Several minutes passed before Instance finally whispered, “They’ll find us, you know.”

“Probably.” Shade scowled. He was too tired for this, his muscles too heavy and mind too slow.

“Probably, hell.” Instance’s laugh sounded wet. “Last I checked, I’ve been on the road nearly about as long as you, and we both know that this wood ain’t big enough to hide us, even in this mother of a storm. And we both know that we’re going to lose if we turn this chase into a chase. There’re too damned many of them, and we’re both too tired.”

“Then we make a fight of it.”

Shade might not want to kill Evendarians, but he liked the idea of dying even less.

Thunder cracked again; lightning split the sky. There were shapes in the distance, approaching steadily. He couldn’t hear shouting—though the wind could be carrying it away—and they probably haven’t been spotted yet. It was only a matter of time.

“I know you want to kill those kids even less than I do,” Instance whispered.

“We all choose our fates.” The words of an old oath tried to drift through his mind; Shade ignored them.

“Damn right.” Instance sucked in a breath and nodded calmly. “You go; I’ll distract them.”

Shade twisted in the saddle to face him. “What?”

“I said for you to go.” Instance turned to glare at him. “I’ll lead them elsewhere. Given time, you can make it across the Bridge.”

“They hunt me.”

Instance shrugged with hardly a grimace of pain. “They hunt a Night Rider. One’ll do as well as another. They’re not going to give up until they get one of us, and that means one of us has to die here. You can’t. Me, I’m expendable.”

Bile rose in Shade’s throat. “I mislike your tone.” The words came out stilted. Formal. All wrong.

Instance grinned. “You’re in good company. I bet they’re going to mislike a bunch of things about me.”

How could he ask a friend—another friend, pointed out the traitorous voice of his past—to sacrifice for him? How could he refuse when Instance offered? They both knew what was at stake. They both knew Shade would hate himself for this…yet he had not survived ten years of Olorian torture and slavery to die on the road, in the dark and rain, with no one to know why.

There had to be another way.

“And if you’re captured?” His mind whirled through possibilities. I have lost enough friends already in this goddamned war! Not this one. Not this time.

“Your secret is safe.” Instance smiled sadly. “I can hold out a day. We both know they’ll give me to the Olorians. They’ll have their sport and then kill me as publicly as they can. I’ll die as a Night Rider.”

Shade was too drained to weep, even for an old friend. He’d grown so cold over the years, too cold. Too detached. “There are always—”

“There isn’t. We both know it. Stop arguing,” Instance said. “I still remember the words, you know. ‘And above all, this I swear to fight, and if need be to die, to—’”

“Don’t say it,” Shade hissed.

Instance didn’t. He just met Shade’s eyes steadily, waiting.

Shade swallowed. Tried not to remember.

He knew those words. He’d sworn them, too.

“Let me do this last thing,” Instance said. “For Evendar.”

A lump rose in Shade’s throat. “For Evendar,” he repeated and then held out his right hand. “Ride well.”

“Never forget.” Instance nodded as their hands clasped, and they clung to each other for one moment, knowing it was the last time. With one last smile, Instance pulled away. He turned his horse without another word, breaking through the underbrush and riding toward the enemy.

Shade watched his back, pretending it was the rain blurring his vision. He could not afford to be crippled by grief, could not afford to remember the echo of another friend who said almost those same words, too many years ago—

Don’t think about that now. Instead, he watched Instance vanish into the gloom, waited until he heard shouts that Instance was spotted. The other man would lead the venatores trappers on a merry chase. Perhaps he’d even get away. Not likely.

Swallowing, Shade turned, nudging Vic with his heels and heading northwest. Forgive me, old friend.

He was out of earshot before the sounds of metal ringing on metal filled the air, hunched low in the saddle to shield himself from the elements as best he could. The sick and empty feeling remained, making him burn to turn around, just to try to make a difference, to see if he might be in time to save Instance’s life—or at least die beside him.

Were Shade a little less conscious of his duty…but he was not.

The ride to the Bridge wasn’t long, despite the weather. Shade tried to keep his mind on the rising elements and not on his friend’s sacrifice. Instance made his choice; a true friend would honor that.

The wind picked up still more as he rode. Shade barely dared canter Vic as the gale grew worse. Galloping was out of the question, for the safety of horse and rider both. His cloak was reasonably waterproof, but Shade was soaked to the bone by the time he reached the Bridge, barely to keep his hood up, even to shield his eyes from the driving rain.

The first miles weren’t bad; the Bridge was wider at its base, and while there were few trees to block the wind, at least the land beneath Vic’s hooves was solid and mainly dry. Shade slowed to his horse to a trot, a good, ground-eating pace that they could keep up for as many hours as needed. Crossing the entire Bridge in one night was impossible; what he needed to do was make it past the narrowest point, and then he could rest in relative safety on the other side.

