White by Ted Dekker

finish them off. Their cursed fruit was powerless against a sickle to the neck. It was a strategy that Martyn himself once would have approved.
    Now Martyn was down there among the albinos, trapped with the rest. But suddenly Woref wasn’t so sure of the strategy; he hadn’t expected the fires.
    â€œThey think the smoke will cover them?” Soren said. “The poor fools don’t know that we have their escape already covered at the other end.”
    But this was Thomas they were up against. And Martyn. Neither would think that a bit of smoke would help them escape an enemy that had clearly known their position before the attack.
    So why the fires?
    â€œYou’re certain there are no other routes from this canyon?”
    â€œNot that any of our scouts could find.”
    Yet there had to be. If he was leading this band of dissidents, which direction would he lead them? Into the desert, naturally. Away from the Horde. Out to the plains where they could simply outrun any pursuit.
    â€œTell half of the sweep team to cut off the desert to the south,” Woref said.
    â€œThe south?”
    â€œDo not make me repeat another order.”
    Soren stood in his stirrups and relayed the order through hand signals. Two mounted scouts, each confirming the message, wheeled their horses around and disappeared.
    â€œThe whole tribe will break for the smoke momentarily,” Woref said. “I want every archer pouring arrows into the albinos.”
    â€œI’ve already passed the word.”
    â€œBut why?” Woref muttered to himself. “The smoke will suffocate them if they don’t get out quickly.”
    A whistle echoed through the canyon and, precisely as he’d predicted, nearly fifty head of horses broke from under the ledge of a western canyon wall. Arrows rained down on them. Women clutched their children and rode for the smoke, kicking their mounts for as much speed as the animals could muster.
    Multiple hits. They were sitting ducks down there. But they had only fifty yards to run before the smoke swallowed them.
    Still, two fell. A horse stumbled and its rider ran on foot. A third clutched an arrow that had struck him in the chest. The one on foot tripped, and three arrows plowed into his back.
    Then the albinos were through the gauntlet and into their smoke. Woref ’s men killed only five. Six, counting the one that the spear had taken earlier. Many more had been shot, but they would survive with the help of their sorcery. This bitter fruit of theirs.
    The archers shot a dozen arrows into each of the fallen albinos, then the canyon fell eerily silent.
    Woref reined his mount around and trotted along the cliff, eastward, eyes searching for the slightest sign of life beneath the thick smoke. The silence angered him. Surely they wouldn’t double back into another onslaught of arrows. There had to be another exit!
    Behind him, the sweep team entered the valley, effectively cutting off any attempted retreat.
    Thomas had been with the ones who’d lit the fires. Woref ’s agreement with Qurong was for Thomas. If the parties had split . . .
    A cry came from the east. Thomas’s group had been sighted.
    Woref kicked his horse and galloped up the canyon. He saw them then, five horses raising dust beyond the smoke, speeding directly for his trap.

    Thomas led his contingent from the smoke, praying that every Scab eye was on him. He had surveyed every last inch of this canyon and knew where he would set a trap if he were the Horde commander. Their chances of breaking through that trap were small now. If they’d received warning, they would’ve had a better chance of sprinting past the mouth of the canyon before the trap had been set.
    Two brothers, Cain and Stephen, raced beside Suzan to his right. William brought up the rear.
    â€œDo we fight?” William demanded.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWe’re too late! They’ll be waiting.”
    Yes, they would