As the day drew towards evening and the sun dipped beneath a cloud-lined horizon, the three men eased their pace to a steady walk. Gradually, and without debate, both Loman and Isloman slowed down even further, and then eventually stopped and dis-mounted.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Hawklan.
‘Nothing,’ said Isloman. ‘But according to Ireck, we’re not far from the camp now, and they’ll have plenty of sentries looking out for us if your guess is right and it’s you they’re waiting for. We’ll have to leave the road and move very carefully from now on.’
Hawklan nodded. Gavor glided silently out of the darkening sky and landed on his shoulder. Hawklan held out his hand, palm upwards, and Gavor jumped onto it. Speaking softly, as if his voice might carry to the enemy across the still evening, Hawklan said, ‘While there’s still a little light, go and see if you can find their camp and how many of them there are. We’ll stay here and rest until you return.’
Gavor flew off without speaking.
The three men settled themselves down to wait in the shade of a nearby copse, each too preoccupied with his own thoughts to indulge in conversation.
Hawklan felt strange stirrings within him as he lay in the darkness. His stomach felt uneasy and he had difficulty in controlling his breathing, frequently having to stifle a yawn. Then he rested his hand on the hilt of his sword and a quietness came over him. Pre-battle nerves, he thought, without wondering where such a thought could have come from.
At last Gavor returned and the three men sat around him while he recounted his tale. Fifteen men altogether, seven on watch, seven doing nothing in particular, and a leader, Jaldaric presumably. And Tirilen.
Loman started. ‘She’s there?’ he asked breathlessly.
Gavor stepped back a pace. ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘And she’s well,’ he added before Loman could ask.
Loman breathed out almost as if he had been hold-ing his breath since his daughter’s disappearance. His face wrinkled as if he were going to weep. Isloman placed an arm around his shoulders, but Loman recovered his composure almost immediately.
Hawklan nodded. ‘This confirms that they’re not interested in Tirilen. She could have been in Fyorlund days ago. She’s just being used as bait, I’m sure. Are you sure she’s all right, Gavor?’
‘Certain, dear boy. She can’t get away and she’s not happy, but it looks as if she’s being treated more like a special guest than as a prisoner.’
After some further discussion, Gavor took off again into the night, Hawklan spoke softly to Serian, and the three men disappeared into the gloaming like shadowy night predators.
A slow hour later they were at the High Guards’ camp.
Gavor flew down and whispered to Hawklan. ‘His perimeter guards are constantly moving.’
Isloman nodded. ‘They’ll have prearranged check-points. If we attack one, however quietly, the others will know within the minute.’
Hawklan turned to Loman enquiringly. They had been able to get quite close to the clearing where the Fyordyn had camped, but the trees and foliage that had hidden their approach also prevented their seeing all of the camp clearly. Gavor’s information was timely, for without it they would surely have encountered one of the slowly strolling guards.
Loman pursed his lips. ‘Shrewd young man, this Jaldaric,’ he said. ‘Assuming his men are up to scratch, which I imagine they will be, he could destroy a large group of disorganized villagers without even being seen in this terrain, but even so he’s taken the trouble to guard his camp like a fortress.’ He gave a soft bitter chuckle. ‘Someone must have told him something about you, Hawklan.’
Hawklan winced slightly at the implications of Lo-man’ s comment. ‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘And our second task, after rescuing Tirilen, is to find out who that someone is.’
However, the rescuing of Tirilen would be no easy matter. Even with the element of surprise, Hawklan knew that against such odds they could not fight their way in and out again. And if they were able to rescue Tirilen by stealth, there would be the problem of pursuit, bringing the soldiers down on their backs or into direct conflict with Ireck and the villagers. The matter had to be ended now, Hawklan decided. They must strike at the head of their enemy.
The two brothers took little persuading.
‘All the protection is centred on Tirilen. We must seize Jaldaric and then negotiate some kind of a peace with them.’
So close to his daughter, Loman was in a mood for cracking heads, not negotiating, but he agreed reluc-tantly that Hawklan’s reasoning was correct.
They skirted around the camp seeking some weak-ness in Jaldaric’s defences, using the breeze rustling through the swaying branches overhead and the occasional scufflings of night creatures to disguise the slight sound of their movements.
‘Ah,’ sighed Isloman eventually. ‘Shrewd he might be, Loman, but he’s got no shadow lore. Look.’ He pointed out into the clearing.
Hawklan followed his gaze, but could see nothing. Loman stared intently. Although a smith, he was, like all the Orthlundyn, no mean carver. He glanced up at the moon and then into the clearing again.
‘Yes,’ he said at last. ‘You’re right. There’ll be a dark path along that edge of the clearing… ’ He looked at the moon again. ‘In about ten minutes I’d think.’
‘And the rest of the clearing will be brightly lit,’ said Isloman. ‘Which will make it difficult for the guards to see into the shadow.’
‘I can’t see what you mean,’ said Hawklan.
‘Trust me,’ said Isloman. ‘We’ll be able to go straight to the back of Jaldaric’s tent in a few minutes. You watch.’ He hesitated.
‘What’s the matter?’ Hawklan asked.
‘The way they’re moving, we might have a guard to deal with,’ replied Isloman. ‘It’ll slow us up and might raise the alarm.’ Hawklan thought for a moment and then spoke quickly to Gavor who flew noiselessly up into the night. Minutes later there was a startled cry from the far side of the clearing as the raven descended on the head of an unsuspecting guard, ruffled his hair a little and then flew off with a great flapping of his wings. Three guards emerged silently from the shade and ran in the direction of the cry. There were more cries as Gavor repeated his trick. Then came laughter as the guards decided that it must have been a bat or an errant owl. While the laughter and noise continued, the moonlight in the clearing grew brighter and, as Isloman had predicted, one edge of the clearing disappeared into inky darkness.
‘Now,’ he hissed, and the three men ran low, swift and silent to the rear of Jaldaric’s tent. The shadow here was less deep and they had only a little time to act before they would be seen by the guards. Hawklan raised his finger needlessly to his lips and placed his ear against the tent wall. Someone was laughing and describing what had just happened.
Hawklan drew his sword quietly and, signalling his intention to Loman and Isloman, cut a vertical slash in the tent wall with a single silent stroke. The three men burst into the tent simultaneously, Loman moving to the right, Isloman to the left and Hawklan commanding the centre.
The surprise was total. Hawklan found himself un-opposed and looking across a simple trestle table at Tirilen and a fair-haired young man with a flat, round, innocent-looking face, whom he presumed was Jaldaric.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Isloman’s great hand rise and fall twice rapidly, each movement being followed by a thud, indicating that one of Jaldaric’s guests had been excused after-dinner conversation.
To his right he sensed the stocky, more enraged figure of Loman restraining an urge to crush together the skulls of two men he had seized by the neck. Instinctively, the two men offered no resistance to his iron-bending grip.
Hawklan was aware of these actions in an instant, but he also saw Jaldaric knock over his chair and seize Tirilen’s wrist as he rose, his face showing fear and surprise, then, almost immediately, anger at his negligence.
It was Jaldaric’s brief flash of self-reproach, and the look of concern for the injured men, mingled with the alarm and relief in Tirilen’s face, that made Hawklan pause.