They had a dozen wagons – mostly the horse drawn carts whose animals had stuck to the road, or followed the military horses. But as they waited for the next assault of the enemy, whose horns could clearly be heard – a boy appeared on the far bank, no more than fifteen years old.
‘I reckon I need some help!’ he called. ‘Can’t get these here oxen through the ford on my own!’
The boy had saved four wagons. He didn’t seem to know that he was supposed to be afraid.
‘They’re busy a-killin all the horses and cattle!’ the boy said. He grinned like it was all a great prank. ‘So I’m just walking up and taking any wagon ain’t got a bunch of ’em aboard!’
Random hugged him after they had the oxen across. Then he turned to Gawin. ‘I honour your willingness to fight here and get us clear,’ he said. ‘But I think we should all go together. It will be a long road back, and as dangerous as these woods – every step of the way.’
Gawin shrugged. ‘These men can go – although I believe they owe you a great service.’ A daemon appeared across the river, and a troll belled. ‘But I will stand here, for as long as God grants my hands the power to hold this ford,’ he said. And very softly, he said, ‘I used to be so beautiful.’
Harmodius nodded. ‘You, messire, are a true knight.’
Gawin shrugged. ‘I am whatever I am, now. I hear that daemon across the stream – I think I understand him. He calls for his blood kin. I-’ He shook his head.
‘You saved us,’ said Harmodius. ‘Like a knight.’
Gawin gave him a wounded smile. ‘It is an estate from which I have fallen,’ he said. ‘But to which I aspire.’
Harmodius grinned. ‘All the good ones do.’ He raised his hat. He was still mounted on the destrier, and he seemed a bigger man than he had before.
Across the river, the trolls belled again, and Random felt bile rise in his mouth.
But then there was the sound of a horn beyond the sweet horns of the boglins. A bronze trumpet call sounded through the trees.
South of Lissen Carak – Amy’s Hob
Amy’s Hob lay still.
He lay so still that ants crawled over him.
When he had to piss, he did so without moving.
There were boglins at the base of the hill. They were feeding. He tried not to watch, but his eyes were drawn, again and again.
They went to a corpse, covered it, and when they left it, there was nothing but bone, hair, and some sinew. A few fed alone, but most fed in a pack.
Beyond them, a pair of great horned trolls walked slowly down the ridge. Ten horse lengths from the unmoving scout, the larger of the two raised its head and called.
A dozen boglin horns sounded their sweet, cheerful notes in return.
Gelfred appeared at his side, and his face was as white as chalk.
‘How many?’ he breathed.
Amy’s Hob shok his head. ‘Thousands.’
Gelfred was made of different stuff. He raised himself on his elbows and scanned carefully from right to left. ‘Blessed Saint Eustachios stand with us,’ he said.
One of the trolls heads whipped round and saw him.
‘Run!’ he shouted.
Gelfred aimed his crossbow and the string rang like a bell and the nearest boglin folded. So did the one behind it.
‘We’re dead,’ Amy’s Hob said bitterly.
‘Don’t be such an ass,’ Gelfred said. ‘Follow me.’ They ran down the reverse slope of the ridge. The troll was crashing along behind them, much faster in the undergrowth than they were.
At the base of the ridge they were just a few horse lengths ahead of the thing, but to Amy’s Hob’s amazement, there were a pair of horses waiting. Both men vaulted into the saddle, and the horses were away, as terrified as their riders.
As soon as they outdistanced pursuit, Gelfred slowed. ‘Go to the captain – he’s on the road.’
‘I’ll tell him to get back to the fortress!’ Amy’s Hob said, eyes still wild.
Gelfred shook his head. He was still pale and his fear was obvious, but he was the kind of man who was afraid and kept on functioning. ‘No. Absolutely not. Tell him it can be done. If he’s quick.’
Amy’s Hob might have stayed to argue, but staying there was insane. He put his bare heels to the pony’s sides, and he was gone, leaving Gelfred alone in the woods with a thousand boglins and a troll.
The man knelt by his pony, and began to pray, intent on his purpose.
There was a flare of light, and Gelfred vanished.
South and East of Lissen Carrack – Bad Tom
Victory can be as much luck as skill, or strength of arms.
Bad Tom led the vanguard. They’d heard the boglin horns for a league and had stopped on the trail, a long column of twos, the war horses snorting, the archer’s ronceys trying to avoid being nipped by the bigger horses. There was new grass by the road and all the horses wanted it.
Amy’s Hob cantered in from the east and he looked as if he’d seen hell come to earth.
Tom laughed at the sight of him. ‘Guess we’ve found ’em,’ he said, delighted.
Amy’s Hob saluted the captain, who looked remarkably calm, a tall figure in scarlet and steel. ‘Gelfred says-’ He shook his head. ‘There’s a mort of ’em, but Gelfred says it’s now or not.’
‘We’re right on top of them,’ Tom said. He nodded to the scout. ‘Well done, lad. Must take balls of brass to be out there alone wi’ ’em.’
Amy’s Hob shivered. ‘Gelfred’s still out there.’
The captain listened. Sounds can be read as easily as sights, sometimes. He could see the action ahead – the road ran east along the south bank of the river, then south between the hills. Before it turned south and began to climb, it crossed a stream.
‘What’s happening?’ Michael asked.
‘The enemy is attacking a convoy,’ the captain said. He and Tom exchanged a look.
‘They’re all on this side of the stream?’ he asked.
Amy’s Hob nodded. ‘Aye.’
‘Clumped up?’ he asked.
‘Which Gelfred said to tell you
The captain’s eyes met Tom’s. ‘Go,’ the captain said.
Bad Tom grinned like a madman. ‘On me!’ he roared.
Around him, men checked one more thing. It was different for each one – here, an armour strap, there, the way a helmet sat on your head. Or the check to make sure your dagger was right there, at your hip.
But men were smiling.
They said things.
They were going to do that thing that they did. When they moved like lightning and struck like the hammer on the anvil. Soldiers know, feel, these things. And luck rose about them, as if they were magi casting words of power with the hooves of their horses.
They rode right for the sound of the horns. Tom only reined in when he saw his first boglin, and he looked back to see Grendel and his rider pounding up the road.
The captain flipped him a salute. His visor was up.
‘There they are,’ Tom said. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face.
The captain listened and scratched his beard.
