Pallas saw Elwin's silent question, and climbed onto his horse, giving the prince a devious smile. "Why are you looking at me?"
"What did you do?" Elwin asked sternly.
"Me!? Why do you always blame me?"
Elwin raised an eyebrow. "For several reasons. More than I care to count at the moment."
"Well, this time, you're wrong. It was Aidan's idea. Though I don't think father will mind." His smile broadened. "Do you?"
Casting a cold stare at Aidan, Elwin replied, "Yes I do. What did you do with the horses, Aidan?"
Seated awkwardly on his horse, Aidan appeared uncomfortable. As a rule, Elves did not ride or own horses, and Aidan, though he had ridden several times, had never quite gotten used to it. Despite looking as if he would be happier with his feet firmly on the ground, Aidan mirrored Pallas' smile. "It was my idea, I will admit it, but Colin was the one who took me seriously and actually did it."
Elwin sighed. It suddenly felt like old times. Colin grumbled and shifted in his saddle. He tried to maintain a stern face, and he was only barely succeeding. "Sure, blame me!" he snapped halfheartedly. "Some things never change! You two come up with some harebrained scheme, and it's always Colin who takes the blame." He no longer could hold back his own smile. "Fine, I'll tell you what happened. I kind of let all the horses go."
Elwin shook his head. "Kind of? How do you 'kind of' let horses go?"
"Well, I let them out and headed them towards the mountains," Colin answered. Then he added to his defense, "They will be okay. And it will slow down anyone trying to follow us. In the morning, the Count will discover that we're gone. He will probably know where we're going and why. But it will be another three or four hours before he can find where all the other horses have gone to. By the time he gets them back here and saddled-up, we will have a half-day's head start. He will never catch us then!"
"But why am I on the count's prized horse?" asked Elwin.
"Because you were the last one here," Pallas said with unconcealed mirth. "Besides, did you really think any of us was going to ride him? Father would have our skin!"
Elwin shook his head in disbelief, and then laughed despite himself. "You had better hope it slows your father down. I have grown accustomed to my skin."
--
Outside of the warmth of the stable and back in monastery’s courtyard, the sky was dark and the snow began to fall harder. A cold wind had come down out of the mountains. The wind and snow slapped at Elwin's face. The laughter and jokes quickly came to an end as they slowly rode through the monastery's courtyard and out the main gate. It would have been impossible to hide the horses from any watching eyes, but there did not seem to be any. Elwin glanced once over his shoulder back at the monastery. He regretted having to leave so secretly. He hoped one day the count would understand. Turning his back on the monastery, Elwin stared into the darkness, and with a kick he sent the powerful chestnut stallion forward. Trotting confidently, the horse took Elwin into the night.
The pre-dawn light found the four still riding hard. They had traveled throughout the night and planned to continue throughout the day. Count Murray would soon be coming after them, so they had to push on. As the false dawn turned the night into a shadowy gray, they stopped for a breakfast of cheese and bread. Tired and sore, there was little talk among them. Each silently ate their portions, trying to block out the cold. Sitting alone, Elwin thought of his sword and what Faynn might have meant by it being a 'key.' But mostly he thought of his father and why he had not told him about the sword. King Artair had told Dovan Murray about it. He had told the count he thought the sword was a curse, but he had not told Elwin. Why? Elwin had no answers.
After giving the horses rest and food that they badly needed, they set off once more. As the day wore on, the snow finally came to a stop. However, it started to grow colder. Wrapped in their blankets, they rode in single file across the snow-covered hills. The road to Port Murray was some miles off to the south. They decided not to take the road. Though it was faster, the road would be far too dangerous.
So far, they had seen no other living soul. Typically, by this time of the year, Reidh would have turned green. Shepherds usually could be seen out with their flocks of sheep, grazing them along the gentle rolling slopes. But with all the recent snows, the farmers were keeping their flocks in the barns and kept themselves before warm fires while they nervously waited for the return of the long overdue spring.
