I awoke with a hand over my mouth. Wargwa’s.

Thousands of unpleasant thoughts concerning the old man's intentions passed through my mind in an instant. He leaned down to whisper in my ear.

'There's something watching us.'

A chill ran down my spine. I blinked the sleep out of my eyes to find that it was still dark, yet there was a flickering light at the corner of my vision from a torch at one of the sentries’ posts.

I woke Daegwin much as Wargwa had roused me, and we made our way to where I could make out Timoth's form in the fire and moonlight. He stood beside two of Father's men who were animatedly whispering their plans for our defence.

'We should light more torches. How can we fight them if we cannot see them?' one of them was saying, but Timoth shook his head.

'The first torch was lit against my orders. Lighting any more will only serve to attract further attention,' he said.

I opened my mouth to disagree with my brother, but there was a loud rustling behind a tree dangerously close to our camp that interrupted the discussion.

'How many are there?' I asked, as the men drew their swords. Then, 'can I have a sword?'

It was not particularly ladylike to arm oneself, but I was desperate to feel anything other than helplessness.

Timoth reached down to his boot and withdrew a small knife. He passed it to me, and I saw that, as with his sword, it had only a single sharp edge and a flat back. It would suit the stabbing motion that I had employed against the nymph.

Timoth responded to my first question, 'at least four. Possibly quite a few more.'

Another chill ran down my spine. Timoth pulled the men back to create a smaller perimeter around only the horses and carriage, leaving the hoochies unprotected.

The soldier with the torch drew closer, providing us all with the benefit of his illumination. Tall shadows shifted as the soldier twisted and turned, setting my heart racing with each movement. The men had all drawn swords and shields, including old Wargwa, but I wondered how useful they'd be. They’d all carried swords when we had encountered the nymphs, after all.

Then it began. Six humanlike creatures, yet slender and winged, burst from the treeline on either side of our camp.

I recognised them as faeries by the translucency of their wings and the green tinge of their skin. They brandished bone spears and daggers, and their unicoloured eyes flashed with malice as they charged our camp.

Iron clashed against bone around me. I distracted myself with the question of why the faeries were attacking our camp. In the tales I’d been told as a child they acted in defence of the forest, striking most often at woodcutters and hunters.

I had no time to consider the issue as the faeries met our camp, their flightless forms carried on the tips of their toes by their light frames and beating wings. Father's soldiers were well-trained, but poorly rested and terrified of their opponents. The man with the torch dropped it to the ground in favour of his sword, and I stooped down to pick it up.

It was different to how I had imagined combat in the past. The battles I’d witnessed had taken place between archers and longboats, and I found it thoroughly distasteful.

The spear-armed faeries kept the Reach soldiers out of striking range, while those with bone knives closed the distance with horrifying speed. Timoth was on the wrong side of the battle, kept at bay by spears as the man who had previously held the torch was beset by two faeries. They stabbed at him with their knives, and he blocked many of their strikes with his shield and returned them with his sword, but they were nimble creatures, slashing at his ankles one second and darting out of range the next. It was methodical, the way they pinned the other soldiers with their spears while those with knives converged on a single target, and I realised that we were dealing with a foe possessed of human intelligence.

The soldier fell to his knees after the faeries slashed his calves. Their faces were expressionless yet full of determination, like a blacksmith who could think of nothing outside the iron he forged.

'Timoth!' I cried out, trying to bring the man's plight to his attention, but I saw that whenever Timoth tried to break away from his opponent, the spear faerie would thrust his weapon forward, threatening to strike him as he retreated.

On his knees, the soldier was better protected by the shield, but unable to strike back against the faeries. It was only a matter of time until they struck the killing blow.

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I looked around for anything I could do to help. I saw that the spearmen on Timoth's side of the perimeter had their backs to citrus plants. I could smell the fragrance of lemon from where I stood, despite the burning torch.

I knew little about battle, but I’d picked up an interesting fact or two about flowers during my schooling.

'Wargwa!' I called, and passed him the torch. 'Take this!'

He was barely able to take it for fear of being impaled upon a bone spear, but Timoth covered him and he snatched the torch from me. Despite the tension of the battle, he spared a moment to talk to me as his family.

'The citrus flowers! Set them alight!' I cried, and his brow furrowed.

His eyes widened in comprehension and he took on a new vigour, one which defied his years. He beat his opponents into a retreat that took them several metres away from the perimeter.

Timoth had not heard my suggestion, and he tried to call Wargwa back into the defensive line.Wargwa knew that Timoth had not heard our plan and continued forward.

