The Pillars Of The World

masters.”
    “Yes, Master.”
    Adolfo looked at the bleeding guard, and his brown eyes burned with a queer light. “Good men were lost today, but not in vain. No, not in vain. We drove the witch and her foul lover into the trap, and the other Inquisitors will see that she pays for the pain she has brought.”
    The guard didn’t seem to be listening, wasn’t even looking at him. He wouldn’t allow other men to turn away from him, dismiss him. Not again. Never again. No man was going to turn away from him as his father had done. And any man who did would pay for it— as his father had done.
    Adolfo took a few steps to the side, bent to pick up one of the crossbows.
    Then the guard pointed. “Look! Smoke! Something’s burning.”
    Adolfo sighed, as another man might after being satisfied by a woman. “It’s the witch’s cottage. Royce and his friends went to burn it down so there would be no trace of her left to foul the land.”

    The guard slowly shook his head. “There’s too much smoke to be one cottage, master. And that’s coming from the direction of—” The guard turned and stared at him. “Ridgeley. It’s the village that’s burning.”
    Morag reined the dark horse to a stop.
    “Mother’s mercy, Neall,” she muttered as she scanned the woods. “How could you disappear so fast?”
    “Will we find them?” Morphia asked.
    “We’ll find them,” Morag replied grimly.
    They had to find Neall and Ari.
    Because Death was no longer whispering. Now, Death howled.
    Neall followed the broadest trail through the woods. They needed to go deeper into Brightwood, away from the trails where someone could easily track them. But he was worried about Ari. She knew these woods better than anyone, but she wasn’t a skilled rider and could be swept out of the saddle if she misjudged a low-hanging branch. Distance. Distance. They needed to put enough distance between themselves and their pursuers to catch their breath and decide where the best place would be to lay low for a little while.
    He cursed silently as he went down into a slight dip and saw the tree that had fallen across the trail. Not much room on the other side of it for a horse to land before the trail climbed again. He could have done it on Darcy, but he didn’t know the mare well enough to have that kind of confidence in her—and Ari certainly couldn’t make that jump.
    As he reined in and turned the mare, he heard Darcy’s angry challenge—and realized Ari was no longer right behind him.
    The mare charged back up to level ground just in time for Neall to see the men wearing black coats step onto the trail, blocking the gelding’s retreat.
    Movement just beyond the edge of the trail. Guards raising their crossbows. Aiming at Ari!
    “Look out!” Neall shouted.
    Darcy pivoted on his hind legs, half rearing as he turned. Most of the crossbow quarrels hit him in the chest and neck, but two of them found their intended target.
    Ari and Darcy both screamed as the gelding fell, throwing Ari out of the saddle. Blood reddened her tunic and trousers. When she tried to move, she cried out in pain.
    Neall threw himself off the mare’s back and ran toward Ari. “Leave her alone, you bastards!”
    Two guards took aim at him. Before they could fire, a look of stunned surprise came over their faces.
    They fell to the ground. So did the rest of the guards. And the black-coated Inquisitors.

    Neall stared at them for a moment, not sure that he believed what he saw.
    He stumbled over to Ari, knelt beside her.
    She raised her head, her eyes filled with pain. “Neall . . .”
    He pressed a hand gently to her shoulder to keep her from moving. The quarrels had gone through her, so at least he wouldn’t have to try to remove them here or have her endure riding with them still in her until he could get her to some kind of safety.
    Darcy’s labored breathing suddenly stopped.
    In that silence, Neall heard the quiet sound of a hoof against earth. He looked beyond the fallen men to the two women who watched him.
    “Morag,” he breathed. Watching them dismount, he thought about snatching up one of the crossbows, but he knew he couldn’t move fast enough to stop her. The dead men around him were proof of that.
    Leaping to his feet, he took a few steps forward, then planted himself in the middle of the trail, standing between her and Ari.
    “Morag,” Ari said. Her voice sounded so terribly weak.
    Neall tensed as the Gatherer approached him, but his eyes