It was noon when they came upon a small farmhouse. White smoke drifted up from its chimney. The thought of those warm inside the house made the four feel even colder. Elwin thought he could smell fresh bread cooking. "Will it ever get warmer?" he wondered out loud.
Colin answered with a groan.
Sinking deeper into their blankets, the four reluctantly circled the farm, giving it a wide berth. A dog barked as they passed. Soon the farmhouse and its white smoke faded from view. By the time the gray day began to turn dark, they were exhausted. They had slept little the night before and had ridden hard all day.
When it started to snow again, they decided to call it a night. Choosing a small grove of pine trees to make their camp, they dismounted. There were a few inns along the road, but they had opted to stay clear of them. Count Murray was not their only worry. Strigiol soldiers and the Red Robe were still out there somewhere, looking for them... hunting for them. The thought of encountering either of them kept them far from the road and the comfort of the inns.
They didn't stop a moment too soon. By the time they had unsaddled and taken care of their horses, the weather made a turn for the worse. The four boys made camp under the broad limbs of an unusually wide pine tree. The tree provided them with some shelter, but even within the protection of the low hanging branches, the cold wind whipped about, and the snow was coming down hard. Beyond their shelter and the small circle of trees howled a winter storm.
In the blizzard conditions, the cold began to creep into their bones. Their breath came out in puffs of white smoke. Trying to keep warm, Pallas blew on his hands and then shoved them back under his arms.
"It's too risky to light a fire," Colin voiced his opinion. Aidan dropped the firewood he had gathered and glared at Colin. "It's cold and getting colder. Elves aren't built for this kind of weather. I need a fire!"
Colin snapped back, accusing Aidan of being weak. The freezing and constant blowing snow was getting on everyone's nerves, and tempers were short.
Elwin, who held his blanket over his head, spoke up. "We won't survive the night without one, Colin. We will have to risk it. Besides, who is going to see any smoke with all this blowing snow?"
Colin mumbled under his breath but stopped arguing. Elwin shifted uncomfortably. "Aidan, can you start a fire? Everything is so wet. Maybe you should use your um... Elf magic?"
Aidan shot him a look. "I told you, my magic it is not like Faynn's. Elves are different. We can't do anything without other Elves around to help. And we can't make fire, anyway. At least not with magic."
"What good is magic if you can't use it?" asked Pallas. He had only learned about Aidan's ability earlier that day, but, he seemed less concerned about it than either Colin or Elwin.
"Elves are not druids," Aidan snapped. "Now let me get this fire going. An Elf doesn’t need magic to start a fire, which you should be grateful for. Humans have no wood lore. You would die out here if it wasn't for me."
Aidan then turned to his work. In moments he had kindled a good-sized fire. Within the boughs of the pine tree, it was surprisingly warm. Colin could feel the fire's heat thawing his tired muscles. It also seemed to thaw out his mind. "Sorry Aidan," he managed to say. "You were right. I don't think too clearly when I'm cold."
"Forget it," replied Aidan. "As far as I can tell, humans never think clearly." Colin laughed, and all was forgotten.
"Come on and help me gather some more logs," Aidan invited Colin. "I will show you how to find the best wood for a fire."
Setting watches to keep o
ne eye on the fire and the other on the night, one by one they fell off to sleep. Elwin rose early the next morning to find that the snow had stopped falling. The blizzard seemed to have ended. However, it was still bitterly cold. The cold cut through his clothing like a well-sharpened dagger.
Stiff, sore, and cold, the friends ate the meal Aidan had prepared. Once they had eaten and the horses made ready, Pallas put out the fire, and they set out once more.
The day started out as the previous one: cold and gray. Deep drifts had formed during the night, and the traveling was slow. It was beginning to look as if they would have to spend another cold night huddled before an all too tiny fire, which none of them were looking forward to. But around noon the clouds broke, and the sun came out. As they went farther east, there was less snow on the ground, and they began to make up some time. Aidan stood up in his stirrups and pointed to the east. "The marshes... I can see them, and the bay beyond." Elves have a keen sense of sight.
