Honoured Enemy

FIFTEEN. FLIGHT

The morning was cold.

Leaning against a stunted tree to catch his breath, Tinuva turned to look back. In the early morning light it was easy enough to see Wolfgar's Stockade, for it was burning now, a distant smudge of smoke rising up and spreading out in the still morning air. The smoke hung low, an indicator of bad weather to come. Raising his gaze, he swept the sky. To the east it was still clear, but to the west a fingerlike spread of clouds was drifting. By early evening it would be snowing again.

The column staggered slowly past, heads lowered against the icy breeze which swept the top of the pass. The Tsurani, stoic as ever, marched uncomplaining. Most of them were now wearing heavy felt boots and wool trousers: in fact, except for the lacquered armour emerging from beneath the white-and-grey camouflage cloaks it was hard to tell the difference between them and the Kingdom troops, that and their shorter stature. All the men were wearing crudely made snowshoes, fashioned while passing the peaceful days with Wolfgar, but more than one pair had already broken and the unfortunate men without such gear had to labour through the drifts like a swimmer breasting an icy surf.

Without the horses, the column never would have made it to the top of the pass for in places the drifts were higher than a man's head and the animals had to be used as rams to batter down the icy walls so that the column could pass. He could see where a week ago it would have been impossible to traverse the pass. What was so frustrating was that the delays and exhausting work to get through the notch in the mountains served to make an easy path for those in pursuit.

The men were silent and Tinuva could sense the tension between the two bands. Throughout the night, in spite of the dread that followed them, the whispered conversations had been about the fight between Barry and Sugama and the near-duel of Dennis and Asayaga. Some of the Tsurani even blamed Dennis for the betrayal by Corwin, thinking that as captain he had failed to uncover the traitor and was thus dishonoured.

If it had not been for the unfortunate young Richard, the truce would have disintegrated into a general slaughter with the moredhel simply having to finish off the survivors. Tinuva wondered how the two sides would manage to fight together when the time came, for surely they would indeed be fighting within the next day, or two days at most.

Even from this great distance Tinuva could see that Bovai's army had dozens of mounted troops formed up outside the burning stockade, with at least another two hundred or more on foot, and that the column was already on the move. The combined command troops of Tsurani and Kingdom soldiers would be outnumbered at least two to one, if not more.

'They're coming?'

Gregory was by his side, shading his eyes against the early morning sunrise, looking back to the valley.

'Just setting out.'

'Arrogant bastards, took the stockade and slept the night while we cut the trail for them to follow.'

'Why not? We can't throw off their tracking. They'll catch up before we can reach safety.'

Gregory squatted down, rubbing his hands together and eyed the notch through which they were passing.

'Already thought of that,' Tinuva said. 'It's too wide here, and there's no cover. We'd be flanked in minutes and cut off.'

'Wish we didn't have the children and women. Without them we could push the pace.'

'Should we have left them behind then?' Tinuva asked.

Gregory smiled and shook his head. 'Being honourable has its drawbacks at times and this is one of them.'

'Yes it does,' Tinuva whispered.

The last of the column trudged past, followed by Dennis and Asayaga who walked in silence. The two slowed and joined Tinuva, and they all looked back to the valley.

Tinuva could see the sadness in Dennis's eyes at the sight of the burning stockade.

'A good ending,' Gregory said softly. 'I bet the old man was singing that song of his, sword in hand. He'd prefer that to the slow wasting of the heart which was killing him anyhow.'

Dennis said nothing for a long minute. 'Any defendable positions?' he asked finally.

Tinuva shook his head and nodded back to the southwest. The slope of the mountain swept down into a vast impenetrable forest, another range of mountains rising up more than twenty miles away.

'I trekked this place long ago,' he said, his voice distant. How long ago was something these men would barely understand. 'Beyond the next range I remember a dwarven road used by their miners for the hauling of ore down to a mill along the river.' As he spoke he pointed to the wooded crest. 'The dwarves from Stone Mountain abandoned the mill and mine years ago when it played out.'

'And the Broad River?' Dennis asked. 'Do we try to circle round back to the ford we used or make a run for the bridge?'

It had been a topic of speculation almost every night after their arrival at Wolfgar's: how to get out. In general they had agreed upon the bridge. Tinuva had been there long ago, but Wolfgar and Roxanne had made a trek to it less than half a dozen years back. The span had still been intact then.

