A/N: DISCLAIMER: I do not own the characters of Avon and Soolin, Vila, or Blake. The rest of the characters are my invention, however.
Warning: Have tissues handy!
Chapter 9
The attack came out of nowhere.
One moment Avon and Alex were having a peaceful, companionable ride together. The next Avon was unhorsed, sprawled on the ground looking up into Ston's angry face and the mouth of his gun.
"You can't escape me this time, Carolius Mercator," the man snarled.
His words struck Avon with almost physical force. His mind a momentary, stunned blank, Avon sat up slowly, trying to recover his wind and not set Ston off. Alex was still battling her own terrified gelding. Under lowered lashes, Avon scanned the area for Fleetfoot, spying the stallion already circling back toward them-behind Ston. Maybe…
Ston dismount, a feral grin on his face. His hate of Avon and thoughts of all he'd lost because of the man had flogged him to great lengths to get his planned revenge - Avon's death.
Avon willed his mind into high gear while brushing dust from his clothes. He had to stall, to give Fleetfoot time.
Seeing Avon so casually ignoring him only maddened Ston more. Who was he to feel so superior to Ston? The man had run away from his family and rejected his inheritance, but now his family had welcomed him back, displacing Ston. Hadn't he had worked hard for years, first winning Alexandra to his side, then, he thought, her family? He'd had their future all planned out, until this damnable man had fallen back into their lives.
Avon said evenly, playing for time, "You don't seriously believe you can get away with this, Ston."
"Oh, but I do," Ston sneered. "I could have shot you out of hand, you know."
"Why didn't you?" Avon snapped. Just a few more moments, please, he pleaded silently.
"Because I wanted to see your face as I killed you!" He spat out his words like venom from a snake. "Everything was going my way until you showed up and ruined it all. Well, now that's over. It'll just be an unfortunate accident and Avenil will welcome me back with open arms." Ston closed on Avon, so intent upon murder that he had no attention to spare for the sound of hoofbeats behind him until it was far too late.
Fleetfoot, in all his arrogant stallion glory, hit Ston with 1500 lbs. of raging muscle, sending the man flying one direction, his gun another. Avon himself barely managed to roll out of the way, calling to the horse, trying desperately to prevent what he knew was coming.
Horses have very long memories when it comes to kindness or abuse, and Fleet had stored up 18 years of rage at men in general and this man in particular. He was not about to be denied his chance.
As the stallion wheeled for a second approach, Ston spied his weapon and made a scrambling dive for it, his hand clutching it just as the black reached him. Ston rolled from under the charge, steadied the gun in both hands and opened fire.
The projectiles hit the horse solidly in the chest, but did nothing to stop him.
Spinning and rearing, the stallion danced into the air, falling and hitting Ston full force with both front hooves, pounding at the man again and again, until the hated human lay still.
Then, with silent awful grace, his revenge complete, Fleetfoot knelt, toppled over, and died.
Alex, still mounted and instinctively holding her gelding in tight check, was weeping uncontrollably. Her gelding quivered with fear, wide-eyed, ears back, snorting at the smell of blood. Avon, dismissing the man as dead, approached his horse. First pausing to stare down at the animal he owed his life to, he knelt, patting the great arched neck one last time.
Around the lump in his throat and unbearable tightness in his chest, he whispered, "I'm going to miss you, boy."
A/N: Please review. One chapter to go.
