you do, don’t break from my side!” Flinn dug his heels into Ariac’s flanks, and the griffon bolted northward. Jo and Dayin followed immediately, though Flinn fancied Jo looked surprised by their heading.
These creatures respect offense more than defense, Flinn thought as he and Jo and the boy galloped past the orc scouts. A number of them brandished their spears, snarling and gesturing to attack, but the leader threatened them with his staff. The orcs cowered and lowered their weapons. Why aren’t they attacking us? Flinn couldn’t fathom the answer, and he wondered how long the creatures would hold off.
Flinn led Jo and Dayin north along the Castellan, proceeding as quickly as the mounts could over the rocky ground. The river guarded their right flank. Nothing could attack them from that direction without their knowledge. The river was wide and running fast, and its banks-relatively clear of snow-were smooth enough for Flinn, Jo, and Dayin to make good time. To the west, a perimeter guard of Rooster’s orcs kept a keen eye upon them, dispatching runners to stay abreast of them and watch their maneuvers.
“Why are orcs on the move in winter?” Jo called out as she spurred her horse next to Ariac. “Is war afoot?”
Flinn shook his head. “I’m not sure. There’re two tribes, one to the north and west of us and another to the east across the Castellan. If they are massing for war, maybe they’re gathering at the river so they have room to fight.”
“Do you think that’s the reason?” Jo pressed.
“Orcs are a lazy lot. They wouldn’t go to war in the dead of winter without good cause,” Flinn answered back. “The winter’s been a tough one so far, and maybe they’re just joining up to gather food.”
“Why did you turn us north instead of going back to Bywater?” Jo asked.
“I’ll tell you my reasons when we have a chance to stop. Let’s just hope I made the right choice,” Flinn said. “Right now, it’s time to move-and no more talking.” He tapped Ariac’s flanks with his heels, and the griffon responded with a surge of speed. Flinn could still hear, albeit faintly, the drums that the orcs used to convey messages as the tribes converged. Yet what the chieftains had planned, Flinn couldn’t guess.
The warrior watched an orc run north along the line of hills to Flinn’s west. The runner kept the trio in sight until he met up with another orc. The second orc took up the post until he met a third runner. Flinn wondered how long the orcs would keep up their surveillance. He suspected the Rooster’s tribe was moving south somewhere through the hills to their west, while he, Jo, and Dayin rode north. He also suspected the perimeter guard set up by the runners wouldn’t cease until the tribe had passed south of the former knight and his two comrades. Before that happened, however, the orcs would surely send out a patrol to hunt them down. Flinn grimaced. He was surprised they had held j off this long.
The hours wore on, and still Flinn maintained the grueling pace he had set in the beginning. Ariac’s feathered chest was wet with sweat, despite the cold, and the bird-lion’s breath came in sharp whistles. The griffon wasn’t suited for cantering, and certainly not for a pace that required both speed and endurance. Flinn glanced back and saw that Jo’s horse was in good shape and that Fernlover, though laboring, was also keeping up. A game creature, Ariac was nevertheless unaccustomed to such prolonged speed. Flinn spurred the lagging griffon forward.
Suddenly, the cloud-laden sky let loose the snow Flinn had predicted the night before. Wave after wave of white flakes fell, dropping from the sky with silent fury. Then the wind picked up, especially along the unprotected riverbanks, hurling the snow horizontally across their path. It whipped through the fur cape Flinn wore and took away his breath, and it smothered sound with its dull roar. Shielding his eyes, Flinn looked at the sides of the river. The rugged bottomland was giving way to steeper hills. Ahead, the Castellan sluiced fast and wild. The river’s embankments would be too treacherous to follow in the growing storm.
Soon Flinn, Jo, and Dayin would be forced into the surrounding Wulfholdes.
Flinn eyed the few orcs he could still see off to the west. Trees, rocks, and snow blurred his view. He had hoped to have reached the end of the orcs’ exodus by now. But the current runner was the seventeenth. “Do these orcs stretch all the way to Duke’s Road Keep?” he asked himself.