'Citrus plants run with a residue that is highly flammable at this time of year. He will set them alight. The faeries won't be able to hold their ground,' I explained to Timoth.

The idea was that once the plants had caught fire, the faerie spearmen would retreat leaving Timoth and his soldiers to help the man with slashed calves. I looked over my shoulder and saw that his face was also bleeding profusely. We had little time left if we wanted to save his life.

'No! Wargwa!' Timoth screamed, suddenly fighting against his opponent as if he had mere seconds in which to break the deadlock. I couldn’t understand why Timoth felt it was so important that Wargwa rejoin the defensive perimeter when my plan was sure to drive our opponents back.

Wargwa beat his foe back and held his torch against the citrus flowers, spreading the flames across as many as he could in the time it took the faerie to recover. Then Wargwa threw the torch deep into the thickest citrus bush he could see, and the scent of lemon mixed with smoke in the air.

The faeries exploded into frantic movement, dancing from foot to foot as they sought to evade the fire's path.

'You fool!' Timoth shouted at Wargwa. 'Get back in position, fast!'

The faerie spearmen retreated, and two soldiers rushed to fight the knife-wielders. One managed a skilful blow that hewed into a thin faerie skull, netting us our first blood. The other knife faerie retreated, but it was too late for the wounded soldier.

Blood had soaked his clothing, and his grip on his sword was tenuous at best. One of his rescuers put a hand on his shoulder, and that was all it took for him to collapse to the ground his sword falling free of his grasp. He was too weak, and we had no healer among us.

Yet the fight was not over.

'Saemara, you fool!' Timoth shouted, and it only due to his use of my name that I became aware that his vitriol was directed at me. 'You’ve aggravated the faerie folk!'

'What?!'

'Wargwa has fired the forest. They won’t let him leave alive!'

My heart sank.

'We will have to kill them before they bring others,' Wargwa said, trying to resolve our dispute and invent a scenario in which his life was not forfeit. Clearly it was too late for that: the surviving faeries had retreated back into the treeline with the death of the soldier. I suddenly realised that he had caused this attack by cutting branches from trees for torches.

And that I had caused the next one by having Wargwa burn the citrus plants.

I was shaking. I dropped Timoth's knife, and Daegwin grabbed my shoulders to try and steady me. It was useless: there was no strength in her arms and my mind was elsewhere.

I had been our saviour at the lake, yet now I was Wargwa's killer, just as surely as if I were wielding one of the bone daggers myself. The revelation of my stupidity wracked me with guilt and anger and frustration, all magnified by the effects of tiredness and fear.

Eventually, Wargwa spoke. 'I will go. I will go into the forest and seek out the faerie folk.'

'Nonsense,' I began, but Timoth shot me a look. I suddenly realised that he wished to let Wargwa sacrifice himself so that we might live. That realisation spurred my next words. 'We’ll fight them, we won't let them have you!'

'It’s too late, Saemara,' Wargwa said. 'I dare not bring their vengeance down upon you also. Perhaps if I offer them my apologies, they will let me live.'

We all knew that would not be the case. In the stories, faeries were as vindictive as they were vicious.

'It was just a citrus flower…' I mumbled uselessly.

'Perhaps they’ve gone,' Timoth said, clinging onto a last desperate hope.

'I do not think it will be for long,' Wargwa said.

I suddenly found myself agreeing with Timoth.

'In any case, we can't stay here, what with the burning bushes. You said they'd attract attention. We need to get back on the road. Dawn can't be too far away.'

Timoth nodded. He turned to Wargwa. 'If the faeries do return, we can consider our options then. For now, gather our things and mount up. We leave as soon as we can bury the fallen.'

Wargwa exhaled. I think he was glad that we hadn’t ordered him into the woods. 'We will need torches if we wish to travel before sunrise,' he said.

'Use only fallen branches,' Timoth instructed. I suggested that as the soldier's wood was already cut, there was little harm in burning it, but Timoth didn’t want to take the risk. 'Dead wood only.'

We gathered our hoochies and mattresses, saddled our horses, and used the dying embers of the citrus fire to light a new torch which Timoth carried at the front of the caravan. We were all exhausted from our short, interrupted sleep, but there was little choice. The sooner we set out, the sooner we’d leave the forest, and the lower the likelihood of further danger being attracted by the bushfire.

The shallow grave dug by Timoth and the men was insufficient for a man who had given his life for our protection. His body was barely dirt-covered before we set out.