“He looks like you did as a boy,” the Fool observed as we once more watched them wend out of sight.

“He looks like Verity to me,” I disagreed. It was true.

The boy did look like Verity, but he looked even more likemy father's portrait. I could not say if he looked like me atthat age. I had had little to do with looking glasses then. Hehad dark, thick hair, as unruly as Verity's and mine. I wondered, briefly, if my father had ever struggled to get a combthrough his. His portrait was my only image of him, and inthat he was faultlessly groomed. Like my father, the youngPrince was long of limb, rangier than stocky Verity, but hemight fill out as he got older. He sat his horse well. And justas I had noted with the man on the large horse, I could seehis bond with the cat that rode behind him. Dutiful heldhis head tipped back, as if to be aware always of the catbehind him. The cat was smallest of the three, yet largerthan I had expected her to be. She was long legged andtawny, with a rippling pattern of pale and darker stripes.

Sitting on her saddle cushion, her claws well dug in, the topof her head came to the nape of the Prince's neck. Her headturned from side to side as they rode, taking in all that theypassed. Her posture said that she was weary of riding, thatshe would have preferred to cross this ground on her own.

Getting rid of her might be the trickiest part of thewhole “rescue.” Yet not for an instant did I consider taking her back to Buckkeep with the Prince. For his own good, he would have to be separated from his bondbeast, just as Burrich had once forced Nosey and I to part.

“It just isn't a sound bond. It feels not so much that he has bonded as that he has been captured. Or captivated, I suppose. The cat dominates him. Yet ... it is not the cat. One of those women is involved in this, perhaps a Witmentor as Black Rolf was to me, encouraging him to plunge into his Witbond with an unnatural intensity. And the Prince is so infatuated that he has suspended all his own judgment. That is what worries me.”

I looked at the Fool. I had spoken the thought aloud, with no preamble, but as often seemed with us, his mind had followed the same track. “So. Will it be easier to unseat the cat and take both Prince and horse, or snatch the Prince and hold him on Myblack with you?”

I shook my head. “I'll let you know after we've done it.”

It was agonizing to shadow after them, hoping for an opportunity that might not come. I was tired and hungry, and my headache from the night before had never completely abated. I hoped that Nighteyes had managed to catch some food for himself and was resting. I longed to reach out to him, but dared not, lest I make the Piebalds aware of me.

Our route had taken us up into the rugged foothills. The gentle plain of the Buck River was far behind us now. As the late afternoon stole the strength of the sun from the day, I saw what might be our only chance. The Piebald party rode silhouetted against a ridgeline. Their trail led to a precipitous path that slashed steeply down and across the face of a sheer and rocky hill. Standing in my stirrups and staring through the thickening light, I decided the horses would have to go in single file. I pointed this out to the Fool.

“We need to catch them up before the Prince begins the descent,” I told him. It would be close. We had let them get almost too far ahead of us in an effort to remain hidden from them. Now I put my heels to Myblack, and she sprang forward, with little Malta right behind us.

Some horses are fleet only on a level, straight stretchMyblack proved herself as able on broken terrain. Th Piebalds had taken the easiest route, following the ridgelines. A steepsided gorge, thick with brush and trees, slicecbetween them and us. We could cut off a huge loop of traiby plunging down the slope to reach the next ascending jogin the trail. I kneed Myblack and she crashed down throughthe brushy slope, splashed through the creek at the bottom, and then fought her way up the other side through mossyturf that gave way under her hooves. I did not look back tosee how Malta and the Fool were faring. Instead, I rode lowto her back, avoiding the branches that would have sweptme from the saddle.

They heard us coming. Doubtless we sounded more like a herd of elk or a whole troop of guardsmen than a single horseman bent on catching up with them. In response to the sound of our pursuit, they fled. We caught them at the last possible moment. Three of their party had already ventured out onto the steep, narrow trail across the hill face. The lead horse had just begun the descent. The three horses remaining carried cats as well as riders. The last one wheeled to meet my charge with a shout, while the secondtolast chivied the Prince along as if to hurry him out onto the escarpment.

I crashed into the one who had turned to confront us, more by accident than by any battle plan. The footing on the mountainous path was treacherous with small rolling stones. As Myblack slammed shoulder to shoulder with the smaller horse, the cat leapt from its cushion yowling a threat, landed downhill from us, and slid and scrabbled away from the plunging hooves of the struggling horses.