Honoured Enemy

SIXTEEN. CONFRONTATION

The dawn was beautiful.

Tinuva, gaze turned towards the east, could sense that the sun had risen above the mountains. The world around him was grey, all of it grey, the snow swirling about him in drifting eddies. He remembered how his father had told him that when it snowed even humans could see the wind, and it was so. He watched as gusty eddies danced and flickered, a single flake pausing for a moment to hover before his eyes, a twirling crystal of light, the exhale of his warm breath causing it to dance away even as it melted.

'It is a good morning,' Tinuva whispered.

'What?'

He looked over at Gregory and smiled. 'A beautiful morning.'

'My friend, you must be addled,' Gregory sighed.

Tinuva reached out and lightly touched Gregory on the shoulder and the gesture caught his mortal friend off-guard for a moment. The elf said nothing. The voice within his heart, the whispering of the forest had already told him enough.

They waited a few more minutes, but no pursuer closed.

'They must have stopped to rest,' Gregory finally whispered.

Tinuva nodded in agreement and the two scrambled down from the low outcropping, remounted on the single horse spared for the rear guard and rode back half a mile, Gregory hooting like an owl to signal Hartraft's men of their approach.

The reserve was well concealed behind an upturned tree and they reined in. The six men stood up, pulling back their cloaks. Three were Tsurani, led by a Kingdom corporal.

'Nothing,' Gregory said. 'Fall back.'

'The road is just a few hundred yards beyond,' one of the men said. 'And there's hard news.'

'What is it?' Gregory asked.

'The bridge. A rider just came up. Dennis took it, but the span is down. Goblins led by a moredhel were burning it when he came up.'

Gregory and Tinuva dismounted. Tinuva said nothing as he reached into his saddlebag, scooped out a handful of oats and fed the horse, gently stroking its nose and whispering apologies for having driven it so hard through the night.

'We make a rearguard here,' the corporal said, his voice flat. 'Buy time for them to run a span across.'

'What about the mill there? We could pull out some of the beams,' said Gregory.

'The mill is ancient. The timbers are all rot and dust,' Tinuva said quietly, his attention still fixed on the horse. 'They'll have to cut down some trees, build a rough hoist and swing a span across. It'll take hours.'

'Then climb down into the gorge and ford the damn river,' Gregory replied.

Tinuva shook his head. 'Maybe you and I can do it, but the children, the old women?'

Gregory sat down heavily and cursed.

The corporal looked at the two. 'How much time do we have?'

'I don't know,' Gregory sighed.

'Not long,' Tinuva replied. 'They're coming.'

'Dennis sent just you back here?' Gregory asked, looking at the six men.

The corporal nodded. 'Hartraft wants us to slow them down as long as possible: every man is needed to cut down the trees, build the hoist and defences if we don't get the bridge up in time. One of us is to ride back when contact is made to give warning.'

'All of you go back,' Tinuva said quietly.

Gregory looked up and Tinuva smiled. He opened a small leather bucket, emptied the last of his water into it and offered the drink to the horse.

'You heard me, go back.'

The corporal hesitated.

'Six more men back there might make all the difference in getting that span across. We can handle this.'

The corporal looked to Gregory who nodded his head.

Tinuva said, 'Corporal, go. Take my horse – he's a gentle creature – fighting is not in his blood so be kind to him.'

'Sir?'

Tinuva patted the corporal on the shoulder and then pushed him towards his mount. The corporal reluctantly nodded and then climbed into the saddle.

'Don't stay too long, sir.'

'I'll be along soon enough.'

The corporal motioned for his men to move out and they quickly disappeared into the snow.

'You go too, Gregory.'

'Not likely.'

'One more against two hundred won't matter. You know what I need to do.'

Gregory stood up.

'You've been my friend, Tinuva, since I was a boy. I'll not leave you now.'

'It is between my brother and me now. I know him, Gregory: he has thirsted for this across the centuries. I will go back and he will know I am waiting. His pride and his lust will consume him and he will stop to face me. If I win, perhaps the others will stop, if not…' His voice trailed off. Then he said: 'Well, if not, at least the rest of you will be free and that is good enough.'

'I stand by you.'

'You'll be killed out of hand, Gregory, and it will divert me from what I have to do. They will not tolerate a human witness to what will happen.'

'No, I go with you, Tinuva.'

Tinuva stepped closer and as he did so he knew that somehow his countenance was changing, becoming something that he had left behind in these woods long ago.

'Go!' His voice was dark, filled with power.

'I won't. No!'

The blade flashed out as if it had leapt from its scabbard. The cut was a clean one and hissing with pain and shock Gregory backed up, holding his right hand, blood dripping from his fingers.

'Natalese, try and draw a bow now,' Tinuva snarled, voice full of menace.

'Damn you,' Gregory cried, shaking his injured hand. He tried to flex his fingers and blood dripped onto the snow.

'Go!' Tinuva raised his dagger. 'It'll be the other hand next time, and I'll cut so that you never draw again.'

Stunned, Gregory backed away, fumbling for his own dagger with his left hand. Again Tinuva leapt in and Gregory's dagger went spinning off, disappearing into the snow.

'Then the hell with you,' Gregory snarled. He backed up, trembling, his voice near to breaking. 'The hell with you.'

Tinuva smiled. The sense he had within was like a distant memory. It was almost frightful, this look of shock, disbelief, and rage in another's eyes. It almost brought him joy and he struggled against it, finally lowering his own blade.

