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sending a twinge to that side of her jaw.
    But Imbri had had enough. She balked, planting all four feet firmly on the ground and trying to spit out the brass bit. It tasted awful, anyway. But the reins held it in place, annoyingly. She sent a fierce dream at him, of her dream girl self gesturing in righteous ire, tresses flouncing. “Get off my back, man!”
    “You must address me by my proper title,” the man said. “I am known as the Horseman.”
    The Horseman! Suddenly Imbri’s misplaced memory returned. Her message was “beware the Horseman”—and now she had an inkling of its meaning.
    “Beware the Horseman, eh?” the man repeated, and Imbri realized she had spoken her thought in the dream. Angrily she exploded her dream girl image into a roil of smoke, but this did not daunt the man. “So you carry a message of warning about me! What a fortunate coincidence this is, mare. I certainly can not afford to let you go now. I must take you home with me and keep you confined so that you can not betray me.”
    Imbri did not know what to do, so she continued to do nothing. She had unwittingly put herself in the power of the one person she should have avoided!
    “Time to go home,” the Horseman said. “I’ll come back and catch the day horse later; you are too valuable a captive to let escape. I understand you night mares can pass through solid rock at night, and even turn invisible. That means I must get you safely corralled before darkness comes. Move, move, mare!”
    Imbri refused to move. It was true; he could not hold her at night even if he remained awake and alert. If he slept, she would send him a dream so bad he would be paralyzed. Time was on her side. But she had no intention of obliging him one moment longer than necessary. Her feet would remain planted here until she figured out how to dump him.
    “I have another little device that may amuse you,” the Horseman said. “It makes horses go.” And he banged his heels into her flanks.
    Pain lanced through her. There were knives on his boots! Imbri was leaping forward before she realized it, jolted by the shock. A horse’s natural response to fright or pain was to bolt, as running was normally the most effective defense.
    “You appreciate my spurs?” the Horseman inquired. He drew on the left rein, forcing her to curve around that way.
    Imbri tried to slow, but the spurs stung her again, making her run faster. She tried to veer right, but the bit in her mouth cut cruelly and she had to go left. The Horseman had subjected her to his awful will!
    No wonder the day horse had fled this terrible man! If only she had realized the Horseman’s nature! If only she had not foolishly forgotten her warning message!
    But these things had come to pass, and she was paying the price of her neglect. If she ever got out of this fix, she would be a wiser mare!
    The Horseman rode her back through the Faux Pass and west along the south side of the mountain range. Imbri stopped fighting her captor and found it amazingly easy to yield to his directives. The Horseman did not hurt her unless she resisted.
    Imbri cursed herself for her inability to resist. But she was rapidly becoming conditioned to the will of the Horseman. When she tried to resist, he punished her; when she obeyed, he praised her. He seemed so sure of himself, so reasonable, so consistent, while she seemed, even to herself, like a poorly mannered animal. For now, until she figured out an effective course of independence, she had to go along.
    But capitulation was not enough. He wanted information, too. “Who gave you that warning to beware of me?” he asked.
    Imbri hesitated. The Horseman touched her sore flanks with his awful spurs—they weren’t actually knives, they just felt like it—and she decided that there was no harm in answering. She sent a dreamlet, representing herself in woman form, in shackles, her side bleeding from abrasions, and with a brass bar in her mouth. “Ve commands va Powers of