Petrodor: A Trial of Blood and Steel, Book 2 (70 page)

“All right, I get the idea.”

“Oh, and Damon! Damon would kick your backside if I told him!” She mounted swiftly enough that Jaryd had to wonder if her little dussieh was the only horse she'd been riding, as she'd claimed. “And probably Father too. He's the King of Lenayin, you know.”

“I heard,” Jaryd said drily.

“And Lord Terfelt of Valhanan, he visited again last month, he's got
such
a crush on me.”

“You don't think I could take
him
?”

“Silence,” Sofy said primly, “I'm compiling my list. Now let's see, there's…” Jaryd pressed heels to the mare and forded the stream before she could continue. “I'll have it all memorised by the time we stop again!” Sofy called after him, unperturbed. “You'll be so thrilled to learn of all the people who love me so much they'd want you dead! I'm very popular, you know.”

“I used to think Sasha was the craziest princess,” Jaryd said to Teriyan in passing. “But she told me some stories about Alythia and, now I know Sofy, I'm beginning to think Sasha might be the sanest.”

Soon the forest trail became farmland once more, broken by rows of trees and bushes, and increasingly steep, rolling terrain. They passed farmers
tending animals, ploughing fields or pruning orchards, and others on the road with carts. The party attracted many strange looks, but there wasn't much anyone could do about that now.

At a bend about a gentle slope, Jaryd reined his mare to a halt. Down to the right, along the base of the forested hills climbing up from the valley, ran a small stream. Ryssin rode up beside him. “What's the problem?”

“I know this way well,” said Jaryd, edgily. “The Daeryn Road arrives ahead, it's a fast ride from Algery if you gallop.”

“Fast enough to cut us off?” Ryssin asked, guessing Jaryd's concern.

“Aye, maybe. There's about ten good routes to get to where we're going, but it's not like there's any shortage of chasers. They'll split up and follow the lot. I'm not worried about those behind us, we can outrun them…but if any got ahead…”

“You think we should go around?” Ryssin asked.

“Maybe,” said Jaryd. “But it'll be slow, and then we might really get caught.”

“Sitting here's pretty slow too,” said Ryssin. “Your choice, lad, pick one.”

Jaryd exhaled hard. “Go back and tell them—if we strike trouble, ride
at
them. There'll be no guardsmen following, it'll all be nobles, and they'll not have had much time for armour. The only ones wearing armour were at the wedding, and I don't think any of those will be chasing.”

“Aye,” said Ryssin. Jaryd nudged the mare forward and rounded the bend. Ahead, hedges and poplars lined the fences at the Daeryn Road intersection. The greenery was thick, but not so thick that it could hide horses and riders. No, if there were going to be an ambush, it would come from the barn he saw on the left. He rode further, and the barn came into view past a rise. He could not see anything. But then, that was why they called it an
ambush.

He glanced behind to see that everyone was following, then checked to the right where Daeryn Road continued downhill to a little bridge over the stream…and glimpsed movement from the corner of his eye. His head whipped around, and there, charging from behind the barn, were four horsemen…no, six…no,
nine
horsemen.

“Ride!” he yelled, and slammed in his heels. The mare bolted, and he tore across the intersection risking a glance behind…Ryssin, then Byorn, then Sofy, skirts flying. He had to turn back before Teriyan came into view, but he guessed he would be there too, guarding the rear. He held the mare wide right, then cut into the left-hand bend ahead, as he'd learned in many reckless races along such roads in his youth…

A glance behind showed Ryssin following his line, then Byorn. He made a similar line at the next right. Probably, he thought grimly, the wind
rushing in his face, whoever was chasing knew these roads equally well. Probably it was someone who knew him well, to have guessed he might come this way. Having Teriyan at the rear had seemed a reasonable precaution before—he was the best warrior astride after Jaryd. But fighting from horseback was not the same as regular swordplay. Had they all been afoot, Jaryd had no doubt the nine nobility would have little chance against the four swordsmen of their party. But horses were expensive, and nobility had vastly more riding experience than even Teriyan.

Jaryd knew how to lose them…or at least, some of them. It was an old trick, in these parts, and doubtless his pursuers knew it too…but now, there was Sofy to worry about. She had the least riding experience of them all. Perhaps…perhaps it would be best for her to turn and surrender? They'd never harm a princess of Lenayin. But what if she never got the opportunity to open her mouth and they killed an insolent country girl for conspiring with a traitor? Teriyan was right—he'd made these men mad. Likely whomever they caught would not live long enough to make pretty explanations.

