Fight or flight? He hawked and spat, looking at the woods about them. They were hidden in the first growth of trees, a track of sorts passing by them. Only a little deeper and the track was overshadowed, pressed by looming beech and chestnut. If the riders took the track they would have to ride single file. He sighed, his decision made.
‘Corban, Gar – you two stay hidden here. Me an’ Dath, we’re going to move a little deeper into the trees, try and even the odds a little. Don’t do anything till the arrows stop coming. And don’t let any of them get back onto that meadow.’
‘Why are we doing this?’ Dath stammered. ‘They might just be passing through.’
‘Don’t think so,’ Camlin said. ‘The only place this track leads to is the beach. My guess is that our boat was seen, and these lads have been sent to see what’s what. No time to get back and warn the others, so best be getting on with what needs doing.’ He glanced at Gar again, and this time the warrior nodded.
Corban and Gar slipped into deeper cover, the wolven following, almost invisible in the gloom, the stripes in her coat blending with the shadows.
‘Dath – with me,’ Camlin snapped, not looking to see if the lad followed him. He could tell the boy’s courage was wavering, and from experience he knew that soft words would not help. They hurried deeper, stopping where banks rose either side of the track. ‘Here’s a good spot,’ Camlin said. He pulled a handful of arrows from his quiver, stuck them in a line into the black loam earth and motioned for Dath to do the same. The boy’s hands were shaking.
Camlin gripped Dath’s wrist. ‘Take a deep breath, lad. And do the same before each shot. Pick targets in the centre of their column. Aim for chests, or their horses. Bring them down.’
Dath jerked a nod, his eyes wide.
Camlin felt a wave of pity; he remembered watching his brother as he was cut down by raiders, remembered the incapacitating fear and the shame that followed. ‘They’re going to feel a whole lot worse than you once the arrows start flying, stuck in the open, not knowing where we are. And that’s before they come face to face with your friend’s wolven.’
Dath managed a small laugh.
The drum of hooves grew louder.
What am I doing here? The thought was so sudden that Camlin felt as if it had been whispered in his ear. Not much talent at choosing the winning side. Perhaps I should have stayed with Braith. I followed him for long enough in the Darkwood, and like as not he’s more than lord of a strip of woods now, with Rhin’s rise in power. I could leave now, walk away and not look back. This lot would never know, and what if they did? Who are they to me? He glanced at Dath. He trusts me to bring him through this.
Camlin peered back down the track, saw the riders had moved smoothly into single file. Branches arched above them, sunlight and shadow dappling the track. He nocked an arrow, held it loosely, saw Dath mimic him. The riders were close enough to make out individual features now. The leader had a thick beard, his warrior braid poking from beneath an iron helm. He gripped a couched spear, shield bouncing where it was strapped to the saddle.
Camlin flexed his shoulders and drew his arrow back.
Walk away, the voice whispered in his mind.
Not today. Then he released his arrow.
It struck the first rider in the throat, a spray of blood marking it. The man clutched at the shaft, choking, toppling from his saddle. He heard Dath’s arrow, saw it sink into the shoulder of a piebald stallion. The animal reared and threw its rider. He grabbed another arrow, nocked it, let fly. It skittered off a hastily raised shield.
The riders were seasoned warriors; that was clear. There was fear in their faces, but they did not panic. One of them barked an order and two warriors spurred their horses on, tried to get past the fallen horse, its rider’s leg trapped beneath it.
Camlin and Dath drew bows together, releasing only a heartbeat apart. One arrow buried into the meat of a warrior’s arm, the other thrumming in a raised shield. Camlin drew again, put an arrow in a horse’s flank. It screamed, but its rider yanked on his reins, stopped it from rearing. The warrior looked their way, scanning the bank for them.
Three of the warriors at the rear of the column had turned their horses, were kicking their mounts into a retreat. As Camlin glanced back he saw Corban step into the track, sword drawn and shield raised.
What are you doing, boy? They’ll ride you down.
Corban set his feet before the oncoming horsemen. Then Gar appeared, ran before Corban, his long curved sword raised high against the onrushing riders.
There was an explosion of leaves as a great shape burst onto the track, slamming into the first rider.
Storm.