The trail curved back toward the road, so Cole tugged on the reins, keeping Cherix behind the cover of trees. “We’ll wait here,” he said. “I think we’ll be safe as long as?—”
“Cole?”
The fear in Mistel’s voice poured fire down Cole’s spine. He drew his sword as he twisted around in his saddle.
A Poroo warrior stood beside Bart, staring up at Mistel, a spear in his hand.
“Hey!” Cole lifted his sword and tried to look threatening. “Get back!”
The Poroo man glanced at him, then turned his attention back to Mistel. He more than stared. He seemed to behold her in fascination and wonder, as if she were a rare sight.
“What does he want?” Mistel asked.
Cole guessed the Poroo man was just startled to find a woman—especially a pretty one—in the midst of a battle. Or maybe he’d never seen ginger hair before.
What to do? Kurtz’s mantra played in his head: Distract, disable, and don’t overthink it.
Distract, distract. Cole recalled an ancient song about the Poroo and their matriarch.
“Tuwa nakwa um,” he said.
The Poroo man whipped his head toward Cole but turned right back to Mistel. He gave her one last thorough caress with his eyes, then scampered off through the trees like a jackrabbit.
Cole’s heart pounded louder in his ears than the distant battle cries and rumbling hooves out on the road. Yet all was well. Mistel was safe. They both were.
Mistel stared at him. “What did you say?”
“‘Mother bless you,’ I think. It’s an old song Lunden taught me.”
“Who’s Lunden?”
A shiver ran over Cole’s arms. Had he really never told Mistel about Lunden? No, because he hadn’t wanted her to know just how lonely and pitiful his childhood had been.
With the Poroo warrior gone, the screams and war cries from the skirmish rose in Cole’s awareness. Through the bare branches, he could just make out the dark uniforms of the Tsaftown men at the old farmstead.
“Will we be all right?” Mistel asked.
“Yes,” Cole said, his pulse mostly back to normal. “Most Poroo tribes are around one to two hundred, including women and children. I doubt these Poroo have more than fifty. We have just under five hundred men with us.”
“Shouldn’t there be more than five hundred?” Mistel asked. “Isn’t that what Tsaftown’s army is called?”
“The Fighting Five Hundred, yes, but they lost some in the Battle of Armonguard.”
“Oh.”
“Northlanders, ho!” Captain Demry yelled.
Hooves trampled over the ground, and more battle cries rang out.
“Hear that?” Cole said. “There’s power in numbers. I suspect the Poroo will be retreating soon.”
Sure enough, the trees on Cole’s right shook as three Poroo warriors darted past, not one of them even turning their head when Mistel shrieked.
Cole waited a bit longer, listening carefully. Only when the voices from the road were calm did he decide to venture back out. He even heard some laughter.
“It’s safe to return.” He nudged Cherix forward. “It’s a bit wider up here if you want to come alongside me.”
“I’ll need my hat,” Mistel said.
