Gretch's head rested on his chest for a second before he jerked it back up.

Wake up. Curse that old man!

Days and nights with little food and less sleep had finally caught up with him. A battle was raging inside him: his body needed to rest, his mind refused to let him. No matter how strong he was Gretch knew that eventually his mind would lose the fight.

Somehow he managed to stay upright on his horse until late in the afternoon. He halted when he saw signs that his prey had stopped by the river bank. He was relieved to see that the horses had then walked instead of galloping away from the bank.

Their horses must be spent.

He could afford to stop and recover. He tied two of the stolen horses to rough bushes and led the one he had ridden hardest downwind from the others.

"You have borne me well," he said to it. "But I only need two horses, and I need to eat."

He took out a small knife and nicked a minor vein on the neck of the horse and put his lips to it. The horse recoiled but Gretch held it firm. The warm, metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. Once he had drunk his fill he killed the horse as quickly and painlessly as he could. Death was a necessity, but need not be cruel. With no fire he had to eat the meat raw. When his stomach could hold no more he took off his shirt, cut off thick chunks of meat, and wrapped them in it. He then walked downwind of the horses and washed himself clean of the blood in the river. No need to spook the remaining two.

He went back to the horses, dropped into the long grass, and let sleep overtake him.

The coldness of night woke him. Sleeping in his leather armour was acceptable, but not as warm without his shirt between it and his skin. He shivered in the long grass for a few seconds while his mind formulated a plan.

They each have only one horse. I have two.

They will have food. I do not.

They will be sleeping - I hope. I have slept.

It is only two or three days' hard ride to The Trail. Anyone could be on it. I must catch them before then.

It is unwise to continue to underestimate the barbarians. And what is Xantia doing with them? 

I will have to chose the field of battle. They will follow the river for water. I will have to ride around them and take them from the north.

He rose with fresh resolve. Before he reached the tethered horses the enamel amulet on his chest burst into angry heat. He clenched his jaw, bracing himself for the pain, then slapped it to his forehead. Despite the searing pain he did not allow any sound to escape his lips. All must feel pain but only the weak show it. When his eyes opened he could no longer see the two horses and the starless sky above The Endless Plains. Although his body had not moved, his mind's eye was with his Liege. He instantly prostrated himself. The vision was hazy but Gretch could tell that Liege Marext was standing in front of the sacrifice table. A still figure lay dripping upon it.

"My Liege."

"Why have you failed to bring me the box, Gretch?"

"I have not, my Liege. I am, even now, in pursuit."

"I have been pondering your absence and have concluded that there are three possibilities. Firstly, that you are slain. Clearly this is not so. Secondly, that you are not as skilled a hunter as I had thought. Thirdly, that you are a traitor. Which is it? Incompetence or betrayal?"

"Neither, my Liege, merely setbacks that could not be avoided."

"I do not need to hear pathetic excuses! When will you have it?"

"I lay a trap for the thief in less than two days."

"Then I will contact you midnight, two days hence."

"Liege, there is something you should know."

"Yes?"

"There is a sorceress among the barbarians. She is making a move to gain control of their largest clan."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes."

"Tell me of her."

"She is a barbarian like them. Old, but not ancient. Small in stature, but otherwise no remarkable physical features."

"Her name?"

"I do not know. Also, there is another sorcerer woman I met near the mountains that separate our great lands with The Endless Plains. She has vivid blue eyes and is of remarkable beauty."

Gretch had studied his Liege's expressions for years. He could tell that this news was no surprise.

"Did you speak with her?" Marext asked.

"Yes. She warned me not to pursue the thieves."

"One day we will have to deal with her. For now focus on the thief and my box. Be swift. If you do not have it when I contact you in two nights' time I will send my winged one for you. It will bring you to me."

"My Liege," Gretch bowed.

The amulet went cold. He closed his eyes and tried to recall the face of the corpse on the sacrifice table.

***

Alam was woken from sleep.

"Dawn is here," said Tajar who was shaking his shoulder. "Time to move."