'I want you to live,' he whispered. 'If you stay, you die. This is between Bovai and me, and you can do nothing. Tell Hartraft to build the bridge, get across, then destroy it. If it all works out, I'll find another way back.'

'You're going to die.'

'Even those who are long-lived must face that,' Tinuva said softly. 'From our birth we are all dying, but some of us finish sooner than others.'

Gregory lowered his head, and his shoulders began to shake. Tinuva stepped forward, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder, though he still kept his dagger poised.

'Of men, you were the one true friend I have found in this world,' Tinuva whispered. 'A day will come when we shall hunt again, the wind in our hair as we track game through Yabon. Now, go my friend.' And he kissed the Natalese lightly on the forehead.

Startled Gregory looked up to see tears in the eyes of his friend. Tinuva, smiling, brushed a tear from his face and dabbed it into Gregory's bleeding hand.

After a moment, Gregory laughed softly. 'Nothing's changed,' he sighed. 'So that lore about the healing properties of elf tears is just a tale.'

'Yes, just a tale.'

The two stood silent for a moment. Then Tinuva raised his head, turned and listened. 'They're coming. Go and tell Hartraft. Now go!'

His final words were again filled with command and a dark power.

Gregory stood as if frozen for a moment then finally raised his head. 'Till our next hunt my friend.'

But Tinuva was already gone, having disappeared into the storm.

'He's here.'

'What, my chieftain?'

Bovai raised his hand, signalling for the column to halt. Golun looked over at him in confusion.

'Tinuva: he's close. He's waiting for me alone.'

Golun drew his mount around in front of Bovai.

'Then ride him down,' Golun hissed. 'We don't know if Vakar reached the bridge and destroyed it. If he failed they'll be across and destroying it even now. We had to stop so the damnable goblins could rest, but now we are closing in. Push in now, my chieftain.'

'Vakar succeeded. They're trapped.'

'You might sense that sire, but I don't.'

'Bovai!'

The voice drifted on the wind, unearthly, floating on the breeze.

Bovai stiffened. Even Golun turned, dropping his reins, reaching to unsling his bow. Bovai extended his hand, motioning for him to stop.

'Bovai!'

Again the echoing cry, more felt than heard; even so the column of riders behind Bovai stirred, bows rising up.

'Hold, all of you,' Bovai hissed, turning to look back at his fellow moredhel. 'It is Tinuva; the time has come for the matter to be decided.'

'He's delaying us, buying time,' Golun hissed. 'Then he'll slip away.'

Bovai looked back and shook his head. 'He's with them now. Despite the evil of their queen and their Spellweavers, the eledhel have honour. He will not run this time.'

Golun sighed and lowered his head. 'Then upon you shall it rest if they escape.'

'We'll have Hartraft and all of them before the day is half done.'

As Bovai spoke he looked back at his followers. 'It shall be but a little undertaking, my brothers, then honour for me, and glory for all of us. Which we shall tell Murad of upon our return, with the honour of our clan restored and the heads of Hartraft and Tinuva in a basket to present to him.'

Several nodded their heads.

'All of it, all my share of the loot, of the glory, I give to you, for what I shall do next I have waited an eternity for.'

Golun leaned closer. 'Then fight him, if you must, but let me lead this column around to the road to finish Hartraft.'

Bovai looked at him in surprise. 'A few minutes only,' he whispered, 'and I want all of them to see. All of them.'

Golun cursed silently.

'Order the goblins and humans to move back: they are not to see this. They can rest on the far side of the hill we just crossed.'

Golun reluctantly grunted an acknowledgment, then barked out the command for a squad to direct the goblins and humans to their designated place. Those so tasked muttered in disappointment and Bovai knew he had just won his point, for the rest now felt privileged and would not miss the honour of bearing witness to the confrontation about to take place. It was one which had been speculated about in the long houses across hundreds of winters. At last Bovai would face his renegade brother Morvai, now called Tinuva.

'No one intervenes,' Bovai said. 'No matter what. Anyone who raises a bow or unsheaths a blade, let him be struck down.'

There was a chorus of agreement even as the unfortunates given the task of herding the goblins and humans broke away from the ranks and headed back down the column.

Bovai dismounted, pulling his bow out from its case, testing the draw. Some of his followers rode up, reaching into their quivers and drawing out arrows.

'Take this: this is the shaft that killed Uvanta at two hundred paces,' one of them said.

'This shaft came from the hand of Govina the master fletcher,' another said.

Bovai, deeply moved, bowed his thanks to each and carefully placed the two arrows in his quiver. It meant that these members of his clan now fought with him and the gesture filled him with pride. His fight had become theirs. He stepped away from the group and raised his head.

'Tinuva!'

His cry echoed out. If a mortal had heard it, a chill would have coursed down his spine, for the cry was a whisper from another world, high-pitched, unearthly, filled with a fell power.

He moved silently, drifting with the wind, feeling its touch, sensing that never had he been so alive as he now felt at this moment. The shadow which had darkened his world was about to be lifted forever, and again he could walk in the sunlight and beneath the moon without shame.

'Bovai.'

The voice was close, very close. He tensed, turning… and then he saw him, standing in a clearing, his bow down, the world around him a swirl of white snow, the only sound the gentle hissing as the icy sparkles struck the ground.

'Tinuva.'

