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gh in the sky。 The heavens suddenly darkened as he gathered sunlight into fibers； threads like molten silk； and brought them all twisting down in ropes of energy； to focus in his handuntil his palm filled with molten flames。
Rahjim held the fire for a portion of a secondlong enough to gather a proper focus。 He threw with his might。
Gaborn fell forward as a blast of wind and energy smashed his back； felt a sudden burning。 He wondered if an arrow had hit him； realized that his surcoat was afire。
One of Raj Ahten's knights raced his horse beside Iome； trying to grab her reins。
Gaborn ripped the dirty； rotting cloth that covered him； tossed the blazing thing in the air just in time to watch the rag burst into flame。 He fancied that only the mud on the cloak had kept him from burning in that precious half…second。 The garment fell over the face of Iome's pursuer's warhorse； catching on the horse's helm。 It almost looked to be a magician's trick。
The horse whinnied in terror； stumbled； threw its rider。
Gaborn glanced over his back。 He was now hundreds of yards from the flameweaverout of range of his most dangerous spells。
Having missed in his first attack； the flameweaver would now show his power in fury。
Atop the hill； on the winding road ahead； a war horn sounded for a second time； calling King Orden's men to charge。 The very thought terrified Gaborn。 If King Orden charged； Raj Ahten would learn just how few soldiers Gaborn's father had。
The skies darkened a second time； but the darkness held longer。 Gaborn turned； spotted the flameweaver； hands raised。 A ball of flame； bright and molten as the sun； formed between his fingers。
Gaborn pressed his face close to his mount； smelled the horse's sweat； the sweet odor of its hair。
The road ahead twisted east； though soon it would lead south。 The road was broad； full of dust in this season； kicked up by the animals of thousands of traders。 But ahead it led past some blackened trees to the promising shelter of the woods beyond。 That is where the war horn had sounded。 But if Gaborn left the road here； kept straight； he'd reach the woods more quickly。
Once in the woods； out of the flameweaver's sight； he'd be safer。
〃Right； ho！〃 he shouted； urging the horses from the road。 Ahead； Iome's mount obeyed the mand； and the King's followed its lead。 At the sudden turn； King Sylvarresta howled in fear； clung to his steed's neck。 Gaborn let his mount leap an embankment like a hare； sailing over blackened logs。
To Gaborn's left； the ball of flame hurtled pasthaving expanded to the size of a small wagon even as it lost power over the distance。
The rush of heat and light smashed into the blackened turf； exploded。 Black ash and fire worried in the air。
Then Gaborn was racing through black tree trunks； dancing between trees； using them to shield his back。 Even in death； they provided some protection。
Raj Ahten's troops surged after； men shouting curses in Southern tongues。 Faces lined with rage。
Only the fact that he now had no cloak； nothing to protect him but his skin； reminded Gaborn of Binnesman's herbs in the pouch tied about his neck。
Rue。
He grasped the pouch； ripped it from his neck； and waved the thing in the air。 The powdered leaves floated out like a cloud。
The effect was devastating。
The soldiers who hit that cloud of rue began hacking。 Horses whinnied in pain； faltered and fell。 Men shouted。 Metal clanged on ground。 Gaborn glanced back。
A dozen knights lay coughing on the blackened hillside。 Others had all veered from their inexplicably fallen rades。 Most of them had deemed it wise to retreat from the insistent blowing of the war horn； for they now raced full…tilt back to Castle Sylvarresta。
Gaborn topped a small rise； saw the dirt road from the castle winding through a narrow valley。
Among the blackened trees near the ridge top sat one lone warrior atop an unarmored gray mare。 He wore his shield on his left handa small round device not much larger than a platter。
Borenson； waiting。 White teeth flashed beneath his red beard as the big guard smiled a wele to his Prince。 Gaborn never had thought he'd be so happy to see the green knight of House Orden on any warrior's shield。
Borenson raised his war horn to his lips again； sounded a charge； and raced toward Gaborn。 His steed leapt the corpse of a Frowth giant； lunged downhill。
〃Archers； draw！〃 Borenson shouted an obvious ruse。 The valley beyond held nothing but blackened trees and stones。 The guard drew a long…handled battle…axe from its sheath on his saddle； waved it above his head； thundered past Gaborn to cover the Prince's retreat。
Only one of Raj Ahten's warriors had dared cross the ridge； e rushing down。
A huge man on a black steedhis white war lance poised； like a spear of light。 Yet even in the half…second as Gaborn reined his horse to wheel about； he glanced back。
The knight wore blackened chain beneath a gold surcoat； with the emblem of Raj Ahten's wolves emblazoned in red。 His lance； the color of ivory； had been stained with blood。
The knight's high helm had white wings painted on it； signifying that he was no mon soldierbut a captain of Raj Ahten's guard； an Invincible with no fewer than fifty endowments。
Borenson could not equal the man。
Yet Borenson spurred to meet the warrior headon； his steed throwing dirt with every pounding of its hooves。
Then Gaborn understood： his father's troops had fled； would not e to his rescue。 Borenson had to kill this knight or die in the attempt； lest Raj Ahten learn the truth。
Gaborn drew the short sword from the belt at his waist。
The Invincible charged downhill； lance poised； holding as steady as the sun in the sky。
Borenson raised his battle…axe high。 The wise thing to do would be to time his swing； parry the lance before its tip speared his mail。
But these were force warriors； and Gaborn did not know what kinds of strengths or talents the Invincible might have。 Gaborn was not prepared for their tactics。
Just as it appeared Borenson would be hit； he called 〃Clear！〃 His horse leapt and kicked。
The Invincible buried his lance in the horse's neck。 Only then did Gaborn see that this was a 〃pinned lance〃a lance held to the warrior's gauntlets with a metal pin。 The pins helped when battling armored opponents； for it insured that the knight would not lose his grip when the lance hit metal。
Unfortunately； one could not release the lance without removing the heavy steel cotter pins that held it to his gauntlet。 Now as the lance buried itself in the horse's flesh and bone； such was the weight of the horse that the knight's arm wrenched up and back； then snapped； bones shattering even as his lance cracked under tremendous pressure。
The Invincible howled in rage。 His worthless right arm remained pinned to a broken lance。
He grabbed for his mace with his left hand as Borenson launched from his own mount； swinging his wicked axe so hard that it pierced the Invincible's mail shirt； drove through his leather underjerkin； and buried its head in the hollow beneath the Invincible's throat。
Borenson followed his weapon； the full weight of his shield slamming against the big knight。 Both of