To the end of her life, the Lady Rohana Ardais never forgot that mad ride, fleeing from the walls of Shainsa; alert at any moment for some small sound behind them that would mean Jalak - or his dead body - had been found, and the hunt for them was up.

For the first hour it was very dark, and she rode blindly after the sound of hooves from the other horses, with only dim shadows ahead.  Then Kyrrdis rose, a brilliant half-circle above the horizon, so bright that Rohana knew it was not more than an hour or two ahead of the sun; and by its blue-green light she could make out the forms of the other horses and their riders.

They were traveling more slowly now.  Even the swift horses from the plains of Valeron could not keep up the pace of those first hours.  She wondered how Leeanne had found their road in the darkness; the Amazon's reputation as a tracker was evidently well-deserved.  She could see Jaelle, a huddled, dark small form, collapsed in sleep against Camilla, clinging drowsily to the saddle.  What did the child think of all this?

She was reared in the Dry Towns.  Perhaps, to her, all this is quite normal: murder, midnight raids, the stealing of women.  What if her loyalty is to Jalak?  After all, he is her father.

None of us has any idea what Jaelle is like...  We have thought only of Melora's wishes....

Melora is a telepath.  She must know her child's heart....

In the final hour before dawn they stopped to breathe the horses; Leeanne went to the top of a nearby hill to spy out any sign of pursuit.  Rima came and put some bread and dried meat into Rohana's hand, poured wine into the cup at her saddle-horn.

"Eat and drink while you can, Lady.  There won't be much time for breakfast if we are being pursued.  There are a few hiding holes between here and Carthon, and Kindra knows all of 'em, but mostly our safety lies in a good long start.  So you eat now."

Rohana chewed a mouthful obediently, although her mouth was dry, and the stuff tasted like stale parchment.  She thrust it into a pocket of the unfamiliar Amazon trousers; maybe later she could manage to swallow it.  She sipped at the wine, but it was too sour to drink, almost; she rinsed her mouth and spat it out again.

She led her horse slowly for several steps, hearing its deep, panting breaths slowly quiet to normal; rubbed its head absently, leaning against the warm, sweating body.  She thought, not for the first time since she had - undertaken this long journey, how fortunate it was that she was hardened to long riding, hunting with hawks in her distant mountain home.  If I were the kind of woman who did little more than sit over her embroidery-frames, I would be half dead of saddle-sores.  This made her think of Melora again (How weary she must be!) and she made her way through the Amazon crew: dismounting, slumped to rest, eating, talking in low tones.  She noted that Jaelle had been lifted down and was sleeping heavily, curled up on someone's cloak, and covered with another.  At least they seem to be looking after her well.  I do not suppose any of them know much about children.