Da sends the Night Raven and I back up the hill to the MacRoth's camp. He and Baine stay hidden by the road with our horses. The day is going dark. We move close to the spot where I spied on them earlier. I point out to Hadaig the line of horses where the two guards were marching up and down. Just as we expected, right at sunset two fresh warriors come to take the next watch. The four men idle, passing a flask and talking quietly among themselves.

"They're chattering like women," I complain to Hadaig. I have an arrow on the string, another behind my ear.

Hadaig is restless too. "We could take all four," he growls and touches a finger lightly to the blade of his axe. "Or maybe get closer and listen. Maybe they've got some news."

The breeze is in our faces, carrying the burnt smell of their supper down to us. We creep a bit further up the hill. Their voices are too low for us to hear but from where we crouch, their forms are clearly lit by the flicker of the little cook-fire. The Night Raven's axe glows with the blood-red light of dusk. I draw back my bowstring.

It all happens so fast, there is only one short yelp. No one hears my arrow whisper through the air and pierce the first man's throat. He falls quickly and without a sound, catching his companions off guard. Before they know what is happening, another arrow has struck the next one through the chest. At the same instant, Hadaig's axe fells the third one with one swift smack to the back of the head. The fourth one raises his sword and the Night Raven, swinging two-handed crosswise, hews him down like a sapling. A few of the horses snort at the smell of freshly spilled blood but no one comes down from the camp.

Hadaig and I gleefully rip off the brooches so that we can unwind the corpses from their blue and green brats and strip off their fine leinte. Then we scurry off like two rats, trailing our loot down the hill into the night.