Erak gave a short snort of laughter. "You may say so," he replied. "But you dropped them Wargals at the bridge as well as any Ranger might. You stay where I can keep an eye on you."
Will shrugged, smiled wanly at Evanlyn and sat down again, sighing as he leaned his back against a rock. In a few moments, he knew, it would become hard and knobbly and uncomfortable. But right now, it was bliss.
The Skandians went ahead making camp. In short order, they had a good fire going, and when Evanlyn returned with the pot full of water, Erak and Svengal produced dried provisions, which they added to the water as it heated to make a stew. The meal was plain and fairly tasteless, but it was hot and it filled their bellies. Will thought ruefully for a few minutes of the pre-prepared food that came from Master Chubb's kitchen. Sadly, he realized that such thoughts of Master Chubb's kitchen and his times in the forest with Halt were no more than memories now, and the meal was suddenly even more tasteless than before.
Evanlyn seemed to sense his deepening sadness. He felt her warm, small hand cover his and he knew she was looking at him. But he couldn't meet those vivid green eyes with his own, feeling the tears welling up in them.
"It'll be all right," she whispered. He tried to talk, but couldn't form the words. Silently, he shook his head, his eyes downcast, staring intently at the scratched surface of the wooden bowl the Skandians had given him to use.
They were camped some meters from the side of the road, at the top of a slight rise. Erak had stated that he liked to see anyone who might choose to approach. Now, rounding a bend in the road several hundred meters away, came a large group of horsemen, followed by a troop of Wargals, running to keep up with the horses' trot. The sound of the Wargals' chant came to them on the breeze once more and Will felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising.
Erak turned swiftly to the two of them, gesturing them back into the cover of the rocks behind their campsite.
"Quick, you two! Behind them rocks if you value your lives! That's Morgarath himself on the white horse! Nordal, Horak, move into the light to screen them!"
Will and Evanlyn needed no second bidding. Staying low, they scrambled into the cover provided by the rocks. As Erak had commanded, two of the Skandians stood and moved into the glare of the firelight, drawing the attention of the approaching riders away from the two small figures in the half-light.
The chant, mingled with the clatter of hooves and the chink of harness and weapons, came closer as Will lay on his stomach, one arm covering Evanlyn in the darkness. As he had done before, he scooped the hood of his cloak over his head, to leave his face in deep shadow. There was a tiny gap between two of the rocks and, knowing he was taking a terrible risk but unable to resist, he pressed his eye to it.
The view was restricted to a few meters of space. Erak stood on the far side of the fire, facing the approaching riders. Will realized that by doing so, he had placed the glare of the firelight between the new arrivals and the spot where he and Evanlyn lay hidden. If any of the Wargals looked in their direction, they would be staring straight into the bright firelight. It was a lesson in tactics he filed away for future reference.
The sounds of horses and men stopped. The Wargal chant died abruptly. For a second or two, there was silence. Then a voice spoke. A low voice, with a slight snakelike sibilance to it.
"Captain Erak, where are you bound?"
Will glued his eye to the crack in the rocks, straining to see the speaker. Without a doubt, that cold, malevolent voice had to belong to Morgarath. The sound of it was the sound of ice and hatred. The sound of nails scraping on tile. The blood ran cold to hear it and, beneath his hand, he felt Evanlyn shiver.
If it had a similar effect on Erak, however, he showed no sign of it.
"My title, Lord Morgarath," he said evenly, "is not 'Captain,' but 'Jarl.'"
"Well then," replied the cold voice, "I must try to remember that, in case it is ever of the slightest interest to me. Now:Captain," he said, laying stress on the title this time, "I repeat, where are you bound?"
There was a jingle of harness and, through the crack in the rocks, Will saw a white horse move forward. Not a glossy-coated, shining white horse such as a gallant knight might ride, but a pale horse without sheen or life to its coat. It was huge, dead white and with wild, rolling eyes. He craned slightly to one side and managed to make out a black gloved hand holding the reins loosely. He could see no more of the rider.
"We thought we'd join your forces at Three Step Pass, my lord," Erak was saying. "I assume you will still go ahead with your attack, even though the bridge is down."
Morgarath swore horribly at the mention of the bridge. Sensing his fury, the white horse sidestepped a few paces and now Will could see the rider.
Immensely tall, but thin, he was dressed all in black. He stooped in the saddle to talk down to the Skandians and the hunched shoulders and his black cloak gave him the look of a vulture.
The face was thin, with a beak of a nose and high cheekbones. The skin on the face was white and pallid, like the horse. The hair above it was long, set to frame a receding hairline, and white-blond in color. By contrast, the eyes were black pools. He was clean-shaven and his mouth was a thin red slit in the pallor of his face. As Will looked, the Lord of Rain and Night seemed to sense his presence. He looked up, casting his gaze beyond Erak and his three companions, searching into the darkness behind them. Will froze, barely daring to breathe as those black eyes searched the night. But the light of the fire defeated Morgarath and he returned his gaze to Erak.
"Yes," he replied. "The attack will go ahead. Now that Duncan has his own forces deployed and in what he thinks is a strong defensive position, he'll allow us to come out onto the Plains before attacking."
"At which point, Horth will take him in the rear," Erak put in, with a chuckle, and Morgarath stared at him, head slightly to one side as he considered him. Again, the birdlike pose made Will think of a vulture.
"Exactly," he agreed. "It would be preferable if there were two flanking forces as I'd planned originally, but one should be enough."
"My thoughts too, my lord," Erak agreed, and there was a long moment of silence. Obviously, Morgarath had no interest in whether Erak agreed with him or not.
"Things would be easier if your other countryman had not abandoned us," Morgarath said eventually. "I've been told that your compatriot Olvak has sailed back to Skandia with his men. I had planned that they should come up the southern cliffs to reinforce us."
Erak shrugged, refusing to take blame for something outside his sphere of influence. "Olvak is a mercenary," he said. "You can't trust mercenaries. They fight only for profit."
"And you:don't?" the toneless voice said with scorn. Erak squared his shoulders.
"I'll honor any undertaking I've made," he said stiffly. Morgarath stared at him again for a long, silent moment. The Skandian met his gaze and, finally, it was Morgarath who looked away.
"Chirath told me you took a prisoner at the bridge-a mighty warrior, he said. I don't see him." Again, Morgarath tried to look through the light into the further gloom. Erak laughed harshly.
"If Chirath was the leader of your Wargals, neither did he," he replied sarcastically. "He spent most of his time at the bridge cowering behind a rock and dodging arrows."
"And the prisoner?" Morgarath asked.
"Dead," Erak replied. "We killed him and threw him over the edge."
"A fact that displeases me intensely," Morgarath said, and Will felt his flesh crawling. "I would have preferred to make him suffer for interfering in my plans. You should have brought him to me alive."