They rode until the horses were covered in foam and they were sure no elves could catch up on foot, even by magic. Narky was glad for his decision to eliminate the other mounts; it had bought them this brief rest.
“A whole bunch of raiders left Illweather while I was breaking in,” said Criton, reining his horse in. He wiped some white frothy sweat from its mane with the side of his claw. “I thought they might be looking for me, but then they rode off. They must still be out here somewhere; we shouldn’t rest long.”
Hunter nodded. “Understood.”
They had no brush and no blanket with which to do a better job wiping off their horses’ sweat, but Hunter took off his shirt and used it as a rag. Narky winced when he saw Phaedra admiring Hunter, less discreetly than she probably imagined. It reminded him of Ketch, somehow.
But why should it? He had thought that Eramia might love him; that was why her attachment to Ketch had hurt him so. The thought that she would prefer Ketch over him had been unbearable. But it was not that way with Phaedra. Narky had never had a chance with Phaedra. She was too pretty and well bred. He was beneath her, and he knew it.
Hunter finished his work and draped the shirt over his shoulder. “We shouldn’t push them much further,” he said. “We can go the rest of the way at a trot.”
“Right,” said Phaedra.
When Hunter turned away, she stuck out her tongue. “Oh yuck,” she confided to Narky. “My mouth still tastes like horse.”
He looked at her curiously. “Why?”
She seemed strangely surprised and embarrassed. “You didn’t – oh.” She waved him away. “Never mind.”
They rode onward, following Hunter’s advice of letting their horses trot even though the beasts made no conscious indication of weariness. If it hadn’t been for the foam at their mouths and on their hides, Narky might have thought the flight from Illweather had been effortless for them.
Narky took the lead now, while Criton fell back to speak with Phaedra and Hunter. Words from their conversation drifted forward to him as he rode.
“…Found a scroll… ousand two hundred and ten… understand it better,” said Criton’s voice, followed by Phaedra’s reply of, “…to see… it with Bandu? I don’t… her experience… unlikely to be completely… to look at it myself.”
He rode ahead a little. It sounded like the kind of conversation best left to others. There was only one question that interested him right now: had Bandu found a way to open the gate? If not, how would he and the others get out of this Godforsaken world?
In his estimation, they were now only a mile or so from the ruins. The trees were thinning, and certain clumps of them began to look familiar. If they ever made it back to their own world, Narky thought, he just might kiss the ground. Only Anardis had felt this dangerous, and at least there they had had some powerful friends. Here they had no friends, only burdensome children. Narky could hardly wait to be rid of them.
He wondered how things would change when Bandu had her baby. Would she and Criton leave them and settle down, in some dark and lonely wood perhaps? Or maybe only Bandu would drop out of their group to raise the child on her own in the wilderness? That certainly seemed possible, knowing her. She would not want her son or daughter to grow up tame and comfortable, living any halfway civilized life.
A shout from behind pulled him out of his reverie. The fairies had spotted them! Narky could see a group of them some distance behind, galloping toward them. He gave his horse several kicks, as trot turned to canter turned to gallop. They were coming! Oh Gods, they were coming!
Hunter’s words came back to him. If he fled just like this, without a thought for the others and their safety, would he really deserve to survive? What good had all his repentance done him if he was still the same old Narky Coward’s Son? He looked back as he rode, and saw the way the chariot was falling behind, and the way that Hunter and Criton were honorably staying with it. Hunter had already drawn his sword. Although the fairies were still a good distance behind, they were gaining rapidly. It would probably be a fight, then.
Narky reined his horse in. If he was to die today, let him die something other than a coward. He waited until the chariot had reached him before spurring his horse once more. There were at least twenty elves chasing them, led by the same captain who had captured them eleven days ago. A fight would be useless. Narky could see Hunter in his mind’s eye, turning to face them with his sword only to be decapitated and dismembered by those elven sickles. The image stuck in his head as he rode on beside the chariot. It would happen that way, he knew. There were just too many of them.
When he next looked behind him, the fairy captain was a mere horse-length away, with her companions spread out to either side, forming a vee. With a blood-chilling war-cry, the elves raised their sickles high above their heads.
The nets flew.