Hooves pummeled the soil in relentless pursuit.

Mere yards away, a prince and a magi knelt in a narrow nook between crates and the wall of a farm. Listening, remaining silent in the dark. They barely breathed. The slightest mistake would give them away. 

If daylight came before they reached the mountains, they surely would be caught. It was impossible to hide when the patrols would be out and plentiful. But the darkness would grant them some cover, and the valley was vast – too vast for even a patrol on horse to cover in its entirety.

Faint clopping neared, unlucky in their search – thus far. The orange glow of a lantern drifted along the wall up above, but they remained in shadow.

"There is nobody along the road, Sir." A voice spoke, clear and certain.

"Of course not." Another voice responded, well-composed even though the tone was dismissive. "Search the fields. Look under every blade of grass if you must, we cannot let them escape. A fugitive magi could wreak havoc."

Sandhailer's hand rested on his Khinjar, his light-maker was not far off. The words were true. He was certain that whomever spoke so calm and unfazed, would not have done so if he was aware how close that havoc was. He would not be dragged back into that city – except as a charred corpse.

"Understood Sir." The guard responded, and the clopping of hooves began to move to their left. The orange glow drifted with it, towards the gap between the crates and the wall.

Thinking rapidly, Sandhailer shifted over Swordeater and unclasped his grey cloak. He spanned it between the corners of two crates. It meant both him and Swordeater were squeezed into the precarious nook. His head pushed against Swordeater’s shoulder, whilst Swordeater pulled up his legs so they would remain underneath the cloak – meaning he was pressed forcibly against him.

Not keen on the situation, he tried his best to remain still and not just push himself off. Swordeater seemed to recognise his dismay and kept his hands against the wooden crate to touch him as little as possible. He wasn’t sure how he could tell, or why he wouldn’t take advantage of this, knowing his preferences. He wasn’t in any position to resist, stuck holding up the cloak and hoping it was enough.

The flickering orange refracted against his cloak, the light glowing through the fabric. He remained completely still. Swordeater’s heavy heartbeats were present against his cheek as he kept his head down against the man's shoulder. They both held their breath. His gaze fell on the faint outline of the wood grain behind them, as his arms tired from keeping the cloak up.

The horse slowly moved past them. The light faded away. Only when he exhaled, did Swordeater dare let out a breath too. They remained still – and he kept his cloak up until the hooves were far away.

“Sorry.” Swordeater whispered. Sandhailer pressed his gloved hand against his mouth and shook his head, not aggressively, but stern enough. In doing so he dropped the cloak. The fresh nighttime air was a relief. He listened carefully for the second man that had been on the other side of the crates.

A soft clop and a jingle of stirrups told him he was still there. 

He had a plan. A stupid one, but one nonetheless. He laid a finger over his lips, signalling to Swordeater to remain quiet.

Slowly he stood up, doing his best not to make a sound. With one hand he touched the wind charm to activate it. Not enough to stir any tempests: it was only to rustle the leaves. Something to cover his footsteps.

Carefully he tip-toed his way out from behind the crates, leaving his cloak with Swordeater. He drew the light-maker. The rod was heavy in his hand, as if warning him of the power it held.

Slowly he stepped past the corner, and peeked at the officer. He saw the hind legs of the horse, and half of the man’s back. There was an opportunity to run, but undoubtedly he’d turn around at some point – and there were several hundred yards of field between them and the edge of the dense vegetation at the foot of the mountains.

Whatever he did, this way Swordeater would stand a chance. And if he truly was a prince in exile, then that meant there was some small possibility he could change this empire. More than he would ever have.

He gripped the light-maker and charged forward.

“Oi!” Surprised, the officer grabbed the reins and drew his blade. Before the man could turn, he plunged the prongs deep into the horse’s backside. A loud, panicked whinny reverberated between houses. A hoof pummeled his shoulder and tossed him backwards.

Wincing and pained, he crawled up to see the horse storm off into the darkness – its rider helplessly rebounding. 

Two hands grabbed him from behind, and he cried out in pain as his shoulder was twisted. Angrily he kicked and struggled.

“Run!” Swordeater shouted, and realising it was only him, he turned to bolt. Clinging tightly to his light-maker and shoulder at the same time, he sprinted after Swordeater. 

He did not look back. Not even when he heard frantic shouting and the stomping of hooves.

They hit the foliage. He stumbled through the dense brambles – the horses wouldn’t be able to follow there.

Swordeater pulled him up. Up into the red mountains, through labyrinthian pathways and crevasses. 

All the way to where they had hidden the sailer.