Nineteen

At that moment a ball of flame the size of a house erupted from the road, swallowing dozens of Thraag soldiers. Adalon glanced at Simangee. 'Your work?'

'I managed to bury a fire potion in the road,' she said. 'There are two more.'

'They will be more careful,' Hoolgar said. 'They'll march off the road and be alert.'

'I hope they will. I put the others to either side of the road.'

Simangee's clever plan worked. Two more fireballs bit chunks from the advancing army, but the holes in the ranks were soon filled by soldiers from the rear.

'They're like ants,' Simangee murmured.

Hoolgar whistled a short, sad tune. 'We are facing a vast foe. Fear will be at work in our troops. I suggest that we do what we can to lift their spirits.'

Adalon walked among his warriors, hoping to rally them. The Callibeen soldiers were grateful for the bravery of the riders. They knew they would have been cut down long before they reached the river if not for them. They confirmed that Ordoon had been lost, fighting in the thickest of the fray. They seemed to accept without question that Adalon was now their leader. In their eyes, his bravery more than outweighed his youth.

He kept moving, offering words of comfort to the wounded and uncertain, organising them into small units of four or five saur each. As much as possible he included one of the Sleeto soldiers in each company. If all looked lost, their orders were to scatter to the caves around the edge of the valley and to harry the rear and the flanks of the Thraag Army. Under no circumstances were they to engage at close quarters. Throw stones, dig pits, use snares, attack the baggage train, use local wiles and knowledge to strike and slip away.

Targesh ordered the riders to do the same – harass, don't get trapped into close combat.

Adalon knew that it wasn't victory he was seeking, it was time. Time for his allies to appear.

He saw Simangee's ruby armour as she moved from one saur to another, rallying spirits through her example. 'Sim!' he called. She looked up from exchanging a joke with a young spearsaur and jogged to join him.

'They're scared, Adalon,' she reported. 'Which is sensible. What's remarkable is that they still want to fight.'

Adalon didn't want to fight, but he knew they needed to. 'I think it's time for the three warriors to ride.'

Simangee's face was solemn. 'It's come to this?'

'We can keep 'em from crossing,' Targesh said. 'We'll stop 'em.'

Adalon gripped Simangee's shoulder, and Targesh's upper arm. 'For the land's sake.'

With Targesh and Simangee at his side, he urged his steed to the bank of the river and waited for the might of Thraag. The white water foamed and rushed, making for a challenging crossing but not an impossible one. If Adalon were in charge of the Thraag force, he'd order the soldiers to link arms and form chains across the river, with the foremost taking ropes to be anchored on the other side. Once anchored, the rest of the Thraag soldiers could use the ropes to cling to while they crossed.

So, Adalon thought, all we need to do is to stop the ropes.

The enemy was slow and deliberate in approaching the river. On command, they stopped when they neared the bank. A company of crossbow saur stepped forward. At a trumpet blast, they let their arrows fly at Adalon, Simangee and Targesh, unmissable figures mounted on brass riding beasts.

Adalon was grimly pleased at the consternation that went up when the arrows bounced off his armour and the plates of his riding beast. Simangee sang a jaunty song. Targesh held up his emerald green shield to protect his bare head, and bellowed laughter at the puny attack. The crossbow saur tried another volley but when that was unsuccessful they were ordered to rejoin the ranks.

Two score or more columns of lightly armoured saur trotted forward. Their intent was clear: cross the river and secure ropes. Some would fail, but just one successful crossing was necessary, then the others could follow in numbers.

'I love a challenge,' Targesh rumbled.

Adalon spurred his steed forward to repel the sortie.

He rode like a mad thing, galloping along the uneven riverbank, crashing through reeds, splashing through shallows, leaping stones and driftwood. Whenever a soldier managed to stagger to the bank, Adalon slashed and drove him back. Many were swept away by the torrent, tossed and tumbled by the white water until they were able to drag themselves to shore.

Targesh rode and swung his axe as if he were lopping wood. The Thraag soldiers flung themselves away from his deadly passage, shouting in dismay.

Simangee used a short, stabbing spear, and it was a blur in her hands. Any saur quick enough to avoid her thrust found himself flattened by a whirl of the spear butt.

The three friends kept the Thraag soldiers at bay for what seemed like an eternity, but the enemy continued to swarm into the river in their hundreds, then thousands. Every time a soldier was beaten back, three more took his place. Adalon galloped like the wind, but he felt as if he were being swamped by the river itself.

And all the time, in the middle of the desperate business of thrusting, defending, battering, Adalon had to devote some of his energy to resisting the call of the A'ak. His sword and armour muttered to him, tempting him to surrender to the blood rage that would make him an unbeatable warrior. He refused to be taken by the call and instead fought with a cold determination, saving his strength as much as he could.

He slashed at a gaunt Billed One, who squawked and stumbled backwards, knocking over three of her comrades. They were dragged away by the white water. Adalon eased his steed up the bank and surveyed the scene, taking a moment to draw breath. Endless waves of soldiers were making their way across and his heart sank. Then he saw that Targesh and Simangee were dealing with a band of doughty fighters who'd managed to haul pikes across the river, and Adalon knew he should help.

It was then that half a dozen of the wading soldiers disappeared. Adalon blinked. They'd simply vanished, as if they'd all stepped into a deep hole at the same time.

Other soldiers attempting the crossing noticed the disappearance. They hesitated, struggling to hold their place against the battering of the water. The sergeants' shouting aroused them and, one by one, they began to stumble forward.

Another vanished. Then another. This time Adalon was staring right at him, a burly Horned One who was ploughing through the white water, head down and making good progress. He reached halfway then he bellowed and flung up his hands. He let go of the rope and was gone. Adalon was sure he'd seen a dark shape under the water, but it was hard to see through the churning flood.

Alarm seized the Thraag soldiers and the advance slowed. They were reluctant to enter the river, even though the officers shouted and the sergeants prodded with spears. Gradually, they forced more troops into the water.

The river became a nightmare of screams, roaring, wild thrashing and soon the unmistakeable crimson stain of blood. Ominous shapes moved under the water, slipping between the soldiers and wreaking havoc.

Adalon rode up and down the bank, but none of the enemy managed to cross a river that was running red.

'What is it?' Simangee asked when she cantered up.

'I don't know. But I have hopes.'

Finally, a trumpet blast signalled a halt to the Thraag attack. The officers drew the ranks back, aghast at having lost so many in the crossing of a minor river.

Then Adalon saw what had stopped them. A sleek dark form broke the surface. It twisted through the air and waved a wicked saw-toothed dagger at the Thraag troops, then plunged back with a splash.

'People of the Deeps,' Simangee said in wonder.

Targesh rode up. 'Adalon!' he cried. He pointed skywards. At the eastern end of the valley the sky was dark with familiar shapes. 'The Winged Ones have come!'