18
Ambush
Distant, urgent shouts jolted Amlinn from a doze. Her head lay on Petra’s shoulder and, embarrassed, she jerked upright, mumbling an apology, hoping desperately she hadn’t drooled. But Petra wasn’t even looking at her. He’d twisted around to stare in the direction of the sound, behind the caravan and to their left. Milla, who was driving the lead sunwagon today while Samarrind drove the wagon she and Milla shared, tugged hard on the reins. As the horses came to a stamping, snorting halt, she looked back too.
The shouting ended in a gurgled scream that chilled Amlinn’s blood. “What . . . ?”
“One of the scouts,” Milla said. She twisted around to the right as she surveyed the forest in all directions. On the lead wagon, Grandfather stood, sword drawn, staring down the line. Witt
