-CHAPTER ONE-

Strange Company

Deep inside the Great Forest, night had cast its shroud. 

The air was rife with the damp and earthy scent of leaf-mould. Thin tendrils of mist crept over twisting roots, weaving between skeletal trees like lost ghosts searching for a place to haunt. A new moon hung in a clear sky, its blue-grey light casting long shadows in the forest. It was a chill night, not long from winter’s passing, and the first flowers of spring had started to bloom. Cold and colourless in moonlight, they served as a teasing promise of warmth from a summer yet to come. 

Sir Vladisal of Boska stood atop a ridge, her silver armour dulled by dirt and moss. The forest floor sloped away from her, down into a moon-bathed clearing where mist hung as a thin veil a foot or so above the ground. Behind Vladisal, her women stood shoulder-to-shoulder along the ridgeline: some eighteen knights and five archers in all. Loyal and brave, their collective breaths rose in cold, spiralling plumes. 

With a gauntleted hand, Vladisal pushed back dark and lank hair from her face. Her eyes trained on the small figure a little further down the slope. Statue-still, Abildan the assassin stood with her back to the knights, watching the clearing below with limitless patience that irritated Vladisal. 

 She looked back at her company. Each knight was as grime-smeared as their captain; each of them stripped of House colours, wearing no helm, carrying no shield. In the depths of the Great Forest, these brave knights of Boska were far from home.

Üban, the oldest among them, stepped forward. Thickset and gruff, the veteran knight was clearly in ill temper as she wiped moisture from her face. 

“Damned fool!” she growled, indicating to Abildan. “What’s she waiting for?”

“I am unsure,” Vladisal said. “Perhaps she senses the approach of our reinforcements.” Though, in truth, this statement was made more from hope than any genuine expectation. 

Üban cursed under her breath. “I don’t like it, Vlad. Nor do the women. These woodlands feel dead.”

She was right. For four days Abildan had been leading the company through the Great Forest, and they had not heard the sound of a single living thing since breaking camp two mornings past. Vladisal could see the trepidation in the eyes of her knights. Not for the first time since leaving Boska, she questioned her own judgement. They were all beginning to understand that their guide enjoyed her little games and secrets. 

“Stay with the women,” she told Üban before carefully making her way down the slope to Abildan. 

The stillness was unnerving, as if the forest itself held its breath. Only the occasional clank of armour broke the silence like nervous twitching in an uncomfortable moment. Aware of the sound her footfalls made upon dead leaves and needles, Vladisal came alongside Abildan and stared at her expectantly. Instead of speaking, the assassin raised a curt hand, demanding continued silence. 

Vladisal bit back an angry retort. It would not do well for her knights to see her so easily ordered. She glared, gripping the pommel of her sword.

A clear head shorter than most women, Abildan’s body was slender and lithe. She wore no armour, only a loose fitting shirt and hose of a dark green cloth. She wore a black leather waistcoat, which also served as a baldric for slim crossbow bolts. A short, curved sabre was sheathed upon her back; at her waist hung a small, handheld crossbow. No boots covered her bare feet. She did not seem to feel the cold as normal women - but then, the assassin was no normal woman.

Abildan had no hair as such, only a short, pale fur that covered her head and face, her hands and feet, and most likely the rest of her body. Her facial features were gaunt and angular; ears elongated to points. And her eyes that remained so focussed on the clearing below were yellow, almost luminous in the moonlight. They were the eyes of a cat. 

Abildan blinked, once, slowly. “Someone is coming.” She sniffed the air. “A child.” Her feline face amused, she gave Vladisal a sardonic smile. “He’s running for his life, but I don’t think he’s going to make it.”   

With a shiver, Vladisal studied the tree line on the opposite side of the clearing. She saw and heard nothing at first, and wondered if Abildan was mistaken. But then a low moan drifted through the forest. It came again, a little louder this time, followed by the sounds of something thrashing through the undergrowth. 

The knights lining the ridge clearly heard it too. Many of them prepared to draw weapons. 

“Keep your women at bay, Sir Vladisal,” Abildan warned. “Their lives may depend on it.” 

Vladisal sliced her hand through the air. “Hold!” she ordered, and the knights obeyed. 

Üban’s face was pensive, and Vladisal knew what the old knight was thinking. The vague hope of reinforcements arriving had diminished to nothing, as insubstantial now as the ghostly mist that hung above the clearing floor.

