CHAPTER 10

BY NIGHTFALL WE ARE NEARLY BACK TO MY ORIGINAL ROUTE. THE SKIES broke open midafternoon, and though the rain has stopped now, our cloaks are still drenched. More people travel in this area, and buildings occasionally sprout up in the woods. Sleeping in the open will be tricky tonight.

“We should look for an inn,” Dalen says. “Then you can pretend I’m a horse that you’re keeping in the stables while you take a room inside.”

“It’s a good idea, but we may have to be very sneaky to make it work.”

The innkeeper may not be keen on renting a room to a girl with only baubles to her name. I’m not wild about trespassing, but we’ll do what we must.

The buildings become closer together and I’m grateful it’s late at night. Far too many people would be on the streets if it were not nearly midnight. I shudder. We’ll have to sleep quickly and rise early if we want to leave without any trouble.

A tavern with a gaily painted sign appears on our right. A stable sits behind it. Dalen’s tail flicks when he hears the horses whinny softly in the darkness.

I lead Dalen into the tavern yard, sticking as close as possible to the side of the building. A few shops lie across the street, all dark paneling and white trim like the inn and tavern. Raucous voices ring out from inside, and the sour smell of ale and sweat wafts through the windows. I give Dalen my pack and advise him to duck low in the bushes while I go inside. He keeps his head and torso down as much as he can, but nothing can be done about his horse half. If anyone glances out the window as he passes, they’ll just see a horse’s rear end.

The door to the tavern creaks when I open it and step into the smoky, half-lit room. All I want to do is find the innkeeper, barter for a room, and, barring that, hide in the stables with Dalen.

“Hey, Jakob, more ale!” cries a tall man with a deep voice and long arms. “Our mercenary friends here must celebrate.” The words catch my ears. Mercenaries. Men who sell their allegiance and skill with a sword. Those are the sort of men Ensel employed in his army.

A thin older man with long graying hair looks up from his books. He shakes his head at the first man and nods at the young barmaid. The man must be Jakob, and if he’s in charge, he must be the innkeeper. An older woman with hair the same shade as Jakob’s walks out of the kitchen and into the hall carrying a basket of rolls.

“Do you have the coin for it, Aaron, or are you just blustering again?” the barmaid says. The men all laugh, and I imagine it is at Aaron’s expense. I push my way through the crowd, headed for Jakob’s side of the bar. At least twenty men crowd around the tables, many of them wearing cloaks with a scrolling red insignia on the shoulder, marking them as mercenaries. These are not men to be trifled with. I must be quick.

“What? Of course I do! Besides, these men are doing us a favor. You should be giving it away on the house.”

“Really? A favor? What good have they done?” the barmaid scoffs.

Steel jangles and wooden benches screech as they’re shoved back. Tall men with long swords tower over me and the rest of the patrons. I try not to cringe, edging closer to the innkeeper’s station. That barmaid should not have asked such a question, not if they’re like the mercenaries I remember. Those men were gruff and ruthless, unkind to all but the one who paid them—Ensel.

The man continues, oblivious to the dead silence around him. “Why, they’re keeping us safe, cleaning up after that wizard—” His words suddenly choke off. A knife whistles through the air, knocking several plates off the bar and landing just shy of the barmaid’s fingers on the tap.

“S-sorry, sirs,” the barmaid stutters, “I didn’t mean no offense.”

“You should know,” a new, deep voice says, giving me shivers, “that I am Vincali, captain of the mercenary league, and ruler of Belladoma.” The man who speaks has dark, stringy hair that hangs down to his shoulders, and eyes like black bottomless pits.

Several gasps echo before the room falls to silence. My heart sinks into my feet. Nothing good can come of the mercenaries taking over that city. I reach the innkeeper at last. “Excuse me, sir,” I say, but he only gives me a cursory look, then goes back to his books.

“Isn’t that lovely,” the first man giggles. He’s clearly drunk. “Ensel died before he could pay them properly, so they took their payment by taking the city.”

