The lead troop had already fanned out to stop the rider's progress. Gilan said quietly to the captain: "Tell them to let him through."

The captain repeated the order with considerably more volume and the troopers separated, leaving a path for Horace. He saw the small group of officers around the company banner and headed for them, bringing the shaggy little Ranger horse to a halt in front of them. The other horses, which Gilan now recognized as Horace's and the pack pony that Evanlyn had ridden, were following Tug on a lead rope.

"They've got Will!" the boy shouted hoarsely, recognizing Gilan among the group of officers. "They've got Will and Evanlyn!"

Gilan closed his eyes briefly, feeling a lance of pain in his heart. Then, knowing the answer before he asked, he said: "Wargals?"

"Skandians!" he replied. "They took them at the bridge. They:"

Gilan flinched in surprise at the word. Surprise and horror.

"Bridge?" he said urgently. "What bridge?"

Horace was breathing heavily from his exertions. He'd alternated between the three horses, switching from one to the other, but not resting himself at any stage. He paused now to get his breath, realizing he should start from the beginning.

"Across the Fissure," he said. "That's why Morgarath took the Celts. They were building a huge bridge for him to bring his army across. They'd almost gotten it finished when we got there."

The captain beside Gilan had turned pale. "You mean there's a bridge across the Fissure?" he asked. The implications of such a fact were horrendous.

"Not anymore," Horace replied, his breathing steadier and his voice a little more under control now. "Will burned it. Will and Evanlyn. But they stayed on the other side to keep the Skandians back and-"

"Skandians!" said Gilan. "What the devil are Skandians doing on the plateau?" Horace made an impatient gesture at his interruption.

"They were the advance party for a force that's coming up the southern cliffs. The Skandians were going to join forces with the Wargals, cross the bridge and attack the army in the rear."

The group of cavalry officers exchanged looks. Professional soldiers, all of them could imagine how disastrous that could have been for the royal forces.

"As well the bridge is gone then," said a lieutenant. Horace swung his tormented gaze on the officer-a young man barely a few years older than himself.

"But they've got Will!" he cried, his eyes welling with tears as he thought of how he had stood by and watched helplessly as his friend was knocked out, then carried away.

"And the girl," added Gilan, but Horace dismissed her.

"Yes! Of course they got her!" he said. "And I'm sorry she's been caught. But Will was my friend!"

"You're sorry she's been caught? Do you know who:" the captain interrupted indignantly, for he was one of the few who knew the true nature of their task. But Gilan stopped him before he could say more.

"That's enough, Captain!" he said crisply. The officer looked at him angrily and Gilan leaned forward, speaking so that only he could hear.

"The fewer people who know the girl's name now, the better," he said, and understanding dawned in the officer's eyes. If Morgarath knew that his men held the king's daughter hostage, he would have a powerful tool to bargain with. Gilan looked back to Horace. "Horace, is there any way they might be able to repair this bridge?" he asked, and the muscular youth shook his head vehemently. He was devastated at the loss of his friend, but his pride in Will's accomplishment was obvious as he described it.

"No way at all," he replied. "It's gone, well and truly. Will made sure that nothing remained on the far side. That's why he was caught. He wanted to make sure." He paused and added: "They might get a small rope bridge across, of course."

That decided Gilan. He turned to the captain.

"Captain, you'll continue with the company and make sure no bridge of any kind is thrown across the Fissure. We don't want any of Morgarath's forces, no matter how small, coming across. Get Horace to show you the location on a map. Hold the south side of the Fissure until you're relieved, and keep patrols moving either side to locate any other possible crossing points. There won't be many of those," he added. "Horace, you'll come with me and report to the King. Now." He stopped abruptly as he realized that Horace was waiting for a chance to say something. He nodded for the apprentice to go ahead.

"The Skandians," said Horace. "They're not just on the plateau. They're sending a force north of the Thorntree Forest as well."

There was another buzz of comment from the officers as they realized how close their army had come to disaster. Two unexpected forces, attacking from the rear, would have left the King's men very hard-pressed indeed.

"You're sure of this?" Gilan asked, and Horace nodded several times.

"Will overheard them talking about it," he said. "Their forces on the beach and in the fens are a feint. The real attack was always going to come from behind."

"Then we don't have a moment to waste," said Gilan. "That force in the northwest could still be a big problem if the King doesn't know about it." He turned to the company commander. "Captain, you have your orders. Get your men to the Fissure as soon as you can."

The captain saluted briefly and issued a few crisp orders to his officers. They galloped off to their troops and, after a quick conference while Horace pointed out the site of the fallen bridge on a map of the area, the entire company was on the move, heading at a brisk canter for the Fissure.

Gilan turned to Horace. "Let's go," he said simply. Wearily, the young warrior nodded, then turned back to mount his own horse. Tug hesitated, pawing the ground as he watched the cavalry ride away-back toward where he had last seen his master. He trotted a few uncertain paces after the troop, then, at a word from Gilan, he reluctantly fell in behind the tall Ranger.

W ILL'S HEAD ACHED ABOMINABLY. A CONSTANT, RHYTHMIC thudding pounded through his skull, setting flashes off behind his tight-closed eyes. He forced his eyes open and found himself staring close range at a sheepskin vest and the back of a pair of leather-bound woolen leggings. The world was upside down and he realized he was being carried over someone's shoulder. The thudding was the sound of the man's feet as he jogged along. Will wished he would walk.

He groaned aloud and the jogging stopped.

"Erak!" the man carrying him called. "'E's awake."

And so saying, the Skandian lowered him to the ground. Will tried to take a pace, but his knees gave out and he sank to his haunches. Erak, the leader of the group, leaned down now and examined him. One thick thumb caught hold of his eyelid and he felt his eye being opened wide. The man wasn't cruel. But he was none too gentle either. Will recognized him now as the Skandian who had come so close to discovering him when he was eavesdropping by their campfire in the valley.

"Hmmm," he said thoughtfully. "Concussed, most likely. That was a good throw with that rock, Nordal," he said to one of the others. The Skandian he'd spoken to, a giant of a man with his blond hair in two tightly plaited braids that were greased so they swept upward like horns, smiled at the praise.

"Grew up hunting seals and penguins that way, I did," he said, with some satisfaction.

Erak released Will's eyelid and moved away. Now Will felt a gentler touch on his face and, opening his eyes again, found himself looking into Evanlyn's eyes. She stroked his forehead gently, trying to clean away the dried, matted blood there.

"Are you all right?" she said, and he nodded, then realized that was not a good idea.

"Fine," he managed, fighting back a wave of nausea. "They got you as well?" he added, unnecessarily, and she nodded. "Horace?" he said softly, and she put a finger to her lips.