by Darius Hinks
They made a strange sight. Some of the figures were almost fully formed, apart from a flat, featureless back or side, but others were no more than a sliver of wood, only ever designed to be seen from one angle in the original frieze. Their outlines were silhouetted against the light and they reminded Finavar of a magic lantern he had seen as a child – rows of thin, mute figures, jerking mannequin-like towards him. Finavar could already count dozens of them and he guessed that others would be waiting behind, hindered by the narrowness of the walkways.
He was about to address the wooden soldiers but, before he could attempt any kind of negotiation, Alhena cartwheeled forwards and attacked, slicing her twin blades into the first face she came to.
The blades cut easily through the wooden helmet and the figure staggered backwards, unbalanced by the ferocity of her blows.
Before her victim could right itself, Alhena planted a kick in its chest and sent it tumbling into the void.
The next wooden soldier responded with surprising speed, bringing its two-handed sword down towards her chest.
She parried the blow easily, slicing the wooden weapon in half and following up with a blinding flurry of sword strikes that turned her attacker into dust and splinters. Again, she kicked out and sent the automaton spinning from the branch.
There was a brief pause as the soldiers seemed to consider what had happened, then they ran towards the sapling from several different directions.
The wardancers rushed to engage them, each taking a different branch and assailing the wooden figures.
The figures from the frieze could not match the speed of the wardancers, but they moved with a stolid, silent determination and, for every one that fell another one stepped up to replace it, grim-faced and implacable.
After several minutes of this, the air was clouded with sawdust and splinters and the wardancers began to be surrounded. Almost all of the paths that led away from the sapling were now blocked by the wooden swordsmen and Finavar began to regret his impetuousness. Alhena and the others were fighting with all the elegance he would expect and they had already destroyed dozens of their opponents, but Finavar recalled how many figures he had seen carved into the walls of the chamber. What if they had all sprung to life? How long could the five of them hold out against an entire army?
He glanced around and saw that a few paths were still empty, but they were all leading further into the centre of the chamber – away from the walls and the doorway they had entered through. He tucked the emerald into one of the pockets that lined his cloak and cried: ‘Push them back!’ Then he leapt onto the branch that Alhena was fighting on.
He tried to work with her to drive the swordsmen back towards the wall of the cavern, but it was no use. The way was too narrow and he was more of a hindrance than a help, causing Alhena to shorten her blows and limit her acrobatics.
He staggered back to the sapling and looked at the emerald, wondering what to do. As he lifted it, he noticed that it had a magnetic effect on their attackers. The wooden swordsmen were fixated on the gem and they even swayed slightly as he moved it, as though attached by invisible strings.
An idea hovered, just out of reach, at the back of Finavar’s mind, but he could not seem to grasp it. If he hurled the emerald between the branches, its guardians would most likely leap after it, and he could escape. He shook his head, determined that he would not leave without his prize. His plan depended on leaving with the emerald.
Dozens more of the silent warriors strode from the shadows and, as the wardancers started to tire, they were being gradually forced back towards the sapling. There was something surreal about the scene – a near silent battle, with only the sound of breaking wood and enemies who showed neither fear or aggression.
The wooden warriors were sluggish compared to the lithe fury of the wardancers, but they were horribly persistent. Finavar noticed that fresh cuts had appeared on Sibaris’s limbs and he was starting to look panicked.
Caorann, meanwhile, was having just as much fun as Alhena. He had hacked two wooden arms free and now, rather than using his swords, he was simply knocking soldiers’ heads off with the splintered limbs. As he decapitated his foes and sent them tumbling from the branch, he sang a jaunty tale of apples and windfalls, but Finavar noticed that wounds were also starting to appear across his skin.
He looked back over his shoulder and saw that Thuralin had slumped against the sapling to catch his breath, trembling with exhaustion.
