Avador Book 2, Night Shadows (21 page)

Miles later, she stopped to rest the horse, give her sore muscles a rest, too. Her thighs and legs burned, her back aching from being in the saddle for so long. She walked the mare for a few minutes to let it cool down, then dismounted and led it to the stream to drink. While the horse eased its thirst and cropped on the grass, she walked back and forth, stretching her muscles, twisting from side to side. Dust and thirst plagued her parched throat, and she knelt by the stream, scooping handfuls of water to slake her thirst, then brushing the drops from her mouth. Her stomach's growling reminded her how hungry she was. She opened the bag of food that Moreen had packed, cheese and bread to last her throughout her journey. Included with her repast were several measans, a cross between an apple and a peach, an expensive fruit and one she hadn't tasted since she'd come to Moytura.  Honey cakes, too, she noted as she held the cloth bag open and stared inside. 

When she got back to the capital, she'd rent a horse whenever her savings permitted, and ride as much as possible. Another wave of nostalgia gripped her, as it had many times recently, for she missed her horse, Tillie, and the great times they'd had, riding together. Brushing her hands off, she sat in silent recollection, reliving happy days at home, before her father had died, before her mother had remarried. Her mother. When would she see her again? She swallowed as a wave of nostalgia swept over her, memories of her mother and brother, her real father, all the happy times they'd shared.

Enough reminiscing, she mused as she pushed herself to her feet. So far, she had seen no other riders this late at night, or early in the morning, she thought as a bluish-gray hue tinted the western horizon. She went behind an earthberry bush to relieve herself, then mounted the mare again. A rosy glow now tinted the land, then gradually faint sunlight revealed maples and hickories, their leaves changing color. She rode on, and within minutes, bright sunlight gilded the countryside, showing wooded hills and valleys, all the beauty and glory of Avador. Fianna breathed in deeply, catching she scent of honeysuckle. She rode past more farms where cows mooed and pigs squealed. In the distance, several horses socialized and bounded within a large, fenced in tract, their manes waving in the breeze.

She looked far ahead and turned wary eyes behind her, seeing no other horseman on the road. That situation was bound to change soon, she fretted, for this was a busy road. She'd spoken bravely enough to Gaderian and Moreen, but if a robber–or worse–several brigands ambushed her, she doubted that her dagger would do much good. She kept to the middle of the road, where she would be less likely to suffer an ambush.

Ahead of her, she saw other riders, two men and two women, all of them well-dressed, their fine horses additional evidence of their wealth, she could tell as the riders closed the distance between them. No danger there, she hoped. She greeted them as they passed each other, then coughed in a cloud of dust as she heard their retreating hoofbeats.

The miles sped past, prompting occasional rests for both her and the horse. During these respites, she practiced drawing her dagger from the sheath and throwing the weapon at a target. Speed was essential, if she had to protect herself . . . and prayed that the occasion wouldn't arise. A forest stretched ahead of her, its woodsy scent borne on a wind that had picked up within the last hour or so. Thoughts of Gaderian helped ease the loneliness of her journey, his kisses and caresses fresh in her mind, warming her body. And his last words. I love you.

Nearing the forest, the sound of hoofbeats behind her jerked her attention. She turned in her saddle to see a lone rider. A flash of alarm gripped her, her fingers clenching the reins so hard her nails dug into her skin. Her heart thudded against her chest, her mouth gone dry. Something told her this man posed a threat. He might be harmless, another rider on a mission, but she didn't dare take a chance. He was fast closing the distance between them, and she spurred her horse on, pressing her thighs against its flanks. A hill loomed ahead, a bad place to outride him, even though he would hold the same disadvantage. Goddess, help me!

     On impulse, she veered off from the highway and urged her horse into the woods, weaving among a thick abundance of hemlocks and chestnuts. The horse neighed its displeasure at this unfamiliar murk, but she had no choice but to ride on.  A sea of treetops rose above her, a thick gloom abetted by an overhead curtain of wild grapevines, which climbed from branch to branch and tangled together at the tops of trees. She could barely see a thing! The sound of hoofbeats behind her sent her heart pounding faster, faster, her mouth parched. She rode from instinct, not knowing where she was going, only knowing she must escape. The man spoke not a word, no need to speak.

