by NS Dolkart
Hunter nodded, took another step back, and hit his head on a tree root. He turned around, blinking without comprehension. “The roof caved in!” he exclaimed. “When did that happen?”
“The question is,” said Narky, “why did it stop? Was it something the elves did? Either way, we should get out of here as soon as we can. The castle’s obviously trying to kill us.”
“Which way should we go?” Phaedra asked. “If any of the other elves heard him–”
“Wait,” said Hunter, shushing her. “I thought I heard something. Quiet down, everyone.”
Sure enough, as soon as they stopped speaking they could hear something above them, scratching at the semi-collapsed ceiling. Hunter circled the lowest roots, sickle in hand, waiting.
“Over there!” cried Narky, pointing.
A foot was descending through a hole in the roof, long, dark-skinned and callused. Criton! Soon his waist appeared, and then his whole wonderful self came floating down through the hole as if his body weighed little more than the air around him.
“Thank God,” he said. “I thought I heard you. I feel like I’ve been wandering around in here forever. Do you know the way out?”
“How did you get in?” Narky asked. “Where’s Bandu? Isn’t she with you?”
“She couldn’t come,” Criton said. “She’s still trying to open the gate for us. And I came in through the roof, so that wouldn’t do you any good. What happened down here?” He had finally noticed the elves.
“Illweather tried to catch them and crush us,” said Narky. “It’s only done half the job so far, but let’s not wait for it to finish.”
“Suits me,” said Criton. “Out through that thornbush? Oh, and Hunter, I brought your sword.”
Considering Illweather’s potential for motion, the thornbush had become strangely inert. Criton and Hunter swapped weapons and began hacking a way through it, leaving little but broken stems where a formidable guardian had once stood. Phaedra beckoned the children, and they all followed Criton and Hunter out into the hallway.
“Which way from here?” asked Criton.
“I’m not sure,” said Hunter. “We took a lot of turns to get here, and that was days ago.”
“They take us that way for the games,” Delika piped up, pointing left.
They went right.
It did not take them long to reach a fork, one that Phaedra did not recognize in the slightest. “I think we must have come in the other way,” she said.
“Let’s take a left here,” said Narky. “If we do our best to keep going in a straight line, we should at least reach an outer wall at some point.”
Hunter nodded. “The left hand hall it is.”
They walked on, taking the occasional left or right turn but always heading in more or less the same direction. To Phaedra’s surprise and relief, they did not come across any fairies on their way. Narky, however, did not seem relieved in the slightest.
“This is wrong,” he said. “It’s too easy. There should be someone around here.”
“I don’t know,” said Criton. “I heard a group of them ride off while I was trying to get in here. I didn’t ever see them, but it sounded like it might have been a pretty good number.”
Narky did not look convinced. “Huh. Still doesn’t feel right, though. Ambush, maybe?”
“Well,” said Phaedra, “all we can do is be careful.” As she said it, she stepped in something sickeningly soft. She looked down to find horse droppings scattered throughout the hall.
“We’re getting closer to the gate!” she cried excitedly. “There are horses around here somewhere.”
“And thank Ravennis for that,” said Narky. “Without horses, we wouldn’t get more than a mile from this place before they caught up with us. I hope there’s a carriage, or a cart or something, or we’ll have to leave the kids behind.”
“He’s joking,” Phaedra told the children.
“Right,” said Narky. “I’m joking. If it’s a little selfishness or death, I’ll take death, thank you. All I’m saying is, if it’s between them being caught and all of us being caught, why shouldn’t some of us choose survival?”
Hunter spun around and glared at Narky, looking angrier than Phaedra had ever seen him. “You’re going to die, Narky,” he spat. “Sooner or later, you’re going to die. Wouldn’t you rather die a decent person?”
His words struck Narky like a blow. Phaedra thought she saw tears welling in his eye, though they never fell. Hunter turned and stalked off down the hall.
