Treyon scrambled over the top of the small foothill and raced down the other side, never once glancing back. He could hear the sounds of pursuit behind him, the shouts of men and thuds of galloping horses growing louder.
The forest loomed before him, a thick green mass of trees and underbrush. Treyon ran for the treeline, his side aching. Seconds later, he heard a shout from the foothill.
'There! There he goes!' The hoofbeats started pounding again, and Treyon knew he was down to his last bit of luck. The brigands seemed to be right behind him, and that thought drew a bit more energy from his nearly exhausted body. The dull ache in his ribs grew as he increased his speed. With a surge of energy, he dove into the brush and started crawling deeper into the forest. Behind him, he could hear the horses panting and neighing with fear as they stopped short of the trees. The voices of the men were fading as Treyon extended his lead, but he could still hear them.
'What's the matter? Get in there after 'im!'
'The Hells I will, that's the Forest of Sorrows, ya stupe!'
'You idiot, it's just a piece'a woods. Nothing gonna happen in there except he's gonna get away. You know what Ke'noran'll do if we don't bring him back. Would'ja rather face her?'
'I'm telling ya, I ain't going in.'
The voices grew fainter as Treyon pushed deeper into the woods. It grew darker as he pressed onward, the trees dwarfing him and swallowing the available sunlight until it seemed he was walking in twilight. When he could hear no sounds of pursuit, Treyon paused for a minute to catch his breath, leaning wearily against one of the huge trees surrounding him. Looking around, he wasn't surprised to discover he had no idea where he was.
'All right, Treyon, enough of this. Time to find your way out of here.' Hearing his own voice, even whispered, heartened him. Looking up, he tried to find the sun to figure out which direction he had to go. Unfortunately, the trees were blocking most of the available light, making the attempt impossible. Shrugging his shoulders, Treyon found a suitable tree and began to climb.
A few minutes later, he was among the topmost branches of the tree he had been leaning against, feeling the cool wind on his face and looking in every direction.
Once he had gotten his bearings, he started down. About halfway to the ground, his foot slipped and, as he was already committed to his next step, he started to fall. Suddenly, his feet landed on a thick branch, the jarring stop giving him enough time to wrap his arms around the tree trunk and stay there until his heart stopped threatening to leap from his throat.
Once he had calmed down, he looked at the branch he was standing on. Although this was the route he had used on the way up, he didn't remember this limb at all. Shrugging, he continued downward.
Shinnying down the tree trunk, he jumped the last few feet—and landed to stare at the battered boots of Caith, the leader of the trackers who had been chasing him. The bandit had stepped around from his hiding place behind the tree and, before Treyon could move, grabbed his tattered shirt and drawn him close.
'Little coney sprouted wings and tried flyin' to the trees, eh? Not good enough. I've pulled the same trick myself a couple o' times.' Keeping a tight hold on Treyon, he raised his head and whistled a series of notes twice. Within minutes, the rest of the brigands had rejoined their leader.
'Found the little bastard. Now let's go, Ke'noran ain't gonna be pleased with the delay.' Making sure Treyon was in front of him, Caith pushed him forward and the group began retracing his path back out of the forest.
The forest was ominously silent, making everyone more nervous than they already were by just being in the supposedly cursed woods. They had been traveling for a while when Caith's advance scout held up his hand. The brigand group froze immediately, each hand on a weapon, every ear and eye alert for danger. Despite himself, Treyon craned his head to try and see what was going on. Soren, the bandits' best scout, crept back to Caith and whispered, 'Horse in the clearing up ahead.'
'What in the Hells is a horse doing in these woods? One of ours?'
'Not hardly. Snow white and clean as a stew bowl after dinner. Looked right at me.'
'This doesn't sound right. Forest dead as a grave and now a horse comes out of nowhere? I want a look.' Taking a stiletto from a sheath behind his neck, Caith put it to Treyon's throat. 'One sound outta you, boy, and I'll open yer neck where ya stand. Now move.' Pulling Treyon along, the bandit leader moved silently up to the head of the column.
In a small clearing about ten paces ahead was an animal that took Treyon's breath away. The scout's description did not even begin to do it justice. Its coat was the color of new-fallen snow, with a mane and tail that shone even in the wan sunlight. The horse's light-blue eyes regarded its audience with amusement, but it didn't take flight or move at all, except to lower its head to crop at the strangely lush grass.
Caith crouched down, dragging Treyon to the ground with him. Motioning the other bandits closer, he whispered hurriedly, 'Here's our chance to make up for losing the runt. A horse like this 'un will hopefully make Ke'noran more forgiving. Toren, circle round that way, yer brother will take the other side, and get yer lariats ready.'
The two scouts looked at each other, then at the horse, nodded, and slipped into the brush like ghosting deer. Despite his fear, Treyon wondered for an idle second what kind of ability the brothers had that let them communicate without speaking like that. His attention was quickly drawn back to the ambush before him.
The brothers made no more noise than the slight breeze rustling the leaves, and Treyon quickly lost sight of them, so well did they blend in with the trees and bushes.
The horse was munching a thick clump of grass, seemingly unconcerned about the huddled group of ragged men nearby. Treyon couldn't help wondering what it would be like to ride such an animal, sitting on its sleek back as it raced full out across the plains. It would probably be the closest thing to pure freedom he could imagine. Thinking about what Ke'noren would do to it made him almost ill. At that moment, Treyon knew he had to warn the horse somehow.
Looking up, he saw Caith was watching his two men who were almost in position. His dagger, although still under Treyon's chin, had relaxed its pressure a bit, allowing him to swallow without feeling the scrape of cold steel.
Noticing a large dead branch next to him, Treyon subtly shifted his position until he had moved the branch under him. Pretending to overbalance, he stepped directly on it, bearing down with all his weight.
The branch snapped loudly, causing everyone to freeze for a moment. The horse's head jerked up, looking directly at Treyon, who wanted to scream at it to run, get away, escape. He remained silent, however, locked into the animal's stare, watching as it did a very strange thing.
It winked at him.
Before Treyon could wonder what this meant, he was rocked by a blow that came out of nowhere. Already overbalanced after stepping on the branch, he swayed dizzily after the punch, held up only by Caith's grip on his shirt. Looking up again, he saw Caith glaring at him, his mouth curled in a feral snarl.
'By the Gods, boy, if you cost us that horse, I'll take it out o' yer hide.'
Treyon just hung there limply, knowing the brigand didn't make idle threats.
The two turned their attention back to the horse, Caith keeping a tight hand on the boy's shirt. The bandit waited patiently, knowing the brothers would spring their trap with perfect tuning.
