“Sagra, save us!” Eel gasped. “They’re…”
“They are Thunder, Whirlwind, Hail, Hurricane, Blizzard, and Boomer,” said Babbling Brook, and I thought I heard a note of pride in her voice. “They have agreed to help me.”
I hadn’t noticed when Kli-Kli took hold of my hand. She seemed to be every bit as frightened as I was. And there was certainly something to be frightened of!
When our group first entered Zagraba, we came across a wild boar. He was a large, mature tusker, and I thought he was the king of boars, that no beast could possibly be any larger.
But I was clearly mistaken. And very badly mistaken. There was absolutely no comparison between that boar and the six standing there in front of us. They were gods of the forest. Boar kings. Each of them stood four and a half yards tall, and I couldn’t even begin to imagine how much they weighed. They were monstrously huge, so huge that next to them, we were no more than pitiful bugs. Long knobbly snouts, immense dark yellow tusks that could have ripped a mammoth’s stomach open with a single thrust, reddish gleaming fur, cunning little black eyes. I’m sure I’ll remember the magnificence of those beautiful animals until the day I die. They surrounded us in a semicircle and waited for the Mistress of the Dryads to utter her command.
“We do not command, man,” said Babbling Brook, looking into my eyes. “We cannot command the forest. We can only ask for its help. Lead on your warriors, Boomer!”
One of the boars opened its terrible jaws, roared so loudly that I was almost deafened, and went dashing toward the sound of the orcs’ drums. The other five boars followed their leader, screeching belligerently. The six forest gods ran to the trees, smashed their way into the dense undergrowth, and disappeared.
“Boomer and his warriors will stop the Firstborn. It is not likely that any will escape their fangs and hooves, so now you have several days.”
“My thanks, Mistress,” said Egrassa, pressing his hand to his heart. “My house is irredeemably in your debt.”
“I shall remember your words, elf, and I shall ask you to return the favor when the time comes,” the dryad said with a serious nod.
“Madam, if the orcs find the bodies of their comrades, they will realize what has happened and pursue us once again.”
“They will not find the bodies,” said Sunpatch, walking away from Hallas. “Boomer’s warriors always eat their enemies.”
The thought of those giants devouring the bodies of the orcs sent cold shivers running down my spine. Just at that moment the orcs’ drums fell silent and a second later the plaintive song of a horn rang out. But the sound broke off when it had barely begun, and silence returned to the forest.
“That is done, now it is time for you to leave,” the little girl said to the elf. “Sunpatch?”
“A serious wound, Mistress. I have done everything that I could.”
“Will he live?” Lamplighter blurted out.
“Yes. He has a fever now, but in two days he will be able to stand. Unfortunately I was not able to save his eye.”
“The forest is not all-powerful,” sighed Babbling Brook. “But the important thing is that your friend will live.”
The forest is not all-powerful? Somehow I doubted that very much. At least, the most skillful of healers could not have done what the dryad had done. Not every member of the Order could have healed a wound like that and plucked the gnome out of the tenacious embrace of that beauty, Death. But this dryad, who looked so much like a twelve-year-old girl, had done it.
“Harold, take Mumr and fetch the stretcher,” Egrassa said in a quiet voice.
“No need,” Babbling Brook interrupted. “I do not intend to tolerate the Horn in my forest any longer than is absolutely necessary. On foot it will take you too long to find your way out. That does not suit the forest. If the power abandons the Horn close to the Cradle of the Dead, something terrible will happen. The farther you are from the place called Hrad Spein, the better for the forest. And I shall not be obliged to meddle even more in the affairs of men, elves, and orcs.”
“Are you going to give us horses?” I asked in surprise.
“No. They would not move through the forest very quickly. I have something else for you. Fluffy Cloud?”
The dryad standing beside Sunpatch nodded and gave a loud whistle. Four elk walked out into the clearing.
“Thank you for answering my request, Runner in the Moonlight,” Babbling Brook said with a smile. “These strangers must be taken to the lands of men as quickly as possible.”
The brown eyes of one of the elk looked us over. Then the beautiful animal lowered its horned head and snorted in agreement.
“Thank you, friend. There is no time to be lost, Egrassa of the House of the Black Moon. It is time for you and your men to set out.”
“How shall we sit on them and guide them?”
“There is no need for you to guide them. Fluffy Cloud and Sunpatch will go with you.”
Mumr peered once again at the motionless elk in front of him and gulped, but he didn’t say anything.
We mounted the elk in total silence. The first to leap up onto the back of the nearest beast was Eel. He held out his hand to Mumr and helped his friend settle behind him. My elk was a match for the size of Runner in the Moonlight and I was just trying to figure out how I was going to clamber up on it, when the animal went down on its knees. I quickly settled on its back, which was wet from the rain. Kli-Kli, determined not to let me get away, sat behind me and grabbed hold of my jacket.
