Quint was surprised she admitted a weakness, but psychic strings were beyond most wizards. Pozella said that any wizard could learn a psychic string or two if they spent sufficient time. Sufficient time was gauged in years for common wizards, Pozella claimed.
“The road heads west. This was the route we were to use per Pozella’s map, which is back at the camp. We can follow this most of the way to Bocarre,” Quint said.
They didn’t meet another soul on the road for half an hour, and then a company of Gusellian soldiers burst onto the road behind them.
One of the soldiers shouted in Willot.
“He told us to stop.”
“I didn’t understand a thing,” Quint said, “so I’m going to ignore them, and they can try to get me. Our horses should be more rested than theirs.”
They kicked their horses and galloped into the darkness with the Gussellians in pursuit. Quint discovered that weaving strings was not possible on the back of a galloping horse.
A flash of light sped past Quint’s right ear, illuminating their escape. The globe splashed on the ground, and the spell looked like liquid light. Quint stood in his stirrups and made sure his horse jumped over the pool of light. Having the light stick to the horse’s hooves wouldn't do.
“Left!” Amaria said.
Quint blindly followed her down a track only wide enough for one rider. She slowed down and lit a magic light barely bright enough to pick their way through the twisting and turning of the trail.
Another light globe hit Amaria squarely in the back. She grunted and tore off her tunic. However, some liquid light spilled onto the back of her horse.
“We are going to have to leave the trail,” Quint said.
They grabbed their bags as they dismounted and ran into the dark woods. Quint stopped and cast wind to cover their tracks before continuing. Quint found another thicket.
“Through here,” Quint said, pulling a branch aside and letting Amaria through before slipping past the branch while he gently moved it back so it wouldn’t shake when their pursuers reached them.
They heard the Gussellians talking in willot.
“They are about to give up,” Amaria whispered.
“They are speaking willot?” Quint asked although he didn’t admit he knew that was what they spoke. He wanted more information about the language.
“We can talk about it later. I’m all turned around,” she said.
“South is that way,” Quint said, pointing farther into the woods. “We will head south for an hour before deciding what else to do.
Quint pulled an extra tunic from his bag and gave it to Amaria. The rest of his clothes were at the camp. “There are a few specks of light, but this should cover them.”
“What about the horses?”
“They will probably put a watch on them or take them away. Would you try to retrieve your mount and get caught or walk through the night and find a way to return to Bocarre?”
She grunted her assent. “I will follow you.”
Quint walked around her to see if there were more light spots, but he couldn’t see anything. He barely used his power this time when he created a light string, and they followed the dim light through the woods.
After stopping, he extinguished his light, determined his direction, corrected, and cast another light before continuing toward the darkness. They traveled for two hours before crossing another road and plunged into another part of the forest.
In less than an hour, they saw lights to their right, away from the Gussellians, and entered a Racellian village. They were far enough south to be sure they weren’t close to the Gusellian border.
They entered a half-full pub.
“Do you have any rooms tonight?” Quint asked.
“Not for you, hubite,” the woman at the bar said.
“I’m not a hubite,” Amaria said. “I’ll take a room if you’ve got one.”
The woman frowned, and her face hardened. “You came in with him,” she said, shaking her head.
“Can we have something to eat and drink?” Amaria asked.
“You’ll have to consume it on the porch.” She glared at Quint. “I’d like you to leave our establishment now.”
“I’ll leave you here,” Quint said.
Amaria didn’t say a word to Quint. “I’ll take the room,” she said with steel in her voice.
Quint left the pub and sat on a bench, trying to sort out what to do. A server brought out a bowl of stew, a small loaf of bread, and a mug of ale in a few minutes. He lit a magic light and looked at the ale. Someone had spit in it, but the stew looked fine, although the pub hadn’t supplied a spoon. He sopped up the juices with the bread and picked out the resulting chunks with his fingers. He left a few coins on the bench with the mug and bowl and began to walk toward Bocarre.
Quint reached the end of the village when he heard riders stop at the inn. The light from the pub revealed three soldiers wearing Gussellian uniforms. They tied up the horses and entered the pub.
Quint stared at the scene from the middle of the street, struggling with what he should do. He sighed and ran out of the street and along a parallel lane to the main thoroughfare. There was shouting inside.
He stepped through the back door. The frightened kitchen staff was huddled in a corner. Quint put a finger to his lips. “Don’t worry,” he said quietly.
The scene in the pub was what Quint expected. A Gussellian wearing a uniform that would have suited a Racellian general held his hands together with a green swirl of threads. The customers were backed against the wall, and the other two soldiers had already caught Amaria.
