The Stonegate Sword

Chapter 10: House of Healing

They had just passed a spur of black timber on the second side trail south of the river when Deborah, who had been riding slightly ahead, suddenly reined to a stop. She slumped over, holding her stomach. Don reined close to her side and saw that she was weeping.

She faced him, eyes blinking back tears. Her lower lip was white where she was biting it. She looked unsteady, so he braced his hand against her shoulder. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Donald," she whispered. "I'm sorry, but I can't go on like this. I'll take shelter in the woods somewhere and you can go on alone. I'm slowing you too much. . . ."

"No," answered Don. "Don't be silly. I see no one following, and we are nearly beyond your dread lady's domain. Stop now, and she will likely have you. You must go on!"

"It hurts too much," she cried, holding her side.

Don stepped down and helped her off her sorrel mount. The horses seemed to be glad for a rest. She stood, bent over, holding her side. "Where does it hurt?" he asked. "Your side?"

She nodded, in obvious pain. Don wiped his forehead with the back of his glove, as he stood helpless. Perhaps she had a stitch in her side, or some kind of cramps. She seemed unable to talk. He took his leather bottle and shook it. It sloshed, so he untied and unstoppered it and offered her a drink. She accepted a swallow, but still seemed unable to stand erect. 

Minutes passed. He spread his cloak on the frozen skiff of snow, and she sat down, with a whispered thanks. Don scanned their trail. Nothing seemed to be moving, but just as he started to look away, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. On a distant ridge, perhaps three miles away, several dots were moving. There were three at least, maybe four or five. 

Riders, of course. Perhaps not connected with them at all. 

Perhaps!

Don tried to think. Deborah was in pain and he did not know what was wrong. It was apparently not her stomach, since she could drink. Darkness was still a long time away. He could not defeat them all, sword against sword. But the trail just ahead went within 40 feet of a thicket of young pines, which would give good cover. Perhaps his bow could even the odds.

"Deborah," he said. "Listen carefully. Red is still in good condition. I know you are in pain, but I think it is a stitch in your side, which is not going to be fatal, even though it hurts."

"Don," she whispered, "It feels like knives."

"Listen. I see some riders coming," he said, insistently. "Get back on your horse. You are small and have a light saddle. If you can ride as fast as Red can run, no armored man can catch you."

"No," she said, firmly, as she stood up, her face scanning behind them. "I won't leave you."

"Very well," urged Don, taking her hand. "But you must get on your horse."

He pushed her up, and gave her the reins. She sat with a hunch in her back, face as pale as sun-dried linen. He threw his cloak around his shoulders and mounted. The riders were now out of 

sight in a depression to their rear. This was their chance. He spurred Snap to a trot, leading them past the thicket, then doubled back and rode back above the trees where they would be concealed from the road. The snow was deeper here, but was powdery. He dismounted, drew his knife and lopped off a pine bough. Running quickly, he swept away the traces of their tracks where they doubled back. He then strung his bow, and slung the quiver over his shoulder. He gave Snap's reins to Deborah, who was still in the saddle.

"Watch from here," he ordered. "If I fall, you ride for your life. Understand?"

He smiled as she nodded. Then he moved away from her, wading the knee-deep snow, working his way between the low-growing trees. He finally found a hiding place within short bowshot from the road, and waited.