brother. There you can see the Mothers and Fathers, if they will have you.'
Another flicker of sunlight dashed across the woods and clearing. He wasn't sure how long had passed now, for together the two of them were drifting in another world, a world that only those of the eledhel and moredhel truly understood, where a second could stretch to eternity, or a hundred years could be but a flicker of an eye.
'Come to me, brother. One of us is fated to die this day, let his brother look into his eyes and be the last he shall ever see of this realm.'
Tinuva slowly let his bow drop; then reaching to his belt, he drew out his dagger and stepped into the clearing.
'Move it, keep moving!' Dennis cried. Stepping to the side of the road, he looked back.
The column was strung out, the rear of it barely visible in the drifting snow which came down in a hard squall, then in seconds lifted to a few flumes, then closed in again.
Men were gasping, staggering, legs pumping, all semblance of formation gone, the strongest to the fore, the weaker to the rear. No scouts were forward, all caution abandoned in this headlong rush, the column rushing along like a torrent of rage unleashed. No longer were they the hunted: now they stormed forward as the hunters.
Dennis turned to look up the road. How much further he wasn't sure, for the ride down this path with Roxanne had been in the dark.
Gregory had ridden forward, promising to wait at the turn-off into the woods and to give warning if the moredhel were advancing.
'How much further, Hartraft?'
Asayaga staggered up to his side, breathing hard, sword drawn, the blade catching a glint of sunlight when the sun showed through the clouds for an instant.
'I don't know.'
'Your plan?'
'What plan?'
Asayaga looked at him and smiled.
'Then let's go,' Asayaga cried and he pressed on, Dennis by his side.
It was an intricate dance, a ballet of death, the two leaping towards each other, blades flashing, the cold sound of steel striking steel and then a backing away, the dance to be repeated again and yet again.
The watchers of the clan had drawn closer, forming a circle to contain the fight, all silent, intent, more than one muttering bitter admiration for Tinuva, the Morvai of old whom they remembered as a comrade and friend. In their eyes he was again almost one of them. A dark fury shone in his regard, his jaw was stern, a pulsing radiance seemed to form around him.
Lightly he danced, oblivious to the pain, the blood that trickled down his leg, filling his boot so that he left a slushy pink footprint with each step.
Blood flowed from Bovai as well, dripping from his slashed side, from the cut of Tinuva's dagger to his left arm which had sliced nearly to the bone.
Again the two came together; again there was the sparkle of blades, a sprinkle of blood joining the snowflakes that drifted down around them. Tinuva jumped back, left hand going to his face to wipe away the blood from the cut across his brow which clouded his vision. The world in his eyes had gone to red: yet it was not the blood which darkened his world, but all that he had contained within himself and which had now flared back to life.
'Come on brother,' Bovai taunted. 'Finish it.'
'I will.'
Bovai mockingly extended his arms wide. 'Embrace me, brother, come on.'
Tinuva crouched.
'Our father would have been proud of you, brother. Anleah would be proud of you.'
Tinuva leapt in and Bovai crouched to receive the attack. As he advanced Tinuva shifted his dagger from right hand to his left, and then at the last instant shifted it back again. He slashed out, feigning low, then coming in high. He barely felt the icy touch of Bovai's dagger cutting into his left shoulder: poised to block his own blade and finding nothing, it had simply driven in.
The two staggered back, Bovai gasping, a bright line of blood cut across his face, his cheek slashed open from the edge of his mouth to his ear, which had been cut in half.
Crying out, Bovai clutched his face and a gasp rose from all who watched, for everyone knew how Bovai took such pride in his countenance, and now it would be twisted and scarred forever.
Instinct caused Bovai to turn, coming around even as he staggered. He dodged the blow aimed low for his mid-section, wrapping his arms around Tinuva as the two fell. Snow rose up like a gust of steam as they hit the ground and rolled.
Again and again the two slashed at each other with their daggers in their right hands, left hands fumbling to grab the blade-hand of the other. They rolled, kicking and cursing, the strength of each a match for the other. Both were covered in blood-soaked slush as they struggled and the watchers from their clan drew in closer, some now shouting for the kill and more than one crying for Tinuva.
Bovai kneed Tinuva, hitting the stump of the arrow driven into the eledhel's leg. Tinuva gasped from the wave of agony but his fury drove him on. He feigned collapse, and when Bovai rolled to gain a superior position, Tinuva suddenly pressed up, using Bovai's own momentum to roll him over yet again, and this time he drove his good knee into Bovai's stomach so that his brother gasped. At the same instant he drove his left fist into Bovai's face, tearing the cut so that Bovai screamed in agony and let go of Tinuva's right hand.
Tinuva raised his dagger.
Yet again time seemed to stand still, almost to run in reverse of the banks of the eternal river. He could see his brother as he was, as both of them had once been, hunting together, sunlight drifting through the trees, standing together in the high mountains, the wind sweeping the world.
Bovai looked up at him. 'Brother,' he whispered.
Tinuva held the blade poised, ready to drive it into Bovai's heart and in that instant he knew… and he remembered as well all that he had become.
Sunlight filtered down again for a brief instant, lighting the clearing, snow sparkling like diamonds.
He smiled.
The blow came as no surprise: if there was any surprise it was that there was no pain. Just a strange inner warmth as Bovai's dagger, driven to the hilt, pierced his stomach, slamming up under the ribs and into his lungs.
'You've lost,' Tinuva whispered as the breath was driven out of him.
Bovai looked into Tinuva's eyes and in that instant he felt a madness, a horror, beyond any he had known before. He reached up, pushing Tinuva back. His brother, like a great statue, seemed to hang above him, then ever so slowly pitched over.
He kicked the body away, thrashing in a near panic. Then, trembling, he stood up.
All eyes were upon him.
'It's finished,' he whispered.
He turned slowly, looking from one to the other and he could sense their contempt. He looked back at Tinuva.
So you have robbed me even of this, brother, haven't you?
'Damn you!' Bovai screamed.
The group surrounding him was silent and at that instant Bovai knew his brother had been right: he had lost something in this moment, the pain and anger that had driven him for centuries. For a moment, he felt as if life had lost its purpose. Softly he said, 'But I won…'
'No!'
It was a distant scream of anguish, of a long, pent-up rage. Bovai turned, looking in disbelief at the swarm of men closing in, white-and-grey capes fluttering in the wind as they ran, some wearing lacquered armour that caught the beams of sunlight and stood out like brilliant lanterns on a cold dark night.
The charge swarmed down the slope like an avalanche. Arrows snapped past. One of his cousins spun around, clutching his throat; another collapsed with a scream.
All stood transfixed, confused, startled, so sudden was the onset of the charge.
And then Bovai saw him. He had never truly laid eyes upon him before, but he knew his blood, the blood of his
