She tried to swallow the surge of fear squirming in her stomach like a nest of serpents. Where was Jon? She did not dare call out to him. That would tell the sheriff exactly where they were.
Colvin worked at the saddle straps and freed the second sword and scabbard that Maderos had given them. He thrust it into her hands. “You may need this.”
“I do not know how to use a…”
“I know! I will do my best to protect you, but one of them may try to grab you while I am fighting the others. Swing it like a stick if you must.”
“It is so heavy,” Lia said, feeling its bulk.
“Heavy kills quicker,” he snapped. “You do not swing it in the scabbard. If they come, pull it out and swing it. You want to lead with the edge. You…” He stopped, as if hearing something.
“What is it?” Lia asked, turning around the way Jon left. “Should we run?”
“How?” Colvin snorted. “We need the horse. If there was a haven elsewhere, the orb would have told us. Trust the Medium, Lia. Trust the Medium. It will not fail us. It will not. Come on, this way.” He tugged at the bridle.
Lia remembered something Maderos had said. If you take the road, you will be captured. Her thoughts brought his words perfectly, even the accent. She had assumed that if they had taken the road, they would be captured on the road. Now she understood it differently. Their capture would happen after. Or because of having taken the road.
“Colvin,” she said.
A set of riders emerged from the woods ahead of them, towards the direction of Winterrowd. Three of the sheriff’s men, their faces haggard with fatigue, their eyes burning with anger. The horses dripped foam from the bits, their flanks were lathered as well and bloody from the spurs. Lia’s heart cringed for the beasts.
Colvin took a deep breath and unsheathed his sword. Three against one.
“Do not do this,” Lia warned him.
“I can kill three. If the Medium helps me, I can do it.”
“Maderos said it, remember?” He started towards the sheriff’s men, but she grabbed his shirt and yanked hard. “Maderos said it! If we took the road, we would be captured.”
His face stormed with anger. “Please! Do not infect me with your fear.”
Lia wanted to slap him. “I am afraid, but not like before. Listen to me. It brought us here. It knew something would happen here. You are right to trust the Medium. Let us trust it.”
“By surrendering? How do you know the orb is not telling us to fight a way clear?”
From the corner of her eye, she saw the sheriff’s men approaching languidly. They were in no hurry. The hunt was over – it was time for the kill.
She clutched his arm. “I do not want you to die, Colvin,” she whispered. “If your sister were here, she would say it herself. Think of me as your own sister. Please. Do not do this. For her sake.”
One of the men spoke, his voice gravelly and rough. “He looks as if he would like to cry. Look at him. All quivery. C’mon lad, do not cry. It has been a hard ride for us.”
“A wretched chase,” said another, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You are not going to quit now, surely?”
The third dismounted, sword in hand. “If you will not fight, then shine our boots, squire.” The stiff grass hissed as he advanced on them. The other two dismounted. “They are a little mucky. You can shine them with that stained coat of arms you wear. You sniveling shunt! Demont’s man!” He hocked and spat.
Colvin looked her in the eye, his jaw clenched with anger. “You are my sister,” he whispered.
For an instant, she had hope. It sputtered out.
Turning, he thrust at the sheriff’s men, charging into the midst of them, blade flashing with sunlight from the setting sun. The rattle of blades, the singing steel, but in her mind, her heard screams. The blood on his tunic was screaming.
It was three against one, and he fell quickly. Maybe his foot was still throbbing from his battle with Jon Hunter. Maybe a loose rock tripped him. She watched him fall and watched the soldiers pounce on him. Lia cringed and buried her face into the stallion’s mane, still hearing the screams, knowing what these men had done to other mastons before him. Unable to watch as they started kicking him, she wept.
* * *
“Having conceived of a purpose, a maston should mentally mark out a straight pathway to its achievement, looking neither to the right nor left. Doubts and fears should be zealously starved. They are disintegrating elements which break up the straight path, rendering it crooked, ineffectual, useless. Thoughts of doubt and fear can never accomplish anything. They always lead to failure. Purpose, energy, power to do, and all strong thoughts cease when doubt and fear creep in. The will to do springs from the knowledge that we can do. He who has conquered doubt and fear has conquered failure.”