A Kingdom for the Brave [antikvár]

prologue: the cry of the curlewBrisbane River, 1795Dawn had yet to lighten the sky, but the group of eight horsemen was already on the move. Edward Cadwallader looked up. The moon remained behind a thick layer of cloud. It was a perfect night for killing.They made litde sound in the stillness of the scrub, for the horses' hoofs and jingling harness had been wrapped in hessian, and the men knew better than to talk or smoke. It was a familiar routine - but Edward felt the excitement he always experienced in the last few moments before an attack. The thought of what was to come enhanced his impatience.His gaze trawled his surroundings. The escarpment rose on either side, rearing in jagged peaks from the scrublands. Dark boulders and stands of trees offered deeper shadows, and the horse beneath him twitched as something skittered through the undergrowth. Edward's hands were firm on the reins, but he was tense for their destination was close. A single sound might give them away.He glanced behind him at the men who followed him willingly on these night forays, and acknowledged his grizzled sergeant's grin with one of his own. He and Willy Baines had joined the New South Wales Corps at the same time, and had once shared an army prison cell. The older man had stood with him in the dock during their trial for violating a woman and had helped him celebrate their victory - they knew each