Tanaros clasped his hand. “Lord Satoris’ blessing on you, Turin.”

The Staccian spared him a brief grin. “And you, General. Buy us time.”

With that, he turned away, and one of his comrades, astride a black horse, gave him a hand, slinging him across the pommel where he landed with a grunt. The decoy was in place.

“Lord General!” Carfax saluted.

“Go,” Tanaros said softly. “We’ll hold them long enough for you to cross the Aven. Cut the bridges if you can. After that, you’re on your own. Lord Vorax’s ship awaits you in Harrington Bay.”

Carfax smiled. “We’ll see you in Beshtanag.”

With that, he gave the command, wheeling; the bulk of the Staccians thundered with him, heading eastward through the forest, toward the River Aven, Turin the decoy jouncing athwart the pommel of one.

“General,” a deep voice rumbled, as Hyrgolf stepped between the trees, massive and deliberate. Lowering his thick head, he stared under his brow-ridges at the inert form of the Ellyl woman. “This is her?”

“Aye.”

“Well, then.” The Fjeltroll stooped, gathering Cerelinde of the Ellylon in his thick-hided arms. Her body sagged, pale hair trailing earthward on one end, slipper-shod feet twitching at the other. “Poor lass,” Hyrgolf murmured.

“Take her to Darkhaven!” Tanaros snapped, swinging astride his mount.

“Aye, General.” The Fjel’s tone was mild as he turned away, bearing his burden. “We will do that,” he said over his shoulder. “Hold the glade, as long as you dare. The Kaldjager are ready with their axes. Do not wait too long.”

Tanaros nodded and settled Turin’s buckler on his left arm.

He was ready.

THEY WERE FEW, SO FEW.

Tanaros did not count the losses; he did not dare. Even now, after so many, it hurt to number them. He merely waited, with Vorax’s Staccians, and knew that a dozen were left to him. Bold lads, to a man. Their teeth gleamed white against their dyed skin as they awaited the onslaught. This time, there would be no help from the Dreamspinner; Ushahin was spent. Only them, with mortal steel against innumerable odds.

It came quickly.

The passage into the glade was narrow. Tanaros took the lead position, with a soldier a pace behind him on either side, the rest arrayed in ranks of three behind them, ready to move up should any fall. The forest resounded with the sound of enemy pursuit. Through the trees, he saw them coming, and a lord of the Ellylon led the charge, checking when he saw the narrow gap with its defenders. Horns blew, ordering a halt, but even so Haomane’s Allies continued to come by the hundred; the Borderguard of Curonan, blue-clad men of Seahold, massed behind the Ellylon.

“Yeld, defiler.” The Ellyl lord’s voice was implacable. “Return the lady.”

Tanaros shook his head.