“Don’t worry,” Phaedra told the little ones. “We’ll all get out of here safely. Just follow Hunter.”
In Illweather’s dank, windless tunnels, it did not take long for them to smell the horses. They followed their noses until they came to the indoor stable, where two elven grooms stood attending to some six or seven horses. When they saw the humans in the archway, the grooms snatched up a pair of unused sickles and charged, shouting an alarm as they did so. Hunter impaled one with a smooth thrust, then let go of his sword and yanked the sickle out of the groom’s hands. With a flexibility that surprised Phaedra, he then lifted his leg high, planted a foot on the groom’s chest, and kicked him away.
Criton, in the meantime, only barely managed to fend off the first two blows against him before Hunter spun around with the sickle and lopped off the second groom’s arm. The elf screamed until Hunter gave him a vicious crack over the head with the butt end of his new weapon, and the groom collapsed in a heap.
The other elf had by now pulled Hunter’s sword halfway out of his body, but his arms were too short to finish the job. He was still pulling at the blade when Narky snatched the sickle from the severed arm on the floor and rushed forward, bludgeoning him over and over until he too lost consciousness.
“They take a lot of killing,” noted Criton.
“You haven’t seen the half of it,” Narky told him.
Phaedra hadn’t shut her eyes this time, afraid to look away. She thought she might be sick. She bent over and put her hands on her knees, staring at the floor and waiting for her nausea to subside. She almost tipped over due to her uneven legs, but somehow she kept her balance.
“What are you looking at?” asked Delika, who had come to stand beside her. The little girl gazed wonderingly at the ground, as if it held some mysterious wisdom that only big people could see.
Phaedra smiled despite the churning in her stomach. It was sweet that Delika should assume all of her actions were so purposeful.
“Nothing,” she said, before suddenly realizing that she was wrong.
The moss of the floor had a deep groove in it, where a cart must frequently have rolled. She followed the groove with her eyes to the far end of the horse stalls, and saw there the edge of a chariot peeking out from behind the last live-wood stall. Excitement bubbled up inside her, banishing her nausea completely. She limped past the stalls as quickly as her lame leg would allow.
It was beautiful. The front of the chariot featured a fantastical design in gold and silver leaf, but the lovely part was its size. It could have fit a driver and three well-armed men, even with a barrel for spears or arrows in the middle.
“Look!” she cried, with sudden hope. “Delika, Adla, all of you, come here!”
The children ran to her, and Hunter looked over and said, “The prince’s chariot?”
“It’s perfect!” she told him.
Sure enough, all eight children could fit aboard with Phaedra, if they squeezed. Hunter and Narky fastened a pair of horses to the front while Criton tried and failed to find saddles for the other horses. There were none. In retrospect, that shouldn’t have been surprising: the elven raiders had all ridden bareback.
Even without saddles, Hunter and Criton had no difficulty climbing on. These horses were unnaturally docile. It was as if the fairies had sucked the spirits from them and left only the shells behind. The horses did not buck or snort or whinny, only placidly followed where they were led. As convenient as this was, it s
till bothered Phaedra immensely.
Narky did not immediately climb onto his horse as the others had done. He stood beside it hesitantly, looking back at the two remaining horses that waited patiently in their stalls. Then he walked over to the stalls and swung the elvish sickle at one of the horse’s legs. Phaedra gasped as the horse fell forward, its hot blood soaking into the mossy floor. But still the horse made no sound of protest, nor did the second one shy away when Narky approached it to repeat his grisly task. It was not really cruelty, Phaedra tried to tell herself as Narky swung the blade once more. These horses were more vegetable than animal.
When he was done, Narky dropped the sickle and climbed onto his mount, wiping his hands. “We can’t have them following us,” he said, defiantly fixing Phaedra with his one good eye.
“I know,” she said. “It’s just… I know.”
“Let’s go,” said Hunter.