The elk straightened its legs out smoothly, and to avoid falling off, I grabbed hold of one of its horns with my hand (the other hand was holding the krasta). The beast didn’t seem to object to this familiar treatment. With the elf’s help, the dryads loaded Hallas onto a third elk. Sunpatch stayed with the wounded gnome, holding him tightly round the waist. Egrassa and Fluffy Cloud were on Runner in the Moonlight.
“I thank you once again, Mistress, for the help that you have given us,” Egrassa said in farewell. “The doors of my house are always open to the Daughters of the Forest, and no malice will be found in it. This I swear on the honor of my clan.”
“Do not thank me, king. Thank the forest,” said the little girl with wise eyes, looking up at the elf towering over her. “Perhaps I shall find the time to come to your house when there is peace and nothing threatens the balance. I hope so. But enough, I can already hear Boomer and his warriors on their way here. You should leave. After battle they are always hungry, and there were too few orcs to satisfy the Children of the Forest. If they decide to dine on you, not even I will be able to stop them. You had better go.”
Waving her hand in farewell, Babbling Brook turned away from us. Taking this gesture as a command, Runner in the Moonlight set off at a fast trot toward the trees shrouded in mist.
* * *
Babbling Brook was right—the elk were much better than the finest of horses. The four animals raced through Zagraba, without stopping, until nightfall. In places where horses would have fallen, broken their legs, or simply not been able to get through, the elk just kept going.
Runner in the Moonlight forged straight ahead, smashing through the bushes and undergrowth with his mighty hooves. Swampy hollows, swollen by the continuous rain, and stretches of fallen trees were crossed at a run, or in mighty bounding leaps. The elk were tireless, and in half a day we covered a distance that would have taken horses at least three days, or even four.
At first I was afraid of falling off, but my misgivings proved groundless. Even in the densest thickets, the beast moved so smoothly that the king’s horses would have died of envy if they could have seen it.
When twilight started drawing in, Fluffy Cloud asked Runner in the Moonlight to stop, and jumped down lightly to the ground. We followed her example and then took Hallas down off the elk. The gnome had still not recovered consciousness, but now at least he was not as pale as in the morning. The wounded warrior was groaning quietly.
“He has a fever,” sa
id Sunpatch. “The wound has almost healed over, but he is still weak.”
“Light a fire,” Egrassa told Eel.
The Garrakian glanced at the dryad, but the elf shook his head.
“She has nothing against fire.”
The elk disappeared into the forest, and Fluffy Cloud said they would come back at dawn. Sunpatch attended to the gnome, with Kli-Kli hanging around nearby. Fluffy Cloud handed out fresh flapjacks, so we didn’t go hungry. Then the dryad went up to the golden-leaf, laid her hand on its trunk, and asked the tree to protect us from the rain. I swear on my first Commission that the tree did as she asked! It seemed to lean down over us, and its branches wove themselves into something very much like a huge awning.
“You have a heavy day tomorrow,” Fluffy Cloud said. “You need a good night’s sleep, if you do not wish to fall off your mounts.”
Egrassa tried to appoint sentries for the night, but the dryad made a disdainful face at that.
“You can sleep easy. You are in no danger while we are here.”
“What about the Firstborn?”
“They would not dare to attack Daughters of the Forest. Have no fear.”
Egrassa seemed perfectly satisfied with what the dryad had said, and he lay down to sleep without wasting any more time. Eel followed his example. Mumr sat beside the fire for a little while, sighing to himself, and then also settled down for the night.
“What’s the matter, Harold?” Kli-Kli asked me.
“I’m not sleepy,” I lied. “You go ahead, it’s all right. I’ll sit here for a while.”
“I’m not sleepy, either,” the gobliness replied.
Sunpatch sat opposite us and stared without blinking into the flames of the fire. Fluffy Cloud disappeared into the darkness of the forest. We didn’t speak, and Kli-Kli’s head gradually began nodding. Then Glo-Glo’s granddaughter was completely overcome and she dropped off, snuggled up against my shoulder. She even started snoring. She was tired, and no wonder—we were all very tired after that day.
A hard day. An appalling day. A black day. Like so many others in recent months. Our group had suffered grievous, irreparable losses. I still couldn’t believe that the ginger-headed dwarf was dead and had been abandoned to the mercy of the forest spirits.
Deler had paid for Hallas’s life with his own, and if not for the dryads, that terrible price would have been paid in vain. Deler was gone now, like so many other members of the small band of brothers that had set out with me to retrieve the Rainbow Horn. Alistan had walked away into the mist, leading the orcs after him, and disappeared. And the most terrible thing was that now we would never know what had happened to the count, how he had died.
Died?
I was burying the captain of the royal guard too soon. I hadn’t seen his body, so for me he would always be alive. Perhaps Milord Alistan had managed to get away from the Firstborn. Sensing someone’s glance on me, I looked at the Daughter of the Forest.
“He will not come, man.”
“How do you know … madam?”
“The forest and the forest spirits told me. You do not hear them. Believe me, I am very sorry that we could not come sooner.”
“How…” I suddenly felt a lump in my throat. “How did he die?”
