When I did come to again, it was to the slow recognition of patterned movement. Next I realized that I was more or less upright, kept in place by the uncompromising grip of an arm. And at last I saw that I was on horseback and someone was with me.
"Bran?" I murmured hopefully.
The arm did not slacken its grip as its owner hesitated, then said, "It desolates me to disappoint you, but your brother is not here. Despite two really praiseworthy attempts at rescue." I recognized that drawling voice: the interrogator's.
The hint of amusement irritated me, and sick and hurt as I was, I simply had to retort thing. "Glad…at least…you're desolated."
As a crack it was pretty weak, but the amusement deepened in the light voice above my ear as he added, "I must add, when your hill rebels get truly riled, they do fight well. We didn't catch any of 'em. Several dead, but they're of no use to anyone. And they accounted for rather more of us than they ought to have."
"
," I gloated.
The voice continued, polite but utterly devoid of any emotion save that hint of amusement: "Your hat disappeared somewhere the other night, and it did not seem appropriate under the circumstances to request someone in our army to surrender a replacement."
"It's of no consequence--"I began loftily, then I grunted with pain as the horse made a misstep and veered around some obstruction in the road.
And a new fact registered: A sick feeling of terror seized my insides, and I was glad the man holding me could not see my face. My head was tucked against his shoulder, with my left leg as straight as possible across the horse's withers, my right dangling. I thought immediately of struggling, trying to fight free, except I remembered what had happened when I had tried to take a step.
, I told myself.
"Bran?" I murmured hopefully.
The arm did not slacken its grip as its owner hesitated, then said, "It desolates me to disappoint you, but your brother is not here. Despite two really praiseworthy attempts at rescue." I recognized that drawling voice: the interrogator's.
The hint of amusement irritated me, and sick and hurt as I was, I simply had to retort thing. "Glad…at least…you're desolated."
As a crack it was pretty weak, but the amusement deepened in the light voice above my ear as he added, "I must add, when your hill rebels get truly riled, they do fight well. We didn't catch any of 'em. Several dead, but they're of no use to anyone. And they accounted for rather more of us than they ought to have."
"
," I gloated.
The voice continued, polite but utterly devoid of any emotion save that hint of amusement: "Your hat disappeared somewhere the other night, and it did not seem appropriate under the circumstances to request someone in our army to surrender a replacement."
"It's of no consequence--"I began loftily, then I grunted with pain as the horse made a misstep and veered around some obstruction in the road.
And a new fact registered: A sick feeling of terror seized my insides, and I was glad the man holding me could not see my face. My head was tucked against his shoulder, with my left leg as straight as possible across the horse's withers, my right dangling. I thought immediately of struggling, trying to fight free, except I remembered what had happened when I had tried to take a step.
, I told myself.
( Sherwood Smith )
[ Crown Duel ]
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