Twice Dennis had attempted to lead a patrol out to check but both times they had turned back, the pass simply impenetrable and one of the men had been lost in an avalanche. So now they would have to make the decision blind. Ten miles past the next range, then on to the road and south to the bridge. All their planning, however, had been predicated on the hope that there would be sufficient warning of Bovai's approach giving them a lead of a day or more to get out. 'If the span is still there and undefended we cross, destroy it, and are home free,' Dennis said, but there was an ironic tone to his voice. 'If he put a blocking force onto the bridge, however, or worst yet destroyed the span, we are trapped.'

Dennis looked at his companions.

'The ford is in the opposite direction,' Gregory replied, 'heading back into territory the moredhel control now. Plus, it's another sixty miles or more. They'll swarm over us long before then.'

'To run a blocking force around to the bridge is an extra thirty miles or more,' Tinuva interjected. 'If Bovai came up only within the last few days, we can still outrace them.'

'You don't think they did it?' Dennis asked.

'I didn't say that.'

Dennis nodded. A shower of sparks swirled up from the long house a dozen miles away in the valley below as it collapsed in on itself. It was plainly visible to all and he heard a muffled sob. Alyssa and Roxanne had come back from the head of the column and were sitting astride their mounts, watching as the only home they knew was destroyed. Asayaga turned away from the group and went up to Alyssa's side. Reaching up, he touched her gently on the leg.

'Make for the bridge then, and hope it's there,' Dennis stated in the detached voice he assumed when giving a command.

Tinuva nodded.

'We'd better keep moving,' Dennis said. 'It'll have to be straight out. No stopping until we're across the river.'

'You're talking two days' march with children and women, and a storm brewing,' Gregory interjected. 'Do you see an alternative?'

Dennis looked back at Tinuva who said nothing, his gaze locked on the valley below.

'He's there.'

Bovai reined his mount about, looking up to the distant pass highlighted by the brilliant light of dawn. He could see the antlike column disappearing over the notch, but far more powerful than what he could see with his eyes was what he could sense in his soul.

Tinuva was looking at him.

The long house and the entire stockade was an inferno. It had served its purpose for the night as shelter after the long march of the previous day – there was even food to be found and a few of the old ones foolish enough to be taken alive had provided entertainment for the goblins.

He had vague recollections of old Wolfgar and the stories about his defiance of the King. It was a shame, in a different time and place he might have even suffered him to live, but any friend of his brother was a sworn enemy and besides, the old man had decided to go down fighting.

'Did you send for me?'

It was Corwin.

Bovai nodded, barely looking down at the man who was still wearing the robes of a monk. 'I expect you to get mounted and guide us.'

'The path they've left, I don't think you need a guide.'

Bovai could sense the fear. It would be just like Hartraft and Tinuva to have laid traps to slow the advance; there might even be a few left behind and this fat one was afraid of an ambush.

'Nevertheless, mount and go forward.'

'I think my services to you could be better rendered in other ways.'

Bovai finally looked down and fixed him with his gaze. 'You should have cut the boy's throat to make sure.'

Corwin had told him the boy had fallen to his death, but they had seen Richard's body lying on one of the tables in the long hall.

Corwin had cursed himself for having blurted out the young soldier's name upon seeing him. Had he kept silent, Bovai would never have known his error in judgment, but with the boy having fallen down the side of the path onto the rocks, Corwin had been convinced he was dead.

Bovai continued, 'If you had finished him, this chase would be finished. Hartraft and…' his voice trailed off, for the subject of his brother was not something to be shared.

'Tinuva,' Corwin whispered and gave the flicker of a smile.

Bovai's backhand caught Corwin across the cheek flayed open by Richard's dagger and the man staggered back.

'You have no right to dare mention his name in my presence,' Bovai snarled. 'I gave you a task and you failed. You failed to lure them into Brendan's Stockade, you failed to drive a wedge between them, you allowed the boy to escape and warn them.'

'I've served you for ten years,' Corwin said coldly, hand cupped over the side of his face, a trickle of blood leaking out between his fingers.

'And?'

Corwin hesitated.

'Go on.'

Corwin's eyes narrowed, his gaze sharp and crafty, like a cornered rat's.

'Your men have been whispering during the night. They are angry, exhausted. They know Tinuva is with Hartraft and they fear him. Many whisper that you are more interested in settling the affairs of your vendetta rather than finishing off Hartraft so they can go home.'

