Seeds of Rebellion
Page 38
Jason climbed onto his horse.
“Any parting advice?” Aram asked Chancy.
The man was leading his own piebald mount from a third stall. “Stay off the roads. The countryside looked clear to the southwest.”
“Hope so.” Aram flicked the reins, and his horse clomped forward over the dusty planks. Jason followed the big man into the gloomy yard, where a breeze stirred the fog.
“Whoa,” Aram exhaled, reining his mount to a halt.
Jason stopped alongside the larger man and followed his gaze.
Shrouded in swirling vapor, a dark featureless form stood motionless in the midst of the yard. Gasping, Jason clenched his jaw, squeezing the reins. Was it his imagination, or did his horse stiffen as well?
“Is that the lurker?” Aram whispered. He sounded reverent.
“Yeah.” Jason tried to relax.
“Stop fooling around,” Chancy chuckled softly, exiting the barn. “I wasn’t born yester—”
Jason looked over as Chancy pulled his horse to a stop, eyes widening in alarm.
The lurker raised one hand and extended the other in their direction.
The horse Jason rode stamped and whickered, tossing her head. Aram’s big mount reared. Chancy jerked the reins as his horse sidestepped.
“What now?” Aram asked, ignoring his restless steed.
Jason could not respond because his horse began to buck. He wrestled with the reins, gripping hopelessly with his knees as the horse curveted around the yard, rearing and plunging. After surviving a few wild ups and downs, the horse turned and bucked at the same time, catapulting Jason from the saddle. He landed upside down and continued into an awkward roll. Shielding his head, he scrambled away from the hoofs thudding nearby.
When Jason looked up, Aram stood between the stallion and the chestnut mare, holding both horses by the reins. The animals lurched and tugged, as if trying to rear, but Aram would not allow it.
Chancy lay spread-eagle on the far side of the barnyard, his horse no longer in view. The fallen man gaped at Jason in horror. Despite the agitated horses, Aram gazed his way as well.
Turning his head, Jason saw that he was sprawled at the feet of the lurker. The shadowy personage loomed over him. Jason rolled away from it.
“Look at it move,” Aram murmured.
Glancing back, Jason glimpsed the lurker streaking away, a dark blur slicing through the mist. He had never seen it run so fast. Thanks to the fog, he didn’t get to watch it for long.
“Where’s it going?” Chancy asked.
“To report our location,” Jason guessed. “Ferrin said the lurker brought reinforcements to Ithilum.”
“We must now place speed ahead of stealth,” Aram said. “You still in one piece?”
Jason arose, burrs sticking to his cloak. “Let’s get out of here.”
“What are the odds of me finding my horse?” Chancy mused.
“Not good,” Aram replied. “It was spooked and running hard. You’ll want to get away from here, Chancy. Find a spot to lay low.”
The other man gave a weak smile. “I knew this job paid too well. I swear, never say yes if you get offered more than your contribution merits.”
Jason walked over to his horse. “Is it calm enough to ride?”
“She’s as calm as we can wait for,” Aram replied.
Jason mounted the chestnut mare. She stamped a little. Aram kept a hand on her until she settled down, then remounted his stallion.
Chancy stood up and started dusting himself off. “Give me something to use if I get caught?” he asked miserably. “Some little tidbit? Some secret to trade?”
“Don’t get caught,” Aram said. “Violent forces are converging.”
Chancy sprinted toward the orchard.
Aram gave a soft kick, and his horse cantered away from the dismal farmyard with Jason close behind.
CHAPTER 10
FLIGHT
A persistent breeze shredded the fog into tattered wisps of vapor. Starlight began to penetrate the murky sky as Aram and Jason journeyed south. Their flight took them across desolate terrain, following overgrown trails through woods and improvising paths over fields and low hills.
Aram kept the horses moving at a good pace, but never let them run hard, balancing the desire for haste with the need for endurance. Jason was pleased to find his horsemanship continuing to improve. Riding felt more familiar and enjoyable than ever.
Whenever they came to high ground, Aram would pause to look back. Repeatedly, he detected no evidence of pursuit.
The night wore on uneventfully until they reached a low ridge overlooking their destination. A broad river divided a quiet little town. Similar amounts of buildings huddled near the northern and southern banks.
Peering back the way they had come, Aram moaned. “We won the race to Potsug, but not by much.”
Squinting into the night, Jason faintly perceived moonlit shapes moving along a distant road. “It looks like a lot of them,” Jason said.
“Tark wanted you to meet him at the home of a stableman?”
“Gurig.”
“I only see one large stable. It’s on this side of the river. Come, we must hurry.”
Aram led the way down the ridge, after which they loped across a flat expanse to the village. The sleepy town had no surrounding walls or any other apparent defenses.
Even after slowing to a walk, the horses sounded loud as they advanced along a silent dirt road flanked by wooden buildings. They approached a modest residence alongside a large stable. Jason dismounted and knocked on the door.
“Be ready for an ambush,” Aram warned, baring the blade of his massive sword.
Jason pounded harder. A moment later a man bearing a candle opened the door. He had a high forehead and a flabby chin. He glanced past Jason at Aram astride his stallion. “Who are you?”
“I’m looking for Tark the musician,” Jason replied.
The man blinked in bewilderment. “Tark? I haven’t seen Tark in ages.”
“You’re Gurig?”
“The same.”
“Tark hasn’t been in touch? Hasn’t sent a messenger?”
“Not a word. Are you a friend of his?”
“Yes. If he contacts you, tell him he missed me.”
“Who shall I say he missed?”
“It’s better if I don’t explain. Good night.”
“Very well,” the man said with another glance at Aram, who did his best to hold his sword out of sight. “Safe travels.”
The door closed, and Jason returned to his horse.