The sound of thrashing grew louder, closer. A figure stumbled into the open. As Abildan had predicted, it was a child, a young boy, and in the moonlight his youthful face was creased with terror. 

The boy clutched at his throat. Dark blood ran between his fingers and soaked his jerkin. He took a few more faltering steps, gave a sob, and collapsed to the clearing floor with a swirl of mist. Unconscious or dead, he lay face down, unmoving. 

Vladisal prepared to rush to the boy’s aid, but Abildan gripped her arm and held her back with surprising strength.

“A pointless act,” she stated. “The child is already dead.”

“How can you know that?” Vladisal snapped.

“Tactics.” The cat-like assassin resumed scanning the tree line. “That child is a trap, sent ahead to entice you out of hiding. Perhaps, for now, it might be wiser to wait and see what he was running from, yes?”

The forest moaned. 

A second figure emerged from the shadows and entered the clearing. A woman. She shuffled towards the boy, no urgency in her movements whatsoever. In the pale moonlight, her face was that of a corpse’s: ashen, drawn, mottled with rot. Her hair was matted with dirt and leaves, as were her peasant’s clothing. Her eyes shone with an eerie blue luminescence. She released another moan, but it was choked off as two tentacles slithered from her mouth and lashed at the air.

“By the Mother,” Vladisal whispered. “What is this?” 

“One of your enemy’s tree-demons,” Abildan said, matter-of-factly. “The dead have been merged with the forest, just as I warned you.”

More tentacles burst from the woman’s body, tearing through her rotten clothes, whipping blood into the cold air. They coiled around her torso, as though forming protective armour. 

Merged with the forest . . . they were roots, not tentacles – wood that was as pliable as flesh.

Aware that her knights were sharing her repulsion, Vladisal watched as the woman made it to the boy. She dropped to her knees, clumsily, like her legs were no longer strong enough to hold her weight. The roots lengthened from her mouth, probing the boy’s body. One slithered into the wound already on his neck; the other ripped away his sleeve and tore strips of wet flesh from his arm – strips of flesh that it drew back into the woman’s mouth.

A monster feeding on a child.

Vladisal’s stomach turned. She prepared to draw her sword. 

“Act now and you will lose the advantage, Sir Knight,” Abildan warned, her voice calm and icy. “Be assured that more tree-demons are coming. If we allow them to gather, to feast, then the boy becomes bait for a trap of our own.”

“Are you sick?” Vladisal hissed.

Abildan continued as if the knight hadn’t spoken at all. “When the time comes, it is important that we maintain the higher ground. These creatures are mindless and lumbering. They cannot move swiftly, yet they will be great in number. Better for them to come to us.”           

Vladisal thought she might strike the assassin’s feline face. As if sensing this, Abildan turned to her with a mocking expression as though deliberately challenging her authority. 

“Agree or not, without reinforcements, you know my tactics are sound.” She narrowed yellow eyes. The forest came alive with movement. “Perhaps you should ready your archers.” 

“Archers,” Vladisal said to Üban. 

Evidently sickened and angry, Üban signalled the order with snappish movements. The archers stepped forth between the knights, quivers full of arrows, bows strung and ready. 

“Here they come,” Abildan sighed. 

As the ghoulish woman continued feeding, hollow moaning accompanied the sound of movement in the forest. Small blue lights seemed to float through the trees. Eyes, Vladisal realised, the glowing eyes of tree-demons. 

Morbid forms lumbered into the clearing. Twisted by corruption, fleshy roots protruding from their bodies, coiling around them, snaking from their mouths, they came on unsteady feet but with ravenous intent. One after the other, creeping from the forest, they headed straight for the dead boy. Men and women, old and young. The reek of decay and gargled moans filled the air. 

“I cannot stand and watch,” Vladisal said. 

The first of the horde had reached the boy and were jostling with the woman for a taste of blood and meat. 

And still more emerged from the trees. 

“This is madness!”

“Do not be so eager, Sir Knight. You will have vengeance for the boy soon enough.” Abildan unhooked the small crossbow from her belt, and drew back the string. Selecting a bolt from her baldric, she quite calmly slid it into place. “Remember - the magic that animates these monsters is like an infectious disease. When they come for you, sever their heads, do not let their mouth-roots sting you.”

There had to be thirty abominations in the clearing now, with still more arriving, each hungering for the boy’s blood. They fought over the corpse with slaps and punches as weak as they were mindless. Fleshy roots flailed and clashed. 

Vladisal would allow this ungodliness to pass no longer.   