'Always the ferret, aren't you?'

'It is how I survive. The beauty of my betrayals are that men, even those of your race, trust me up till the moment I slip the dagger between their ribs or serve them a flagon of brandy. Don't waste that talent lightly. Our master has plans for me.'

'And you would betray me in a heartbeat if it furthered whatever dark goals you sought.'

Corwin smiled. 'Only should it serve our master. Otherwise, our paths are the same.'

Bovai snorted derisively. 'Nevertheless, ride forward.'

Corwin hesitated then bowed low in acknowledgment and turned away.

Golun rode up to join Bovai, his gaze locked on Corwin who was stalking away. 'I'd kill him now and be done with it,' he announced.

'Our master has need of him. He is to go south and prepare the way for an invasion in the next three or four years. Until I sit at Murad's right hand, or replace him, I cannot risk displeasing the Master.'

Golun seemed unconvinced. 'A traitor is always a traitor.'

'Like my brother up there?' Bovai whispered, nodding to the high pass.

The morning air was so clear that he still felt as if he could see him, in a small knot of several men, where the flicker of light from the dawning sun flashed off a bit of metal.

'Finish off the Marauders, that is what will give you glory, and reunite those who follow you now. Then worry about Tinuva.'

Bovai said nothing and merely nodded, his attention still focused on the crest of the mountain and the flicker of light.

The snow drifted down gently and when Dennis stopped walking it was the only sound, the whispering of the flakes as they came to rest on the overhanging branches and the forest floor.

He heard the snicker of a horse and turned, bow coming up instinctively, arrow already nocked. Then he lowered his weapon.

Roxanne, following his track, ducked low under a heavily-laden branch and came up to his side.

'I told you to stay back with the main column,' he said softly.

'I hunted here with my father for years. I can help.'

'Not now, not this kind of hunting,' he hissed. 'Go back.'

He set off again at the double, moving swiftly, daring to stay on the narrow trail. Throughout the morning and into the afternoon he had been haunted by the fear that Bovai would have sent a blocking force around to cut off this avenue of escape. Corwin knew the plan – he must have passed it along – and to run blindly forward with the hope that Bovai had not been able to set up a trap in time was a quick way to a certain death. If they were going to block the bridge, they'd have scouts out forward as well.

Down in the forest in the broad open valley the snow was not so deep, but now that they were ascending the next ridgeline the passage was getting difficult again. He had long ago taken off his cloak and slung it around his pack, but nevertheless he was breathing heavily, and sweat was soaking through his tunic.

Drenched as he was he knew he'd have problems with the cold once night settled.

He pressed on, inwardly cursing as the girl doggedly followed, at one point moving ahead of him, breaking the trail.

He finally came up by her side and grabbed hold of her reins.

'Damn you, go back.'

'You're ready to drop from exhaustion, Hartraft. Let someone mounted break the trail.'

'A mounted rider is a dead target in these woods,' he hissed. 'We do it on foot. Now go back.'

'The women and children back with the column need rest, a fire.'

'We don't stop.'

'What?'

'You heard me. We don't stop till we reach the bridge.'

Though his men knew the routine he had decided not to tell Wolfgar's people of his plan to keep marching: there was no sense in their anticipating the agony of a night march in a storm until they were already into it.

'That's still fifteen or more miles off – half of them will be dead by then,' she snapped. 'You can't push these people on a night march.'

Dennis reached up and grabbed her by the arm. 'Your father understood this and I would expect his daughter too. This is not some leisurely hike. They caught us by surprise and either we run them into exhaustion and they stop, or they catch us and slaughter us. We march through the night. Those that can't keep up, we give them a bow, a few arrows and hope they slow the moredhel down a bit, then finish themselves off.'

'Including the children?' she asked, her voice as cold as the evening chill.

He was tempted to give her a bitter response but then shook his head. 'No,' he whispered, 'of course not. Get some of the women to double up on the horses with them, they can hold a child if it falls asleep, but we keep moving.' He hesitated. 'I've ordered my men not to carry anyone who falls behind – if they do, I lose both the straggler and a good soldier. Everyone marches or they die.'

She nodded, eyes not on Dennis, but still surveying the forest. 'They didn't get ahead of you. I know this way. The moredhel would have to make a march of sixty miles or more to swing around the valley and come back out here to cut us off. Besides, there's half a dozen trails like this over this ridge. If there was a trap it would have been just on the far side of the pass back into the valley. You're free of them.'