He gave his mount a kick and it sprang into a light trot. Phaedra shook her reins, and the chariot followed. They rode through the halls, following the trail of wheel grooves and old horse droppings toward the entrance. Soon they began to hear the elves, seemingly from all around them. Was it some unnatural echo, or were they being surrounded?
“Don’t slow down,” warned Hunter. “If they’re ahead, we’ll need to break through.”
She thought she heard Narky snort at Hunter’s statement of the obvious, but she said nothing. She knew what Hunter really meant: he did not believe he could prevail in another fight. He wanted to make sure they did not rely on him.
They spurred the horses on, bouncing down the hall as the soulless animals hastened their steps. Then they turned a corner, and Phaedra’s pulse quickened.
The gate was ahead, closed but unprotected. From the right, a crowd of elves rushed toward them, led by their prince. He looked like a minor God, his clothes lush and dark upon skin of blazing white. A tiara of gold nested upon his silver hair, its brilliance reflecting the unnatural glow of his skin. It hurt to look at him.
“Stop!” he cried, and Phaedra’s hands began to pull on the reins of their own volition. Even Hunter reined in his horse, and the humans lingered uncertainly while the elves approached.
The prince held out his hand expectantly. “You have something that belongs to us. Give it back.”
He did not promise them anything in return for their compliance, only stood there with complete authority, knowing that they could not help but follow his commands.
“Give it back, Criton,” Phaedra heard herself saying.
Criton held tightly to the head-sized acorn, still somehow trying to resist. Phaedra wondered at his strength. Then he raised the seed high and breathed fire upon it.
The elves cried out and charged toward them, and the prince’s spell was broken.
“Go!” Criton shouted, dropping the seed and digging his heels into his horse’s hide.
Phaedra shook the reins and her horses began to trot placidly forward, as if urgency was completely foreign to them. The others might make it to the gate before the elves cut them off, but at this rate, the chariot never would.
She never knew what got into her. One moment she was impotently shaking the reins, and the next, she was a madwoman, leaping half out of the chariot to scratch and bite at the horses’ rears. Her nails dug into their hides as the animals finally began to canter and then to gallop.
Had it not been for the children, Phaedra would have fallen off and been crushed as the chariot rolled by. But they caught her legs and pulled her back, her stomach and chest connecting painfully with the chariot’s lip. She clung there as the horses sped onward, their reins flapping loose and free.
To Phaedra’s great luck, the elves were too focused on Illweather’s seed to attempt to cut her off from the gate of vines. The gate was already badly damaged by Hunter’s sword, but now its destruction became complete. The chariot crashed through it, snapping the strong vines like deadwood, flinging debris to all sides. Phaedra sat aching in the back, watching Illweather fall farther and farther behind. They were free.
For now.
43
Narky
They rode until the horses were covered in foam and they were sure no elves could catch up on foot, even by magic. Narky was glad for his decision to eliminate the other mounts; it had bought them this brief rest.
“A whole bunch of raiders left Illweather while I was breaking in,” said Criton, reining his horse in. He wiped some white frothy sweat from its mane with the side of his claw. “I thought they might be looking for me, but then they rode off. They must still be out here somewhere; we shouldn’t rest long.”
Hunter nodded. “Understood.”
They had no brush and no blanket with which to do a better job wiping off their horses’ sweat, but Hunter took off his shirt and used it as a rag. Narky winced when he saw Phaedra admiring Hunter, less discreetly than she probably imagined. It reminded him of Ketch, somehow.
But why should it? He had thought that Eramia might love him; that was why her attachment to Ketch had hurt him so. The thought that she would prefer Ketch over him had been unbearable. But it was not that way with Phaedra. Narky had never had a chance with Phaedra. She was too pretty and well bred. He was beneath her, and he knew it.
Hunter finished his work and draped the shirt over his shoulder. “We shouldn’t push them much further,” he said. “We can go the rest of the way at a trot.”
