Will

He was a foal – a mere child. He could not have seen twelve winters 'ere he died in fear and agony. I looked upon him, and my heart stirred to anger. I had come for Will's sake; I had no love of these men, whose race had always been my enemy. Yet I saw that day that evil knows no kinship and suffering no bounds. Men though they were, I pitied them. I did not weigh our wrongs against theirs. I only looked to avenge them.

I circled the camp, seeking the track of the foe. It was easy to find; with their victory won and their captives many, they had not troubled to hide their passing. I took to their road – but before I left, in the middle of the clearing, I pawed up a goodly strip of turf so that the red-brown earth showed clear against the blackened grass. In the midst of it I left my sign – my hoofprint, pointing west where I followed their trail. Will would come, soon or late; he would know what path I'd taken.

I ran much of the day. I felt it all through my body, but the thought of Will drove me on. Soon he would miss me and begin to look where I had gone. I must come to the duke's men before him, or else see him give his life where nothing could be won. The thought of him was with me as I ran – his hands on my body, his lips brushing my own, his touch on my neck, my flanks, my most intimate body, when he took me for his own. All through my being I felt him. And as the long afternoon wore on and I followed the track through wood and fen, over streams and across meadows, I came to this: I did not fear death. I did not fear torment. I did not fear, any longer, even servitude, slavery itself, though it come upon me now and for the rest of my life. Will was with me, in body and spirit. Nothing could undo that. The touch of him was upon me, and my heart sang though death itself smiled.

I followed the enemy's track long into the dusk, glad that their scent told me that they were near now. At last, as the sun sank behind the trees, I began to hear them and grew cautious in my approach. I came around their camp from the rear, going slowly and seeking their sentries through scent and sound. I skirted one carefully, and as the dusk thickened I slid through the trees down to the camp.

They were in a wide grassy clearing set between wooded slopes. The prisoners were bound in a circle in the center of the open ground, and there were torches burning around them, high up on posts sunk into the earth. There were above a dozen captives there, crouched in misery, bound man to man with rough ropes at their wrists and ankles. Sentries stood by them with swords drawn, and others with bows, and all about the edge of the camp were tied the dogs and horses of the guardsmen. I counted above twenty men, most in mail or leather armor, and many of them archers.

It looked hopeless. It was not enough for me to loose the men's bonds; they must make good their escape, and the enemy had dogs and archers. If the guards were once on horseback and their hounds on the trail, there was little chance for a man on foot. What was their lot but despair? But to give them up was to give up all hope for Will, and that I could not do. I watched them long, wracking my wits in every way, and at last I began to see a hope. And a strange hope it was, for it took me to my people.

I made my way to them through the twilit wood, swinging wide around the camp and then moving in amongst the trees to where they were tied. They called to me, as is our kind's way, but I got close amongst them before a man came to see what caused noise from the horses. With so many to hide with, I was not noticed. Packs and saddles were thrown on the ground and over tree limbs all about the line of horses, and through them I made my way as soon as I was unobserved. At length I found what I sought – a guardsman's saddle with a scabbard to it, and a hunting knife in the scabbard. I took it carefully in my teeth and placed it amid the roots of an oak. Then I looked down along the line of horses.

It was Will who taught me how a horse is tied, and how it may be untied as well. His presence was there like a warm touch upon me as I made my way amongst my brethren, pulling loose every rope within reach. I did it slowly and gently; it was not to my purpose that they should free themselves now, only that they be ready when wanted.

As I went I greeted them softly. It was good to be among horses again, with their strong, simple movements and their homely scent that was a comfort to me. And yet I was a stranger. Will's touch had woken me until I hardly knew who my people were – these, whose bodies were made as mine, or he who had touched my heart and spirit. Even as they nosed my flanks and snuffed curious greetings, I felt how little any of them could ever take his place. I could only greet them simply and show them such goodwill as I could, and try, silently, to make them some apology for what I knew must come.

