Page 2 - The Divided Talisman_Taster

The Divided Talisman

Prologue –

A shot rang out.
Blood splashed the snow.
White-hot pain ripped through Tom’s shoulder.
He clamped his hand to the wound; blood was already beginning to stain his thick greatcoat.
“Hell, and damnation!” he exclaimed. “Spicer’s aim is getting better.”
He rode out of the trees at full gallop, pounding across the clearing, his mare Brandy’s hoof
thrusts throwing up chips of ice. He crouched forward, hoping to draw the attention of the riding
officers patrolling the wood to lead them off, but the moonlight still picked him out. So, whirling in a
flurry of snow, he urged her back into the shelter of the dark trees, twisting and winding this way
and that until soon only the horse’s muffled hooves on the snow, and her now ragged breathing
broke the silence.
“Pray we’ve shaken them off, Brandy. As long as the others are safe it will be worth it,” he told
her grimly. If only he could be sure.
Blood was flowing freely now, and he felt very lightheaded.
A fallen tree blocking their way brought the mare to a shuddering halt, sending a weakened
Tom sliding to the ground.
He had been thinking of Ben, and the others, smuggling much needed supplies in a raggle-taggle
pony train, through the cordon of Spicer’s riding officers who would not hesitate to hang boys and
men alike or, more likely, shoot them on the spot.
Now, as he lay in the snow exhausted by loss of blood and the battering of the nightmare ride,
he wondered what Father would say: had the risks been worth it?
He wished he were not so alone. His frozen fingers instinctively clutched at his half of the lucky
talisman that hung from his neck. At his touch, it seemed as if the silver and gold pendant grew warm
and began to pulsate gently in his hand, the air was filled with the resinous smell of yew and patterned
runes, carved like a spider’s web, streamed away in silvery threads…
Then – nothingness, just the soft fall of snow as it covered him