Ilkar chuckled gently. ‘Oh, come on. I know Vuldaroq and the Dordovan Quorum are keen to get their prodigy back but they’ll hardly have your heads for losing us, will they?’
The answering silence hinted that they believed otherwise.
‘Either way, fighting us will not help you,’ said The Unknown. ‘Because whoever wins, you will have “lost” us, won’t you?’
For a moment, they stood on the verge of fatal indecision. Then, the heavyset man’s face twisted in what passed for a lopsided grin. He inclined his head and put up his sword.
‘Let’s not spill blood here,’ he said. Hushing his companions, he turned them round and they mounted and left the crag clearing.
The Unknown put a finger to his lips and the three of them stood silent until the hoofbeats died away.
‘You know what they’ll do, don’t you?’ he said.
‘Of course,’ said Ilkar.
‘Then if you’d be so kind, Ilkar,’ he invited.
The elf smiled, formed the shape for a CloakedWalk, stepped forward and disappeared, his footfall utterly silent in this mockery of his ancestral home.
‘C’mon Hirad,’ said The Unknown. ‘Let’s go. They won’t be tracking us back through here.’
‘Ahead, you think?’
‘No doubt about it.’
Hirad smiled and they led all three horses on an angled path to exit the wood about half a mile from where they’d entered it, a slow enough passage to give Ilkar time to find their followers and let them believe The Raven had swallowed the lie.
Ilkar was disappointed. They really weren’t very good at all. Having exited Thornewood the way they’d entered it, the quartet had turned east and trotted along not far from its edge, leaving a trail only the senseless could fail to follow. He broke into a jog and skirted the boundaries of the wood, the wind steadily picking up in strength at his back, clouds now thick and threatening overhead in the grey, dank afternoon sky.
He found them a couple of miles down, slowed to a walk and deep in discussion, one of them making angles with his hands and pointing first into the woodland and then away over the open ground towards Greythorne. Apparently arriving at a decision, they ducked back under cover, having to force their way into the tangled foliage. Ilkar noted their position before walking back to where he estimated Hirad and The Unknown would be waiting. Knowing the way through the forest would be difficult, particularly while leading horses, he took his time.
‘Well?’ came The Unknown’s voice from a deep patch of shadow.
Ilkar grinned and pushed into the foliage, its shelter cutting the strength of the wind that was gusting up to gale force. It was gone mid-afternoon and the light was beginning to fade.
‘A mile and a half ahead, just under the eaves, probably split to cover a wider angle. How do you want to play it?’
The Unknown thought for a moment. ‘Hirad, fancy a little forest stroll?’
Hirad knew they’d be there. He hadn’t fought with either of them for four years and more but his confidence in them was undimmed. He’d been able to move quickly through Thornewood now he wasn’t encumbered by his horse, the increasing wind creaking through shattered trunks and twisted limbs of trees, rustling dead leaves to a parody of life, dancing in the air and along the dusty floor.
Hirad was a quiet mover but not like Ilkar. The elves had something with the forests that he had never been able to fathom, let alone replicate. Only Thraun, of any human he had known, had come close and there was tragic reason enough for that.
The Dordovan trackers were well-spaced and well-hidden along the perimeter where they expected The Raven to either exit or pass by before turning to Greythorne. But Hirad had done enough hunting to understand shadow and silence and he was only scant yards from the right-handmost man before he drew his sword and spoke.
‘Was there something we said you didn’t quite grasp?’ he growled.
The man started violently and spun round as he stood, twigs snapping underfoot.
‘Trouble!’ he called.
‘I never strike at unarmed men,’ said Hirad. ‘So I suggest you arm yourself.’ He came to ready in the tight space of tangled branch, leaf and bramble.
The man pulled out his long sword. ‘I need help over here!’ There was an answering call but it was troubled, not supportive. He was scared. Hirad could see it in his eyes and in the set of his body, and chose to be wary. Scared men were unpredictable and there was no room for manoeuvre.
‘No help is coming,’ said Hirad, and stepped back a pace, beckoning his opponent on with one hand. He heard other urgent shouts echoing on the wind and knew he was right.
The man sprang forward, unleashing a swift attack, his tall frame and long arms giving him good reach. Hirad stood his ground, blocking high, then to his midriff, eventually pushing away with his free hand as he deflected a second strike to his neck. The man stumbled back off-balance, one arm flailing out at an outstretched branch as he sought to steady himself, feet slipping on a dusting of leaves.
Hirad moved in, thrusting straight at the stomach, expecting and getting a half-block. He used the pace and change of direction to wheel his sword in a tight circle around his head, left to right. Almost too late, the tracker saw the blow coming and ducked, the blade skipping hard off his helmet.
Hirad swore, his assailant gasped and swayed but didn’t go down, shaking his head, clearly groggy. He formed an uninspiring defence, wobbling slightly and backing away. Behind him, he could see two more shapes, one advancing on and hulking over the other, his sword low, no doubt tapping at the earth.
Hirad grinned harshly, batted aside the attempted jab and buried his blade in his opponent’s neck, stepping smartly aside as blood spat from the severed artery. Gurgling, the victim fell, his life blood draining away into the forest floor.
Looking up, Hirad saw The Unknown straight-arm his enemy in the face before smashing his sword through his legs. The man dropped, screaming his last. Two down. Hirad moved. Ilkar had the other two. The ghost of concern flickered across his mind but an icy blast roared across him some twenty yards away and he knew he shouldn’t have even begun to worry.
The Unknown appeared at his shoulder, sheathing his cleaned sword.
‘Good work. Ilkar wanted the other two. They were a mage pair.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Hirad scrambled towards the source of the IceWind he’d felt surging into the dead woodland. ‘Ilkar?’ There was no answer for a while.
‘Over here.’ Hirad changed direction and came upon the elf kneeling by the twisted corpses of the tracker mages. He’d always found the sight of IceWind victims unnerving. Frozen in the attitude of life but with the pain etched in their faces of the instant of death, like paintings depicting the onset of terror.
‘Didn’t think you were keen on that spell,’ he said.
‘I’m not,’ said Ilkar vaguely. ‘It’s somewhat indiscriminate. Still, nothing much else in the firing line on this occasion.’ He hadn’t looked round.
‘What’s up?’ asked Hirad.
‘See for yourself.’ He moved away and indicated the exposed neck of one whose helmet lay nearby. ‘This isn’t right at all.’
Hirad frowned and bent to look. The light wasn’t good but it was enough to show him the telltale tattoo below the ear.
‘What the—?’ He looked up and round. ‘Unknown, what the hell is going on?’
The men hadn’t been sent by Dordover. They were Black Wings.
Chapter 11
Selik finally found an outlet for his anger and frustration a day north of Arlen. The ride towards the town, where all of his reports indicated he should station himself and the bulk of the Black Wings, had been brooding and unpleasant. The changeable weather had alternately frozen and soaked him, practically blown him from his horse on more occasions than he cared to count and finally, a hailstorm had bitten lumps from his face.