Momentarily blinded he rolled away from the heat, eyes closed. When he opened them he saw a blurred figure silhouetted against the glaring light. It was bending over him, arm extended. Reflexively Athyr tightened his grip on his striker to use it as a dagger against this assailant but, with unexpected speed, a foot pinned his wrist onto the frozen snow-filled sand.
‘It’s me!’ the figure hissed, its voice a mixture of alarm and exasperation. ‘I had to knock you away, you weren’t looking and your stone was going. Get up for pity’s sake!’
It was Tirke. The foot released Athyr’s arm and he allowed himself to be dragged to his feet. Tirke was looking at him anxiously and was about to speak.
Athyr forestalled him. ‘Come on,’ he said urgently, seizing his arm. He had recovered most of his compo-sure as soon as he had recognized Tirke’s voice but his heart was beating at a rate that he knew would not now diminish until he was clear of the Morlider camp.
Against the background of growing flames and mounting clamour, the Helyadin moved silently and swiftly between the crooked rows of tents, leaving the glowing red stones that would spread that clamour even further.
As they neared the palisade and the unguarded opening, a man came running towards them, sword in hand.
‘The Gate watch have all been killed,’ he said, a murderous fury in his voice. ‘Those stinking horse riders must be in the camp.’
Athyr gripped his sword under his fur coat but be-fore he could strike, three more armed figures came running in the same direction. Too many and too angry to kill either quickly or quietly. He had to get his group out urgently now.
He gesticulated frantically towards the sea. ‘The ships! The ships! Fire!’ he gasped hoarsely, as if he had been running desperately.
The words could not have been better chosen. The merest glance at the flickering skyline galvanized the four men who ran off shouting and banging tent ropes as they passed.
Athyr and Tirke ran on desperately until they reached the fire by the opening in the palisade. Two of the dead guards had tumbled over, and were staring upwards wide-eyed into the still falling snow. Tirke paused as he passed by, then wiping his hands down his sides as if they were dirty he moved to join Athyr who had slipped through the opening and was waiting in the shade beyond.
Four figures emerged from between the nearby tents, their rapid stealth identifying them as Helyadin. Athyr stepped forward and ushered them through the opening. They vanished into the darkness.
Almost immediately, others appeared. Athyr dis-missed them after their companions. Tirke found himself examining faces and counting, just as he knew Athyr would be. So near the end of this mission he found his fear rising almost uncontrollably. Four more left! Come on! Come on! Yet Athyr seemed quite calm.
The din in the camp was now considerable and there were signs of waking activity in the nearby tents. Shadowy figures were emerging everywhere.
Where in Sumeral’s name are you?
Tirke’s agonized but silent question was answered by angry voices and the clash of arms nearby. Athyr ran towards the sound and, without thinking, Tirke followed him. As they reached the aisle from which the noise had come, two figures emerged, one supporting the other. Behind them two others were walking backwards holding their swords double-handed and keeping a group of about six hesitant Morlider at bay. In the gloom beyond them, Tirke thought he saw two figures sprawled on the ground. That would account for the Morlider’s caution.
Athyr seized the free arm of the injured man and lifted it around his shoulder.
‘Run,’ he shouted unnecessarily, to his fellow bearer.
Tirke joined the two men forming the rearguard. Abruptly three of the Morlider disappeared behind a tent.
‘Watch your flanks,’ one of the Helyadin cried, fol-lowed immediately by the cry, ‘Run for it.’
Tirke and the other Helyadin needed no such in-junction and, turning, they dashed for the opening. A figure came briefly into the edge of Tirke’s vision and he lashed out at it wildly with his sword. The sword made contact with something and there was a cry of pain. Tirke did not pause in his flight; he suddenly had the impression that the entire Morlider army was being drawn towards him personally.
Outside the palisade, the ground sloped upwards slightly and the snow became increasingly deep, making both flight and chase awkward and lumbering. However, unburdened by any injured companions, the Morlider soon caught up with the retreating group. There was a brief untidy skirmish which left two Morlider bleeding and groaning in the snow, before they in their turn withdrew a little to surround the Helyadin comfortably beyond sword’s length.
Rather to his surprise, Tirke saw that there were in fact only about a dozen or so, and that not all were armed.
Without command, the Helyadin formed a circle.
‘Tend to your ships, Morlider,’ Athyr shouted, wav-ing his sword towards the now roaring flames, but the lure did not have the effect it had had before.
Instead, one of the Morlider threw a small axe. Its blade glittered briefly in the flickering light, and somehow, Athyr managed to strike it with his sword and destroy most of its momentum. It travelled on, however, to catch Tirke a glancing blow on the shoulder. The impact made him stagger forward and two or three of the Morlider started towards him. The pain of the blow broke through Tirke’s fear and released a darker creature. As he recovered his balance he took one hand from his sword hilt and drew a long knife. The attackers faltered, though it was as much the look on his face as the extra blade that made them hesitate.
Athyr glanced towards the camp. More Morlider were emerging; delay would be fatal. He hitched his injured companion into a more comfortable position then, speaking in the battle language, said, ‘Into the darkness.’
Abruptly the five men and their burden were run-ning through the hindering snow. The surrounding circle burst open as, surprised by Athyr’s alien com-mand and this unexpected charge, the Morlider scattered to avoid the slashing blades of the Helyadin. The surprise was only momentary, however, and a grim pursuit began again in earnest as yet more Morlider poured out of the camp.
Rage and terror mingled equally in Tirke as, gasping for breath, he forced his legs high to carry him through the deep snow and tried to keep near his companions in the deepening darkness that lay beyond the reach of the light from the blazing camp.
Very soon, however, he fell, almost bringing down a close pursuer. Turning as he fell he felt rather than saw a descending weapon. Some reflex twisted him from its path and he let out a startled cry. Loman gaped. It wasn’t possible. The column was here already?
As his attacker raised his weapon for a second blow, Tirke lashed out at him wildly with his sword. The blade raked across the man’s thighs and Tirke felt it scraping along bone. He looked at Hreldar’s Guards. They would take a toll, but they were very few, even in this narrow part of the valley. This was going to be bad if the reinforce-ments didn’t arrive soon.
He had a sudden vision of Loman patiently and caringly teaching him how to use a sharpening stone. The Morlider gave an agonized cry and hurled himself backwards in a frenzied and belated attempt to avoid his terrible injury. He motioned Atelon to follow him then drew his sword and rode forward. Hreldar galloped across to join them.
Tirke saw him rolling away frantically, still scream-ing, but he had little time to assimilate this scene, as he could also see Morlider closing in on him from all sides. He had a fleeting impression of his companions similarly assailed. As they reached the small line of pikemen and arch-ers there was another whistle from above and abruptly the column came into sight.
A blow from somewhere knocked the sword from his hand and he swung his knife in the general direction of this attack. He sensed a pair of legs leaping away, but in front of him appeared a looming figure lifting a spear high for a blow that must surely pass through him as easily as through the snow beneath him. It was cavalry, and moving fast.