“I’ve chosen the rockiest ridges to jump our horses over. I can’t imagine their mounts will stay shod long. Your horse has already lost a shoe. If I’m any judge, half their animals are lame already.”

Iome stared at Gaborn in fascination. She hadn’t noticed that her mount had lost a shoe, but now stared down into the water, saw that her mount favored its left front hoof.

“You have a devious mind, even for an Orden,” she told Gaborn. She meant it as a compliment, but feared it came out sounding like an insult.

He seemed to take no offense. “Battles such as ours are seldom won with arms,” he said. “They’re won on a broken hoof or a rider’s fall.” He looked down at his warhammer, resting across the pommel of his saddle like a rider’s crop. Then added huskily, “If our pursuers catch us, I’ll turn to fight, try to let you escape. But I tell you, I don’t have either the weapons or the endowments to beat Raj Ahten’s men.”

She understood. She desperately wanted to change the subject. “Where are you heading?”

“Heading?” he asked. “To Boar’s Ford, then to Longmot.”

She studied his eyes, half-hidden beneath his overlarge helm, to see if he lied or was merely mad. “Boar’s Ford is southeast. You’ve been heading northwest most of the past two hours.”

“I have?” he asked, startled.

“You have,” she said. “I thought perhaps you were trying to deceive even Borenson: Are you afraid to take us to Longmot? Are you trying to protect me from your father?”

Iome felt frightened. She was suspicious of Borenson, had not trusted the way he looked at her. He’d wanted to kill her, felt it was his duty. She feared he would attack her Dedicates, though Gaborn did not seem to worry about it. And when Borenson had said that he needed to watch Raj Ahten’s troops, Iome had felt obligated to accept his explanation. Still, a worm of doubt burrowed in her skull.

“Protect you from my father?” Gaborn asked, sounding only half-surprised at the accusation. “No.”

Iome did not know how to phrase her next question, but she spoke softly. “He will want us dead. He will see it as a necessity. He’ll kill my father, and if he can’t kill the woman that serves as my vector to Raj Ahten, he will want to kill me. Is that why you turn away from the path south?”

She wondered if he so feared that road south, that without thought, without even knowing, he turned from it. Certainly, if King Orden felt it necessary to kill Sylvarresta, Gaborn would not dissuade him. The Prince would not be able to save her.

“No,” he said quite honestly, frowning, perplexed. Then he sat up straight, said, “Do you hear that?”