Aram came clinking over to join the group. He had slipped off to transform as the sun set, and now wore his sword, cloak, and armor.

Galloran turned to him, having heard his approach. “How are you feeling, Aram?”

“Good as new,” he said, rubbing the corkscrew bruise, which had faded slightly, going greenish along the edges. “I won’t slow us down tonight. But without horses, my gear could pose a problem by morning.”

“We carried the sword and mail through the marsh,” Tark pointed out.

“For which I’m grateful,” Aram said. “But speed was not essential there.”

“We’ll manage,” Tark vowed stoutly. “I’ll lug the sword myself.”

“I’ll see to your armor,” Ferrin said. “I don’t want to leave you any excuses for not protecting our hides.”

“It’s appreciated,” Aram said. “I would make my way to the gate at my own pace before I would leave them.”

Galloran arose. “When it comes to hampering our speed while traveling afoot, I will be our biggest liability. We had best not tarry. Drake will lead the way. Ferrin and Nedwin will assist with scouting. I’m afraid there is no rest for the weary. Let’s cover as much ground as possible by sunrise.”

CHAPTER 17

WEST GATE

The night was dark and breezy when Drake called for a halt. Holding a finger to his lips, his stance showed concern. Listening in silence, Rachel heard distant hoofbeats. Everyone scattered, reaching for their weapons while searching for some degree of cover.

“All clear,” Nedwin called from an unseen vantage. “They’re ours.”

Rachel spoke softly in Edomic, calling to the animals. Within a minute or two, three horses came trotting up to her, bathed in soft moonlight. She recognized her mare, the huge stallion Aram had ridden, and Mandibar.

“You made it!” Rachel exclaimed, hugging and stroking each of the mounts.

“Do they know where the other horses are?” Jason asked.

“I’m not Dr. Doolittle,” Rachel replied. “I can send out instructions, but we don’t have conversations.”

Hopping down off a tall boulder, Nedwin rejoined the group. “There’s no sign of the other mounts.”

“This is very impressive,” Galloran said. “Rachel obviously issued effective instructions. I did not expect to encounter any of these horses again. I’m afraid they brought some trouble with them.”

“Trouble?” Jason asked.

“I sensed a lurker trailing them,” Galloran said. “Its presence only touched my awareness for a moment. The torivor came near enough to identify us, then immediately fled. Already it has moved beyond the reach of my perceptions.”

“If it ran, there must be soldiers within range,” Drake said.

“Then it’s a race,” Aram said heavily.

“Oh no,” Rachel said. “If I had known—”

“Not your fault,” Galloran interrupted. “If torivors were hunting us, it was only a matter of time before they made contact. Only three of our minds are shielded by charms. The horses will help us increase our pace. This may have worked out for the best.”

“Galloran should ride,” Drake said. “Aram’s horse can carry double. I’ll use Mandibar to scout.”

“If it comes to it,” Aram said, “we can send Galloran, Jason, Corinne, and Rachel ahead on the three horses.”

“I’d prefer we all survived,” Galloran said, mounting Rachel’s mare.

“Rachel, Corinne,” Drake said, swinging astride Mandibar. “You should conserve energy by mounting up as well. You’ll be no burden to Aram’s horse.”

Rachel climbed the strapping steed. The back felt ridiculously broad. Corinne mounted behind her. “It has been a long time,” she murmured to Rachel.

“You rode as a child?” Rachel asked.

“I have fond memories of the activity,” Corinne said. “On this big stallion, I almost feel like a child again.”

“You and me both,” Rachel said.

As they got moving, the pace increased dramatically. Aram kept hold of his horse, and Dorsio led the mare. Rachel felt sorry for Jason and all the men as they jogged along. While Drake scouted on Mandibar, Nedwin led the group, and Ferrin roved nearby.

The moon often vanished behind clouds, making it hard to keep track of the surrounding terrain. Sometimes they progressed across level ground. Other times they weaved among boulders and crags. Occasionally they advanced along the floor of a ravine or followed winding paths up rocky slopes.

As the night wore on, Tark began to cough. What started as an occasional clearing of his throat grew into deep hacking. For much of the night his coughing would subside when they paused for a break. But as sunrise drew near, they stopped beside a wide stream, and he fell to his hands and knees, coughing and gagging until he hawked up a dark-green wad of phlegm. Rachel turned away from the disgusting mass, wishing she hadn’t glimpsed it.

“What does his mouth look like?” Galloran inquired.

Jason stood nearest to him. Tark opened his mouth and flattened his tongue. Jason winced. “His throat looks full of mold. The whole back of his mouth is coated by purplish fuzz.”

Aram peered over Jason’s shoulder. “Quite a garden you have in there.”

Rachel resisted the bile rising in her throat at the descriptions. Her hand involuntarily strayed to her neck.

“Lungrot,” Galloran declared. “Corinne and Rachel should walk for a time. I had hoped to avoid fungal illnesses. Tark will require the horse.”

“I’m fine,” the musician protested. “Let the ladies ride.”

Rachel had already slid off to the ground. “It’ll feel good to stretch my legs,” she insisted.

Corinne followed her example. “I was getting awfully cramped in that saddle.”

Tark was already hacking miserably again. The fit culminated with a noisy bout of dry heaving.

“Will he be all right?” Jason asked.

“The Amar Kabal have skilled healers for such maladies,” Galloran said. “Much will depend on how swiftly we can get him there. Drink, refill your waterskins, and then we should move on.”

Jason and Rachel went to a slate shelf where water fell in a transparent curtain. Cool water splashed Rachel’s wrists as she disrupted the smooth cascade with her waterskin. The horses drank from the mossy pool below.

“You look tired,” Rachel told Jason.