Although Ariac strained to maintain the pace, his strength was clearly flagging. The riverbank was growing too steep to negotiate; Flinn turned Ariac toward the hills and slowed the party to a walk. Inland, the winds grew even stronger than at the river. “Certain death on the sheer bank and certain death with the orc tribe,” Flinn said, shaking his head. He wondered briefly just how far north he would have to travel before striking west to find Braddoc Briarblood’s house. He knew that to turn west now with the orcs at hand was suicidal. If the orcs forced him past the Broken Arch, he would simply have to double back after shaking them.
The warrior slowed their pace still further. The stony, snow-covered ground and the obscured vision made any faster pace impossible. Flinn lost sight of the orc runners in the blowing snow. Certain they remained, he didn’t dare relax his guard. Keeping an uneasy watch to the west, Flinn stretched in the saddle.
Then, just above the roar of the wind, Flinn heard the sharp, extended blast of a horn some distance west. Immediately he halted Ariac, and Jo pulled up beside him. Her eyes hung wide as she caught her breath. Flinn held up his hand for silence, then cocked his ears for the response he was sure would come. A single shrill bleat answered back. The echoing hills and muffling snowfall distorted the sound’s origin; Flinn couldn’t discern its direction. But the origin was near.
Too close, in fact. The orcs had gained ground on them and were closer than Flinn had feared.
“Does that mean what I think it means?” Jo asked just above the sound of the storm. “They’re coming after us?”
“Yes,” Flinn nodded. “The tribe to our west is led by an orc named the Rooster. His people are safely south of us by now, and he’s sending out a patrol after us.” Dayin pulled up beside them, the child all but hidden by the supplies and Flinn’s shaggy fur vest.
“Flinn, can we take much more of this?” Jo gestured at the storm overhead and then pointed to the griffon. “Ariac’s about to burst from the strain.”
The griffon dripped with frothy sweat, and his footing had grown less sure with each passing hour. Ariac was trembling with fatigue. Flinn considered his options. The orc patrol would be actively hunting them now, and the storm was fast turning into a blizzard. Night would fall in less than two hours, and they would be unable to see anything then. They had to make a stand or they would never survive.
“The orcs are too close for us to outrun them, at least not in the condition Ariac’s in. Follow me closely, and be prepared for whatever happens,” the warrior said suddenly. Jo drew her sword and rested it on her lap. Flinn nodded his approval. “Jo, don’t use your blink dog’s tail to attack; use it only if you have to retreat. You’ve said the magic is beginning to fade, and I’d rather you learn to trust only yourself and your sword in a fight.”
Jo nodded and then asked, “Do you think they’ll find us in this storm?” Her voice trembled a little but her gaze was determined.
Flinn smiled grimly. “Not if we find them first.” He gave her and the boy a quick nod of reassurance, then dismounted.
Flinn took the griffon’s lead and turned Ariac around. He headed back across the hill the way they had come. In silence, Jo and Dayin followed him.
The warrior drew his sword silently. He patted Ariac’s neck and hoped the griffon’s strength wouldn’t give way. Then Flinn prayed to Tarastia for the opportunity to avenge himself against the orcs who followed him. As a knight in the Order of the Three Suns, he and his men had tangled often with both the Rooster’s tribe and Greasetongue’s. He could right a few wrongs today if the Immortal Tarastia was so inclined.
Though his sense of time was hampered by the ceaseless snowstorm and the incessant roar of the wind, Flinn came upon the orcs far sooner than he had thought he might. Barely twenty minutes after they had turned around, Ariac nibbled his master’s shoulder. Instantly, Flinn spun about and gestured for Jo and Dayin to dismount. He gave Ariac’s rein to the boy and pointed for Dayin to lead the animals off the hill and out of the way. Without a word the child disappeared into the snow. Flinn stepped off the trail, pulling Jo down beside him near a rocky outcropping. If Ariac’s senses were right, they would soon see the orc patrol following their trail in the storm.
Flinn whispered in Jo’s ear, “Wait for them to get by us before we attack. We will surprise them from behind, and with any luck we’ll get most of them right away. There shouldn’t be more than five or six of them. Make your strokes count, and remember what I said about not losing your sword.”
The young woman nodded. Flinn saw that she was shaking, but her eyes were bright and clear. Good-that’s the way to feel, Flinn thought just before one orc, then a second and a third came into view through the swirling snow. They were humanlike-as tall as Flinn, though considerably broader of girth, and clad in misshapen armor. They wore boiled leather helmets, from which their flattened jowls protruded. Stained tusks and beady eyes lay in
