Soterius looked from Alle to Sahila. "She's going to lead us to the target?"

In one smooth movement, Alle wheeled, and Soterius found the business edge of a large knife close to his throat. "My home's been burned. My friends are dead. I slit the throats of two of the king's guardsmen the night I brought the bards from Palace City. And every night, I keep the drunks at the bar from getting what they think they're entitled to. I can handle myself."

Soterius raised both hands. "Calm down. I get the point. Let's go."

It seemed to Soterius that both Sahila and Alle were still chuckling as Alle led them back to the barn where the others waited. Covered by the heavy cloak and hood, Alle was less of a distraction for the fighters, who stood aside when she told them to move away from a corner of the barn and directed two of the men to lift away a heavy stone slab that covered a dark entrance leading down into the ground.

Sahila lit a lantern and gave it to Alle, who partially shuttered it to dim the light. "Follow me," she said, descending the wooden stairs.

The men followed her in their marching order. Mikhail brought up the rear, pausing only to move the heavy stone back into place.

"Where are we?" Soterius whispered.

"Caves beneath the barn," Alle replied without glancing backward. "The barn's pretty old. We figure that the settlers found the caves to hide from raiders. Since then, they've been used by smugglers, bootleggers, you name it." She flashed a conspiratorial grin. "Useful thing to have."

The caves were bitterly cold, and icicles glistened along the cave walls in the dim light of the lantern. The trail through the cave was well-worn, broad enough in most places for two men to walk abreast, and in some places, opening into larger rooms of inky darkness. In the distance, water dripped. From time to time, something skittered past their boots, and Soterius had the distinct impression that something—or someone—was watching them.

"Careful," Mikhail warned, his vayash moru senses serving him well in the dark. "There are sheer drops not far on either side—I wouldn't like to bet on how far down they go."

Soterius's fighters stayed close together, following the path. After about half a candlemark, Alle stopped.

"It's safer to cross the caves than to go through the forest at night," Alle said. "We have an arrangement with the local vayash moru. They keep the caves free from squatters and wild things, and they can take refuge here any time they want."

"A reasonable bargain," Mikhail replied. "That explains why the vayash moru we passed didn't try to stop us."

"When we come up to the surface you'll be in the foothills, behind some trees. Just beyond the tree line is a camp. I scouted it earlier today. There are twenty-five Margolan soldiers, plus captives. We think they're the ones who looted a village about a day's ride from here. Burned most of the houses, ran off the livestock, and killed the villagers who wouldn't run. From the sound of it, they've taken a couple of the village girls with them."

"Ashtenerath?" Soterius asked.

Alle paused. "We found half a dozen of those things dead in the village. Haven't seen any in the camp since."

"Fair enough," Soterius said. "What about getting back?"

"I'll wait here," Alle said. "Can't be any more miserable than scouting them earlier." She looked sideways at Soterius as if she anticipated an objection. "Don't worry—I won't try to be a hero. You can do all the fighting. I stashed some bandages and supplies when I came earlier. Just get your wounded back here."

Soterius was impressed by Alle's matter-of-fact manner. "We'll do our best not to need them."

He turned, and Alle grabbed his arm. "Bring the village girls with you," she said. "We've got a couple of healers standing by back at the inn. If they're still alive, they've got nowhere else to go."

Soterius exchanged glances with Sahila. "That's a big 'if,'" he said. "But if they're alive, you have my word we'll get them out of there."

"Then the Lady go with you," Alle murmured. She gestured for silence and led them around a bend, shuttering the lantern completely as moonlight lit the mouth of the cave. Alle stood aside, motioning for Soterius and Sahila to pass, melting into the shadows.

Mikhail made a quick scouting foray, moving silently down through the trees along one side of the camp. The soldiers had found a small clearing, far enough from the road not to be bothered. It was bitterly cold, and Soterius's breath steamed in the night air. He was glad for his heavy woolen uniform and an equally heavy cloak, and wished for the milder weather of the Margolan plains. He glanced at his fighters. The professionals—Pell, Tabb, Andras, and Sahila—had an expression of anticipation, but did not look fearful. The refugee-fighters were doing their best to hide their fear. They looked grimly resolute, firmly gripping their weapons. Within a quarter candlemark, Mikhail had returned. Soterius knew that the vayasb moru not only moved more silently than a human scout, but could complete his mission without leaving footprints in the snow.

"It's as Alle said," Mikhail reported in a whisper. "Two dozen soldiers, plus some horses. I didn't see any ashtenerath, and I couldn't smell any, either. Wouldn't be surprised if they can only deploy those once—how do you get them back in the box wagon?" He paused. "I found the bodies of three of their captives in the latrine trench. We may be too late for a rescue."

"All the more reason to kill the bastards," Sahila murmured.

"If there are any captives left, they're in the far tent, over there," Mikhail added.

"Get them out and bring them here, then come join the party," Soterius instructed. Mikhail nodded, and disappeared into the night.

Soterius gestured, and the fighters spread out to find their assigned positions. Whether or not there were ashtenerath, Soterius had decided that striking first and hard from a distance was the best way to reduce his casualties, and so swords and axes were sheathed in favor of the bows and thrown weapons. Soterius heard the owl call that was Mikhail's signal. The soldier on night watch was dead.

"Let's go!" Soterius whispered, giving his own signal, a creditable imitation of a wolf's cry.

Before the echo of the howl faded, arrows rained down on the camp. The long bows and slingshots picked off panicked soldiers, while flaming arrows set tents ablaze and forced their residents to run, half-clad and unarmored into the snowy night.

Soldiers who veered too close to the forest fell to the crossbows, or heard the 'snick' of flying bolos around their neck. Soterius watched his fighters with pride. Swords were unfamiliar to farmers and herdsmen, but these men had used bows and slingshots all their lives to hunt vermin, and bolos to round up errant herds. Striking from the cover of the forest, Soterius's fighters exacted a hefty price before ever showing their faces. Instead, they echoed Soterius's wolf cry, until the moonlit clearing rang with the eerie call of the predator.

"Ghost fighters!" one of the hapless soldiers cried, trying to pull his pants up as he ran, fleeing his burning tent.

The captain of the fighters had been drinking with his men around the fire when the attack began. He called for order as his panicked troops fell, with arrows piercing their chests or bolos straps strangling their throats. Half of his men rallied to him, falling into a defensive formation, swords ready.

"Now! Soterius cried. His best hand-to-hand fighters slung their bows and hefted their swords or axes, running from the darkness of the forest as they shrieked a battle cry.

"Demons! Ashtenerath!" Soterius's fighters waded into the fray. Spurred on by their anger over the lost village and the dead girls, the refugee-fighters fought like the blood rage was upon them, giving no quarter and needing none. Any soldier who ran for the forest was met with a deadly hail of arrows, or was sure to encounter Mikhail once he reached the darker shadows beneath the trees.