Finavar rolled along a branch, scattering three soldiers in one go, then leapt to his feet and brought his blades down into the face of a fourth. He had a brief moment of respite as the next wave of attackers lumbered silently towards him and he took the time to peer through the shadows, attempting to discern what lay at the end of the nearest empty branch. It looked like it might be swerving round towards the cavern wall. ‘This way!’ he cried, seeing that they could not defend the spot forever.
The others leapt nimbly from their branches and followed Finavar as he dashed into the darkness, heading away from the soldiers.
The walkway was as slender as all the others, but the wardancers ran down it as easily as if they were sprinting through a meadow. They quickly left the wooden swordsmen behind and, at first, they did indeed seem to be swerving back towards the cavern walls; after another few minutes of running though, Finavar realised, to his frustration, that they were being led back towards the centre of the chamber.
He staggered to a halt and shook his head. ‘This is no good,’ he muttered. ‘No good at all. We need to–’
Before he could finish his thought, pain exploded in his chest, the wind exploded from his lungs and he slipped from the branch.
For a second he was falling. Then the pain in his shoulder told him he had been caught.
He looked up and saw Caorann’s grinning face, just a few inches away.
Thuralin, Sibaris and Alhena had been forced into a defensive semicircle by dozens of soldiers that had swarmed from the shadows ahead of them. Finavar had led them straight into the centre of the figures who had climbed down from the frieze on the other side of the chamber. They were now even more hard-pressed to fight them off. Branches led away from them in every direction and almost all of them were crowded with blank-faced automatons. The grinding screech of their juddering limbs rang out like the call of raptors, and it felt to Finavar as though hosts of eagles were swooping through the darkness to attack them.
To his horror, his cloak of thorns tore and he dropped another few inches away from Caorann.
Caorann’s eyes widened and the smile vanished from his face.
‘Give me your hand!’ he cried, reaching out, but at that moment another wave of soldiers appeared. They were as wooden and expressionless as the others, but these warriors wore even more elaborate armour and they carried spears rather than swords. Moving as one, the first wave of them rocked back on their heels and launched their weapons.
The wardancers flipped and rolled in an attempt to dodge the volley, but they were only partly successful.
One of the spears sliced along Sibaris’s arm, causing him to cry out and stagger, almost falling from his branch. He regained his footing but lost one of his swords – horrified as it tumbled into the darkness.
Alhena also gained a fresh cut across the top of her shoulder and Thuralin was forced to stagger back the way they had come as he batted away the spears.
‘Your hand!’ cried Caorann, as Finavar’s cloak tore again, dropping him a few more inches towards death.
‘The Cythral Star,’ gasped Finavar in reply. For a horrible, brief moment he wondered if he might have been mistaken. Perhaps he wasn’t the one who would win this battle after all. If the stone fell with him, all would be lost. Rather than reach for Caorann’s outstretched hand, he reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled out the emerald.
Alhena and Sibaris had charged forwards to attack the spearmen and Caorann was busy trying to save his life, so Finavar called out to Thuralin a
nd hurled the stone towards him, still in its pouch.
Thuralin gasped in shock as the pouch flew through the air, but he caught it and continued backing away down the branch.
As Thuralin went, the wooden guardians followed – squeaking and grinding as they poured from the shadows.
‘Give me your hand or I’ll kill you myself,’ growled Caorann.
Finavar swung his arm and there was a satisfying clap as his hand locked around Caorann’s forearm.
The larger wardancer hauled the smaller one easily up beside him on the branch but, before he could make a joke, they had to fend for themselves against the tide of sword and spear tips that flew towards them.
They parried and lunged but, after a few clatters and thuds the attack ceased and they found themselves on an empty branch.
Finavar’s stomach turned as he realised what he had done. The wooden figures had gone. They were only interested in retrieving the stone and they had ploughed through the younger wardancers in an attempt to reach Thuralin.
The old warrior had been forced back along his branch until they could barely see him in the shadows. Finavar could make out enough to know that he was hopelessly surrounded. Hundreds of the wooden soldiers were rushing towards him with swords raised and spears lowered.
