Acuas vanished. Two hundred paces into the wood he opened the eyes of his body and sagged into the supporting arms of Decado and Katan.
‘All the Templar guards are dead,’ he said.
‘Good work!’ praised Decado.
‘I feel strained by their evil. Even to touch them is to be as one accursed.’
Decado moved back silently to where Ananais waited with one hundred warriors. Thorn crouched to his left, Galand to his right. Fifty of the warriors were legion men of whom Ananais was unsure.
Though he trusted Decado’s instincts, the talents of The Thirty left him sceptical still. Tonight he would see whether these men were with him. He was uncomfortably aware of their swords around him.
Ananais led the force to the edge of the trees. Beyond lay the tents of the Delnoch army – one hundred of them – each giving shelter to six men. Beyond the tents were the picket ropes where the horses were tethered.
‘I want Breight alive and I want those horses,’ whispered Ananais. ‘Galand, take fifty men and lead the mounts clear. The rest can follow me.’ He moved forward, crouching low, his dark-armoured warriors spreading out behind him.
As they reached the tents the force split up, armed men silently lifting the front flaps and stepping stealthily inside. Daggers were drawn across sleeping throats and men died without a sound. At the edge of the camp, a sleeping soldier was awakened by the pressure of a full bladder; he rolled from his blanket and stepped out into the night air. The first thing he saw was a black-masked giant bearing down on him, followed by twenty swordsmen. He screamed once . . . and died.
Suddenly all was chaos as men surged from the tents with swords in hand. Ananais cut two warriors from his path and cursed loudly. Breight’s tent was just ahead, blue silk bearing the White Horse emblem of the Drenai herald.
To me, Legion!’ he bellowed and ran forward. A soldier ran at him with a spear but Ananais sidestepped the weapon, his own sword sweeping viciously in a tight arc that smashed the man’s ribs to shards. Ananais ran on, wrenching open the tent-flap and stepping inside. Breight was hiding below his bed, but Ananais dragged him out by his hair and hurled him into the night.
Old Thorn ran to Ananais as he emerged. ‘We are in a little trouble, Darkmask,’ he said.
The Legion fifty had closed ranks by Breight’s tent, but all around them the Delnoch warriors stood ready, waiting the order to move in. Ananais dragged Breight to his feet and pushed his way to the front of the line.
‘Order your men to lay down their weapons or I will cut your miserable throat,’ he hissed.
‘Yes, yes,’ whimpered the greybeard, holding up his hands. ‘Men of Ceska, lay aside your weapons. My life is too valuable to be thrown away in such a fashion. Let them go, I command you!’
A Dark Templar stepped from the line. ‘You are worth nothing, old man! You had one mission – to talk these dogs from the hills. You failed.’ His arm swept back, then down, and a black dagger hammered into Breight’s throat. The old man staggered and fell to his knees. ‘Now take them!’ yelled the Templar and the Delnoch men surged forward. Ananais cut and thrust as the forces met, drawing the enemy to him like moths to a candle. His swords flickered among them faster than the eye could follow. Around him the Legion fought hard and well, and old Thorn ducked and cut cunningly.
Suddenly the thunder of hooves overrode the sounds of clashing steel and the Delnoch line waved as men glanced back to see a fresh force racing into the fray.
Galand’s group hit the rear of the Delnoch force like a hammer-blow, scattering the enemy. As Ananais ran forward, yelling for the men to follow him, a sword lanced into his side. He grunted and back-handed a cut that swept the attacker from his feet. Decado spurred his horse towards Ananais, holding out his left arm. Ananais grasped it and vaulted to the saddle behind the priest. Other Legion men followed suit and the Skoda warriors galloped from the camp. Ananais glanced back, seeking Thorn and spotted him clinging to Galand.