* * * * *

Jerran led him up over the crest of the hill above the mine. Beyond lay
the uncharted forests of Kamden. He had hunted mink and set rabbit
snares on the edges of it since boyhood, but had never seen its depths.
So far as he knew, no man had.

As they started toward the wood, the beat of hoofs became audible in the
quiet countryside. Revel couldn't see the horses, but he began to run,
easily and fast, with Lady Nirea bobbing and swearing on his shoulder.
Jerran kept pace.

Then they came up over the rim of the hill behind him, a pack of the
gentry on their huge fierce stallions, with a couple of hundred-pound
hunting dogs in advance, baying and yapping. The old terrifying viewing
call rose: "Va-yoo hallo! Va-yoo hallo allo-allo!" Thousands of the ruck
had heard the whooping cry moments before their grisly deaths. Revel
tightened his grip on the perfect legs of Nirea, and pounded on. He'd
ditch her if need be, but as long as he could hang on to her, by
Orbs....

The forest was closer. He could pick out individual trees, oak and
silver birch and poplar, standing thick in the matted carpet of thicket
and trash. A broad trail opened to the left.

"That way," gasped Jerran, pointing.

"The horses can follow down that road!"

"Don't argue--damn you--lad--just run!"

The gentry came yelling in their wake. A gun banged. Were they shooting
at him? Not with the woman slung down his back. The priests might
sacrifice a squire's daughter without a murmur, but no gentryman ever
harmed a gentrywoman under any circumstances. It was likely a warning.
That was why they kept whistling the dogs back, too, for the enormous
brutes could rip a human to scarlet rags in twenty seconds, and not even
a squire's command stopped them once they'd tasted blood.

He had reached the trees and the wide path. He plunged into it, Jerran
beside him; the older man was panting heavily now, but running as
strongly as ever. "A little behind me, Revel," he husked out. "See you
follow me close."

Jerran knew where he was headed ... Revel surrendered all initiative to
him. The ground thundered beneath him to the pounding of the horses. He
looked back as he ran. They were almost upon him, gay and gaudy in their
scarlet, green, fawn and purple hunting clothes; their faces were
bloodless, malevolent, and entirely without pity. Several of them
carried guns, the long clumsy weapons handed down to them by their