The Witch’s Bastard had chosen his campsite well; the only cover was provided by the shallow river running through the valley floor. He led Scar at a walk through the waters, the banks just high enough to conceal his tall frame. The wolves moved ahead, keeping to the sides. The predawn gloom was fading fast by the time he paused a mile short of the camp and requested Alturk take his Sentar in a wide sweep around the Volarians.
“Lorkan will go with you,” he told the Tahlessa. “Carve a hole in their picket line.”
“Can’t wait,” Lorkan said, forcing a smile, his new-found courage now plainly faltering despite the presence of his cat.
“The first break of dawn,” Vaelin told Alturk, extending a hand. “Not before.”
Alturk stared at his hand for a moment before briefly clasping his forearm. “My son’s name was Oskith,” he said. “It means Black Knife, he was aptly named.” He glanced over at Kiral, crouched in the current and playing a hand through her cat’s damp fur. “As was my daughter. I would have her know this.”
“Then live and tell her yourself.”
“That would make me a liar. Last night I sang my death song to the gods.”
Alturk rose from the water and crept up the riverbank at a crouch before disappearing from view followed by the hunched, shadowy forms of the Sentar. Vaelin saw Kiral watch them go, seeing the knowledge in her eyes and realised he would have nothing to tell her if Alturk fell.
A short way on he bade the tribes folk to halt, and, like Alturk, make their attack at the first break of dawn, striking at the camp’s northern edge. They were clumped together in their tribal groupings, obliging him to visit each one with Erlin. The six newly risen chieftains were all now under the impression they held ultimate command of this army and Vaelin thanked them all for the honour of allowing him to make the first attack.
He led the Wolf People on through the chill current, stopping when parallel with the main body of the camp. Whale Killer paused at his side with an affable smile before proceeding at the head of the warriors. They would circle around to the camp’s south-facing perimeter, like Alturk making their attack at the first sign of the sun ascending above the eastern mountains.
Vaelin’s gaze tracked the length of the river, now crowded with wolves, Astorek and the other shamans crouched among them, each strained face telling of the effort required to prevent a betraying explosion of snarls to the proximity of so many disparate packs. The wolves fidgeted but were mostly still, Astorek’s most of all. They had remained close to Vaelin for the entire journey, their gazes rarely leaving him.
He turned to Erlin and Wise Bear crouched nearby. “You will take no part in this,” he told Erlin, noting the hatchet gripped in his fist.
“I’ve fought on many occasion, brother,” Erlin replied. “It could be I’ve seen more battles than you.”
“Even so, remain in the rear. If the day goes against us, take yourself off, perhaps circle the world one more time.”
“And watch it fall to ruin as I do?” Erlin shook his head. “I think not.”
“You will be needed.” Vaelin met his gaze, feeling the guilt surge anew.
He turned to Wise Bear before Erlin could speak further. “Are you prepared?”
The shaman glanced to the east where the peaks were starting to take on the golden hue that heralded a new day. The sky was clear today, the air possessed of a pleasing freshness, coloured by a faint floral tint from the heather that covered the valley floor. “The green fire not seen here,” the shaman reflected with a faint note of regret then sloshed through the river to where Iron Claw waited. The great bear issued a low rumbling growl as Wise Bear climbed onto his back and turned him towards the bank.
Vaelin beckoned to Lord Orven and hauled himself onto Scar’s saddle. “If all goes well, there should be a decent gap in their ranks,” he told the guardsman. “Concentrate on the Varitai if you can.”
“I shall, my lord.” Orven gave a salute, standing straight as the current flowed about him. “At this moment I’d trade everything I own for a horse.”
Vaelin grinned and reached over his shoulder to draw his sword. “I expect there’ll be plenty to choose from when we’re done.”
He kicked Scar into motion, splashing free of the river and waiting as Astorek’s wolves took up position in front, the other packs swarming from the banks to close in on either side. Mishara padded through the throng and sank to her haunches at his side. Vaelin looked down to meet her gaze, wondering if Dahrena saw him through her eyes. Mishara merely blinked and licked her fangs before turning her attention to the Volarians.
