It went down on one leg then, and he knew with a fighter’s certain instinct that it was going down for good. As the massive weight of the animal fell to the ground he pushed himself free of it, hitting the ground with a force that drove the breath from his lungs, rolling to his right, away from the animal, away from the gunfire, sharp pain in his left arm where he struck a rock—but kept rolling, kept moving—he heard the thud of his animal hitting the earth, the terrified squeal of its dying, and he suddenly understood that they hadn’t missed him like he thought. They had been shooting for the horses, they understood that once the great beasts were out of the picture it was man against man, a party of three against an army . . . Dazed, he lay still for an instant, trying to get his bearings. Hesseth was by the mouth of the crevasse, her weapon raised to her shoulder, ready to return fire as soon as the enemy was visible. Tarrant—where was Tarrant? He looked up and found the black horse not a yard from his face. The Hunter’s face was a mask of fury as he kept the animal moving, gesturing for Damien to get to his feet even as his other hand braced a stolen pistol for firing.
Another shot rang out from the woods, and this time Tarrant answered with gunfire. The sharp report rang in Damien’s ear as he staggered to his feet. In the distance he heard someone cry out in pain and surprise, and a crashing that might be the fall of a body. Hesseth’s bolt whizzed past them as Tarrant reached out a hand for him. Damien grasped him tightly about the wrist, felt Tarrant’s ice-cold fingers close like a vise about his own wrist as the Hunter’s booted foot kicked out of its stirrup, freeing the metal ring for Damien’s use. Pain shot up his damaged arm like fire as he caught it with his toe and vaulted up onto the black horse’s back. The back edge of the saddle rammed into his crotch, but he stayed there, stayed there despite the blinding pain, afraid to slide back for fear he would fall off, unable to slide forward. Praying like he had never prayed before.
The black horse followed Hesseth’s past the mouth of the crevasse and into the darkness beyond. In the distance Damien could hear his own horse squealing, and he hoped that in its dying madness it would at least provide an obstacle for the armed men who were sure to follow. The walls of the crevasse scraped against them as the horses struggled along its jagged bottom. Damien had gotten a firm enough knee-grip on the horse’s flanks that his crotch was no longer slamming down onto the saddle with every step—thank God for that—and he watched the chasm walls pass by all too slowly, as the horses picked their way in near-darkness over boulders and crevices and water-filled potholes. Damien was painfully aware of how precariously those tons of rocks overhead seemed to be balanced, of how very close the looming walls were pressed against them. If there were an aftershock now . . . but no, he mustn’t think of that. Just keep riding. Just hang on. They were committed now, for better or for worse, and there was nothing they could do one way or the other to save themselves if an earthquake did come. Not without being able to Work.
If it shakes, it shakes. If we die, we die. Better come to terms with that now.
It seemed they rode for eternity like that, but in fact it could have been no more than mere minutes. Damien’s chest and arms were chilled from contact with the unearthly cold of the Hunter’s body, but he managed to hang on to the man. Behind him the, priest could hear cries of pursuit; they were not nearly as far behind them as he would like. We’re not going to make it, he thought. Fear churned coldly in his gut. The horses just can’t do it. Then, to his immense relief, the chasm floor evened out somewhat. Hesseth’s mount bolted forward, and Tarrant’s horse followed suit. But though they were able to pull ahead of their pursuers for a time, so that their cries no longer echoed behind them, Damien knew that the change was only temporary. And when the horses pulled up short before a veritable obstacle course of fallen boulders, he knew with dread certainty that they weren’t going to make it through fast enough. They were going to have to take a stand and fight.
But Tarrant had other plans. As his horse nervously pawed the rocky earth, he scanned the walls of the crevasse above them with meticulous attention, and Damien could just imagine what he was seeing. Molten power pouring from the clefts like lava, cascading down the walls in sheets of fire to boil about their feet. Too hot to handle. Too hot to use. It would cool off soon, now that the quake was over, but not soon enough. Not for them.
Then the Hunter swung one leg forward over his horse’s neck and dismounted. As Damien slid forward, he put the end of the reins in his hand and instructed them, “Go on, the two of you. Go as far as you can, as fast as you can. Get out of this trap if that’s possible, and then make camp. I’ll see that there’s no pursuit.” Despite the moonlight which illuminated his face, his expression was unreadable. “Go!”
He struck the black horse sharply on the rear and it bounded forward, clearing the nearest obstacle by inches. Damien just had time to see Tarrant take hold of the rock wall as if he meant to climb it, and then a protrusion cut off his sight-line. For a few seconds he could do no more than cling to the horse as it made its way along the rock-strewn ground; then he reined it in and motioned for Hesseth to pull ahead of him.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“I’m going back to him.” He swung his leg back over the horse and dismounted; fire shot through his groin as he landed. “I think he’s going to do something very stupid. I want to make sure he doesn’t do it alone.” He noticed that there was blood on her arm, a crimson smear from elbow to wrist. But since she had chosen to use that arm to guide the horse, he assumed it wasn’t a serious wound. “Take this.” He undipped the lead line from his saddle and threw it over to her. Tarrant’s horse snorted impatiently as she pulled it into line with her own.
He met her eyes for a moment. Amber, alien, and so very worried. “I’ll be all right,” he promised her. “Go as far as you can. I can Locate you later, when the fae cools down.”
“Be careful,” she whispered. Then, with a fearful glance back over her shoulder—but their pursuers hadn’t caught up with them, not yet—she urged her own horse forward. The black horse snorted once in indignation, but when the lead grew taut it followed, and soon the two of them were out of sight, swallowed by the harsh shadows of the crevasse.
Damien turned back the way they had come and retraced the last few yards quickly. It hurt to walk, it would hurt even more to climb, but he had seen what Tarrant might not have noticed: a perfect half-moon directly overhead, harbinger of the dawn. Maybe the skies hadn’t started growing lighter yet, maybe Tarrant’s special senses hadn’t yet reacted to the threat of the coming sunlight, but Damien had traveled with him long enough to know how acute the danger was. Especially if he couldn’t Work. Especially—and this most of all—if the Hunter was doing something as foolhardy and dangerous as Damien suspected he was.
He ran back to the place where Tarrant had left them and studied the southern wall. When he found sufficient handholds to support his weight, he hoisted himself up. Pain shot up his damaged arm as he shifted his weight onto it, but if it wasn’t broken outright it was just going to have to work for a living. He moaned softly but kept climbing. The wall of the crevasse was rife with fault lines, but they all angled downward; he had no trouble finding a place to dig in with his fingers or feet, but it took all his rock-climbing skill to keep from sliding out as he shifted his weight, ever so carefully (but not too slowly, there were enemies soon to follow), jamming his fingers and sometimes his fists into the cracks so hard that they were forced to support him. Briefly he considered how much danger he was in if Tarrant got to the top before him. Damned unlikely, he thought. The Hunter might be unequaled in sorcery, but it was unlikely he had much experience in rock climbing. If he managed not to fall at all, it would be damned slow going.