Wildwood (Wildwood Chronicles 1)

“Faster! Faster, Henbane! On!” Brendan cried hoarsely.

The dogs gained ground. A few managed to catch them and sprinted alongside, snapping at Henbane’s ankles. Seeing this, Brendan yanked at the fistful of horse’s mane in his grip and they angled sideways, into a grove of salmonberry stalks. Just beyond, a shallow ravine opened up and a brook cut a noisy path downward. With a swift spur of his heels, Brendan commanded the horse into a long leap, and they made the other side in a fleet second. The dogs that had been so intent on taking the horse down by her ankles dropped with a whining scream into the rushing water.

Prue cast a cautious look back and saw that, while they lost a few pursuers to the ravine, the majority had made the jump and were gaining on them.

“They’re still on us!” she shouted.

Brendan urged the horse faster, and they zigzagged through the forest, the horse’s hooves pounding the soft earth.

“Almost there,” Prue could hear Brendan whisper.

Suddenly, the brush cleared and a short, steep slope led down to a massive road cut into the side of the hill. Henbane scrambled briefly for footing before stumbling down onto the gravelly surface.

“The Long Road!” Prue shouted.

The coyotes behind them leapt the incline and landed squarely in the middle of the road, their hackles bristling, their teeth angrily bared.

Brendan gave them a brief look and shouted, “Come on then, dogs!” and they were off again, sprinting down the road. Their speed on this level surface was even greater than in the forest, and Prue could feel Henbane begin to really stretch into the run. She could also feel Brendan temper his spurring; he wanted the coyotes to keep up, drawing them farther away from the hidden camp.

Prue looked ahead over the rider’s shoulder and saw, fast approaching, two ornate columns on either side of the road and the weathered wooden planks of a bridge just beyond. As they drew closer, Prue could see that the earth fell away at a dramatic angle below the bridge, creating the rocky walls of a deep canyon. She gave a shriek as Henbane’s hooves hit the bridge and she could look down into the ravine; the depth looked to be bottomless.

All of a sudden, Brendan pulled back at the mane and the horse came skidding to a stop midway across the bridge. “Oh boy,” he rasped below his breath.

Prue looked up and saw on the far side of the bridge a tall, striking woman, dressed in a kind of buckskin gown, astride a coal-black horse. A long, thin sword was sheathed at her side, and her copper-red hair hung in a pair of braids to her waist. She smiled when she saw them and walked her horse onto the bridge.

“Well, hello, Brendan,” she said icily. “Fancy seeing you two days in a row!”

Brendan said nothing.

“That’s . . . that’s the Governess?” whispered Prue.

He nodded gravely. Reaching to his side, he slowly, deliberately pulled his saber from its scabbard and pointed it at the woman. “Let me pass,” he said.

Their coyote pursuers arrived behind them and stopped at the first plank of the

bridge, pacing and pawing at the dirt, their snarling lips quivering.

The Governess laughed. “You know I can’t let you do that, Brendan,” she said. She rode slowly closer and craned her neck to see who was riding behind him. “Who’s your partner, Bandit King?”

Prue stuck her head out from behind Brendan’s back and stared at the woman. The Governess’s eyes shot open wide. A flicker of recognition drifted across her brow. “An Outsider!” she exclaimed. “You’ve got yourself an Outsider!”

“And where’s yours, witch?” Brendan scoffed. “Last I saw you, you had one in your thrall.”

“Gone, sadly,” she said. “He went home, back to the Outside. Wasn’t suited for Wildwood, apparently.”

A wash of relief fell over Prue—had Curtis made it home? Had one of her rescue missions been solved? At that moment she felt a tinge of envy for Curtis; she imagined him safe at home, his parents lovingly tousling his curly hair.

The Governess urged her horse forward; she drew closer to them. Brendan did likewise and the two horses faced each other, mere feet apart, at the middle span of the bridge. The coyotes growled and yapped behind them. The Governess kept a steady eye on Prue; it was unnerving.

“Little girl,” she said. “Sweet little girl: You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into. This is nothing for a child to witness. You should be home with your parents!”

“Quiet!” shouted the Bandit King. “Stop your toying!”

Alexandra glared back at him, a wry smile cracking across her lips. “And what will you do, O King of the Bandits?”

Brendan snarled and raised his saber. “I’ll run you through, is what I’ll do. So help me gods.”

“And what would that possibly solve?” she asked, unbowed. “My soldiers would tear you to pieces before the sword was withdrawn. Your people, your scrappy followers, deprived of their fearless leader. Who will protect them?”