He scanned the woods yet again. Already the shadows had deepened so that he could barely see more than half a bowshot away. Throughout the day the snow had been unbroken except for the tracks of animals.

All his instincts were against her suggestion but he knew she was right. He could not keep up this pace of running point throughout the night and still be ready for a fight. He reached down and undipped his snowshoes. 'Take my shoes, then wait for the column to come up. Tell Asayaga to keep them moving.'

'No.'

'What?'

'This old horse is big enough for both of us. Like I said, I know this ground. I'll ride behind you.'

He was tempted to reach up and simply pull her out of the saddle but the look of defiance in her eyes sparked a memory and finally he shook his head. He clipped his snowshoes to the side of the saddle, pulled out his cloak, put it back on then scrambled up, Roxanne sliding back. She hesitated, then finally put her arms around his waist.

The horse looked back at him, and he knew if it had a voice it would cry out in protest. The poor dumb beast was exhausted. He leaned over, patted it on the neck and whispered a few words of encouragement, then nudged it forward. Though he would not admit it, the feel of the warm saddle under him was a blessed relief. The horse ambled along slowly, needing just an occasional nudge to guide it along the trail.

As the darkness settled and deepened the snow increased, heavy thick flakes coming straight down, then gradually shifting to lighter and drier flakes that began to dance and eddy as a light breeze picked up.

He caught a glimpse of a darker shadow in the snow and reined in. A stag, caught by surprise, struggled to its feet, a curtain of snow falling from its back. The two gazed at each other for an instant and then it clumsily bounded off.

'A good sign,' Roxanne whispered. 'No one is about.'

He nodded and they rode on in silence for several minutes.

'You hunted here before?' he asked.

'Before the shortness of breath began to afflict my father he took me over the pass several times. I think it was more just to see some new country: there was always more than enough game in our own valley. We'd ride like this, with me behind him, and he'd tell me stories of kings, princes, cities with a hundred tall spiralling towers and of the great ships that sailed on warm seas.'

He spared a look back over his shoulder. There was a sad smile on her face as she remembered a happier time.

'I think that's the most I've heard you say since I've met you.'

'And this is the most you've spoken to me since I met you.'

Again there was a long silence. The snow came down harder again, at times obscuring the view so that he could barely see a dozen feet in front of them. They crossed a narrow stream, the horse nearly losing its footing on the ice-covered rocks on the far bank. It was barely calf-deep but it was, nevertheless, a major barrier. Men would get wet, then have to keep on marching, their boots freezing, the cold sapping their strength. Chances were at least one would lose his footing in the stream and get soaked, a virtual death-sentence for what in other times would be seen as a source of levity and a good laugh.

He waited for a moment, not sure how far back the column was.

'How come you never talk, Hartraft?'

'Talk? To who?'

'Me.'

'There was never much to say.'

'You like Alyssa, don't you?'

The branch of a tree, overburdened with the newly-fallen snow groaned and cracked, and a cascade of snow tumbled down near them, sending up a swirl of flakes.

'Asayaga is better at such things than I am. He has the courtly touch.'

'Father told me about your Gwenynth. I'm sorry.'

'If only I had known it was Corwin,' he said coldly. 'I should have known, sensed it. And he was within my grasp for weeks.'

'Is that all you think of?'

'What?'

'Vengeance?'

'It's a start,' he replied, the tone in his voice indicating that the conversation was finished.

'I lost my father last night. If we do have to fight the moredhel I hope to do my part, but to spend my life hunting them down… father would want different for me.'

Dennis did not reply.

'He was worried about you.'

'Keep an eye on the woods.'

'He remembered you as a boy who had a fire in his eyes, a love of adventure, and even a touch of the poet. He said the two of you would make up funny little verses together. That you loved to watch sunsets, to sing, and would clamour for books to read.'

'I was a boy.'

'No, that was the same you, just long ago.'

'I don't need someone else to tell me to get over what happened,' Dennis whispered. 'Now do your job and keep an eye on the woods.'

'No one can see thirty feet in this,' she said.

'I didn't survive nine years of war thinking like that.'

Even as he spoke he caught a glimpse of a hooded lantern at the head of the column. He wanted to swear at the fool who had lit it, but realized that in a way the girl was right. There was no one out here other than this desperate column.

Asayaga was in the lead, holding the lantern. Reaching the edge of the stream he hesitated.

'Just cross it,' Dennis hissed.

'We need to rest, we're carrying many of the children.'

'Put all of them on the horses and keep moving.'

He turned his mount and pressed on up the slope, leaving the party behind to negotiate the frigid water.

The hours passed and the snow thickened to a heavy all-consuming fall that muffled the world, deadening all sound except for the laboured breathing of the horse. An hour after sunset they crested the ridge and paused for a few minutes, then dismounted to let the tired animal rest. He explored both sides of the trail, hoping to find that the pass was narrow enough to make it defendable. The ground, however, was open – just a shallow depression. Dejected, he came back to find one of his corporals, Alfred, bent double, gasping, Roxanne down by his side offering him a drink from her wine-sack.

'Captain Asayaga sent me up to find you,' he reported, leaning against the sweat-soaked and shivering horse for support. 'Gregory came up from the rearguard: they've had several skirmishes, killing two human scouts. We lost two as well, both Tsurani who were wounded and stayed behind.'

Dennis nodded.

Just below the top of the pass they had spied an abandoned cabin, Roxanne stating that it belonged to an old hermit. He had hoped to let the party rest for half an hour, to build a fire for the children to warm up, but that was impossible now.

'How far to the dwarf road?' Dennis asked, looking over at Roxanne.

'In fair weather, not more than two hours on horse. The bridge beyond, a half hour in good conditions.'

Dennis sighed and shook his head.

If the road was overgrown it would help, but dwarven roads were usually well built, straight and well paved – no one could match the dwarves for stonework. It would prove a disadvantage now. Once on it Bovai would send his whole column of cavalry off in hot pursuit rather than simply probing.

'Tell Asayaga we must move faster,' Dennis said. 'Keep them moving.'

He mounted, Roxanne sliding back to give him room.

Alfred saluted and started back.

'No, wait here until they catch up with you, Corporal. No sense you running up and down this hill twice.'

'Thank you, sir,' Alfred gasped.

Dennis nudged his tired mount, but the horse refused to budge for a moment and finally he had to kick hard with his heels to get it moving.

He was throwing caution aside now. If they were not blocking this point it should be an open run down to the road. Once on the road he could check for signs. It gave him a terrible naked feeling, riding hard like this in the middle of the night, abandoning the careful routine of years of moving, waiting, listening, then covering as your companion leapfrogged forward.