Free Lark Rising (Guardians of Tarnec) by Sandra Waugh Page B

or no, the girl has trespassed; she must be done away with here. Now.” Brahnt was adamant. “If you will not do this, Gharain, then I will in your place. The horse will not be harmed. I will not miss.”
    I had no time to react. There was shuffling of footsteps, nearer to me suddenly, and the rasp of metal sliding from leather. And just as suddenly Rune neighed harshly. A clatter of hooves sounded by my head.
    Wilh said, “Put your sword away, Brahnt!”
    “What is this?” Brahnt swore under his breath. “The elusive one—guarding like a dog!” I did not hear him resheathe his weapon. I dared not breathe, biting the inside of my lip to hold steady.
    “Like it or no, Brahnt, there is reason in this,” answered Wilh. “If the steed has indeed chosen her.”
    “
Chosen
is but a word. Our
laws
are to safeguard these horses,” Brahnt stressed. “And leave no trespassers to tell tales.”
    Gharain made a hard sound, but Wilh exclaimed with frustration, “But it is the
white
steed. And this but a single girl!”
    There was a terrible pause at that, as if a single girl could do much harm. Wilh offered instead, “If we are uncertain, let’s unleash her wrists and leave her pointed toward Tyre.”
    “And if she brings the dark city dwellers back?” Brahnt demanded. “If she shows them the way? Or what if the horsefollows her? Would you have him appear in Tyre? Never mind his fate there; consider the poachers who would soon invade our hills to steal them all.”
    The voices stopped. My blood went to ice. It took no special gift to know what they were thinking: put out her eyes, and she cannot find her way back.
    “Then there are only ugly choices.” Wilh’s words sank like stone.
    Silence followed until Gharain said hollowly, “I should have done the deed. I have brought distress upon us again.” His voice was turned to me. “I am sorry.” Kind words that were cold.
    But it was Brahnt who swore again and walked away. “No. We are done. I have no stomach for this anymore. I understand you, Gharain. The horse, a girl. It makes us no better than Troths.”
    “So? Cut her loose and, what, blind her? You have stomach for that?” Reprieves were fleeting. I swallowed back a whimper, held my breath—
    “Nay, Wilh, that is neither my aim. She cannot leave.”
    Not leave! But I had to leave; being spared was not enough. Even now there was a new scent in the air; my head shifted ever so slightly, breathing it in. Dawn was fast approaching, bringing worry of time wasted. One night was already lost. I needed to find my way back to Bren Clearing quickly, and to break free was daunting at best. The binds alone would take hours to sever, and they had horses, and swords—
    “She is awake,” Wilh said suddenly.
    In a flurry of sounds, hands reached and grasped my shoulders, my waist. I was pulled to sit upright, my back pushed against hard granite, surrounded by the men, who leaned close.
    “You!” Brahnt’s voice was purposefully harsh. “What have you listened to? What have you witnessed?”
    “Nothing!” I gasped, spitting back a piece of hood that fell against my mouth. “I—”
    Gharain interrupted from farther back. “You were spied on the peak, watching.”
    Fingers tightened on my shoulders. Wilh and Brahnt were closer to me now, leaning in. I smelled horse and leather and the scent of the Earth’s riches borne on the wind. I felt their energies, pulsing through fingertips, through breath. It was strong energy, two at once, yet unlike the shock I was used to from strangers. But I sensed a history that did shock, a violent conflict. My breathing quickened.
    “Tell us what you saw,” Brahnt demanded.
    “I did not see you!” I cried out, tensing. Images from their touch were in my head now: a flock of ravens shrieking across a stark sky, smoke filtering through trees and a sudden rush of bodies pounding by, innocent people caught in a horrific battle. Their faces crammed against my own, eye to eye,