great brass beast on.
As dawn struggled to move aside the night, the three friends found themselves running into more and more patrols. Once, they rounded a house-sized thicket of thorn bush to find three Crested Ones by the side of their steeds, studying the earth for tracks. They all wore the colours of the Second Thraag Regiment. Two threw themselves backwards, yelling, but the third was bowled over by Simangee's riding beast.
After that, it was a deadly game in the half-light, finding trails through the changing landscape of north-east Thraag while avoiding the patrols that seemed to infest the woods and marshlands. Without the supernatural speed and endurance of the brass steeds, the three friends and the young king would have been captured easily.
Adalon was grateful for Gormond's silence during the pursuit. The young monarch held on to Adalon doggedly, but the seriousness of the situation had dampened even his spirits.
Adalon tried to retrace the route they'd taken. He'd chosen to go through the forest as the most direct way to the south and lands beyond, but the land proved to be riven by sharp valleys and rivers running cold and strong from the mountains. At every turn they had to be careful, with bogs and wetlands waiting to swallow the unwary. The pursuit had taken them far from their path, but where exactly were they?
He slowed, easing his steed into a copse of gnarled crab-apple trees in a part of the forest that had grown increasingly rocky. He could clearly see his friends as they joined him, and he realised that it was well and truly morning. 'We've been driven more westerly than I would have liked. If we continue that way, we're sure to strike the Challish-Sleeto road. When we do, we can cross it and make our way southwards and home.'
'Good plan,' Targesh said. 'If we can lose these idiots.'
Gormond made a fist and shook it. 'Our pursuers are dogged, but we will not be captured.'
'I hope not,' Simangee muttered. 'We might end up in a dungeon together.'
A shout went up and Adalon hissed. A horn sounded nearby, then another.
'They've closed in,' Targesh growled.
'We'll have to outrun them,' Adalon said. He kicked his steed forward and it burst through the crab-apples.
Ahead, the terrain narrowed into a steep-sided valley, about an arrow's flight wide. It was still thickly wooded, and large boulders and falls of rock made the going hazardous. Adalon gripped the reins hard as his mount hurdled rocks that stuck up through the undergrowth like fangs, but the brass steed was supernaturally sure-footed.
The pursuers were stubborn. Adalon risked a glance over his shoulder to see that they'd swollen in number to a good-sized troop, a score or more riders in light armour.
Horns rang out, echoing along the valley walls.
'Up there,' Targesh shouted.
Through the trees on the left, Adalon could make out riders racing on the crest of the valley sides. He cursed when he saw more flanking them on the right, the leaders beginning to urge their steeds down the slope to head them off.
Adalon hissed. If only they could reach some open country; the brass steeds would outdistance any pursuit.
As long as they don't cut us off, Adalon thought. He urged his steed on.
A spur of boulders and fallen trees loomed ahead, jutting from the left side of the valley, a nightmare jumble for any steed. It narrowed the way ahead dangerously, with the valley wall on the right a mass of shattered, loose rock.
Adalon trusted his mount and goaded it forward. The speed of their passage made his eyes water, but he saw the troop on their right frantically trying to close the distance, riding pell-mell down the perilous slope.
'Hold on!' he called to Gormond and he kicked his heels into his steed's metal sides. It responded by lengthening its stride until the trees flew past on either side. Adalon knew that if he lost his seat he would be dashed to pieces.
A final bound and the brass riding beast flew through the air, passing through
As dawn struggled to move aside the night, the three friends found themselves running into more and more patrols. Once, they rounded a house-sized thicket of thorn bush to find three Crested Ones by the side of their steeds, studying the earth for tracks. They all wore the colours of the Second Thraag Regiment. Two threw themselves backwards, yelling, but the third was bowled over by Simangee's riding beast.
After that, it was a deadly game in the half-light, finding trails through the changing landscape of north-east Thraag while avoiding the patrols that seemed to infest the woods and marshlands. Without the supernatural speed and endurance of the brass steeds, the three friends and the young king would have been captured easily.
Adalon was grateful for Gormond's silence during the pursuit. The young monarch held on to Adalon doggedly, but the seriousness of the situation had dampened even his spirits.
Adalon tried to retrace the route they'd taken. He'd chosen to go through the forest as the most direct way to the south and lands beyond, but the land proved to be riven by sharp valleys and rivers running cold and strong from the mountains. At every turn they had to be careful, with bogs and wetlands waiting to swallow the unwary. The pursuit had taken them far from their path, but where exactly were they?
He slowed, easing his steed into a copse of gnarled crab-apple trees in a part of the forest that had grown increasingly rocky. He could clearly see his friends as they joined him, and he realised that it was well and truly morning. 'We've been driven more westerly than I would have liked. If we continue that way, we're sure to strike the Challish-Sleeto road. When we do, we can cross it and make our way southwards and home.'
'Good plan,' Targesh said. 'If we can lose these idiots.'
Gormond made a fist and shook it. 'Our pursuers are dogged, but we will not be captured.'
'I hope not,' Simangee muttered. 'We might end up in a dungeon together.'
A shout went up and Adalon hissed. A horn sounded nearby, then another.
'They've closed in,' Targesh growled.
'We'll have to outrun them,' Adalon said. He kicked his steed forward and it burst through the crab-apples.
Ahead, the terrain narrowed into a steep-sided valley, about an arrow's flight wide. It was still thickly wooded, and large boulders and falls of rock made the going hazardous. Adalon gripped the reins hard as his mount hurdled rocks that stuck up through the undergrowth like fangs, but the brass steed was supernaturally sure-footed.
The pursuers were stubborn. Adalon risked a glance over his shoulder to see that they'd swollen in number to a good-sized troop, a score or more riders in light armour.
Horns rang out, echoing along the valley walls.
'Up there,' Targesh shouted.
Through the trees on the left, Adalon could make out riders racing on the crest of the valley sides. He cursed when he saw more flanking them on the right, the leaders beginning to urge their steeds down the slope to head them off.
Adalon hissed. If only they could reach some open country; the brass steeds would outdistance any pursuit.
As long as they don't cut us off, Adalon thought. He urged his steed on.
A spur of boulders and fallen trees loomed ahead, jutting from the left side of the valley, a nightmare jumble for any steed. It narrowed the way ahead dangerously, with the valley wall on the right a mass of shattered, loose rock.
Adalon trusted his mount and goaded it forward. The speed of their passage made his eyes water, but he saw the troop on their right frantically trying to close the distance, riding pell-mell down the perilous slope.
'Hold on!' he called to Gormond and he kicked his heels into his steed's metal sides. It responded by lengthening its stride until the trees flew past on either side. Adalon knew that if he lost his seat he would be dashed to pieces.
A final bound and the brass riding beast flew through the air, passing through
Similar Books