"We should reach Jon and his boat before dark," Pallas stated reassuringly.
Feeling better than they had in two days, they picked up their pace. As they rode over the next few hills, the rest soon could also see the marshes. Beyond that lay Owen's Bay. In the sunlight, the bay looked like a greenish blue jewel against the white landscape. Aidan once more stood in his stirrups and looked back to the east.
Elwin reined in his horse. "What is it?"
"Riders, and they are coming this way."
"It can't be father," said Pallas, trying to see what only Aidan could. "We've pushed as hard and as fast as father could have done. And we had half a night and a half a day head start. How did he do it?"
"He must have ridden all night," said Colin.
Aidan shook his head, "Through that storm? I don’t think so."
Elwin's eyes narrowed. "Maybe it’s not the Count."
"Who else ..." Pallas stopped short, and his eyes widened.
"Soldiers," breathed Colin, saying what everyone else was thinking. Colin's single word was all the warning they needed. They turned and kicked their tired horses and raced off towards the west, and away from the coming threat.
Over the wind, Aidan yelled, "More riders!... Coming at us from the south!"
Pallas looked. He could see the riders, and they were closing in fast. "They're trying to cut us off!" he shouted. "We will be caught between them and those behind us. Jon is waiting on the northern side of the marshes. Our only chance is to reach the eastern edge of the marshes before they can cut us off." Before long, everyone could clearly see the two dozen riders coming out of the south. Standing out against the white snow, they appeared only as dark spots but rapidly grew in size. The riders were closing in fast. Sweating and panting, the four horses struggled on, but the riders to the south kept steadily gaining. With each passing moment, the gap between themselves and their pursuers shrank. Time was now their enemy. To the east, riders could now be seen as well, and to the south, they could pick out the armor of the soldiers that pursued them. A flag flapped angrily in the cold wind. The flag was brown with a green boar at its center... Baron Stanford's crest. The flag shattered all hopes that the soldiers were not Strigiol's.
As the four fleeing youths dipped between hills, the soldiers vanished from view, but they always reappeared as they mounted the next hill. With each new hill, the soldiers were that much closer. With his left hand, Elwin reached back to the hilt of his sword. The soldiers were close now, and Elwin knew time was running out. The soldier's trap would close upon them by the next hill or two. Their luck had run out.
Elwin's panting stallion burst over the next ridge, and there before him was the edge of the marshes. Elwin ground his heels into the chestnut's heaving sides. There was only a small chance they would make it, but it was a chance. As if it knew danger was at hand, the powerful chestnut drew upon a hidden strength and charged ahead. Elwin leaned forward. The wind pounded unmercifully in his ears. Then in a sudden burst of speed, the marshes were at his side and the soldiers at his back. Elwin glanced over his shoulder. The others had also made it and were close behind him, but their horses were not as strong nor as fast as Count Murray's powerful stallion. They had already been pushed beyond their endurance, and yet somehow the horses heroically raced on. Fifty yards farther back, the Strigiol soldiers gave chase. Unlike the four they pursued, their horses had not been pushed for two long days, and they were slowly gaining ground. Elwin turned back toward the west and prayed for speed. As if the chestnut could hear his silent plea, the proud horse surged ahead. Wrapping his arms tightly around the horse's thick, sweaty neck, Elwin held on hoping the others horses would not falter and could somehow keep up.
Clinging for his life, Elwin held on. Never had he seen a horse run so fast. Beneath him, he could see the ground racing past. To his left, the marshes were a blur of rushes and cattails which were blocking his view of the bay. Risking a quick look, he glanced back over his shoulder. The chestnut was actually pulling away from both his friends and the pursuing soldiers. Elwin wanted to help the others, but there was nothing he could do. It was all he could do just to hold on.
The rolling hills of the landscape began to level and flatten out. Before long, Owen's Bay came back into view. Elwin knew that was the finish line. If Jon was there, they had a chance... if not...
