The Living Sword 2: The Road Ahead

by Pemry Janes

  Leraine had other worries. She hurried over to the wall and cautiously peered over it. “Ceran,” she hissed. “Are you all right?” Cursing under her breath when no reply came, she slowly pulled herself up and over the wall.

  There was a depression in the grass where he had sat, but only his cloak remained. Either he got lost in the mists while fighting the elves . . . She looked over at the forest to the west. Or they’d captured him.

  She ducked back into the camp, catching a glimpse of the elves retreating into the trees on her right as she did so. Her scabbard lay on the ground, and she picked it up and sheathed her sword before affixing it to her belt. Her hands did not require supervision for the task, leaving her free to sweep her gaze over the camp as she walked toward the Gored Axes.

  Leraine caught sight of Rock and felt a sense of relief at the confirmation that he was all right, even though she already knew he was. Who else could have dispelled the mist like that? Not the mage: he stood there clutching his book, pale as a ghost. And she had not been the only one to spot him or notice the distinct lack of any spells during that fight.

  “Gerd, get me an accounting of our wounded, our dead, and our missing!” Captain Slyvair strode through the camp wearing only a loincloth. He held a hand axe smeared with blood and pointed it at Herardios. “You!”

  Six long strides ate the distance between the sun-man and the human. The axe was dropped to the ground point first, digging into the earth. The sun-man’s single hand grabbed Herardios by the neck and lifted him up. “Where were you, spellslinger? You have a single job and so far you have failed to do it. How many will disappear into elvish bellies because of your failure?”

  “I . . . can’t . . . couldn’t . . . see.” The mage’s face quickly turned a deep red verging on purple, his legs kicking uselessly. For a moment, no one moved, then Slyvair released Herardios, who dropped like a sack of grain. “That mist, I could not see a thing.” The mage rubbed his throat, looking anywhere but at the captain and his men. “Couldn’t read from my book.”

  “You mean to tell me you have no spells memorized?”

  Herardios froze. “Ah . . .”

  Rock stomped into the conversation. “Why are we not going after them? They have your people.”

  “He’s right, Captain,” Gerd said between gulps of air. “Master Aldhoub is still getting an accounting of his own men, but we lost Barreck, Frich, and Selder. I can’t find them or their bodies. I did find Marko’s body, they clubbed him a little too hard.” He grimaced, then spat.

  “They have Ceran as well,” Leraine said.

  Captain Slyvair’s hand tightened into a fist as he hung his head. Leraine knew what he must be going through. This raid had not been as costly as it could have been, but it had cost the Gored Axes plenty and would have cost more if not for the intervention of people not of his company.

  Ghajir came into view now, wearing neither glasses nor hat, favoring his right leg. He used a spear as long as himself for support. “Master Gerd, you asked me about my losses and they are light. Two dead, nine wounded, and three missing.”

  “Six then, the elves got away with six people.” Rock crouched and put his hand on the ground. He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again to look up at the captain. “They’re not too far and not running. We can get our people back but we have to move now.”

  “And if we leave now all we will do is add more meat to their cooking pots,” Gerd said. “We need clothes, armor, and this sort of country ain’t no good for horses. On foot, those down-heads will have their catch over the Elodrada before we catch up to them.”

  Rock took a step toward Gerd, his hands wide in a pleading gesture. “We can’t just leave them behind.”

  “No, we can’t,” Slyvair said, his voice soft.

  The wrinkles in Gerd’s forehead doubled. “Captain?”

  “I will not leave my men behind without even trying, Gerd. We have a tracker,” he said, glancing at Rock. “How is everybody else? I saw Ferreck and Kristoph were injured.”

  “Kristoph took a spear to the shoulder, Ferreck got his ass pricked, and Hanser’s got a goose egg growing on his head but he swears he’s fine. You know how he is.”

  “We don’t have the luxury right now not to take him at his word. I want you to guard the camp with the people left, have Ceran . . . have Daph cook something up. The rest are coming with me, as are you,” the sun-man said, pointing his finger straight at Herardios.