“Hold to your sick tactics if you wish, Abildan, but that is not the Boskan way.” With an angry noise, she drew her sword and turned to her women. “Bear arms!”

All along the ridge, knights drew weapons - Üban most keenly of all. 

“For Boska!” Vladisal shouted, and she led the charge down the slope.

-CHAPTER TWO-

Monsters

Üban’s heart hammered as she followed her captain down the slope. 

Sword in hand, the old knight’s eagerness to cleave head from neck filled her ears with the rushing of blood. Behind her, the Knights of Boska echoed Vladisal’s battle cry, and the sound of the charge drowned out bestial moaning made by the unholy merging of corpses and forest life. Yet, as she neared the fray, Üban’s battle-lust became tinged with despair.

Vladisal had gone too far ahead. She stormed the cluster of tree-demons as if she could best them all singlehandedly. She hacked and slashed, sending her foes scattering in all directions. By the time Üban and the rest of the women met their enemy, a line of monsters stood between them and their captain.

“Volley!” Üban bellowed.   

From up on the ridgeline, archers loosed arrows. Barbed heads hissed into the clearing, thudding into rotten limbs and wooden shells of the ghoulish horde. But the monsters paid no mind to their injuries, and they shambled headlong into the charge, seeking only the taste of blood. 

“Aim for the heads!” 

The next volley found more success. Three monsters collapsed to the ground, skulls punctured, roots thrashing in death throes. One, a young woman, had the shaft of a crossbow bolt protruding from her eye.

Üban felt a fresh surge of anger and frustration as she joined the fight and took the head from an elderly man’s shoulders. She had not given the second order; it had come from Abildan, and Üban again wondered why Vladisal tolerated her presence. The assassin was a feliwyrd, a sorcerous merging of human and mountain cat, and such creatures were not to be trusted. 

A third volley downed four more monsters, but the army of tree-demons was so great in number now that it hardly made a difference. The Boskans were a band of five archers and less than twenty knights facing a horde that just kept growing.

Üban roared. Another foe fell. 

The roots wrapped around the torsos of the tree-demons were strong and hard, but those that lashed from their mouths like the tongues of serpents were pulpy and rotten as their exposed flesh. Üban chopped the roots from the mouth of a monster so vile and emaciated that age or gender were impossible to tell, but two more appendages slithered from the rotten maw to replace them. With a grunt, Üban lopped the monster’s head from its shoulders. 

All about, the Knights of Boska slew their enemy with little resistance. Body after body fell in an endless wave of slaughter, but only a killing blow to the head could deaden their roots and hunger, and extinguish the lights in their eyes. The noise of the battlefield was not that of usual combat; only the thuds of metal on flesh and wood filled the clearing. Üban redoubled her efforts, cleaving a path towards Vladisal.

To her right, mighty Dief crushed skulls and cracked bones with her huge hammer, her teeth gritted, her strength tireless. To Üban’s left, graceful Luca sliced flesh with a sabre in one hand, and split wood with a hatchet in the other. 

“There must be three-score of them at least!” Luca shouted, decapitating the grim vision of an old woman. “And still more arrive!”

For every monstrosity they slew, the forest spat out a replacement. 

“At this rate we’ll be fighting till dawn.”

“Let them come,” Dief grunted, swinging her hammer. “All the more to send back to the hells.”

But it wasn’t that simple. 

Whatever curse had merged their dead bodies with the forest, these monsters had once been simple village folk. They were innocent victims compelled from the grave by a dark magic.

 Üban stepped back as Dief swung a murderous blow with her hammer. The head of a peasant man disappeared into a wet mist.   

A small girl, no more than a babe, came at Üban. Her eyes luminescent, she reached out as if searching for safe arms to nestle in. She made a choking, gurgling sound. Roots thrashed in her mouth like trapped snakes fighting to be free. With a silent plea to the Mother God, Üban thrust her blade into the girl’s mouth, and twisted. The top of her head flipped open like a bloody hatchway, and she fell, roots coiling in her remains.

A scream split the night air. 

The sheer volume of monsters prevented Üban reaching Vladisal, and she began to panic. 

“Flanks!” she commanded. “Draw out the centre!” And her blade passed through yet another decayed neck. “We must fight through to Vlad,” she told Dief and Luca. 

“I see her,” Dief replied. “She’s surrounded.”

“Wait,” said Luca. “No!”

Üban felt a knot in her gut. At the clearing’s centre, Vladisal had fallen, and the tree-demons were upon her. 

