was as good to her as he could manage. She was a good horse and his only real friend in Torto's show; no prince's charger, but not a plug either. Rin thought of unsaddling her and letting her roll, but here he had to move fast if needful, so he only loosened the girth strap. She was white, mostly, but that was just good luck and the graying out of age. She'd been Torto's, but Rin was the one who cared for her. It didn't really bother Rin that he'd stolen her, though a slickman with pride in his craft wouldn't resort to outright theft unless there was no way to swindle for what was needed. Which was also why he'd later stolen the Herald's Whites.
The flashy sword was from Torto's prop box, taken with no thought of this particular game. He just liked having the sword, even though the slim, heavy knife in his boot top was probably a better weapon.
A sword made him feel more like a heroic servant of the Crown, and half of any game was feeling the part.
He dug into a saddlebag, and came up with a small cloth sack. Rin peered in, laughed delightedly and popped one of the golden brown slices into his mouth. He rolled his eyes and nearly cried. The taste of the lightly seasoned, dried apple brought back a wave of memory and feeling. For Rin that taste whispered of another time, and a loving mother's special treat for a small boy.
Rin munched road rations while the mare grazed. He drank deeply from the brook and topped up his water bottle. After a half-hour's rest, he cinched the mare's girth strap and set off again.
In late afternoon he rounded a turn and glimpsed two small figures perhaps a hundred paces ahead on the narrow, uphill road. The taller darted into the brush. The shorter seemed frozen, holding something. The taller figure reappeared to drag the other back into the bushes. They didn't seem big enough to be a threat, but this region was never entirely free of brigands.
With one hand on the reins and the other on his sword, Rin edged the mare on up the hill. Reaching the spot, he heard voices whispering fiercely. The brush rustled, and a small boy stumbled out onto the path. He was four or five, dressed in homespun tunic and breeches. The boy stared round-eyed up at Rin, clutching a battered toy stick horse. The head of the horse was cut from split wood, and painted white. Its eyes were blue.
'Valon!' the bushes behind the boy hissed. 'Get back here!' More rustling, and a girl of about nine years came out on the path. She was dressed in the same material as the boy, with similar features, her hair a darker shade of blond; sister and brother, probably. She pulled the boy behind her.
'Natli!' piped the boy, peering around her. 'He's a Herald!'
'May be,' she said, eyeing Rin. 'An' may be not. If you're a Herald, what's your name, an' how come your horse's eyes hain't blue?'
Rin gave the girl his warmest smile, feeling as if he were stepping onstage.
'I am Special Auxiliary Herald Rincent, m'lady, at your service.' Rin let his voice ring with easy authority. Time for fast answers and distractions. 'As for my Companion, the regular Heralds around the big cities have the ones with blue eyes. They don't all have blue eyes, you know. But Serena here can do other things. She can read minds.'
'Read minds?' The girl looked less wary and more interested.
'And talk without words.'
'Hmf!' the wary look was back in the girl's eyes. But Rin was on familiar ground here. The few tricks he'd taught the mare always came in handy. He cocked his head as if listening, and tickled the mare's neck on the side away from the girl. The horse snorted and shook her head slightly.
'She says, Natli, that you and your brother, Valon, shouldn't be out in the forest, especially with your family worried about you.' The girl's eyes widened.
'But we had to run!' Valon had edged out from behind his sister. 'We had to! We can't go back to the village!'
'You had to run?'
'That's right...Herald Rincent,' said Natli. 'Mum said to run an' run, an' not stop till the bad men weren't followin' us no more.'
'Bad men?' Rin didn't like the sound of this. 'What bad men?'
'The ones that came to our village. Mum said they wanted food an' gold an' people. Mum said to run till we found someone to get help.'
Brigands; robbers and killers with a taste for slaving. They were hunting these children, if they hadn't given up. The same sort who'd attacked his home, killed his parents, sold him to be 'adopted' by that greasebucket Torto. Rin was very sure he wanted nothing to do with these 'bad men.' He hadn't planned on returning so soon (if ever) to Goldenoak, but it was far better than meeting the outlaws. He hoped the kids could keep up. If not, he could tell the villagers they were on the trail, while he rode on to
'get help.'
'You'll help us, won't you, Herald Rincent?' Valon's eyes pleaded along with his voice. 'Won't you?' Rin had been about this boy's age when the raiders came.
'How far back are these bad men?' asked Rin. A shout snapped his attention up the trail, where the hill crested. A big, broad-shouldered man stood there. He stared at Rin and the children, then turned, shouted again, and waved behind him. It was too far for Rin to make out his face, but Rin could guess who and what he was.
'Not very far.' said Natli gravely, pulling Valon back to her. She looked back up at Rin, staring eye to eye. 'You have to help us. Now.'
Rin looked back up the hill. Two more men appeared, one after the other. The last seemed to be breathing hard, leaning over to rest his hands on his knees. The outlaw catching his breath might give them a few seconds, the sight of the Herald's Whites and horse a few more. But these were hard cases, men marked and hunted by the law. They wouldn't be put off for long by the sight of one 'Herald.'
The brigands were here to steal him again. A dark, closed part of Rin's mind flashed a bright, jagged series of memories, racing with his panicked thoughts.
'Hand him up!' He told Natli as he reached down. 'Then get up behind me. Move!' As Rin hauled Valon up, an arrow hissed past his face. The mare jerked and danced, but Rin kept a taut rein and turned her to face downhill. He glanced back. The slow brigand at the hill's crest fumbled another arrow onto his bowstring. His two ugly partners were running downhill, the first well ahead of the second, closing fast. If Rin could get the girl up quickly, they should make it. Even the three of them would load the horse little more than a large man, and Rin had past experience running from angry people.
He shifted the reins and settled Valon with his right hand, and leaned down to help Natli up with his left. Another arrow whistled past the mare's eyes and nose. Frightened from the first arrow and the smell of fear, the mare's neighing sounded like a child's scream. She reared.
Rin fell with Valon atop him, the toy horse still in the boy's fist. The packed earth of the path was better than rock, but landing still hurt. The mare ran headlong back downhill, away from them all.
Rin had survived enough street fights to know you checked hurts only after getting clear. He untangled himself from Valon and lurched to his feet, cursing himself for choosing now, of all times, to be good and stupid. He put himself between the children and the oncoming brigands and hauled out his sword.
'Run,' he said grimly, and faced his attackers.
The first outlaw, a big man with scarred face and matted hair, reached him and swung. Rin ducked a side cut to his head and jumped back to avoid the return slash to his stomach. No, they weren't awed by the uniform. He had to attack before the second thug reached him.
Rin put all his strength and speed into an overhand cut at his opponent's head. The man shifted fast and blocked the blow solidly. Rin's cheap show blade twisted and folded over the outlaw's tarnished steel.
Rin had one dismayed glimpse of the blade's right-angle bend before a kick caught him at the top of his stomach, just under the breastbone. It knocked him back to land butt-first, the air driven from his lungs, feeling like