They would aid me this night, but unwittingly, and I felt shame in it. Was I any better than the men who drove them, that I would use them thus? I would not for the world harm them, but I needed them – needed all the things that had made us the slaves of men. Their strength. Their speed. Even their riding. I moved amongst them with my heart aching and wished that they could understand how humbly I begged their forgiveness. But they could give me no sign. At last I left them with their ropes half-wound about the trees, praying that they not would betray me, and prepared with some shame to make them the tools of my plan. I took up the knife from the roots of the oak, looked for a long moment down into the men and the firelight, and then walked into the circle of their torches.

I moved lazily, like a witless horse turned loose and wandering as it would. I kept the knife hidden in my mouth, though the taste and length of it galled me, and I moved toward the prisoners. As I drew closer the guardsmen spied me, and one of the sentries called out – "Horse loose! Hey, horse loose!" I kept my undeliberate course, wandering closer though all my nerves sang, and as men leaped up from around the fire, I came to the circle of prisoners.

They were miserable, exhausted, some half-asleep and others groaning with their wounds. But I knew who I sought, and I found him – John, their leader, with his long grizzled hair, sitting near the center and bound closer than any. The guardsmen were running toward me, now; they would be on me in a moment. I reached in amongst the men and pushed my nose to John's back, rocking him where he sat. He turned and looked up at me, baffled with my presence. Then I let the knife fall close by his hand, and a light leapt into his eyes. His fingers closed upon the hilt, and he gave me a startled glance. But he recovered himself swiftly and made no other sign – only covered the knife with his leg as the guardsmen ran up to me.

A horse that fights a man's will is an object of interest to everyone. This I had learned in the short years of my life. Wherever one of my people struggles for her freedom, men flock to watch and subdue her. So, as I had hoped, did these. The first ran up thinking to take my head. When they found that I had no halter, some ran for ropes; others sought to herd me, waving their arms and making sharp noises that would have driven my witless cousins. In the torchlight, they thought me one of their own herd, and so sought to put me back with my comrades.

I feigned a feeble wit as well I could, but when I shied from them, I shied toward the sentries who guarded the prisoners. I crushed upon them and tread their feet, and backed prancing through their line so that they must watch me and not their charges. Meanwhile I glanced to John and his people. The knife flashed; then John sat watching me. His hands were still behind him, but now he leaned close to another who sat against his back. I turned from them and faced the guards. I had done all I could do to loose their bonds; time was now their greatest need, and I must win them all I could.

I danced amongst them, making feints, turning tail, and crushing close upon the sentries whenever I could reach them. Soon the men were close about me. I kicked and whinnied, driving them back, and held them as long as I could. But I dared not risk final capture, not now, and they fast grew too many for me to trust. Some brought ropes and halters, and the closeness of them all upon my haunches sent me dancing nervously, though I fought to stay amongst them and delay them all I could.

At last one flung a line across my neck, and then I must leap and run in earnest, or all of them would have been on it in the instant. I bolted and dragged the guard until he let loose the rope, then turned at the far side of the camp and gathered my courage. I glanced at John. He was watching me, intently now that the guards looked elsewhere, and his eyes met mine with a long, measuring look. Then he glanced to the woods behind me, and I knew what he sought: Will. I prayed that he would not come. I had done all I might; if this failed we were lost.

With a last prayer that John's men had freed themselves, I drove through the camp with a wild lunge, scattering men to every side. I hurtled through their line and past them, around the trees where the dogs were tied, off in the woods, and then back – back in a tight arc that brought me up behind the horses as I ran toward the camp.

I screamed. I gave our cry for wolf, for fire, for all things terrible and wild. My poor brethren startled and reared, and in an instant a dozen found themselves loose and turned on their tails. Begging them in my heart to forgive me, I raced down upon them in clamor and commotion, crashing through the brush and giving shrieks and whinnies of utter distress. By the time I reached their lines they were nearly all in motion, turning upon the camp in a wild wave. The men who had run to hunt me met the moving wall of their flesh and scattered or fell beneath their hooves.

