David Tallerman - Giant thief

Steadily, though, a sense of unease crept back over me. I couldn't explain it at first. There was nothing to hear, no rumble of hooves. I decided it was something in the quality of the light. The sky seemed inexplicably brighter behind than ahead, as though the sun were rising early and in the wrong direction. We'd come to a region of large boulders, however, my view was obstructed on both sides, and I couldn't make out why.

Eventually, another turn brought us out near a ledge, with nothing beyond it but a steep decline. Then I understood.

There were the torches, not far behind us, fallen back into their original formation.

Now they weren't the only things burning.

Reb Panza was, as well.

I was no stranger to being chased. I'd fled from my share of angry shopkeepers and incensed guards, not to mention the odd mob. But those occasions had been a breeze compared to the hurricane I found myself in that night.

It was late when the hunt began in earnest, the moon near its apex. It was hard at first to separate the weaving torches from the conflagration of Reb Panza. It was hard to see anything much. The wind was from the north, and it wasn't long before a great cloud of stinking smoke had enshrouded us and the area all around. My eyes smarted and wept — though in truth, that was caused by more than just the smoke. I had a sick feeling rooted in my stomach, half numb horror and half disbelief. Why had they destroyed Reb Panza? It made no sense. Had the people been in it when it burned, those giggling children and their ancient guardians, the patriarch with his preposterous moustaches? And there was another question, even more urgent-seeming, which my mind kept returning to despite my efforts.

Had it been my fault?

Saltlick laboured on beneath me, feet pounding the dusty road, breath escaping in violent gasps. I'd lost track of how long he'd been running. I couldn't imagine what was going through his mind, or what pressures were tearing at his body. Behind us, that chain of fires commanded the near horizon. All I could see were flames weaving in the foggy darkness; but my imagination was eager to complete the scene. I saw a hundred riders, arrows notched, scimitars bared, grim determination on their faces. I saw their leader urging them on, screaming threats of grotesque punishment and promises of outrageous reward to the man whose blade first drank our blood. I saw my death encroaching, inescapably.

The wind rose, the smoke began to break up. The air still stank of charred grass, and at first retained a hazy thickness, lending an unreality to everything. Then a light rain began, and it was as though we'd been travelling within a chamber of grimy glass that was suddenly washed clean. The stars seemed very bright, the trees and rocks glistened. The bobbing torches behind us stood out like pinheads on a black velvet cushion.

That sight brought me back to the moment. I told myself that the men pursuing us must be insane, that they'd set fire to Reb Panza for no other reason than a love of destruction. It need only be the work of one madman, in fact, and the rest were simply following orders. There was no reason to think it had anything to do with me. Moaradrid's army probably burned villages every day. The best I could do would be to escape and carry word of their atrocity.

The issue settled, I tried to get my bearings. I wasn't sure how long had passed since we'd left the village. It might have been an hour or four. We didn't seem much nearer to the distant lights of Muena Palaiya. The town would have to be our destination now, if we could possibly make it so far. We were travelling southeast towards it, though the road continued to twist back and forth, never running straight for long.

Thanks to that serpentine course, a strange relationship began to form between our pursuers and us as the night wore on. They would draw very close, but be below us. Boulders, scrub bushes and loose shale littered the steep slopes between steps of the road. Their horses stood no hope of cutting the distance that way. Archers attempted shots, and some flew close enough that I heard them whistle by. I was convinced one of those shafts would plunge through my body, or wreak some catastrophic injury on Saltlick.

Yet it was probably at those times we were safest. Occasionally a glimmer of orange would be extinguished, as a rider tested the incline and went tumbling into the dirt.

At other times, they relied on their advantage of speed. There could be no doubt they had one. Even with Saltlick travelling at his fastest, they still gained steadily.

How long could the horses keep it up for? They'd been galloping for hours, and their brief break at Reb Panza hadn't been enough to rest them properly. We had a slim advantage there. But then horses were built for speed and stamina, and giants probably weren't.

By the time I got my answer, dawn was smudging the horizon like a drunken whore's rouge. Saltlick had slowed to a jog, and was weaving between the verges of the road. His pace had been slackening for the last two hours, and I'd been helpless to do anything except hang on and mutter occasional words of encouragement. The riders, forced by the expediency of not running their mounts to death, were slowing too. Even the archers had lost some of their fervour. The chase would have seemed comical to an observer: a bend in the road would bring us within sight of each other, a few arrows would be fired half-heartedly, only to clatter into the dirt behind us, and another turn would separate us once more.

Nevertheless, nothing in the situation made me hopeful. Saltlick would grind to a halt eventually, and I'd have to continue, alone and on foot. My pursuers were sure to be faster, were vastly more numerous, and probably weren't half crippled with bruises. I didn't stand a chance.

Then, as we turned yet another corner, an alternative suggested itself. A large estate stood directly ahead, back from the road, a two-storey villa surrounded by corrals and outhouses. It was one of the many prosperous farms that clustered around Muena Palaiya. A line of lemon trees stood between it and the road and behind I could see fields of corn, with orchards mounting the hillside beyond. Either its owners were already in the fields or they were still lazing in bed while their labourers did the work, because it was past dawn and no lights shone.

I noticed other details. A hay barn extended from the right of the house, and abutting that were two fenced areas. The first, nearest the house, contained a herd of somnolent cattle. A pair of stallions stood in the second, taking an early breakfast on strands of grass that had slipped between the slats.

"Saltlick, head towards that barn," I said.

He slowed a little, and tried to angle his head to look at me. Finding it impossible, he mumbled something instead.

"What?"

This time he said it more clearly: "Run."

His voice was hoarse, and as painstaking as a dying man's last gasp. I realised how utterly exhausted he must be. He hadn't lost his knack of communicating much with a minimum of syllables, though.

"It's all right," I said. "They won't catch us. I have a plan."

Saltlick didn't seem very sure, but he took the turn-off between the lemon trees. He loped through the low-walled courtyard fronting the villa and came to a halt outside the barn. I clambered down the netting without waiting for him to kneel and dropped the last distance to the dirt, gasping as the impact jolted tortured muscles.

"You see the hay, Saltlick? You have to bury yourself in it, as quickly as you can. Then stay quiet, whatever happens."

"Hide?" he asked doubtfully.

"Yes, hide. Stay hidden as long as possible. They'll chase me. They won't be looking for you. The moment they've gone past, you head up into the hills. I'll come back and find you, as soon as I can."