CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
The road was empty in both directions for as far as Reese could see, an eerie sight for this early time of day when normally carts and riders would be making their way to the markets of Bar-Khos.
Reese stared again at the bruises hanging in the sky to the northeast, still unable to tell whether they were rain clouds or columns of smoke rising from a fire.
Sweating from her exertions, she pulled the handcart as fast as she could, cursing herself now for having left it so long, this flight to the city; cursing Los too for taking Happy, her single draught animal. Only rarely did she glance to the white-capped sea on her left contained within the Bay of Squalls, for time and again her attention was drawn towards the north, where the Mannians’ slaver parties were said to be close.
Silence all about her, Reese noticed, save for the distant cries of gulls out in the bay and the rumbling of the handcart’s wheels on the stones of the road.
The cart was laden high with everything she had been able to fit onto it from the cottage, even her oldest cat, Solberry, a plump ginger creature perched on the chest of clothing at the very top of the load, watching everything around them with half-blind eyes, too old to be left behind to fend for herself. Reese was making good progress considering the heavy load she was hauling, for the southern coastal road was a relatively smooth surface of flat stones bedded in gravel, and much of it was downhill. Overheating already, she left her blue cloak hanging open to sweep about her in the wind.
Panting, wiping her forehead dry, Reese followed the road down through a vale of swaying yellow grasses framed by white cliffs ahead and a gentle grassy slope to the north, the cart rattling and bouncing behind her along the stones, the ginger cat gripping on with her claws gamely.
She knew the vale to be a good spot for a rest on the long journey to and from the city. A peaceful place to enjoy a quick bite to eat while watching the waves crashing against the foot of the cliffs, listening to the sighs of the grasses in the wind. Not now though, with the smoke hanging there beyond the solitary tree on the crest of the northern slope. Reese felt only trepidation in this place now, and her eyes danced for a sight of what she did not wish to see most of all, signs of Mannians.
She stopped dead, blinking up at the solitary tree on the hill.
Something moved up there, parting from the tree so she could see it clearly now: a rider watching her.
The breath hitched in Reese’s throat as more riders appeared over the crest, joining the first in a long line. Dark cloaks swirled in the offshore breeze. Steam rose from the snorts of their zels. They were armoured, their heads masked by helms that had slits for visors in a fashion not at all familiar to Khos.
‘Oh no.’
They were coming, picking their way down the slope in a meandering column, long poles held upright in their grasps with nooses dangling from the end of them.
Reese looked about for somewhere to run, but there was nothing except the sea and the empty road. She’d freeze out there in the water, and she would never outrun them on the road.
She could only stare frozen on the spot as the lead rider spurred his zel into a canter, and then suddenly they were jingling towards her, spreading out in a line once again and bringing their poles down at the ready, the ground trembling just as she trembled.
She had left it too late. Much too late.
‘Oh Sweet Mother, no!’