stop some twenty yards away.
“A half-dozen riders there,” he said, pointing to the first set of prints. “Joined by a dozen more here.” He nodded at the more disturbed sod beneath his feet before turning to face due north. “They’re moving fast,” he said, raising an eyebrow at Ahm Lin and his pony. The animal’s breath had become ragged and it tossed its head in fatigued annoyance.
“Can you track them?” Vaelin asked the Moreska.
“This land is like scripture,” he said, swiftly climbing back onto his mount. “So easy to read.”
“I’m not waiting,” Vaelin said, turning to address Sho Tsai. “Leave sufficient men to guard the mason. I’ve a sense we’ll need his talent again before long.”
He kicked his horse into a gallop without waiting for an answer, Alum and the others quickly following suit. The hunter spurred ahead to lead the way, eyes continually tracking the earth. After half a mile Vaelin glanced back to see Sho Tsai following with half his company. At least we won’t be outnumbered, he thought, suppressing uncomfortable notions of what the Stahlhast might do to their captives when it became clear they were about to be intercepted.
It took over an hour of hard riding before a plume of dust rose on the horizon. With no more need for Alum to read the signs, Vaelin spurred his horse to greater efforts, voicing thanks for having been provided with a beast bred for the hunt rather than battle. A warhorse would never have matched such a pace. He drew away from the others, ignoring Nortah’s shouted warning that they should stay together. Gradually the dark specks of men on horseback became visible at the base of the plume, resolving into a band of close to twenty riders. The dust rose thicker as they reined to a halt, wheeling their mounts around with the effortless swiftness of those born to the saddle. They spread out as Vaelin galloped closer, drawing sabres and unhooking lances to stand in readiness.
He knew the wisest course would be to halt, wait for the others, perhaps even try to talk to these people, but all such thought fled his mind at the sight of two smaller figures beyond the line of Stahlhast. They both rode sturdy ponies like Ahm Lin’s, both clad in dark cloaks although one wore a long white scarf that trailed in the wind. But it was the other that captured his gaze. Even though it was too far to make out her features, the rush of recognition was immediate, made fierce by the fear and concern that accompanied it.
The Stahlhast spurred forward to meet him as he closed in, drawing his sword and bringing it down on the lance point of the lead rider. The blade turned the weapon aside, sliding the length of the shaft to bite deep into the forearm of its owner. Vaelin angled the blade so that it slashed across the rider’s neck before his horse brought him clear. The swish of a sabre caused him to lean low in the saddle, feeling the rush of wind on his back as the blade cleaved the air.
He tugged on the reins, bringing his mount to a halt and then wheeling about, sword extended in a thrust. The sabre-wielding Stahlhast wore an iron helm decorated with what appeared to be metal thorns but lacking a face guard. The speed of his charge left no time to dodge and the star-silver-edged sword point sank deep into his cheek, Vaelin pushing it deeper still until he felt it meet the unyielding iron of the helmet.
He withdrew his sword, letting the corpse tumble from the saddle. The Stahlhast had encircled him now, faces dark with fury, every lance and sabre levelled at him. “They,” Vaelin said, pointing at the two figures beyond the circle, “are all I want. Ride away and you can live.”
He spoke in Chu-Shin, assuming they must have some knowledge of the tongue, but if they did the words evidently had no effect. As one they let out a war cry and charged. The closest, a woman with striking red hair streaming from beneath the edges of her helm, bared her teeth in a snarl, sabre extended in a perfectly aimed thrust at his chest. She wore a breastplate that would have been proof against most arrows, but Nortah had always been expert at finding gaps in armour. The woman’s snarl turned into a shocked grimace as the arrow pierced the thin chain mail below her