CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTEEN

CAMLIN

Camlin rode up a slope and into the trees, pausing for a moment to look back.

The battlefield was chaos, the skies filled with aerial combat, Kadoshim and Ben-Elim looping and diving, Edana and her cavalry still holding against Geraint, and further south it looked as if the shield walls had disintegrated, the field turned to a chaotic blood-soaked melee.

Are those draigs?

For a moment he thought of riding back, doing what he could to help, but then a face filled his mind.

Rafe.

Camlin had tracked him through the battlefield, lost him and found him a dozen times, always too far away to risk one of the half-dozen arrows he’d managed to snatch from corpses, and then he had seen Rafe break away from the combat, riding up the slope that marked the northern edge of the battlefield towards a wall of trees. A grey hound had been padding along beside him. Rafe had disappeared into the forest, and Camlin knew that he was fleeing.

Can’t let him get away this time. If by some miracle we win this battle Edana’ll never be safe, with him lurking in the shadows. And besides, he killed Baird and is responsible for Halion…

At the thought of his friends, Camlin felt the weight of grief shift in his belly and gritted his teeth. With a click to his horse he rode into the trees. The world turned to twilight, shades of grey dappled by the shift of leafless branches high above. He came upon an ancient road of stone slabs, moss-covered and crumbling. Fresh hoof-marks were easy to spot, and Camlin picked up his pace, his bow and reins in one hand, his other resting gently on the fletching of an arrow in his belt-quiver.

He reined in, cocking his head to one side, straining his hearing.

What’s that?

A resonance on the edge of sound, a shift in the forest. His horse whinnied, ears back.

Something’s not right.

Camlin swung down from his saddle and crouched on the old road, one palm flat against cold lichen and granite.

A vibration trembled into his fingertips, faint as a whisper. Stones skittered down the embankment of the road.

And then Rafe was bursting from thick foliage, his magnificent stallion powering him onto the road and straight at Camlin, sword raised high, only a dozen paces away. Somehow Camlin managed to nock and draw an arrow, still crouching, Rafe’s horse almost upon him. He loosed; Rafe yanked on his reins and swayed, the arrow hissing past his head, nicking his ear, then Camlin was drawing his sword, rushing in close to the skewbald stallion, stabbing at Rafe.

Swords clashed, Rafe sweeping Camlin’s strike away, a flurry of blows as Rafe tried to cave in Camlin’s skull, the strength in each blow beating Camlin down, sending him staggering. He tried to get in close again, but Rafe’s stallion’s teeth were snapping at him, and then he was jumping away, realized he was close to his own horse and leaped at it, grabbing the saddle, trying to heave himself up.

Rafe’s stallion reared, hooves lashing out, and Camlin’s horse was screaming, bolting from the road, dragging Camlin a few score paces before he lost his grip and fell with a thud to the ground, cold stone slamming into his face, then he was rolling, slowly coming to a halt. He pushed himself up onto one knee, shook his head, reached for his bow but couldn’t find it.

“”Bout done with you putting arrows in me, old man,” Rafe said. He’d reined his horse in, was smiling at Camlin. He rolled his shoulder, grimaced at the pain of Camlin’s last arrow.

How does he keep recovering from my arrows? I need to have me a drink from that starstone cup.

“Thought I didn’t know you were sniffing after me,” Rafe sneered. “I saw you. Don’t think you’re the huntsman you like to think you are.”

Damned if I’m going to let this snot-nosed runt be the end of me.

Camlin tried to stand but felt an explosion of pain in his knee and his leg buckled. He heard Rafe laugh, then spur his horse on, hooves thundering towards him.