'What if we flush out a fastfox?

The apprentices groaned.

'Fastfoxes live down on the plains, an exasperated Aide said, 'They're not mountain animals. You're more likely to get one in Ashwell than here.

Fahin pulled a face, not convinced.

As they approached the edge of the forest again, Melzar used his longtalk to tell them: 'Start to spread out. Remember, keep the people on both sides within your farsight. If you lose contact, longtalk them.

Edeard had Obron on one side and Fahin on the other. He wasn't too happy about that. If anyone was going to screw up it would be Fahin. The lanky boy really wasn't an outdoors type; and Obron wasn't likely to help either of them. But the worst thing Fahin can do is fall behind. It's not like he's got a pistol. And he'll yell hard enough if he can't see us. He sent the ge-wolf ranging from side to side. The mood of excitement was filling his farsight, the minds of everyone in the flusher line twinkling with anticipation.

They moved forwards, slowly spreading out as Melzar directed until they had formed the line. The trees were growing tall again, their dark-green canopy insulating the apprentices from the cloudy sky.

'Move forwards, Obron ordered. Edeard smiled and repeated the instruction to Fahin, who grimaced.

Edeard was pleased he'd kept his new boots on. The forest floor here was littered with sticks among manky clumps of grass, uneven ground with plenty of sharp stones. His ankles were sore where the new leather pinched, yet they protected his feet well enough.

With his farsight scouring the land ahead he kept a slow pace, making sure the line stayed straight. Melzar told them to start making a racket. Obron was shouting loudly, while Fahin let out piercing whistles. For himself, Edeard picked up a thick stick and thwacked it against the tree trunks as he passed by.

There were more bushes in this part of the forest. Big zebrathorns with their monochrome patterned leaves and oozing (highly poisonous) white berries, coaleafs that were like impenetrable black clouds squatting on the earth. Small creatures were exposed to his farsight, zipping out of the way of the humans. Nothing big enough to be a drakken, let alone a galby. The ground became soft under his feet, wet loam that leaked water from every footprint. The scent of mouldering leaf was strong in his nose. He was sure he could smell fungus spores.

Obron was out of eyesight now, somewhere behind the bushes. Edeard's farsight picked him up on the other side of dense trunks.

'Close up a little, he longtalked.

'Sure sure, Obron replied casually.

A ripple of excitement went down the line. Somewhere up towards Melzar's end a galby sped away, not quite in the direction of the shooting line. Edeard's heart started to beat quickly. He knew he was smiling and didn't care. This was the kind of thing he'd wanted ever since he learned he was going on the caravan. There were galbys here! He would get a chance to flush one, and if he was really lucky maybe take a shot later on.

Something squawked above him. Edeard flicked his farsight focus upwards in time to see a couple of birds dart up through the canopy. There was a thicket up ahead, a dense patch of zebrathorn, just the kind of place for a galby to nest in. His farsight swept through it, but there were dark zones and steep little gullies he couldn't be sure about. He sent the ge-wolf slinking in through the bushes as he skirted round the outside. Now he couldn't see Fahin either, but his farsight registered the boy's mind.

Apprehension hit him like a solid force, the mental equivalent of being doused in icy water. Suddenly all his delight deserted him. His fingers actually lost their grip on the stick as his legs seized up. Something terrible was happening. He knew it.

'What? he gasped. He was frightened, and worse, frightened that he was frightened. This makes no sense.

In the middle of the thicket, the ge-wolf he was casually directing lifted its head and snarled, responding to the turmoil bubbling along his tenuous longtalk contact.

'Edeard? Fahin called. 'What's wrong.

'I don't… Edeard pulled his arms in by his side as his knees bent, lowering him to a crouch. He instinctively closed his third hand around himself to form the strongest shield he was capable of. Lady, what's the matter with me? He pushed his farsight out as far as he could, and swept round as if it was some kind of illuminating beam. The tree trunks were too dense to get any kind of decent picture of anything beyond his immediate vicinity.

'What is the matter with you? Obron asked. His mental tone was scathing.

Edeard could sense both apprentices hesitating. The ge-wolf was wriggling round, trying to get out of the thicket and back to him. Dry leaves rustled, and he whirled round, raising the stick protectively. 'I think someone's here. He directed his farsight where he thought the sound had come from, pushing its focus as hard as he could. There were a few tiny rodent creatures scuttling along the forest floor. They could have made the noise—

'What do you mean: someone? Fahin demanded. 'Who?

Edeard was gritting his teeth with the effort of extending his farsight to the limit. 'I don't know, I can't sense them.

'Hey, we're falling behind, Obron longtalked impatiently. 'Come on, get moving.

Edeard stared back into the forest. This is stupid. But he couldn't get rid of his dread. He took a last look at the forest behind, then turned. The arrow came out of the empty trees on his left, moving so fast he never saw it, only his farsight caught the slightest ripple of motion. His shield tightened up as he gasped, his mind clamouring its shock.

The arrow hit his left pectoral muscle. His telekinetic shield held. The force of impact was sufficient to knock him backwards. He landed on his arse. The arrow tumbled down in the loam and weeds beside him; a long blackened shaft with dark-green need-lehawk feathers and a wicked barbed metal tip dripping some thick violet liquid. Edeard stared at it in horror.

'Edeard?

His mind was swamped by the telepathic voices. It seemed as if the entire flusher line was mentally shouting at him, demanding an answer.

'Arrow! he broadcast back at them as forcefully as he could. His eyes didn't move from the arrow lying beside him, showing everyone. 'Poison arrow!

A mind materialized thirty yards away, sparkling vivid sapphire amid the cluttered grey shadows which comprised Edeard's ethereal vision of the forest.

'Huh? Edeard jerked his head round. A man stepped out from behind a tree, dressed in a kind of ragged cloak that was almost the same colour as the forest's trunks. His hair was wild, long and braided, filthy with dark-red mud. More mud was smeared across his face and caked his beard. He was snarling, anger and puzzlement leaking out of his mind. One hand reached over his shoulder and pulled another arrow from his quiver. He notched it smoothly into the biggest bow Edeard had ever seen, levelling it as his arm pulled back.

Edeard screamed with voice and mind, a sound he could hear replicated along the flusher line. Even his assailant winced as he let fly.

Edeard thrust his hands out, a motion he followed with his third hand using his full strength. The arrow burst into splinters before it had covered half of the distance between them.

This time it was the forest man who radiated shock into the aether.

'Bandits. Melzar's call echoed faintly round Edeard, spoken and telepathic. 'It's an ambush. Group together everyone, combine your strength. Shield yourselves. Toran, help us!

Edeard was scrambling to his feet, vaguely aware of other shouts and adrenaline-boosted emotional pulses reverberating across the forest. More bandits were emerging from their concealment. Arrows were being fired. His mind reached for the ge-wolf, directing it with frenzied urgency. There wasn't going to be time. The forest man had slung his bow to the ground, and was charging. A knife glinted in his hand.