He edged his horse forward and leaned forward to retrieve his spear.
Seeing her death approaching, Magret made a desperate, scrabbling effort and at last reached her knife. ‘Run, Faren! The village...’ she managed to shout as she seized it, but even as her grip tightened about its hilt, Ivaroth’s expert hand wrenched his spear free with a practiced twist, and both knife and voice slipped from her again. With a soft, almost whimpering moan, she rolled over on to her face and lay still.
Ivaroth glanced at her indifferently and sniffed. He was about to hold up the bloodied spear to his men as a sign of what was to be in this land, when a fearful scream rang out.
It was Faren. He had watched open-mouthed and paralyzed as his mother had been struck down and killed, but now something had rele
