Barclay was a masterful horseman. He lead the race from the start, and by
the time they had reached Hyde Park, he had built up a commanding lead.
Observers have reported that Morgan did not seem to be concerned to push
his mount; he seemed happy to allow his opponent to race ahead.
In Hyde Park, Barclay's horse reared and threw him. As he was calming it,
he claims to have seen a green fog creeping into its breath. The steed was
soon terrified; bucking and whinnying. Before long, it lost its strength
and lay down to die. Barclay slashed down another rider in the park and
took his mount. That horse refused to take his rein, and he was reduced
Still far ahead of Morgan,
Barclay ran like the wind across the park, and
through the streets of the West End. Familiar as he was with these streets
he soon became lost. Everywhere he turned he found himself in streets
maddeningly familiar, yet somehow differently arranged.
Morgan almost sauntered into the courtyard of the Tower. The assembled
kindred were shocked and silent. He took his Council seat as the snow fell.
An hour later a ragged, bloodied and raving Barclay arrived. He had killed
almost a dozen mortals in his rage. He fled, never fully understanding
how Morgan had so effortlessly arranged his humiliation.