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Copyright © 2018 by Morgan Rice. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Jacket image Copyright Dmitrijs Bindemanis used under license from Shutterstock.com.
CHAPTER ONE
Royce grabbed the first horse he could find and rode, not caring about the shouts behind him, ducking low on the creature’s back only when arrows flashed past. His mind raced almost as fast as the horse, thinking of the nobleman he’d just killed with a spear.
Worse, his mind flickered full of thoughts of Genevieve, unable to dismiss the image of her standing there above the fighting pit, right there with the man she had forsaken him for. Those thoughts were almost enough to make him stop and let the men behind him catch up. Only his anger pushed him on, making him heel his horse into a gallop.
More arrows came from behind, clattering off the stonework of the surrounding buildings and embedding in their wattle and daub. People threw themselves aside from the charging horse, and Royce did his best to keep it from crashing into any of them. It meant fighting against the reins, wrenching the horse’s head this way and that as its hooves clattered across the cobbles.
More hooves joined in the staccato chorus as men on horseback raced to catch Royce. Some of them might have been knights, but more seemed like sergeants at arms, doing the work of their betters while the nobles stood by safely.
“After him!” one bellowed. “Kill the murderer!”
Royce knew there would be no hope for a peaceful resolution if they caught up with him. The penalty for murder was already death, and he’d slaughtered their duke right in front of them. They wouldn’t give up until they were sure they’d caught him, or until there was no chance of finding him again.
For now, all he could do was keep ahead of them, trusting to a stolen horse, riding out the jolts and the changes in direction while he hoped against hope that he wouldn’t fall. Royce clutched the crystal sword tight in his hand, not wanting his grip on it to falter even for an instant.
A rider got close, a spear leveled to lance into him. Royce hacked the head from the weapon and then struck out at the man wielding it. The pursuer toppled from his horse, and Royce kept riding.
There were more behind, far too many more. Even with the strength and skill he had, Royce doubted he could take on so many men at once. He fled on his stolen horse instead, and while he did so, he tried to work out how he was ever going to get away.
He fled from the town, the fort above receding as Royce’s mount raced over open countryside, taking the ridges and furrows of farmland in its stride. Small streams lay in between, and Royce headed for the narrowest parts, pushing the horse to leap rather than splashing through. Every step it faltered would be one step that the pursuing group of horsemen closed on him.
He headed for farm walls next, the horse clearing the dry stone without touching it. Glancing back, Royce saw one of the pursuing horses clip the wall and tumble, bringing down another with it. It wasn’t enough.
Another of the horsemen drew level with Royce, flinging himself across as if hoping to tumble Royce from his saddle. Royce clung to his horse fiercely, sheer strength keeping him in place as he struck at the soldier with his elbows and head. He saw the flash of a dagger as the man got ready to stab him from behind, and Royce turned hard, shoving at the man with all his strength.
The guardsman tumbled from the moving horse, crunching from the ground and lying still. Royce heeled his horse forward again, but the gap between him and the chasing group had narrowed now.
Royce knew that he couldn’t hope to simply outrun the men behind him. They were too determined, and he had no way of knowing if his horse could outlast theirs. Even if it could, it was only a matter of time before an arrow from a hunting bow wounded the creature too badly for it to run.
He had to think of a better way.
Ahead, he saw a gorge spanned by a small bridge. Royce ignored the bridge, heading instead for a spot where a stout tree fell across the gap. As a child, he and his brothers had run back and forth across it on foot, to the small patch of woodland that lay beyond. Royce had no idea if the horse he rode would be able to make it.
It was his best chance, though, so he guided the animal in the direction of the trunk, forcing it out onto it without breaking from its run. Royce felt one of its hooves slip, and for a moment, his breath caught, but he managed to guide the animal back onto the partially rotten wood.
More arrows flashed by as Royce made his way back onto solid ground. Royce turned, seeing the chasing horses balking at the prospect of crossing the log. Royce hacked at it with the crystal sword, and he felt it give way, the trunk tumbling down to a waiting river below.
“That won’t hold them long,” Royce whispered to his horse, urging it forward again while the men on the other side of the gorge turned their horses, racing up toward the spot where the bridge sat.
It would buy him a minute or two at most, and Royce knew he would have to make the most of it to get away. At the same time, he knew that he couldn’t just run. Running didn’t achieve anything. Running didn’t change anything.
He headed for the woods at full speed, trying to think while he ducked beneath the low branches, attempting to get out of sight. The woodland was quiet save for the sounds of small creatures and whistling birds, the rush of water and the rustle of the trees. Somewhere further off, he heard the sound of a forester playing a tin whistle. Royce hoped that he wouldn’t lead the soldiers to him. He didn’t want to bring trouble down on anyone else.
That thought made him pause among the trees. The men behind him would follow him to his village if he ran there, and yet, if he didn’t, Royce might never be able to gather any support. Worse, the duke’s men might descend on it anyway, determined to punish all those connected to the boy who had brought about his death.
He needed a way to distract the duke’s men from the village, and buy himself time to do everything he needed to do.
The sound of the tin whistle came to Royce again, and he headed in that direction, guiding his horse between the trees. Royce pushed it through as quickly as he could. He was only too aware of how little time cutting away the log bridge would have bought him, and now, he felt as though he needed every second that he could find.
He came across the first pig less than a minute later, rooting among the litter of the woodland floor for fruit or mushrooms, or something else. It stood almost as high as Royce’s waist would have been if he hadn’t been on horseback, snuffling its way forward, apparently oblivious to him.
More wended their way through the trees, snuffling and hunting for anything they could eat, painted with the marks of at least a couple of farms. The music of the tin whistle was close now, and through a cluster of alder trees, Royce could make out the form of a young man sitting on the stump of a fallen oak.
“Hoi there,” the young man called out as he saw Royce, waving with the arm that held the whistle. “Don’t go riding too hard through here. The pigs are easygoing enough, but if you scare ’em, they be big enough to trip that horse of yours.”
“There are men coming this way,” Royce said, guessing that the best way to do this was to be direct. A young man like this wouldn’t