“Well, that’s something worth celebrating, then,” the barmaid says, voice quivering. I glance over and ball my hands into fists. The mercenary man who spoke, Vincali, has retrieved his knife and now holds it against her throat while she refills his glass.

Bullies. The whole lot of them. I hate bullies.

But I swallow my dislike and try again to talk to the innkeeper. “Excuse me, sir, but I would like to barter for a room for the night.” I hold up several of the shiny objects Dalen brought with him, dotted with one or two coins. Even I know it’s not nearly enough for a shared room, let alone a private one. But if some of these are real silver, he just might go for it.

The innkeeper raises his eyebrows and examines my offer. “This is no place for children.”

I resist rolling my eyes. “My parents will join me shortly,” I lie. “They just sent me on an errand to get a room.”

Laughter breaks out behind me. “Jakob, are you renting rooms to babies now?”

Fuming, I glance behind to see Vincali sneering. His attention is the last thing I need.

Jakob pushes my hands away. “No. I was just telling her to run off and rejoin her parents.”

Vincali steps closer, his sword jangling at his side with each step. “Yes, they must be looking for you. I doubt they’d appreciate you spending their money.” He glances down at my hands. I snap them closed and drop them to my sides. “Or bartering their silverware.”

My face flushes and it only makes me madder. “Excuse me.” I push past him, moving toward the door. Every nerve is taut with fear. I can’t afford to draw any more attention than I already have. Especially not from the people who currently run Belladoma.

Snickers crop up in the crowd. I keep my head high as I open the door and step out.

With a quick look to ensure I have not been followed, I duck around the porch and join Dalen in the bushes. I shoulder my pack and signal him to move toward the woods beyond the stables.

When we reach the corner of the inn, I glance around, then shrink back. A mercenary now stands by the front door, smoking a pipe, and puffing curling smoke into the air. Dalen wrinkles his nose.

“What on earth is that horrid—”

“Be quiet,” I whisper. He gives me an indignant look but obeys. “The men in there are dangerous. We must be cautious.”

Dalen goes absolutely still. “I know how to remain hidden,” he whispers. “I have practiced it all my life.”

I breathe out, relieved.

“Do you know who those men are?” he asks.

I shudder. “Yes. We don’t want to cross them, I can assure you of that. We can’t stay here tonight. Besides, the innkeeper refused to barter for a room.”

When the man’s back is turned, we creep softly over the grass toward the stables and the woods beyond.

“Do you hear that?” Dalen whispers.

Footsteps. Laughter. The clank of swords.

All headed in this direction. The front door of the tavern bursts open and we break into a run. I hope the distance and the shadows are enough to conceal us. We must reach safety as quickly as possible.

At first they speak in muffled voices, too far away for us to hear what they say. They do not look our way, and the tightness in my chest begins to unwind.

“Get on my back,” Dalen says, bending his horse half down.

“What?” I say, bewildered. My pulse stutters with every shout and laugh from the direction of the mercenaries.

“You can’t outrun them, but I can. It’s the only way we’ll escape without getting caught.”

I jump up and awkwardly sit on his back, tying one end of the ropes securing his pack around my waist.

“Go,” I whisper.

“Put your arms around me,” he says. “It will keep you from slipping.”

I do, and then he ambles forward, only to step on a branch hidden by the tall grass. Suddenly, six pairs of unsavory eyes burn into our backs and a shout goes up.

“Run,” I whisper. He throws himself into the forest at full speed. I cling to him, forehead pressed against his back, terrified I’ll fall off any second. I hate running, but we’re far outnumbered and have no weapons that can match their swords.

I’ve been told I’m brave, but I’m not stupid.

We plunge into the forest, branches whipping by our heads. Dalen ducks and weaves as much as possible, but a couple catch me on the back and shoulders. It smarts; it will bruise by morning.

But I’ll take that any day of the week over what those men back at the tavern might do.

