“Kill!” he hissed. Render leaped forward, covering the ground in three bounds, snarling ferociously. The three whirled at the sound, dragging their knives clear. Render’s great jaws closed upon the throat of his victim, the Aenir’s neck snapping with a hideous crack. Gaelen, long hunting knife in hand, was just behind the dog. He hurdled the beast, batting aside a wild slash from the second Aenir, then himself backhanded a cut across the man’s face. The warrior’s cheek blossomed red and he fell back, dropping his knife. Gaelen threw himself forward to plunge his own blade through the man’s leather jerkin, up under the ribs, seeking the heart. The man’s eyes opened in shock and pain. Gaelen twisted the blade to free it from the suction of the man’s body and tore it loose, kicking him away. Spinning, he was just in time to parry a thrust from the third warrior who aimed a vicious cut at his head. Gaelen ducked beneath it, stepping inside to hammer the knife into the man’s groin. The Aenir screamed and fell. Gaelen dragged the knife clear, punching it to the man’s throat and cutting off his screams. Render, still growling, tore at his victim, though the man was long dead.
“Home!” hissed Gaelen. In the following silence he listened intently. Satisfied the Aenir were alone, he ran to the girl.
It was Deva, her face bruised and swollen, her lips cut and bleeding. She was unconscious. Gaelen gathered what remained of her clothes and lifted the girl to his shoulder. Then he made his way back through the thicket to his pack and labored on up the slope, keeping to the rocky paths and firmer areas that would leave less sign of his passing.
His breathing was ragged as he reached the highest point of the slope, cutting into a sheltered glade where he lowered Deva to the ground. She was breathing evenly. Her shirt was in tatters and he threw it to one side. Her skirt had been ripped in half. Removing it, he spread the cloth and sliced an opening in the center. Sheathing his knife he lifted the girl to a sitting position and put the skirt over her head, widening the slash until the garment settled over her shoulders like a cape that fell to her knees. He tore her shirt into strips and fashioned a belt that he tied around her waist, then he laid her back.
“Stay!” he ordered Render and the hound settled down beside the girl. Gaelen gathered up his bow and quiver and retraced his steps to the slope, crouching in the undergrowth, eyes searching the trail.
There were so many questions. Why were the Aenir so far into the Farlain? What was Deva doing alone in the wilderness? What manner of men were these warriors who dressed like foresters and carried hunting knives like the clans? Had the war begun, or were they merely scouts? How many more were searching these woods? He could answer none of the questions.
He had been lucky today, waiting until the men’s lust was at its height before launching an attack. But once the enemy discovered the bodies they would be on his trail like wolves after a wounded deer. More than luck would be needed to survive from now on, he knew.
He was at least two days from the valley, but if the war had begun there was no point going east. If it had not, there was little point heading for Attafoss, a day or more to the northeast.
Down the slope he saw a flash of movement and drew back into the bushes. A man appeared, then another, then a file of warriors bearing bows. They did not seem to be hunting a trail, but if they kept moving along the track they would find the bodies. Gaelen waited until the file had passed, counting them, despair growing as the figure topped one hundred.
This was no scouting party.
Pulling back out of sight he ran to the glade, kneeling over Deva, lifting her head and lightly stroking her face. She came awake with a start, a scream beginning as his hand clamped over her mouth.
“Be silent, Deva, it is Gaelen!” he hissed. Her eyes swiveled to him and she blinked and nodded. He removed his hand.
“The Aenir?” she whispered.
“Dead. But more are coming and we must move. Can you run?”
She nodded and he helped her to her feet. Hoisting his pack, he gathered up the remains of her clothing and bade her wait for him. He moved east for two hundred paces, crossing the stream, leaving his track on a muddy bank, and looping a torn fragment of Deva’s shirt over a gorse bush. Satisfied with the false trail, he turned west again, moving more carefully over the rocks and firm ground until he rejoined Deva in the glade.
“Let’s go,” he said, heading for Attafoss.
They made almost half a mile when the horns sounded, echoing eerily in the mountains around them. “They’ve found the bodies,” he said grimly. “Let’s push on.”
Throughout the long afternoon Gaelen led them ever higher into the mountains, stopping often to study the back trail and keeping ever under cover. Deva stumbled after him, still in shock after her narrow escape, and yet awed by the authoritative manner in which Gaelen was leading. There was no panic in him, nor yet any sign of fear. He was, she realized not without shock, a clansman.
And he had killed three Aenir warriors. She was sorry to have missed that event.
Toward dusk Gaelen found a secluded hollow off the trail and he dumped his pack and sat down. He stayed there silently for some minutes, ignoring the girl; then he stood and returned to the trail, crouching to scan the mountainside. There was no sign of pursuit. He waited until it was too dark to see any distance, then returned to the hollow. Deva was bathing her face with water from his canteen and he squatted beside her.
“How are you faring?” he asked.
“Well. Are they close?”
“I can see no one, but that tells us nothing. They are woodsmen, they could be anywhere.”
“Yes.”
“What were you doing in the mountains?” he asked her.
“I had to visit my uncle Lars, who has a croft cabin south of here. I went with Larain. We were coming home when we saw the Aenir and we both ran. I hid in the woods, I don’t know what happened to Larain. Most of the night I listened for them, but I heard nothing. This morning I tried to get back to the valley, but they were waiting for me. I got away once but they caught me back there, where you found me.”
“It’s an invasion,” said Gaelen.
“But why would they do such a thing?”
“I don’t know, Deva. I don’t believe they need a reason to fight. Rest now.”
“Thank you for my tunic,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss his cheek.
“I could do no better,” he stammered. Reaching past her, he pulled his blanket roll from the pack. “Wrap yourself. It will be a chill night and we can afford no fire.”
“Gaelen?”
“Yes.”
“I… I thank you for saving my life.”
“Thank me when we reach safety. If there is such a place still.. .”
She watched the darkness swallow him, knowing he would spend the night on the edge of the trail. Render settled down beside her and she snuggled into his warm body.
Gaelen awoke just before dawn, coming out of a light doze in his hiding place by the trail’s edge. He yawned and stretched. The path below was still clear. Rounding the bushes he stopped, jolted by a heel print on the track not ten paces from where he had slept.
The track was fresh. Swiftly he searched the ground. He found another print, and a third alongside it. Two men. And they were ahead of him.
Ducking once more, he reentered the glade, waking Deva and rolling his blanket. Taking up his pack, he unstrapped his bow and strung it.
Glancing around, he saw that Render had gone hunting.
“We have a problem,” he told the girl.
“They are ahead of us?”
He nodded. “Only two of them. Scouts. They passed in the night.”
“Then give me a bow. My marksmanship is good, and you’ll need your hands clear for knife work.”
He handed her the weapon without hesitation. All clanswomen were practiced with the bow and Deva had the reputation of being better than most.