Alturk rose from the water and crept up the riverbank at a crouch before disappearing from view followed by the hunched, shadowy forms of the Sentar. Vaelin saw Kiral watch them go, seeing the knowledge in her eyes and realised he would have nothing to tell her if Alturk fell. Few secrets can be hidden from the song.
A short way on he bade the tribes folk to halt, and, like Alturk, make their attack at the first break of dawn, striking at the camp’s northern edge. They were clumped together in their tribal groupings, obliging him to visit each one with Erlin. The six newly risen chieftains were all now under the impression they held ultimate command of this army and Vaelin thanked them all for the honour of allowing him to make the first attack.
He led the Wolf People on through the chill current, stopping when parallel with the main body of the camp. Whale Killer paused at his side with an affable smile before proceeding at the head of the warriors. They would circle around to the camp’s south-facing perimeter, like Alturk making their attack at the first sign of the sun ascending above the eastern mountains.
Vaelin’s gaze tracked the length of the river, now crowded with wolves, Astorek and the other shamans crouched among them, each strained face telling of the effort required to prevent a betraying explosion of snarls to the proximity of so many disparate packs. The wolves fidgeted but were mostly still, Astorek’s most of all. They had remained close to Vaelin for the entire journey, their gazes rarely leaving him.
He turned to Erlin and Wise Bear crouched nearby. “You will take no part in this,” he told Erlin, noting the hatchet gripped in his fist.
“I’ve fought on many occasion, brother,” Erlin replied. “It could be I’ve seen more battles than you.”
“Even so, remain in the rear. If the day goes against us, take yourself off, perhaps circle the world one more time.”
“And watch it fall to ruin as I do?” Erlin shook his head. “I think not.”
“You will be needed.” Vaelin met his gaze, feeling the guilt surge anew. I will not do that . . . “Stay in the rear.”
He turned to Wise Bear before Erlin could speak further. “Are you prepared?”
The shaman glanced to the east where the peaks were starting to take on the golden hue that heralded a new day. The sky was clear today, the air possessed of a pleasing freshness, coloured by a faint floral tint from the heather that covered the valley floor. “The green fire not seen here,” the shaman reflected with a faint note of regret then sloshed through the river to where Iron Claw waited. The great bear issued a low rumbling growl as Wise Bear climbed onto his back and turned him towards the bank.
Vaelin beckoned to Lord Orven and hauled himself onto Scar’s saddle. “If all goes well, there should be a decent gap in their ranks,” he told the guardsman. “Concentrate on the Varitai if you can.”
“I shall, my lord.” Orven gave a salute, standing straight as the current flowed about him. “At this moment I’d trade everything I own for a horse.”
Vaelin grinned and reached over his shoulder to draw his sword. “I expect there’ll be plenty to choose from when we’re done.”
He kicked Scar into motion, splashing free of the river and waiting as Astorek’s wolves took up position in front, the other packs swarming from the banks to close in on either side. Mishara padded through the throng and sank to her haunches at his side. Vaelin looked down to meet her gaze, wondering if Dahrena saw him through her eyes. Mishara merely blinked and licked her fangs before turning her attention to the Volarians.
The camp sat about three hundred paces distant, silent beneath the pall birthed by the dead fires of the previous night. Vaelin could see the pickets moving through the morning haze, their gait leisurely and free of any alarm. He waited as the sun grew warm on the back of his neck and his shadow faded into view on the ground ahead, a long dark arrow pointed at the Volarian host.
Nortah’s words came back to him as he took a firmer grip on Scar’s reins, You’re not going to do anything foolish, are you?
He gave a soft laugh and kicked at Scar’s flanks, the warhorse issuing a shrill, joyous whinny as he spurred to the gallop. The wolves surged forward with them, keeping pace with ease and voicing a collective growl no doubt birthed by the excitement of their shamans. Vaelin saw the pickets start to react, running to form a ragged line as discordant bugles sounded throughout the camp, men stumbling from the tents and scrambling to gather weapons and armour.