That throws hounds off the tracks and wolves. It ought to do the same for them.’

‘Do you know where we can find a stream?’ Tyrion asked.

‘I can do better than that,’ Alarielle said. ‘There is a river ahead. If we can reach it we can probably get them off our trail.’

‘Lead on,’ Tyrion said. Behind him he thought he already heard the sound of elves moving through the forest nearby. He doubted they would be friendly.

Tyrion looked out of their rocky hiding place and studied their enemies. Alarielle had chosen it because it would be impossible for their foes to track them over this ground. She had gone off and left a false trail beyond it and circled back to him. He had not liked letting her out of his sight, but he had no choice. She knew about these matters and he did not.

They had been running for most of the day and no matter how they tried, it seemed impossible to outdistance the pursuit. Always, the woods were full of the sounds of horns and druchii battle-calls, as the various components of the army kept in touch. Gradually, some of the noises had faded into the distance, but others had managed to keep up, no matter how quickly he and Alarielle ran.

Looking back now, he could see why. These were not standard infantry. They were lightly armed and armoured and moved with the easy authority of the highest echelons of combat troops.

Their very appearance here was shocking. The dark elves moved confidently along the trail. They gave every impression of being at home, of having utter confidence in their right to be there in the heart of the most sacred place in Elvendom. There was no fear in the way they walked. They were the hunters, not the hunted.

The cockiness in their manner almost compelled Tyrion to leap out and slay them. An insane anger burned deep in him, filling him with the urge to rend and slay. He wanted to wipe the confident smile off the smug face of the dark elf sergeant giving orders to his troops. He wanted to see fear blossom in the eyes of the two druchii warriors sharing a joke, doubtless at asur expense. His hand tightened on the hilt of Sunfang.

A hand gripped his. He turned and glared angrily at Alarielle. She shook her head. I can kill them all, he wanted to say. There were only a score of them. With the advantage of surprise, and the power of Sunfang, it was possible he could do it too, even with the Everqueen clinging to his arm.

He let out a long breath, realising how mad the thoughts cascading through his brain had suddenly become. Attacking a score of armed veterans was not a sensible thing to do. The chances were that he could not kill them all, even if he could he might be wounded or slain in the process. It was a mad risk and there was nothing to be gained from it, save the satisfaction of a bloodlust that he had never even suspected he possessed.

Was this the Curse of Aenarion finally coming on him in full force? Or was it something else? Had the wound from the witch elf’s blade infected him with something else, a taste of their reckless madness perhaps? He stayed frozen in place, waiting tensely to see if the dark elves discovered their trail.

One of them bent down and said something to the others.