[Arry]

‘Help me up!’ Brand’s voice came weakly at first and then stronger as his resolve grew. He forced his mind away from the pain in his shoulder, focusing on the present need . . . to drive away the foe and to bring Meghan safely back to the group. With an effort and a steadying grip on the rock he’d lain against, he got to his feet.

‘Stop your crying, Athwen. Bring Lady near and hold her steady.’

He’d pulled the Easterling’s blade from his shoulder. It had bled profusely, but now seemed down to a trickle. He could barely move the left arm, though, so intense was the pain from the wound. Holding on to Lady’s mane, Brand pulled himself up with his right arm until he was once again astride her. He could not help but hit his left shoulder against the horse and saddle as he clambered clumsily up. And it took all his effort not to cry out as the pain seared through him.

He asked for his cudgel, and someone, he was not sure who, handed it up to him. He grasped it tightly in his right fist and with his knees and voice urged Lady up the hill.

At the top he saw Sythric, barely sitting on his mount and there against a tree was Meghan with Dorran crouched by her. One Easterling lay dead a little ways away and one Easterling hovered over Meghan and Dorran, his scimitar raised.

With a loud cry, he raised his cudgel and bore down on the Lord of the Easterlings . . .