by Josie Litton
An extra horse was brought. Thorgold bounded onto it and whistled for the dog, who leaped onto the saddle before him. Hawk spared a single glance to be sure they were well seated, spurred his stallion to a flat-out gallop, and raced back down the road toward Winchester. Only one thought drove him on, to find the woman he loved while she lived.
LYING WHERE SHE HAD BEEN THROWN IN THE BOW OF a boat, her arms and legs still cruelly tied and a gag biting into her mouth, Krysta fought the twin demons of nausea and terror. Her prayer that they would be stopped leaving Winchester had not been answered. On foot, hidden by shadows, Udell and his men had evaded the guards. What an enemy army could not have done, they managed. Once beyond the city, they moved quickly to a boat waiting for them on the River Itchen. Rowing throughout the night, they put many miles between them and the royal fortress before sunrise.
From time to time throughout the long hours of darkness, Udell called out, telling her what he would do to her. He described his plans in loving detail, dwelling on exactly how she would suffer and the measures that would be taken to assure she did not die too quickly. His voice became a kind of torture itself, reminding her of how very far she was from hope or help.
Yet through it all, as he ranted on and on, she refused to give in to her fear. When at last the boat turned in toward shore, she closed her eyes briefly, prayed deeply, and gathered her courage to face whatever was to come.
Given the horrible threats Udell had been spewing, the reality was anticlimactic. He was in far too much of a hurry to pause long enough to do anything to her. Horses awaited them in the small clearing beside the river's edge, brought there apparently by prior arrangement. Several furtive men looked around anxiously, accepted a pouch heavy with coin, and vanished back into the forest. In the gray light of pre-dawn, the Mercians hurried to mount and be gone. Still bound, Krysta was about to be thrown up across a saddle when her frantic protests finally drew Udell's attention.
“Jesu, you squeal loud enough to wake the dead! Perhaps I'll just smother you now and be done with it.”
During the long hours in the boat, Krysta had ample time to think and she had come to her own conclusions about why Udell would have taken the risk of stealing her from beneath the very nose of the king's guard. She doubted very much that he had done it only for vengeance.
Even so, she was daring greatly as she stared at Udell with frank disbelief. Refusing to be silent, she continued her protests until finally, in exasperated fury, he yanked off the gag.
“By God, I swear I'll kill you right now!”
“No, you won't.” Though her mouth was so sore that it hurt badly to talk, Krysta forced herself to continue. She straightened up as far as her knees, all she could manage with her ankles still tied, and said, “You need me as a hostage.”
“I need to kill you.”
“Maybe eventually but not yet. You know Hawk is coming after you.”
Udell stared at her for a long moment, his mouth working. Finally, he said, “He's far from here and headed in the wrong direction. By the time he realizes, I'll be in Mercia and you'll be dead.”
“You won't kill me just because you reach Mercia. You're not such a fool. You know perfectly well no border will stop the Hawk.”
Udell laughed but uneasily. He stood with his hands on his hips, looking down at her with such utter hatred that it was all Krysta could do not to cringe. Instead, she kept her back straight and her head high, ignoring the burning pain in her limbs. Not for a moment did she allow her gaze to waver.
“Then he will come,” Udell said and shrugged. “On my own lands, in my own stronghold, I can defeat him easily. With the Hawk dead, all of Mercia will rally to me. I will take Wessex and the throne.”
So he had worked it all out in his disordered mind and so he truly believed it could happen, for the moment. Soon enough, Krysta suspected, he would begin to remember the many battles of the Hawk, the enemy armies destroyed, the mighty fortresses laid waste. Fear would eat at him and his actions would become unpredictable. But for some length of time yet, she could turn his insane confidence to her own ends.
“Thus the sooner you reach Mercia, the better for you. Why am I still tied then? Surely you don't believe I can escape from you and a dozen armed men?”
When Udell said nothing but only continued to stare at her, Krysta said, “My weight and yours on one horse will slow you down. Let me ride.”
He hesitated and for a moment she was certain he would refuse. But speed was uppermost in his mind and he could not deny the truth of what she said. Besides, how could one lone woman escape a band of armed men?
Udell barked an order. Krysta's bonds were cut. She stifled a groan of sheer relief as she tried swiftly to rub some circulation back into her muscles. As Udell turned away to throw a saddlebag over his mount, she said, “Give me a moment to see to my needs.”
He turned and glared at her. “Why the hell should I?”
Struggling to her feet, Krysta said, “Because you are not afraid of me. You don't wonder why the ravens attacked you. You aren't concerned that the story my half-brother told might be true. And surely you aren't puzzled why the most powerful warlord in England will march through hell to reach me. For after all, I am only a mere woman.”
Even in the gray light, she saw his face pale. He looked around hastily to see if any of his men had heard. Reassured they had not, he hissed at her, “Do it then and be quick! But by God, if you try witchwork on me, I'll see you burn!”
Krysta made haste before he could reconsider. She was not so foolish as to try to escape where she had no hope of getting away, but the temptation was strong all the same. Every ounce of her courage and determination was needed to mount the horse beside Udell's. The reins had been removed and a rope tied to the horse's bridle. Udell had hold of the other end. Krysta clung to the pommel as the horses set off at a gallop.