“Right,” said Phaedra.
When Hunter turned away, she stuck out her tongue. “Oh yuck,” she confided to Narky. “My mouth still tastes like horse.”
He looked at her curiously. “Why?”
She seemed strangely surprised and embarrassed. “You didn’t – oh.” She waved him away. “Never mind.”
They rode onward, following Hunter’s advice of letting their horses trot even though the beasts made no conscious indication of weariness. If it hadn’t been for the foam at their mouths and on their hides, Narky might have thought the flight from Illweather had been effortless for them.
Narky took the lead now, while Criton fell back to speak with Phaedra and Hunter. Words from their conversation drifted forward to him as he rode.
“…Found a scroll… ousand two hundred and ten… understand it better,” said Criton’s voice, followed by Phaedra’s reply of, “…to see… it with Bandu? I don’t… her experience… unlikely to be completely… to look at it myself.”
He rode ahead a little. It sounded like the kind of conversation best left to others. There was only one question that interested him right now: had Bandu found a way to open the gate? If not, how would he and the others get out of this Godforsaken world?
In his estimation, they were now only a mile or so from the ruins. The trees were thinning, and certain clumps of them began to look familiar. If they ever made it back to their own world, Narky thought, he just might kiss the ground. Only Anardis had felt this dangerous, and at least there they had had some powerful friends. Here they had no friends, only burdensome children. Narky could hardly wait to be rid of them.
He wondered how things would change when Bandu had her baby. Would she and Criton leave them and settle down, in some dark and lonely wood perhaps? Or maybe only Bandu would drop out of their group to raise the child on her own in the wilderness? That certainly seemed possible, knowing her. She would not want her son or daughter to grow up tame and comfortable, living any halfway civilized life.
A shout from behind pulled him out of his reverie. The fairies had spotted them! Narky could see a group of them some distance behind, galloping toward them. He gave his horse several kicks, as trot turned to canter turned to gallop. They were coming! Oh Gods, they were coming!
Hunter’s words came back to him. If he fled just like this, without a thought for the others and their safety, would he really deserve to survive? What good had all his repentance done him if he was still the same old Narky Coward’s Son? He looked back as he rode, and saw the way the chariot was falling behi
nd, and the way that Hunter and Criton were honorably staying with it. Hunter had already drawn his sword. Although the fairies were still a good distance behind, they were gaining rapidly. It would probably be a fight, then.
Narky reined his horse in. If he was to die today, let him die something other than a coward. He waited until the chariot had reached him before spurring his horse once more. There were at least twenty elves chasing them, led by the same captain who had captured them eleven days ago. A fight would be useless. Narky could see Hunter in his mind’s eye, turning to face them with his sword only to be decapitated and dismembered by those elven sickles. The image stuck in his head as he rode on beside the chariot. It would happen that way, he knew. There were just too many of them.
When he next looked behind him, the fairy captain was a mere horse-length away, with her companions spread out to either side, forming a vee. With a blood-chilling war-cry, the elves raised their sickles high above their heads.
The nets flew.
44
Bandu
She sat among the stones and cried, fearing for Criton. How could she expect him to succeed without her help? Even if he could find Illweather’s seed, he would not be able to talk with the castle. How could he use the seed to save the others without being able to hear what Illweather was saying? She wished she could be there with him.
And if he did succeed, even without her, what then? It would not take long for Illweather to tell the elves that its seed was missing. The elves would chase them, and without Bandu’s help, how would they ever get away?
She shouldn’t think about that right now, she told herself. Criton was strong and smart. He would find a way. The important thing was for Bandu to open the gate.
She sighed and tried to concentrate. She could almost smell the power of this place. It was growing now, on this eleventh day since their capture. But feeling the power’s presence and understanding how to use it were two different things. She closed her eyes and tried to feel for the netting again. There it was, brushing against her fingertips! But as soon as she curled her fingers, it was gone.