Part III

"Quick!! Fly!" Farrell grabbed Rynin by the hand and they ran down the muddy path.
"You didn't have to kill the horse," Rynin said between clenched teeth.
"I don't suppose you had a better idea," answered Farrell. "Methinks using the dumb beast as our shield was a fine idea." They jumped quickly down the hillside, rapidly moving from the naked cliffside into the woods.
"I could very easily have used my feminine wiles to free us." Rynin could not forget the sight of the horse.
"What's done is done. Besides, how many men do you need to bury your dirk in just as they are feasting their eyes on your heaving bosom?" Farrell always harbored a bit of resentment towards Rynin's never ending flirtatiousness, even when it had managed to save her life before.
Rynin ignored his comment. She did know how to use a dirk, and a dagger, and a stiletto, and most other sorts of piercing, stabbing, penetrative edged weapons. It was her specialty, if you will. Ever since her escape from the guards armed with only a sharpened comb and a hat pin, she had trained herself incessantly on the killing arts.
"Look, the guards are evil. They've perpetrated horrible crime and lawlessness on our nation. But what did the horse do?"
"Oh, hush, woman. Now we've had to turn back from the path. How are we possibly going to escape to Dryhuvil if the pass is taken?"
It was a hard question. They had thought their only chance after the harrowing escape and journey was to flee to the neighboring country in hope of telling their plight to Queen Martha. Now they were stuck at the border in the dark forest that both shielded them from their pursuers but also seemed to suck the hope from their souls. Hearts weary and soaked to the bone, they decided to make camp. As the rain stopped, Farrell stiffly unpacked his tinder box to find some dry kindling. Just then, they realized they weren't alone.
"What's that, an ugly boar?" Farrell saw a chubby, squat thing dart from tree to tree just on the outskirts of where their lantern lit the area around where they sat.
"I'm a warthog, I am," called the fat little creature. "You are trespassing."
"Can't snog your way out of this one," chuckled Farrell to Rynin. "I don't imagine pigs like girls obsessed with horses."
"Hold your tongue, manspawn. Justify your presence or I'll run you through with my tusks." Farrell bristled at the comment, but then had to stifle a laugh at the thought that the two inch tusks could do anything to his well made armor.
"Um, gentle animal, we flee the evil guards of Arrend, who are this moment cutting down your forest to light their fires," said Rynin, eyes wide open for maximum earnestness value.
"Hrrmph." The warthog paused. "The lady has a sugared tongue. Very well, I shall listen to your plight But it is almost morning, and soon the scum shall scour the area for you. Let us hide here until nightfall."
And with a bizarre motion, the little warthog sat back on its haunches, and began using its front hooves to rub a tiny metal amulet that hung from its neck. With a blinding flash, a large hole opened at the base of a large tree just in front of the party, and horses and all, they scampered in to a huge, warm, dark room. As their eyes adjusted to the dim light cast by a glowing disc in the center, Rynin and Farrell were shocked to see. . . . . . . . . .

Part II

The first guard came at them with determination. He wasn't in a hurry. Where were they going to go? They weren't going to get away again. He hefted his spear and closed to attack.

Farrel was used to quick action. It had kept him alive this long. He jumped from his horse and closed with the guard, deflecting the spear with his sword, but only long enough to get by. He was no match for the guard's armor or trained war-horse. He wasn't about to try to trade blows with him, here on the cliff face, mounted, and certainly not on foot.

After blocking the spear, he went to work on the horse's right foreleg. He aimed for the side of the knee, even behind it if he could reach, and slashed with all his might. The horse reared and neighed in pain, totally surprising and unsettling its rider. It was a credit to the guard that he stayed in his saddle. A moment later he wished he hadn't. The horse came down, and leaned forward and cliff-ward, favoring the wounded leg. The guard pitched forward. Farrel raised his sword with both hands and struck the exposed neck, biting deeply. The guard hung lifeless from his stirrups.

The other guards watched from behind, essentially helpless to assist. Now they wanted into the fray, with a renewed desire for vengeance. But they needed to get by the maimed horse. Or use it to their advantage. They tried to drive the poor creature toward Farrel and Rynin, hoping to force them over the edge, or down the path where the soil was washing away.

But Farrel was ready for that, too. He had already lowered himself in front of the beast. And as the guards goaded it from behind with their spears, he pushed against it and stabbed with his sword. The horse leapt from the path and the cliff in fright, carrying its dead burden with it.