'Hartraft!' He heard an arrow hiss past his cheek and then he was down, something ramming into him from behind, a dagger flashing into the snow within inches of his throat. He kicked out, rolled over and then his attacker was on top of him, blade poised, the flash of it coming down yet again, narrowly missing his eyes. His assailant was a moredhel, strong and sinewy. He pinned Dennis's right hand to the ground with his left, even as he raised his right for another strike.

Dennis tried to kick his legs up, to catch him in the back of the head, but the response was a knee to the groin which caused Dennis to gasp. And then he barely saw the shadow of Roxanne coming up from behind, her dagger glinting as she leapt in, cutting the moredhel across the throat.

Silently, the moredhel staggered to his feet, the dagger slipping from his grasp. Both hands went to his throat and arterial blood squirted out from between his fingers. He looked back at the woman, astonishment in his eyes, as if she had broken some rule and played a cruel and unfair joke. Then he sank to his knees.

Dennis rolled away, a hazy sheen of pain consuming his world. The other goblin…

He looked up. Roxanne had Dennis's bow in her hand. He watched her reach into her quiver, pull out an arrow, nock it and raise the bow. It was a heavy weapon and she struggled to draw the arrow back. The goblin still at the edge of the fire was shrieking, hands raised imploringly. She hesitated for a second then released the shot. The bolt brought the creature down, but didn't kill it.

Trembling, she took a second arrow, and advanced towards the goblin.

'Be careful,' Dennis gasped, coming to his knees, eyes still on the dying moredhel.

Roxanne stopped a dozen paces away and the goblin kicked and thrashed, trying to roll out of the way. 'Be still and let me finish it,' she cried.

The second shot missed completely. She started to scream at the goblin even as she drew a third arrow, stepping closer, aiming almost straight down.

Hands raised, it continued to beg for mercy in the common tongue. She released the arrow, and the screaming stopped, changing to a gurgling cry, almost like that of a wounded rabbit. She started to fumble for a fourth arrow but the goblin finally curled up and was still.

She came back to Dennis and knelt down by his side, looking warily at the moredhel whose throat she had cut. Blood leaked from the wound, but it was not yet dead. The dark elf stared at her. 'And to think, a human woman slew me,' he whispered. 'Tell my brothers it was Hartraft, then Bovai will have more reason for vengeance.'

She nodded.

'Tell Tinuva his cousin Vakar will await him on the far shore.' Still kneeling, he lowered his head and was still.

Roxanne, sobbing, leaned over and vomited, gasping for air.

Dennis, legs wobbly, stood up and gently rubbed her shoulders as she cried.

'I'm sorry. I saw him coming up, I shot and missed, almost hit you.'

'It's all right, it's your first fight. It's alright.'

'And the way he kept shrieking, I didn't want him to suffer, I just wanted him to die.'

'Its alright,' he said woodenly, looking at the bridge. The entire centre span was a crackling hell. It was obvious that the moredhel had not let his goblins sleep through the night. They had shovelled the wooden section clean, then piled brush and dried timber torn from the side of the mill above the bridge onto the span. Even as he watched, the flooring gave way, crashing down to reveal one of the two support spans underneath. The goblins had been at work there too, having cut through both beams with an axe. The support spans gave way and the entire structure crashed down into the thundering river below in an explosion of steam and hissing embers. He sighed, barely noticing that Roxanne was standing, leaning against him, still crying, her arm around his waist.

'I'm sorry,' she sobbed.

He held her tighter and gently wiped the tears from her face. It will be all right, you did just fine.'

He looked back at the bridge. They were trapped.

SIXTEEN. CONFRONTATION

The dawn was beautiful.

Tinuva, gaze turned towards the east, could sense that the sun had risen above the mountains. The world around him was grey, all of it grey, the snow swirling about him in drifting eddies. He remembered how his father had told him that when it snowed even humans could see the wind, and it was so. He watched as gusty eddies danced and flickered, a single flake pausing for a moment to hover before his eyes, a twirling crystal of light, the exhale of his warm breath causing it to dance away even as it melted.

'It is a good morning,' Tinuva whispered.

'What?'

He looked over at Gregory and smiled. 'A beautiful morning.'

'My friend, you must be addled,' Gregory sighed.

Tinuva reached out and lightly touched Gregory on the shoulder and the gesture caught his mortal friend off-guard for a moment. The elf said nothing. The voice within his heart, the whispering of the forest had already told him enough.

They waited a few more minutes, but no pursuer closed.

'They must have stopped to rest,' Gregory finally whispered.

Tinuva nodded in agreement and the two scrambled down from the low outcropping, remounted on the single horse spared for the rear guard and rode back half a mile, Gregory hooting like an owl to signal Hartraft's men of their approach.

The reserve was well concealed behind an upturned tree and they reined in. The six men stood up, pulling back their cloaks. Three were Tsurani, led by a Kingdom corporal.

'Nothing,' Gregory said. 'Fall back.'

'The road is just a few hundred yards beyond,' one of the men said. 'And there's hard news.'

'What is it?' Gregory asked.

'The bridge. A rider just came up. Dennis took it, but the span is down. Goblins led by a moredhel were burning it when he came up.'

Gregory and Tinuva dismounted. Tinuva said nothing as he reached into his saddlebag, scooped out a handful of oats and fed the horse, gently stroking its nose and whispering apologies for having driven it so hard through the night.

'We make a rearguard here,' the corporal said, his voice flat. 'Buy time for them to run a span across.'

'What about the mill there? We could pull out some of the beams,' said Gregory.

'The mill is ancient. The timbers are all rot and dust,' Tinuva said quietly, his attention still fixed on the horse. 'They'll have to cut down some trees, build a rough hoist and swing a span across. It'll take hours.'

'Then climb down into the gorge and ford the damn river,' Gregory replied.

Tinuva shook his head. 'Maybe you and I can do it, but the children, the old women?'

Gregory sat down heavily and cursed.

The corporal looked at the two. 'How much time do we have?'

'I don't know,' Gregory sighed.

'Not long,' Tinuva replied. 'They're coming.'

'Dennis sent just you back here?' Gregory asked, looking at the six men.

The corporal nodded. 'Hartraft wants us to slow them down as long as possible: every man is needed to cut down the trees, build the hoist and defences if we don't get the bridge up in time. One of us is to ride back when contact is made to give warning.'

'All of you go back,' Tinuva said quietly.

Gregory looked up and Tinuva smiled. He opened a small leather bucket, emptied the last of his water into it and offered the drink to the horse.

'You heard me, go back.'

The corporal hesitated.

'Six more men back there might make all the difference in getting that span across. We can handle this.'

The corporal looked to Gregory who nodded his head.

Tinuva said, 'Corporal, go. Take my horse – he's a gentle creature – fighting is not in his blood so be kind to him.'