
Turning, she gazed back to look at the City, but it was out of sight, hidden by the brow of the
tree-covered hill she had been descending when the noise and shaking had so nearly ended her journey.
What could it have been? came the thought again. Now in control of her mount she felt she could allow
some concession to this question, and gently she urged the horse back up the hill until the City came
partly into sight.
All seemed normal. The palace towers rose up majestically, dominating but not overwhelming their
surroundings, and through the trees she could see the tops of many familiar buildings. Yet on the wind
there were strange noises. A crowd? She thought she had heard a crowd nearby as she had left the
palace to clatter through the quiet by-ways of the City, but she had dismissed the notion; the Mathidrin
held the streets too well for that. Now, as the distant sounds vied for her attention with the rustling trees
she thought she heard again many voices raised in . . . anger . . . fear?
She leaned forward, face intent, but nothing would take shape for her. Even the wind felt disturbed,
unnatural, now quiet, now tearing at her hysterically, and steadfastly refusing to deliver any clear answer
to her query. For a moment she thought of moving further forward, to leave behind the shaking trees and
come nearer to the City, but the urgency of her mission reasserted itself. Whatever had happened, it was
unlikely she could do anything except be taken by the Mathidrin and held as who knew what kind of a
hostage against Rgoric’s plans.
Turning round, she rode back down the hill, trotting the horse carefully but surely through the
widely-spaced trees that covered the slope. Soon she would be well clear of the City and able to ride,
ride, ride, over the Fyorlund countryside, each stride taking her further from that accursed brown streak
Dan-Tor and nearer to her true friends and a new future with her husband.
It would be a long hard journey, but she had done worse in her Muster training, albeit many years ago,
and just to be free from the cloying deception of the past months would sustain her far more than any
physical prowess could. Ruthlessly she trampled down the ever-present fears for her husband, lest they
infect her mount and, in slowing her progress, bring about their own tremulous prophecy.
At last she broke out of the trees to find herself at a high vantage-point. Reining to a halt, she paused to
examine the countryside for signs of movement, but apart from the ruffling of the blustering wind, all was
quiet. And there below was the old road which she should be able to follow for many miles, avoiding
villages, and thus Mathidrin patrols.
She clicked to her horse, but it hesitated and whinnied softly. Frowning slightly, Sylvriss cast around
again for some sign of danger that had escaped her first inspection.
Then a distant, rapid movement caught her eye. Before she could identify it, her horse began trembling
as if remembering again its recent fear. She whispered to it soothingly and slowly backed it into the shade
of the trees where she could watch without being seen.
The movement became clearer. It was a rider, travelling away from the City. Suddenly Sylvriss caught
her breath, and her horse shifted uneasily beneath her. Even at this distance she could feel waves of terror
moving before the approaching figure. What had happened in the City? came the question yet again, but
it was lost almost immediately as she saw that the rider was not simply travelling quickly, he was plunging
along the road at a speed that must surely bring both him and his horse to destruction very soon.
The realization cleared Sylvriss’s vision abruptly and the totality of the scene below swept over her. The
horse was not carrying one person, but two. Its rider was a large, solid-looking man, but across its neck