The Pillars Of The World

.”
    “Get her away from here.”
    Darcy spun, almost tossing Ari from the saddle. She regained her balance, and the gelding cantered away from the house.
    Too slow , Neall thought as he swung up on the mare. Too slow .
    As he urged the mare to follow Darcy, he heard shouts from the stables, saw some of the guards who had accompanied the Master Inquisitor running toward him.

    And he heard glass breaking.
    The manor house shuddered again.
    Adolfo stumbled into a table, his heart pounding fiercely.
    That witch . He should have gone to work on her as soon as he’d brought her here instead of giving her a little time alone to let fear soften her.
    Well, he could rectify that right now. Better yet, he would just slit her throat here and now and be done with it.
    The window behind him shattered, spraying glass across the room.
    As he stepped into the hall, Felston rushed to meet him.
    “That young bastard Neall is escaping with the witch!” Felston shouted. “He’s been trouble since the first day I allowed him to live here.”
    Adolfo ran to the front door, flung it open, then ran to the stables, Felston puffing along behind him.
    He skidded to a stop. A wild fury filled him as he watched two dark horses running across the fields.
    “Mount up,” Adolfo shouted. He pointed a finger at Felston. “If they’re riding in that direction, where are they heading?”
    “That way will take them to Ahern’s farm.”
    Adolfo swung around, pointed a finger at his Inquisitors. “You take half the guards and ride to the Old Place. They’re more likely to head for the woods where they can hide rather than being chased over open land. Get ahead of them. We’ll follow them. And they’ll be trapped between us. The rest of you men come with me.” He gave Felston a hard stare. “When we catch them, I’ll take care of both your problems.”
    Mounting his horse, he galloped after the witch and her foolish lover.
    Behind him, the manor house shook.
    The man wasn’t sneering now that her hounds stood in a snarling circle around him.
    “You can’t hurt me,” he said, his voice coming close to a whine. “I’m Royce, Baron Felston’s heir.”
    “I don’t care who you are,” Dianna said. “Where is Ari?”
    A nasty, but pouting, expression came over his face.
    “The Witch’s Hammer took care of her, just like he’s going to take care of you if you don’t let me go.”
    “Where is she?”

    “Dead! Dead dead dead. And he’ll kill you too. You’ll see.”
    “But you won’t.”
    She watched impassively while her hounds tore him apart. When she finally called them to her, she looked away from what remained of Baron Felston’s heir— and saw the dark smoke of a strong fire.
    “Lucian,” she whispered.
    She dug her heels into her mare’s sides and galloped toward the smoke, her hounds racing beside her.
    The good people of Ridgeley had been introduced to the Lightbringer’s wrath. Now let them meet the Huntress.
    Neall brought the dark mare to a stop that sat her back on her haunches. He vaulted off her back and ran to Darcy.
    “Neall, what are you doing?” Ari said, anxiously looking behind her. “They’re catching up.”
    He adjusted the left stirrup, then shoved her foot into it. “I know,” he said, ducking under Darcy’s head to adjust the right stirrup. “But you’re not a strong rider, and you need the stirrups to stay in the saddle at the speed we need to go.”
    “Neall . . . Maybe—”
    “Don’t say it.” He gave her such a sharp look, she flinched. “We’re in this together.”
    “Will we make it to Ahern’s?” Ari asked.
    Neall mounted the mare and shook his head. “Too much open land that way. We’ll head for Brightwood.
    We can lose them in the deeper part of the woods.” The Small Folk will see to that , he added silently, gathering the reins. “Just hang on, Ari. We’ll make it.”
    He glanced back. The riders coming from Felston’s estate were gaining too fast. “Let’s ride.”
    The mare and gelding leaped forward, racing for Brightwood.
    * * *
     
    As they crested a low, rolling hill, Morag spotted the two dark horses racing back toward Brightwood. And she saw the other riders who weren’t that far behind.
    The gray stallion stamped one foot and tossed his head.
    The dark horse danced, too fretful about not moving to stand still.
    “Can we reach them before those other riders do?” Morphia asked, curbing her own horse.
    “We’ll reach them,” Morag said. She