“Tark is late,” Aram said.
“Any parting advice?” Aram asked Chancy.
The man was leading his own piebald mount from a third stall. “Stay off the roads. The countryside looked clear to the southwest.”
“Hope so.” Aram flicked the reins, and his horse clomped forward over the dusty planks. Jason followed the big man into the gloomy yard, where a breeze stirred the fog.
“Whoa,” Aram exhaled, reining his mount to a halt.
Jason stopped alongside the larger man and followed his gaze.
Shrouded in swirling vapor, a dark featureless form stood motionless in the midst of the yard. Gasping, Jason clenched his jaw, squeezing the reins. Was it his imagination, or did his horse stiffen as well?
“Is that the lurker?” Aram whispered. He sounded reverent.
“Yeah.” Jason tried to relax.
“Stop fooling around,” Chancy chuckled softly, exiting the barn. “I wasn’t born yester—”
Jason looked over as Chancy pulled his horse to a stop, eyes widening in alarm.
The lurker raised one hand and extended the other in their direction.
The horse Jason rode stamped and whickered, tossing her head. Aram’s big mount reared. Chancy jerked the reins as his horse sidestepped.
“What now?” Aram asked, ignoring his restless steed.
Jason could not respond because his horse began to buck. He wrestled with the reins, gripping hopelessly with his knees as the horse curveted around the yard, rearing and plunging. After surviving a few wild ups and downs, the horse turned and bucked at the same time, catapulting Jason from the saddle. He landed upside down and continued into an awkward roll. Shielding his head, he scrambled away from the hoofs thudding nearby.
When Jason looked up, Aram stood between the stallion and the chestnut mare, holding both horses by the reins. The animals lurched and tugged, as if trying to rear, but Aram would not allow it.
Chancy lay spread-eagle on the far side of the barnyard, his horse no longer in view. The fallen man gaped at Jason in horror. Despite the agitated horses, Aram gazed his way as well.
Turning his head, Jason saw that he was sprawled at the feet of the lurker. The shadowy personage loomed over him. Jason rolled away from it.
“Look at it move,” Aram murmured.
Glancing back, Jason glimpsed the lurker streaking away, a dark blur slicing through the mist. He had never seen it run so fast. Thanks to the fog, he didn’t get to watch it for long.
“Where’s it going?” Chancy asked.
“To report our location,” Jason guessed. “Ferrin said the lurker brought reinforcements to Ithilum.”
“We must now place speed ahead of stealth,” Aram said. “You still in one piece?”
Jason arose, burrs sticking to his cloak. “Let’s get out of here.”
“What are the odds of me finding my horse?” Chancy mused.
“Not good,” Aram replied. “It was spooked and running hard. You’ll want to get away from here, Chancy. Find a spot to lay low.”
The other man gave a weak smile. “I knew this job paid too well. I swear, never say yes if you get offered more than your contribution merits.”
Jason walked over to his horse. “Is it calm enough to ride?”
“She’s as calm as we can wait for,” Aram replied.
Jason mounted the chestnut mare. She stamped a little. Aram kept a hand on her until she settled down, then remounted his stallion.
Chancy stood up and started dusting himself off. “Give me something to use if I get caught?” he asked miserably. “Some little tidbit? Some secret to trade?”
“Don’t get caught,” Aram said. “Violent forces are converging.”
Chancy sprinted toward the orchard.
Aram gave a soft kick, and his horse cantered away from the dismal farmyard with Jason close behind.
CHAPTER 10
FLIGHT
A persistent breeze shredded the fog into tattered wisps of vapor. Starlight began to penetrate the murky sky as Aram and Jason journeyed south. Their flight took them across desolate terrain, following overgrown trails through woods and improvising paths over fields and low hills.
Aram kept the horses moving at a good pace, but never let them run hard, balancing the desire for haste with the need for endurance. Jason was pleased to find his horsemanship continuing to improve. Riding felt more familiar and enjoyable than ever.
Whenever they came to high ground, Aram would pause to look back. Repeatedly, he detected no evidence of pursuit.
The night wore on uneventfully until they reached a low ridge overlooking their destination. A broad river divided a quiet little town. Similar amounts of buildings huddled near the northern and southern banks.
Peering back the way they had come, Aram moaned. “We won the race to Potsug, but not by much.”
Squinting into the night, Jason faintly perceived moonlit shapes moving along a distant road. “It looks like a lot of them,” Jason said.
“Tark wanted you to meet him at the home of a stableman?”
“Gurig.”
“I only see one large stable. It’s on this side of the river. Come, we must hurry.”
Aram led the way down the ridge, after which they loped across a flat expanse to the village. The sleepy town had no surrounding walls or any other apparent defenses.
Even after slowing to a walk, the horses sounded loud as they advanced along a silent dirt road flanked by wooden buildings. They approached a modest residence alongside a large stable. Jason dismounted and knocked on the door.
“Be ready for an ambush,” Aram warned, baring the blade of his massive sword.
Jason pounded harder. A moment later a man bearing a candle opened the door. He had a high forehead and a flabby chin. He glanced past Jason at Aram astride his stallion. “Who are you?”
“I’m looking for Tark the musician,” Jason replied.
The man blinked in bewilderment. “Tark? I haven’t seen Tark in ages.”
“You’re Gurig?”
“The same.”
“Tark hasn’t been in touch? Hasn’t sent a messenger?”
“Not a word. Are you a friend of his?”
“Yes. If he contacts you, tell him he missed me.”
“Who shall I say he missed?”
“It’s better if I don’t explain. Good night.”
“Very well,” the man said with another glance at Aram, who did his best to hold his sword out of sight. “Safe travels.”
The door closed, and Jason returned to his horse.
“Tark is late,” Aram said.