He stepped closer. The wind swirled up and for an instant he felt a touch of panic, imagining that it was all illusion, that his brother had disappeared. The snow parted like a curtain being drawn back and he was still there, not a dozen paces away. He took another step, then Tinuva slowly raised his right hand.

'Close enough.'

Bovai nodded in agreement.

Tinuva sighed, a sigh that was filled with an infinite sadness and for the briefest of moments Bovai felt a stab of pain. Here before him was his brother, whom he had once loved as no other. Though now of the despised eledhel he could sense all that he once was.

'So how are you, brother?' Tinuva asked and Bovai felt a flash of hot anger.

'I am not your brother. My brother Morvai died the night you were created, eledhel. And you know all that I have been since the day you left, as I know all that you have been.'

Tinuva nodded. 'I slew Kavala.'

Bovai shrugged. 'He was too ambitious for his own good. If you had not killed him, once you were dead I would have cut his heart out.'

'I didn't need to go that far. Killing him was enough.'

'As I shall now kill you,' Bovai said softly.

'That is what you want?'

Bovai hesitated and Tinuva took a step closer, bow still down.

Bovai half-raised his bow and he stopped, tensing. 'You were once of the People. You know that what you've become is an abomination to us all. You are a traitor to your race. Honour demands that you die. It is not what I want, it is what I need,' Bovai finally hissed.

Tinuva sighed again. 'Then there is no more to be said,' he replied, but now his voice was full with power, power as Bovai once remembered it and it sent a thrill through him. For this was the Morvai he had once loved, but whom he must now slay, and all the glory that had once been Tinuva's would now be his. Honour would be restored, the clan would again be whole, and Tinuva could be buried as a brother who had finally returned, through death, to his own blood.

'Then, "brother" let us begin,' Bovai snarled and he stepped back.

Another eddy of snow swirled up, as if the passion of the two had stirred the breeze. An arrow snapped past Bovai, missing him by inches. He raced from the clearing, one now with the wind, turned, caught a glimpse of a shadow, and released his bolt.

The hunt between the brothers had begun.

'Damn it, tie it off, tie it off!'

Dennis pushed his way in, tearing off his gloves, and helped to lash off a log. One of his men, swearing, pulled back bloodied hands that had been wrapped around the rope. Throwing another lash around the log, Dennis pulled hard, straining to keep it taut as two men behind him threw the end of the rope around one of the stone abutments and tied it off.

'Secured!'

Dennis stepped back, looking up at the two logs which had been raised to form an inverted V twenty feet high at the edge of the broken span. The whole contraption was wobbly: they simply didn't have enough rope, nor the time, to do it all right, but it would have to do. A double length of rope, flung over the top of the V, dangled down to the black, scorched stones.

He looked over the edge. It was nearly two hundred feet down to the river below. He caught a glimpse of two Tsurani far below. They had volunteered to try and get across the river. There had been three of them, but the third had lost his grip on the icy rocks and plummeted to his death. The two survivors were valiantly trying to make their way across the torrent below, jumping from icy rock to icy rock, with the hope of then climbing up the far side. If they succeeded a rope would be hurled across and they would help in the desperate task of trying to pull the timber across.

Leaving the bridge, Dennis went up the road a couple of hundred yards and then turned into the woods. A group of Tsurani were hurriedly cutting the branches off a tree which had just been dropped. He paced off the length.

'I already checked it, Hartraft – it's long enough.' Asayaga looked up, sweat dripping from his brow, axe clutched tightly in his hand.

'The top looks too thin – it might just break when we drop it.'

'Tsurani are builders, Hartraft; we know what we are doing.'

'You'd better.'

Asayaga stood up. 'Don't try to order me any more, Hartraft. We know what we are doing. You're supposed to be handling the defences, leave this to me.'

'Once across we settle things. Tsurani.'

'Why do you think I'm working so hard?' Asayaga snapped.

Dennis was tempted to make a reply but knew they were wasting precious time. 'Just keep at it, damn it.'

He stalked back to the road and pressed on up to the crest. Half of his men were dragging in logs and throwing up a barricade. To either side men were dropping saplings, making a tangle that could stop a cavalry charge from cutting around the flanks. The position was impossible, however, and he knew it. The crest was too open.

They might break up the initial charge, but eventually they'd be flanked and pushed back. Once off the crest, the ground below -around the bridge – was a death trap.

In the ruins of the mill he saw the old women and children huddled around a fire. He looked over at the corporal who had come in from the rearguard only minutes ago. They had already spoken but he felt compelled to do so again.

'You know what to do for them if the moredhel start to break through,' Dennis said, nodding back towards the mill.

The old corporal gulped and nodded. 'Trust me, sir. I'll see to it. The poor little lambs…" He looked at the tiny faces of the children and the frightened expressions on the women and his own visage softened for a moment, then with resolution in his voice, he said, 'I'll see it's done, sir.'

Dennis caught a glimpse of Roxanne, who had refused to stay in the mill, and was now helping with the defences. She noticed his gaze, nodded in his direction and continued with the work.

From back down on the road a gang of Tsurani emerged, half-carrying, half-dragging a sixty foot log. Dennis raced back down to join them.

'I have this, Hartraft,' Asayaga snapped and Dennis stepped back.

