Now on the road and at a better vantage point, Idelle could see over into the field on the other side. The fire mages were almost dots in the grass, with their bonfire a small flicker of orange. It was out of range at the moment, but they had horses and swords of their own, and if they could see and catch up with Idelle and Torran, it would still be a fight with only two to around fifty. 

"That's a whole platoon," Torran whispered, his shoulders tense and his hands white-knuckled around his reins.

"They're trying to flank the men down at Avonford," Idelle said, twisting in her saddle to look back south even though she'd never be able to see the battlefield.

Torran clenched his jaw. "Sir Hewe will have to deal with it," he said. "We'd only get ourselves killed trying to go back there."

"You're right," Idelle said. "Let's get out of here before they spot us."

She turned Ffion and flicked the reins while nudging his sides with her heels. He picked up speed, rumbling down the dirt road and raising a cloud of dust behind her. Torran kept at her side on Lugh, his blonde hair flattening in the wind as they reached a full gallop.

The fire mages, whether they saw Idelle and Torran or not, had no hope of ever catching up with them. Ffion and Lugh nearly flew. Idelle had to keep herself from whooping with the thrill of the unchecked gallop of her horse, tearing through the road toward the north. All the time they'd been on the road so far, they'd been conserving the horse's energy and only going at a canter at any one time. This, however, was pure speed. She'd had to train on horses when she'd first volunteered, of course, but that had been a few hours on a docile mare. She had never experienced the speed at which Ffion raced, and she had to cling to him to stay put. Torran, on the other hand, looked at home on Lugh as he expertly steered him to one side of the road and the other, keeping an eye on Idelle and on the fire mages disappearing into specks on the horizon. She guessed that was the skill a person could develop when their whole life was spent around horses. 

They maintained their pace for a mile before pulling their horses to a walk. Ffion huffed and snorted, his sides heaving under Idelle, and she had to admit she was out of breath as well. It had taken all her strength to hold onto the reins and saddle and not fall off and be lost in the dust. Her hands shook as she looked over her shoulder at Torran. Though he sat upright and proud in his saddle, she saw the sheen of sweat across his face and soaking through his tunic. His skin had gone a waxy sort of pale, as if he was about to vomit but had nothing left in his stomach.

Idelle pulled Ffion back so that she could fall in step beside Torran. She reached out, leaning sideways in her saddle, to grab his hands over his reins. They were icy around his knuckles and fingertips.

"You need to rest," she said, almost pulling Lugh to a stop right there. Torran shook his head, his blonde hair sticking to his forehead.

"We should reach the next checkpoint by sundown," he said. "We can't stop and rest with the fire mages so close."

Idelle grunted in annoyance, but knew she couldn't argue against him. While they'd escaped the one platoon of fire mages, she had no idea if any more were lurking around the next hill or hiding in the fields. Next time it could be a whole company, or even a battalion, with hundreds of men waiting and able to kill two hapless Wynherst soldiers who stumbled upon them. Torran needed his leg seen to, but it would have to wait until they were at the checkpoint and had the benefit of at least a handful of soldiers and a fortification.

After letting the horses cool down at a walk for a few miles, they traded off between the gallop and walk, hoping to make time that they had lost the night before. Idelle felt relief with each mile they put between them and the fire mages they had met in the field, and she was even more relieved as the sun began to set and she saw the glow of the checkpoint up ahead.

It was a small fortification consisting of a few buildings behind a wall, that sat along the road. Barriers blocked the way for any horsemen, carts, or foot traffic that may want to pass by, and three soldiers stood on guard.

As they approached, Torran reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a rolled piece of parchment, sealed with golden wax. The soldiers greeted them with a knuckle to their foreheads, which Idelle repeated back to them. She had already pulled Ffion to a stop and dismounted, leaning against him and letting him catch his breath. White foam stood out on his sides and she already felt horrible for riding him so hard. The soldiers eyed her and Torran with narrowed lids and stiffened shoulders.

"...Duke of Bradcombe." Idelle heard Torran finishing up introducing himself as he handed over the parchment. The ranking officer took it from him and broke the seal, unrolling it to reveal an illuminated proclamation. It was too dim in the waning light, and Idelle was too far away to see exactly what it said, but she knew the overly lavish script and golden leafing would be vouching for Torran's identity. No one had such an expensive piece of art and scribery unless they had gotten it from the king himself. The soldiers snapped to attention and the officer saluted with his knuckle to forehead once again.

"Your Grace! Please head inside and take your rest," he said, leaning over to push open a small wooden door a few feet from the barricade. Torran managed a weak smile before attempting to dismount Lugh. 

With evident pain marked on his face, he wrenched his injured leg over the saddle and landed on the ground in such a disjointed heap that he almost fell over. Idelle cast a brief glance at the soldiers, who looked at him in concern and worry, and quickly let go of Ffion's reins to get to Torran's side. She slid an arm under his and propped him up while trying to look like she was merely helping him balance. She smiled tightly at the soldiers, who got the message and suddenly took interest in the sky and ground and pretty much anything that wasn't Torran's white face and tunic soaked with sweat.

Idelle took him through the door and into the barracks of the checkpoint, which was little more than a large room with a fireplace and some cots against the wall. The officer of the checkpoint followed them in, waiting while Idelle deposited Torran on a wooden chair by the fire, before he spoke.

"Sir, ordinarily we'd be delighted for you to spend as much time as you wished with us, but if you are heading for Holmley, as I am guessing you are, then we'd advise that you leave as soon as you are rested," he said, face grim and the fire glinting off his worn armor. He would have no idea of the king's death or the reason for their flight to the city, but he seemed to read the urgency in their coiled muscles and the state of their horses. 

Torran, propping himself to one side on his chair to relieve pressure on his wound, looked up at the soldier. "Are the Glastonbex troops pressing up here as well?"

The officer nodded. "They've been pushing from the east and Essenkirk's border, and if they're also making any headway down in the south, we'll soon find ourselves penned in against the Magna Aber's depths."

Torran didn't answer, but the soldier seemed to think it was enough that he had heard.

Idelle reached out a hand to call the officer's attention to her. "When would you recommend we leave?" she asked, hoping he wouldn't mind her intrusion. While he didn't know her exact rank, she still felt like she had foot soldier written all over her. He outranked her, even if she was playing at Torran's companion.

The officer seemed to not mind and twisted his lips up as he thought. "I think four hours is the most you should risk. Three would be better."

Idelle nodded. "Could you send one of your men in to wake us?" she asked.

"Of course." He glanced at Torran to see if there were any more orders, but when none came he pressed his knuckles to his forehead and then swept out again through the door and into the darkening sky.