“You have to come,” he said, swaying a little as he pointed his bloody dagger to the raging struggle nearby. “It’s Alturk.”
The wolves went ahead of him, tearing apart the ragged Volarian line of wounded and part-blinded Varitai, allowing him to charge through with Wise Bear and Iron Claw close behind. He saw Alturk twenty yards ahead, war club whirling as he spun and dodged amidst a circle of red men. The Sentar were attempting to come to his side but were being held back by a company of Kuritai, Lonak and slave-elite locked in a vicious struggle as the Tahlessa fought hopeless odds. But still he lived, cuts on his arms, face and legs, but he remained standing as the red men danced.
Vaelin urged more speed from Scar but the warhorse was tiring now, foam covering his flanks and mouth, his stride laboured and shuddering with effort. Vaelin watched as Alturk dodged a sword and brought his club around to slam into his assailant’s side, deliberately avoiding the killing blow to the head as Vaelin had instructed. The red men, however, had clearly allowed the blow to land to draw Alturk forward, two of them dancing closer to slash at his legs. He sidestepped the first stroke but not the second, the blade biting deep into his thigh and sending him to one knee, teeth bared in a grimace.
Another red man leapt and delivered a kick to Alturk’s jaw, sending him sprawling. The red man landed nimbly astride the Tahlessa’s prostrate form, a wide smile on his lips as he raised his sword. Alturk spat blood into his face and the red man stepped back, smile vanished into a snarling mask of malice.
Scar collided with a Kuritai, sending him spinning, Vaelin rising high in the saddle as the red man lunged at Alturk, then collapsed as an arrow sank into his leg. Another red-armoured figure darted towards the Lonak but drew up as Vaelin closed, sword raised too late to counter Scar’s flailing hooves, taking a kick to the chest and flying backwards.
The remaining red men closed on Vaelin, moving with uncanny speed. Another arrow streaked from the surrounding turmoil to take the leader in the leg. The others paused, crouched low and eyes scanning for enemies. Kiral came into view, walking forward at an almost leisurely pace as she loosed arrows from her stout flat bow, each of the red men falling as the shafts found their legs.
The wolves moved in as Vaelin dismounted, running to Alturk’s side where Kiral was already crouched. The red men screamed and railed as the wolves took hold of their limbs and Wise Bear slid from Iron Claw’s back. He walked from one to the other, crouching to touch his palm to their heads, their cries falling silent one by one. He paused at the last one, drawing back with his squat features tensed in confusion.
“Can’t . . .” Alturk grunted and clutched at the wound in his leg. “Can’t you even allow me a decent death?”
Kiral slapped him, a hard smack to the cheek, berating him in her own language. Vaelin’s knowledge of Lonak was poor but he did catch the word “father” amidst the angry torrent. Alturk’s anger faded as she continued to rail at him, tearing a strip from his buckskins and moving to bind his wound.
Vaelin rose and went to where Wise Bear stood over the remaining red man, the wolves’ teeth having silenced the others. The shaman frowned, shaking his head in confusion as the red man stared up at him, spread-eagled in the wolves’ grip, sweat covering his face, blood flowing freely from his nose and the corners of his eyes. Vaelin felt it then, a sudden doubling of his heartbeat, a tremble seizing his limbs.
Vaelin turned away as the wolves finished the task, watching the last of the Kuritai fall to the Sentar. Somewhere behind him the tribesfolk were singing some kind of victory song, the tune was discordant but they all seemed to know the words.
“My lord,” Lorkan said, appearing as his side, a bloody rag pressed to his head. “I feel this an opportune moment to resign from your service. For this is an experience I should not like to repeat, regardless of Cara’s opinions.”
“Accepted, good sir,” Vaelin told him. “And with thanks for your service.”
He turned as Mishara gave a sudden hiss, her hackles rising as she turned and began sprinting towards the ridge where they had left her mistress.
Vaelin’s gaze tracked over the corpses of the red men.
