Hal - The Duellist #1

Chapter Forty-Eight: Wild Horses

Meracad wept as Franc's horse carried them further from Dal Reniac. Despite her many pleas, he refused to turn back. The fact that for the first time in months she was free of Nérac, his fortress and city meant little to her now. All that she knew was that she'd lost Hal almost as soon as she had found her.

"The girl can look after herself," Franc repeated over and over again, as if trying to convince himself that it was true. "And if she's not here by night fall, I'm going back after her."

They journeyed on for over an hour. The purple-brown hue of the moors was now buried beneath the snow which drifted, moulded into bizarre shapes ‒ almost like waves on the sea. Tears had frozen on Meracad's cheeks, but she failed to brush them away, her skin numbing as the ice adhered to it. She could just make out the ruin of an abandoned shelter further down the track, its roof almost entirely collapsed, stone walls coated in moss and ivy. They grew closer and she realised that it was no longer uninhabited. A group of men stood around a slowly-ebbing fire, their horses tethered to rusty iron hooks buried in the walls of its dilapidated structure.

"I thought I told you not to make too much of a spectacle of yourselves."

Meracad sat upright, startled out of her grief. Franc knew these people! A tall, well-built man in the simple attire of a farmer stepped forward.

"Well, Sir, we didn't realise you'd be gone for such a while. Who'd this be, then, another family member you've mislaid?"

"This is no time for jokes, Arec." Franc helped Meracad down and she looked about her, confused and distraught.

"Who are these men?" She found herself blinking back tears once more.

"They're my men, Meracad. I sent for them a day ago. In case we were faced with any trouble."

Arec offered her his fur-lined coat. She took it with gratitude.

"Where's Hal?" he asked, turning to Franc.

"She's still in there, Arec."

"What? Still inside the fortress?"

"No, inside Dal Reniac. They let us out. The lass here pretended she was about to give birth."

"Cunning." Arec grinned in admiration, but Meracad did not return the smile.

"So," Franc continued. "They wouldn't let us all go. They don't know who Hal is."

"Yet." There was a note of grim finality to Arec's voice.

"Which is why I'm going back there now. To get her." Franc climbed astride his horse once more.

"They won't let you in, Sir. Not now. They'll recognise you."

He shook his head. "I've let her down all her life, Arec. I'll not throw her to the wolves now. Wait here for me. If I'm not back by nightfall, go back to Hannac."

Meracad turned to him. "I want to come back with you, Franc."

He shook his head. "We've just risked our necks getting out, Meracad. I won't have you chance it again."

He had already turned the horse in the direction of the city and was preparing to set off, when Arec suddenly shouted: "Stop!"

"What now?" Franc growled, unable to disguise his irritation.

"Look, Sir. What's that? On the horizon?"

Dal Reniac was almost entirely out of view, and they seemed to be surrounded by nothing but the snow-covered wastes of the moors. Meracad cupped her hands around her eyes and stared. A dark shape was travelling towards them, moving ‒ she could tell ‒ at some speed. As it grew closer she made out a horse and rider, snow kicked up and flung high into the air by the horse's hooves. Meracad heard Franc catch his breath. Some distance behind the figure, far on the same horizon, well over a dozen dark shapes had also emerged, travelling at a furious pace. Franc breathed out a curse.