Page 91

She hesitated. Perhaps she could use the situation to her advantage. She could hide in plain sight, keep an ear out for news of her adversary, and try to discover loyal supporters for her cause. No one would suspect that a humble groom was the missing princess.
“The lad looks too soft and puny to ride all day and sleep on the hard ground at night.”
She fixed Brand with an angry look. “I can ride like the wind!”
“Oh? And where is your horse, then?”
That silenced her. Cador looked amused.
Brand set down his tankard again. “What a shame that the Princess Tressalara has fled the castle, Cador. Otherwise you might have used your fabled charm and had a feather bed to share with her this night, instead of a flea-bitten mattress at a common inn.”
Tressalara went rigid.Cador!
There was only one man by that name: Cador of Kildore. Her first reaction was shock to find herself sitting beside the outlaw reputed to be the most dangerous man in the Four Kingdoms of the West. The insult to herself registered a few seconds later.
The outlaw chief laughed at Brand’s quip. “Perhaps it is just as well. I prefer a more winsome and willing tavern wench to the crown princess. Word is that she has the temper of an angry wasp and the face of a troll!”
Stung, Tressalara set down the tankard of ale that she’d been served. “You are wrong, sir. I have heard it said that the Princess Tressalara is a gentle and comely maid.”
Cador slanted a look her way. “Yes, lad. And pigs fly.”
“But she is still the rightful ruler of Amelonia,” Brand said quietly. “Lector will never sit upon the dragon throne.”
His words, which fell into a sudden silence, the sign for which the spy had been waiting. The man in the russet cloak jumped up, sword drawn. “Death to Cador and the rebels!”
At his signal, Lector’s men-at-arms stormed into the inn, and a wild melee broke loose. Tressalara had no time to see more than Cador and Brand lunging across the room, weapons in hand. Quick as a wink she was out the window and running for the stables.
She said silent thanks to Jeday and her old groom for teaching her to be resourceful. The second stall held a fine mare, a roan with a white blaze on her forehead. The bonus of a black and silver cloak in the saddlebag was a pleasant surprise. She threw the saddle and bridle on with ease of practice and tightened the girth, then swung herself up.
Cador and his men had found reinforcements in the others at the inn. Lector’s men were being pushed backward to the door, but it was an unequal fight. More of Lector’s troops were pouring out of the woods. Cador and his men were doomed.
Wisdom urged her to flee toward the main road. Something else turned her back toward the inn. Tressalara convinced herself it was the opportunity to do Lector a bad turn—and if the usurper was busy fighting outlaws, he would have less time to concentrate on finding her.
Wrapping the black and silver cloak around her, she rode up to the front door, where a soldier stood guard against any escapees. “Ho, there! I am a courier sent by Lord Lector. Follow me!” she shouted. “The Princess Tressalara is escaping on horseback along the river road! All troops are enjoined to capture her!”
Round and round the inn she rode, calling out her “news.” Their captain, hearing her cries, called retreat. They scrambled to the wood where they’d hidden their mounts, then rode off after Tressalara.
It had been years since she’d ridden through the Mystic Forest, but Tressalara’s memory was excellent. She led Lector’s troops a merry ride through myriad twisting paths, luring them ever deeper and doubling back until they were totally confused in the darkness.
When they were hopelessly lost, she dropped back and threw off her cloak, then grabbed the branch of an overhanging tree. Her riderless horse ran on. She clambered over to a wider limb and sat hidden in the foliage, her legs hanging free. She was worse off than ever now, for the soldiers would recognize her face if they spied her again. Her hands were scraped from the bark, she had no place to go, and an army was looking for her.
She had never felt so alive.
At the sound of approaching hooves from the road behind her, she drew her legs back up and waited breathlessly. The rider reined in beneath her. Moonlight filtering through the dense leaves showed a hawklike face haloed by golden hair.“Cador!”
“You are a fool, young Trev, but I have never known a braver fool!” He held out his arms for her to jump. “Come. There is no time to waste.”
She hesitated, but sounds from near at hand told that Lector’s men were returning. Tressalara jumped.
He caught her easily in his strong clasp, wheeled his midnight-black horse about, and set off at a gallop. She felt secure and sheltered, protected by his presence, despite their peril. He seemed to know the forest well, running through the velvety stretches beneath the most ancient trees and avoiding the scrub and brambles under the younger growth. Then they reached the open meadowlands deep in the heart of the woods.
Urged on by Cador, the great gelding flew across the wild heath as if it had wings. Tressalara’s blood sang with the excitement of adventure. Every sense was alert, and her whole body tingled. In the distance, light reflected off the dark waters of Mystic Lake, the place where legend said the Andun Crystal had been found in ages past. As they neared, a luminous mist rose from the lake’s surface, trailing like gauzy veils along the ground. The black trees sighed and whispered. Tressalara could almost tell what they were saying.
Her journey with Cador took on a dreamlike magic as they raced beneath the stars. She didn’t want their wild ride ever to end. Cloaked by night and moonbeams, temporarily insulated against grief and weariness, she would have been perfectly content to continue on this way to the ends of the earth. The heat of Cador’s hard body seeped into hers, warming her against the chill night air.
Encircled by his strong arm around her waist, pressed by the force of their speed against his wide chest, Tressalara should have felt safe, at least for the moment. Instead she had the uncanny feeling that she had never been more in danger.
4