'I don't survive by living on assumptions,' Dennis replied.

'Break the trail with my horse, otherwise it will be you who's left behind by tomorrow morning.'

He scanned the woods yet again. Already the shadows had deepened so that he could barely see more than half a bowshot away. Throughout the day the snow had been unbroken except for the tracks of animals.

All his instincts were against her suggestion but he knew she was right. He could not keep up this pace of running point throughout the night and still be ready for a fight. He reached down and undipped his snowshoes. 'Take my shoes, then wait for the column to come up. Tell Asayaga to keep them moving.'

'No.'

'What?'

'This old horse is big enough for both of us. Like I said, I know this ground. I'll ride behind you.'

He was tempted to reach up and simply pull her out of the saddle but the look of defiance in her eyes sparked a memory and finally he shook his head. He clipped his snowshoes to the side of the saddle, pulled out his cloak, put it back on then scrambled up, Roxanne sliding back. She hesitated, then finally put her arms around his waist.

The horse looked back at him, and he knew if it had a voice it would cry out in protest. The poor dumb beast was exhausted. He leaned over, patted it on the neck and whispered a few words of encouragement, then nudged it forward. Though he would not admit it, the feel of the warm saddle under him was a blessed relief. The horse ambled along slowly, needing just an occasional nudge to guide it along the trail.

As the darkness settled and deepened the snow increased, heavy thick flakes coming straight down, then gradually shifting to lighter and drier flakes that began to dance and eddy as a light breeze picked up.

He caught a glimpse of a darker shadow in the snow and reined in. A stag, caught by surprise, struggled to its feet, a curtain of snow falling from its back. The two gazed at each other for an instant and then it clumsily bounded off.

'A good sign,' Roxanne whispered. 'No one is about.'

He nodded and they rode on in silence for several minutes.

'You hunted here before?' he asked.

'Before the shortness of breath began to afflict my father he took me over the pass several times. I think it was more just to see some new country: there was always more than enough game in our own valley. We'd ride like this, with me behind him, and he'd tell me stories of kings, princes, cities with a hundred tall spiralling towers and of the great ships that sailed on warm seas.'

He spared a look back over his shoulder. There was a sad smile on her face as she remembered a happier time.

'I think that's the most I've heard you say since I've met you.'

'And this is the most you've spoken to me since I met you.'

Again there was a long silence. The snow came down harder again, at times obscuring the view so that he could barely see a dozen feet in front of them. They crossed a narrow stream, the horse nearly losing its footing on the ice-covered rocks on the far bank. It was barely calf-deep but it was, nevertheless, a major barrier. Men would get wet, then have to keep on marching, their boots freezing, the cold sapping their strength. Chances were at least one would lose his footing in the stream and get soaked, a virtual death-sentence for what in other times would be seen as a source of levity and a good laugh.

He waited for a moment, not sure how far back the column was.

'How come you never talk, Hartraft?'

'Talk? To who?'

'Me.'

'There was never much to say.'

'You like Alyssa, don't you?'

The branch of a tree, overburdened with the newly-fallen snow groaned and cracked, and a cascade of snow tumbled down near them, sending up a swirl of flakes.

'Asayaga is better at such things than I am. He has the courtly touch.'

'Father told me about your Gwenynth. I'm sorry.'

'If only I had known it was Corwin,' he said coldly. 'I should have known, sensed it. And he was within my grasp for weeks.'

'Is that all you think of?'

'What?'

'Vengeance?'

'It's a start,' he replied, the tone in his voice indicating that the conversation was finished.

'I lost my father last night. If we do have to fight the moredhel I hope to do my part, but to spend my life hunting them down… father would want different for me.'

Dennis did not reply.

'He was worried about you.'

'Keep an eye on the woods.'

'He remembered you as a boy who had a fire in his eyes, a love of adventure, and even a touch of the poet. He said the two of you would make up funny little verses together. That you loved to watch sunsets, to sing, and would clamour for books to read.'

'I was a boy.'

'No, that was the same you, just long ago.'

'I don't need someone else to tell me to get over what happened,' Dennis whispered. 'Now do your job and keep an eye on the woods.'

'No one can see thirty feet in this,' she said.

'I didn't survive nine years of war thinking like that.'