The men cursed and struggled for several minutes to swing the log out onto the road, but because it was twice as long as the road was wide, the heavy root-end snagged in the saplings at the edge. The tangle was finally cut away and the Tsurani, half-running, propelled forward by the weight of their burden, slipped down the road and up on to the bridge. Reaching the edge, they laid the log down under the inverted V. Asayaga shouted for the ropes from the overhead hoist and the four men holding the cables lowered them down. The ropes were slung around the log like nooses, and tied off. Thirty Tsurani started to push the log forward. Dennis wanted to comment, but remained silent. Asayaga was in charge of this and the Tsurani were damn good engineers.

The log was soon nearly thirty feet across, the men at the front letting go as their section passed the edge, then coming around to the root-end, ready to throw their weight on if it started to tip. Finally it was balanced: another few feet and it would pitch over into the gorge. Asayaga detailed off the rest of his men to the cables going up over the inverted V, ordering them to pull and keep the forward end of the log up high. The far end of the log started to rise and after going up only half a dozen feet the root-end started to skid backwards.

'I need more men!' Asayaga shouted.

Dennis grabbed one of his soldiers and sent him up the hill to get those working on the barricade to come down. The women and children who had been watching from the mill instinctively came out and Asayaga directed them to the cables.

'We need to hoist the log, and push the root-end forward at the same time!' Asayaga shouted.

Kingdom troops came swarming down the road. Dennis had suggested that horses be used but Asayaga had refused because the ground was too slippery and if only one of them balked, or worse yet took off in the wrong direction, the whole enterprise would be lost.

Asayaga detailed men off to the two ropes and waited for a moment as several of them brought up a short length of log and set it across the butt of the span so that more men could press in on it.

A Tsurani, showing remarkable bravery, clawed his way up the inverted V, carrying a small bucket of butter carried out from Wolfgar's. It was all they had to use for grease where the ropes crossed over the top of the V. Dennis could see that with proper equipment like a simple block and tackle, the entire job could be done by a dozen men. Now it would have to be brute strength and a prayer that the ropes did not snap under the strain, that the log didn't hang up in the sling, and that the Tsurani had indeed made it long enough.

The men struggled on the ropes and gradually hoisted the front end higher, while at the other end the Tsurani pushed the span forward. The next twenty feet gained came fairly easily but there was still another eight to ten feet to go. A precarious balance was reached when the log was high at the far end, but was now so steeply angled that no more forward purchase could be gained.

'Another hour, damn it, and I could have made a pivoting sling and swung the whole damn thing over with twenty men!' Asayaga cried, looking over angrily at Dennis.

'We don't have an hour.'

Asayaga held up both hands. 'No one move!'

All fell silent.

'Men on the ropes, the angle is too steep now. As we push on the log, slowly give way and lower it back down.'

The men still leaning into the rope nodded. Asayaga slowly motioned with his hands and a few feet were surrendered. Then he barked a command and those pushing on the root-end gained a bit of ground. The log suddenly stopped and Dennis could see where one of the slings had slipped backwards several feet.

Asayaga saw it as well and cursed under his breath.

'Cut the supports for the hoist,' Dennis said, 'As it pitches forward run the log out.'

Asayaga looked over at Dennis with an icy glare. 'I'm running this.'

Dennis was ready to flare back but saw that all around the men were watching them, the tension ready to explode. He sensed that if the log tumbled over and went into the river a blood-bath would ensue.

He slowly extended his hands. 'You are the engineer, Asayaga, but if we are to save those children we have to do this now.'

Asayaga looked at the children manning the ropes and then back at the sling. He quickly stepped up to the edge, studied the log and the hoist, then stepped back. 'Get off from up there!' he shouted, and the man with the butter threw the bucket aside and slipped back down.

'All right, Hartraft, but if it all goes over the edge it's your decision.'

'Our decision, Tsurani.'

Dennis picked up an axe and went to one side of the hoist, Asayaga doing the same at the other side. Both ends of the hoist were resting on the bridge. If they cut them loose at the same time, he reasoned, the entire affair should pitch forward, dropping the log on the far side.

'Get ready,' Asayaga cried and raised his axe. 'When it starts to let go, you men on the log push forward. On the ropes, let go when you can't hold it any longer and don't get tangled.'

He looked over at Hartraft, then nodded and brought his axe down.

Dennis struck at nearly the same instant and the ropes snapped free, parting with an audible crack. Groaning, the hoist began to pitch forward, slowly at first and then in an instant crashing over.

The men on the end of the log shouted and ran forward, throwing their weight in.

Dennis looked up and saw the far end of the log slam down on the opposite span, bounce, hold precariously and then roll, as if about to go over the edge. A groan rose up even as the men on the root-end continued to strain, driving forward. The log snagged against the side railing of the bridge, barely a foot of its length secured to the other side.

No one moved for a moment, as if all feared that an errant step, even a word spoken, would cause the log to roll and fall. The hoist, like a crudely-fashioned necklace hung to either side.

'We need a man across there,' Asayaga hissed. 'Someone light. Get Osami.'

The boy stepped forward, nodding as Asayaga explained what had to be done. He pulled off his cloak and tunic, looked at the log, then sat down and yanked off his boots as well. Barefoot, he took a long coil of rope and slung it over his shoulder while Asayaga tied another rope around his waist. Asayaga grasped the boy by the shoulders, then let him go.

The boy stepped up onto the log and everyone fell silent. He swallowed hard and looked over at Dennis. 'I save Richard friends,' he said calmly, and then he was out over the chasm, walking slowly, upright, arms extended.

