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TWELVE

I didn't stay cheerful long, though—maybe another couple of miles. By that time, three things were happening. Darry was definitely tiring, although that didn't worry me too much. After all, the horses chasing us would be tiring, too. Probably worse than Darry was, because they'd started out way behind and carried more weight. And as far as that was concerned, the hounds had to be getting tired and sore-footed by now.

Second, the river valley was getting wider, and the hills alongside it less high and steep. Any time now, I'd be in farming country again. There'd soon be castles and travelers, and knights.

The third thing was the good thing: I couldn't hear the hounds anymore.

Anyway, about three or four miles after Bubba had left, Darry pulled up lame, slowing to a limping jog. It was the left front hoof. I got down to look at it, taking the leg by the cannon bone and fetlock joint and raising it. Then, half crouching, I rested the cannon bone on my thigh, just above the knee, the way Rainulf had done when he was filing the horse's hoof. There was a stone stuck in the softer part of the foot; that had to be the trouble.

I didn't know how to get it out. The only thing I could think of was to dig it out with my knife, and I was scared to do it. Darry might kick me into the middle of next week, or jump and just plain run away.

But I had to do something about it, so I led him a little way back into the woods and tied the reins to a small tree. Then I raised the hoof again, took out my knife, and as gently as I could I dug out the stone. Darry flinched, but he didn't kick or anything like that. The stone was sharp, and it left a painful-looking depression in addition to the little cut I'd made digging it out.

I put the hoof down and stood there for a few seconds, stroking his velvety nose and thinking that I hadn't properly appreciated him till then, just taken him for granted. He wasn't a machine of some kind, he was a living, breathing being. But now I could hear the baying again, so I got back into the saddle and started off. He still limped a little for a short way. Then his gait pretty much smoothed out, but I could still tell it wasn't the same as it had been. He was favoring the left foreleg slightly, and he was also definitely wearing out. He'd probably do all right after a while, if I took it easy enough on him. But I knew, from studying the care of gorms, that if I kept running him when his gait wasn't right, he'd probably pull up seriously lame.

So I slowed him to an easy trot.

Meanwhile, the guys chasing me were still coming, and inside a couple of minutes I could tell that the hounds weren't quite as far off as they had been. The knights' horses were probably tiring worse than Darry, but even if some of them fell back, others would keep coming. I needed to watch for any opportunity to change to another horse, or maybe a boat—anything like that.

Right after that I rode out into open farmland, newly cleared, with the rotting stumps still standing hip high amid the growing crop they call wheat on Fanglith. Ahead, the land along the road was mostly open fields. The woods were mainly off to the east now, and to the west along the river. The river here lay quite a way off to my left, flowing now through lower, wetter ground. Not too far ahead I could see the huts of some farmers. Less than a mile away stood a castle, back from the road a short distance. Like Roland's, its manor house was built on a mound.

It occurred to me briefly that maybe I could exchange horses there. But it would take too long, even if they'd agree. And they'd probably ask questions. I'd just have to keep going the way I was, and hope for the best.

The hounds' baying told me that going on was the only possible decision. I was feeling pretty anxious now. For better or worse, I pushed Darry to a gallop again. I needed to be out of sight ahead when my pursuers rode out of the woods.

At least no one came out from the castle to challenge me.

Not far past the castle I approached another crossroad. I slowed to a quick trot and put on the tunic I'd taken from the dead pirate. Then, without asking myself what I was doing, I turned onto the crossroad, riding down it toward the river, which here was a good half mile below the road I'd been on.

The river was an attraction to me—it seemed as if it should be my salvation. But up till then I just hadn't known what to do with it.

Ahead of me now, in the road between me and the band of riverside woods, there was a small herd of cattle, about twenty-five or thirty of them. The Fanglith version of cattle are smoother-coated, rangier, and more excitable than the cattle of Evdash, and they have wide horns. But they're really not so different from ours. They were being driven toward the river by two peasants on foot and a knight or sergeant on horseback, and leaving the road spotted with their soft and rancid-smelling droppings.

I slowed to an easy jog to press through the herd, and the cattle got out of my way, jostling each other and bellowing. It seemed to me that the hounds would probably lose Dairy's scent where the cattle tracked over it, and that the strong smell of the cattle and their droppings might easily spoil the sensitivity of their noses for a while afterward.

At least I hoped it would. In fact, I was depending on it.

The cattle were repeatedly trying to turn back past the men, as if they wanted to go back where they'd come from. The horseman and peasants had their hands full trying to keep them going west. Being as busy as he was, the swearing knight only glanced briefly at me as I passed. The strangeness of my clothes was not conspicuous while I wore the tunic. I was trusting that he'd ignore me when I was by, and not watch where I went.

I just kept trotting right on to the river, and rode out into the water. It was wider and shallower here than it had been upstream. As Darry waded out, I glanced behind me toward the men with the cattle, a quarter mile back. They were paying no attention to me. As soon as the water was deep enough that Darry was swimming, I turned him downstream, angling toward the far side. We came out of the water a couple of hundred yards below the ford and rode up into the woods.

There I got down and led him, walking. He deserved the rest, and if I hadn't permanently lost my pursuers, I hoped they'd at least be confused and thrown off for a while.

I could hear the hounds clearly now. A couple of minutes later their even chorus broke into the confusion I'd hoped for, then lessened into isolated barking. A little later the barking became excited, and I heard one shrill with pain. I wondered if he'd been hooked by a steer.

It was tempting to climb on Darry again and take the opportunity to widen the gap. But I was determined to rest him, so I simply walked faster myself, my faithful horse plodding behind.

 

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Framed