“To Vladisal!” 

The call blazed through the knights of Boska like frenzied fire.

*  *  *

In her heart, Vladisal had known the boy was dead before she reached him. But she stood astride him nonetheless, protecting his bloodied ruins with all the rage she could muster. Anger blinded her, deafened her to the sound of knights fighting.

Just as Abildan had warned, the enemy showed no remorse and were many in number. It was as if death had twisted them into a corrupted mockery of life that acted only on some basic, ravenous instinct. 

Vladisal maintained a protective circle around the boy. She stopped distinguishing child from adult, man from woman; they were monsters, one and all, and as each fell under her blade, the dulling of their luminous eyes was the only true sign that their hunger was at an end. 

A grisly face, its lips gnawed away, came forward with a tentacular grin. Feeble and emaciated, one of its eyes rotted to nothing, it reached for Vladisal with long, claw-like fingers. Its mouth-roots whipped for her face. Dark blood sprayed as its head fell from its neck. Another ventured towards the knight, falling in similar fashion, as they all did. 

A scream filled the air.     

Shouting a curse, Vladisal felled another beast, but as she raised her sword again, she felt pulling on her leg. 

It was the boy. He was alive! 

Clutching at Vladisal’s armour with red-slicked hands, the boy’s whole body shook and convulsed. Vladisal felt a momentary surge of hope within the maelstrom. It quickly vanished as the boy’s eyes glowed with blue light, and he coughed slim, snake-like roots from his mouth.

He clawed at Vladisal’s leg, breaking fingers upon hard armour. Instinctively, Vladisal batted him away with a backhand. Another monster came at her. She skewered it through the gut, her blade slipping between the coils of roots wrapped around its body like armour. 

It was a mistake. 

The coils tightened on the sword, and Vladisal couldn’t wrench it free. The monster shambled forward, sliding further down the blade. Vladisal lost her grip, stumbling backwards, and the enemy was upon her. 

Roots wrapped around her arms, too many to shrug off. More probed at her armour. In panic, Vladisal kicked out, catching the nearest tree-demon high on the chest. This action scattered the monsters, but also toppled Vladisal. She fell to her back on the clearing floor.   

Someone shouted her name. A volley of arrows punctured the tree-demons closest to her. 

A small figure crawled up Vladisal’s prone body. Eyes glowing, mouth open and roots lashing, the boy gurgled at her. 

Vladisal closed her hands around his throat, holding him off. One mouth-root struck at her gauntlet while the other attempted to sting her face. Hands tugged at Vladisal’s legs, banging upon her armour, as though the monsters were trying to break a crab’s shell for the soft meat underneath.     

Where is the mercy? Vladisal thought as she snapped the boy’s neck. 

The lights of his eyes did not fade. His roots continued to whip for Vladisal’s face. She knew in that moment that she had failed, and the ungodly horde would have its meal.

The boy stiffened and fell limp in her grasp. 

The light in his eyes finally died. He fell sideways, and Vladisal saw the crossbow bolt embedded into the back of his head. More bodies fell as a curved sabre whirled among them with arcs of moonlight.

Abildan.

In utter silence, the assassin moved with such speed and grace it was hard to tell if she was fighting or dancing. So confident in her abilities, so sure of her surroundings, she carved a murderous circle around Vladisal like a deadly wind, a subtle firestorm among crops, scattering heads wherever it burned. And then, as quickly as she had arrived, Abildan was gone, leaving carnage in her wake.

Vladisal scrambled to her feet and retrieved her sword just as Üban reached her. Dief and Luca were close behind. The entire company had cut a path through the enemy to reach their captain, but now the tree-demons surrounded them. 

I should have listened to Abildan, Vladisal thought. They were vastly outnumbered.

But the monsters attacked no more. 

A stiff wind picked up and blew across the clearing. It brought sweeter and earthier scents, chasing away the reek of decay. The tree-demons lost interest in their prey. They began creeping back into the forest, disappearing among the trees, as if following some silent instruction borne on the wind. 

Some of the knights hacked down a few stragglers, but others made to follow the monsters and continue the battle. 

“Stand down!” Vladisal snapped. 

Her command was obeyed. 

In a few moments, the knights were alone in the clearing. Not a sound disturbed the forest. 

 Astonished, the women of Boska surveyed the slaughter that lay at their feet, giving each other disbelieving looks. 

Luca swore, her honest face troubled. “They out-matched us six to a woman at least. They had us beat! Why leave?

