Free Blood Ties by Peter David Page B

liquor.
    Trevor lunged at me, and the only thing that saved me was the fact that he had no left arm because it gave me somewhere to go. I darted to his left, avoiding the sweep of his right arm, and he stumbled forward directly into the campfire.
    He cried out in pain and immediately several of the soldiers went to him to help haul him clear. Several others, meantime, came straight at me. I was outnumbered, and there was no way I wanted any part of the fight, particularly since I wasn’t the one who had instigated it.
    A branch extended overhead. I leaped straight up for it, grabbing it and swinging my legs up and out so that I just managed to clear the heads of my attackers. I let the momentum of the swing carry me so that I landed just beyond them. They quickly corrected course and came right after me. Given the opportunity, there was no doubt in my mind that they would have caught me and pounded me into the ground.
    So, obviously, it was in my best interests to not give them that opportunity.
    Clash, that impressive and magnificent stallion, was just ahead of me, tethered to a tree. I sprinted up behind him and vaulted onto his back from behind. He let out a startled whinny, and I said, “It’s me, big fella.”
    Meanwhile “my” voice was shouting, “The ladies must really love you lot! Do you share makeup tips and trade shoes?”
    This did nothing to get me into their good graces.
    There was no point in trying to explain. The combination of the harassment that my mouth seemed to be expelling like vomit and the fact that they’d been tossing back ale fairly heavily wasn’t conducive to their being reasonable. I pulled out my sword, and they fell back a moment, doubtlessly concerned I was about to use it on them.
    Instead, I sliced through the rope that was keeping Clash tied to the tree. It parted easily enough, and Clash reared up, pounding the air with his hooves and whinnying even louder than before. He certainly sounded happy to be free of his bonds.
    Gripping the reins tightly, I wheeled the horse around and dug my heels in, shouting, “Yah!” because “Giddyap” was just so cliché. The only one who might have been willing to put his body between Clash’s thundering hooves and my route out of there would have been Trevor, and he was busy snuffing out the last of the flames on his clothing. I caught a brief glimpse of Baron’s distressed expression, then we were out of the clearing.
    I couldn’t open up the horse for a full gallop because it was dark, we were in the forest, and there was no clear path. But at least it wasn’t a particularly dense forest, and I was able to maneuver Clash through it quickly. I heard the sounds of pursuit behind me, but Clash had four legs to their two, and it was just fast enough to stay ahead of them. Less than a minute later we made it to the main road, and that was when all the chasing in the world was reduced to irrelevancy. They shouted from behind, and I heard a gun or two go off in what amounted to little more than futile gestures. Clash had seized his freedom with all four hooves. Well, not actually seized per se since he had no opposable thumbs, but he clasped it firmly in . . .
    Never mind. Let’s just say that Clash was happy to have a chance to be unrestrained.
    He literally hit the ground running, his hooves chewing up the dirt, the road hurtling past.
    I snapped the reins, urging him on, and he was all too happy to comply. The shouts of the soldiers faded into the distance as Clash pounded down the road although I was happy to hear the words, “Which way did he go?” floating behind me. Anything that added to the difficulty of their following us was fine with me. There was no other horse back at the encampment that had a fraction of Clash’s energy and power.
    I also knew how the soldiers’ minds worked. It wasn’t as if I had shot any of them or in some substantive way had done