Even as he spoke he caught a glimpse of a hooded lantern at the head of the column. He wanted to swear at the fool who had lit it, but realized that in a way the girl was right. There was no one out here other than this desperate column.

Asayaga was in the lead, holding the lantern. Reaching the edge of the stream he hesitated.

'Just cross it,' Dennis hissed.

'We need to rest, we're carrying many of the children.'

'Put all of them on the horses and keep moving.'

He turned his mount and pressed on up the slope, leaving the party behind to negotiate the frigid water.

The hours passed and the snow thickened to a heavy all-consuming fall that muffled the world, deadening all sound except for the laboured breathing of the horse. An hour after sunset they crested the ridge and paused for a few minutes, then dismounted to let the tired animal rest. He explored both sides of the trail, hoping to find that the pass was narrow enough to make it defendable. The ground, however, was open – just a shallow depression. Dejected, he came back to find one of his corporals, Alfred, bent double, gasping, Roxanne down by his side offering him a drink from her wine-sack.

'Captain Asayaga sent me up to find you,' he reported, leaning against the sweat-soaked and shivering horse for support. 'Gregory came up from the rearguard: they've had several skirmishes, killing two human scouts. We lost two as well, both Tsurani who were wounded and stayed behind.'

Dennis nodded.

Just below the top of the pass they had spied an abandoned cabin, Roxanne stating that it belonged to an old hermit. He had hoped to let the party rest for half an hour, to build a fire for the children to warm up, but that was impossible now.

'How far to the dwarf road?' Dennis asked, looking over at Roxanne.

'In fair weather, not more than two hours on horse. The bridge beyond, a half hour in good conditions.'

Dennis sighed and shook his head.

If the road was overgrown it would help, but dwarven roads were usually well built, straight and well paved – no one could match the dwarves for stonework. It would prove a disadvantage now. Once on it Bovai would send his whole column of cavalry off in hot pursuit rather than simply probing.

'Tell Asayaga we must move faster,' Dennis said. 'Keep them moving.'

He mounted, Roxanne sliding back to give him room.

Alfred saluted and started back.

'No, wait here until they catch up with you, Corporal. No sense you running up and down this hill twice.'

'Thank you, sir,' Alfred gasped.

Dennis nudged his tired mount, but the horse refused to budge for a moment and finally he had to kick hard with his heels to get it moving.

He was throwing caution aside now. If they were not blocking this point it should be an open run down to the road. Once on the road he could check for signs. It gave him a terrible naked feeling, riding hard like this in the middle of the night, abandoning the careful routine of years of moving, waiting, listening, then covering as your companion leapfrogged forward.

Several times his mount nearly lost its footing. Once he lost the trail completely and had to slowly backtrack, barely able to pick out the pathway as the snow continued to fall.

The third moon had risen an hour before and there was ample light by which to navigate if he kept to a slow and steady pace. He fought back the urge to pick up speed, but galloping down a mountain trail through the woods at night would be folly of the worst sort.

He could sense Roxanne falling asleep, her arms around his waist going slack, her head lolling on his shoulder, her warm breath on the back of his neck. He let her rest for a few minutes then slapped her lightly on the thigh.

'Stay awake, I need your eyes.'

She sighed, mumbled something and then sat upright.

'Where are we?'

'I don't know,' she whispered.

He sensed a narrow clearing ahead before actually seeing it where the trees thinned out slightly. He reined in and slipped out of the saddle, taking his bow, which had been resting across the pommel, and removing the oil-cloth draped over the string. Nocking an arrow he slipped forward, paused, then slowly dropped down onto the road. Even in the darkness he could discern its lines, a straight cut through the forest, wide enough for two carts to pass each other.

Bent low, he crept to the middle of it, crouched and carefully scanned the path. After several minutes he started to brush aside the powdery snow, probing down through the foot-deep fresh fall until he hit the hard crust below. He cursed silently. It was hard to tell in the darkness, especially by touch, but there were footprints: goblins and at least one horse. He reached into his haversack, pulled out some tinder and a precious springlock sparker, a gift from Wolfgar on midwinter's night, wound it up and held it close to the tinder, his cloak draped over his shoulders and head to shield himself. He pressed the trigger and a shower of sparks came spinning out, striking the tinder. Cupping the fluffy down and thin white bark shavings he blew them to life so that a tiny curl of a flame flared up – not much more than the light from a candle about to flicker out – but after hours of darkness the light seemed nearly as bright as day.

