The Lascar’s Dagger by Glenda Larke

Author:Glenda Larke [Larke, Glenda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Fiction
Publisher: An Hachette UK Company
Published: 2014-03-18T04:00:00+00:00

25

The Hunter and the Hunted

As she’d planned, Sorrel rose in the dark and was on the road the moment there was enough light to travel. She put the dapple grey on a lead and rode the roan she’d hired from the inn’s stable. It was an irascible animal, fully prepared to take advantage of lack of experience. She suspected it would happily brush a rider against a fence or the low branch of a tree if it had the chance.

Fortunately, they left all trees and fences behind when they turned off the main road and began to climb steadily upwards. The track was narrow and rough, criss-crossed with ill-defined animal trails, but easy enough to follow as the mist thinned in the meagre morning warmth.

After the first hour, she crested a rise and looked back over the view of Chervil and the Oakwood road. There was no sign of Prince Ryce. She smiled grimly. She needed a good start. He was a fine rider with a better horse, and he’d soon catch up if her lead was not sufficiently great.

The track was less steep from there on, and she urged the horses to a better pace. A little later, the guards who had taken Saker from the palace passed her going in the opposite direction. She recognised their sergeant and pulled her mount to the side so they could pass. He nodded to her politely, but no one spoke. All they would have seen was an undistinguished middle-aged man on a horse. She kept the dapple grey close on her off-side, so the roan blocked a good view of it.

She rode on. When she estimated she was about an hour or less from the shrine, her mount faltered. Heart pounding in trepidation, she halted the horse and sat still to calm herself. Vex her toad-spotted luck, the wretched animal was limping. She was so close! And there was no one around to help her. Taking a deep breath, she slid to the ground. Just ahead, lying in the middle of the track, was a dagger.

It took her a moment to acknowledge that its presence must be pure coincidence; the horse hadn’t trodden on it. Besides, it was still in its leather sheath. She picked it up and drew out the knife. It was Saker’s wavy-bladed dagger, the one she’d used that day on the Golden Petrel. One of his guards must have dropped it. She shrugged, stuffed it into the dapple grey’s saddlebags and tied the reins of both horses to furze bushes so they couldn’t wander away.

Her first thought was that the roan might have cast a shoe, but she could see at a glance that was not the case. Then what? A sprain? She wasn’t sure. When she studied the way it was standing, she could see it was favouring its left foreleg. She regarded it miserably. She’d watched other people pick up the hoof of a horse to look underneath, but she’d never done it herself. She had no idea what they expected to find, and this was the last animal she wanted to learn on anyway.

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