No one spoke as he placed one foot in front of another. The log sagged in the middle and it shifted slightly and a gasp went up as the boy seemed to sway, then regained his footing. Reaching the middle, he climbed over the ends of the hoist, advanced half a dozen feet then stopped. The rope trailing behind him had snagged on the hoist. Gingerly he reached down and started to untie the rope around his waist.

'Go back and unsnag it, Osami!'

Osami shook his head, untied the safety line and let it drop.

Dennis looked over at Asayaga and could see the tension in him – not just for what had to be done, but for the boy. Loosened from the tether, Osami started up the final length, the angle of his climb steepening so that he had to lean forward. Again he almost lost his footing and this time a cry went up from everyone watching.

Regaining his balance, he scrambled up the last six feet and flung himself onto the far side.

A wild cheer went up, and Dennis looked back to see more than one of his men slapping a Tsurani on the back, exclaiming over the bravery of the boy.

Osami did not hesitate. He deftly wrapped an end of rope over the log, moved back a way and flung it around a stone abutment, then ran the rope back, weaving half a dozen lengths back and forth, throwing what little weight he had into each weave then finally tying it off. Then he slid back down the log and grabbed hold of the end of the rope snagged on the hoist. Turning, he started back up, the men cheering him on.

He started to look back, smiling, and his feet slipped out from under him. Before Dennis could even react the boy plummeted, swinging in a long arc downward, desperately trying to hold on to the rope.

Asayaga braced himself, holding the other end, coiling it up over his shoulders and stepping back, screaming for Osami to hang on.

Still holding the rope, the boy swung down like a pendulum, arcing under the stone span until the rope snapped taut, nearly dragging Asayaga over the side. Dennis leapt on top of Asayaga as he lost his footing on the icy pavement and the two of them crashed down together, Dennis grabbing the rope as well.

He heard the sickening thump of the boy hitting the rocky slope under the bridge and then Osami swung back into view.

Half a dozen men were now on top of the two commanders, grabbing hold, helping to pull the boy up, and at last Dennis was able to reach over the side and grab Osami under the armpits even as the boy started to lose his grip. Other hands reached out, pulling Osami up over the side, a couple of men nearly plunging over into the precipice in their eagerness to help.

Eventually, the group collapsed back from the edge and Asayaga reached out and cradled Osami.

Gasping the boy looked up and smiled. 'I did it,' he whispered.

'Yes you did.'

Dennis could see he didn't have long to live. His face was a bloody pulp, his skull was fractured, blood pouring from his ears, and one shoulder was caved in. How the boy had managed to hang on was beyond him. He knelt down, fumbling in his haversack, and pulled out a piece of cloth to wipe the boy's face clean.

Osami's eyes were already going dark. He looked up again at Dennis and smiled. 'Saved friend, yes?'

'Yes boy, you saved us,' Dennis whispered, and then Osami was gone.

Dennis sat back as Asayaga held the boy, struggling to control himself. Then he stood up. Eyes distant he looked across the span.

'Another volunteer, take the rope across,' he said. 'Once secure, I want twenty men over to help haul the second log across: that should give us good enough footing.'

Another Tsurani already had the rope which Osami had clung to, and tying it around his waist he leapt up on to the log and started across.

Asayaga turned away. Going over to the railing, he looked over the side.

Dennis went up to join him. 'I'm sorry,' he said.

'He was my elder sister's boy. Joined us just before we set out on this insanity. It was his first mission.'

Stunned, Dennis said nothing. This was the same boy that Asayaga had been willing to kill back in the retreat long ago, the boy that Richard had insisted on saving, and who the cursed Corwin had helped as well.

Dennis put a hand on Asayaga's shoulder. 'I didn't know.'

'There was no reason to tell you. In our way, we are all of the same family, all who serve our house, so his ties to me gained him no favouritism. Even Sugama would not have thought to go after the boy to strike at me.'

'Sugama?'

'Don't you understand, don't you see anything? Haven't you learned anything of us in all this time? Sugama was my enemy, as much as you are. His clan seeks to destroy my clan; he was sent here as much to spy on me as to replace the Tondora officer who had died.'

'But you were willing to defend him back at Wolfgar's.'

'To preserve my command. I could not let you kill him like a wounded pig when he was already dying. All of us would have lost face.'

Dennis turned away and saw that the volunteer was already across, securing the second rope as a handrail for the next man to follow, and that another Tsurani was already up on the log and stepping out.

'I never could thank your Richard for what he did in the way I wanted to, as an uncle and not just as Osami's commander. I wish I had.'

'He knows that now.'

Asayaga looked back to the open span. 'Once the second log is across we move the children and women, then the men. We should be across within the hour.' His face an impenetrable mask, he looked at Dennis.

'Asayaga, we still must settle what is between us, but I am truly sorry for Osami. He was a brave lad. I think Richard must be greeting him now in Lims-Kragma's Halls.'

'Remember, Hartraft, we go to different places when we die. I don't think your gods let Tsurani into their Hall of Judgment.'

'Still, I think Richard would want to greet him,' Dennis said. He hesitated, his voice dropping. 'And Jurgen would be there, too.'

Asayaga sighed, finally nodding his thanks.

'Dennis!'

He looked up and was stunned to see Gregory approaching, cradling his right hand, a bloody bandage wrapped around it. He felt a momentary panic. So damn close and now the damned moredhel were closing in.

He looked past Gregory. Tsurani and Kingdom soldiers were circling in behind the Natalese scout, but where was Tinuva? But even before Gregory spoke to tell him what had happened he knew what the eledhel was doing: he was sacrificing himself in order to buy them time.