Trees, then fields, then farmhouses all flashed by as the road wound back and forth, and Jaryd searched impatiently for a suitable location. Then he saw it—an orchard, sloping toward the stream. Beyond the stream, the rising, forest-covered slope of the valley side. He pointed hard with his right arm and hoped to the gods that Sofy would be able to muscle her horse off the road if it baulked. The orchard was surrounded by low stone walls, but one corner fronting the road was missing for access…Jaryd urged the mare sharply through the hole. The mare didn't like it, but he left her no doubt and she went, hooves uncertain on new footing, rushing past fruit trees. He ducked some branches and then he was in the lane between planting furrows and the mare accelerated once more, liking this new road better.

Jaryd glanced behind and saw Ryssin, Byorn…then Sofy…good. He slowed the mare again and cut right, ducking branches. A hanging fruit hit him in the head, and he raised an arm to protect his face from another branch. Soon he cut left again, onto a wider lane, checking behind…again, Ryssin was there, but he had no time to see the others. The ground beneath the trees was thick with long bullgrass, which would hide the horses’ tracks. Certainly they could be tracked, but slowly, and the pursuers would have no choice but to split up.

After a while of zigzagging toward what he thought was the centre of the orchard, Jaryd stopped. Ryssin appeared between the thick branches, but there was no space to stand two horses aside, so he rounded the nearest tree. Byorn came past also, then Sofy, who stopped in the lane between trees. Then Teriyan, squeezing his horse against a tree's branches, leaning low in the saddle amidst the leaves and fruit.

“Good thinking, lad,” he said, breathing hard. From somewhere behind, Jaryd could hear yells; hooves thundering one direction, and another.

“They'll split around the perimeter,” said Jaryd. “About half of them. The other half will come in through the trees and try to flush us out.”

“Couldn't they dismount and crouch down?” Sofy asked, looking dubiously at the surrounding trunks. “Can't they see the legs of our horses?”

Jaryd was impressed—it was exactly what they'd done, sometimes, hiding from irate farmers, or opposing teams in boyhood games. “In a younger orchard, yes. But this is mature, see how the branches hang down?” Sure enough, many fruit-laden boughs were pressing the grassy ground. “You can't see more than two or three furrows in any direction.”

Sofy was breathing hard and clearly a little frightened, yet she looked remarkably composed for all that. Her hair, though, was now thoroughly tangled, and she bore a red scratch on one cheek.

“What now then?” asked Teriyan. “Do we split up?”

“Better to stay together,” said Jaryd. “Splitting up just increases the odds they'll find one group or another. They've got holes in their formation now—if we can find one, best we get all of us through it.” Teriyan nodded. “They'll think we'll be heading across the stream into the forest…I reckon we keep going across the valley, they won't expect it, there'll be less of them guarding that side. I'll ride down on my own and be seen, draw them into chasing me back into the orchard, while you lot take off to the east. I'll follow as I can.”

“Wait, wait!” Sofy protested. “You said we'd stick together!”

“I said
you'd
best stick together,” Jaryd retorted. “I know these idiots chasing us, I know this country, I've escaped mobs chasing me before and I can do it again—my biggest problem is other people slowing me down.” With a firm stare at the princess. Sofy's return stare suggested she didn't believe him. “Ryssin, scout forward near the edge of the orchard…when you hear my diversion, ride like a demon.”

The woodsman nodded. “We'll head for the trees further up,” he said, “and risk the slower trails.”

“Aye,” Jaryd agreed, “I think we're far enough east by now anyhow.”

“Head for the highest point along the ridge if we're split up,” said Ryssin. “I'll find you.”

Jaryd nodded, turned and rode downslope, the mare ducking and weaving uncertainly through the tangling branches. He heard the others moving off. Then other hooves, somewhere more distant, horses moving through the trees. He unsheathed his sword. If he came upon one of the nobles in this thicket, there was not going to be much time to react.

He paused, several furrows back from the edge of the orchard, and stood in
the stirrups, but the trees were tall and he couldn't see through the branches. After a moment he caught a glimpse of movement on the perimeter…and then, as he peered, a man on a horse, moving sideways, searching the trees. Jaryd readied his arm, steadying his breathing. These men meant to kill him, he had no doubt. His siblings were not here now to restrain their swords.

