'Sir?'

Tinuva patted the corporal on the shoulder and then pushed him towards his mount. The corporal reluctantly nodded and then climbed into the saddle.

'Don't stay too long, sir.'

'I'll be along soon enough.'

The corporal motioned for his men to move out and they quickly disappeared into the snow.

'You go too, Gregory.'

'Not likely.'

'One more against two hundred won't matter. You know what I need to do.'

Gregory stood up.

'You've been my friend, Tinuva, since I was a boy. I'll not leave you now.'

'It is between my brother and me now. I know him, Gregory: he has thirsted for this across the centuries. I will go back and he will know I am waiting. His pride and his lust will consume him and he will stop to face me. If I win, perhaps the others will stop, if not…' His voice trailed off. Then he said: 'Well, if not, at least the rest of you will be free and that is good enough.'

'I stand by you.'

'You'll be killed out of hand, Gregory, and it will divert me from what I have to do. They will not tolerate a human witness to what will happen.'

'No, I go with you, Tinuva.'

Tinuva stepped closer and as he did so he knew that somehow his countenance was changing, becoming something that he had left behind in these woods long ago.

'Go!' His voice was dark, filled with power.

'I won't. No!'

The blade flashed out as if it had leapt from its scabbard. The cut was a clean one and hissing with pain and shock Gregory backed up, holding his right hand, blood dripping from his fingers.

'Natalese, try and draw a bow now,' Tinuva snarled, voice full of menace.

'Damn you,' Gregory cried, shaking his injured hand. He tried to flex his fingers and blood dripped onto the snow.

'Go!' Tinuva raised his dagger. 'It'll be the other hand next time, and I'll cut so that you never draw again.'

Stunned, Gregory backed away, fumbling for his own dagger with his left hand. Again Tinuva leapt in and Gregory's dagger went spinning off, disappearing into the snow.

'Then the hell with you,' Gregory snarled. He backed up, trembling, his voice near to breaking. 'The hell with you.'

Tinuva smiled. The sense he had within was like a distant memory. It was almost frightful, this look of shock, disbelief, and rage in another's eyes. It almost brought him joy and he struggled against it, finally lowering his own blade.

'I want you to live,' he whispered. 'If you stay, you die. This is between Bovai and me, and you can do nothing. Tell Hartraft to build the bridge, get across, then destroy it. If it all works out, I'll find another way back.'

'You're going to die.'

'Even those who are long-lived must face that,' Tinuva said softly. 'From our birth we are all dying, but some of us finish sooner than others.'

Gregory lowered his head, and his shoulders began to shake. Tinuva stepped forward, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder, though he still kept his dagger poised.

'Of men, you were the one true friend I have found in this world,' Tinuva whispered. 'A day will come when we shall hunt again, the wind in our hair as we track game through Yabon. Now, go my friend.' And he kissed the Natalese lightly on the forehead.

Startled Gregory looked up to see tears in the eyes of his friend. Tinuva, smiling, brushed a tear from his face and dabbed it into Gregory's bleeding hand.

After a moment, Gregory laughed softly. 'Nothing's changed,' he sighed. 'So that lore about the healing properties of elf tears is just a tale.'

'Yes, just a tale.'

The two stood silent for a moment. Then Tinuva raised his head, turned and listened. 'They're coming. Go and tell Hartraft. Now go!'

His final words were again filled with command and a dark power.

Gregory stood as if frozen for a moment then finally raised his head. 'Till our next hunt my friend.'

But Tinuva was already gone, having disappeared into the storm.

'He's here.'

'What, my chieftain?'

Bovai raised his hand, signalling for the column to halt. Golun looked over at him in confusion.

'Tinuva: he's close. He's waiting for me alone.'

Golun drew his mount around in front of Bovai.

'Then ride him down,' Golun hissed. 'We don't know if Vakar reached the bridge and destroyed it. If he failed they'll be across and destroying it even now. We had to stop so the damnable goblins could rest, but now we are closing in. Push in now, my chieftain.'

'Vakar succeeded. They're trapped.'

'You might sense that sire, but I don't.'

'Bovai!'

The voice drifted on the wind, unearthly, floating on the breeze.

Bovai stiffened. Even Golun turned, dropping his reins, reaching to unsling his bow. Bovai extended his hand, motioning for him to stop.

'Bovai!'

Again the echoing cry, more felt than heard; even so the column of riders behind Bovai stirred, bows rising up.

'Hold, all of you,' Bovai hissed, turning to look back at his fellow moredhel. 'It is Tinuva; the time has come for the matter to be decided.'

'He's delaying us, buying time,' Golun hissed. 'Then he'll slip away.'

Bovai looked back and shook his head. 'He's with them now. Despite the evil of their queen and their Spellweavers, the eledhel have honour. He will not run this time.'

Golun sighed and lowered his head. 'Then upon you shall it rest if they escape.'

'We'll have Hartraft and all of them before the day is half done.'

As Bovai spoke he looked back at his followers. 'It shall be but a little undertaking, my brothers, then honour for me, and glory for all of us. Which we shall tell Murad of upon our return, with the honour of our clan restored and the heads of Hartraft and Tinuva in a basket to present to him.'

Several nodded their heads.

'All of it, all my share of the loot, of the glory, I give to you, for what I shall do next I have waited an eternity for.'

Golun leaned closer. 'Then fight him, if you must, but let me lead this column around to the road to finish Hartraft.'

Bovai looked at him in surprise. 'A few minutes only,' he whispered, 'and I want all of them to see. All of them.'

Golun cursed silently.

'Order the goblins and humans to move back: they are not to see this. They can rest on the far side of the hill we just crossed.'

Golun reluctantly grunted an acknowledgment, then barked out the command for a squad to direct the goblins and humans to their designated place. Those so tasked muttered in disappointment and Bovai knew he had just won his point, for the rest now felt privileged and would not miss the honour of bearing witness to the confrontation about to take place. It was one which had been speculated about in the long houses across hundreds of winters. At last Bovai would face his renegade brother Morvai, now called Tinuva.

'No one intervenes,' Bovai said. 'No matter what. Anyone who raises a bow or unsheaths a blade, let him be struck down.'

There was a chorus of agreement even as the unfortunates given the task of herding the goblins and humans broke away from the ranks and headed back down the column.

Bovai dismounted, pulling his bow out from its case, testing the draw. Some of his followers rode up, reaching into their quivers and drawing out arrows.

'Take this: this is the shaft that killed Uvanta at two hundred paces,' one of them said.

'This shaft came from the hand of Govina the master fletcher,' another said.

Bovai, deeply moved, bowed his thanks to each and carefully placed the two arrows in his quiver. It meant that these members of his clan now fought with him and the gesture filled him with pride. His fight had become theirs. He stepped away from the group and raised his head.

'Tinuva!'

His cry echoed out. If a mortal had heard it, a chill would have coursed down his spine, for the cry was a whisper from another world, high-pitched, unearthly, filled with a fell power.