Nightchild

'Not fast enough,' said the senior captain in whom Darrick had utter faith.

'Gods, Izack, I'm glad you don't command me. From a sleeping start, this has got to be some sort of record.'

'Doesn't change the fact we haven't the time to waste.'

Darrick watched his men streaming to the muster, the last already in sight. 'Bring them to order.'

'Listen up,' shouted Izack, both arms up and spread above his head. 'General speaking.' Instant hush fell on the riders.

'This is no charge across open ground to an enemy. Those of you who have ridden to battle with me in years past remember the thrill of the ride. This has to be different. We will be riding through tight streets, past the houses of innocents and there must be no injury to any of them.

'We will ride fast, but we will ride with care. We will keep weapons sheathed until we reach the dockside and the order to arm is issued.

T don't know exactly what we will face on the docks but mind that those you thought of as allies may not be so. We ride to save a child from murderers. The innocent must survive. Lystern, ride on!'

With a roar, the cavalry kicked into action. They ate up the land to Arlen.

Hirad had turned north, leading the wolves away from the southern approaches to Arlen. This was no preordained plan. He'd wanted to be as near the docks as possible but what he had seen from a rise a couple of miles outside Arlen had shaken him.

Riding from a camp where fires still burned brightly and carrying lanterns and torches, hundreds of footmen and riders were streaming

towards the small port. Dordovans, presumably. And to the west of them, running, indefatigable and closing very fast, a dark smudge issued across the wan moonlit countryside.

Silent, awesome, like a monstrous black blanket flowing through the lowlands, they came. They had no need of lanterns, they had no need of horses. Or rest. And when they arrived in Arlen all hell would break loose. The Protectors. Once set on their purpose, they would carry out their orders ruthlessly, putting down any that got in their way.

Hirad knew a man who might be able to stop them but didn't know where he was. Held somewhere. Perhaps with the Dordovans but he'd never get through there until it was too late. Heading a couple of miles to the north of Arlen, where more campfires burned, was the chance he'd have to take.

With Thraun and the pack trailing him, he rode into the periphery. The camp was all but deserted, with signs of a hasty exit in evidence. Tent flaps not secured, fires untended and dying down, weapon stands empty, some lying on their sides. He could see only two men, not so much guards as camp minders, standing by the central fire over which hung various steaming pots. Their spears were jammed into the ground and the duo warmed their hands over the flames as the wind whipped at their cloaks.

Knowing he couldn't hope to persuade Thraun to wait, he decided to ride straight in, trusting that the wolves wouldn't attack unless he did and knowing that the pack of five behind him was more likely to secure quick response.

The soldiers didn't see or hear him until very late, the wind stealing sound as it roared across the countryside, the harsh firelight making shadows heavy. When they did, their reactions were both comical and predictable, grabbing their spears but both moving back, open-mouthed at what they were seeing. They glanced at each other, weighing up what looked a hopeless situation, knowing they could not run nor hope to win a fight.

Hirad pulled up his horse and slid off, sensing rather than hearing Thraun move with him into the warmth of the fire. The soldiers said nothing, staring past him at the wolves.

'Impressive, aren't they?' he said, hand resting on his sword guard. 'But not dangerous. Not necessarily.'

'You want something?' ventured one.

'Good guess. The Raven. Where are they?'

Recognition flashed across both their faces, frowns deepening nevertheless.

'We were told you'd been killed,' said the second soldier, both of them young men. 'By wolves.' He gestured at Thraun.

'Whoever told you was wrong. Now, The Raven.'

'They were taken to Arlen. To the jail.'

Hirad nodded. The Raven jailed. An insult but one he had to admit he'd triggered. He swallowed rising anger,

'And Darrick? Come to that, all the cavalry? Assuming you're the Lysternans I think you are. This camp is too well pitched to be Dordovan.'

'There's trouble in Arlen.' They looked from one to another. Hirad understood. They were, after all, Darrick's men.

'Look, I know you have your orders but, no matter how it may seem, we all want the same thing in the end. Tell me. I'm not about to announce to the General where I got my information but it might just help me save a lot of your friends and I do not have the time to argue with you.'

There was a moment's hesitation before one shrugged and the other spoke.

'The cavalry have ridden to the docks. The General thinks there's been a betrayal. He's gone to secure the Ocean Elm.''

'And that's it?'

Both of them nodded but Hirad hardly waited to see. He turned and grabbed the reins of his horse, speaking as he swung into the saddle.

'Gods burning, but it's much worse than that. The Dordovans are coming in from the south and the Protectors are right behind them. If you can get a message to Darrick, do it. You know where I'm headed.' He kicked the horse's flanks. 'And thank you. Thraun, come on.' He pushed the horse to a gallop, the wolves following in his wake.

Ren'erei wanted to shout, wanted to let Erienne know she'd seen and would do everything in her power to get the mage from Selik

but knew she couldn't afford to. It would only cost her own freedom and perhaps her life.

The Black Wings had taken the Elm so quickly and Ren'erei cursed herself for Erienne's predicament. But she'd been so scared and it had seemed the only way. She listened to her cries as Selik dragged her back to the main deck and prayed Tryuun had survived to watch over her. Poor Tryuun, whose fear must be almost as great as Erienne's.

But Ren'erei had more pressing matters that demanded her attention. The water was cold and, whipped up by the fast strengthening wind, spray stung her face. Her leather was heavy on her body and her sword, though light and slung down her back for balance, merely added to her struggles to keep afloat as she trod water. She had to think fast, weighing up the two available options.

Though slightly overhung in the classic elven style, the stern of the Ocean Elm could be climbed if, like all the crew, you knew how. But what purpose that would serve was difficult to judge. She was hardly going to liberate the ship single-handed and, besides hiding herself and waiting for some vague opportunity, would otherwise only provide company for Erienne as just another prisoner.

So, Ren'erei struck out, away from the stern of the Elm, aiming to get to shore in the safe harbour occupied by the fishing fleet. At least there, she would be out of sight of the Black Wings and anyway, their plan was obvious. Erienne and the Elm were a means to reach their ultimate prize; Lyanna.

The question was, how much more did they know? Enough to take the Elm with such apparent ease was shocking enough but Ren'erei had to assume they had some knowledge of their destination, at least that it lay south. After all, the degeneration of the Al-Drechar's shield was the reason the Elm was here at all and a smart mage would be able to sense the interruptions in the mana flow.

Ren'erei swam a powerful front crawl, her economical strokes moving her smoothly through the choppy water. Ahead of her, the fishers' harbour loomed, a stone and wood structure that had provided placid waters for the relatively flimsy skiffs and smacks for as long as Arlen had been built. Even on the calm lake waters, the winds whipping round the mountains brought squalls and storms and, periodically, the fleet needed a place to hide.