Jason realized the man could not see Rachel and Ferrin, since they were currently in stalls. “I just love to pet horses,” Jason said, his voice pathetically dreamy. “They’re my most favorite ever. I can read their minds.”

The stableman looked baffled. “These are private horses, son.” An edge of stern accusation remained in his voice. He took a step closer.

Jason saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Ferrin stepped out of a stall holding his head in his hands. “Beware the boy,” the head said. “He took my head. Yours will be next.”

The startled man backed away, hoe raised protectively.

Ferrin’s body set down his head, then seized a pitchfork and charged. The man threw down his hoe and ran. Ferrin’s headless body flung the pitchfork sidearm so it spun end over end horizontally. The pitchfork tangled in the stableman’s legs, and he fell heavily against the plank floor just shy of the door.

The body tackled the stableman as he began to rise. The gray horse tried to rear, nearly jerking Jason off his feet. He barely maintained his hold of the bridle.

“Toss me to my body,” Ferrin’s head demanded. “Make it a good throw.”

Keeping one hand on the bridle, Jason crouched and scooped up the head. An underhand toss sent Ferrin’s head spinning through the air to the outstretched hands of his body, which straddled the terrified stableman.

“That is much harder than it looks,” Ferrin said while reattaching his head to his neck. “Catching your own head, I mean.”

“I bet,” Jason said.

The stableman lay motionless, breathing loudly through his nostrils, glazed eyes staring. “Leave me be,” he pled.

Ferrin hauled him to his feet. “We mean you no harm, except to borrow a few horses. They will be returned. Just keep quiet and don’t make trouble for yourself. Why don’t you kneel right here?”

A practiced blow left the stableman unconscious on the floor.

“You need to teach me that one,” Jason said.

“You all right, Rachel?” Ferrin called.

She led the white horse out of the stall. Pausing, she stared at the stableman on the floor. “Now we’re real criminals.”

“They made us criminals,” Ferrin corrected, returning to the roan’s stall. He led out the gelding, hoofs clomping on the planks. “Mount up,” he said, bounding easily onto the roan’s bare back.

Jason stuck his boot in a stirrup and hoisted himself up awkwardly. Rachel mounted the white mare smoothly.

Ferrin walked his horse over to Jason. “Don’t stick your foot so far through the stirrup. If you fall you’ll get dragged. And don’t pull so tightly on the reins. They aren’t there for your stability. Grip with your knees. Ready?”

“I guess.”

Ferrin smiled. “You can read horses’ minds. That was very nice. My kind of crazy.”

“Thanks. The headlessness was a slick scare tactic.”

“It kept our unfortunate friend off balance. Let’s go.”

Leaning down, Ferrin lifted a latch and shoved open the main stable doors. Rachel followed, and Jason trotted after them onto the street, bouncing up and down with the jerky gait. Then Ferrin touched his heels to the roan’s sides, and the steed sped up to a canter. Rachel’s mare started loping as well.

Without any urging, Jason’s mount matched the pace of the other horses. For a horrible moment Jason thought he was going to get jounced out of the saddle to one side or the other. Each loping stride provided a fresh opportunity to lose his balance.

The town blurred by, dark buildings interrupted by an occasional lit window. Holding his reins loosely in one hand and clutching the pommel with the other, Jason tried to grip with his knees as Ferrin had instructed. Soon he discovered that if he let his body rock in synchronization with the horse’s strides, the ride became less jarring.

They rode out of the town, Jason a few lengths behind Rachel and Ferrin. The town receded behind them, and Jason gradually grew more comfortable astride the running horse. He began to notice the cool night air washing over him, the bright stars glittering above through gaps in unseen clouds, the occasional twinkle of fireflies off to either side of the road. Somewhere in the night a pack of coyotes or wolves started howling. The howls rose in a cackling chant, intensifying until a heart-freezing shriek pierced the night. Jason’s horse began to gallop, racing past Ferrin and Rachel, Jason tugging ineffectually at the reins. The howls ended abruptly. As he bounced along the dark road, Jason envisioned animals feeding on a kill.

He finally managed to yank his horse to a stop. Ferrin pulled up alongside him and dismounted. “We should walk for a while. These are hearty steeds, but we must conserve their strength.” Rachel drew up and dismounted gracefully.

Jason clambered down. He rubbed his thighs. “Much more of this and I’ll be bowlegged.”

“You did fine,” Ferrin laughed.

They led their horses along the lane.

“Will they chase us?” Rachel asked.

“Very likely. But not far beyond the outskirts of town. Now, your friend with the new arm, he is another story. I expect he will get released, so sleep with one eye open.”

“Are we outlaws now?” Jason asked.

“Perhaps in that town. Not all towns have constables. And there is little communication between them. The only centralized power in the land belongs to Maldor.”

“I’ll wear a fake mustache and glasses if I ever go back through there,” Jason said.

“Our manner of escape should help clear our names,” Ferrin said. “Constable Wornser is no fool. We had plenty of opportunities to kill, if murder were our game. Still, if either of you ever comes back this way, go around the town.”

They walked on in silence.

After a time they remounted the horses and trotted them. Jason marveled at how tireless the horses seemed.

As dawn began to color the sky, Ferrin led them off the road. They went over the shoulder of a hill and made camp in a hollow on the far side. Ferrin tethered the horses while Jason and Rachel laid out their blankets.

“I’ll keep watch,” Ferrin volunteered.

Jason fell asleep quickly but did not slumber long. He awoke with the sun barely above the horizon. He walked out of the shade of their hollow into the morning light, stretching the sore muscles in his legs.

“If you’re up, I may catch a nap,” Ferrin whispered.

Jason gave a nod. About fifty feet away stood a limbless stump of a tree, with a hole in its side the size of a dinner plate. Jason selected five rocks of similar size. He stood as if he were on a pitcher’s mound, the first rock in his hand. He checked first base, went into a windup, and hurled the stone at the hole. Two of the five rocks went inside. Only one missed the tree entirely.