A Flight of Ravens by John Conroe (thriller books to read TXT) 📗

“No.  This one’s more precious than gold,” I said.  “Sergeant, what’s your name?” I asked as I mounted the gelding.

“Quint.  Sergeant Quint, sir,” she replied.

“My thanks,” I said. “Let’s go.”  When I looked, Jella had already set the white mare into motion.  I wasn’t even fully seated on my second borrowed horse, but that was pretty much her style.  My constabulary horse didn’t need any encouragement to race after her, almost leaving me behind until I got my feet in the stirrups and leaned forward.

Of course, she was right: Time was precious in this chase.  The river took several bends back and forth before it headed straight southeast.  There was a bridge downstream we could make and a shallow water ford that in low rain periods required most boats to portage around it farther down the road.  This time of year, the type of cargo canoe that had rescued Slinch would likely be able to get through the ford, but they would have slow going and maybe even have to pole their way through it.

After that, the river narrowed, picked up speed, and had dozens of crossings and bridges where Slinch could have allies waiting.

We were galloping all out but Jella glanced back at me, one brow raised.  She doesn’t love riding, but like anything athletic, she excels at it.  Her expression was easy to read.  Which of the two to try for: the bridge or the ford.

I tried to reach out with my Talent, but I got nothing.  Not unexpected.  My heart was racing and I was almost seeing red with the rage of Slinch’s betrayals.  That and the fact that he was on a boat on a river.  Moving water is very disruptive to many Talents, mine included.  I have no idea why but had always had problems Finding on or around creeks, streams, and rivers.

It would all come down to just a guess.  An educated guess.  Ahead of us, a fork appeared in the road leading out of Haven.  Left for the bridge, right to the river ford.  The horses ate up the distance to the split in the road, my mind racing to move as fast as their feet.  Jella looked back, her expression now clearly one of impatience.  I made my decision.  I pointed out my choice.

She didn’t question or pause, just turned back and twitched her horse toward the right fork.  The bridge was closest and perhaps we could catch them there, but our track to the ford was fairly straight, while the canoe would be following the river’s twists and turns.  Plus, the river current slowed right down at the ford, giving us even more time.

However, it was, in my opinion, the best place to have waiting allies because the road on the other side travelled for only a dozen t-spans before it ran right into the intersection of three well-used roads, opening up multiple possibilities for escape.  Tactically, it would be much better for Jella and me to take Neil and three boatmen by themselves than to face an unknown number of additional fighters. But I couldn’t be certain of catching Neil at the bridge and my gut said to go with the ford.

Jella took the right lane and leaned into the mare’s excellent gait.  I fell back a bit as my city-owned horse was clearly unused to all-out racing. But the gelding didn’t like being left behind either and I felt him push harder.  The spans raced by as we sped past a few travelers on the road, most of who stepped or jumped out of our way.

Ten of the longest minutes of my life had ticked by before the road turned back toward the river, meaning that the ford was approaching rapidly.

The sounds of running water grew louder and louder and then we came around a final bend and it was right in front of us.  A wide, slow-moving section of river with a road on the other side.  Four horses and two men holding their reins waited on the other side, and they reacted as soon as they saw us.  One was short and dark-haired, the other tall and lean, with pale blond hair and icy blue eyes that I recognized immediately—Carter Toothaker, the king’s rook.

Chapter 38

In the same moment that I recognized the king’s assassin, I heard a yell from upstream.  A glance that way revealed the big canoe was only fifty spans away.  Turning back toward Toothaker, I instantly twisted my torso, leaning back as his bolt shot past me.  He raised his bolter again, but it was his turn to dodge as a white arrow shot through the space his head had just occupied, slamming into the arm of the man behind him.

I triggered my own bolter twice rapidly as I kept my horse moving down and into the shallow river.

Without hesitation, Toothaker dropped his bolter and grabbed the wounded man next to him, throwing the poor bastard forward into the path of my bolts.  The hapless lackey took one in his thigh, the other disappearing into the snow on the river’s edge.  The four waiting horses whinnied and screamed in fear, rearing up before turning and bolting for the road behind them.  Toothaker came right at me, charging into the river, his arm cocked back with a throwing knife held by its point, feet splashing water in every direction.  I threw my empty bolter backward behind me and went for my second one even as he made his throw.  The knife glittered as it spun end over end and despite my best efforts to shift and hide myself, I felt a sudden, searing pain in my right thigh.

An arrow from upriver clattered off the river rocks by my horse’s feet.  I glanced upstream in time to see the canoe archer take an arrow from Jella’s bow through his neck.  He fell overboard as Slinch and his allies tried to duck down below the gunwales.

My