posed its own problems, but the added speed and mobility made up for those, Kerian decided.
With the sword-wielding Lioness in the lead, the little group made for the gate.
It wasn’t long before she began to regret her decision. Two members of her little band, a pair of brothers who made their living fishing, confessed they could not ride. She told them to double up with others, but the brothers were afraid of horses, and none of the rest wanted a passenger anyway, not with Lord Olin’s cavalry likely to be on their heels. The escapees fell to arguing in loud whispers.
They were hiding behind a pile of garbage just outside the corral. Every moment they delayed brought closer the time when their absence would be discovered and a search launched. Yet all Kerian’s exhortations wouldn’t move the elves one step closer to the corral. Furious, she told the brothers to make it out of town on foot.
The corral was unguarded but for a couple of stable boys. One had just returned with their supper and they had gone into the tack shed to eat.
Crouched low, the elves entered the corral. Kerian had told them what to do. They would mount quietly. Each rider would lie low on his horse’s neck as Kerian opened the gate, then the animals would be whipped to a gallop. Riding in a body, they stood a good chance of making it to the stockade before anyone could stop them. At the stockade they’d have to trample anyone trying to bar the way. It wasn’t much of a plan, but considering what she had to work with, Kerian knew it would have to do.
They’d barely begun to mount the horses when shouts rose from a nearby street. Kerian froze, listening, and it quickly became apparent they’d been missed at last.
“Go!” she hissed. She boosted the last elf atop a horse, and rushed to the gate.
The noise in the streets had drawn the stable boys from the shed. Both stood on the other side of the gate, beer tankards in hand, their backs to Kerian. Noiselessly, she lifted the latch then headed back to the rear. Drawing a deep breath, she shouted, at the same time slapping horses’ flanks. The riders twined their fingers through the animals’ manes, and the herd surged forward. Kerian grabbed a passing horse and swung herself aboard. The lead animals hit the unlatched gate. It sprang open. The stable boys dove clear, and they were away.
Lying low on her horse’s neck, Kerian guided it left, away from the town square. Her mount was a young mare. It moved to the front of the herd, and the other animals followed. Responding to the pressure of Kerian’s legs and feet, the mare veered farther left, into the street leading down the hill to the stockade gate.
Kerian heard a scream. One of the elves had lost his balance and fallen amid the pounding hooves. There was nothing to be done for him. The horses thundered on.
The escaping elves were poor riders, and riding bareback at a gallop took its toll. Three more fell off and were trampled.
By then mounted mercenaries had appeared from the side streets. They rode alongside the escapees, twirling loops of rope. Expertly thrown, the lines dropped around the necks of the galloping horses, pulling them up short. More and more ropes were thrown, and the whirl of horses dissolved into a neighing mass of confusion.
Kerian slid from the mare’s back, landing in a crouch amid churning hooves. She spied the dwarf among the fallen riders and hauled him to his feet. If they could make it to the other side of the street, they might be able to vanish into the maze of dingy houses.
Something hit her leg, knocking her to the ground. She twisted around, but couldn’t free herself. The dwarf had fallen across her leg. Two arrows protruded from his back. A third pierced his neck. He was dead and she didn’t even know his name.
Hands dragged her roughly to her feet. The horses had been led away, clearing the street. Out of fourteen escaped prisoners, only Kerian and four other elves still lived. None of the others had made it to freedom. The five survivors were bound and hauled back to face Lord Olin.
The former residence of Bianost’s mayor stood opposite the town hall. Bonfires blazed on its stone steps. The number of guards in evidence made it obvious Olin Man-Daleth had taken the mansion for his own. The sandstone facade was streaked with soot, and the elegantly tall windows were crudely bricked up, leaving only narrow openings through which archers could shoot. The ornamental bronze doors were nearly concealed behind a head- high breastwork of timbers and sandbags. The entrance was guarded by no fewer than fifteen armed bandits.
Lord Olin stood on the stone steps as the recaptured prisoners were brought before him. Tall, with iron-gray hair, Olin wore full armor and a heavy dark cape to disguise his thinness. Narrow, close-set eyes and a nose crooked from having been broken and inexpertly set gave him a sinister look. The news of the escape had interrupted his dinner, putting him in a foul mood. Despite his perpetual thinness, he had a hearty appetite, and food was one of the great pleasures of his life. Those responsible for disrupting his meal would know his wrath.
He glared at the bound elves kneeling at the bottom of the stairs. The female he ignored, concentrating his attention on the four males.
“How did you get out?” he demanded.
When no answers were forthcoming, a goblin struck one of the captives, knocking the elf onto his face. Olin repeated the question.
The elves exchanged frightened looks but still said nothing. The goblin lifted its sword, ready to take the head of a random prisoner, but Olin stayed its hand. His face was very red. He stomped down the steps, halting on the last one.
“Rebellion will not be allowed!” he shouted. “I will know who your ringleaders are and deal with them!”
He gestured at two of the elves. “Bring them to the tower. Return the rest to the cages.” He swept up the stairs.
The captives were bullied and buffeted across the square toward the town hall. There they were separated, with Kerian and two elves returned to the holding cage, and the two elves chosen by Lord Olin forced into the long stairwell that led up the town hail tower.
Kerian asked her fellow captives what was in the tower. Neither would answer. They huddled in the far corner of the cage, their misery all the greater for their brief taste of freedom. Soon the three of them heard screams.
When the first echoed through the air, Kerian rushed to the door. Standing on tiptoe, she peered out the small window. Outside were three guards.
“What’s happening, savages?” she demanded.
Two guards ignored her. The third, younger than the others, ambled over, regarding her with open interest.
Another scream ripped through the air, the sound of a soul in terrible torment. Kerian pounded a fist against the door.
The young guard smiled. “Lord Olin wants to know who to blame for the escape. In the tower questions are answered quickly or not at all.”
“Leave them alone! Tell him it was me!”
“I’ll be sure to do that.” Laughing, the bandit moved away. Nothing she said mattered. None of the guards believed her.
Only the young one would even speak to her, and then only to make obscene suggestions. The distant screams continued intermittently.
Some time later, a sharp rap on the cell door jolted her awake. She didn’t know how long she’d dozed, but the young guard’s laughter brought her quickly to her feet.
“It appears you weren’t lying. They both admitted you planned the whole thing.” He shook his head, grinning appreciatively. “You’re a firebrand.”
“What has happened to them?”
“Oh, they’re dead. Believe me, they’re lucky. For you, it won’t be so quick.” She did not ask what he meant, but he volunteered the information anyway. “You’re to be executed, as a warning to other would-be rebels. Day after tomorrow.” He walked away.
Sick with guilt and helpless fury, Kerian slid to the floor.
