Dezra's Quest

9

The wind shrieked like a banshee as they charged through Sentinel Gap, blasting their faces with stinging ice. Patches of pebbly snow covered the stony ground, wreathed in meltwater. In the midst of the pass, a deep pool had accumulated. Trephas plunged into it without hesitation. Dezra gritted her teeth as the frigid water splashed her. If it bothered the centaur, he gave no sign.

Then they were out the other side, the road rising steeply. They stopped atop the ridge at the gap's far side. Before them, the road descended again, winding south through the mountains. Behind, the narrow defile stretched out beneath them.

Trephas squinted. "Chislev's withers," he cursed. "I see them."

Peering, Dezra spotted them too: three indistinct forms, halfway down the near slope. "Damn," she swore. "They've gained ground."

"The climb slowed us," Trephas said. "We should waste no more time. Shadow Canyon still lies ahead, and night comes on."

Several miles farther on, two mountains rose like fangs on either side of the road. They were the twin peaks, Tasin and Fasin, each more than twice as tall as Prayer's Eye. Between them, the path narrowed into a crevasse that was swathed in gloom. It was early evening now, and Tasin blocked the sunlight, so Shadow Canyon was as dark as a starless night when Trephas and Dezra rode into it.

The darkness deepened the farther they went, forcing Trephas to slow to a trot. This turned out to be good fortune: It kept them both from being killed when, suddenly, he threw one of his shoes. He stumbled, and Dezra pitched sideways, clutching his war harness to keep from falling. She swung awkwardly to the ground and bent down beside him.

“Lift your hoof," she said. "Let me see."

He did as she bade, twisting and craning so he could look too. She shook her head.

"Came off clean, looks like," she said, rising. "I'll go find the shoe. Maybe I can bang it back in-"

"No!" Trephas yelped.

She stopped, startled. "What?"

"Hast thou ever shod a horse before?" he asked.

"No, but… ."

"Then don't try now. Thou couldst lame me. I'd rather go unshod." He shuddered. "Bang it back in indeed."

Using his lance, he pried off his remaining shoes. He tucked them into a pouch, then walked forward a few halting paces.

"I should be fine," he said. "There isn't much farther to go over stone-there's a valley that leads to Darken Wood on the gap's far side." He glanced back. "I can't keep the pace we've been making, though."

Dezra couldn't hear their pursuers' pounding hooves yet, but that wouldn't last. "They'll be on us soon."

"We can't outrun them," Trephas said grimly. "We'll have to find another way."

"You mean fight."

"If need be, aye."

Dezra nodded grimly. "We'd better find some way to even the odds, then."

A hundred yards on, they found what they sought: an old, fallen walnut tree. It lay at the road's edge, abristle with broken branches. Together, they dragged it across the pass. Its sharp limbs formed an invisible picket in Tasin's shadow.

Trephas wiped his brow, then made his way around the log and stooped low on the other side. Dezra started to follow, then stopped, glancing up Tasin's slope. Carefully, she climbed onto the log. She ran her hands over the cliff face and found a crack in the stone, wide enough for her to wedge her fingers inside. Gritting her teeth, she pulled herself up.

"Dezra!" Trephas hissed. "Get back down here-we have to make ready for them!"

"What do you think I'm doing?" she shot back.

She continued to pull herself up until she reached what she'd seen from the ground: a ledge ten feet above the canyon floor, just wide enough to stand on. She hauled herself up onto it, flattening against the stone.

"Art thou all right?" Trephas asked.

"Fine," she replied, sucking on a tom fingernail and tasting blood. Slowly she sidled away from Trephas and the log. She reached for her sword, then checked herself and drew her dagger instead. "All right," she said. "You keep them busy. I'll jump them from behind."

Trephas regarded her uncertainly. "Thou hast done this before?"

"Of course not."

The centaur turned back to the road. His arrow tapped softly against his bow. Before long, they heard it: the faint clamor of iron-shod hooves. It grew steadily louder and closer, trotting straight toward the fallen tree. Dezra strained to see, and managed to make out the shapes of their pursuers in the gloom. She counted three heads, which seemed right, but there was something strange about the shadowed figures. She concentrated, holding her breath, as she tried to figure out what it was.

Reckless riders would never have seen the log, and would have impaled themselves on its branches. Their pursuers' gait was only a trot, though, and the lead rider-from its muscular shape, she guessed it was Thenidor-reined sharply in. Hooves skittered as the threesome drew to a halt, not far from the fallen tree. The fat one stared at it, almost straight at Trephas. He'd stopped right beneath Dezra. Looking at him, she realized what wasn't right. It was something about the the way he fingered his bow, and pulled on his reins… .