But John, as I had prayed, was a canny man, and marshaled his people well. They crouched down, guarding their bodies – but as the horses ran through them, all along their line men leapt up, seizing manes, ropes, and dangling reins, and swung themselves onto the horses. Those who mounted tore away into the forest; others ran behind them, snatching at any horse that hesitated. The sentries rallied and ran for their mounts and prisoners; I rushed them from behind, crashing into their backs and sending them flying. In the wild confusion of the stampede, I prayed that they would see no thought in my actions – but I did what I must. It was Will, no less than these, that I fought to save.

I circled the camp, knocking down guards and driving the horses to Will's men. They were nearly all mounted now; as I watched, two dragged down a sentry who'd found his horse and leapt upon the steed. Others, on horseback, charged the sentries on foot, or rode after strays and brought them to their comrades. My heart began to lighten. They would escape. They would come to safety.

Then I saw John.

He stood in the center of the clearing. The knife gleamed in his hand, its work done; his men were free and flying. But he clung to the pole that held a torch above his head, and by that light I saw what I could not have seen before – blood, dark and heavy, that had soaked through his breeches and blackened the ragged rent in his thigh. His face was set grim with pain, and he weighed the knife in his hand as the sentries regrouped and the archers sent shafts whistling toward his men. One stayed by him still; he was mounted, and led a horse to which he urged his leader. John struggled, desperately, but he was hurt too sore to mount; with a curse he bid his man fly, and belted the rump of his horse. It bolted and left John to stand grimly, taking his ground.

I cannot say what drove me. There was Will; my life was a feeble thing when weighed against his happiness. But there was Watt, too, laid cold in the bracken. There was suffering there, whatever shape it took. Would I turn from that all my life? Would I forever place the wrongs done to me over the wrongs done to any man?

The guards were close upon us, and confusion everywhere. John shouted to his men to fly as arrows shot past and the thunder of hooves shook the ground. I bolted through the chaos, tearing up turf as I plunged to a halt before him. Our eyes met. His were sharp, fierce, and defiant. He nodded, and asked nothing.

I knelt. His hands were in my mane when they took us.

They flung half a dozen lines about my neck, dragged John from my back and forced my head down into a halter. I fought, kicking and plunging, but it was hopeless. With so many men on the lines, I fought a tide that would roll over me whatever I might do. They swore mightily, and I lamed more than one before they learned to respect my heels, but at last they mastered and bound me. Then they brought me up into the torchlight and hobbled me tight, for they would not lose a mount with so few left to them. The feel of the rope drawn tight about my legs drove me wild with desperation, but I was helpless under their hands.

John, too, they bound tighter still, so that he lay groaning, unable to sit or stand. The soldiers spurned and spit at him, cursing him for the loss of their horses and his men, and the captain squatted and pulled his head back by the hair.

"You've clever friends, Hart," he sneered. "But they've left you. Where are your tricks now, John the fox?"

John only glared at him. The captain curled his lip and struck him a heavy blow, so that he slumped and the blood ran from his mouth. Then he threw him back and turned to his men, setting sentries and bidding the rest make ready to march at first light. There was some talk of hunting those who had escaped, but with only a handful of horses left their captain thought it wiser to defend what he had. He sent two of his men to ride at once, off to the town to fetch aid; the rest would stay and keep his prize safely amongst them.

As they moved off to their duties, I dared glance back at John. He stirred, barely – alive yet. But he would not be for long without aid. He had lain the night on the ground, unfed and unwatered, his wound untended and his body bound so that he scarcely could move. In truth, I pitied him. I would see no one die thus, bound and helpless. I turned to him, thinking to touch him and offer what comfort I could. But the hobble caught me, and my head was pulled up by the rope.

As the twilight grayed toward dawn, I stood weary and near to despair. I was hungry, and had a great thirst; in the heat of the chase yesterday I had hardly eaten, and I had stood all night without food or water. When at last one of their sentries, mailclad even to his coif, came down from the picket and brought me water, I only drank. I wanted it too badly to quarrel. He set a bag of oats before me as well and I moved to eat them, but the rope caught me short; they had tied me so tightly that I could not even stoop to the food. He took up the bag and raised it to my mouth. Then he touched my nose, and I shied, startled. I looked up into gentle brown eyes.

