furrows back from the edge of the orchard, and stood in the stirrups, but the trees were tall and he couldn't see through the branches. After a moment he caught a glimpse of movement on the perimeter…and then, as he peered, a man on a horse, moving sideways, searching the trees. Jaryd readied his arm, steadying his breathing. These men meant to kill him, he had no doubt. His siblings were not here now to restrain their swords.
He thumped the mare's sides and burst from the orchard. The rider reacted with shock and the horse reared, Jaryd cutting past its hooves to lash at the rider's back…only the noble's guard was fast, and steel clashed in defence. Jaryd wheeled, and saw three more coming at him from the left, two from the right…they were yelling, too, drawing others. He plunged back into the orchard, branches tearing at his face and arms, weaving for whatever small gaps he could glimpse through the greenery.
Suddenly there was a horse and rider before him…his mare reared, half colliding with the other horse, whose rider swung hard. Jaryd barely got his sword up in time, but the impact jolted him in the saddle. Swinging branches displaced by the horses snapped back, and the next thing he knew, he was falling, twisting to roll and not fall on his sword. He hit, but the ground was soft, and he rolled fast to avoid the other horse's trampling hooves. He rolled into the base of a tree and scrambled up, looking for the mare…but she was off.
Jaryd tried to run after her, but the other man spun his horse after him. Jaryd leapt sideways into a gap between trees, the horseman not reining up in time and finding no space to manoeuvre as he stopped alongside. Jaryd saw his chance and lunged upward and felt his sword drive home. A shriek from the rider, his horse suddenly fighting a pull on the reins. Jaryd was about to drag the wounded man from the saddle when hooves thundered behind, and he ran instead, having no time to claim the horse.
He ran fast, weaving between trees, hearing the thunder of hooves and the crashing of heavy bodies through branches. At least the others would be away by now, he found time to think-these men were only interested in him. He scrambled beneath heavy branches and put his back to one gnarled trunk, gasping for breath as several horses came past. He glimpsed the glint of drawn swords through the trees. He ran then not for the centre of the orchard, and safety, but downslope…he could hear riders shouting that he was off his horse. They knew he was on foot. No longer would they bother maintaining a perimeter around the orchard. Perhaps if he could find an adjoining fenceline, he could crouch low and run, and they'd never see him…
He reached the eastern edge of the orchard and crouched, staring across the open, recently ploughed field. No fencelines. No irrigation trenches, no hedge rows. He'd have to head back upslope to the road. Or…he crouched lower as hooves thundered nearby. Then a horse crashed into the open field, barely five trees upslope, and cut directly past him. His rider did not see.
Jaryd moved fast, took four running steps and slashed with his sword before the rider could respond. The sword cut deep, the rider clutching his side, reins pulling the horse around in a tight circle. He fell, a horrid, shoulder-first thump upon the turf, and rolled, finally losing the horse's reins. Jaryd ran for the horse, but already there were hooves thundering behind…he grabbed the dangling reins, but the horse shied away, making him grab again. The hooves behind were too close, and he spun, seeing another rider coming down on him fast, blade drawn. The riderless horse scampered away, Jaryd running after, as much to use its bulk as a shield than to grab the reins. The attacking rider came past, too far out, and wheeled, losing all speed before a new charge.
Jaryd ran straight at him, coming in low, blade first. Warhorses hated that when they weren't running. This one reared, and Jaryd feinted left, then ducked right, and cut up at the right-handed rider from his weaker left side-the harder, low angle to defend from the saddle. The rider's desperation saved him, his blade slashing hard downward, deflecting the blow…thus exposing an arm low, which Jaryd grabbed and dropped his entire bodyweight onto. The rider crashed from the saddle, face down on the turf.
Jaryd came up fast, ready for the finishing blow. The other rider half rose, holding an arm awkwardly, face dirty where it had planted the turf…and Jaryd recognised Rhyst Angyvar, blond hair, cut face and all. “You again,” he observed. “Do you need another twenty men in support before you'd dare try and take me?”
Rhyst scrambled back cringing, blade wavering in panicked defence. “Help!” he screamed. “Somebody help me!” More hooves were thundering from several directions. Both riderless horses had galloped off in fear. Jaryd was tired of hiding in the orchard. He turned to meet the nearest horseman, blade at the ready…and saw that this horse was coming at him from across the open field, not the orchard. On its back was Sofy, hair and skirts streaming in the wind. And now, she was actually slowing, leaning down with one arm as she'd surely seen cavalry practise…only she hadn't taken her near boot out of her stirrup. Dear lords.
Jaryd sheathed his sword fast, took several running steps as she slowed alongside, and ignored her arm entirely, not wanting to pull her slight weight from the saddle. He leaped, and grabbed the saddle horn between her legs, and the rear side, and somehow managed to drag himself half onto the galloping animal's back. A further struggle, his face buried against Sofy's waist, and he got a leg over, grabbing Sofy and the saddle horn to pull himself into position behind, as they cut downhill alongside the orchard. And here ahead, another rider was coming past them on the left, sword ready for a backhand cut that would take both their heads off with one stroke.