in defence, Tryuun could do nothing as Black Wings smashed into the weakest part of their line. Pushing back his enemy, he winced as he watched a sword crash through the shoulder of an elf, blood fountaining into the sky, splattering the deck.
With the gap made, the Black Wings surged into the space, taking much of the deck while the rest of their number thundered up the gangplank and on to the ship. They would soon be surrounded. Tryuun called to the Captain and forged forward once again.
Ren'erei hurdled the rail immediately after, making barely a ripple as she landed in the water below. But Erienne hadn't fallen. Flailing her arms in panic, she'd caught the rail and hung over the stern of the ship, too scared to drop but unable to pull herself back on board the ship.
There was a roar from the other side of the wheel deck. Below her, Ren'erei called up, her voice, though soft, carrying easily.
'Come on, Erienne, we're losing the ship. You've got to do it now. There's nothing down here but water and safety.'
'I'm coming,' she said, aware her voice must sound feeble. Shutting out the images of the hell beneath the waves, the grasping hands and the world closing in as she drowned, she got ready to loosen her grip.
She felt the touch of steel on her neck and a strong hand gripping her arm.
'Let me save you,' drawled a voice that chilled her blood. 'In fact, I insist.'
She looked up, saw the face above her, and screamed.
Chapter 21
Darrick thundered into the Lysternan camp, shouting for Izack. The commander came running from the darkness. The General leapt from his horse.
Tzack, sound general alarm. I want this camp on horseback and ready to ride faster than you've ever done it before. Get a message to the Dordovans. Warn them away from the Ocean Elm. And if you can find our Dordovan mage guides, tell them they are no longer welcome to ride with us.'
'Sir?' Izack frowned.
'Later. We have to get to the Elm. There's going to be real trouble, I think.'
'Sir!' Izack turned and ran, Darrick watching him order a young soldier to the bell and snap out orders that had men running for the paddocks, had tent flaps flying and set the camp alive with the sounds of neighing and snorting horses, chinking metal and a rising tide of urgent shouts.
Darrick turned and ran for the paddocks for a fresh horse, one of hundreds of men for whom speed was everything.
The paddocks looked like chaos incarnate but Darrick knew different. All the horses were picketed according to precise instruction and every man could find his mount with the very minimum of fuss and delay. Closer to, Izack, who had somehow got there ahead of him, was bellowing orders.
'Mounted cavalry leave the paddock area and form up by squads
at muster point one. One!' He held an arm aloft, fingers straight up,
to indicate to those who couldn't hear him. 'Move Lystern, move!'
Darrick grinned. That would hurt the Dordovan mages, if they had heard it. The mages who shadowed them everywhere with a haughty air and who, he noted, were now conspicuous by their
absence. If they had any remaining sense, they'd have left the camp already.
Dodging wheeling horses, the last saddles being hurriedly fixed and the flare of cloaks as riders swept up and over, Darrick ran on, his reserve mount held by his personal handler. The mare looked perfect in the torchlight, her coat shining, her head steady, bit and bridle polished. Like always. Nodding thanks, the General surged into the saddle, slipped his feet into the stirrups and kicked the horse on, vaulting the paddock fence and galloping to the muster point where he found Izack fretting.
'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.'