The sounds of pursuit follow quicker than I’d hoped. Pounding hoofbeats and men’s shouts echo through the trees. A few curses and the word hybrid reach my ears. A hard knot of terror forms in my gut.

Moonlight streams through the trees, both a blessing and a curse. It lights our path, but it will also make it easier for our pursuers to spot us.

“We have to find someplace to hide,” I say.

“I agree. But I am afraid I do not know this part of the woods.”

“Keep an eye out for something.”

Fortunately, the mercenaries’ horses are not closing in yet. Dalen is fast, even with me on his back. What will they do with Dalen if they catch us? Sell him as a slave? No, the wizard taught us all one thing—hybrids are more valuable dead than alive. They’ll kill him, and sell his parts for a fortune at one of the traveling markets.

Sickly heat crawls over my skin. Dalen is smart and kind, and he was the first to believe my story. It’s up to me to keep him safe.

The sound of rushing water soon drowns out the hoofbeats pounding behind us. The river is up ahead. We might be able to lose them there. But the thought of all that water makes me dizzy.

The terrain becomes more hilly and rocky, and I fear Dalen grows tired.

“Should we try crossing the river?” he says. “It isn’t far off.”

“Soon, yes. But not right away. We need to throw them off our trail as much as possible first.” I swallow hard, determined to keep my eyes focused on the dimly lit woods.

The river comes into view, rippling water sparkling in the moonlight. Dalen gallops along the bank, but the water is too wide and deep to cross yet.

“We need a shallower spot; otherwise the current will drag us to who knows where.”

He turns south and picks up speed, following the river’s edge. The trees are thinner, but the river shows no sign of narrowing. Horse hooves and snapping branches echo in the dark stillness of the woods. An owl hoots its disapproval. Our pursuers are not as far behind as I’d like them to be anymore.

Dalen runs down a hill. Then something dark and solid looms over the riverbank ahead. The river runs right through one of the larger hills, creating a cave. Perhaps this one has offshoot tunnels as well. Places we could lose the mercenaries. If Dalen can even fit inside. The bank between the cave wall and the river might be too narrow.

“Head for that cave. We might be able to follow it through and lose them on the other side, or find a tunnel to hide in.”

He gives me a skeptical look over his shoulder, then shrugs. He doesn’t have any better ideas.

Even with the moonlight overhead, the cave is hard to see. Something large and hungry could be waiting just inside, or rocks could be ready to trip us and toss us into the rushing water.

Or there could be a way out.

Dalen breathes heavily. I’m a burden to him now. At the least, we need a place to hide and rest. He skids to a stop at the entrance to the cave and peers inside.

“This is narrow, but I think I can do it. If it gets narrower, I will be in trouble.”

“You’ll be fine,” I say encouragingly, though I don’t feel half so certain. “I’ll go first.” I dismount and wobble into the cave. I take Dalen’s hand and tug him after me. My legs are sore after riding, but I force myself to continue. I reach out for balance, but the sides of the cave are slick with damp stone and moss that gives off a faint light. I press on, feet solidly on the edge, keeping one eye glued to the rushing river beside me, hoping for an inner tunnel on the left. Anything to make them lose their trail. Anything to get away from all this water. Behind me Dalen groans.

“Shhh,” I whisper.

“Sorry,” he says. “This place makes me uncomfortable.”

I squeeze his hand because I doubt he can see my smile in the darkness, but I have to release it to keep my balance.

Moments later, I hear the sound of something heavy sliding.

Splash!

I whirl. Dalen flails in the water with all six appendages. I grab at his hands, but the current yanks him out of reach. He can’t get ahold of the riverbank and the cave doesn’t have any sort of branch or vine for me to use to reach him.

Panic streams up my arms, but I shove it down. I don’t have time to panic.

Instead, I run. I follow his waving arms and bobbing head and hindquarters in the faint cave light. I must figure something out. Or follow the river until he finds something to grab onto.

I will not lose him like I lost my friends.