He thumped the mare's sides and burst from the orchard. The rider reacted with shock and the horse reared, Jaryd cutting past its hooves to lash at the rider's back…only the noble's guard was fast, and steel clashed in defence. Jaryd wheeled, and saw three more coming at him from the left, two from the right…they were yelling, too, drawing others. He plunged back into the orchard, branches tearing at his face and arms, weaving for whatever small gaps he could glimpse through the greenery.

Suddenly there was a horse and rider before him…his mare reared, half colliding with the other horse, whose rider swung hard. Jaryd barely got his sword up in time, but the impact jolted him in the saddle. Swinging branches displaced by the horses snapped back, and the next thing he knew, he was falling, twisting to roll and not fall on his sword. He hit, but the ground was soft, and he rolled fast to avoid the other horse's trampling hooves. He rolled into the base of a tree and scrambled up, looking for the mare…but she was off.

Jaryd tried to run after her, but the other man spun his horse after him. Jaryd leapt sideways into a gap between trees, the horseman not reining up in time and finding no space to manoeuvre as he stopped alongside. Jaryd saw his chance and lunged upward and felt his sword drive home. A shriek from the rider, his horse suddenly fighting a pull on the reins. Jaryd was about to drag the wounded man from the saddle when hooves thundered behind, and he ran instead, having no time to claim the horse.

He ran fast, weaving between trees, hearing the thunder of hooves and the crashing of heavy bodies through branches. At least the others would be away by now, he found time to think—these men were only interested in him. He scrambled beneath heavy branches and put his back to one gnarled trunk, gasping for breath as several horses came past. He glimpsed the glint of drawn swords through the trees. He ran then not for the centre of the orchard, and safety, but downslope…he could hear riders shouting that he was off his horse. They knew he was on foot. No longer would they bother maintaining a perimeter around the orchard. Perhaps if he could find an adjoining fenceline, he could crouch low and run, and they'd never see him…

He reached the eastern edge of the orchard and crouched, staring across the open, recently ploughed field. No fencelines. No irrigation trenches, no hedge rows. He'd have to head back upslope to the road. Or…he crouched
lower as hooves thundered nearby. Then a horse crashed into the open field, barely five trees upslope, and cut directly past him. His rider did not see.

Jaryd moved fast, took four running steps and slashed with his sword before the rider could respond. The sword cut deep, the rider clutching his side, reins pulling the horse around in a tight circle. He fell, a horrid, shoulder-first thump upon the turf, and rolled, finally losing the horse's reins. Jaryd ran for the horse, but already there were hooves thundering behind…he grabbed the dangling reins, but the horse shied away, making him grab again. The hooves behind were too close, and he spun, seeing another rider coming down on him fast, blade drawn. The riderless horse scampered away, Jaryd running after, as much to use its bulk as a shield than to grab the reins. The attacking rider came past, too far out, and wheeled, losing all speed before a new charge.

Jaryd ran straight at him, coming in low, blade first. Warhorses
hated
that when they weren't running. This one reared, and Jaryd feinted left, then ducked right, and cut up at the right-handed rider from his weaker left side—the harder, low angle to defend from the saddle. The rider's desperation saved him, his blade slashing hard downward, deflecting the blow…thus exposing an arm low, which Jaryd grabbed and dropped his entire bodyweight onto. The rider crashed from the saddle, face down on the turf.

Jaryd came up fast, ready for the finishing blow. The other rider half rose, holding an arm awkwardly, face dirty where it had planted the turf…and Jaryd recognised Rhyst Angyvar, blond hair, cut face and all. “You again,” he observed. “Do you need another twenty men in support before you'd dare try and take me?”

Rhyst scrambled back cringing, blade wavering in panicked defence. “Help!” he screamed. “Somebody help me!” More hooves were thundering from several directions. Both riderless horses had galloped off in fear. Jaryd was tired of hiding in the orchard. He turned to meet the nearest horseman, blade at the ready…and saw that this horse was coming at him from across the open field, not the orchard. On its back was Sofy, hair and skirts streaming in the wind. And now, she was actually slowing, leaning down with one arm as she'd surely seen cavalry practise…only she hadn't taken her near boot out of her stirrup. Dear lords.