Raj Ahten licked his lips. Jureem saw that Feykaald couldn’t even count. Only four people were heading over the trail. His master had lost two scouts to Gaborn already, along with war dogs, giants, a pyromancer—and now an Invincible. Prince Orden looked to be not much more than a boy, but Jureem began to wonder if he had secretly taken a great number of endowments.

Raj Ahten’s men had misjudged King Orden’s whelp far too often. From the mounts he’d chosen, it appeared Gaborn would head into the woods, shun the highway.

But why? Because he wanted to lead Raj Ahten into a trap? Did the boy have soldiers hidden in the forest?

Or did he merely fear to travel by road? Raj Ahten had a few powerful force horses left in his retinue. Fine horses, bred for the plains and the desert, each with a lineage that went back a thousand years. Perhaps the lad knew his mounts could not outrun the Wolf Lord’s horses over even ground.

But Gaborn’s mountain hunters, running without armor, with their thick bones and strong hindquarters, would be almost impossible to catch in this terrain. Jureem suspected that Gaborn and Iome would know these woods far better than even the most informed spy.

Jureem drew a ragged breath, calculating how many men to send. Gaborn Val Orden would make a fine hostage, if the Wolf Lord found things at Longmot to be as he suspected.

Though the woods were silent, little more than an hour ago Jureem had heard Orden’s war horns blow in the Dunnwood.

In all likelihood, Gaborn had already gained the company of Orden’s soldiers, was surrounded by hundreds of guards. Yet . . . he could not just let Gaborn go. At the thought of Gaborn escaping, a rage burned in Jureem. Mindless, seething.

“We should send men to find the boy.” Jureem counseled. “Perhaps a hundred of our best scouts?”

Raj Ahten straightened his back. “No. Get twenty of my best Invincibles, and strip their horses of armor. I’ll also want twenty mastiffs to track the Prince.”

“As you wish, milord,” Jureem said, turning away, as if to shout the orders down to the army that marched below. But a thought hit him. “Which of your captains shall lead?”

“I’ll be the captain,” Raj Ahten, said. “Hunting the Prince should prove an interesting diversion.”

Jureem glanced at him sideways, raising a single dark brow. He bowed slightly, in acquiescence. “Do you think it wise, milord? Others could hunt him. Even I will come.” The thought of such a ride, of the pain his buttocks would have to endure, gave Jureem pause.

“Others might hunt him,” Raj Ahten said, “but none as tenaciously as I.”

24

HOPE FOR A RAGGED PEOPLE