by Roger Taylor
Hatred and anger wove themselves into the twisted strands of his fear.
He would not fall to Rannick or his creature. He would choke it and slash it even as it seized him. And he would utter not a sound whatever happened.
‘Run, horse, run!’ he willed silently.
Then, the fear that filled him was not his own. He had the feeling of another will steeling itself for a terrible ordeal. But it was gone before he could respond and, once again, the pounding rhythm of the chase carried him, unwilling, but helpless, into the soul of his pursuer.
There was his prey, almost alongside now; high above, and dangerous hooves flailing, but only a few paces from the kill.
Muscles strained for the extra effort that would turn stride into leap…
And the prey was gone!
Ahead lay the looming darkness of a broad tree trunk!
Farnor started violently as he was jolted back into his own consciousness, the creature’s surging reflexes alive in his limbs.
Through the din of his flight, he heard a crashing and stumbling behind him.
‘Run, horse, run!’
The words rang in his head, but the voice was not his. Nor was the word simply ‘horse’. It was rich in many meanings, but, too, it was hung about with great fear.
And, he realized, his awful, pulsing bond with the creature was gone. He was wholly himself again. The presence of the creature was fading. For an instant, he hesitated, but even as he did so the voices filled his mind overwhelmingly.
‘Flee, mover! It taxes us sorely to touch this thing so and we have no measure of our ability to help you. Your fate is in your own hands still. Flee!’
* * * *
‘It is done.’
‘But the pain, the horror…’
‘Is passed. And it is done. The spawn of the Evil has been deceived. It returns from whence it came. The mover is safe.’
But there was an awful doubt still. Doubt that robbed this achievement of any true solace for the pain and degradation of touching that which had come in pursuit.
‘The mover carries a darkness. We may have com-mitted a great folly.’
‘We could have done no other.’
It did not lessen the doubt.
There was a silence, deep and profound. The truth could not be denied. They had allowed an alien darkness to come amongst them.
‘It will be ever beyond us. We must call on those who Hear. The Valderen must judge where we cannot.’
And into the night, Farnor, clinging to the neck of his exhausted horse, galloped ever northward into the land of the Great Forest. He was lost and alone, but he knew only one thing: he was no longer pursued. The creature was gone. He was free.
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Document creation date: 20.09.2010
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