‘Who?’ Meical asked.
‘I don’t know, but Storm did not like the smell of them. There is woodland further along the road to Murias. They were taking care not to be seen.’
‘Did they see you?’ Tukul asked.
‘I don’t think so,’ Coralen said. ‘Storm scented them first, so we dismounted and crept closer.’
‘We took great care,’ Enkara added.
‘How many?’ Corban asked.
‘I saw at least a dozen moving in the trees, but there could be more.’ She shrugged.
‘Can we go around them?’
‘We could, but it would take us leagues out of our way, and they would most likely still see us; there is little shelter on the surrounding moorland.’
‘That would only matter if they are waiting for us,’ Corban said. ‘Brina, would Craf take a closer look for us?’
‘He will if he wants any supper,’ Brina said.
Tukul approached the trees, a small wooded dip in the land. He tightened the hood of his cloak, a bearskin taken from Dun Vaner, masking his face. His sword and axe were strapped on either side of his saddle, within easy reach. Overhead the sky was grey, clouds low and heavy.
Highsun, already.
Craf had returned with the information that a score of men and at least one giant were hidden in these woods, off the road, no fires.
He rode amongst the first trees; the light dimmed instantly, shadows encroaching all around. It is nothing compared to Forn. He stared straight ahead; half a dozen of his sword-kin were about him, as well as Dath and Farrell.
They rode in silence for a while, only the sound of hooves echoing on the road, the creak and sigh of branches around them. Then Tukul thought he saw movement, just a shifting of shadows. He resisted the urge to touch his sword hilt.
Undergrowth crackled as the woods burst to life, figures leaping out at them, ten, fifteen, more. In a blur, Tukul had drawn his sword and thrown his axe, heard the satisfying crunch of it cleaving flesh and bone. He smiled, then froze as he saw his attackers clearly.
They were Jehar.
He stood tall in his saddle, shrugging his cloak away, revealing his coat of mail and dark robes.
‘Hold,’ he bellowed, the power of his voice freezing everyone.
A score of the Jehar stood about him, swords raised in various stages of attack. They stared at him and his companions as if they were ghosts.
They are Sumur’s; there is no other explanation. I do not want to slay these, my sword-kin.
‘Brothers, sisters, you have been deceived,’ he cried out. ‘Put down your swords; there should be no bloodshed between us.’
For a moment indecision hung in the air, everyone still, staring at him. Then another figure burst from the shadows, this one huge and broad, muscled like a bull.
A giant.
He charged straight for Dath and Farrell, a black-bladed axe raised high.
Dath drew and shot an arrow, the shaft skittering off the giant’s coat of mail, then the giant was on them, roaring as it swung its axe.
Dath yanked on his reins; his horse danced away and Farrell kicked his own mount on, barging into the giant, knocking him to one knee. He stood quickly, swinging his axe overhead at Farrell. One of Tukul’s Jehar spurred in between them, raising his sword to deflect the axe. The weapons met in an explosion of sparks, the axe-blade shearing through the Jehar’s sword, carrying on to slice into the warrior’s head, carving through into his chest, blood and gore spraying.
The act was like a spark being lit. The other Jehar who had frozen at Tukul’s words sprang to life, leaping forward with a roar. Tukul parried a sword swing and countered, saw his attacker stagger. Then other figures were bursting from both sides of the trees, Storm leading the charge, leaping upon a Jehar warrior, blood spraying as they tumbled across the ground. Meical appeared, Corban and Coralen in their wolven cloaks and claws, Gar close by, more of Tukul’s Jehar. The battle was short and furious, the surrounded Jehar fighting with the skill and ferocity he would expect, but they had no chance, outnumbered and surprised.
The giant burst for freedom, smashing through the chaos of fighting bodies with two of his Jehar guarding his escape, holding off any pursuers for a handful of moments. By the time they were dead the giant was gone.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FOUR
FIDELE
Fidele sat at her desk with a quill hovering in her hand. Her other hand held a sheaf of parchment flat. She was sweating.
Just write it. Lykos controls me by some spell. The words my mouth speaks cannot be trusted. Kill Lykos.