“Rinda!”
Remus was screaming breathlessly as he ran, his feet tangling in the hunched roots of the desert grass. Again and again he nearly fell headlong.
“Rinda—Rinda! Ah!”
“Remus!”
Rinda’s cheeks had grown red and her chest was heaving; she clutched at her side, which was cramped with a painful stitch. But there was no way they could stop. Everywhere they turned, reaching hands extended to grab them, and the air was filled with rough shouts, cries of “seize them, catch them!” and the frightening echo of horses’ pounding hooves. The twins were powerless, fleeing like rabbits before a ravening pack of red wolves. Rinda’s proud heart was burning; as a legitimate royal successor to Parros' throne, running away filled her with shame. Pride, however, would not be enough to bring about a miracle and call down the wrath of the heavens upon her coarse pursuers.
“Ohh… Rinda, I can’t run anymore!”
“No, Remus! Run!”
“It’s hopeless! We’ll never get away!”
“Remus! What are you saying? You are to be king of Parros! We cannot give up now!”
The two screamed at each other at breathless intervals. As they ran, traumatic scenes replayed from the tragedy of the Crystal Palace: their parents and chief vassals slain by the same nemesis that hunted them now, the king and queen’s blood shed in the royal hall that had so long known peace and nobility. I won’t die. I won’t die. I won’t be killed by Mongaul. I will restore Parros—Parros!
At some point the twins had lost hold of each other’s hands. Remus had hurt his ankle in a fall, and little by little he was dropping behind his sister, his voice calling out to Rinda with increasing difficulty. But Rinda did not dare to turn and look behind her as she raced madly onward. She had passed through the grassy ground surrounding the oasis, and now was in soft sand where it was difficult to maintain her pace.
“Ahh, Guin! Guin, help me! Guin!”
Without realizing it, Rinda was calling out the leopard-man’s name as she ran. She had begun to stagger.
“Gome to us! Help me, Guin! Oh, Guin…” She had placed her last hope on the leopard-headed warrior—if help were to come, surely it would be from Guin, and no other.
Suddenly the girl heard her younger brother cry out sharply behind her. A moment later Remus shouted at the top of his voice. “Run, Rinda! Get away!” The young prince, who had been steadily losing ground, had finally lost his footing and been captured by the Mongauli.
“Remus!” Rinda screamed frantically, but still she couldn’t bring herself to turn around, and she kept staggering onward. Somewhere deep in her mind she knew that her best chance was to keep on running, that perhaps somehow she could still escape and come back later to rescue her brother with the aid of Guin. Guin. She focused on the image of the leopard-man. Guin would be able to help her. Under his aegis, she could expect any miracle to happen. Hadn’t he saved them from the burning ruin of Stafolos Keep? She had not realized just how much she needed that strangely shaped, mysterious figure. If Guin were here, he would swing his big sword with his big strong arm and lead a unified Sem army to shield her and her brother.
If only…
Rinda’s eyes grew hot with tears. But this was no time to succumb to emotion. If she could make it into the stony hills she felt she might escape. She must not think of the Sem or contemplate her younger brother’s fate—not now, when sorrow could destroy her. A rabbit pursued by the hounds of the god of death, she must flee at any cost. The voice of doubt that told her, You cannot run anymore, was suppressed now by the memory of the devastation behind her and her own burning will to live. But her body’s strength was failing; she tottered pitifully as she kept on, moving ever more slowly.
And then suddenly she realized that she could barely hear the shouts of pursuit behind her anymore. The smoke and flying sand of the battle, the screams and spraying blood of the Sem no longer surrounded her. It seemed that the red knights of Mongaul were no longer chasing after her. Strangely, the change didn’t ease her fears—to the contrary, it gave her a numbing sense of terror and confusion.
Then her feet slowed, and she staggered and finally stopped. Unconsciously she slowly lifted both hands and covered her mouth—and screamed. Or rather, she thought she did, but no sound came. Her sight grew dark with a vision of fear, and her last strength left her. She could only gaze with a hollow expression at the forbidding knights, clad in black, that appeared to rise up from the desert to block her way. Her knees bent slowly, and she toppled over on the sandy ground, both hands still covering her mouth.