Gradually, her eyes became accustomed to the dark, but that did little good. She pushed tree branches out of the way, taking the curves and angles of the trees. Her breath came in gasps, sweat pouring down her face, drenching her clothes. She'd never escape, never get out of this forest alive. Her heart thudded so hard, she felt every pulse in her body. She wanted to cry, both for herself and her mission. She had failed. Talmora, she should have stayed on the road.  Goddess, help me, help me. Tears of fright and despair streamed down her face.

A roar reverberated behind her. Her heart jumped, and she turned in her saddle as a bear rushed out from a bush with a heavy rustle of leaves. She screamed and the horse neighed, all but throwing her off. She strained and fought to stay in the saddle. Her body shook, every bone, every muscle. In spite of her fear, she patted the horse, an instinctive gesture she'd learned long ago.

The bear spooked the vagabond's horse, throwing the man to the ground. "Ahhh!" He fell and lay still, but only for a moment. Roaring with anger, the bear savaged the fallen horseman, batting him with his claws. The man's screams cut the silence, mingling with the bear's bellows.

Get out of here! Get out of here!  Her horse raised its forelegs, its eyes wild with terror. It took all her skill to bring the mare under control, while the man's screams echoed in her ears, then faded away. He won't get out of here alive. She hoped his horse would.

Fianna rode past trees and bushes as limbs swatted at her scratched face. Her arms ached from her grip on the reins. She had to get out of the forest, but where was the road? She dared not take the same route she'd followed when she'd entered the woods for fear she'd encounter the bear again. Darkness surrounded her, the trees and bushes all the same. She stopped for a few moments to calm her fast-beating heart. Everything looked the same! She'd heard of people lost in the woods for days, blundering their way from one tree to another. The very thing she was doing, now! Her breath sounded like thunder in her ears, her back and arms aching, every muscle tense. She looked around from side to side, ahead of her and behind her. She'd never get out of this Goddess-damned forest. 

Doggedly, she trotted on, always looking for a glimmer of light that showed where the forest met the road. She pressed her aching hand to her eyes, afraid for her horse, too. It was not the mare's fault that she had blundered into this forest. She might die here. Her body might be found months or years from now, dead and rotting. The horse's body, too.

Hours later, she saw a faint lightening at the edge of the woods. She led the horse through the remaining tangle of trees and emerged from the forest, onto the road again. She sobbed then, tears of relief but frustration, too. She had lost precious hours, time she could ill afford to waste. She had to get a grip on herself, for she was scaring the horse, as if the poor thing hadn't been through enough. She took a deep breath and wiped her sweaty arm across her eyes, then rode on.

Dusk was falling, the moon rising again, the first faint stars sparkling in the sky. More than anything, she wanted to rest, wanted to dismount and never get up again. Prudence told her she'd better continue. She'd lost enough time already. She made a quick decision; she would ride through the night and sleep during the day, still giving her and the mare enough rest. If she saw another farmhouse tomorrow, she'd stop and buy apples for the horse before she found a place to sleep.

She patted the horse. "You deserve a treat after what you've been through." 

Hours later, as dawn settled over the country again, she found an outcrop that led to a cave, far from any habitation.  A good place to stop. After giving the horse time to cool down, to drink and eat, she led it up the incline to the cave.

She removed the saddle and harness from the horse. First making sure the mare was comfortable, she broke her fast, then lay down to rest,. The cold, rocky limestone floor forced her to continually change position, but exhaustion trumped every discomfort.

Stiff and sore, she awoke hours later with no idea of the time. Outside the cave, darkness told her night had fallen again. Stepping onto the outcrop, she glanced up to see the moon hanging low in the west. Early evening, then. Giving the horse plenty of time to feed and eat, she paced back and forth and stretched, exercising sore muscles. She unsheathed her dagger and practiced throwing it, using a mark on a tree trunk as a target. She threw the dagger again and again, immensely grateful she hit her target each time. A short repast and evening ablutions, and she was on her way again.

