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They broke from the trees not in military order, but not a mob either, heading south at a good pace. There was another stretch of woodland ahead, and once there they could travel under cover of the canopy almost all the way to Rhael.

‘Double pace,’ shouted Dal abruptly, kicking at his own mount. There was a baffled grumbling from the men and women around him. ‘Run, you bastards!’ he berated them. ‘Head into the trees.’

Most of them obeyed, in the end. He had done just enough to turn them from a gang of thieves into an army, whether he had originally wanted to or not. As his horse lurched into a canter, he swung it to the right, bringing it around and along the flank of his suddenly piecemeal force, and watching the complaining, stumbling brigands as they picked up speed.

‘Archers, fall towards the rear,’ he shouted. ‘Be ready to let them have it when they come.’ He guided his steed all the way around the back, galloping along the left flank and repeating his orders to the bowmen there. About half of them would have the wit or the courage to obey, he reckoned. The others, once running, would just rush full-tilt until they had the trees around them.

‘They can’t be on us already?’ Mordrec complained, as Dal rejoined the other riders at the front. Even as he said it, though, Soul was pointing. Along the treeline ahead of them could be seen the glitter of sun on armour, and then they saw the enemy cavalry. So far, in the skirmishing, they had faced individual nobles on their mounts, and each noble had brought his own levy of peasants travelling on foot and slowing him down. There had not seemed enough of the aristocracy to mount the cavalry charges that traditional Commonweal war had centred on. Now here they were, surely the majority of the nobles under Salmae command, and they were racing to catch the brigands in the open. There were perhaps forty of them in all, noblemen and noblewomen with their favoured mounted retainers, but Dal knew the bandits could not stand up before a cavalry charge. They would break and then be ridden down, however many of them there were.

If the brigands had been moving at their usual slower pace before then they would have been caught right under the hammer. Even running as they were, it would be touch and go, but they had bought themselves a chance to get under cover now, and safe from the worst of the charge.

Dal Arche’s wings took over, parting him from his saddle as he coasted over his fleeing people. He had his bow in hand, an arrow fitted to the string.

‘Archers!’ he bellowed at them. ‘Hold till my mark!’

As he had expected, at least half of his bowmen were running headlong for the safety of the trees now, but a number had stopped to form a ragged line, and now Soul Je leapt down to join them, drawing back the string on his man-high bow.

The approaching cavalry exerted a fearful fascination, and Dal nearly missed his chance. ‘Loose!’ he shouted suddenly. ‘Loose, cut and run!’

He watched as the arrows rose high, before curving in midair and falling upon the riders like rain. Soul’s shaft caught one man near the point of the enemy formation, cutting between his helm and breastplate and sending the luckless target lurching back across his saddle. None of the other shots found a human target, but they struck home amongst the horses, causing them to jerk sideways, rearing and plunging. The gleaming perfection of the charge faltered just enough, and then the archers were following their fellows into the trees, on foot or wing, and Dal followed after. He realized that he had not actually loosed his own arrow at all.

Did I ever really want to become a leader of men? he asked himself. Surely the answer was no.

This long arm of the forest – this brigand’s road – would take them to within striking distance of the Rhael border, but he doubted that a few trees would keep the Salmae off his back from now on. They were obviously pushing for the endgame, and Dal found that he