Aidan ducked into the kitchen, sending the scullery maid scuttling up the servants’ staircase. He raced out the kitchen door.
Three arrows whizzed past his face and embedded into the wooden frame. He felt the archers’ Pulls. Five of them in the brush, two in the haymow in the barn. Those had been warning shots; Lord Dewhurst’s bowmen were renowned for their accuracy.
The arrow tips, of course, were iron. But the bows were mere wood. Those he could deal with.
Aidan closed his eyes, feeling for the bows and, one by one, Dismissed them from their respective archers. It was on the fourth bow that another arrow flew. Aidan felt its approach, and hastily Dismissed the shaft. Unbalanced, the arrow tip missed its mark yet still came within dangerous proximity to Aidan’s person.
He grimaced as he ran across the yard. Get to Triumph and you’ll be free. Get to Triumph, Aidan told himself.
But the archers were not through with him, and the men in the house and around the house were closing in. The bowmen in the loft threw wood at Aidan, but he Pushed each log, block, and board back at them, not pausing to see if his aim was true.
The men in the brush charged with their iron pokers. Aidan sensed the Pull of the new bows being drawn behind his back.
He didn’t stand a chance running backward, forward, left or right. There was only one option open, the trick up his sleeve. Aidan stopped and closed his eyes. He hadn’t done this since he was a boy, hadn’t needed or, rather, wanted to. Not even Tristram knew of this part of his blasted abilities.
Aidan let the tension leak out of his body as if Dismissing it. His knees became weak. He relaxed, Releasing every object and every person’s Pull on him.
He was now surrounded, and he could still feel at least two persons whom he’d yet to Release himself from.
“What is he doing? Seize him.”
They were too late. Aidan let go of his Existence, and Dismissed himself into Nothingness.
* * *
The oddest thing about Nothingness, Aidan always found, is that you still know. You can’t feel, which makes re-gripping Existence difficult, never mind breathing properly. And no matter how long you think you’ve vanished for, it will always have been an hour.
As Aidan struggled to reappear, he could only hope that the yard would be clear of soldiers. If they had remained where they stood…well, he would have given up his great secret for nothing.
Aidan imagined tightening his muscles, feeling the Pull of Existence and everything in it. He allowed anxiety to roil through his being, guilt to take over his thoughts until he experienced the sensation of being yanked between two great forces. Existence and Nothingness were warring over him. He grabbed on to thoughts of his family. “My fault,” he repeated over and over again in his mind. “I shall make this right. I shall. I shall.”
The image of a young boy filled his thoughts. In his mind, the raven-haired lad was screaming for help. Aidan could not help in Nothingness. He could not help the woman and the man he called his parents, either. So he beat himself with the thoughts over and over, allowing himself to feel the pull of his responsibility until, at last, he was thrown back to the yard with a none-too-gentle thud.
The world was so bright at first, Aidan could not see, nor could he move. He lay there, catching his breath.
All was silent, save for the upset clucking of chickens and the indignant crow of a rooster. Aidan tried his eyes again. The world came into focus, and he was relieved to see that he was alone.
Strength returned to him at that moment, so he stumbled to his feet and ran into the wood, praying that Triumph hadn’t been discovered.
He ran one mile, then another. There were no signs of disturbance up ahead. But where was his blasted horse?
Aidan looked around him, caught his breath, and whistled. Triumph nickered nearby. “Well, come on, then.” He turned, and there was his black stallion, grazing on what grass he could find. “Any day now would be wonderful.”
Triumph snorted and tossed his head but made no move toward his master.
“Stubborn beast,” Aidan muttered, coming to Triumph and seizing the reins. He mounted and kicked the horse’s flanks. Triumph started forward at a gentle walk. “We’ve been betrayed. Tris betrayed us.”
The horse seemed to understand the urgency in his master’s voice, and broke into a canter, putting Tristram’s estate behind them.
A setback, indeed, Aidan thought as he leaned forward. His only ally had turned on him. “At least he gave me the money first. Yah! Fly, you devil, fly!”
Chapter Two
How much the betrayal would cost him, Aidan couldn’t say. It would all depend on how much Tristram knew and how much of it he had told. On the one hand, Tristram was a fool. He probably thought his old friend had simply vanished and relocated anywhere he pleased. However, Lord Dewhurst’s advisors were not so foolish; they would tell their lord to continue scouring the area for signs, to listen to whispers and rumors of strangers in the vicinity.
Aidan rode on for hours, staying off the main ways as much as possible. But the woods were overgrown in many places, and not much of his old secret path remained. Twice he had to pass well-to-do persons on the road, stopping to make the polite tip of the hat that manners would require. If he did not, suspicions might be raised. Still, he kept his head down like a common man would, and prayed they did not question him. They did not.
It was when the sun was near the end of its descent that Aidan re-entered the woods by a stream. His steed let out a great huff before dipping a grateful muzzle into the water.
Aidan stroked the beast’s side, and