  Leraine stepped up. “And me.”

  Captain Slyvair nodded once. “We leave in five, spread the word. Perun! Perun, get me my armor! Where are you, boy?”

  “I should get dressed as well,” Rock said. He looked her over. “You are well?”

  “Fine, you?”

  “I will be.” He hurried off.

  Ghajir still stood with her, stroking the unbraided lengths of his mustache. She looked down at the dwarf. “I am surprised that you did not object to this plan. It leaves you vulnerable here.”

  “Hmm? Not really. Statistics are clear, another elven raid won’t happen for at least four days and sixty percent are only attacked once. The statistics on those who chase elves however . . .” He gave her a concerned look.

  “Yes, they will not expect it. Which will give us the advantage.”

  “Sephar taught me not to try and reason with humans, that you have your own logic. I will have to trust that it is sound, even if I do not see it. Do be careful, Silver Fang. I would rather not face Raven Eye and have to explain to her that her daughter died while under contract with me.”

  Leraine gave him no promise, but only inclined her head before stalking off to where the Gored Axes were gathering before a seated Slyvair. Perun was busy strapping the last of the armor onto him.

  With the armor and axes strapped on, the sun-man stood up. “They’ve got our people, and I intend to get them back. The plan is simple, we catch up to them and hit them before they know we’re there. Perun, do not follow. Your place is in the camp and if you do follow, I will task one of us to bring you back.”

  “But . . .” The protest died on the child’s lips as he looked around. “Understood, Captain. I’ll guard the camp.”

  “Good lad.” A massive green hand came to rest on Perun’s mop of red hair for a brief moment. “Axes, time to wash our arms!”

  Chapter 9

  Pursuit

  The group of sixteen didn’t get far before coming across something that gave them pause. Eurik felt bile rise up as the stench of blood filled his nose. A face that looked only vaguely familiar stared back at them with lifeless eyes. It had been stuck on a long wooden stake which had been planted into the ground. The dwarf’s cut up body was scattered before it.

  “May Ariod be merciful.” Ferreck’s voice was hushed, and most looked disquieted while Herardios retched. Eurik knew enough Irelian to catch that; however, the next words from Thim required some translation help from Misthell.

  “That’s Nashri, one of the archers. Big-ears must have decided he wasn’t going to make it. They like their meat fresh.”

  Slyvair spoke up. “We can take care of the body later. Right now, we—” He switched to Linesan and Misthell ceased translating. “Are they still heading straight south?”

  Eurik listened to the chiri. It was easy to miss their light footsteps, especially at this distance, but a few were heavier. “They are.” They didn’t belong to the captives—not heavy enough, and the intervals were all wrong for a dwarf—but two elves carrying a captive between them like he had seen in the camp, that would fit. “And they haven’t sped up either.”

  They set out again, going out of their way to avoid the grisly scene, though it didn’t leave Eurik’s mind. Slyvair set the pace, dragging a huffing and puffing Herardios with him. The mage wore armor, same as most, though it wasn’t properly put on.

  They weren’t flat-out running, hardly faster than jogging, and much too slow for Eurik’s taste. They were faster than their quarry, but not
fast enough.

  “Not all of us have your benefits,” Silver Fang said in a low voice.

  “You mean Herardios, why did he bring him with us? He’s only slowing us down.”

  “I meant the mercenaries, they are horsemen.” She was breathing harder herself and had to pause between sentences. “As for the mage, we will need him. That raid was large, Rock, very large. A small group like ours has no chance of winning against them unless we have someone that can even the odds. Or at least stalemate their spellplayers.”

  They’d camped a good ways away from the Elodrada and Slyvair had them stop every ten minutes to get their bearings straight and to find out how far ahead the elves were.

  Eurik’s hands balled into fists at his side as he glared in the direction of the river. “At this rate, we won’t catch up to them before they’re over the river.”

