Free The Towers of Samarcand by James Heneage Page B

the enclosure, the gelding at their head. He whistled sharply, and turned to the west. The horse neighed and broke into a trot and then a canter. Luke’s heart lifted.
    It’s working
.
    He looked behind him. The horses were spreading out acrossthe steppe and the thunder of their two thousand hooves was like a storm rolling through the grasses. But there was a rider following him.
    At first he thought it was a rogue horse that had broken free from the herd. Then he saw that there was a shape above the horse, a shape bent low for speed, a shape that included the curve of a bow. Luke looked down at his pony. It was no Eskalon. He cursed that he’d brought no bow. But then he hadn’t yet learnt how to shoot from the saddle. He’d have to outride his pursuer.
    The gelding. I need the gelding
.
    He steered his pony towards the gelding, which was now almost level with him. He looked at its gallop, its rhythm and the space between its hooves. He made the judgement.
    One, two, three …
    He’d begun the leap when his pony went down. Shot through the leg, it could do nothing but fall. It sank to the grass, twisting as it did so and bringing Luke with it. He was pinned. In seconds the herd would be on top of him. He closed his eyes and prayed.
    The horses came on, jumping the obstacle one after another. Then one shied and was hit by those behind. Yet still they came on and Luke held his breath, waiting for the hooves that would trample him, feeling their thunder shake every part of his being.
    Then the thunder passed and he lay beneath the rough underbelly of the horse and listened to the beat of his heart. He felt something hard digging into his side and managed to move an arm. It was the arrow.
    He pulled it free and there was no sound from the horse beyond the horrid slurp of release. It was quite dead. And it was heavy. Digging his elbows into the ground, he managed to shifthimself to the side of the carcass. Then, with another heave, he was free. He looked up.
    There was his pursuer, pale as a ghost in the moonlight. The man was small and slight and almost entirely hidden by the monstrous mask he wore. His horse wanted to follow the herd and was straining against the rein, turning circles on the flattened grass. But the rider was out of arrows. He threw the bow to one side and drew his knife. Then he charged.
    Luke waited to the last moment before throwing himself to one side. As he did so, he thrust the point of the arrow up like a dagger into the upper arm of the man. The man? The cry of pain was not that of a man; it was a boy’s. And the arm glimpsed in the moonlight was hairless. The horse reared and the boy came down. Luke recovered his balance to see the horse moving away to catch the herd. He lunged for the reins and with one finger, caught them and looped them round his wrist. Then he threw himself into the saddle and kicked.
    There was no time to look back. He had to catch the horses.
    *
     
    At the Germiyan camp, daylight brought the misery of seeing.
    The light arrived slowly, creeping out from behind the stars like a jewel-thief, and the people of the camp sat around wrapped in blankets and stared silently at the ground. The only sound came from dogs that moved like servants from person to person, heads tilted in query. The gers stood charred and stripped to the bone, the ground around them black and strewn with things dragged out before the torches hit. Felt was everywhere, burnt and curled and stinking.
    The camp had lost only two men but all of its horses. Those standing there now, nose to nose, belonged to Gomil’s huntingparty, which had just returned. They were waiting for the order to remount and follow the raiders.
    Gomil was standing next to his father, who had blood on his face and a bandage around his thigh. They were talking together in low voices and Arkal was standing a little apart, listening to every word and squeezing Tsaurig’s hand every time he drew breath to cry. She had found her parents