Keeping one eye closed in order not to destroy his night vision, he scanned the footprints, kicking back more of the powder and then let the flame wink out. Catlike he straightened up, opened his other eye and carefully scanned both ways: nothing moved.

'Roxanne,' he hissed and she came out of the edge of the woods and down to the road, leading their horse. 'He's sent someone around – at least four goblins and one rider. They passed here just before the storm started.'

'The bridge,' she whispered.

He stood up, brushing the snow off his trousers. 'Either hold it, or destroy it,' he sighed. He weighed the odds. Go back, get a few men, then come back again. An hour or more to do that. It was hard to tell how long before dawn. One man, in the dark, however, might catch them by surprise. 'I'm going,' he said. 'You wait here, guide the column onto this trail and tell Asayaga I've gone ahead and what's happening. Make sure he puts out scouts as he comes up to the bridge in case it doesn't work out.'

'I'm going with you.'

'Like hell you are.'

'What are you going to do, just gallop in on this old nag?' she snapped. 'You don't even know the ground before the bridge.'

'Then tell me now, girl, what will I see before approaching the bridge.'

'Like hell. You'll need someone to cover your back.'

He wanted to laugh but was too exhausted even to make the effort.

'I go, or you can just stumble into the trap on your own. There's no room for all that nonsense about protecting Wolfgar's daughter, Hartraft. If you fail here, we all die. I can put an arrow through a man at fifty yards. My father was a bard but he was also a damn good bowman and taught me well.'

Dennis sighed and shook his head. 'You do exactly what I tell you to do.' He mounted, fighting down the temptation to rake the flanks of the horse and simply gallop off. No, she was right. It was a blind attack – surprise and speed was everything, but an extra arrow might make all the difference. He pulled her up behind him. He urged the horse up to all that it could give, which was, at best, a laborious trot.

The poor animal gasped for air, legs rubbery, barely able to hold its footing. She protested once, begging him to let the dying beast rest for just a few minutes, but he pressed on. He had no idea as to the size of the bridge – even if it was still there – but if it was, and the centre span was wood, it might still be standing, especially if the goblins, arriving at dark and typical of their breed, had decided to settle down for the night and do their job come dawn.

They rode in silence for a while then finally Roxanne's head came up, and she looked off to the side of the trail. 'I remember that,' she hissed into his ear, and pointed. 'It's a side trail up to an old quarry. My father took me there to see the marble. The bridge is only a few minutes' ride ahead.'

Even as she spoke, he could feel that their horse was ready to give way. He tried to kick it forward but the animal simply stopped, its flanks shaking, and with a groan it settled to its knees. Cursing, he slipped off the saddle and uncovered his bow. 'We go in on foot.'

Roxanne dismounted, unslung her own bow and strung it. He waited impatiently and was about to speak when she reached out and gently scratched the horse's ear. 'I'm sorry old friend,' she whispered. 'Rest now.' She looked back up at Dennis and he could see that her eyes were bright with tears and that she was shaking, though whether from cold or fear he couldn't tell.

'Take the right side of the road, stay a dozen paces behind me: I'll be on the left. If I fall, you get the hell out. No heroics, just turn and run until you meet up with Asayaga.' She nodded. He realized that it was beginning to get lighter, that dawn was not far off. He patted her on the shoulder, a clumsy gesture, then withdrew his hand.

'Remember: get out.' Then he turned and set off at a lopping trot, not looking back.

The road turned in a long gentle curve to the right, cutting down and clinging to the flank of the hill. Off to his left he could now hear a low rushing thunder: the river cascading over a falls. Good, the sound would cover his approach. He could see nearly a hundred feet now: if not for the snow it would be a clear view all the way down to his goal. And then he saw it – a dull, pulsing glow of light. He picked up his pace, arrow nocked and bow half-drawn, the glow of light turning the falling snow ahead into a pool of pink. He could see a glowing swirl rising up as well and spreading out; then there was a flash of fire, an explosion of light, and dark demonic figures dancing and waving their arms as one of them hurled another pot of oil into the conflagration consuming the centre span of the bridge. He ran, powdery snow churning up, his sprint so quick that he nearly lost his footing on the ice underneath. He reached the edge of the bridge, the stone span arching up to the centre section of wood that was blazing from end to end. His first arrow caught a goblin in the middle of its back from not fifty feet away. The goblin pitched forward, shrieking, staggering out on to the burning beams. For a few precious seconds the dying goblin's four companions thought he was drunk, which he indeed was, and broke into gales of laughter at their companion's antics, until a second one spun around, an arrow protruding from his body. The other three finally began to turn, one of them pointing at Dennis. They were perfect targets, silhouetted by the fire and his next arrow gutted yet another, who sank down to his knees shrieking in agony, his cries heard above the roar of the fire.

