rolled over onto his back, eyes shut, wanting nothing but to be left alone to die. But strong hands were about his shoulders, forcing him to his feet. He opened his eyes to find himself supported by Eliathanis and clutching the manuscript that had somehow wound up in his hands again during his fall.
“Are you all right?” the White Elf asked worriedly, then added, without waiting for his reply: “Come on. Lydia has our horses, down there where the hill levels out—We’ve got to get away before the guards have a chance to mount and come after us!”
“Before Carlotta comes after us,” Naitachal corrected wryly—”As good a team as we make, cousin-elf—w he flashed a quick grin at Eliathanis, who grinned back “—I’d just as soon not tackle her again.”
Kevin let all that pass without really listening to it. At least, he realized, trying to muster his stunned thoughts, he’d landed on grass, not rock. And nothing seemed to be broken after all. Tucking the hard weight of the manuscript securely inside his tunic, the bardling struggled down the hill to where Lydia waited and pulled himself into a saddle, wincing as strained muscles complained. “Tich’ki ...”
“Here.” Shrunken back to her normal size, she was draped wearily in front of Lydia. “We’re all here.”
“I’ve got your lute,” the warrior woman added. As the bardling quickly slung it over his back. Lydia added sharply, “Now, let’s ride!”
They went down the rest of that steep hill at breakneck speed, Kevin praying none of the horses slipped or caught a hoof. Behind him, he could hear alarm gongs starting to tear the air apart.
But we’ve got a good head start, we should make it into the forest’s shelter before—
A brilliant flash of light made him start so violently he almost lost his seat, thinking. Sorcery! But when the flash was followed by a vicious dap of thunder, he realized the threatening storm was upon them. A wild, wet gust of wind slammed into the horses, making them stagger—
“We’re saved!” Lydia shouted gleefully.
“No,” Eliathanis cried, his eyes all at once wide and unseeing, “there is no safety. Except in the grave.”
“Don’t say that!” Naitachal snapped. “I’ve seen quite enough of graves, thank you!”
Eliathanis seemed to come back to himself with a rush. “I fear you may see yet another, my friend.”
“What are you saying?” Naitachal laughed. “I’ve never yet seen a White Elf who was worth a copper coin at prophesy!”
But to Kevin’s surprise, he thought he caught a trace of fear behind the mockery. And the very real hint of otherworldly sorrow lingering in Eliathanis’ eyes sent a chill through the bardling and made him add in a panicky rush, “It’s all right, really, you’ll see. We’ll be able to hide out from anyone, even an army, in the forest.”
“Will you?” The sudden sharp voice made the horses shy, whinnying in fright. “Or will you die?”
With beautifully dramatic timing, a second bolt of lightning split the sky. Deafened by the following crack of thunder, Kevin stared at this sudden apparition in stunned disbelief. There was no doubt at all who it was:
her elegant face was set in its cold, sorcerous lines. Her green gown whipped about her in the ever-rising storm wind that made the locks other long hair writhe like flame.
“Carlotta! B-but how—”
“She is a sorceress,” Naitachal reminded the bardling drily. The Dark Elf’s blue eyes were flickering with their own sorcerous red embers. “I thought we were escaping just a bit too easily.”
“Listen to me,” Lydia murmured. “When I give the signal, kick your horses into a gallop.”
“Don’t be silly,” Naitachal began, but Lydia was already shouting:
“And ... now!”
The startled horses shot forward as one. But before they could reach Carlotta, she shouted out savage Words of Power—and a huge wall of flame roared up. The horses screamed in terror, shying wildly, fighting their riders. Kevin lost a stirrup, nearly smashed his nose against his animal’s neck, hanging on for all he was worth—
“Told you.” Naitachal’s words were chopped off as his horse reared, making him look like a dark legend against the dark sky, his cloak billowing out like bat wings.
“Where’s Carlotta?” Lydia shouted, clinging to her plunging horse like a burr.
