It all happened so fast. The two knights appeared behind her, calling out to the others to join the pursuit. They crashed through the forest Theophanna’s slender frame allowed her to slip through the trees more easily, but the armored mass of her pursuers allowed them to plow through brambles and light brush, making it an uneven and frustrating race for all concerned. They were nearly upon her when she stumbled out onto what was either a bad road or a good game trail. Steel whistled and blood flew and within moments two knights had been sent to final judgement before the throne of Il. With her mind cloudy with panic her brain screamed at her that the newcomer was another of her pursuers but the logic of it cracked the icy grip of her thundering fear. Theophanna forced herself to slow down, slipping into the cycles of mental mantras and conditioning that the Convent had drilled into her. Time seemed to slow for a second and the fog of fear slid from her eyes. More than that her perceptions seemed to sharpen, suddenly she could taste blood in her mouth and feel the dozens of scratches she had picked up during her panicked flight. She could perceive the widening of the horse’s nostrils as it scented blood, followed each rippling muscle in its flank. She could hear the beating of bird wings as her pursuers crashed through the forest behind her, make out the clanking of male and the slap of leather scabbards on running thighs.


“Yes,” she responded, a logical report rather than an emotional denial. This man was not richly caparisoned but his shield and devices were not covered. He had killed two of her attackers without compunction, ergo whoever he was he was not with her would be captors. She opened her mouth to say more but thought the better of it, reaching out her hand to clasp his. He yanked her up onto the saddle, tossing her across it like a sack of grain. Four men burst from the woods, crying out in chagrin to see their fallen comrades and their prey on the verge of escape. Two of them, heedless of their task or confident in their marksmanship, lifted their crossbows and triggered them. Crossbow bolts burred past, one buried itself to the vanes in an oak tree. Her mysterious rescue bent forward over her, covering as much of her body as he could and kicking his horse to a gallop. The great warhorse churned up sprays of dirt as it leaped forward, clearing one of the dead bodies and racing off down the trail. Theophanna made an effort to sit up but gave it up, the risk of falling off too high. Shouts rang through the woods and suddenly a trio of horsemen burst onto the trail a hundred yards ahead of them. The mysterious knight wrenched on his reigns and the horse turned down another, even narrower path, this really might have been a game trail but the horse charged down it a reckless speed. Trees and woods whipped past her in a blur and she smelt the ammoniac scent of horse sweat.


“Do you know where this goes?” the knight demanded. Theophanna finally managed to struggle upwards, twisting awkwardly to sit in front of the night, her arms wrapped around the horse’s neck. The rough terrain dove the saddle painfully against her thighs she shook her head, then realised that he probably couldn’t see that.


“No… no I don’t know where we are,” she confessed. Once they were off the Yattar road, she had little idea of the country side. A horn sounded somewhere behind them as their pursuers began to rally to the hunt.

“Can we escape… with your horse carrying two?” she asked, though the answer seemed painfully obvious.