  “If we can’t, then there’s nothing we can do,” Slyvair said. “We have no boats and the Elodrada is far too broad to swim across while under the eye of the enemy. And we’d have to ditch most of our gear to do that.”

  “There is another way. I can create a path across the river, and we could walk across.”

  The orc growled. “We’d still be pelted by their spears all the way in and out in the open. I’ll make the call when I see the situation. Don’t anybody do anything stupid.” He looked at all of them as he gave that warning.

  All in all, it took them the better part of an hour before they caught sight of the elves. The party had reached the banks of the river, and birds twittered in the trees above them. “They’re already crossing.” Eurik felt the anger rise as he watched them paddling their canoes to the other side. Half of the elves had reached the opposite shore and were dragging their light boats onto land.

  A hundred steps separated the group from the Elodrada, and the river itself was twice that width at this point, but one of the elves still noticed their group half-hidden in the shadow of the tree line.

  He pointed and others turned, including two elves that were dressed differently from the others. They wore loose leather pants like the others, but also had capes made from leather strips which fluttered in the breeze. On their chest, hanging from a cord, was some sort of white ornamental crest. Only when one of the pair took one piece of that crest and put it to his mouth did Eurik realize that they were a row of flutes; elven flutes.

  Slyvair turned to Herardios. “Time to earn your keep. Keep them occupied and their spellplayers off our backs.”

  “R-right.” Herardios did not so much as kneel as he collapsed, his book landing on the ground with a thud as he began to frantically riffle through it.

  Eurik thought it best not to wait on the mage when a faint melody drifted toward them. Ghostly images of sickles began to form, spinning toward the group. Milling his arms, Eurik collected the wind chiri already dancing among the trees and threw it into the path of the translucent weapons.

  The sickles scattered like puffs of smoke, the waters of the Elodrada rippling as a gust of wind blew across it. Eurik gritted his teeth. “I’ll get us across.” He stormed forward. He couldn’t do what he did back when he went after Silver Fang, but there were other options.

  The Mochedan cursed behind him. “Stop. We need a plan. You can’t go charging them by yourself!”

  A distant corner of his mind noted that she made sense, but he saw those people tied to the staves, saw them being carried away. “No!” Eurik skidded to a halt and brought up his arms, earth chiri pounding in his chest. The ground rumbled, and the river bulged and parted as columns of stone broke through the surface.

  A group of elves readied their throwing spears, resting them on some sort of stick they aimed for him and Silver Fang. The missiles arced high, then swooped in toward them.

  ***

  Leraine cursed Rock’s rashness again. She didn’t know why he was being so foolish, but it was about to get them killed. She half-expected the canted slabs of stone that shot up from the ground to shield them from the javelins, but they only solved the immediate threat. They were still in the open, still the main focus of the entire enemy force.

  From behind them, she heard the chant of a spell. Those always gave her the creeps; horse people magic wasn’t like her own people’s. The words slithered through her awareness and slipped out of her memory like eels, alien syllables that her mind couldn’t quite grasp.

  A dense cloud of golden light flew over their heads, faster than any dwarven arrow, and blew the group of spear throwers apart. On its heels came the Gored Axes with their shields raised above their heads. The only one who lacked a shield, Captain Slyvair, did not cower behind the group but led their charge.

  The ground rumbled again, and two jagged rows of rock rose up to shield them as they made their way toward the crossing Rock had created. Leraine gave him a concerned look. He was breathing hard, sweating—he had to be pushing himself to make all of this so quickly. But Rock didn’t hang back when the mercenaries reached them; he joined their charge and Leraine fell in with them.

  Another silent explosion of light spilled over their cover, accompanied by the chirping cries of the elves. Nobody spoke. None dared to waste their breath at a moment like this. The platforms were big enough for two to run on side by side. Rock and Captain Slyvair were the first; she and Hanser came next.

  The stone was rough and wet, and her foot slid a little when she hopped onto it. One of the spellplayers had recovered enough to play another melody. Leraine looked around, but didn’t notice anything happening even as they hopped to the third pillar.