The Bridge grew narrower as they continued and felt even more exposed in the dark, like a tiny split of gray-brown land peeking out of the water. Waves roared in from the east, crashing over what little remained of the southern breakwater and dragging rocks away with every ebb. As they continued, the very sand beneath Vic’s hooves seemed to move, and the stallion shifted uneasily, snorting when Shade drew him to a halt.

Vic shivered. Shade sucked in a deep breath, ignoring the old burn in his chest. If he had any luck left, the rest of the water flowing across the Bridge would be shallow enough to pass. Angry waves splashed across the sand at random intervals and completely covered some of the land he could see, swirling dangerously and looking eager to carry the entire Bridge away. He could only see the first fifty feet in the darkness—fifty feet of a thirty-mile-long causeway, but Shade knew he had to risk it.

Patting Vic on the neck, he urged him into the ankle-deep surf. After less than a hundred yards, Vic balked. Added leg pressure only made the big stallion shake his head and back up. Shade sighed. Only a fool would ride the Bridge at night in the middle of a gale, and even then, the fool’s horse hadn’t been consulted. Especially when it was a tired and waterlogged horse.

“Come on.” Shade squeezed his legs again, urging Vic forward. “We don’t have time for this, and it will only grow worse as the night goes on.”

Vic snorted and stamped a hoof, splashing water and then pawing for good measure. Further attempts only made the stallion toss his head, and when Shade kicked him, he backed up another step, kicking for good measure. Swearing at him didn’t help, either, even in two different languages. Finally, Shade dismounted.

“Let’s go.” He pulled Vic forward by the reins. The stallion only looked at him dubiously out of wide brown eyes, whites showing. He swore under his breath. “This Bridge and I have a history, boy, but it hasn’t killed me yet. Let’s just get this over with.”

He clucked his tongue and patted Vic again. Finally, step by step, the horse followed, first into the surf and then into knee-deep water as it washed over the bridge. Vic tossed his head, snorting, and picked up the pace; under other circumstances, the horse liked water, but his instincts told him that this was stupid and dangerous.

Shade grimaced. Vic was right. Being out here was stupid and dangerous, but there was no other way. Side by side, horse and rider trudged across the Bridge, taking mile after mile and moving through water that ranged from ankle-deep to Shade’s waist—but at least there was solid ground underfoot.

They trudged forward together for what felt like a lifetime. Telling time was almost impossible in the dark. The moon was buried somewhere up there in the storm clouds, and the wind whipped at Shade’s face every time he looked upwards to find it.

Glancing forwards during flashes of lighting didn’t help, either; thick fog rolled in before they made it half past a mile onto the narrowest part of the causeway, obscuring his view of anything but the few yards in front of his face. So, he kept his head down and let his stallion bury his face against his shoulder. Together, they took one step after another, wet and cold but refusing to quit.

The storm slowed twice as if to mock them and then roared back to life stronger and more violent than ever before. However, the third calm held, the fog finally lifted.

Shade could now see the horizon ahead between distant lightning strikes, estimating they were about halfway across the eleven-mile-long midsection of the Bridge. He remembered this place, had spent a nightmare battle here once, one that changed his life and changed the world. Don’t think of that now.

It was too easy to lose himself in the past during the storm. Gritting his teeth, Shade focused on the wind and rain, on how tight his chest was and how wet and cold his bones felt. Anything but the past.

Finally, after they trudged into wider ground, the weather calmed. As he and Vic walked, the hard rains turned into a gentle drizzle. Lighting still split the sky every few minutes, warning Shade that the gale was far from over. Perhaps he was in its eye, as the warmth in the winds hinted, but he would take any break he could get. Perhaps his luck would hold until he reached Coelera, at the head of the Bridge. Then again, maybe not.

He wanted to stop before Coelera and not only to rest Vic. Shade could use sleep, too. And maybe food. But at least he wasn’t thirsty, not with how drenched he was.

As dawn approached, his ears picked up the sound of hoof beats. Multiple hoof beats.

Even as he whirled to face the distant noise, he knew what he would see. Sure enough, venatores bore down upon him again. There were fewer of them now—only six—which meant that Instance sold his life dearly. Or they’d taken him, and this was all that was left to chase him with venatores needed to guard their prisoner.

Again, and much to Shade’s surprise, tears prickled in his eyes, but he shook off the sudden emotion. They’d finally made a mistake. He would make them pay for it.

He swung back into the saddle, loosening his sword in her scabbard.

Shade’s creed was simple: Save those you can. Avenge those you can’t.

He would not forget Instance’s sacrifice. And someday, he would tell the world of it. But not today.

Bending low in the saddle, he swung Vic towards the enemy to avenge his friend.