Gray clouds pushed by overhead, dropping occasional bouts of rain as Eldred spied down on the castle and the adjacent city of Boar’s Tusk from where he sat on a nearby hill. He frowned as his father’s stronghold briefly disappeared behind a veil of mist. The castle was the nearest thing he had left to a home. He would have liked to join his parents down in the keep, he thought as he wiped a spatter of raindrops off his forehead—nice to be warm, nice to be fed. But he knew if he wandered down to the gate, the guards would kill him. It was a certainty. Not for cause, not from malice—they just couldn’t help themselves.

The incident at Buxton had made it all clear. The town was the first civilized place he had visited upon returning from the north from the ill-fated expedition to kill the Dragon of Turicum. Oh, the dragon had died along with everyone but Eldred, Lord Kenelm and the vile Lord Ferris. But though he had lived, he had changed. He had taken physical damage—his right cheek was plastered with pallid dead-looking skin, his left hand scarred and ugly. He hated this, but his other problem was of greater concern and greater danger. He had sought the Bond, the mystical link between the invincible Deiran warriors. He had only found the noise, noise which Lord Kenelm had told him had grown more irritating each day they had traveled south through the Eryx mountains.

In Buxton, he learned just how insufferable the noise had become for his fellow citizens. The Deiran warriors in the town had barely waited a minute before setting on him, chasing him into the hills and capturing his pack horse. He had no doubt they would have murdered him on the spot if his mount, Hobbie, hadn’t proved himself the faster horse. He reached up and poked his finger through a hole in the back of his leather jacket where a veruta thrown by one of the enraged warriors had caught him in the shoulder. The spear had only caused him minor injury, but the fine blue and gray coat Sammanus had given him was punctured beyond repair.

What if I’m also beyond repair? thought Eldred glumly. But he remained sitting, watching the castle, watching and waiting until finally she appeared riding out of the gate with her escort. “Five blessed days,” he grunted, rising to his feet and beckoning Hobbie. Mother used to go riding everyday, or so her letters had said. Those had often been the only words he had received from her during his childhood at the Academy. She had been distant then; now she was nearly unreachable.

Eldred made a quick descent down an overgrown game trail to the location he had scouted along the bank of the River Clyde. He glanced to his right at a long stand of trees, a mile in length; trails ran on both sides. How well would they think, he wondered. He counted on them being mindless with rage. In the worst case, he could just flee. But then the opportunity would be lost. He idly scratched Hobbie’s neck. “Just don’t lose your footing.” That would be the end of both of them.

As he waited, he reached into a saddle bag and pulled out a rumpled green riding hat with purple cloud sparrow feathers—supposedly the finest sort of Maldavian riding hat. She should recognize that even if she didn’t recognize him—his face. She had given him the hat on a better day, the day four years ago on his fourteenth birthday when he had passed the Maldavian vision trials.

They were finally coming into view on the left with his mother tucked safely in the midst of her five escorts. Eldred watched them ride, peeking out between two leafy bushes. Of the men, he only recognized Pounder, his favorite of his father’s podmen. Pounder rode at the front, wearing his normal genial face. Eldred felt his shoulders growing tense as he waited for Pounder’s expression to change. 

At two hundred yards, Pounder squinted and started to look around. At one hundred yards, he grimaced; a definite grimace. The question flashed in Eldred’s mind. How close should he let them get? Hobbie was amazingly fast, but he would be starting from rest. “Be ready, friend,” whispered Eldred. The men looked angrier with every stride.

At fifty yards, Eldred nudged Hobbie and shot out in front of the men waving the hat over his head. “It’s me, Mother. Wait here!” he shouted. Hobbie turned right, and the race was on. The men closed the distance quickly as Hobbie started his sprint on the slick wet grass. Too close, too close, the thought rattled in Eldred’s mind. Pounder was only twenty feet back and screaming with rage. Two of the men had their swords raised, and one of the others threw his veruta, which narrowly missed Hobbie’s rear. But the plan was working. The men were in hard pursuit and Ghyslaine had pulled her horse up, watching the chase with a befuddled expression.

Eldred chose the trail to the right of the trees and slowed Hobbie, lest he leave his pursuers too far behind, but he was still charging fast. Pounder chased, shouting obscenities. Two men followed close behind him, then another came on in frenzied haste. Eldred’s stomach dropped as the last man went left. Why did he do that? Eldred urged Hobbie on. He could just ride off. He probably should. He wasn’t even sure she recognized him. She hadn’t called out or waved.

“I’ll cut your face off!” shouted Pounder.

“Kill him!” called one of the others.

“Make him bleed!” cried a man waving his sword.

Eldred hunched over Hobbie as the trees flew by, only a minute from the turn. He had to choose. Would it be straight on to safety, or turn left and face a crazed warrior on the other side of the trees. Would she even still be there? He could die for nothing. Turn left or straight on—he could be dead in three minutes. Turn left or straight on. Eldred exhaled a shuddering breath. He needed it. He had to have it. He urged Hobbie left; the horse’s hooves slid on the grass, but he kept his footing. Then he was away, letting Hobbie show his speed as he left the screaming riders in the distance.

