Vespertine (Vespertine #1)(34)

Priestbane lunged into motion. Dazed, I caught his reins and laid a hand on his shoulder in silent apology. Cantering heavily, each stride accompanied by a labored, snorting breath, he carried me away. Civilians and soldiers alike moved out of my path, pausing to sign themselves as I passed. Some reached out to brush their fingers across my shoes or Priestbane’s side, like pilgrims touching a saint’s effigy for its blessing.

I didn’t see the point in trying to escape. Priestbane was spent; he wouldn’t be able to outrun our pursuers this time. But then I heard a raucous cry of “Crumbs!” and glanced over my shoulder. Trouble had returned, diving at the crowd with a vengeance. I saw in disbelief that the riot had spread across the entire encampment, engulfing the procession as it tried to exit the bridge. The caparisoned horses balked, too hemmed in to give chase. People had even closed in around Leander, miring him in a sea of bodies.

I turned back around, leaning over Priestbane’s withers. More faces flashed past. Outstretched hands surrounded me; shouts battered my ears. And then suddenly I burst free from the claustrophobic noise and stink and press of the crowd, open ground stretching away around me like a flung-out tapestry.

On one side the battlefield unfolded, the once-green valley reduced to a brown wasteland by the revenant’s power. On the other, the river glared like a sheet of hammered steel, winding its path toward the forest. Ahead lay the shadows of the trees.

As the crowd’s noise receded and the hills drew nearer, juddering up and down with each stride, it was difficult not to feel as though I were running in the wrong direction. What I’d done today wouldn’t last—those people still needed my help. I needed to get inside Bonsaint. I had to find a way, even with all the Clerisy’s forces in Roischal bent on my capture.

“Revenant, I need you.”

Silence.

Unexpectedly, its rejection stung. Even though I didn’t trust it, I had gotten used to relying on its advice. For a brief, horrible instant I had no idea what to do.

I shook off my uncertainty. I would get to the woods. Then I would figure out what to do next, with or without its help. I didn’t have a choice; I couldn’t ride Priestbane like this for much longer without hurting him.

The hills loomed above me. The shadows of the branches stretched over my cloak, breathing forth the forest’s damp, cool air. Priestbane’s hoofbeats muffled to a soft drumming on the leaves.

And then a shout rang out behind me.

I risked a look, already knowing what I would see. Leander. He’d escaped the crowd, galloping after me. My glance left me with a fleeting impression of green eyes blazing against a pale face. Captain Enguerrand thundered a few paces behind, his own stallion flagging, its black coat flecked with foamy saliva.

Leander’s mount was fresh, rapidly closing the distance between us. As I scrambled for an idea, I heard a thunk, and with a sickening weightless lurch found myself flung from the saddle. Priestbane’s hoof must have struck a root, I thought, even as the world turned upside down. I saw a flash of sky, and then I hit the ground.

The impact slammed the breath from my lungs. Unable to halt my momentum, I tumbled end over end down a hill, lashed by undergrowth, dead leaves choking me, tangling in my hair, stuffing their prickling edges into my sleeves and collar and stockings.

At last I slid to a partial stop at the bottom of an incline, still gradually slipping down in a stupor. Distantly, I heard shouting. Blood roared in my ears. I flung out an arm to steady myself, and my hand met empty air.

I blinked away dirt and realized the roaring wasn’t my blood after all. I’d slid to a halt at the edge of an embankment that abruptly cut off in a steep vertical plunge, the roots of the trees anchored along its edge dangling in midair over the roaring span of the Sevre. The river’s current raged, throwing up spray against sharp rocks that studded the frothing water like teeth.

For a moment everything else stopped existing. The white spray and jagged, glistening rocks seemed to expand, filling my vision like an animal’s gaping mouth. Even this high up, fine droplets of water misted my face. Slowly, I felt myself sliding over the edge.

In a rush, I came back to myself. I wrenched myself away, scrabbling, grabbing fistfuls of leaves. Loose dirt sifted into my gloves as I clawed for the roots beneath, tearing handfuls of them from the ground in my desperate scramble up the slope. When I reached a leaf-filled hollow behind a tree, I threw myself onto my side, panting.

And then, a voice. “I’ve found her horse, Your Grace.”

Enguerrand.

“That’s my horse,” Leander said coldly, his voice raised to make himself heard over the noise of the rapids. “She stole it from me.”

Every muscle in my body went rigid. Moving in stiff increments, I burrowed deeper into the leaves, hoping the Sevre would drown out the quiet rustling of my movements.

“Your Grace?”

“Never mind. Where did she go? She must be nearby. She couldn’t have run far.”

A pause followed. I shifted my head so I could peer through the leaves, bringing the two of them into focus on the trail above the slope. Captain Enguerrand held Priestbane’s reins. I guessed that he and Leander had continued their pursuit of the stallion before discovering that he was riderless and doubling back to find me. Enguerrand was gazing down the steep incline to the Sevre below, where my uncontrolled tumble had scuffed an obvious path to the edge of the precipice.