“Who can understand the reason of monsters?” Üban said. The old knight’s face was unreadable as she watched the tree line. 

Vladisal followed her line of sight and saw Abildan slip into the shadows of the forest.

-CHAPTER THREE-

Higher Ground

Death permeated the air. The remains of tree-demons were literally smeared across the battlefield. The magic which had animated these corpses, which had merged them with plant life, had died. Supernatural putrefaction had set in, liquefying flesh and bone, rotting wood to mulch. While Luca and Dief searched for fallen comrades among the foul-smelling mounds, Üban and the knights watched the trees for any sign of a fresh attack.

Sir Vladisal stood alone, observing proceedings, her thoughts grim. Her gaze travelled up the slope to where the company had stood before the battle. Her five archers still lined the ridge, nervously guarding the clearing. 

She should never have led such a reckless charge against the enemy. Was it pride that had stood in the way of taking Abildan’s advice - a need to save face in front of her women? 

Vladisal felt her soul darken. These were desperate times indeed. 

Üban approached. The old knight carried a haunted look, and when she spoke, her voice was a low growl.

“There’s nothing out there but trees. It’s as if the demons simply vanished.” She snorted. “And I see the feliwyrd is still missing. Perhaps she has deserted us for good this time.” 

Abildan had been absent since the battle’s conclusion. The bitterness in Üban’s voice was evident; she loathed the assassin, and not without good reason. But as contentious a presence as Abildan was, no one could deny that the Knights of Boska would be hopelessly lost in the Great Forest without her guidance.

“I should have listened to Abildan, Üban. We should have kept the higher ground.”

“What difference would it have made?” The bitterness in Üban’s tone grew deeper. “The battle was still won.”

“No. We were Lucky. The Bone Shaker withdrew her army. You know that, old woman.”

Üban gave a resigned sigh. “Tonight, I do not feel proud to be a Knight of Boska. These were humble village-folk we slew. The Mother has cursed us.”

“No. These people were damned by magic long before they reached us. There is no shame in our actions. We simply acted as we had to, and gave them peace from torment.”

“Then what of Elander?” Üban retorted. “What if that poor boy has already been . . .” She sighed again.

“I do not think Duchess Mayland would see things as simple were her son to fall foul of the Bone Shaker’s magic.” 

Vladisal’s gut twisted. The older knight’s blunt manner was close to shattering an already fragile atmosphere, and a heated debate in front of the women would not help matters. Still, she had a point. 

The son of their duchess was the prisoner of a madwoman called Dun-Wyrd. Elander was an infectious youth, barely twelve summers old, full of life, full of kindness. Vladisal was his champion, his protector; and she already felt as though she had failed her charge. What horrors, what tortures, did that sweet child face in the clutches of a Bone Shaker and her dark magics?

With a heavy voice, Vladisal said, “Abildan does not believe that Dun-Wyrd will add Elander to her dead army.” 

“Ah, the feliwyrd again.” Üban hawked and spat. “Then why does she think the Bone Shaker wants him?”

Vladisal looked to the ground. “She says she does not know.”

Üban sucked air over her teeth. “If we are to trust in everything Abildan says, then surely Redheart would have returned with reinforcements by now.” 

“Have faith, old woman. Redheart will return. She will find the Forest Dwellers and bring them to our side.”

“She has been gone two days already, Vladisal.”

“And you think I don’t know that? We cannot change the situation as it is, Üban. We will continue our search for Elander. We will have faith that Redheart will return in time and that Abildan is not as untrustworthy as you believe.”

“Aye, lass.” Üban’s tone lost its sharp edge. “I’ll pray for that.” 

Luca made her way over. She looked shaken, her face pale. 

“Damned tragic. Sir Theodora and Sir Brennik – both dead.” She took a deep breath and looked over the clearing. “I’ve ordered them prepared for burial.” 

Vladisal nodded sadly. “A grim night, but we have survived.”

“And gained a frightening insight into the powers of our enemy.” Luca rubbed the back of her neck. “I don’t understand it, Vlad. What manner of woman would turn simple folk into such ghouls?” 

“The ways of the Bone Shaker are not meant to be understood,” Üban answered, staring into the middle distance. “Dun-Wyrd is evil to the core.” She shivered off her reverie and found her mettle. “We should move from this place, and soon. Theodora and Brennik deserve rest in less foul grounds.” 

“If it suits your needs, I have found another clearing a small way from here.”

The three knights wheeled around. 

“Abildan,” Vladisal said. 

How did she move so silently?

