Silver May Tarnish Read Free Page A

hill ponies, sure of foot and slow to panic.
    Merrion returned to share Winter with us at Erondale. The Year of the Moss Wife ended. And the time of the third sorrow came upon us. Rishdale lay near to our own small dale. The keep lord was a grim man, impatient and hard. He had wed again recently and the gossip was that his new wife was only a girl, spoiled and lazy, and they did not do well together.
    But because both dales were smaller than many, the invaders split their forces. One machine of the kind the invaders used came to each; the one that would attack our dale appeared towards dusk as we were that much further from Rishdale. I was in the keep stables with Anla and Berond talking of my new pony. He was only five and of good blood. I had named him Drustan also, after my older mount, now relegated to bearing game when we hunted. Suddenly the keep shuddered, and I heard cries of alarm all about me. I could hear stones fall, as the shuddering came again. My father came running.
    â€œThere is no hope. The machine they have will batter down the walls and have us out as a sea-dog takes a hermit crab from its shell. Berond, gather the guard. We will use
the old escape tunnel. Let Harkon and one of his choosing go first. Then the women. The guard last.”
    Berond looked grave. “The tunnel is too small to let warhorses pass.”
    â€œI know. Take ponies. Let the larger horses flee through the postern gate once most of my people are gone. The beasts are valuable and may distract the invaders if they seek to capture them. It is close to dusk. If we have an hour or two we may escape notice in the hills and win safe to Paltendale.”
    Up the stairs I could hear old Talsa organizing the women. I wondered what had become of the village. Had Ayneta warned them? Faint cries came from outside the keep walls. I would be able to see from my mother’s tower room.
    I slipped away and climbed the stairs. The tower was to one side, while it was at the main gates the invaders labored to break through. In the last light I could see below. Great swathes of the land were blackened, the village burned. Directly below me a knot of the invaders swirled about a pale figure upon the ground. Flames shot up and I saw her face: Lisia, the weaver’s daughter, two years older than me and pretty. At first I did not understand what it was the invaders did. Then I heard her screams. I staggered back from the window. Blackness swirled around me as my father came running, bow in hand.
    â€œCome on, boy. We must hurry. They’ll be through the gate in a moment more.” I could only point. He looked, swore bitterly, snatched out an arrow and shot once. “The best I can do for the poor lass.” I had a final glimpse of the invaders turning away in anger. Behind them a small white body lay still, the arrow shaft jutting from her breast.
    Much of that night is still a blur to me. The invaders did not lose us as we had hoped. They had strange lights which shone out in the dark. With these they followed. My father dropped back with the guard time and time again to hold the enemy back. But always they come on our trail again. Each time they did so more of those I had known all my
life fell, and the bodies had to be left behind. At some time during the running battle my father fell. Merrion, trying to save him, died also. So beset were we that their bodies were left behind as they lay. An hour, two, past moonhigh, then towards dawn, Anla died in the next attack and we rode on, praying to lose those who followed like winter-starved wolves.
    They found us again. We were a small band now: only Talsa, Harkon of the ax, Berond, and myself. Most of us were mounted on work ponies, though the beast I bestrode was my new Drustan. I knew not what had happened to some few of those who had fled with us. Of many I knew all too well. I had seen them die: my family, guards who had been my friends, maids who had served my mother. I blinked back