The Falcons of Fire and Ice - By Karen Maitland Page 0,110

and thrashing violently.

Vítor dismounted and, flinging his reins at Marcos, marched back to try to pull the packhorse up on to her feet. Marcos dismounted too and, holding tightly to both horses, led them forward, looking wildly around for somewhere he might tether them, but there was not a tree or a post anywhere. Hinrik, who had been riding ahead, was plainly oblivious of the commotion behind him and had disappeared around one of the mounds of soil.

Vítor glanced up at Marcos. ‘Hurry up and give me a hand. We’ll have to get this pack off her before we can get her up.’

He tugged at one of the knots in the wool, but it only seemed to make it tighter. Exasperated, he pulled out his knife. ‘I’ll have to cut it.’

Up to then I had kept my seat, but I saw the most useful thing I could do now would be to dismount and help to hold the beasts while the others freed the packhorse. Behind me, Fausto was still mounted too. I half-turned my head and saw his horse drawing level with mine.

‘Can you hold her while I dismount?’ I handed him the reins and, seizing a handful of the horse’s mane, I leaned forward, about to swing my leg over its back, when I felt something hit my horse’s flank, as if someone had kicked the beast hard. She whinnied and sprang forward off the track. Fausto dropped the reins, but before I could grab at them, the horse galloped away with me frantically clutching at her mane. I had lost the stirrups and was desperately trying to keep my seat by gripping her sides tightly with my legs.

Hinrik’s warning flashed through my head. I knew that by pressing the horse’s sides I was only encouraging her to go faster, but I couldn’t help myself. I was only holding on to her mane and I was terrified that if I relaxed my grip with my legs I would be thrown straight on to those sharp, jagged rocks.

As we dashed forward, I coaxed and pleaded with the horse to stop, but she took no more notice of me than she would a fly. I crouched low across her neck, groping for the swinging reins with one hand while I twisted the fingers of my other hand tighter into her mane. I was dimly aware that the ground right in front of us looked flatter and smoother and the vicious black rocks had given way to pools of water. Perhaps I could manage to slide from her back. I would be bruised, but at least I wouldn’t smash my head open on the stones. I felt again the twinge from my injured knee and almost before I’d thought about what I was doing I began to shift my weight to the other side. I couldn’t afford to fall on that leg again.

Without warning the horse staggered, her back legs buckled beneath her. The violent jerk dislodged the precarious hold I had on her and I found myself sliding sideways and backwards. I landed in something soft and at the same moment the horse lashed out wildly with her hooves, kicking and bucking as she tried to free her legs from the sucking mire in which she was caught. I rolled over, covering my head and trying to protect myself. I felt the rush of wind as her hoof passed within a hair’s breadth of my head. Then, with one tremendous heave, she had freed herself and was gone.

My relief lasted barely half a breath. For in the same instant I discovered I was unhurt, I also realized that I was sinking. I was lying sprawled in a pool of warm black mud, but as soon as I tried to push my arms down to prise myself up my hands disappeared into the ooze. I scrabbled around, trying to feel something solid to push against, but there was nothing. Each time I moved, more of the thick, sticky mud welled up over my body and legs, pulling me in deeper. I was in the grip of a giant. I tried to pull one arm free, but dragging it up through the sucking mud was like trying to lift a blacksmith’s anvil in one hand. Blind panic engulfed me and I screamed.

As I twisted around I saw a tall woman standing a few feet away from me. Where she had come from I had no idea, but she looked as old as