‘Majesty,’ Criach said. ‘We’ve been out some time. We haven’t the supplies to get to Vakloss, and the horses are nearly spent.’
Sylvriss glanced at Isloman, her face puzzled. It was not so far to Vakloss that a group of young men couldn’t survive the journey without supplies.
‘And what about your own escort?’ Criach contin-ued. ‘Won’t they be waiting for you somewhere?’
Only careful intonation prevented the question being insolent. The queen answered it simply. ‘We only had a small group,’ she said. ‘Three. A token escort for the envoy here. We got caught by a rock fall amp;mdasha bad one. I’m afraid they were all killed. The envoy was hurt and we lost our way.’
Criach looked distressed, but his manner did not ring true. Rather, he seemed relieved.
He paused thoughtfully. ‘The nearest help will be… to the east, Majesty,’ he said. ‘Lord Eldric’s estate.’
Sylvriss looked at him narrowly. ‘Lord Eldric is currently under arrest in Vakloss, trooper, and his friends are reputed to be preparing for a rebellion. Are you seriously suggesting I seek help at his door?’
Criach looked helpless. ‘Majesty, it is the nearest place where you’ll get proper medical help. I’m sure the Lords wouldn’t treat you other than honourably and with the utmost respect.’ Then, almost as an after-thought, ‘Unfortunately, of course, we’d only be able to escort you part of the way.’
Sylvriss frowned, then nodded. ‘Very well,’ she said reluctantly. ‘Break camp quickly, and mount up.’
A little later, as the group rode out of the trees and joined the road, Sylvriss signalled to Isloman and the two trotted slightly ahead of the patrol.
‘There’s something definitely odd about these men,’ she said. ‘Their horses are far from spent and I’ve never met a Mathidrin who’d even think in terms of an enemy showing honour and respect to an enemy; they’re back-stabbers to a man. These men are more like High Guards.’
Isloman nodded. The Queen’s words chimed with his own thoughts but the ominous black liveries disturbed him. ‘Just stay alert,’ he said. ‘They’re wearing Dan-Tor’s uniform and we must assume they’re his men, for all their courteous behaviour. From what I understand, your country’s very divided about him. The Mathidrin could be drawing people from many sources by now.’
Sylvriss’s face wrinkled in distaste. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘But we’d better lose them at the first opportu-nity.’ Discreetly she urged her horse into a fast trot. Serian followed. ‘If we’re careful,’ she said. ‘We should be able to tire their horses gradually, and then outrun them.’
Isloman nodded again. ‘Take care,’ he said. ‘Don’t do anything impulsive. We can’t outrun that archer, and the others are all carrying bows as well. At least we’re travelling the right way at the moment. If we stop I’ll try and speak to Gavor. He might be able to help distract them if we decide to run for it.’
As the party moved steadily eastwards along the forest road, the rain gradually died out, leaving an overcast, unpromising sky. As usual, now they were riding again, Isloman noticed Sylvriss’s manner lightening. The air was cool and damp about them, and small clouds of steam started to rise above the treetops lining the steep slopes around them.
The horses splashed through the shallow puddles that mottled the uneven road, throwing up showers of spray, silver even under the grey sky, and occasionally they would ride through a gloomy arbour formed by overhanging trees, where the sound of the horses’ hooves would seem to echo.
Skilfully and imperceptibly, Sylvriss broke up the pace of the journey, riding now faster, now slower, but always keeping a modest distance in front of the patrol so that they would not become concerned.
Eventually, Criach rode alongside. ‘Majesty,’ he said, rather breathlessly. ‘Our horses are not as fine as yours, and they’ve been riding for several days already. Could we rest awhile?’
Sylvriss turned to him, then looking back at the following patrol she reined her horse to a halt. ‘I’m sorry, trooper,’ she said. ‘I was anxious about the envoy and I’d forgotten your horses were tired.’
As the others reached them, Isloman noted them discreetly puffing out cheeks and exchanging wide-eyed glances. The Queen’s finely judged riding was taking a toll already.
His satisfaction at this, however, vanished immedi-ately as a large group of riders came around a bend in the road ahead. They were Mathidrin and they were galloping.
Isloman looked quickly at the Queen. His own thoughts were reflected clearly on her face. This troop must inevitably escort them back to Vakloss. She caught his look and, with a sudden cry, urged her horse forward off the road and into the trees. Without any signal from Isloman, Serian followed, and once again Isloman found himself a passenger on a Muster horse at full gallop as the great horse surged after the Queen.
There was a confused shouting behind them, but Isloman could make nothing of it. Somewhere above him he thought he could hear Gavor calling, but everything was lost in the din of the two horses crashing through the forest.
Abruptly the trees thinned out into a large clearing and, to his horror, Isloman saw a line of Mathidrin horsemen had moved to cut them off. The Queen’s horse reared and spun round. Serian halted rapidly, but more cautiously, in deference to his burden. Twisting round, Isloman saw more Mathidrin behind them. Then there were horsemen all around and closing in rapidly.
He heard the swish of a sword being drawn, and felt Sylvriss’s horse bump into his leg. He reached down to protect Hawklan’s head. ‘Back to back, Orthlundyn,’ came the Queen’s voice, urgent and commanding. ‘Look to your sword and trust your horse, they’re trained for this. We’re not finished yet. Whoever’s in charge of these people is good but there are weaknesses in the line. They’ll leave a gap and we’ll be through it before they know what’s happened.’ Isloman drew his sword almost unthinkingly and the approaching riders slowed to a walk.
For a moment the only sound in the clearing was the soft clatter of tackle and the light footfalls of the horses through the undergrowth. Serian and the Queen’s horse, side by side and head to tail, turned methodically on the spot. Isloman and Sylvriss, swords drawn, waited.
Then the approaching riders stopped and one of them moved forward. At the same time, Gavor landed on Serian’s head.
‘What are you doing, dear boy?’ he asked.
Isloman stared at him, taken aback by the question, but before he could reply, the lone rider spoke.
‘Majesty,’ he said with a slight bow. ‘My apologies for startling you, but when Gavor told me some of my men had found you I was anxious to get here as quickly as possible.’
The Queen’s eyes narrowed menacingly, first at Gavor and then at the speaker, but Isloman cut across whatever intent she had formed. He smiled. ‘How’s your shoulder, Dacu?’ he asked.
Chapter 8
The Mathidrin reached up and pulled off his helmet to confirm Isloman’s shadow sight. ‘Still stiff from time to time, Isloman,’ Dacu said, smiling and rolling his shoulder in demonstration.
‘Our own healers are very good, but I miss Hawk-lan’s massage.’
He nodded in the direction of Hawklan’s body, his smile fading sadly.
He turned back to the Queen, who was still levelling her sword at him suspiciously. ‘Again, my apologies, Majesty, if our uniforms and our hasty approach startled you. After Gavor found me and told me what had happened I was concerned for the safety of my charges and was anxious to reach you as soon as possible.’
The Queen raised her eyebrows. ‘More concerned for your men than for your Queen, Mathidrin?’ she said, acidly.
Seeing his erstwhile companion beginning to floun-der, Isloman intervened. ‘This man is Goraidin Dacu, lady. He was one of the party that released Lord Eldric and the others.’ He waved an arm round the black circle. ‘I suspect these men here are High Guards on a training exercise.’