The quiet of the night was interrupted by the frantic gallop of the horse. The mount was dashing through the forest at full speed, digging its hooves into the dirt of the road and kicking up stones and dust in its wake. Alaric spurred and cheered him on, urging him to run as fast as he could. Branches flew past him, and the wind lifted his cloak like the wings of a raven wanting to take flight.
Though the night was clear, under the light of The Ladies, everything around him was just a dark, blurred haze. The icy wind forced him to squint, and he was beginning to question whether he had taken the right turn. He glanced back to see where his companions were. About fifty yards behind, Wart followed, riding his swift white mare. Even further back, almost twice the distance, he spotted the figure of Crab. His horse was big and strong, like a destrier, but also slower, losing ground. The chase was dragging on too long, but finally, as he zigzagged through the trees, he caught sight of the river’s reflections, heading towards the wooden structure that could be glimpsed through the foliage.
He leaped into the barge, almost dismounting on the move. By the time Wart's horse arrived, he was already turning the winch, trying to get away from the shore. Crab’s mount had to make a longer jump to cover the distance, coming within a hair's breadth of going out under the momentum.
"Wart, cover us!" Alaric shouted to the boy, while turning the mechanism as fast as his exhausted arms allowed.
The young man quickly pulled a flask from his bag and poured its oily contents into the river. Immediately, the water began to bubble, and a dense mist started to rise between them and the bank. They could hear their pursuers' horses slipping down the slope and the soldiers dismounting. Suddenly, a dart whizzed past Alaric's ear, embedding itself in the railing.
"Get down! They’re shooting blindly, but they’re shooting, the bastards!" he yelled to his companions as a volley of darts emerged from the mist, aimed directly at them.
"Damn, what went wrong?" groaned Wart, his adolescent voice breaking, as some projectiles embedded themselves in the deck with dull thuds.
"No idea, kid," responded Crab with his rough, booming voice, contrasting with the boy’s. "There were supposed to be only three or four guards at the castle, not a whole damn garrison! By the devils, we almost didn't make it. That Count has more guards than the King," he continued, taking over the capstan from Alaric.
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Alaric sat down, his heart still pounding like a drum sounding an alarm. He watched the burly man turn the handle at high speed. He was so strong he managed with only his right arm. He had no other choice either, as the iron pincer he had instead of a left hand was not much help in this situation.
They heard the crack of crossbows again, while the bolts tore through the mist once more. But they all hit the water, with no accuracy at all. He smiled confidently. They were already too far, and the mist kept spreading along the shore. The alchemist hadn't lied. A thick, long-lasting cloud from just one flask. He usually didn’t trust sellers who promised miracles by weight, but this time he had to admit it was the best three silver royals he had spent in a long time.
Crab kept cranking the handle, and with each turn, the barge moved a little further away, guided by the thick ropes crossing the river from side to side. Alaric allowed himself to finally relax a bit and reflect on everything that had happened at the castle. It had turned out to be relatively easy to access the Count's quarters and open the reliquary where the medallion was, just as they had told him. But inexplicably, the guards had started appearing from everywhere. They had managed to escape hastily, without even being able to add a few more valuable items to their loot.
"Toothpick..."
His thoughts were interrupted by the faint moan behind him. He turned to check if Wart was alright. The boy was breathing rapidly, sitting against the railing. He was clutching his leg, his face contorted in fear. A tuft of feathers protruded from his thigh, and drops of blood were starting to stain the deck. Bad luck, the only dart that made it had hit him. He jumped to his side and took off his belt to make a tourniquet.
"Calm down, kid. It doesn't look serious. Let me see. Well, well... What bad luck, huh?" he said with a forced smile, trying to give him courage.
Wart didn’t smile.
"Come on, Warty, that's nothing! At least they didn’t hit your third leg!" said Crab, trying to cheer him up, with his sawmill-rough voice. It didn’t seem to work either.
On the shore, they heard the guards cursing and mounting up again, galloping away.
"See? They can’t do anything now. The nearest bridge must be at least a league away. By the time they get there, we’ll be far from here," Alaric said, trying to comfort the boy while tightening the belt around his leg. "Don't worry about this, it's less than it seems. It just grazed you and didn’t hit the bone. We'll fix you up on the shore. You were really lucky!"
"Lucky?" the boy managed to say, with a half-smile. "If this is the fortune I get, I’m in trouble."
The three laughed, and then remained silent for the rest of the journey, alert to any noise. But the only sounds they heard were the gentle flow of the water, the heavy breathing of the horses, and the metallic clanking of the ratchet.