Traitor's Moon

blindfold, terrified of being thrown off or crushed under a fallen horse.
    â€œIt’s all right.” Seregil’s hand locked around his wrist, drawing his hand away.
    â€œDamn it, Seregil, how much longer?” Alec gasped.
    â€œAnother mile or so. It levels out soon, I think.”
    The riding did get easier, but presently Alec noticed that he was hearing echoes only on their left. A cold wind sighed steadily against his right cheek. “Are we by a cliff?” he asked, tensing again.
    â€œNot too near,” Seregil assured him.
    â€œThen why aren’t you talking?”
    â€œI’m looking for the cutoff to the pass. Keep quiet and let me concentrate.”
    After another small eternity he heard Seregil let out a pent-up breath. “I found our trail. It won’t be long now, I promise.”
    The air grew cooler around them, and Alec smelled the spicy resin of pines and cedar. “Can I take this blindfold off?” he asked, as his earlier fears gave way to outright boredom. “I’d like to see what it looks like, with the magic.”
    â€œIt will make you sick,” Seregil warned. “Just hang on a bit longer. We’re nearly—oh, Illior! Alec, get your head down!”
    Before Alec could obey, his horse wheeled sharply and he heard a sharp buzz close to his ear. Then something struck him hard in the chest and thigh, knocking the breath from his body in a startled grunt. Seregil yelled something and Alec’s horse reared. Then he was falling, falling—
    The moment Seregil spotted the ambushers, he knew it was already too late.
    Rounding a bend between two large outcroppings, he and Alec had come out into a narrow stretch of trail cut into a steep, sparsely wooded slope that slanted down to a riverbed several hundred feet below. Just ahead, the narrow cut up the mountainside that lead to the pass was gone, obliterated by a massive rock slide. The archers had taken positions up among the rocks, where they had a clear view of the killing floor below. Unable to go right or left, Seregilcould only retreat the way he’d come and hope to get around the bend before they both got an arrow in the back. But as he wheeled his mount, dragging Alec’s around by the head rein, he saw more men standing on the stones he’d just passed. The trap was sprung.
    â€œGet your head down!” he shouted again, but it was too late for that, too.
    Alec’s bay reared, screaming, with an arrow protruding from its chest. Still blindfolded, Alec was thrown off, falling toward the downhill slope. Seregil just had time to register the shafts embedded in his friend’s shoulder and leg before Alec disappeared from view.
    â€œAlec!” Seregil threw himself off his horse to follow but four more ambushers leaped from the scant brush just above him and wrestled him to the ground. He fought wildly, desperate to escape, to find Alec and get him away—
    If he were still alive
    â€”but he was overmatched. His captors pinned him on his belly, grinding his face into the dirt, then flipped him onto his back. Someone grasped him roughly by the hair and yanked his head back. A grey-haired man leaned over him, dagger in hand, and Seregil closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable slash across his throat.
    Instead, the man sliced open the front of Seregil’s tunic, the tip of the knife scraping across the steel rings of the mail shirt beneath. Reaching in, he yanked the chain free and held up the Corruth’s ring. A younger man leaned into view, but before Seregil could get a proper look at him, the side of his head exploded in pain and the world went black.
    Fear blotted out all else as Alec hit the ground and continued falling, tumbling head over heels. He’d always had a horror of falling, and doing it blind drove him into a panic. He fetched up at last against something that crushed the air from his lungs. Only then, as he lay sprawled on his side, bruised all over and gasping for air, was he able to give proper attention to the fiery pain lancing through his left thigh and right shoulder, and to a stabbing sensation just under his ribs. This last proved to be the hilt of his sword, caught underneath him at an awkward angle.
    Thank the Four for that, at least
, he thought, shifting the weapon a little so he could breathe.
    Somewhere above he heard the sounds of men calling back and forth to one another, apparently looking for him.
    Magic or no