Another moment passed. Elwin scanned the shoreline, yet all he could see were cattails and rushes swaying in the bitterly cold wind. Then he saw something. Not quite inside the frozen marshes, he saw what looked like a tree trunk with all its branches stripped away. It was tall and thin and stood out against the choppy green water of the bay. It was a mast... Jon was there!
CHAPTER TWELVE
"JON!" Elwin screamed, "JON! JON! SOLDIERS!" His horse raced on down towards the shoreline. "Jon! Jon prepare to cast off!"
At Elwin's cry, Jon came out of the cabin. At first, he only saw Elwin. He recognized him but could not understand what the hurry was about. He could not see any soldiers. Still, he ordered his men to get ready to castoff. Then he saw the others crest the hill, and the soldiers close behind. He already had his small crew off the side of the boat. Straining in the waist high, icy cold waters of Owen's Bay, the crew frantically worked, trying desperately to move the boat off the shallows. The tide was out and the vessel had settled onto the mud flats.
Elwin galloped up to the beach and pulled back on the horse's reins. The chestnut slowed down and stopped at the water's edge. With his bundle tucked tightly up under his arm, leaped from the horse's back, and gratefully thanked the horse for saving his life. In response, the horse shook its mane and pawed the ground. Then Elwin gave the chestnut stallion a slap that sent the proud beast off to the north, along the beach. Elwin knew the horse would be safe now, and would find its way back to his master. As the horse hurried off along the shoreline, Elwin turned to the boat. Splashing through the shallow icy water, he reached the side of the small vessel. He threw his bundle over the gunnel. Then joining the crew, he put his back against the boat and pushed. The boat moved a few feet, then became stuck in the mud again.
"Harder!" ordered Jon. Elwin heard the crew groan with effort. He locked his knees and shoved with all his strength. He could not believe after getting so close, it would all end here stuck in the mud. His muscles tightened, he groaned, ignoring the pain in his legs he pushed harder and then with a final great heave, the boat slid free. Unprepared for the sudden motion, Elwin lost his balance and fell face forward into the icy water. Sputtering and coughing, he emerged a second later and with some help from a crew member managed to pull himself up over the gunwale of Jon's boat. Jon was there to meet him, but his blue eyes were staring off to the west where Colin, Aidan, and Pallas still raced for their lives. Elwin was surprised at how far ahead the chestnut had taken him. Perhaps that lead would save them all. The speed of the chestnut had given Jon enough time to get his boat off the shallows.
Being the lightest burden to his horse, Aidan was the next to arrive, closely fo
llowed by Pallas. Being the heaviest, Colin was last, and he reached the shore just in front of the pursuing soldiers. His panting horse sucked in air. Covered in sweat, the horse staggered and seemed to have taken its last step. Leaving his bundle and saddlebags behind, Colin leaped off his horse's back and crashed through the waves. With an arm thrust forward, Colin grabbed hold of the boat's gunwale. Just then the arrows began to fly. Several hands grabbed hold of the large youth and heaved upwards.
Colin managed to swing one leg up over the gunwale before Jon started barking out orders. The small fishing and cargo vessel became a beehive of activity. Quickly responding to Jon's orders, sailors started hauling in lines, tugging on the wet, icy sheets. A rusty colored gaffed rigged sail slid smoothly up the boat's single mast. The wind took hold, and the sail billowed out. The boat suddenly heeled sharply over to one side. Still straddling the gunwale, Colin rolled over and crashed onto the deck, landing on something soft, which turned out to be Aidan. With Jon at the helm, the boat spun easily away from shore.
Shouts of anger and frustration erupted behind them. With a 'twang' more arrows flew. Shafts of wood arched into the air. The boat was still not far from shore, but the high winds made it difficult for the archers to aim accurately. Elwin ducked as several arrows whizzed overhead and another arrow quivered in the deck beside him.
Now pointing out towards the bay, the boat quickly put distance between them and the soldiers. Rising and falling, the bow cut through the small choppy waves of the bay. In moments, the arrows stopped flying, and only the soldier's shouts assaulted them. Then they too faded away.
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