One of them began to charge, but the second hesitated and looked around for a way to escape. Another arrow streaked in, piercing the charging goblin's heart, but he continued forward for a dozen paces, almost reaching Dennis before collapsing. The last survivor began to squeal and run frantically back and forth at the edge of the inferno, looking for a way out. Dennis, with cold brutality drew another arrow, carefully nocked it, and raised his bow.

'Hartraft!' He heard an arrow hiss past his cheek and then he was down, something ramming into him from behind, a dagger flashing into the snow within inches of his throat. He kicked out, rolled over and then his attacker was on top of him, blade poised, the flash of it coming down yet again, narrowly missing his eyes. His assailant was a moredhel, strong and sinewy. He pinned Dennis's right hand to the ground with his left, even as he raised his right for another strike.

Dennis tried to kick his legs up, to catch him in the back of the head, but the response was a knee to the groin which caused Dennis to gasp. And then he barely saw the shadow of Roxanne coming up from behind, her dagger glinting as she leapt in, cutting the moredhel across the throat.

Silently, the moredhel staggered to his feet, the dagger slipping from his grasp. Both hands went to his throat and arterial blood squirted out from between his fingers. He looked back at the woman, astonishment in his eyes, as if she had broken some rule and played a cruel and unfair joke. Then he sank to his knees.

Dennis rolled away, a hazy sheen of pain consuming his world. The other goblin…

He looked up. Roxanne had Dennis's bow in her hand. He watched her reach into her quiver, pull out an arrow, nock it and raise the bow. It was a heavy weapon and she struggled to draw the arrow back. The goblin still at the edge of the fire was shrieking, hands raised imploringly. She hesitated for a second then released the shot. The bolt brought the creature down, but didn't kill it.

Trembling, she took a second arrow, and advanced towards the goblin.

'Be careful,' Dennis gasped, coming to his knees, eyes still on the dying moredhel.

Roxanne stopped a dozen paces away and the goblin kicked and thrashed, trying to roll out of the way. 'Be still and let me finish it,' she cried.

The second shot missed completely. She started to scream at the goblin even as she drew a third arrow, stepping closer, aiming almost straight down.

Hands raised, it continued to beg for mercy in the common tongue. She released the arrow, and the screaming stopped, changing to a gurgling cry, almost like that of a wounded rabbit. She started to fumble for a fourth arrow but the goblin finally curled up and was still.

She came back to Dennis and knelt down by his side, looking warily at the moredhel whose throat she had cut. Blood leaked from the wound, but it was not yet dead. The dark elf stared at her. 'And to think, a human woman slew me,' he whispered. 'Tell my brothers it was Hartraft, then Bovai will have more reason for vengeance.'

She nodded.

'Tell Tinuva his cousin Vakar will await him on the far shore.' Still kneeling, he lowered his head and was still.

Roxanne, sobbing, leaned over and vomited, gasping for air.

Dennis, legs wobbly, stood up and gently rubbed her shoulders as she cried.

'I'm sorry. I saw him coming up, I shot and missed, almost hit you.'

'It's all right, it's your first fight. It's alright.'

'And the way he kept shrieking, I didn't want him to suffer, I just wanted him to die.'

'Its alright,' he said woodenly, looking at the bridge. The entire centre span was a crackling hell. It was obvious that the moredhel had not let his goblins sleep through the night. They had shovelled the wooden section clean, then piled brush and dried timber torn from the side of the mill above the bridge onto the span. Even as he watched, the flooring gave way, crashing down to reveal one of the two support spans underneath. The goblins had been at work there too, having cut through both beams with an axe. The support spans gave way and the entire structure crashed down into the thundering river below in an explosion of steam and hissing embers. He sighed, barely noticing that Roxanne was standing, leaning against him, still crying, her arm around his waist.

'I'm sorry,' she sobbed.

He held her tighter and gently wiped the tears from her face. It will be all right, you did just fine.'

He looked back at the bridge. They were trapped.