They rode for hours without once slackening their pace. By afternoon, Krysta was close to despair. They would have to stop for the night at some time, that or run their horses into the ground. But once they halted, no doubt she would be bound again. The thought of what the long hours of darkness in the company of a hate-filled, vengeful man could mean made her blood run cold. Perhaps it would be better simply to take her chances and hope she could get away into the forest somehow. But to elude Udell and his men on foot would be impossible.
She was searching frantically for some faint ray of hope when she glanced to one side and noticed through the thick-leafed branches the glint of fast-running water. From time to time during the long hours she had caught a glimpse of the river, enough to realize that the road they were on must roughly parallel it. But now it seemed unusually close and the road appeared to be turning in its direction.
A few moments later, her suspicions were confirmed when she realized they would have to cross a low wooden bridge that joined the two parts of the road on opposite sides of the river. As they approached the bridge, she saw that the water beneath it was turbulent, breaking against submerged rocks and sending up froths of spray that showered rainbows of light to either side. Under other circumstances the beauty of such a display would have struck her, but now all she could think of was that day was fast fleeing and taking hope with it.
In the lead, Udell slowed his horse to a walk. The hooves of the animals resounded sharply against the wooden planks. They were about to ride out onto the bridge when Udell stopped suddenly. A long pole attached to a trestle had been lowered across the entrance, blocking their way.
“What the hell is this?” Udell demanded.
Barely had he spoken than a little man bustled forward from somewhere beneath the bridge. He was quite short but powerfully built, with long black hair that merged into the beard that hung halfway down his barrel chest. There was an air of importance about him as he confronted Udell and the others.
“Pay the toll, cross the bridge,” he announced in a low, rumbling voice.
“Toll?” Udell looked at him incredu
lously. “What are you talking about? There's never been any toll on this bridge.”
“There is today,” the little man said. Boldly, as though it concerned him not at all to be facing a band of armed warriors, he held out his hand. “Cross my palm with gold and cross the bridge. Elsewise, turn back or—” His eyes, hidden beneath great bushy brows, gleamed. “Or would you rather swim? River's running hard though. Only a truly good swimmer would have any chance of making it to the other side, much less downstream.”
“What're you prattling about?” Udell demanded. His hand went to the hilt of his sword. “Get out of my way, old man, or by God I'll cleave you in two.”
Far from being alarmed by this threat, the little man merely shrugged. “Are ye a good swimmer then, Lord of Mercia? Feel up to takin' yer chance in the water, do ye?”
Udell looked at him in disbelief, then threw back his head and laughed. “By God, the fellow's addled. He knows who I am and he's still doing this!”
The men behind Udell also laughed but they sounded distinctly less amused. Krysta scarcely heard them. She was staring at the water through the dancing rainbows of light, thinking about what the little man had said. The river was running hard and there were the rocks, not to mention the rapids she had glimpsed just north of where they had left the boat. The current would take her at once and she would have very little chance of fighting it. But if she could catch hold of a fallen log and keep her head up enough to get air—
Udell would not be delayed much longer. Already he was drawing his sword.
“Get out of the way, old man.”
Krysta pressed her heel into the side of her horse, urging him over near the edge of the bridge.
“And move that damn pole.”
All in the space of a heartbeat, she breathed deeply, raised her hand in thanks to the little man, swung her leg over the horse, and jumped. The current took her with stunning force. There was no time to think or breathe or even try to swim. Behind her, she could hear Udell shouting and managed to turn her head just enough to catch a glimpse of him frantically gesturing to his men. Then bridge, Mercians, and all else vanished from sight as the current pulled her under.
Just beneath the surface, the river looked far calmer. Dappled light illuminated forests of waving fronds that grew out of the gravelly riverbed. Swirls of mud rose in eddies, momentarily obscuring Krysta's vision until she was thrust clear of them. Rocks flew past, some small, others the size of huts. Of a sudden, she found herself staring directly into the eyes of a fish, a salmon she thought. Then it, too, was gone and the current flowed on.
It was very peaceful really for all its speed. She was vaguely surprised to have no sense of danger. Indeed, she felt nothing but relief to be free of Udell and all the turbulence above. The river rounded a bend and she was suddenly thrust again into the sun. She surfaced gasping, terrified for an instant that she could not breathe, and had no time to think of the absurdity of that before her starved lungs drew in air.
Her clothes dragged at her and she was pulled under again. This time, she fought her way back into the open and found herself cast into a quiet pool that flowed off to one side of the river. On hands and knees, she crawled onto the mossy bank and collapsed in an exhausted stupor.
Some while later, she had no sense of how long, she raised her head and looked around. She had no idea how far she was from the bridge but all her instincts told her to keep moving. Udell would not be willing to lose the hostage who stood between him and certain death. He would come after her if only to recover her body, for if Hawk was hunting them and he found her dead, he would attack without mercy.
Staggering to her feet, Krysta struggled to decide what to do. If she tried to follow the river road back the way she had come, Udell would have a far easier time of finding her. But if she abandoned the road, she might easily become lost in an area where there were few settlements and many natural dangers. That left the river.
