He was grateful for the silence.

Silence was safety for a Night Rider. Silence and darkness were his best shields, particularly with trappers on his tail. Any competent Night Rider could disappear into the darkness like a whispered prayer. Those who couldn’t rarely survived.

Shade was a survivor.

He rose quietly, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. The forest was quiet; this early, even the homeless who fled into the wilderness still slept. And he’d made camp far from them, more for their sake than his.

The one thing he hated about the silence was that it gave him space to think. Space to think about a time when his world had not always been so, of a time when outlaws who kept to shadows were not Evendar’s last and best hope. Conquest by their old enemy left his nation broken…and led those who would fight for her, those like Shade, to become Night Riders.

His horse, who he’d named Victrix—it meant “Victory” in the old tongue—in a rare bout of optimism, stood tethered to the right. The stallion was a dappled gray, his color fading as he aged, but currently, just the right color to fade into the early morning. Vic slept quietly, with his saddle straddling a downed tree by his side.

The remnants of his small fire were only a mess of ash. No Night Rider was fool enough to leave a fire burning when closing their eyes for the night. Darkness meant safety.

The venatores were out there somewhere, perhaps a mile distant. No more than two. He’d not lost them, not yet. He’d probably need another day’s ride before he could hope to. But he was too experienced to panic. This was not the first time he found himself as a hunting party’s prey.

Clucking his tongue softly, he woke Vic. The horse, accustomed to this business, shook his head to chase the sleep away, gracefully accepting both saddle and bridle after a quick once-over with a brush. The stallion nickered softly, butting him once in the shoulder with a velvety nose. For a moment, he allowed his forehead to rest upon the dapple-gray neck.

In this life of hiding and running, Vic was his only companion. Together, they lost many a trapper and defeated many an enemy. Today, they’d do that again. An early start would help. His pursers would surely rise with the sun. They were young and probably thought that meant getting up early.

They were also young enough to think they could trade sleep for numbers and remounts. Perhaps they’d be right. Employed by Olorians as they were, could they simply take horses if none were offered? A Night Rider couldn’t—and wouldn’t. At least not from Evendarians.

Besides, outright thievery was a stupid option when it meant trading in an excellent horse for a mediocre one. But those following him didn’t quite understand that; they assumed outnumbering him and moving faster would give them every advantage they needed.

A bird sang softly in the trees above him; another answered from further away, towards the road. The air smelled of rain and storms. Good. Those would hide his tracks.

“Ready?” he asked Vic.

His fellow Night Riders said Shade talked to his horse more than he did people. They were probably right. Vic would not share his secrets.

And Vic didn’t blabber until Shade’s head hurt, either.

Vic butted his head into Shade’s hip. He scratched the horse’s neck, secured his saddlebags, and then swung his leg over the stallion’s back. It was time to move.

He might only have a couple of hours’ head start, but with that came a lead he could build up during the day. He could lose them by backtracking and crisscrossing over his own trail before it grew cold. The venatores were excellent trackers, better than usual. They’d stayed with him since Median when he thought he might lose them on the first day. But Shade still had a few tricks left to try.

Still, he wished they were not his countrymen.

Olorians were easy to lead on a merry chase. Most of them had shoddy discipline and little to no training. It was almost easy. They rarely tailed him for more than a few hours, even when they hunted in packs and bragged that they would bring home a Night Rider’s head.

He’d also kill Olorians, if not happily, at least easily. While the danger of being caught was no less—torture and death, or worse—Shade did not fear them.

He knew Olorian tactics; he could lose them in his sleep.

Not the venatores. They’d chased him for two days already, losing more than half their number in the process when they split up to cover three possible trails. But the last of them kept up annoyingly well. Under other circumstances, Shade might’ve set up an ambush and picked a few of them off—or even killed the lot of them—but these were men of Evendar.

His people.

The gall of them choosing to call themselves venatores still rankled. Just thinking of that title made Shade go cold. Once, years ago, venatores had been state-sponsored trappers who hunted criminals. Back before the Evendarian Empire died. Now, these men worked for Olor.

They were willing to turn their weapons on their own instead of against the invaders, betraying everything Evendar once stood for—and hunting the only people who still fought for Evendar’s people.

So far as Shade knew, he was their first target.

The irony was thick enough to make him laugh. The first Night Rider to be hunted by his fellow Evendarians was the first Night Rider. Did they know? Most only knew him by the name he’d chosen. Even among the Night Riders, rumors swirled about his background; even most of the old timers didn’t know.

Shade didn’t bother telling the younger Night Riders he started their outlaw-born revolution. He laughed to himself when some told stories about how there’d been many men called Shade and how a new man took on the mantle every time the last was killed. The legends were useful…even if they brought him to this.

A touch of his heels sent Vic trotting away from their campsite. Shade left nothing behind to identify himself, only ashes. The venatores—oh, he would have to learn to think that name without letting his blood boil—would probably find it. If so, they’d learn nothing. Shade would be far away by dawn.

Vic pulled at the reins, eager to be off and run free. Shade kept a firm hold on him until they found the forest road. Traveling along the main road was dangerous, but good footing saved time and left less of a trail to follow. It was also smarter in the dark. Vic tripping and falling could kill them both.

At first light, he’d abandon the road and travel cross-country, but for now, Shade would stick with the ancient Via Indus, named for a once-great king of a fallen nation. This road, like so much around him, was one more reminder of all the world lost in the Fall.

The Olorians could conquer, but they built no new civilization to replace what was lost. Instead, they enslaved Evendarians and made merry upon the ruins.

Scowling, he allowed an inch of rein to slip through his fingers, giving Vic his head for a bit. The spirited stallion would be easier to handle once he had his fun.

And the wind upon his face might make him forget, even if only for a little while.