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smell of death was strong upon the wind as they rode down a short slope and emerged by the shores of a glittering lake. Keeping to the shadows of the trees Bakilas took in the campsite. There were five dead wolves upon the ground, and a sixth body by the water-line. Bakilas dismounted and lifted his hood into place. Then he walked out into the sunshine. Pain prickled his skin, but he ignored it. At the centre of the camp the grass was singed in a circle of around five feet in diameter. Removing his black gauntlet he reached out and touched the earth. His hand jerked back. Pulling on his gauntlet he returned to the shadows.
‘Magick,’ he said. ‘Someone used magick here.’
Tethering their mounts the Krayakin sat in a circle. ‘Anharat did not speak of magick,’ said Mandrak, at just under 6 feet tall, the smallest of the warriors. ‘He spoke only of three old men.’
‘How strong was it?’ asked Drasko, next to Bakilas the eldest of the group.
‘By the power of four,’ he answered. ‘The wolves must have been possessed by the Entukku and the wizard used the light of halignat. Only a master could summon such power.’
‘Why should the wolves have been possessed?’ asked Pelicor.
Bakilas felt his irritation rise. ‘Study was never a strength of yours, brother. Had they been merely wolves then any bright flash of light would have dispersed them. Halignat – the Holy Light – is used only against the Illohir. It would have hurled the Entukku back to the city – and perhaps beyond. Those closest to the flash might even have died.’
‘If there is such a wizard,’ said Drasko, ‘why did we not sense his presence before now?’
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‘I do not know. Perhaps he is using a mask spell unknown to us. Whatever, we must proceed with more caution.’
‘Caution is for cowards,’ said Pelicor. ‘I have no fear of this wizard, whoever he may be. His spells may vanquish the Entukku, but they are little more than mind-maggots. What spells can he hurl against the Krayakin?’
‘We do not know,’ said Bakilas, struggling to remain patient. ‘That is the point.’
Bakilas strode to his horse and stepped into the saddle. Mandrak rode beside him as they set out after the wagon. ‘He has always been impatient,’ said Mandrak.
‘It is not his impatience which offends me – but his stupidity. And he is a glutton. I have always abhorred that trait.’
‘His hunger is legendary,’ admitted Mandrak.
Bakilas did not reply. They had reached the end of the tree line, and the bright sun scorched his face. Putting on his helm he pulled up his hood and spurred his mount onwards. The brightness hurt his eyes, and he longed for the onset of night, the freshness of the breeze, the dark, cold beauty of the star-filled sky.
Their mounts were tired as they reached the base of a tall hill. Bakilas examined the trail. The fugitives had stopped here to change the horses, and the occupants of the wagon had walked up the hill. Two women and a child. He rode on. One of the women had picked up the child and carried it. A heavy woman, whose imprints were deeper than the rest.
Spurring his mount up the hill he rode over the crest, and saw the tracks wending away into another wood. He was grateful for the promise of shadow.
Did they know they were being followed? Of course
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they did. No-one could hope to spirit away a queen without pursuit. Did they know they were being followed by the Krayakin? Why should they not, since a wizard was amongst them? Bakilas thought hard about the wizard. Drasko’s point had been a good one. Why could they not sense the presence of his magick? The air should be thick with it. Closing his eyes Bakilas reached out with his senses.
Nothing. Not a trace of sorcery could be detected. Even a mask spell would leave a residual taste in the air. It was worrying. Anharat had always been arrogant. It was his arrogance that led to the defeat of the Illohir at the Battle of the Four Valleys. What had he said? How far had the enemy fallen that he could rely on only three old men. It could be viewed quite differently. How mighty was the enemy that all he needed were three old men. He thought of the black warrior. Such a man was not built for retreat. Somewhere along this trail he would seek to attack his pursuers. It was the nature of the man.