building in his throat. At these times, it was Nightmare that kept them going, the big horse leaning forward, hooves clopping at a steady pace, the tether in the boy's hand tugging him along, keeping him from a state of utter collapse.
That night he camped in a grove of cedars, again eating fresh trout with a couple of his apples. He built a small fire before falling asleep and, aided by the windbreak of the evergreens, spent a more comfortable and restful night than he had previously.
On the third day of his trek, the ground began to rise noticeably. He had seen no settlements, no sign of humankind or any other race of builders, in the time since the wrack of his village had been left behind. Now the distant mountains rose as a purple mass to the north and east, and in places he saw long, white snowfields and glistening white cornices draped across the lofty alpine ridges.
In the late afternoon of this day's trek, he came around a curve in the upstream trail and was startled to find that the waterway was spanned by an arched bridge of gray stone. Releasing Nightmare's reins, he scrambled up a slope of broken rock to stand upon a narrow, rutted cart track. The horse kicked and sprang, following him and coming to a standing stop in the roadway.
'Where do you suppose this goes? Or comes from?' he asked, looking up and down the little-used path.
Nightmare's muzzle dipped toward the ground. The horse tore away a clump of clover that grew beside the track, while Danyal tried to think. He saw no sign of tracks-hoof, boot, or cartwheel-in the road, and guessed that it hadn't been used in some time. Yet it suggested that there was something worthwhile in each direction, else why build the road in the first place?
He decided to camp nearby and consider the questions during the night. Just upstream from the bridge, he found a sheltered grotto with a soft, mossy bank and a deep eddy in the creek that seemed to promise good fishing. Though he wasn't sure why, Danyal also made sure that his makeshift camp was out of sight of the unused roadway.
After another meal of grilled fish, he made himself and the horse as comfortable as possible. Again he fell asleep easily, completely drained by the strenuous activity of the day.
This time, however, his sleep was interrupted by a sound that had him sitting upright, clutching his fishing knife, before he even knew what had awakened him. Then it came again, a shout of alarm followed by a cold, harsh bark of laughter.
There were men nearby! And judging by the sounds of confrontation, Danyal guessed that some unfortunate traveler had encountered another group, perhaps bandits or other roadside bullies.
Heart pounding, Danyal threw off his blankets and crawled to the edge of his grotto. The slope on this side of the road was steep, climbing into a cliff of broken, craggy rock. At the base of that precipice, barely a few paces off the road, he saw the glowing embers of a camp-fire. And in the dim light, as he stared, he saw one man backed against the rock wall while several others, large, hulking fellows, closed in on him menacingly.
Nightmare stood still nearby, nostrils quivering, ears cocked toward the disturbance. Abruptly Danyal realized that the horse might make a sound at any minute, a sound that would betray his own position. There was no way he could move the animal soundlessly, so to protect himself, he began to sidle sideways, staying above the strangers, moving along the slope of the hill so that he closed the distance between them.
Light flared as one of the bandits threw dry wood onto the fire. Danyal got a view of the lone traveler, who stood with his back to the rocks, weaponless, as he faced the others. Moving still closer, the lad was surprised to see that, while he was unarmed, the man was holding a book in his left hand. The tome was opened, and in his right hand, he actually held a quill and ink bottle, trying unsuccessfully to dip the pen while he addressed his attackers.
'Where did you say we are? And what was that name again? I'm sorry, but in this light it's terribly hard to see the page. Ah, thank you… that's much better,' he declared as more tinder was thrown onto the fire.
'Never mind that,' growled one bandit, a strikingly handsome fellow whose gleaming dark hair and firm facial features seemed incongruous above the filthy mat of his leather shirt. 'Hand over your purse, if you have any thoughts of seeing the morning!'
Danyal gasped quietly. Despite his guess, he was shocked to hear the men's intentions confirmed. He shrunk down behind a felled tree, trying to remain invisible and silent, yet he pressed his eye to the gap under the log so he could still see the scene around the traveler's campfire.
'I daresay my purse hasn't much to offer,' the fellow was saying. He seemed remarkably unconcerned, thought Danyal, for someone who might be facing the last minute or two of his life.
'This could go badly for you. Don't you have the sense to be scared?' demanded the handsome bandit, obviously wondering about the same thing. He swaggered around as if he were the leader of the group. 'Here, Baltyar-give me a brand. Perhaps we'll make this fellow think twice about his answers.'
'Aye, Kelryn,' replied another, sticking a branch bristling with dry needles into the fire. Flames crackled into the night, exploding with a hissing, popping noise, flaring so brightly that Danyal was certain his own hiding place would be revealed.
Then he heard another sound, a clatter of movement to the side that drew curses from the bandits and pulled their attention toward the lad's camp. Instantly Danyal understood what had happened: Startled by the flaring branch, Nightmare had pulled away from her tether. The lad could hear the black horse stumbling over the rocks, charging past Danyal's hiding place.
'Look there! A horseman!' cried one of the bandits, pointing at the shadowy outline of the frightened steed.
Nightmare whinnied, the sound shrill and piercing in the darkness. With a leap and a kick, the frightened black horse lunged along the steep slope above the roadway, slipping and sliding on the loose rocks. Many of the boulders rumbled free, rolling downward with rapidly building momentum.
In seconds, the sounds of the rockslide roared louder than the shouts of the men or the shrill neighing of the mare. Danyal saw a large stone bounce into the air, then crash into the blazing campfire, sending sparks and embers cascading through the area.
Men were screaming now, scrambling to get away. In the surges of light, Danyal saw the bandits, with swords drawn, looking wildly back and forth, seeking signs of their attackers. Another big rock thundered through the camp, knocking down one of the bandits, leaving the man thrashing and moaning in the middle of the road.
The leader knelt over the injured man, who cried out in pain. A short sword flashed in the firelight, and the wounded fellow's cries swelled to a quick, feverish shriek before they died in a sickening gurgle of blood.
And then the bandits were gone, footsteps pounding down the road as the rockslide exhausted itself, loose stones and gravel still shifting, settling down the steep slope. Danyal smelled the powdered rock in the air, tasted the dust in his mouth, and tried to imagine what had happened to the lone traveler. His campsite was buried beneath a thick layer of rubble, and nothing seemed to be moving down there.
The lad gingerly picked his way down the slope, seeing that Nightmare had somehow reached the roadway. The black horse regarded him impassively as he probed through the boulders until he was startled by a voice from the shadows.
'Hello there,' said the traveler. He came forward, and Danyal saw that he had been sheltered by an overhang of the bluff-the same place he had been driven by the extended swords of the bandits.
'H-Hello,' the youth replied. 'Are you all right?'
'I think so,' said the man. 'I'll admit that was bad luck with the landslide.'
'Bad luck?' Danyal was amazed. 'I think it just saved your life!'
'Oh posh,' said the fellow. 'It only chased away those men. And I could tell that one of them was just about to tell me his name!'
The youth wanted to reply that, to his eyes, it had looked as though the bandits intended something other than an informative conversation. Still, the stranger seemed so sincere, even genuinely disappointed, that Danyal changed his tack.
'My name is Danyal Thwait,' he said tentatively. 'Who are you?'
'Foryth Teel,' replied the fellow, tsking in concern as he picked up the book that the bandit had thrown against the rocks. 'It's not damaged,' he said to Danyal, as if he never doubted that the lad was terribly concerned about the condition of the tome.
'Good,' replied the youth. 'But now, Foryth Teel, why don't you come with me? I think we should find a new place to camp.'
