Vague images of a race down North Road flashed through Ruarnon’s mind. They rubbed their head with one hand, trying to ease its ache, and asked, “Does Companion Pamoran pursue the carriage?”
“Yes, but two chariots remained to guard you.”
Ruarnon’s head swam. Companion Pamoran’s curses cut through the night. Ruarnon turned, but the timber sides of the chariot Captain Arleath had leant them against walled off their view.
Arleath remained silent. There was shouting, then the thump of hooves as a chariot approached. Ruarnon sat up as Companion Pamoran drove towards them, alone. The man’s silver hairs atop his mostly dark head shone in the moonlight, but the arms holding the reins and legs keeping balance on a swaying chariot were hardened muscle.
“They lost us in the hills, reached the eas