As he heard Gregory's words a terrible rage began to build in him. So much of his anger had been shifting over the last month. For so long it had been aimed at the Tsurani, at those who had murdered his family, at the war, and in the end at Corwin. But now at last he understood and it was as if a curtain that had covered his soul across the years had been torn away.

He could see the same fire in Asayaga as well, for the elf had been the one who had always walked between the two sides, respected by all, trusted by all.

He saw Roxanne and Alyssa standing at the edge of the circle and the fire was in their eyes as well, for the one that Tinuva now faced had destroyed their home, and murdered their father as well.

He caught Roxanne's eye. She studied his face and something in her eyes told him she knew what he must do. A mixture of fear, regret, and faint hope played across her face in seconds, then she returned to her implacable expression.

'Figure out a way to get the children and women across,' he said to her. Without waiting for a response he looked over at Asayaga. 'Are you with me?' he asked.

'For what?'

'We go back and fight. I'm finished with running.'

A curtain of snow drifted down from an overhanging branch. It seemed to hover before him, each flake clearly defined in his mind, each one alive for an eternity, flowing with the gentle wind, cloaking him, touching his brow, cooling the fever of his rage.

Tinuva slipped away from the tree, moving low, almost one with the snow on the ground. He rolled in behind a fallen log that rose like a white hump-backed beast from the forest floor. Bracing himself, he grabbed hold of the arrow sticking out of his thigh and snapped the end off, chanting inwardly to block the pain. He knew he should push it through but there was no time and doing so might sever an artery. Time enough later. He dared a glance up over the side of the log, ducked, rolled, then came back up, bow drawn, arrow winging on its way. The distant shadow moved and collapsed and for a second he felt a disquieting thrill; and then there came a laugh.

'Well sent, brother, well sent.'

Tinuva reached around to his quiver, drew another arrow, started up, then rolled backwards and dodged off in the other direction, racing through a thicket of saplings. He caught a glimpse of others standing silent, arms folded, watching intently, backing away at his approach. There were faces there that he recognized – for how could he not recognize cousins, comrades of hunts from long ago, those with whom he had once laughed, and whom he had once fought alongside, slaying their enemies together?

A few even nodded gravely, for even though he was apostate and an abomination, they remembered hunting and going to war with Morvai.

He turned away from the outer edge of the circle, an instinct telling him to suddenly drop, an arrow singing past his ear, kicking up a plume of snow as it struck the ground by his side.

Sitting up, he drew, aimed, shot again and Bovai dodged back behind an ancient pine, the bolt tearing off a spray of bark.

Tinuva was back up and running, but the pain was registering, each step a flood of agony that would have caused a human to fall, screaming, but he pressed on. He spared a quick glance to the southeast. Though the storm continued, still he could sense the face of the sun beyond the clouds, far above the white mantle, hovering in a fierce blue sky. It had risen to mid-zenith; the duel had consumed hours. He could hear angry mutterings from beyond the next hill, the impatient cries of goblins, the hoarse voices of men in protest, but all the moredhels' attention was focused on this duel, a duel which Tinuva knew they would see as a hunt that would be spoken of into eternity, the hunt of brother against brother. Each knew the tricks of the other, the subtle movements, the way of thinking, the scent of the other on the wind, the feel of one's gaze upon the other even with the back turned.

He knew Bovai was breaking to the right, racing to cut across in front, rather than following the trail of blood dripping into the snow.

He dodged behind a tree, a perfect position with a fallen log leaning against it, forming a small tunnel underneath. Crouching down, he drew and waited. Then he saw him.

He felt the brush of the fletching against his check and sighted down the shaft. The clouds parted for a second sending a gauzy shimmer of light racing across the clearing, highlighting Bovai, telling him as well that time was passing slowly, and that far away men were still labouring to escape.

Bovai slowed, as if his own inner voice was shouting a warning.

He looked straight at Tinuva, eyes widening. Tinuva shifted ever so slightly and then released the arrow.

The bolt sang through the woods, spinning between trees and branches, and tore across Bovai's side, scraping his ribs. Bovai staggered, falling backwards, rolling for cover. A growl rose up from those circling the two, for though not all could see, they could hear and knew the sounds, were able to identify who had shot and who had fallen.

'Tinuva.'

It was the inner voice, a whisper.

'Brother?'

'You had me, didn't you?'

'No brother, I shot to kill.'

'You lie. You had me. Why?'

'It is not yet time, brother.'

There was a moment of silence.

'I have her, you know, brother,' Bovai's voice whispered.

Tinuva lowered his head, body trembling. He knew this was a ploy to goad him into rage and error. After a moment, Tinuva whispered, knowing his thoughts would carry on the wind, 'You have never had her. She will always be mine.'

'Silence!' Bovai's angry reply, a scream of rage, was loud enough for all the onlookers to hear.

Tinuva stood up, shooting blindly at the source of the scream, and was greeted by a taunting laugh. 'Waste of a good bolt, brother.'

Tinuva reached back to his quiver and felt that there were only half a dozen arrows left, but he did not care. It would only take one more to kill Bovai, just one more.

'Come for me brother, out in the open, blade to blade.'

Bovai stood up. 'Look into my eyes brother, come closer, look into the eyes that look into hers every night.'

'Damn you,' Tinuva hissed.

'Yes brother, we are all damned are we not?'

'No.'