An hour's ride brought her to an isolated farmhouse, where she looped the horse's reins over a fence post and went to the door to buy apples. She left a few minutes later, pleasantly surprised that the farmer had insisted on giving her a few carrots, besides the apples, and not charging her anything.

"I'll give you a treat next time we stop to rest," she said as she remounted.

The following night, she breathed a sigh of relief. Not far to go, but a myriad of emotions crammed her brain. What if, by some horrible chance, a bandrega arrived at the same time? She recalled her nightmare while sharing Gaderian's cave. Would it prove to be prophetic? What if she or the horse suffered an attack from a wild animal? Nonsense, she assured herself. You have nothing to worry about.

Wood huts and larger farmhouses lined this part of the road, then a forest stretched ahead. The night remained quiet but for a barking dog. Another hill loomed in front of her. The horse scrambled up the cliff, the ground thick with sandstone and tree roots. Her heart pounded with emotions she couldn't identify. Soon, soon, she would arrive at Magh Eamhainn. All this came back to her: the huts and farmhouses, the forest. Ah, she remembered from a time years ago when she had taken this same routed with her family. Clutching the reins, she looked behind her, always fearing another rider.

The full moon gleamed as she entered the deserted hamlet of Magh Eamhainn. The forest lay behind her, a rutted lane leading to the village, another forest beyond. Decrepit houses faced both sides of the road, their overgrown weeds and tangled bushes evidence of the village's abandonment. An eerie sensation crept over her. Chills raced down her arms and legs. Evil. The word echoed in her brain and sent her pulse racing. Shadows wove among the trees. A shutter banged in the wind, making her jump. She wanted to leave now, forget about her mission and get out. She forced herself to remain calm, afraid she would spook the horse. She feared a sinister spell gripped the hamlet, a snare that would not permit her to escape.  If her father had assured her long ago that the village wasn't cursed, why was she so frightened now?

Forested hills rose in all directions, dark, dismal shapes, harbingers of doom. All was quiet, not even sounds of night animals. Tree branches and bushes thrashed in the wind, dirt blowing in her eyes. She blinked her eyes and looked to the right. The well!  An innocuous looking structure, but the embodiment of evil.

A sound broke the silence. Hoofbeats? Listening intently, she waited long moments. Just your imagination, she consoled herself. But Goddess, she'd be glad when this task was completed. She dismounted, looking all around, from one side to another. With shaky hands, she tied the horse's reins to a tree branch, looping it again and again, tightening it. She waited moments longer, leaning against the horse. Her heart beat fast, as if it would explode from her chest.

She tried to open the saddlebag. Sweat greased her hands, but she finally opened the bag. She withdrew the flask, her hands trembling so she feared she'd drop it.. Her legs quivered as she neared the well, her hands shaking uncontrollably. She stopped, the flask gripped in her hand. What if she had heard another horse? She shook her head. No one else would be coming here, not now. With her other hand, she lightly touched the dagger sheathed at her waist. An awful reality seized her.  If an intruder came, she might have to kill him this night, or be killed.  To be safe, she eased her cloak from her shoulders to give her better access to her dagger.

She had to get control of herself, had to stop her shaking. She set the flask on the rim of the well and withdrew the stopper with a soft plop. Her fingers brushed against the cold, gritty bricks. She saw the dipper and bucket next to her, attached to a chain on the outside of the well. Now to–

"Fianna, what are you doing here?"

Chapter Seventeen

Stilo! Fianna looked at him closely. Every nerve ending tingled with fear. Her body shook from her head to her feet. She said a quick prayer to the Goddess, but she was on her own.

Stilo? His voice sounded like a growl, and oh! Look at his face! A demon's face.  In a tunic and trousers, he strode her way.  He glowered at her, every step measured.  Fur dotted his face and fouled his hands, his ears and nose elongated.