Alam rubbed his face, took a deep breath, and steadied himself for a new day.

"How are your injuries?" he asked Alam.

"My broken rib is still painful, as is my shoulder, but I will survive. How are your cuts?"

"Healing, but more slowly than they should because we are travelling."

Alam turned to Frost. "How are your cuts?"

"I am fine," she replied flatly.

During his watch Tajar had not been idle. He had made traps that caught one rabbit and he had speared an eel at the edge of the river.

Alam noticed that Tajar gave Frost the largest portion of rabbit. After eating their meager breakfast they struck camp. As they rode north all three regularly glanced over their shoulders for sign of pursuit. By early afternoon Alam could keep his confusion in no longer.

"Why aren't they following us?"

"I am wondering the same thing," said Tajar. "I don't think they are coming. If they were, their warriors would have spare horses. They should have caught us by now."

"How far ahead do you think The Trail is?" Alam asked.

"I don't know. I've never been this way. I am guessing we will reach it tomorrow. But it might be today, or the day after. Once we strike it, I think it will be less than a day to reach Lasthome." Tajar swung his leg over his horse and dismounted. "Let's rest awhile."

Alam happily followed his example. After watering Mist by the river he laid down and stared up at the sky.

The hellcat bit down. Blood gushed out. He shook his head to clear the thoughts.

Prall's torso fell for the hundredth time.

Damn.

To distract himself from the flahsbacks he reached inside his tunic for the box. He braced himself for the vision to come. His fingers closed around it but nothing unusual happened. He lifted it up and gazed at its delicate carvings.

Clarisai.

The Holy man said to take it to Clarisai. Is that a name or a place?

Hopefully we'll find out in Lasthome. That was definitely the direction the Holy man and his caravan were heading.

Then what do I do?

The three travelers rested themselves and the horses for an hour before setting off again. As the day passed the land became more broken, with outcrops of bare rock jutting out of undulating hills. It disrupted visibility and slowed their progress. Periodically Tajar would find a high vantage point to make sure that there was still no sign of pursuit.

"There is nothing behind us," Tajar reported. "Off to the west there are a pair of horses heading north. I can't tell if it's a single rider with a spare horse or two riders. Either way they won't cross our path."

At the end of the day, when the light was golden, Tajar found a high outcrop to check a final time.

"Still nothing. And the riders, or rider, to the west are gone," Tajar shouted down.

Alam's mood's lifted with the news. There was nothing to stop them reaching The Trail. But his newfound optimism was extinguished when misty drizzle rolled in and forced them to find a rock lip to huddle beneath through the night.

During his watch that night Alam heard faint noises coming from Frost. Her shoulders were twitching. He realised with surprise that she was crying. His own eyes watered in sympathy.

"I miss him too," he whispered.

***

Morning came. Gretch waited in the drizzle. Both of the horses were gone. He had ridden the first one until it collapsed beneath him from exhaustion. The second one brought him close to the river but Gretch could not risk it alerting his prey. He regretted slaying a beast so useful, but it had to be done. It was a gamble. If things went well he would be able to pick one of the barbarian's horses. If fate turned against him he would have to flee on foot. But if it came to that, Liege Marext would take his life anyway as payment for his failure, so perhaps it was not so much a gamble, as his only option.

He was satisfied with the ground he had chosen to face them upon. It was a small clearing in the rocks some ten paces wide. On the eastern side of the clearing was the river. On the west was a rock wall with a perfect crevice in its base for him to wait in. After backing into it he wedged a rough bush in its entrance to conceal his presence. The northern exit from the clearing narrowed to a path between rocks that would only allow one horse to leave at a time. Near that exit, on the river's edge, he placed his last horse's lifeless head. A few seconds distraction would be its final service to him.

Gretch waited. He was crouched, ready to spring. Half an hour later the sound of the barbarians' voices wafted to him on the wind. He smiled.

Now they die and I can finish this final task.

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-Y. V. Qualls