The scout, checking position on the cohort, had reined in; Arcolin signaled her on. “Watch the horse’s ears,” he told Burek. Another five strides, and the horse lifted its head, ears pricked.

“It’s seen something,” Burek said.

“Right,” Arcolin said. The scout loosened her sword and rode on. Two more strides, and four crows lifted from the thicket, cawing. The scout glanced back. Arcolin signaled again; she turned her horse a little away and held position.

“One hand to flank,” he said quietly to Stammel. “Two hands with me. We want him alive, if we can.” To Burek, he said, “Come on—we’ll try to cut him off.” He drew his sword and legged his horse to a hand gallop. Burek caught up with him; they passed the ruin and thicket. Beyond, an ungrazed field had grown up in tall grass and patches of scrub. Arcolin looked to the left—no sign anyone had crossed yet.

“He’s probably got a crossbow,” Arcolin said. “And he’ll probably shoot at us. But if we make him run, he won’t be very accurate.”

“There,” Burek said, pointing to the right. Arcolin, too, saw grass move against the breeze.

“Good eye,” Arcolin said. He legged his horse into a gallop, trusting Burek to follow. The movement ahead quickened. Arcolin yelled; his horse flattened out, crashing through the tall grass and weeds for a point ahead of the movement. He could hear Burek behind him. The grass stilled—the man was getting ready to shoot. Arcolin shifted his weight; his horse threw a flying change, veering sideways, then another and then he saw the man, struggling to span his bow again. One jump, and Arcolin’s horse was there, skidding to a halt; Arcolin swung his sword, knocking the crossbow from the man’s hand. Burek pulled to a halt on the man’s other side, as the man snatched a short curved blade and swung at Arcolin’s horse.

Burek rode closer, tried to hit the man with the flat of his blade, but the man whirled, and Burek’s horse took a cut on the chest, and reared. One hoof caught the man’s arm; Arcolin swung his cloak over the man’s head as he staggered, blinding him, then leaned over and hit him as Burek had planned. The man dropped. Burek was off his horse and leapt onto the man’s back and pulled his arms back before he could struggle. Arcolin looked back. His tensquad was making its noisy way through the weeds now, halfway to them. He waved to the scout, calling her in, and saw her pass the signal to the hand of men headed for the ruin. Burek’s horse stood quietly, for a wonder, head drooping. Had the blade been poisoned?

He dismounted and walked over to the horse. A bad gash, gaping open, but not life threatening in itself. He took the reins. “Burek, that blade may be poisoned. When the tensquad gets here, try to keep our prisoner from cutting himself on it.”

“Is my horse all right?” Burek asked.