Al Hestian shrugged. “Perhaps he thought the journey too perilous.”

“Perhaps. Or he could be in complete ignorance of Brother Yallin’s death. One might almost think someone has been sending Aspect Tendris regular reports in Brother Yallin’s name.”

“Such a thing would be unthinkable, brother,” Al Hestian laughed and went off to shout encouragement at a group of men grappling nearby. Why couldn’t you have been hateful? Vaelin wondered. Why couldn’t you have made my task easy? The voice’s response was immediate, implacable: Should murder ever be easy?

Chapter 2

“About seventy men all told,” Dentos said around a mouthful of salt beef. “Ten miles west of here. It’s a well chosen site, a gully to the east, rocks to the south and a steep slope to the north and west. Hard to take unawares.”

They had returned on the fourteenth day of the training, Caenis bearing a sketched map showing the layout of the Cumbraelins’ camp. They huddled around the campfire with Al Hestian and Makril to plan the attack.

“Seventy’s a lot for these lads to face, brother,” Barkus advised Makril. “Even with our brothers they’ll still have numbers in their favour.”

“Each brother’s worth at least three of theirs,” Makril replied. “Besides, a surprised man is usually defeated before he even draws his sword.” He paused to ponder Caenis’s map, tracing a stubby finger over the gully leading to the camp’s eastern edge. “How well do they guard this?”

“Three men during in the day,” Caenis replied. “Five at night. Black Arrow is a cautious man it seems, knows we’re most likely to come for him in darkness. There is a route in.” He pointed to the cluster of rocks covering the camp’s southern border. “I got close enough to smell their pipe smoke. But it’s a path for one man only. Any more would be seen.”

“Five men guarding the best way in and only one man to open the door,” Makril mused. “That’s if he can get across the camp unseen.”

“We’ve kept some of their clothing and weapons,” Vaelin said. “In the dark they might take me for one of their own.”

“You mean me brother,” Caenis said.

“Five men at once…”

“As brother Makril says, surprised men are easier to kill. Besides, I’m the only one who knows the way.”

“He’s right,” Makril said. “I’ll take our brothers through the gully. My lord,” he glanced at Al Hestian, “I suggest you take your company to the southern approach, wait until you hear the clamour of our attack then charge straight in. We’ll have drawn most of their strength to us so you should catch them on their blind side.”

Al Hestian nodded. “A good plan, brother.”

“I should go with Lord Al Hestian,” Vaelin said. “The men may be less inclined to tarry in the charge if one of us is with them.”

He could tell from Makril’s narrowed eyes that his suspicion still lingered. He knows, the voice hissed in his mind. The others would never suspect but he knows, he smells it on you like blood.

“It’d be better if Sendahl and Jeshua went with his lordship,” Makril said, his narrow gaze still fixed on Vaelin. “Your sword will be much needed when we breach the camp.”

“They’re more afraid of Vaelin than they are any of us,” Barkus commented. “Lot less likely to run if he’s with them.”

“And I would be honoured to fight at brother Vaelin’s side!” Al Hestian enthused. “I believe it’s a fine idea.”

Makril slowly returned his gaze to the map. “As you wish, my lord.” He pointed at the slope north of the camp. “If this goes right they’ll flee down the hill towards the river. The perfect place to trap them. If the Departed favour us we should get them all.” He looked up, his expression suddenly fierce. “Even so this’ll be a hard and bloody fight. The scum don’t ask for quarter and won’t give any. Tell the men to get close, use their swords, don’t give them a chance to get their bows into play. Make sure they know defeat will mean death for all of us. There’s no retreat from this place, we kill them all or they’ll be sure to kill us.”

He rolled the map into a scroll got to his feet. “Five hours sleep then we move out. We’ll march in the dark so their scouts won’t see us. Ten miles is a lot of ground to cover in the snow so we’ll have to press hard. Any man who talks without permission or falls out on the march will have his throat slit. No rum ration until this is done.” He tossed the map to Caenis. “Brother, you’ll lead the way.”

The march was hard, taxing the men to the extreme but the promise of death for any too exhausted to continue was sufficient to keep them moving. The Order was at the head of the column, arrows notched to their bowstrings, eyes peering into the dark for any sign of Cumbraelin scouts. Although Black Arrow’s men sometimes came to harass the camp at night with a fire arrow launched over the stockade their visits had trailed off when Caenis and Makril had taken to hunting after sun down, collecting four bows in as many nights. Now the Cumbraelins rarely ventured close at night and their march was not interrupted.

It took eight hours of hard going before they came to the edge of a clearing where a small slope led up to the mound of rocks behind which the Cumbraelins had made their camp. Off to the right they could glimpse the dark shadow of the gully where Makril would lead the Order contingent. There was little preamble, Makril made the sign of good luck and led the eighteen brothers off across the clearing in a loose skirmish formation.

Need anything? Vaelin signed to Caenis.

His brother shook his head, pulling a cord tight on his sable pelted jerkin. In his captured garments he fitted his role well, the disguise completed by exchanging his strong bow for a long bow and hitching a hatchet into his belt. He opted to keep his sword strapped to his back, their enemies had captured many Asraelin blades from Al Hestian’s soldiers so it was unlikely to look out of place.

Luck to you brother, Vaelin signed, touching his shoulder. Caenis grinned briefly and was gone, covering the distance to the rocks in a dead run. He’ll be fine, Vaelin reassured himself. Their time in the Martishe had given him a new appreciation of Caenis’s skills, the slight boy who had shivered in fear at Master Grealin’s tall tales of monstrous rats was now a lithe, deadly warrior who seemed to fear nothing and killed without hesitation.

There was a crunch of snow as Al Hestian crouched beside him. “How long do you think, brother?” he whispered.

Vaelin fought down a surge of guilt at the sight of the young noble’s earnest face. You hope he won’t realise it was you, his ever present watcher told him. You hope he’ll go into the beyond believing the lie that you were friends…

“An hour or so, my lord,” he whispered back. “Perhaps less.”

“It’ll give the men a chance to rest at least.” He moved away to check on his soldiers, murmuring reassurance and encouragement. Vaelin tried not to listen and concentrated on the dim silhouette of the rocks. The sky was still dark but had taken on the blue tinge heralding the onset of daylight. Makril had favoured a dawn attack when the guards at the mouth of the gully would be tiring at the end of their shift.

Vaelin steadied his breathing, counting the passing seconds, gauging the right moment to set his scheme into motion, forcing away any thought that might deflect him from his course. His hand ached as his grip tightened on his bow. When he was sure at least a half hour had passed he moved to Al Hestian, crouching to whisper in his ear.