Irrim’s contingent of black knights didn’t approach to pick up the exhausted girl who had collapsed before them. They held their positions, waiting unharmed in a great crescent for the main force of the Sem to arrive. Rinda felt as though a giant black wall blocked her way with ruthless intent. Then as she lay she glanced behind her and saw a single horseman approaching quietly, his charger’s hooves raising no dust from the sand. He was a red knight who had removed his helm to reveal his intent young face. For a moment she felt an insane hope grow in her heart.
“Istavan!” Rinda exclaimed without thinking—but even as she found her voice she realized that she was mistaken.
With his black hair, black eyes, long face, and dark complexion, it was easy to imagine that this man was the resourceful mercenary from Valachia and that he had slipped past the Mongauli pickets to come rescue her. There was a difference about this knight, however, and it was a difference that appealed to her: both dignity and youthful innocence showed on his elegant face. Especially in contrast with the wall of black knights in their shadowy armor, the lone red knight shone with a brightness that was almost magnificent.
“Of course…” Rinda muttered absently, her voice trailing away to nothing as her mind reeled on. Of course he would not come. Istavan could never save us now. She had worried about Istavan after the battle started, wondering whether he had joined in the fight or if he might have been captured while scouting. When she had realized that he would not return to rescue her and her brother, she had grown desperate; as the Gohrans closed in she had clutched at the hope that Guin would reappear. That hope too had apparently failed her.
The red knight slowly drew closer, riding his horse carefully through the soft sand, and halted in front of the princess. He reached his hand down to her. Rinda flinched away reflexively and gave him a glare full of withering animosity.
Astrias was perplexed. “You know that you cannot evade us any longer,” he said hesitantly, unsure of how to treat one who had both the dazzling dignity of a queen and the pitiful vulnerability of an unprotected orphan. “Come over here.”
“Do not touch me, Mongauli!” Rinda exploded. “I would rather bite off my tongue and die choking on my own blood than be taken by my foe!”
Astrias shook his head in puzzlement. His mind was working quickly, trying to decide what to do if she continued to defy him.
“Your brother was caught, and taken,” he told her, almost apologetically, and reached out again to take the girl by the arm.
Rinda shook off his hand.
“I will walk by myself.”
“That is better.”
Astrias felt a touch of relief as he watched Rinda stand up and brush the sand from her clothes and hands, but a moment later his unease returned.
“Ouch!”
Rinda winced as she took a step. In the frantic effort of her flight, she hadn’t noticed that she had sprained her ankle slightly with a misstep in the soft sand. Now she found that it was uncomfortable to put weight on it.
When Astrias realized her injury, he reached out timidly, as if to coax a stray mountain cat. “Come, ride on my horse,” he said.
“No. I have no wish to throw myself on my enemy’s mercy.”
“It is not mercy. The battle continues, and I must return to the battlefield. This is an order.”
After a moment’s hesitation Rinda submitted resentfully to the knight’s request, and Astrias put his prisoner, still bristling with hostility, in front of him on his horse and headed back toward the oasis. Rinda clenched her teeth, not wishing for her enemy to hear her softly crying, and held tightly to the horse’s mane. Astrias fought to maintain his composure; any who saw his face would have guessed he had taken on more than he could handle. He did not venture to speak again. Carefully the red knight made a wide detour around the Sem encampment, where the battle was still raging, and headed for Amnelis' guard.
Suddenly a tiny figure sped toward them from the outskirts of the oasis.
“Rinda!”
With a shrill, eager shout the furry shape leaped up towards the horse. Astrias' sword whipped out reflexively, but it was Rinda, not the tumbling Sem, who shrieked out in agony.
“Suni!”
Rinda tried desperately to jump from the horse, but Astrias' iron grip held her tight. Still she struggled wildly for several moments; then, when she realized she could not get loose, her horror subsided into a chill stillness. Slowly Rinda turned her head and stared very intently at Astrias' face, as though committing his features to memory.