Reins?

She knew, then. They weren't Thenidor and his fellows at all. They were men on horseback. She swallowed, realizing how close she'd come to leaping on the fat one and plunging her dagger into his ribs.

Then, from behind the fallen walnut, she heard the creak of a drawn bowstring.

"No!" she hissed. "It isn't them! Don't shoot-"

Startled, the rider below her swung his bow up and fired. Dezra ducked, twisting aside-and lost her balance as the shaft missed her completely. She dropped her dagger, wind-milled her arms, and toppled off the ledge, onto the fat rider. His bow went flying as he tumbled from his saddle, landing with a crash of armor. Dezra sprawled across the saddle, shaken but unhurt.

The horse, already skittish in the darkness, went completely berserk. Screaming, it reared and threw her off, then bolted back up the road. As it passed, the third horse followed suit, throwing its rider-the small, wiry one-as well. Only the first man, the muscular one, stayed upright. He turned, fumbling for a weapon.

"Don't," Trephas told him, rising from behind the log. "There's an arrow aimed at thy heart."

"Caramon?" the muscular one asked, his voice edged with fear. "Can you see her?"

Dezra had landed on top of the fat rider. He grunted and pushed her off, then stood up stiffly. "More or less," he said.

Dezra stared. "Father?"

Behind her, the wiry man groaned, lurching to his knees. "What in the blue Abyss is going on?"

"It's all right, Bor," said Caramon. "We found them. Or they found us. Or something."

He extended his big, meaty hand. She took it, and he hoisted her to her feet. She glanced at the wiry man-it was Borlos, the bard from the Inn-then at the muscular one who'd kept his horse. "Who's he?" she asked.

"That's Uwen," replied Caramon.

It took her a moment to put a face to the name: the oafish farmboy who'd saved her from falling off the bridge. The one who'd looked at her with those dumb, lovestruck eyes. She groaned.

"It's all right, Dezra," Uwen vowed. "You're safe now."

Dezra laughed scornfully and turned toward Trephas.

"Hear that? I'm safe. You can put down the bow."

Slowly, the bowstring relaxed. They all stood quietly, looking at one another. Dezra cleared her throat and looked at her father.

"So," she asked, "what in the Abyss are you doing here?"

It took a while to get sorted out; everyone was confused, and the darkness didn't help. Uwen retrieved the horses, and they continued afoot, leading the animals out of Shadow Canyon. The sun had set; the clouds glowed gold and rose as they wended toward the lowlands. Trephas led the way, bow in hand. Borlos and Uwen followed. Both were dad in plain leather armor. The bard wore a round-headed mace on his belt; the farmboy carried a stout axe. Behind them, separated by a fair distance, came Caramon and Dezra.

"I didn't come to rescue you," Caramon said.

Dezra nodded at Uwen. "He seems to think you did."

The farmboy was glowering at Trephas. She and the centaur had both explained that Trephas hadn't abducted her, that Dezra had accompanied him freely. Still, Uwen remained suspicious.

"If this isn't some dim-witted idea of a rescue," she pressed, "then why'd you come after me? Last night you never wanted to see me again."

Caramon's mouth was a hard line. "Your mother sent me. She's wants you to come home. I don't really care what you do."

"Good," Dezra snapped. "Because unless you conk me on the head and carry me back, I'm going on."

"Into Darken Wood." Caramon bared his teeth. "Why?"

"Because it isn't Solace."

Scowling, Caramon nodded ahead, at Trephas. "Tell me, girl-do you even know why that one wants your help?"

Dezra realized she wasn't sure. The story about a simple problem with rebels rang false, now that she knew the horsefolk were at war. The troubles in the forest ran deeper than Trephas had told her.

"That doesn't matter," she said stubbornly. "I've only agreed to go to this Ithax place to find out what the Circle wants. If I don't like it, I'll leave."

Caramon's brow creased. "You really think it'll be that easy?"

She bit her lip. "I'm getting paid for this," she growled.

"Oh," he said knowingly. "I'm sure the money will be a great comfort when you get yourself killed."

She glared at him. "Go home, Father. Take Borlos and that clod"-she jerked her thumb at Uwen-"with you. I don't want your help."

Before he could reply, she picked up her pace, striding quickly ahead. He took a few steps after her, then relented, watching her shove Uwen aside to join Trephas at the fore. He shook his head.

"Sure, Dez," he mumbled. "Don't worry about that."