But if Karigan could play the decoy, Estora resolved to endure her portion of the escape without complaint.

Before Fergal motioned it was time to leave the cave, she sent up a small prayer to the gods that the decoy did not become trapped herself, and that Fergal was wrong about his vision of death.

BRAVE SOUL

Amberhill led Goss along the confusion of hoofprints that disturbed the pine needles, dead leaves, and mosses of the forest floor. They went off in all directions, crisscrossing and turning round on themselves. Fresh piles of horse droppings revealed all the activity was recent. He concluded that a good many riders were in the area, not just Lady Estora and her captors.

He paused and scratched his head, wondering which direction he should go. He gazed up at the sun, estimating it was mid-to late afternoon. The sun set quickly this time of year—too quickly—and clouds were beginning to move in.

Lowering his gaze, he could see through the trees the rounded ridges of what must be the Teligmar Hills, which were, as he recalled, the most notable prominences in the west of Sacoridia. They’d come far, and Amberhill felt every step of the journey in his bones. Goss, though a tad thinner in the ribs, appeared to thrive on the extended running. It was all for the good, Amberhill supposed, but just went to show his stallion was more muscle than brains. He patted Goss’ neck.

“Which way?” he wondered.

After some consideration, he decided to keep traveling westward. That was the direction the captors had been heading all along, so perhaps they had not deviated, and the confusion of prints was coincidental. Amberhill doubted it, but he hoped.

A clearing brightened between the tree trunks ahead, and as he neared it, he realized it was a road. He paused on the edge of the woods, squinting in the brightness. Just to his right was an intersection with a signpost. It indicated Mirwellton to the south, Adolind Province’s border to the north, and the Teligmar Road leading westward. Though there was no eastward road, Amberhill knew this to be the Teligmar Crossroads.

“How am I to find them now?”

If Lady Estora’s captors used one of the roads, it would be next to impossible to know which way they went. Amberhill stood there despairing over what he should do, berating himself anew that he hadn’t caught up with them, that he’d lost too much time getting lost and stashing away jewels. He glanced at the dragon ring on his finger, the blood ruby fiery in the full sun, and he thought to tear it off his finger and throw it away when Goss jerked his head up and snorted, ears twitching.

Shortly Amberhill discerned what Goss already detected—hoofbeats pounding down the road at a great clip. Around a curve in the road she came, leaning low over her light-footed hunter’s neck, leaving a plume of dust in her wake.

Straight through the intersection she galloped, northward.

Lady Estora!

Goss started to rear and Amberhill grappled with the reins to keep him down. But even before he calmed Goss enough to mount, he heard more hooves, multiplied many times over, in pursuit. One, then five, then ten, then twenty riders altogether whipped by and spurred their horses after Lady Estora.

“Oh, no,” Amberhill moaned. Lady Estora showed tremendous courage and spirit in her escape attempt—however she’d managed it—but he had no hope it would end well with so many riders pursuing her.

His only choice now was to follow.

The plan, Karigan thought, was simple enough: distract the ruffians so Estora and Fergal could escape. Disguised as Estora and riding her white mare to complete the illusion, it was not difficult to lure the ruffians after her.

From there, it was supposed to be easy: outrun them. And pray for a quick nightfall so she could use her ability and vanish. She’d ride to a waystation on the Adolind border, hide and rest, then return to Sacor City to report.

Unfortunately she erred by not taking Falan’s ability into account. The mare lacked the speed and endurance of Condor, and the poor thing had been cruelly pushed on her journey west. She tired rapidly.

Karigan should have waited until closer to sundown to make her move, but the ruffians were so close to their hideout she was certain they would have been trapped if she waited. At least this way Estora and Fergal had a chance at escape.

Her own chances? She glanced over her shoulder and saw the riders several horse lengths behind her, and gaining. Not good.

Falan stumbled and Karigan lurched forward, but the pommel held her leg securely and she didn’t lose her seat. The mare recovered her footing, but Karigan knew it meant the pursuers were even closer.

She hurtled through the intersection of the crossroads, willing the mare to run faster. The farther she led the ruffians on, the better chance Estora and Fergal had of escaping.

Odd, but it wasn’t all that long ago Karigan had felt hurt every time she saw Estora around the castle after the betrothal announcement, and she’d rejoiced to leave on a message errand to get away from all the wedding frivolity. And now here she was, disguised as Estora; Estora who was to marry King Zachary, the man Karigan had fallen in love with.

When she’d seen Estora at the crossroads, all the resentment and hurt had fallen away, and she had not hesitated to aid her. Her actions here and now would, if all went well, allow Estora to return to King Zachary so they could marry as planned. She appreciated the irony, but she also knew her duty. Estora’s safety came well before her own, and no matter that Karigan had tried to distance herself from her and end their friendship, she was still a friend.

But why did Estora have to be such a lady and ride sidesaddle?