Luck in the Shadows

twisted the fingers of one hand into the black's mane and leaned over its neck, other arm extended.
    "Come on!" he yelled.
    Alec reached up just in time. Rolan's fingers clamped around his wrist, wrenching him off his feet and across the horse's broad back. Clambering upright, he locked his arms around Rolan's waist as they thundered though the gate and down the road beyond.
    They skirted the little village nestled against the walls of the keep and flew on along the road down the wooded mountainside below Asengai's domain.
    After several miles, Rolan left the road and plunged into the thick forest that flanked it. Safe among the trees, he reined their mount to a halt.
    "Here, take these," he whispered, shoving a bundle of some sort into Alec's hands.
    It was a cloak. The coarse fabric smelled rankly of the stable but the boy wrapped himself in it gratefully, drawing his bare feet up against the horse's steaming sides to warm them.
    They sat in silence, and after a moment Alec realized that they must be waiting for something. Presently they heard the clatter of hooves approaching. It was too dark to count the riders as they passed, but judging by the sound, there were at least half a dozen. Waiting until they were all well past, Rolan turned the black again to the road and started back in the direction of the keep.
    "We're going the wrong way," Alec whispered, tugging at Rolan's sleeve.
    "Don't worry," his companion replied with a soft chuckle.
    A few moments later he turned aside from the main road, this time onto a badly overgrown track.
    The ground fell away sharply, and branches whipped at their faces as they cantered along under the cover of the trees. Halting again, Rolan claimed the cloak and threw it over the horse's head to keep the beast quiet. They soon heard the riders again, moving slower now and calling back and forth to one another. Two riders ventured down the track, passing within ten yards of where Rolan and Alec stood holding their breath.
    "He must've been a wizard, I tell you!" one was saying. "Killing that southern bastard the way he did, disappearing out of the cell, and now this!"
    "Wizard be damned," the other retorted angrily.
    "You'll wish you was a wizard if Berin don't catch up with 'em down the road. Lord Asengai'll skin the whole bunch of us!"
    A horse stumbled and reared.
    "Bilairy's Guts! This way's hopeless in the dark. They'd have broke their necks by now," the lead man
    grumbled. Giving up, the riders turned back the way they'd come.
    Waiting until all was quiet, Rolan mounted in front of Alec and handed him back the cloak.
    "What do we do now?" whispered Alec as they headed down the mountain track again.
    "I left some supplies a few miles from here. I just hope they're still there. Hang on tight. We've got a rough ride ahead of us."

2 Across the Downs
    Alec opened his eyes to the noonday light. For a drowsy moment he blinked up at the branches overhead, trying to recall where he was and wondering why the scratchy roughness of the blankets felt so good against his skin.
    Then a sudden onslaught of memories slapped him fully awake. Scrambling to his knees, he pulled the blankets around him and looked about in alarm.
    Rolan was nowhere in sight, but their stolen horse was still in the little clearing, along with the bay mare and the battered leather pack Rolan had cached here before venturing into Asengai's domain. Burrowing back beneath the blankets, Alec closed his eyes again and waited for his heartbeat to slow.
    He was amazed that Rolan had been able to find his way back here at all. To Alec, exhausted beyond measure, the ride had seemed one long, impossible series of difficulties: thickets, streams, and a skree field they'd crossed on foot. Never faltering, Rolan had urged him on with promises of hot food and warm blankets. By the time they'd reached the clearing, Alec had been too tired and cold to do more than collapse onto the bracken pallet that lay ready beneath the shelter of a thick fir.
    The last thing he remembered was listening to Rolan curse the cold as he joined him beneath their shared pile of blankets and cloaks.
    It was bitterly cold now, despite the brightness of the sun. Long crystals of frost thrust up through the mossy loam next to his pallet, like bundles of tiny glass blades. Overhead, mackerel-striped clouds ribbed the hazy sky. There'd be snow soon, the first of the year.
    Their camp lay next to a small waterfall, and the sound of it had gotten into his