Empire of Ashes

Chapter II - Carnage Ground

Soon after losing my chains, I began to realise I stuck out like a sore thumb in the war camp. It was a world of tall men. The only women were the type who sold themselves for a living. Soon, the open sores on my neck and wrists were starting to attract attention from the leather-and-mail clad warriors who filed along the dirt tracks between tents.

It wasn't far to the supply chain. I knew because I had marked its position on the way in. There, I could filch an unattended horse and put a league between myself and the camp before anyone bothered to count the slaves. I hoped to the gods Rory had the sense to unlock my loose chains from the rest of the line and hide them. An empty set of irons would just scream escapee.

As it turned out, I didn't have to reach the supply chain to find a mount. Outside a massive pavilion near the centre of the camp, I found a black stallion. He was huge — taller than me at the shoulder, with muscles rippling across every inch of his body. When I approached, he stamped his impatience. Chances were, he belonged to someone very important. If I stole him and got caught, my execution would be guaranteed, but if I got out of camp, I would outrace any pursuit effortlessly. Either way, I would win.

My decision made, I reached for the rope halter and unfastened it with shaking fingers. He was — for the moment, at least — completely unattended. He stood very still while I untied him, like he understood exactly what was going on and he wanted freedom as much as I did.

And then I vaulted onto his back and clung on for dear life as he danced beneath me. Before he could settle or smell my fear, I caught a fistful of mane and dug my heels in. I didn't give myself time to consider how I would go about controlling a warhorse without reins or a saddle. I had learned to ride on our plough cob, pliant and gentle. This would be an entirely different ball game. He bolted, as he had been trained to do, plunging into the crowd ahead with vicious relish.

Men and women alike scrambled out of our way as we raced through the camp. It took just seconds for the stallion to clear the tents and get out into open space. Behind me, shouts and hoofbeats echoed. They would follow, of course. As I hurtled towards a copse, an arrow hissed past my shoulder and another bit the ground behind me. It was a narrow miss — far too narrow for my liking. So I squeezed tight with my thighs, kicked hard and leant down over the horse's neck.

He slowed down once we were among the trees — it was the only way to avoid crashing. His canter was amazingly smooth, and I would have felt safe if it weren't for the constant changes of direction as he wove between trees, swapping leads every other stride.

"Steady, Nightmare," I managed to breathe.

'Night' for his colouring, and 'mare' because I found it hilarious. He only sped up, perhaps trying to shake me off. If he had wanted to put any effort into it, he would have just reared and that would have been the end of it. I wondered what sort of person would buy a horse like this. Riding him would be a death sentence in the heat of battle, however much training he had.

There was no sign of pursuit anymore. No horse could have matched Nightmare's speed with an armoured warrior on their back. And that easily, we were away. I wasn't worried about going in the right direction. I just wanted to put some distance between myself and the camp.

Without warning, Nightmare lowered a shoulder and ploughed left. It didn't occur to me to disagree. Any sort of argument with this horse would leave me in the dirt. But I couldn't help wondering why exactly he had decided to adjust his course. He was snuffing at the air like a dog.

And not a minute later, he pricked up his ears to listen to something and adjusted his course once again. I strained to make out the same sounds  — a clanging like steel on steel. They were coming from dead ahead, which meant I was heading for... Shit.