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About two and a half to three miles. They might catch us somewhere near the western mouth of the pass,
he realized. Or on the Plain on the other side. That gives me just enough time to try my plan. Somewhere
in the middle would be best. Hide Yolan, then double back. When she hears the commotion, she can
take off westward.
He turned it around and around in his mind. Any way he looked at it, it was still a long shot. Would it
be better if they just made a stand and fought it out? Eight to two? And Yolan barely able to lift her
weapon? The long shot was better odds.
As they came to the slight upgrade leading to the mouth of the pass, Yolan's breath began to take on
a sobbing quality. She sucked the air in huge, quavering gasps. "Not much further," Edwyr urged her.
"Just a little way." It was like talking to a child. Yolan was just a machine now, unthinking, merely
repeating motions in a hopeless, mechanical way. She staggered slightly on the uneven ground and the
Seeker held her arm again, supporting her, ready to drag her if necessary.
At first the walls of the pass were sheer and offered no place for doubling back, much less
concealment for an ambush. It'll get better in the middle, he reassured himself. Just around the next bend,
it'll widen out a bit. It took a full mile before his prediction came true. And then another mile passed
before conditions really looked right.
He was about to stop when Yolan suddenly pulled back on his arm. At first he thought the Keeper
had fallen. But as he turned to face her, he saw she was on her feet.
Her chest heaving with the effort to breathe, she had a wild, frightened look on her face. Clearly she
was struggling to bring her gasping under control so she could talk. Her free hand waved emphatically
toward the west. "Bad," she managed to croak.
He pulled gently at her arm. "Come on," he urged.
"Just a little further. I have a plan."
"No!" she shook her head emphatically. "No. Wrong. All wrong."
"What do you mean?" he asked in perplexity.
"Danger. Ahead. I can sense it. Wrong."
"Ahead? You sense danger ahead? Is it the Ronin? Gods, they can't have gotten ahead of us!"
"Not . . . not Ronin," she answered uncertainly. "Different. But danger."
For a second, Edwyr considered. Her sense was usually very accurate, even if he didn't understand
it. But danger ahead? What? Or who? He looked at her, a question in his glance. "To the east?"
Yolan nodded. "Still there."
"Which is closer?"
She nodded to the west. He quickly calculated. The Ronin would be just about entering the mouth of
the pass now. Make that two miles back. About fifteen minutes. Say the new danger was a mile or so
ahead. They just had time to check it. "O.K., he said. "Let's go see what this new problem is. Tell me
when we're close." The woman nodded and they set off again.
In about a mile and a half, she pulled at his arm. "Close. Just ahead." The floor of the pass was wider
here, maybe 500 yards across. Just ahead, it narrowed suddenly as a hill thrust out a steep shoulder from
the north side. The remaining gap was perhaps 200 yards wide. Perfect spot for an ambush, Edwyr
thought.
Leaving Yolan walking in a slow circle to cool down, Edwyr quickly scaled the shoulder of the north
hill and peered over the top to its western slope. For several moments he saw nothing. Then, suddenly, a
flash of light, the merest flicker of sun reflected from metal, shone from behind some low shrubs. In an
instant, Edwyr saw the whole plan.
There were eight of them, hidden and waiting.
Anyone coming around the shoulder of the hill from the east would run right into the middle of their
group. They'd be on him in a flash, before he even had time to unsling his blade. And their swords were
already drawn, ready to slash and kill. He shuddered. Yolan's sense was inexplicable, but invaluable.
Carefully, he scrambled back down to the waiting Keeper. Two sets of enemies! The eight
ambushers were in all likelihood Mitsuyama's men. I should have known he'd try again, he silently cursed.
He shook his head grimly.
Wait, though! The Ronin and the Plains Lords were hardly allies! And the enemy of my enemy can
turn out to be my friend, he reminded himself. Provided they're handled right! Of course! He almost
chortled out loud. Mitsuyama has provided me with exactly the ambush I was looking for!
He reached the Keeper and hurriedly bustled her off to a spot of concealment with instructions not to
reveal herself no matter what happened. Satisfied she could not be seen by anyone coming from the east,
he set off at a run down the pass toward the Ronin.
He was hoping to find them just inside the pass, at the narrowest, most twisted point. That way the
pass itself would act to screen the first yells of the Ronin from the ears of Mitsuyama's men. If he ran the
killers hard enough, he figured they'd stop screaming almost immediately to conserve their wind. The
quieter they were, the better.
As he came around a particularly tight bend, he suddenly came on them. In mutual surprise, Edwyr
and the eight stopped dead in their tracks. Then, with a fierce shriek of blood lust, the chase was on. The
Seeker turned and fled. The killers responded as he had expected, straining to keep up with him, eager
to strike, silently conserving their precious breath for running. Aside from the pounding of eight pairs of
feet, and the labored gasping of eight mouths, the pursuit was as quiet as death itself.
The adrenaline flooding his body, combined with his calm, clear state of mind, gave Edwyr a sense of
euphoric floating. There was joy in this race, joy even in the thought of possible death. Death held no fear
for the Seeker. Long, long ago, he had learned to confront it. Now all that counted was living and
enjoying the moment. If death came, it came. There was nothing more to be said.
He slowed his pace just slightly to tease the killers who panted behind him. Sensing a chance to close
for the kill, they put on a new burst of speed. The lead Ronin was no more then 15 yards behind him now
and he could feel the tingling pressure of excited Mushin. They were hungry and eager for a feast. I'll give
them more than they bargain for, he thought grimly.
Another minute and he rounded the last bend. Dead ahead was the hill that thrust its shoulder
southwards, narrowing the valley. He headed straight for the spot, hoping the Ronin would continue their
silence.
They did. As he raced through the gap, he could see the men who lay in ambush leap to their feet to
attack. But he was going much faster than they had anticipated or had any reason to expect. Before any
could strike he was past them and heading swiftly westward.
They had no chance to pursue, for no sooner had Edwyr swept by than the Ronin poured around the
hill. There was a brief moment of dead silence and mutual astonishment as the two groups faced each
other. Then the air was split by the hideous screech of the Ronin and the startled bellows of the
ambushers as the two sides closed in combat.
It was a wild, bloody melee. Every man hacked at anyone who came within sword's reach. Naked
blades flashed in the sun once, and then flashed no more, but shimmered instead with red gore. The clash
of metal on metal, the dull thunk of metal on flesh, was nearly drowned out by the cries of agony or
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