"Shhh." Will's touch slid soft on my muzzle, and his warm scent rose like peace into my soul. He was so unlooked for that I could only stare, then close my eyes and press my head to him in a wave of joy and relief. In a moment I would fear for his safety, but in that instant I only knew that Will was here. Will. My heart rejoiced.

"Eat," he whispered, holding the bag to me. "We must fly 'ere the light grows brighter, and it may be long until we reach food again." I took the oats in great mouthfuls, my belly growling hungrily for them. As I ate I eyed Will, and I saw how he had come there. He wore the armor of a dead man – mail left behind at the burnt camp when the guardsmen hastened their prisoners away. The coif hid most of his face, and the tunic was that of a guard. So hidden, he had come unmarked through their lines.

"There are more over the ridge," he murmured, close by my ear. "Two men with horses, and a mount to spare. If we can bring John that far, there is hope yet." He glanced over to his leader, his eyes deep with worry. "Does he live?"

I nodded slowly. I thought he did. Will eyed the guards. Though John lay too still for our liking, he was watched by two sentries who stood close by him, and were changed every hour.

"Drink," murmured Will, setting the bucket before me. His hands worked at the knot of the rope, and in a moment he had my head loose. "Go biddable. I will let them see me feed and water you. And then ..." He drew a long breath and let it slowly out, his eyes meeting mine. "We'll take what adventure we're given."

I dropped my head to the water and drank. It was cool and good; I closed my eyes with the sweet relief.

Will knelt and worked at the hobbles, whispering as I raised my lips. "Have you had enough? We must be gone as soon as we can; the brighter the light comes, the better they will see me, and mark me not one of their men."

I nodded as the hobbles fell away. Will stood and reached upward, and whispered as his lips brushed my cheek.

"This last. I will loose the buckle. Let it hang upon you until we show ourselves."

He pulled loose the buckle of the halter, leaving it ready to fly with a good shake. I met his eyes; he met mine and kissed my nose, swift but gentle.

"Godspeed, Shanglan," he whispered.

He took the rope, very lightly, and led me toward John's huddled form. The sentries looked up as we came, and Will grunted.

"Heave him over, will you? Cap'n says we're to make ready for the trail."

The sentries paused; our hearts both froze. Will shrugged, then stooped to haul John roughly up from the ground. John groaned, and seemed to half to know his surroundings, but he could not keep his feet; he hung on to Will and staggered against me.

"Who are you, soldier?" ask one of the sentries. I tried to still the tremble that ran through me. John seemed to be trying to aid us, but weakly; Will had lain him against my shoulder, but John was the larger man, and Will was hard put to heave him over my withers.

"Beckett," muttered Will, struggling with John. John was rousing, but dared not work openly with us; his hands, at any rate, were bound behind his back, and he could give no help to himself.

"I don't know that name," said the sentry sharply, and drew his sword. Will looked at me. There was despair in his face. I turned sharply and pressed John's weight into Will's grip. Then I let fly with my hooves.

They caught the sentry high in his chest and drove the breath hard from him, knocking him back heavily to the earth. I kicked again and caught the other's leg as he turned to run. He fell, and as swiftly as I could I spun and stooped, trying to get my shoulder under John. Will heaved him over my withers, slung like a sack against my neck, and then scrambled up behind as the sentry found his breath and shouted the alarm. I flew for the wood, half-staggering under their weight. The foe were not slow to hunt us; as we threw ourselves into the forest's fastness the arrows rattled in the branches, and I heard them bounce from Will's mail.

"Fly, Shanglan!" He wrenched the halter from my head and we raced up the slope. It was a hard struggle with John's weight heavy over my legs. Will clung to me with his knees and drew his knife, working swiftly to cut John's bonds. By the time we reached the ridge he was through them. There we found horses and two men – and one of them was Ulrick.

"Get him to horse, for God's sake," said Will, working frantically to help John to a mount of his own. "They're hot behind and with arrows still. Get to shelter."

"We'll not outrun them. Not with an injured man." Ulrick was moving swiftly to aid John to his horse, but his voice and face were grim.