Vladisal felt Üban and Luca bristle beside her. 

“Where have you been?

“Observing.” Abildan’s yellow eyes and cat-like face were unreadable. “The tree-demons are returning to their master. They will trouble you no more tonight.” She turned to Üban, a quirked smile on her thin lips. “And you are quite correct to speak of the mysterious ways of the Bone Shaker, as you like to call her. Dun-Wyrd is an intelligent foe.”

“She doesn’t seem so clever me,” Üban shot back. “Bone Shaker or not, Dun-Wyrd is nothing more than a stealer of children. Her monsters failed to kill us and she underestimates her enemy.” 

“Failed?” Abildan’s expression was filled with dark mirth. “Dun-Wyrd’s intent was not to kill you - at least, not on this night.” 

She offered no more explanation, and Üban’s eyes glared angrily. The old knight would not take much more goading before she drew her sword on the feliwyrd. 

“Speak plainly, Abildan,” Vladisal demanded. “Tell us what Dun-Wyrd wanted?”

“Information. She senses she is being tracked. She merely wished to see whom by.” 

“She . . . she could see us?” Luca said. 

“Oh yes. Through the eyes of her army. And she had a good look at you, Sir Knight.”

Luca waved the taunt away, but Vladisal could tell she was troubled by the notion of being watched through dead eyes. They all were. 

“And now that she has seen us, what will she do next?”

“Nothing.” Abildan shrugged. “Oh, I realise you proud Knights of Boska believe you are something to be feared, but you do not pose the threat to Dun-Wyrd that you think you do. All she sees is a band of fools on a doomed quest to rescue the son of their duchess.” 

“As I said,” Üban growled. “She underestimates us.” 

“I think you are right,” Abildan said, nodding. “But not in the way you believe. Your famed sense of pride is perhaps your greatest ally. Dun-Wyrd would not have considered that you might have sent a messenger for reinforcements.” She chuckled. “She will think you too proud and stubborn to ask for help from others.”     

“But we have no help,” Vladisal said. “Redheart has been gone for two days. How long before she returns with aid?” 

“Hard to say. The Ulyyn are a fickle race, Sir Vladisal, dogged by code and ritual, more so than even the mighty Knights of Boska.”

Vladisal exhaled an angry breath. “But the Forest Dwellers will come?” 

“Oh yes. Of that I have no doubt. The likes of Dun-Wyrd are a curse upon these lands. Once convinced of her presence, the Ulyyn will not stand to let her pass.”   

Dief joined the group. Her usually confident demeanour had been replaced by the same moribund mood that had infected all. She gripped her hammer menacingly, as if suspecting the tree-demons of trickery and a second attack was imminent. 

“Everyone is accounted for,” she reported miserably. 

“No one was injured?” Abildan asked.

Dief looked the feliwyrd up and down as though she was something she had stepped in, before addressing Vladisal again. “Theodora and Brennik are ready for burial – the Mother save their souls.”

“Then there is no point in lingering,” Vladisal said. “Assemble the women, Dief. We will bury our dead in better ground.” 

Without a word, Dief walked back towards the small crowd of knights and archers. With a nod to Vladisal, Luca followed her. 

Abildan watched them leave with an appraising air. 

“Sir Vladisal,” she said, her expression curious. “I do not wish to insult your sensibilities any more than is necessary, but I have a question. Why are you wasting time burying your dead? It would be easier to simply burn their remains.” 

“Are you mad?” Üban erupted. “Theodora and Brennik are women of Boska!” 

Abildan’s smile was cruel. “I’m afraid I don’t see your point.”

Üban’s huge frame towered over the assassin. “You are a piece of work, feliwyrd, and I’ve had it with your sick jokes.” 

“I make no joke, Sir Üban.” Abildan’s eyes flashed. “And your threats mean nothing to me.” 

“Enough,” Vladisal said tiredly. “Abildan, you will lead us to the next clearing.” She stood between Üban and the feliwyrd. “And we bury our dead the Boskan way.” 

“As you wish.” 

Abildan gave a mock bow, and then walked away to stand at the edge of the clearing, where she waited to lead the knights through the forest once again.

Üban’s eyes were furious, her lips clamped tightly shut. She stared at Vladisal for a moment, and then stormed off in a different direction to Abildan. 

Vladisal looked up at the sky. The star-filled blackness had lightened with a tinge of blue. Dawn was approaching, and it would be good to see the sun again. 

“Where are you, Redheart?”New paragraph