The place was a defile feeding a stream to the Shanan, closed at one end where it disappeared beneath slabs of rock. At its narrowest a single man could touch either wall with a longsword. The stream had frozen making it difficult to stand. They started chipping at the ice underfoot. A hollow under a rock outcrop gave them cover and a place to eat. The Reivers came at daybreak.
Calls and whistles came from outside. Two hundred Reivers gathered at the mouth roaring at the sight of their finest enemy. Around campfires they told stories of the Deathwalker. Those who had fallen against him were remembered with honour. Those who had marked him stood high in their counsels. Catching sight of the axeman one of the younger raised a crossbow. A veteran swept the weapon aside. Bunching together a group started beating on their shields. They charged.
Hawkmoon slipped the covers from the axe. Swinging he let the tip of one blade strike the rock showering a burst of blue flame.
