Shards of a Broken Crown by Raymond Feist Page B

thinning as he reached a clutch of farms,
open fields that were dotted with burned-out buildings. He hesitated
for a moment, but to try to ride across muddy fields would be far
worse than staying on the trail. Here the mud was a nuisance,
slippery muck over hardpan compacted by years of wagons, riders, and
foot traffic. The mud in the fields was deep enough for an adult
horse to sink up to the point where it would be unable to move.
    The horse
labored as Dash pushed her along the trail; lack of grain and fodder
had shortened her endurance and she was blowing hard as she struggled
to obey his commands. Then he saw a stone path, and a glimmer of hope
appeared.
    He almost caused
her to fall, so abruptly did he pull the mare around, but once she
got her feet back under her, she sped off in the desired direction.
Dash said a silent prayer to Ruthia, Goddess of Luck, and gathered
his horse under him for a jump. The fence along the road was mostly
broken down, but he needed to land on a relatively narrow pathway
that was blocked by one of the few remaining intact sections and a
closed gate.
    The horse was
tired, but athletic enough to easily clear the fence, landing on the
wet stones. The reassuring clatter of hooves on stone told Dash that
Ruthia at least didn’t say “no.”
    He stole a
glance to his left and saw several of the riders attempt to cut him
off by veering into the muddy field. He smiled to himself.
    Making sure the
horse was heading exactly where he wanted, he chanced another look
back and saw that the horses in the field were now half buried,
attempting to pull their hooves out of the deep, thick muck.
    Dash gained
precious seconds as the riders who followed on the road chose to
double back and work their way around the intact fence. He now had a
chance.
    The sun was now
out of sight behind the trees ahead, as the long shadows of late
afternoon crept across the fields. He rode past a burned-out
farmhouse and saw the stone path he was on passed the door and
continued on toward the foundation of a burned-out barn. He continued
to ride, but slowed as he reached the terminus of the path.
    Dash could only
spare a moment to let the horse rest, as curses from behind told him
those trying to reach him were now also mired in the mud. Dash judged
the way to his right was more substantial footing than elsewhere—at
least he hoped that was the case, and set off, letting his horse move
at a trot until she slowed down due to the mud.
    The sound of the
mare’s hooves hitting tightly compacted sand caused Dash to
feel a surge of hope. It was quickly extinguished when he heard
riders coming hard behind on the stone path.
    The trees were
close enough to give the illusion of safety, but Dash knew that if he
couldn’t get into them at least a minute ahead of the riders
behind him, he wouldn’t be able to shake them.
    He urged his
mare on to a loping canter and glanced back. The riders were just now
reaching the edge of the farmhouse, and again hope rose up within
Dash. Their horses were lathered and their nostrils were flaring
wide. They were almost as exhausted as his own. They must have been
at the end of their patrol, or they weren’t getting enough to
eat, but for whatever reason, they didn’t look as if they had
enough left to overtake him—as long as he could keep his own
exhausted mare moving.
    He reached the
treeline and ducked under a low-hanging branch. As quickly as he
could, he picked his way among the trees, varying his course and
trying to keep clear of those behind. He hoped there were no trackers
behind, but then, considering the terrain, realized a blind man could
follow his trail.
    Glancing around
he saw a small outcropping of rock that rose up a slight incline and
appeared to be flat on top. He turned the horse and walked her up the
rise, and found the rock ran off along what appeared to be a smaller
trail. He jumped off and led her down the trail.
    Exhaustion was
curbing her desire to call to the stallion, as