'You are. You abandoned your blood. That shame can be erased only in blood. Let me send you to the far shore, brother. There you can see the Mothers and Fathers, if they will have you.'

Another flicker of sunlight dashed across the woods and clearing. He wasn't sure how long had passed now, for together the two of them were drifting in another world, a world that only those of the eledhel and moredhel truly understood, where a second could stretch to eternity, or a hundred years could be but a flicker of an eye.

'Come to me, brother. One of us is fated to die this day, let his brother look into his eyes and be the last he shall ever see of this realm.'

Tinuva slowly let his bow drop; then reaching to his belt, he drew out his dagger and stepped into the clearing.

'Move it, keep moving!' Dennis cried. Stepping to the side of the road, he looked back.

The column was strung out, the rear of it barely visible in the drifting snow which came down in a hard squall, then in seconds lifted to a few flumes, then closed in again.

Men were gasping, staggering, legs pumping, all semblance of formation gone, the strongest to the fore, the weaker to the rear. No scouts were forward, all caution abandoned in this headlong rush, the column rushing along like a torrent of rage unleashed. No longer were they the hunted: now they stormed forward as the hunters.

Dennis turned to look up the road. How much further he wasn't sure, for the ride down this path with Roxanne had been in the dark.

Gregory had ridden forward, promising to wait at the turn-off into the woods and to give warning if the moredhel were advancing.

'How much further, Hartraft?'

Asayaga staggered up to his side, breathing hard, sword drawn, the blade catching a glint of sunlight when the sun showed through the clouds for an instant.

'I don't know.'

'Your plan?'

'What plan?'

Asayaga looked at him and smiled.

'Then let's go,' Asayaga cried and he pressed on, Dennis by his side.

It was an intricate dance, a ballet of death, the two leaping towards each other, blades flashing, the cold sound of steel striking steel and then a backing away, the dance to be repeated again and yet again.

The watchers of the clan had drawn closer, forming a circle to contain the fight, all silent, intent, more than one muttering bitter admiration for Tinuva, the Morvai of old whom they remembered as a comrade and friend. In their eyes he was again almost one of them. A dark fury shone in his regard, his jaw was stern, a pulsing radiance seemed to form around him.

Lightly he danced, oblivious to the pain, the blood that trickled down his leg, filling his boot so that he left a slushy pink footprint with each step.

Blood flowed from Bovai as well, dripping from his slashed side, from the cut of Tinuva's dagger to his left arm which had sliced nearly to the bone.

Again the two came together; again there was the sparkle of blades, a sprinkle of blood joining the snowflakes that drifted down around them. Tinuva jumped back, left hand going to his face to wipe away the blood from the cut across his brow which clouded his vision. The world in his eyes had gone to red: yet it was not the blood which darkened his world, but all that he had contained within himself and which had now flared back to life.

'Come on brother,' Bovai taunted. 'Finish it.'

'I will.'

Bovai mockingly extended his arms wide. 'Embrace me, brother, come on.'

Tinuva crouched.

'Our father would have been proud of you, brother. Anleah would be proud of you.'

Tinuva leapt in and Bovai crouched to receive the attack. As he advanced Tinuva shifted his dagger from right hand to his left, and then at the last instant shifted it back again. He slashed out, feigning low, then coming in high. He barely felt the icy touch of Bovai's dagger cutting into his left shoulder: poised to block his own blade and finding nothing, it had simply driven in.

The two staggered back, Bovai gasping, a bright line of blood cut across his face, his cheek slashed open from the edge of his mouth to his ear, which had been cut in half.

Crying out, Bovai clutched his face and a gasp rose from all who watched, for everyone knew how Bovai took such pride in his countenance, and now it would be twisted and scarred forever.

Instinct caused Bovai to turn, coming around even as he staggered. He dodged the blow aimed low for his mid-section, wrapping his arms around Tinuva as the two fell. Snow rose up like a gust of steam as they hit the ground and rolled.

Again and again the two slashed at each other with their daggers in their right hands, left hands fumbling to grab the blade-hand of the other. They rolled, kicking and cursing, the strength of each a match for the other. Both were covered in blood-soaked slush as they struggled and the watchers from their clan drew in closer, some now shouting for the kill and more than one crying for Tinuva.

Bovai kneed Tinuva, hitting the stump of the arrow driven into the eledhel's leg. Tinuva gasped from the wave of agony but his fury drove him on. He feigned collapse, and when Bovai rolled to gain a superior position, Tinuva suddenly pressed up, using Bovai's own momentum to roll him over yet again, and this time he drove his good knee into Bovai's stomach so that his brother gasped. At the same instant he drove his left fist into Bovai's face, tearing the cut so that Bovai screamed in agony and let go of Tinuva's right hand.

Tinuva raised his dagger.

Yet again time seemed to stand still, almost to run in reverse of the banks of the eternal river. He could see his brother as he was, as both of them had once been, hunting together, sunlight drifting through the trees, standing together in the high mountains, the wind sweeping the world.

Bovai looked up at him. 'Brother,' he whispered.

Tinuva held the blade poised, ready to drive it into Bovai's heart and in that instant he knew… and he remembered as well all that he had become.

Sunlight filtered down again for a brief instant, lighting the clearing, snow sparkling like diamonds.

He smiled.

The blow came as no surprise: if there was any surprise it was that there was no pain. Just a strange inner warmth as Bovai's dagger, driven to the hilt, pierced his stomach, slamming up under the ribs and into his lungs.