The only good thing is that since Dalen had a hard time passing through this cave, so will the men chasing us. In fact, this may be the perfect way to lose them entirely.

Provided, of course, Dalen doesn’t die in the process.

I run with all my might, ignoring my sore muscles and the vise of fear that seems to be squeezing my chest, but the river is faster than me. It tosses him around a bend, and out of my line of sight. The faint sounds of slow hoof steps echo from the cave entrance.

It won’t be easy for them to follow, I remind myself. Maybe they’ll give up. Sure, it might be nice to have a hybrid to sell off, but he’s not worth risking their necks over.

I take the turn as fast as I dare, and relief floods over me at the sight of moonlight at the end of the cave tunnel. A way out.

Dalen flies right through it. He might be hurt. I can’t imagine trying to maneuver a horse body underwater, not with the violent current tugging me along. And yet he doesn’t cry out. Does he know it would give us away?

I don’t know that even I could manage that.

What if he’s unconscious? His lungs could be filling with more water every second I delay.

I pick up the pace and burst out into the moonlit night. No horses and riders threaten, no wild animals near.

No Dalen, either. Nothing at all.

My heart pounds in my chest, and I ball my hands into fists at my sides as I catch my breath. The memory of tentacles slapping wet rocks reverberates in my mind and drives me to my knees. A girl’s scream echoes for ages. The stickiness of salt coats my skin, making it itch. Then I scratch too deeply, the sharpness stinging me back to the present.

I can’t leave poor Dalen treading water. Or worse, underwater.

I take off, scanning the river for any sign of a horse or boy. Or any large obstructions that the water has to run over. My legs burn and all I want to do is lie down and sleep. But I can’t rest until I have my centaur back. He wouldn’t leave me behind if it were me in that river.

On my way, I find a sturdy-looking stick that isn’t too unwieldy. I grab it, then keep on running. It’s useless if I can’t find him, but I’m operating under the assumption I will.

Up ahead, a tree branch appears to be stuck in the river.

And then a head, hair dripping with water, bursts over the waves, and gasps.

“Dalen!” I cry, then clamp my free hand over my mouth. What a stupid thing to do. Even Dalen knew better.

Fortunately, no sounds of pursuit follow. At least, not yet.

I reach the branch Dalen clings to and tug on it with all my might. It’s more like a tree half submerged in the water than a branch, and it doesn’t budge so much as creak. It makes me nervous. A wild look takes hold in Dalen’s eyes. “Please, Greta. Get me out of this water,” he sputters.

“Of course I will,” I say, faking all the bravado I can muster, as though pulling centaurs out of rivers is something I do each day before breakfast.

I use the branch I picked up on my way over to reach out as far as I dare and still keep my own feet planted on the riverbank. I’m keenly aware of any slight shifts or give in the silt below my feet. One false move, and we’ll both be in the water.

He grabs onto the end, and it’s all I can do not to tumble headlong after. He’s much heavier than I expected, and he’s weighed down by all the water he has soaked up and swallowed.

“Come on, kick your legs to help move your body to the bank.”

Another wave washes over his face, slurring whatever response he makes.

He shakes his head, terror and relief mixing in his expression, and I wonder if one of his legs is broken.

Slowly but surely, I drag Dalen toward the bank against the current, while he pulls himself closer hand over hand on the submerged tree. Finally, he reaches the edge, and with one last tug he pushes off with his legs and he is up and over the bank. He scrambles to get as far from the edge as possible. I’m relieved nothing appears to be broken, especially his legs.

I pat his back while he coughs up river water.

“Remind me to never go swimming again,” he says.

I laugh with relief. “If I’d had any idea you were planning to dive in, I would’ve discouraged you.”

He rests on the grass for a moment, staring up between the trees. “Where are we?”

For the first time, I look around us—really look around us—and realize the trees are different here. Not many pine and birch and oak, but more spindly trees, shorter and newer. And more vines and greenery.

Truth is, I have no idea where we are.

We are completely lost.