Then the talons of the creature raked across one of the mounted men, tumbling him from the saddle as blood flew. The distinct sound of arrows being released shot through the high-pitched scream that followed, Gregson registering mild respect that some of the archers had remained calm enough to fire, and then with a gust of wind that carried grass and grit into his face, the creature lifted away, something clutched in its talons.
Gregson stared after it in shock, his mind not willing to accept that the figure struggling in the creature’s grip was a child. But the mother’s screeching wouldn’t stop. He turned to face her, body numbed, two men holding her back as her arms reached up and out toward the bird that was not a bird, already a receding shadow in the distance.
A smaller shadow suddenly dropped from it and fell toward the earth.
Gregson turned away, bile rising in the back of his throat, the mother’s scream escalating before breaking into sobs as she collapsed back into the arms of the men holding her, her body suddenly limp. Two men hauled her upright and carried her to one of the carts, tossing her into the back as she protested, arms flailing, striking them and herself in her frenzy.
“Lieutenant!”
Gregson swallowed with a wince, then turned, saw Curtis and Jayson charging up to him.
“Everyone’s moving out,” Curtis gasped. “We need to go!”
Gregson surveyed the trampled grass of the field and acknowledged that Curtis was correct. The attack of the creature had lit a fire under everyone’s ass. The carts had already reached the edge of the road heading westward, the one with the mother trailing slightly behind the others. The rest of the refugees were stumbling at a half-run out in front, the Legion, archers, and men on horseback urging them on, all with swords drawn. He shook his head. It was all falling apart. They weren’t abandoning the supplies; they weren’t preparing to separate into smaller groups. In their panic, they were doing the exact opposite, unwilling to break from those they’d bonded with over the last few days.
He couldn’t shake the feeling they were running to their deaths, couldn’t think of a way to stop it.
After they’d come so far, come so close to reaching Temeritt.
“Lieutenant?”
Someone touched Gregson’s shoulder tentatively and he jerked away as Jayson pulled back.
He stared at the miller, then growled, “Let’s move,” harsher than he’d intended. Jayson merely stiffened and nodded.
They fled, Terson following the road that was nothing more than two dirt tracks cutting through the trees and grass of the few fields and clearings they encountered. Everyone kept their eyes trained on the circling birds overhead. The trees kept the creatures from attacking as they had in the field, but Gregson was more concerned with the rest of the Horde. The creatures must have warned the dark army where they were, but would they act? Would the refugees reach the base of the Northward Ridge in time for him to force the group to scatter before the Horde arrived?
As they descended the long slope to the west, then broke through the last of the heavy cover of the forest, he realized with a sickening wave of despair that it didn’t matter. The Horde’s supplies and their reserve forces-the forces he’d searched for on the ridge above-filled the hills between the west end of the ridge and the main battlefield.
There wouldn’t be time for them to scatter. The refugees’ time was up.
A hundred Alvritshai on horses were waiting. As the refugees emerged from the trees and were spotted, Gregson seized hold of their only hope of survival: chaos.
“Abandon everything!” he roared, even as the Alvritshai kicked their horses into motion. “Scatter and race for Temeritt!”
Everyone but the archers panicked at the sight of the Alvritshai bearing down on them, tossing whatever they clutched aside as they scattered toward the southwest, half trying to skirt the Horde’s encampment toward the Legion beyond, the others racing back into the forest behind. The archers set arrow to string and fired, not stopping as the riders charged. Three Alvritshai fell in the first volley, two more a moment later, and then the Alvritshai drew their swords and ran the archers down where they stood. Two of the men dodged at the last moment, flinging themselves aside, but the Alvritshai ignored them, breaking formation to attack those who’d fled.
Not waiting to see what happened, Gregson began to run, drawing his sword in one smooth motion. At his side, Jayson shouted, “Corim!” as loudly as he could and began to pull out ahead of Curtis and himself. Gregson couldn’t pick out the young boy through the confusion, gave up almost instantly, and focused on reaching a cut between two hills. Most of the refugees were heading there.
All but one of the wagons had been abandoned, two children left screaming in the seats. The fifth jounced across rough ground as the woman in the seat thrashed the horses with the reins, urging them onward. Gregson watched in horrified fascination as the bed of the cart jumped, supplies and food bouncing and spilling out. It landed with a crash, one of the back wheels shattering into splinters, but the cart kept moving, slowing as its bed tilted to one side. Three children clung to the woman in the seat, another two holding onto the cart’s headboard. One of them screamed and pointed as a group of Alvritshai cut in ahead of Gregson, split into two groups, and closed in on either side of the cart, the nearest bringing his sword around in a sweeping arc.
The woman lurched to one side, the horses drawing the cart following suit, the cart careening to the right-
Directly into the path of the Alvritshai on that side.
An inhuman scream tore through the chaos as the cart and horses collided, Alvritshai mounts rearing, the cart tilting, throwing the woman, children, and all of the remaining supplies clear. The cart’s horses tried to keep moving, but as the Alvritshai plowed into the cart, unable to stop themselves, the tongue dragged them down into a tangled mess of splintering wood, traces, horseflesh, and Alvritshai.
Gregson charged past a moment later, ignoring the screams from both animal and man coming from the wreck. More of the Alvritshai were scattered ahead, cutting down the refugees from behind, swords flashing in bloody arcs, men and women falling on all sides. The woman who’d driven the cart had fallen to the grass, body crumpled and unmoving, one of the children clinging to her and sobbing uncontrollably. Gregson scooped the girl up beneath his free arm as he reached them, saw Curtis doing the same with an even younger boy who stood alone and crying, and then he was moving again, breath burning in his lungs at the additional weight. He was shocked at how heavy the girl was, but shifted her awkward weight as he focused on the trees. If they could reach the trees, the Alvritshai would have a hard time following on horseback.
He’d forgotten about the flying creatures, until the shadow fell across the grass before him.
Heart quickening in his chest, he clutched the girl close and threw himself to the ground, rolling so that he’d hit with his shoulder. A talon scraped across his face and he hissed with pain; the creature shrieked in frustration and the winds from its wings buffeted him as it rose back into the sky. Not waiting, he lurched to his feet, felt blood slicking down his neck from the new wound on his jaw, the girl sobbing into his chest. He ran, noted that some of the refugees had reached the woods, Terson shoving them under the cover of the branches and yelling at them to keep running, the remains of the Legion doing the same. The Alvritshai on horseback veered off from their attack, circling around to catch those that were coming up from behind.
There were too many of them, enough to form a line blocking Gregson and the rest from reaching the trees. He, Curtis, Jayson, and the others weren’t going to make it.
But Gregson didn’t slow. Their only chance was to plow through.
He pulled the girl closer, holding her so tightly she began to struggle. A few of the men and women left on the field faltered, slowing, but the rest continued forward. Those with swords drawn raised them and roared defiantly.
Gregson locked gazes with the Alvritshai directly before him, took note of the strangely angular face, the too-pale skin, the deep-seated arrogance in the eyes. Those eyes narrowed with hatred as he nudged his horse a step forward, sword held ready. Gregson drew a breath and bellowed wordlessly, the Alvritshai’s mouth twitching into a smile-
And then, from behind, a volley of arrows shot over Gregson’s head and slammed into the line of Alvritshai, taking Gregson’s in the eye and snapping his head back. All along the line, Alvritshai tumbled from saddles, their mounts snorting and sidestepping. Gregson swung his blade as he dodged the Alvritshai’s unsettled horses, felt the sword cut into flesh, then plowed past. He sprinted the last few feet to the trees, passed beneath their branches and into the coolness on the far side before slowing. He caught sight of Terson to the left, veered toward him as his