'You've lost,' Tinuva whispered as the breath was driven out of him.

Bovai looked into Tinuva's eyes and in that instant he felt a madness, a horror, beyond any he had known before. He reached up, pushing Tinuva back. His brother, like a great statue, seemed to hang above him, then ever so slowly pitched over.

He kicked the body away, thrashing in a near panic. Then, trembling, he stood up.

All eyes were upon him.

'It's finished,' he whispered.

He turned slowly, looking from one to the other and he could sense their contempt. He looked back at Tinuva.

So you have robbed me even of this, brother, haven't you?

'Damn you!' Bovai screamed.

The group surrounding him was silent and at that instant Bovai knew his brother had been right: he had lost something in this moment, the pain and anger that had driven him for centuries. For a moment, he felt as if life had lost its purpose. Softly he said, 'But I won…'

'No!'

It was a distant scream of anguish, of a long, pent-up rage. Bovai turned, looking in disbelief at the swarm of men closing in, white-and-grey capes fluttering in the wind as they ran, some wearing lacquered armour that caught the beams of sunlight and stood out like brilliant lanterns on a cold dark night.

The charge swarmed down the slope like an avalanche. Arrows snapped past. One of his cousins spun around, clutching his throat; another collapsed with a scream.

All stood transfixed, confused, startled, so sudden was the onset of the charge.

And then Bovai saw him. He had never truly laid eyes upon him before, but he knew his blood, the blood of his grandsire. It was Hartraft, storming forward, leading the charge, a short warrior wearing a lacquered breastplate by his side. Hartraft came in at the run, bow cast aside, both hands held high on his heavy sword.

Bovai spared a final glance at his brother even as he began to raise his dagger.

The sword arced in. There was a brilliant flash of light… and then silence.

'No!'

Dennis turned even as he completed the blow, spinning around on his heel, watching as Bovai's head tumbled away, striking the snow, body collapsing. Screaming, he struck again at the body, the blow nearly cutting Bovai in half at the waist. Sobbing, he drew the blade back, ready to strike again, then saw that Asayaga had raced past, had killed one moredhel and was closing on another. Behind him another moredhel was closing in, spear lowered… and his mind suddenly conjured the image of Jurgen trying to save Richard in similar circumstances, for Asayaga was struggling to save one of the Kingdom privates who was down on the ground, desperately trying to block a moredhel closing in with raised sword.

Dennis sprinted forward.

'Asayaga!'

The Tsurani did not hear him.

He was too far off to close in time. Still holding his blade with both hands he lofted it behind his head and threw. The sword tumbled end over end, slamming into the moredhel even as he braced himself to run his spear through Asayaga's back.

The sword struck so hard that the moredhel leapt backwards as if yanked from behind, his only sound the breath knocked from his lungs. Asayaga, killing his own opponent a second later, turned and saw Dennis standing weaponless, the moredhel between them, kicking and thrashing, Dennis's sword stuck in his side.

Men charged past, eyes wide with lust and battle-fury. The moredhel, caught so completely by surprise, had given way in panic and were running to where the goblins and human cavalry waited over the distant rise. Few made it, many falling with arrows in their backs, or were cut down as they fled. The humans and goblins on the far side of the hill came swarming up, drawn by the loud outcry at the end of the battle between Tinuva and Bovai. After hours of bored waiting many had built fires; a few were even asleep, fewer still on the crest of the hill were in armour or even had weapons.

Within seconds they, too, were breaking in panic as a squad of Kingdom and Tsurani troops, led by Tasemu, hit their flank. The watchers on the hill broke, running back down to the camp, screaming in terror that they were being attacked by hundreds.

The moredhel's advantage and the edge gained by having calvary vanished in an instant. Horsemen died before they could saddle their mounts, and in the first onslaught, so many moredhel, men, and goblins were killed that within minutes Dennis's and Asayaga's command held the edge. One more minute, and the goblins broke in panic.

More than one goblin turned on the moredhel commanders who tried to rally them, and soon men, goblins and moredhel were slaying each other in a mad frenzy as all tried to escape.

The ground was littered with the dead and dying. Tasemu marched forward, a squad of Kingdom soldiers forming a ring of archers around him. A ragged line of Tsurani crested the hill, slaying everyone in their path as they advanced, and more Kingdom soldiers fell in around their disciplined line, loosing bolt after bolt into the milling, terrified mob.

Behind Dennis, who stood in a daze, Gregory held his friend and wept.

Asayaga joined Dennis, and the two of them slowly approached the fallen elf.

Tinuva looked up at them and smiled. 'Foolish, you should have gone over the bridge,' he whispered.

'We would not leave you here,' Asayaga said.

'Bovai?'

'I killed him,' Dennis replied, voice trembling.

Tinuva sighed. 'Bury him beside me: we were brothers once.'

Dennis nodded.

Tinuva sighed. His eyes flickered and then he looked back at Dennis and Asayaga. 'Fate has made you enemies, now let honour turn that fate.'

As he started to slip away he began to chant softly. Dennis recognized the words as eledhel, but did not know their meaning.

Gregory, sobbing, spoke the words with him and at last Tinuva's voice fell silent, his spirit slipping away to the distant shore of the Blessed Isle.

Dennis reached down and gently touched Tinuva's forehead. 'Go in peace my friend,' he whispered.

Asayaga did the same, touching Tinuva's blood and anointing his forehead with it.

The two looked at each other in the grim silence, then together went to finish the fight.