  The music rose in volume, and the water around the pillars receded while a rumbling noise came from her left. “Shit,” Terrel cursed behind her as the river rose up. Their charge faltered, Leraine nearly falling off when Thim ran into her. But they’d gone too far already; the huge wave would reach them before they could make it to either shore.

  Rock spun, and the wind plucked at her draen, causing the sharp fang on the end to prick her skin as the winds gathered around him. He sent it all hurtling toward the wave, and hope blossomed in her liver only for the wave to brush both aside as it marched onward toward them.

  A barrier shimmered into being, intercepting the wave. Water spilled under and over the glittering screen of purple light, drenching the party. Misthell complained loudly.

  “Don’t stand there, move!” Captain Slyvair roared a battle cry while Rock was already charging forward. The elves weren’t standing still either. The spellplayers separated, with one going for the shore, presumably to deal with Herardios, while the other led their warriors to meet them, another accursed flute against his lips.

  He only got two notes off before Rock reached the other side of the river at last and went to work. A formation of stone, too rough and irregular to be called either a pillar or a slab, thrust out of the earth to slam into the spellplayer’s chest.

  Rock paused, then slid his left foot forward and slammed his palms down, the ground breaking up underneath the elves and halting their countercharge before it had gathered much momentum.

  Leraine, however, only grew more concerned at the display. Rock’s movements and attacks were getting sloppier and slower, like he had to fight for it. Just how much had it taken out of him to make that path over the river?

  The elves had already wasted most of their javelins, but still had a few which they now hurled at what they perceived as the greatest threat. Rock didn’t raise another slab of stone to defend himself, but used his arms to shield his face while the flint-tipped missiles bounced off his form.

  Seeing their enemy shrugging off their weapons didn’t stop the elves from advancing, but it did keep them from noticing the others had now reached shore. One of Captain Slyvair’s axes flying through the air and burying itself in a club-wielding elf fixed that.

  Captain Slyvair pulled out another hand axe and pointed it at the elves. “Gore ’em!”

  The mercenaries gave a battle cry in answer to their captain’s command and Leraine
found herself yelling right along with them. This entire attack was insane; she knew that. The fifteen of them against a force of over forty in a headlong clash could only favor the elves. But they’d come too far already; going back would ensure their deaths.

  The high-pitched war cries of the elves met them as wood and stone clashed with steel. Her first enemy wielded a throwing spear in her right and an axe in her left. Her opponent stabbed the spear forward, and Leraine deflected it with her dagger while flicking her own sword forward. One slash, two targets. Blood sprayed from the elf’s left wrist and throat, and the axe buried itself into the soft earth. Leraine had no time to make sure her opponent was no longer a threat—too many others crowded in to try and take her out. She brought her sword around to drive off the elf’s comrade, and swept her dagger back to deflect a spear thrust she’d only caught from the corner of her vision.

  The world was chaos; chirping, mud-spattered, copper-scented chaos. Her sword had no rest. Another elf fell, and an unseen flint dagger broke against her armored back. Her left elbow shot backward, hitting nothing but air, a club whistled past her nose, a shock ran through her right arm as her sword buried itself in an enemy’s chest.

  Captain Slyvair roared and the world snapped back into focus. She caught a glimpse of the sun-man fighting to her left, flanked by his men in wedge-shaped formation with him at the head. He wasn’t even bothering with his axes anymore; he didn’t seem to need them. A shoulder check with his armored stump sent one elf sprawling into his comrades, and a wide sweep of his right arm snapped another’s head so far around that she could almost hear his neck snap from where she was; the elf dropped to the ground like puppet that had its strings cut.

  The elves withdrew—leaving a significant number of their group lying on the ground—with the Gored Axes in pursuit. The mercenaries had to maintain their formation, though, and could not match the elves’ speed. Leraine could have tried, but wasn’t dumb enough to try and take on the entire group by herself.