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Harkell and Danton plodded through the darkness, for hour upon hour, eating and drinking as they rode, since to dismount would have cost more energy than it was worth. At one point, an owl swooped across their path before disappearing into the trees.
“Tarkyn, do you suppose?” asked Danton, with a faint stirring of interest after hours of stolid endurance. “It would be nice to think he was looking out for us.”
Harkell grunted, “It would, but he has a lot on his mind at the moment.”
“How much longer, do you think? My hand is going numb holding the reins and my shoulder is getting sorer and sorer.”
“We can stop again if you like. Rest your hand and the horses. Your mare is so tired now that I won’t even need my little spell.”
“How’s your head?”
“Not too bad. Just a dull ache, unless
