"Maybe." A shrug. "We could try the post road."
"All right. Let's go."
They jogged on through the night, the coach swaying and bumping over the rough track. Then lights began to sparkle ahead. Baroc pulled up.
"The Golden Cock Inn," he grunted, nodding toward the lights. "Morriere's guards will be there. We'll have to run for it, so be ready for rough going."
The next instant they were rolling again. Closer the lights came, and closer. Now they were almost abreast them....
"Halt!"
A man was running toward them, waving his arms.
Baroc shattered the night with a fearful oath. His long whip cracked over the backs of the double-span of greys ahead. The horses leaped forward.
They were past the inn, driving hellbent through the pitch-blackness of the countryside. But behind them was a tumult of shouts, a wild disorder.