traversing. 'We've put many leagues between us and those searching for the King,' he said. 'Let's rest for the night.'
Simangee needed no persuading. 'At last.' She pulled on the reins, halting her brass steed. 'A wash, that's what I want, then sleep.'
Targesh helped Gormond from the saddle. The young king didn't wake, merely mumbling as Targesh eased him onto a blanket. 'I'll take first watch,' the Horned One said.
Adalon didn't argue. 'Sim? Second or third?'
Simangee looked up from gathering kindling. 'Third, please. That'll give me some uninterrupted sleep.'
While Targesh helped Simangee start the fire, Adalon paced the perimeter of their campsite, kicking up the thick layer of leaves on the ground in this part of the forest. The air was still and noises of night came to him – insects, night birds, branches snapping and leaves rustling. These were the sounds of the other half of the world, the night world of which Adalon had little knowledge. Dark and mysterious, night had its own rules.
He shook his shoulders and grinned. Such gloomy thoughts! He needed to snatch some sleep himself.
After tasty but sparse rations from their saddlebags, the friends settled. Simangee wrapped herself in a blanket and curled up on the lee side of a fallen wild oak, her knees almost touching her chin. The snoring bundle that was the young king was near the remains of the camp fire. Targesh propped himself against a cabbage elm, his battleaxe beside him.
Adalon was casting about for the best place to lie down when he heard a sound that even he recognised didn't belong in the night-time chorus. He crouched and cleared a patch of bare earth. He placed his palm on it and hissed when he felt the tell-tale pounding of hoofs.
He leaped to his feet and stowed his blanket. 'Get up!' he shouted to his friends. 'Riding beasts coming fast!'
Instantly, Simangee and Targesh rolled to their feet. 'Which way?' Targesh asked.
'From the north,' Adalon said as Gormond sat up, blinking.
'More of Tayesha's troops, most likely,' Simangee said. She seized the reins of her steed.
'They haven't given up,' Targesh said. He fingered the haft of his axe for a moment before he shook his neck shield and mounted his steed.
'Hurry, Gormond,' Adalon urged. 'We must be away.'
Gormond struggled to his feet, but his eyes were bright. 'A midnight escape!' He rubbed his hands together. 'When danger threatens from the darkness, the heroes steal away, vanishing like ghosts!'
'Enough, Your Majesty,' Adalon said, pushing the eager monarch into the saddle. 'We ride like the wind, not ghosts.'
Adalon vaulted into his seat and urged his steed on, hurtling down a shallow depression where the shadows lay brooding and mysterious.
The three brass riding beasts thundered through the forest, following the faint trail with ease, surefooted despite the darkness. The path climbed the shoulder of a rocky ridge, followed it for some time, then plunged into a dry stream bed where the footing was uneven and treacherous. The brass riding beasts slowed, but still moved at a pace that no mortal steed could match.
The stream bed gave out onto a narrow band of grassy tussocks. On the other side stood a wall of conifers. Their tall, straight trunks stretched away in either direction, unpromising and forbidding. The trees whispered in the wind that had sprung up, needles rustling on needles, sounding like low, hurried plans being muttered in the night.
'Adalon!' Simangee called. He turned to see her on his left. She was pointing. 'I saw a patrol! Hard to tell, but I think five or six riders are flanking us over there!'
Adalon wheeled right and they sped along the face of the conifer forest. They splashed through ground which had suddenly become marshy, then followed a miserly creek thick with rushes. In the east, the sky showed the first touches of dawn.
Behind them came the sounds of pursuit: thundering hoofs, cries and the blast of a horn. Adalon put his head down and urged the
Simangee needed no persuading. 'At last.' She pulled on the reins, halting her brass steed. 'A wash, that's what I want, then sleep.'
Targesh helped Gormond from the saddle. The young king didn't wake, merely mumbling as Targesh eased him onto a blanket. 'I'll take first watch,' the Horned One said.
Adalon didn't argue. 'Sim? Second or third?'
Simangee looked up from gathering kindling. 'Third, please. That'll give me some uninterrupted sleep.'
While Targesh helped Simangee start the fire, Adalon paced the perimeter of their campsite, kicking up the thick layer of leaves on the ground in this part of the forest. The air was still and noises of night came to him – insects, night birds, branches snapping and leaves rustling. These were the sounds of the other half of the world, the night world of which Adalon had little knowledge. Dark and mysterious, night had its own rules.
He shook his shoulders and grinned. Such gloomy thoughts! He needed to snatch some sleep himself.
After tasty but sparse rations from their saddlebags, the friends settled. Simangee wrapped herself in a blanket and curled up on the lee side of a fallen wild oak, her knees almost touching her chin. The snoring bundle that was the young king was near the remains of the camp fire. Targesh propped himself against a cabbage elm, his battleaxe beside him.
Adalon was casting about for the best place to lie down when he heard a sound that even he recognised didn't belong in the night-time chorus. He crouched and cleared a patch of bare earth. He placed his palm on it and hissed when he felt the tell-tale pounding of hoofs.
He leaped to his feet and stowed his blanket. 'Get up!' he shouted to his friends. 'Riding beasts coming fast!'
Instantly, Simangee and Targesh rolled to their feet. 'Which way?' Targesh asked.
'From the north,' Adalon said as Gormond sat up, blinking.
'More of Tayesha's troops, most likely,' Simangee said. She seized the reins of her steed.
'They haven't given up,' Targesh said. He fingered the haft of his axe for a moment before he shook his neck shield and mounted his steed.
'Hurry, Gormond,' Adalon urged. 'We must be away.'
Gormond struggled to his feet, but his eyes were bright. 'A midnight escape!' He rubbed his hands together. 'When danger threatens from the darkness, the heroes steal away, vanishing like ghosts!'
'Enough, Your Majesty,' Adalon said, pushing the eager monarch into the saddle. 'We ride like the wind, not ghosts.'
Adalon vaulted into his seat and urged his steed on, hurtling down a shallow depression where the shadows lay brooding and mysterious.
The three brass riding beasts thundered through the forest, following the faint trail with ease, surefooted despite the darkness. The path climbed the shoulder of a rocky ridge, followed it for some time, then plunged into a dry stream bed where the footing was uneven and treacherous. The brass riding beasts slowed, but still moved at a pace that no mortal steed could match.
The stream bed gave out onto a narrow band of grassy tussocks. On the other side stood a wall of conifers. Their tall, straight trunks stretched away in either direction, unpromising and forbidding. The trees whispered in the wind that had sprung up, needles rustling on needles, sounding like low, hurried plans being muttered in the night.
'Adalon!' Simangee called. He turned to see her on his left. She was pointing. 'I saw a patrol! Hard to tell, but I think five or six riders are flanking us over there!'
Adalon wheeled right and they sped along the face of the conifer forest. They splashed through ground which had suddenly become marshy, then followed a miserly creek thick with rushes. In the east, the sky showed the first touches of dawn.
Behind them came the sounds of pursuit: thundering hoofs, cries and the blast of a horn. Adalon put his head down and urged the
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