added bitterly.
“No longer!” cut in the animal-man. “He raved at us, but we—oh, we wouldn’t help him, not that child-tormentor, not that killer of the wee little one.” The creature grinned, revealing sharp white teeth. “He could not torment all of us at once, not when he was in such haste. Follow the trail to the mountains, merciful prince, and you shall find him.”
Stunned by the raw hatred radiating all about him, Hauberin heard his voice come out more harshly than he’d intended. “How? Is he winged? On horseback? Why are you all smiling?”
“He thought us powerless,” they murmured. “And, one and one, we are. But the forest blood is in our veins, however weak. Together, in our deepest need and rage, together we called on it. And this once we were answered. We could not kill him, oh no, he was too clever for that. But when he would escape, we blocked his spells with forest magic, we would not let him take the air. His horse is swift, but horses tire. Follow, merciful prince, follow. Then—kill him, merciful prince!”
The savage despair in that cry made Hauberin wince. “I . . . will do what I must.”
That wasn’t enough for the haggard-faced woman. “Kill him,” she hissed. “Kill him for the sake of that wee little one. Kill him for those of us he raped, those of us he maimed and slew. Kill him.”
And, “Kill him,” the others chanted, all the while Hauberin, not quite trusting these not-quite-sane wild things, had his warriors search the entire estate. “Kill him,” they chanted when, not having found the slightest hint of Serein-in-hiding, the prince and his troop turned their horses towards the mountains. As he urged his mount on, Hauberin, chilled, could still hear that joyous, savage litany, and thanked all the Powers the hate behind it wasn’t aimed at him: “Kill him. Kill him. Kill him.”
###
Whatever primal Power Serein’s slaves had roused, it had done its work well. Serein had tried to erase his trail, but his magic was plainly working only sporadically; Hauberin, extending his senses to their utmost, could track his cousin as surely as hound tracked prey.
The forest thinned with Faerie abruptness, the land all at once becoming rocky and rough. Then suddenly Hauberin and his troop were out of the trees altogether, seeing a great wall of mountain looming up before them.
They found Serein’s horse wandering loose at the mountain’s base, still sweating, its flanks still heaving. Faerie horses had their own strong animal intelligence, and this one, pushed to the point of exhaustion, must have simply refused to move.
“That means the traitor can’t be too far away,” an archer said, fingering his bow uneasily.
Hauberin nodded, craning his head back to look up and up the mountainside. “He didn’t reenter the forest; I would have felt it. He could only have gone up.”
Yes. There amid the crags was a metallic glint—Serein’s armor, or his golden hair.
“Within range,” the archer muttered, fitting arrow to bow.
“No!” Hauberin hastily struck down the man’s arm, then had to wonder at himself. A well-placed arrow would have been such an easy, logical solution. Now it was too late; Serein had heard or sensed them, and was scrambling out of range. As his warriors stared at the prince in bewilderment, all Hauberin could answer was a simple, “He is mine.”
###
Halfway up the mountainside, Hauberin realized what a fool he was. All Serein had to do was drop a rock on him, and his people would be searching for a new ruler.
But Serein didn’t do anything at all, possibly out of the same misguided idea that they should meet (and maybe kill each other) with honor. Or at least suitable drama.
Or maybe he just can’t find a big enough rock.
It was a rough climb, and not getting any easier. Maybe he should have shape-shifted—no. Flight would take just as much effort. More, probably, since he’d have the added weight of mail and sword. Besides,
“No longer!” cut in the animal-man. “He raved at us, but we—oh, we wouldn’t help him, not that child-tormentor, not that killer of the wee little one.” The creature grinned, revealing sharp white teeth. “He could not torment all of us at once, not when he was in such haste. Follow the trail to the mountains, merciful prince, and you shall find him.”
Stunned by the raw hatred radiating all about him, Hauberin heard his voice come out more harshly than he’d intended. “How? Is he winged? On horseback? Why are you all smiling?”
“He thought us powerless,” they murmured. “And, one and one, we are. But the forest blood is in our veins, however weak. Together, in our deepest need and rage, together we called on it. And this once we were answered. We could not kill him, oh no, he was too clever for that. But when he would escape, we blocked his spells with forest magic, we would not let him take the air. His horse is swift, but horses tire. Follow, merciful prince, follow. Then—kill him, merciful prince!”
The savage despair in that cry made Hauberin wince. “I . . . will do what I must.”
That wasn’t enough for the haggard-faced woman. “Kill him,” she hissed. “Kill him for the sake of that wee little one. Kill him for those of us he raped, those of us he maimed and slew. Kill him.”
And, “Kill him,” the others chanted, all the while Hauberin, not quite trusting these not-quite-sane wild things, had his warriors search the entire estate. “Kill him,” they chanted when, not having found the slightest hint of Serein-in-hiding, the prince and his troop turned their horses towards the mountains. As he urged his mount on, Hauberin, chilled, could still hear that joyous, savage litany, and thanked all the Powers the hate behind it wasn’t aimed at him: “Kill him. Kill him. Kill him.”
###
Whatever primal Power Serein’s slaves had roused, it had done its work well. Serein had tried to erase his trail, but his magic was plainly working only sporadically; Hauberin, extending his senses to their utmost, could track his cousin as surely as hound tracked prey.
The forest thinned with Faerie abruptness, the land all at once becoming rocky and rough. Then suddenly Hauberin and his troop were out of the trees altogether, seeing a great wall of mountain looming up before them.
They found Serein’s horse wandering loose at the mountain’s base, still sweating, its flanks still heaving. Faerie horses had their own strong animal intelligence, and this one, pushed to the point of exhaustion, must have simply refused to move.
“That means the traitor can’t be too far away,” an archer said, fingering his bow uneasily.
Hauberin nodded, craning his head back to look up and up the mountainside. “He didn’t reenter the forest; I would have felt it. He could only have gone up.”
Yes. There amid the crags was a metallic glint—Serein’s armor, or his golden hair.
“Within range,” the archer muttered, fitting arrow to bow.
“No!” Hauberin hastily struck down the man’s arm, then had to wonder at himself. A well-placed arrow would have been such an easy, logical solution. Now it was too late; Serein had heard or sensed them, and was scrambling out of range. As his warriors stared at the prince in bewilderment, all Hauberin could answer was a simple, “He is mine.”
###
Halfway up the mountainside, Hauberin realized what a fool he was. All Serein had to do was drop a rock on him, and his people would be searching for a new ruler.
But Serein didn’t do anything at all, possibly out of the same misguided idea that they should meet (and maybe kill each other) with honor. Or at least suitable drama.
Or maybe he just can’t find a big enough rock.
It was a rough climb, and not getting any easier. Maybe he should have shape-shifted—no. Flight would take just as much effort. More, probably, since he’d have the added weight of mail and sword. Besides,
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