She stared at it hesitantly. The current was still flowing fast. Ordinarily, to trust herself to it would be madness. And yet it had not killed her when by all rights it should have. She was weary and a little bruised but that was as nothing against what might well have happened. Somewhere up ahead were rapids. She was quite sure she had not come upon them yet and that she would not survive doing so. But if she could keep aware and leave the river before the rapids, she just might have a chance.
The pool lay in the shadow of several old oak trees. One of them was dying. A long arm of a fallen branch lay on the bank, almost in the water. Tentatively, Krysta pushed it into the pool. She watched until she saw it float. Quickly, before she could think better of it, she stripped off most of the clothes that had so weighed her down. Wearing only her shift, she waded back into the water, grabbed hold of the tree limb, and kicked toward the river.
HAWK DREW REIN AT THE EDGE OF TH E CLEARING. He took note of the boat drawn up on the shore and of the marks left in the soft earth. A wave of his hand brought Thorgold to his side.
“Let the dog have a go at this.”
Scarcely had the animal been set down than he began to race around the clearing, nose to the ground. He did this faster and faster, narrowing his search area, until within minutes he was back on the forest trail and trotting north. Half a mile on, where the road forked, he moved left unerringly.
“Good dog,” Thorgold said and whistled him back up into the saddle.
“How did you know about the clearing?” Thorgold asked as they rode on.
“I've used it myself,” Hawk replied. “Just beyond are rapids. You either portage around them or go on by horse. It's the second of the main routes into Mercia. I thought there were too many of them fleeing court to go this way and it seems most didn't. But Udell had other ideas.”
His face was grim as he spoke. They had ridden relentlessly since earliest day. It was now afternoon but no hint of fatigue marked the Hawk or any of his men. Nor could they afford to let any creep over them. Udell had far too great a lead. To catch him they would have to press themselves to the limits of endurance and beyond. Or they would have to get very lucky.
The dog was luck, Hawk thought. Without him, they would not have known for certain that they were on the right road and they could not afford to go wrong again. But it would take more. Much more.
They continued on upriver. Long ago, when his life had seemed to consist of nothing but battles, Hawk had learned the trick of falling into a watchful reverie. It allowed his weary mind and body some measure of rest while keeping him alert to danger. Now he sought that state purely for release from the anguish that had tormented him from the moment he learned that Krysta was in Udell's hands, but he did not find it.
A thousand times he berated himself for not anticipating what the Mercian might do. He had been too confident of being able to defeat Udell, too certain the traitor would fall neatly into the trap set for him. And perhaps he would have if Krysta had not been at court to draw his eye and spark his rage. She should have been left safe at home in Hawkforte, even if he'd had to keep her locked up to do it. But no, he had put his own belief that confronted by king and court she would give up any notion of rejecting their betrothal above all other regard.
And now she could die.
He inhaled sharply, stabbed through by a thought more painful than any blow he had ever taken in his life of battles. He could not lose her! By God, he could not! Please God, he would do anything, bargain with anything, promise anything.
Hawk had rarely prayed. He saw little point in it since it was not his observation that God favored any side in battle. He had seen men he would have given his life for die in an instant while others escaped death time and time again. His own continued life he credited to his skill, to luck, and to whatever fate might have planned for him. He found some pleasure in the mass, if only for the brief respite it offered from worldly concerns, but he did not consider the recitation of prayers to be prayer itself.
Now he prayed as he had not known he could do, pr
ayed with all his heart and soul while the long miles passed and time inched by. If God would spare her, he would do anything, even give her up if that was what was needed. He could live without her, however barren that life would be, if only he knew she yet lived somewhere in the world. To imagine a world without Krysta was more than he could bear.
The dog barked.
Hawk returned from his bleak reverie to see Thorgold struggling to contain the animal, who was trying to leap out of the saddle. “Something's spooked him,” Thorgold said. He gave up trying to hold the dog and let him down.
Barely had he done so than the animal began rushing in circles, seeking a scent.
Hope flared in Hawk. Mayhap they were closer than he had thought. If something had happened to delay Udell—
The dog continued in circles, nose to the ground, but without success. He grew increasingly agitated as he failed to find what he sought. Thorgold dismounted and went to him. “What's the trouble, boy?”
The dog lifted his head and whined softly. His tail drooped.
“Have we lost him?” Hawk asked. He could not imagine how. Udell would have no greater goal than to reach Mercia and his stronghold. Leaving the road would slow him down tremendously, and he could not return to the river because he had left his boat below the rapids. Unless he had arranged for another boat, but there was no sign of that, no clearing where boats could be brought ashore, no indication of horses milling about as riders dismounted.
“Nay,” Thorgold said, “he's been this way all right but the scent isn't fresh. Still, something got this fellow going.” He patted the dog's head reassuringly and made to return to his horse. At once the animal stiffened, looking toward the river. He raised a front paw, stretching out both nose and tail.
“He was trained for hunting,” Hawk said. All his senses were suddenly, keenly alert. He too looked toward where the glint of fast-running water shone through the trees. “Could Udell have doubled back for some reason?”