Gaborn might well reach the castle before Borenson. There, the King would be able to settle this tangled matter.
Borenson closed his eyes and hung his head in sign of acquiescence. “As you command, milord,” he said. Yet a horrible sense of guilt assailed. He'd been ordered to kill the Dedicates at Castle Sylvarresta, and if he slew the King and Iome now, he would thus spare other lives; he would spare all those who were vectored through these two.
Yet to kill Sylvarresta would be cruel. Borenson did not want to murder a friend, regardless of the cost. And he dared not raise a weapon against his own Prince.
Bits of arguments rushed at Borenson, fragmented. He looked up at King
Sylvarresta, who had stopped moaning in fear, just as a jay went flying over the King's head in a streak of blue.
But if I do not murder these two now, how many others must I kill in the Dedicates' Keep? How many endowments has Sylvarresta taken? Are the lives of these two worth more than the lives of their Dedicates?
What harm has any of them done? Not one man in the keep would willingly toss a rotten apple at one of our people. Yet by their very existence, they lend power to Raj Ahten.
Borenson clenched his teeth, lost in thought. Tears began to water his eyes.
You will make me kill everyone vectored through these two, Borenson realized. That was his only choice. He loved his Prince, had always served faithfully.
I'll do it, Borenson thought, though I hate myself forever after. I'll do it for you.
No! some deep part of his mind shouted.
Borenson opened his eyes, stared hard at Gaborn.
Gaborn let go the reins of Borenson's mount, stood testily, as if he was still ready to try to pull Borenson from the saddle if the need arose.
“Take them in peace, milord,” Borenson said, trying to hide the sadness in his voice. Immediately Gaborn relaxed.
“I'll need a weapon,” Gaborn said. “Can I borrow one of yours?” Other than the black spear in Torin's throat, nothing was handy.
The warhorse Borenson rode had a horseman's hammer sheathed from its previous owner. It was an inelegant weapon. Borenson knew that Gaborn preferred a saber, for he liked to slash and thrust quickly. But the hammer had its strengths: against an armored opponent, one could easily chop through chain mail or pierce a helm. The saber was as likely to snap in such a battle as to pierce a man's armor.
Borenson pulled the hammer, tossed it to Gaborn. He did not rest easy with his decisions. Even now, he barely restrained himself from attacking Sylvarresta. I am not death, Borenson told himself. I am not death. It is not my duty to fight my Prince, to kill kings.
“Hurry to Longmont,” Borenson said at last with a sigh. “I smell a storm coming. It will hide your scent, make you harder to track. Take the main road south at first, but don't follow it all the way—the Hayworth bridge is burned. Go instead through the forest until you reach Ardamom's Ridge, then cut straight south to the Boar's Ford. Do you know where it is?”
Gaborn shook his head. Of course he did not know.
“I know,” Iome said. Borenson studied her. Cool, confident, despite her ugliness. The Princess now showed no fear. At least she knew how to sit a horse.
Borenson urged his warhorse forward a step, pulled the longspear from poor Torin's neck, snapped it off, and threw the bladed end to the Princess. She caught it in one hand.
“Won't you escort us?” Gaborn asked.
Doesn't he understand what I must do? Borenson wondered. Borenson had not yet confided that he planned to slay every Dedicate in the castle.
No, Borenson decided. Gaborn didn't know what he planned. The lad was that innocent. Indeed, if the Prince had even the slightest notion what Borenson intended, Gaborn would try to stop him.
Yet Borenson couldn't allow that. I'll do this alone, he thought. I'll take this evil upon me, stain my hands with blood so that you don't have to.
“I've other duties,” Borenson said, shaking his head. He soothed the Prince with a lie. “I'll shadow Raj Ahten's army, make certain he doesn't strike some unexpected target.”
To tell the truth, part of him wanted to escort Gaborn, to see him safe through the woods. He knew the Prince would need help. But Borenson did not trust himself to lead Gaborn for even an hour. At any moment, he might feel the need to turn on Gaborn, to kill good King Sylvarresta.
“If it will make it easier for you,” Gaborn said, “when I reach Longmont, I'll tell my father that I never saw you in the woods. He does not need to know."
Borenson nodded, numb.
23
The Hunt Begins
Raj Ahten stood above his dead Invincible, fists clenched. Downhill, his army marched for Longmont, archers running the winding road, their colored tunics making them look like a golden snake twisting through a black forest.
Chancellor Jureem knelt over the fallen soldier, robes smudged, studying tracks in the ashes. It took no skill to see what had happened: One man. One man slew his master's Invincible, then stole his horse, rode off with Gaborn, King Sylvarresta, and his daughter. Jureem recognized the dead mare on the ground nearby. It had been ridden by Orden's surly messenger.
The sight sickened him. If a few more soldiers had kept up the chase, Gaborn would surely have fallen into their hands.
“There are but five of them,” Feykaald said. “Heading cross-country, rather than over the road. We could send trackers—a dozen or so, but with Orden's soldiers in the wood, perhaps we should just let them go...”
Raj Ahten licked his lips. Jureem saw that Feykaald couldn't even count. Only four people were heading over the trail. His master had lost two scouts to Gaborn already, along with war dogs, giants, a pyromancer—and now an Invincible. Prince Orden looked to be not much more than a boy, but Jureem began to wonder if he had secretly taken a great number of endowments.
Raj Ahten's men had misjudged King Orden's whelp far too often. From the mounts he'd chosen, it appeared Gaborn would head into the woods, shun the highway.
But why? Because he wanted to lead Raj Ahten into a trap? Did the boy have soldiers hidden in the forest?
Or did he merely fear to travel by road? Raj Ahten had a few powerful force horses left in his retinue. Fine horses, bred for the plains and the desert, each with a lineage that went back a thousand years. Perhaps the lad knew his mounts could not outrun the Wolf Lord's horses over even ground.
But Gaborn's mountain hunters, running without armor, with their thick bones and strong hindquarters, would be almost impossible to catch in this terrain. Jureem suspected that Gaborn and Iome would know these woods far better than even the most informed spy.
Jureem drew a ragged breath, calculating how many men to send. Gaborn Val Orden would make a fine hostage, if the Wolf Lord found things at Longmont to be as he suspected.
Though the woods were silent, little more than an hour ago Jureem had heard Orden's war horns blow in the Dunnwood.
In all likelihood, Gaborn had already gained the company of Orden's soldiers, was surrounded by hundreds of guards. Yet...he could not just let Gaborn go. At the thought of Gaborn escaping, a rage burned in Jureem. Mindless, seething.
“We should send men to find the boy,” Jureem counseled. “Perhaps a hundred of our best scouts?”
Raj Ahten straightened his back. “No. Get twenty of my best Invincibles, and strip their horses of armor. I'll also want twenty mastiffs to track the Prince.”
“As you wish, milord,” Jureem said, turning away, as if to shout the orders down to the army that marched below. But a thought hit him. “Which of your captains shall lead?”
“I'll be the captain,” Raj Ahten, said. “Hunting the Prince should prove an interesting diversion.”
Jureem glanced at him sideways, raising a single dark brow. He bowed slightly, in acquiescence. “Do you think it wise, milord? Others could hunt him. Even I will come.” The thought of such a ride, of the pain his buttocks would have to endure, gave Jureem pause.