Squealing piteously, the horse foundered, then fell onto its side, hind legs already fouled with spilled out intestines, each frantic kick tearing more loose from the body cavity. Toc, with legs still drawn high, was able to throw himself from the beast, landing clear.
Skidding in the mud, struggling to regain his feet.
A spear drove into his right hip, lifting him from the muck before throwing him onto his back.
He hacked at the shaft. It splintered and the pressure pinning him down vanished.
Slashing blindly, Toc fought his way back onto his feet. There was blood pouring down both legs.
Another lunging attack. He parried the spear thrust, lurched close and chopped his scimitar into the side of the soldier’s neck.
A point slammed into his back, punched him forward.
And onto a shortsword that slid up under his ribs, cutting his heart in half.
Toe Anaster sank down onto his knees, and, releasing his last breath, would have fallen forward into the mud, but for a hand grasping him, yanking him back. The flash of a knife before his lone eye. Sudden heat along the line of his jaw-
Torrent watched as the Letherii skirmisher cut away Toc Anaster’s face. One more trophy. The task was quick, well-practised, and then the soldier pushed his victim away, and the red wound that had once been Toe’s face plunged down into the mud.
The children were crying, and yes, he realized-in watching, in waiting, he had perhaps condemned them all to the Letherii knives. Still, they could-
Torrent turned round-
And found strangers before him.
Not Ak’rynnai.
Not D’rhasilhanii.
No, he had never before seen such people.
The clans of the White Face Barghast approached the scene of the battle-a battle nearing its grisly end. Who won, who lost, was without meaning to them. They intended to kill everyone.
Two hundred paces ahead of the ragged lines was their vanguard, walking within a stream of the Tellann Warren, which was strong in this place, where beneath the silts of the ancient shoreline could be found stone tools, harpoons made of antler, bone and ivory, and the hulks of dugout canoes. And out here, on the old seabed, there were offerings buried deep now in the silts. Polished stones, pairs of antlers locked together, animal skulls daubed in red ochre
– countless gifts to a dwindling sea.
There were other reasons for such a powerful emanation of Tellann, but these were known to but one of the three in the vanguard, and she had ever been close with her secrets.
Emerging from the warren, the three had stood not far from the Awl warrior and the Awl children. They had watched, in silence, the extraordinary bravery of that lone warrior and his horse. To charge more than a score of skirmishers-the horse’s skill at staying upright had been exceptional. The warrior’s ability to guide the beast with but his legs, whilst loosing arrow after arrow-none of which did not find a target-was simply breathtaking.
That warrior-and his horse-had given their lives to save these last Awl, and it was that fact alone which stayed
– for the moment-the hand of Tool, chosen now among all the White Face Barghast-with Humbrall Taur’s tragic death at the landing-as war leader, even though he was not Barghast at all. But Imass. That he had taken as his mate Taur’s daughter, Hetan, had without doubt eased the ascension to rule; but more than that, it had been owing to Tool himself.
His wisdom. His will.
The joy of life that could burn in his eyes. The fire of vengeance that could blaze in its stead-that blazed even now-when at last he had judged the time aright, the time to answer for all that had been done.
To the Grey Swords.
An answer delivered unto the betrayers.
An answer delivered unto the slayers.
If not for that brave warrior and his brave horse, then Tool would have killed these Awl immediately. The youth with the mottled face. The muddy children huddled around him. He probably still planned to.
Hetan knew all of this, in her heart; she knew her husband. And, had he drawn his flint sword, she would not have tried to stop him.
The White Faces had been hiding for too long. Their scouting expeditions to the east had long since told them all they needed to know, of the path that awaited them, the journey they must soon undertake. It had been vengeance keeping them in place. That, and the vast, uncanny patience of Tool.
Within the Tellann Warrens, the Barghast had watched this latest war, the protracted engagement that had begun with the massing of the two armies far to the west.
