the while casting ill-tempered exhortations to those following.
Babukir, Vaelin concluded. Still smarting over a broken nose.
“How many?” Luralyn called to him from the street below, her family clustered around her in a tight, protective circle.
“Too many.”
Vaelin climbed back down, drawing his sword as his eyes roved this village of the dead, marking each hiding place and shadowed alcove. “We can’t beat them,” he told the others in frank admission. “But we can delay them long enough to escape, also kill the Gifted amongst them, which will hopefully prevent further pursuit.”
“Or I could just go and surrender to them,” Luralyn pointed out. “I can bargain for your safe passage . . .”
“It’s your younger brother that comes,” Vaelin cut in. “Do you really think you can bargain with him?”
She let out a hard sigh and slowly shook her head.
“The map shows a narrow track along a mountainside some miles west,” Vaelin continued, turning to Varij. “Take your mistress and the healer there. If we fail to follow within the hour, bring as much stone down as you can to block the path.”
“I’m not . . .” Sherin began.
“Enough!” Vaelin barked. “There’s no healing to be done here today, only fighting. And I can’t fight and watch over you too.”
“He’s right,” Luralyn said, voice grating with reluctant acceptance. She took hold of Sherin’s arm and tugged her towards the horses. She resisted for a moment, regarding Vaelin with a mixture of anger and concern before allowing herself to be pulled away. She mounted her pony and rode off without a backward glance whilst Varij and Luralyn lingered for a moment, raising their hands to their fellow Gifted.
“Don’t linger a second longer than necessary,” Luralyn said before wheeling her horse about and riding away. Varij paused to exchange a stricken glance with Eresa, and for a moment it seemed he was about to dismount until she sternly shook her head and pointed at their mistress. He gave a pale-faced nod and turned his horse to gallop in Luralyn’s wake.
“Start at the rear of the village and work your way forward,” Vaelin told the twins. “Ride away as soon as the last house is alight. The wind comes down off the ridge so it’ll sweep the smoke into their eyes and cover your escape. Shuhlan, set every horse you see against its rider. Eresa, keep her alive whilst she does so. Juhkar, fetch your bow and come with me.”
“And what is our role?” the tall man asked, having retrieved his bow and a quiver of arrows.
“You were a tracker,” Vaelin said. “Today you’re a hunter, and we hunt the Gifted, assuming you can find them in the smoke.”
“I can find them.”
The roar of erupting flames drew Vaelin’s gaze to the upper portion of the village. Fire burned bright in the belly of the two-storey house, the flames soon licking up the walls to consume the upper floor, birthing a thick pall of grey smoke in the process.
“Hide there until they’re upon us,” Vaelin told Shuhlan and Eresa, pointing his sword at the well in the centre of the village. “When you see us run, it’s time for you to do the same.”
He led Juhkar to a rectangular enclosure constructed from loose stone, presumably once a pigsty or animal shelter of some kind. The walls had tumbled in places, creating small gaps that afforded him a view of the lower reaches of the village. He could see four riders through the gathering miasma, Babukir in the centre, unmistakable in his armour, flanked by three unarmoured companions. Using the Gifted as his vanguard, Vaelin surmised, letting out a small grunt of annoyance at the realisation that Kehlbrand’s brother was not altogether a fool.
Another upsurge of flames sent fresh gusts of smoke across the village, obscuring the riders from view. Vaelin waited until fully half the village was alight before turning to Juhkar with a raised eyebrow. The tall man drew an arrow from his quiver, nocking it to his bowstring with impressively steady hands. Shuffling forward in a low crouch, he paused at the edge of the wall, eyes lowered for a second then abruptly raising his head in a manner that put Vaelin in mind of a cat scenting a mouse. He moved to follow Juhkar’s line of sight as he slowly drew his bow, thankful for the continuing roar of the flames that smothered the creak of the stave. Vaelin could see no targets in the grey pall that now covered the village, but