‘Father!’ cried Alhena and ran towards him, but it was pointless. The crush of soldiers was too great for her to get anywhere near him. They barely even registered her wild, lunging attacks. There was no way she could hack through them.
Thuralin rose up briefly from the throng, drenched in blood, but still clutching one of his swords. ‘Make for the doorway!’ he called, pointing his blade over their heads to the distant wall of the chamber.
Finavar looked back and saw that the way was clear – the stone’s guardians had all rushed towards Thuralin and were now oblivious to Finavar and the others.
‘I’ll throw the stone!’ called Thuralin, backing away from them with more speed.
Finavar realised that he was deliberately leading the soldiers away.
Caorann turned to Finavar, his eyes blazing. ‘We will not leave him.’
Finavar hesitated for the briefest of moments. The way back to the wall was clear. Thuralin’s plan would work. If they ran now the soldiers could never catch them. As long as they caught the stone, he would be able to enact his plan and win the battle. His hesitation was short-lived. Alhena had now turned to face him with the same, furious expression as Caorann.
‘My family,’ she mouthed, as though unable to speak for fear.
Finavar nodded, ashamed of his thoughts. ‘We leave here together,’ he said, ‘or not at all.’
The old warrior had now backed even further away from them, but he became visible again as he climbed up into the branches of the metal tree.
The soldiers were charging towards him in waves, leaving the rest of the chamber empty. As he reached the metal crown of the sapling, Thuralin looked across the heads of his attackers, wiped the blood from his face and singled Alhena out of the gloom.
She stared at him in horror, sensing what was about to happen.
‘Remember what I taught you!’ He dodged a spear and knocked away a sword strike but the blows were too many. One of the warriors that climbed after Thuralin plunged its sword deep into his belly. ‘And remember,’ cried Thuralin, his voice catching with pain and emotion, ‘that you were loved.’
Another sword hacked into his chest and he reeled backwards.
Alhena looked back at Finavar, her eyes full of tears, silently pleading with him to act.
It was too late. As Finavar rushed forwards, Thuralin was already being hacked apart by a rain of wooden sword strikes.
His final act was to leap from the treetop, aiming deliberately for a gap between the walkways.
Before plummeting to his death, he hurled the emerald.
Finavar was so horrified by the sight of Thuralin falling that he barely registered the pouch, hurtling through the darkness towards him. It was only the screech of wooden faces turning to face him that alerted him to the arc of the stone’s trajectory.
Thuralin’s aim had been perfect, despite his pain, but Finavar’s rush forwards to save him meant that, as he leapt to catch the stone, it sailed over his outstretched fingers.
Finavar cried out in horror and whirled around.
Caorann was a few feet further down the branch. He nodded calmly to Finavar as he showed him the pouch sitting safely in the palm of his hand. Then he tucked it into another pouch attached to his belt. For once, he did not smile.
‘Finavar!’ cried Sibaris from another walkway.
Finavar looked in the direction he was pointing and saw that Alhena had launched herself at the automatons and was slicing furiously into them. She was hacking and lunging in manic, spasmodic jerks, sobbing and howling as she sliced into her father’s killers. Even though she was facing hundreds of the strange figures, Alhena’s frenetic rage had halted them in their tracks.
Finavar knew that she had minutes, at most, before they overwhelmed her. ‘Alhena!’ he cried. ‘He’s gone!’
She gave no sign of hearing and Caorann started heading back down the walkway towards her. ‘She’ll die,’ he said, as he passed Finavar.
Finavar nodded but hesitated, wracking his brains for a way to get her attention. Thuralin had sacrificed himself so that they would have an escape route. If they all rushed back towards the silver tree, the stone’s guardians would surround them and they would all be killed. The soldiers had already turned towards Caorann, sensing that he had the stone.