Eldred spotted the man almost at once, coming to rest on his horse five hundred yards away. The man looked up with anger and confusion dancing across his face. He was out of range of the noise and recovering, but that would change in a moment, change for the worse. Eldred’s heart began to thump. Pounder and his crew of maniacs had just made the turn. Eldred was between them now. It all came down to Hobbie.

Hobbie sped towards the man, aiming to pass him on the left, behind his horse. At first, he just stared at Eldred and his pursuers with his mouth open. But then, as the noise filled him, his eyes changed and his lips curled in a snarl. He turned the horse towards Eldred and kicked it hard. The man was coming for Eldred.

Eldred emitted a low groan. He wanted to draw his own sword, to throw his veruta, but the man was senseless because of Eldred’s mental noise. To kill him seemed wrong. And the plan, it wouldn’t work if this man died. He was sure of that. He urged Hobbie further left, looking for a sliver of room along the tree line. There might be enough. There had to be.

“You Motherless dog!” yelled the man as he closed.

Eldred dodged the low hanging boughs as best he could, knocking one acorn laden branch up over his head. Hobbie was vaulting over the bushes and somehow increasing his pace.

The man shot towards Eldred, brandishing his sword. Eldred’s stomach twisted into a knot. The man was there, right there, starting the fatal swing at Eldred’s neck. Eldred lurched forward in the saddle, and then the man was gone, both horse and man crashing into the small trees that marked the edge of the stand.

Eldred patted the back of his neck, feeling for blood, but he had only caught the wind of the man’s sword, not the steel.

“Curse you! I’ll gut you!” shouted the man.

Pounder shouted in the distance as well, but Eldred could not make out the words.

They were all behind him now. Soon they would be out of the noise. What would they do then? In any case, their horses were spent and would never catch him. Eldred laid his hand on Hobbie’s neck, and the great horse slowed a step. “You did it,” said Eldred.

Now it was up to her. He spied her as he came around the final trees. She was still seated on her horse. Eldred recognized her mount; it was Adelet. Good—one of the younger horses she favored. Some of Mother’s mounts were long in tooth and lacked speed.

Eldred waved the feathered hat again, gesturing back towards the castle. “Ride, ride, Mother. We need to talk, and they are coming.”

She cringed, looking past him at the distant pursuers.

“Mother, it’s me. It’s Eldred! Ride with me so we can talk!” shouted Eldred.

She looked back at him, and her blessed eyes changed. She recognized him, but she still looked frightened.

He was closing in, only fifty yards now, slowing lest he just fly past her. “Please, Mother. Ghyslaine! This is our only chance to talk.”

She set her chin and turned Adelet, who started off in a canter. Hobbie came alongside on her right.

“What are you doing?” demanded Ghyslaine.

Eldred looked back. His pursuers were out of the noise, but still chasing. “Only what’s necessary, Mother. Only what’s necessary.”

Ghyslaine shifted in her saddle, craning to see the right side of his face. “What happened to you?”

Eldred sighed and shook his head. “No time for that; barely time for anything.”

A tear formed in the corner of her eye. “I do not understand.”

“I’m cursed, Mother. Cursed to all Deiran warriors who have the Bond. I have what Lord

Kenelm called the noise. It makes warriors go crazy, mad with fury. You just saw its effect. They would have butchered me if they had caught me.”

“How did this happen?”

Eldred crinkled up his face. “I don’t rightly know. This is—it’s my version of the Bond, I think. That’s what they said anyway. It came about—it happened when I took some of their medicine.”

Ghyslaine frowned. “Who are you talking about?”

Eldred groaned inwardly, trying to avoid that name. “The citizens of Turicum.”

Ghyslaine’s eyes went wide. “You mean the Wretcheds? They did this to you?”

“They’re not”—Eldred gave his head a small shake—”really wretched. They call themselves the Sun People.”

Her face grew red. “They must pay for this. This cannot go unanswered. I will tell your father—”

“It’s not important,” interrupted Eldred. “They only did what they had to do. I was injured, near death. But now, I do need something from you.” He trailed off, looking ahead. They were coming up on the castle.

“What is it you need, son?”

Eldred took a breath, phasing his request in his mind. “I’ll come back tonight, to the castle gate at nightfall. You must have Father there and convince him to come out to meet me by himself. I’ll be out from the wall; you’ve seen I can’t get close. He must come meet me so I can speak to him. He must come alone.”

Ghyslaine looked back at her escort, following in ragged pursuit. “Tell me,” she said with a note of urgency. “Just tell me now. What is it you need to know from him?”

Eldred pointed ahead. “The castle approaches, Mother. If I get too close, they’ll come buzzing out like a swarm of bees. Just do as I ask. It may be the last thing I ever ask of you.”

“No, do not say that.” She leaned out to put her hand on his side.

“I’ll be there tonight, Mother. Make sure Father does as I ask. And have them keep the area clear. If there are any warriors out, they’ll kill me.”

Her tears were running freely now. “How has it come to this?”

Eldred shook his head and pulled up Hobbie, letting Ghyslaine ride ahead. He did not like upsetting her, but it was necessary. He turned on a side road off to the left headed into the forest. Even if Pounder and his men followed, they could not catch him. He had passed the message. He was that much closer to his goal.