The enemy hooves pounded towards him, warriors bent low over their saddles, spears and swords pointing his way. The ground trembled. Dimly he recognized the sound of Drassil’s gates opening, heard the enraged, frantic yells of warriors as they raced from the gates to his aid.

You will be too late, he thought calmly. Go back.

He concentrated on the closest rider, no more than two hundred paces away now, two score heartbeats, maybe less, focused on the rhythm of the hooves, the rise and dip of the spearhead in the warrior’s fist. A part of his mind registered that it was one of the warriors who had ridden out with Jael, not the one with the banner, but the one he had thought was Jael’s champion.

Strangely, out of nowhere, he remembered Coralen’s kiss in the doorway to his chamber, could almost taste a hint of apple.

I wish I could see her one more time, if only to tell her . . .

A new sound had crept into his awareness, the rumble of hooves from behind him, closer than those in front, and mixed with it the thump of something else, something as familiar to him as his own heartbeat.

The sound of wolven paws.

As if to confirm it, he saw fear spread across the face of the closest rider bearing down upon him.

He looked back, saw Storm pounding towards him, her fangs bared, muscles rippling with each bound of her powerful legs, and beside her Shield, his mane whipped by the wind, hooves a hammer blow, the two of them matching pace. Behind them a swarm of warriors were pouring from the gates of Drassil, Balur and the Benothi forging ahead of them.

Before him the riders were closing, a score of warriors intent upon his death.

Then he knew what he had to do.

He sheathed his sword and turned his back on the enemy riders, took a deep breath, focused on Shield’s hooves, the rhythm of his gallop, and he set his feet as the stallion approached. He bent his knees, went onto the balls of his feet, began to move, to run and then Storm and Shield were almost upon him, Shield a mountain of muscle and mane so close he could smell him, see the sweat streaks in his coat, and he broke from a run into a sprint, Storm pounding past him, both Corban and Storm’s muscles bunching, leaping at the same time, Corban’s heart thumping in time with the pounding of Shield’s hooves. He reached out, grabbed a fistful of the stallion’s mane, and used the horse’s momentum to hurl himself into the air.