An idea formed in Finavar’s mind. He suppressed it at first, horrified at the thought of betraying Thuralin’s trust.
Then he saw Sibaris, eyes wide with fear, joining Caorann as he rushed to save Alhena. If he did not act, they would all be killed.
‘Alhena!’ cried Finavar, ashamed at what he was doing. ‘I know your mother’s name!’
He saw her stagger, as though she had been struck. She glanced back at him but the soldiers pressed forwards, and she was forced to fend off their blows.
‘If we leave now,’ he cried out, ‘I will tell you everything.’
She staggered again but this time, rather than continuing her attacks, she backed away.
Caorann and Sibaris were already halfway towards her when she gave the soldiers one last torrent of sword strikes and then turned on her heel to race back towards them. Her face was wild with grief and smeared with bloody tears, but she kept her eyes locked on Finavar as she ran.
Caorann and Sibaris ran beside her, fending off the spears that flew after her.
Finavar relaxed slightly. The way back to the wall was clear and the soldiers’ wooden limbs could not compete with the wardancers’ long, easy strides.
Alhena’s face was locked in an awful grimace as she ran, but she kept pace with the others.
They reached the wall and found that the depressions left behind by the guardians meant that there were still plenty of footholds. The wooden guardians were still only halfway across the chamber when the wardancers started climbing and, as they reached the oval doorway, the soldiers had only just reached the foot of the wall.
They crawled quickly back down the narrow tunnel but heard no signs of pursuit. Mormo and Mauro were waiting patiently for them and Finavar asked to be taken back the way they had come.
Chapter Eight
They paused on the bridge of clasped hands, listening for the dreadful screeching, but heard nothing.
After a few minutes of anxious waiting, Alhena strode over to Finavar, her expression even wilder than usual. ‘Why did he have to die?’ Her voice was quiet and full of menace. ‘What could be so valuable? What could be worth his life?’
She was leaning close to Finavar as she spoke, one hand resting on a sword hilt and one gripping Finavar’s forearm. She was shaking with rage and grief. ‘He was all I had.’
Finavar shook his head. ‘Alhena, I did not mean for this to happen. Nothing is worth t
he life of a friend. Believe me… I would not have sacrificed your father for–’
‘What is your plan, Fin?’ interrupted Caorann, stepping forwards and towering over both of them. He placed a hand on Alhena’s shoulder. ‘We might understand better if we knew what you were thinking.’
Finavar looked from Caorann’s concerned face to Alhena’s crazed stare. He had been so buoyed by his sense of destiny that he had not paused to consider the details. Now that he was being asked to explain it, he saw how insane his plan would seem to anyone else. But Thuralin had just died, trusting that there was something worth dying for. A sinking sensation threatened to overwhelm him. Then, as he glanced at Sibaris, he saw that the youth had no doubt in his eyes. He was looking at Finavar with the same wonder he had always done. He trusted him utterly. He knew that the Darkling Prince would lead him to victory.
Finavar straightened his back and adopted a stern expression. ‘I will have to show you. It would not make sense here.’ He looked around for his guides. ‘Mormo. Mauro. We must climb.’
Sibaris’s eyes gleamed as the polecats slipped away down a path, heading for a shadowy archway.
‘My mother, Finavar.’ Alhena was still holding his arm and she would not let him move. Her voice was brittle. ‘Who was my mother?’
‘Who is your mother, Alhena,’ he replied. ‘She lives.’
Alhena was rocked by another fit of coughing and spitting.
‘Look,’ said Caorann, lowering his voice and nodding back the way they had come.
The shadows were rolling and shifting. Something was coming.
‘And there,’ hissed Sibaris, pointing in another direction.
As they watched in horror, hundreds of the wooden soldiers edged from the shadows. They were moving with far more care than before. It seemed that they had learned from their earlier failure and were determined to catch their prey this time. They made a horrible sight. They were stepping slowly and cautiously, with their intricately-carved eyes fixed on the wardancers.