Again, yet again, the Were regrouped. One rose onto his rear legs, clawed hands snatching away his blindfold to reveal amber eyes glowing with all the rage of a thwarted hunt. “You rest,” the Were leader growled, “die.”

A bow spoke in answer; not Oronin’s, but an Arduan longbow made of ashwood and sinew, its string singing as shafts buzzed like hornets in the air. Three of the Were fell, silent and stricken, before their Brethren raced for the shadows, howling in wounded anger. “Not yet,” Fianna vowed, tears staining her cheeks. “Not yet!”

Then it was Hobard defending her as the surviving Were renewed their attack with doubled stealth and speed, scattering the fire and spoiling the Archer’s aim. The young Vedasian fought with all the pride and skill of his knight’s upbringing. He swung his sword with a valiant effort, grimacing as one of the Were passed close, fierce teeth scoring his side.

“Blaise!” A silver shout in the smoke-streaked darkness; Peldras had reached the horses. With an Ellyl charm he bound them, horseflesh shivering in fearful obedience, four sets of equine eyes rolling in terror, four sets of reins tangled in his hands. “’Tis our only chance!”

Blaise of the Borderguard swore, forging a path toward the Ellyl.

Why is it, Carfax wondered, that I am so alone here? What am I doing here? He took a step forward, interposing himself between Fianna and one of the Were, raising his smoldering branch in foolish opposition. A stick, a silly weapon; a few embers and a length of wood. Still, he had done damage with it. The Were halted, dropping to all fours and showing its teeth in uncertainty.

“You were not shown us,” it said in guttural common. “You are not prey.”

“Yes.” Gritting his teeth, Carfax swung the branch at the Were’s head. “I am.”

The branch connected with a horrible crunch.

There was confusion, then, in the milling darkness; shouts and curses, the high-pitched keen of injured Were. Sparks emblazoned the night and steel flashed, four-legged death dodged and darted with impossible speed, while sharp teeth tore and muzzles were stained with blood. This was battle, and did not need to be understood. Somewhere, Blaise was shouting commands, and Fianna was no longer there. Instead, there were the Were, howling with the fury of betrayal and lunging for his blood, maddened and forgetful of their greater quest. Without thinking, Carfax set his back to Hobard’s as to a battle-comrade’s and fought, heedless of aught else, until the branch he wielded snapped in two, and he knew his death was upon him.

“Staccian!” The Vedasian gripped his arm. “Go.”

Carfax gaped at him.

“Go!” With a curse, Hobard pointed across the glade at the dim figures of mounted riders, horses pitching in barely contained terror. “Go now, and you have a chance! The horses are fresh and the Ellyl can see in the dark.”