The Lady at the River's Edge

38 - The Lost and the Returned

They rode as if the devil's hordes pursued them–which was close enough to the truth. The ground flew into a blur beneath Szog's pounding hooves, and in a blink they were well away from the mountains, crossing fields and dirt tracks that Erzsebet had barely marked from above. She tried her best to guide her mount over sure ground, to avoid farmer's fields while keeping far from the road and the settlements along it.

The pagan stallion thrived on these untamed pastures, his every step a triumph. They soared across the earth, and with each stride the world was sent spinning faster and faster beneath them. For a time she lost herself to the ride, her mind engulfed in the heat of exertion, her body galloping as one with her steed.

Through the tumult of their flight, she yet heard shouts from behind her, but only late did she recognize the voice to be Janos. Glancing over a shoulder, she saw the knight's mount had fallen far behind–as well-bred as the horse was, it could not keep pace with royalty. The very instant she saw this, without so much a twitch of the reins, her steed slowed to a gallop of a far more achievable pace. She could almost feel the lordly pride in this concession: celerity was their right, their very being. Such benevolence it was, to set it aside.

And yet when he at last caught up, Janos hardly seemed appreciative. He had none of the look of indulgence that Erzsebet felt; he did not revel as she did, finding no pleasure in this escape. Perhaps he was right not to, after he had suffered so many lectures on his duty. Perhaps she too should treat this moment with the gravity signed in the set of his jaw–but she could not. Looking back again she saw that their pursuers were well behind, seeming the size of field hares, darting wild and aimless, and she could not but relish this chase. Even having slowed to accommodate the other horse, they were yet gaining distance, as if by his royal example Szog had spurred the other mount to greater prowess.

They raced on until their hunters fell completely out of sight, and only then did they slow to a walk to give the horses rest. Szog's fatigue was only told by his quicker breaths, but the other had foamed a decent lather and was positively gusting. After such glorious alacrity, coming down to a trot felt both reckless and disappointing, but there was comfort at least that those who followed them were surely equally exhausted.

"She's held up pretty well," Erzsebet noted, looking over at Janos and his mount. "What will you name her?"

"Him," Janos corrected dully. "He's a gelding."

"Whatever. A name?"

"I haven't given it thought. Perhaps when we're no longer on the run–"

"How about Zsolt?" Erzsebet suggested, assessing the horse more closely. "He seems like a Zsolt to me."

Janos eyed her, a slight arch to his brow. "A moment ago you thought him a mare, but now he seems like a Zsolt?" She heard at last a spark of good humor in his incredulity; it seemed the exercise had done Janos well after all.

"Zsolt it is," said Erzsebet, smiling at him. "For once I'm pleased to name a traitor."

The knight made a sound, half scoff, half chuckle, and patted his steed's neck. "Yes, he did change allegiance rather quickly, didn't he?"

"A nose for justice, has our Zsolt. He knew our cause was nobler."

Janos kept his gaze upon the back of his mount's head, and the first hint of a distant smile showed upon his lips. Erzsebet said nothing more, hoping to not remind him of his displeasure.

They carried on in silence, kicking the horses to a trot once Zsolt had caught his breath, but no swifter, holding strength in reserve in case the palatine had set a second watch further on. They kept a careful vigil, noting farmers in their fields and teamsters driving carts along the unpaved roads, and turned to peer behind them with every score of breaths.