“Do you really wish to know?” she asked, with the flames of the campfire reflected in her big black eyes. “Why do you need that pain? He is dead, is that not enough?”
“No, not for me.”
“Very well, look. And do not tell me afterward that I did not warn you.”
Her black eyes suddenly blazed up in a flash of intense green light and, before I realized what was happening, the world was plunged into darkness.
* * *
The hunting horns called triumphantly to each other behind his back, but he ran on and on, leading the orcs farther away from the group. He hoped very much that Egrassa would be able to lead them out of this accursed forest, and then there would be some hope for Valiostr. The phantoms created by the old shaman’s spell glided silently along at his back, leaving clear tracks on the earth and the leaves.
He ran quickly, but tried to husband his strength, so that he would not be winded for the battle ahead. Count Alistan Markauz had no illusions that he might escape. He knew that sooner or later the Firstborn would catch him, and there was little chance that he would survive the encounter.
The forest went on and on, with no gaps between the close-growing maples. There was mist on all sides and the long run that had brought him to the limit of his strength was no longer important. It was time to find a place to die. He had never thought he would die like this, out in the rain and mist of the bleak autumn forest.
The captain was not afraid of death; he had seen more than his share of it in his time. But he regretted that no one would know how he had died. In his young days he had seen himself dying as a hero on the battlefield, defending the banner or shielding the young king with his body. A beautiful death, worthy to be celebrated in song. But Death was not to be chosen; she decided for herself when to come to a man and take him to the light. Or the darkness. The end was the same for all, and what difference did it make where you died—at the heart of a raging battle, or in a misty forest?
He would sell his life dearly—for him the most important thing was that the orcs must not use their bows, but engage him in combat. Of course, the captain need not have drawn the pursuit after him, he could have given that task to Eel or Lamplighter, but then how would he have been able to sleep at night, knowing he had sent another into the embrace of death instead of himself? Alistan was used to being the first into a battle, the first to ride his horse against the ranks of pikemen. Always the first, always at the cutting edge of the thrust. That was why the soldiers respected him.
The horns sounded again, and the count swore by the darkness. The pursuers had cut down his lead, and he would have to hurry, unless of course he wished to give battle with his back against a maple tree. Alistan Markauz had never appealed to the gods in prayer, believing that it was not worth troubling them over trifles. He had saved his only prayer for the occasion when it was right to call on Sagra. And he called on her with all his heart and soul, asking the fearful goddess to grant him a place for combat so that she might rejoice in the sight of the most important battle of his life.
And the goddess heard him.
After he left the maples behind, the forest opened up and Milord Alistan Markauz found himself beside a deep ravine with its bottom hidden under thick mist. There was a bridge across the ravine, and it reminded him of the one in the Red Spinney. It was just as narrow, and just as convenient to defend.
Built of stone, ten yards long and two yards across. If they wished to do so, two men could walk across it together side by side, but there was only enough space for one to launch an effective attack. Along the sides, taking the place of railings, there were tall rectangular barriers half the height of a man. Every two yards, tall columns rose up out of them to twice the height of a man.
Ten yards is no distance at all, and despite the mist, he had a clear view of the opposite bank, where there was an ancient city, almost entirely untouched by time. The walls ran right along the edge of the ravine, and the bridge ended at stone gates that were, unfortunately, closed.
Now he had several minutes to take a rest and draw breath. He had to stand on the bridge, and then the battle would take place one-to-one; the orcs would not have any room to attack in numbers or outflank him, and the gates would protect his back.
Markauz slowly walked across the bridge, and when he turned to face the maples, the shamanic phantoms disappeared. Glo-Glo’s spell had stopped working. Well, it had done its job, now the count had to do his.
Just for a moment the captain of the guard regretted that he was only wearing light armor, not his heavy battle plate. No helmet, no shield that would have allowed him to hold out for a very, very long time. Only a sword and a dagger for weapons. Despite the rain, the count took off his cloak and d
ropped it at his feet. Then he threw his scabbard away and took his sword in both hands.
The sword was somewhat longer than ordinary blades, and there was room on the hilt for the second hand. He was ready. All he had to do now was wait.
A horn sounded very close, and then the orcs emerged from the shroud of mist. Six, ten, fifteen, seventeen. Alistan Markauz’s enemies spotted him, and one of them raised a clenched fist in the air. His pursuers slowed from a run to a walk, looking around suspiciously, clearly fearing an ambush.
“Where are your companions, man?” one of them shouted.
“Far away,” the count said in a quiet voice, but they heard him.
“Surrender, or you will die!”
Milord Rat shook his head very slightly. Two bowmen stepped forward.
“Are you scared?” Alistan Markauz roared at the top of his lungs, and the sound of his voice carried across the ravine and the abandoned city. “Or are you not really orcs? You consider yourselves the superior race, and yet you are afraid of a man? Oh, come now, Firstborn! Do you not have the courage to face me with a yataghan, is that why you pick up the weapon of children, cowards, and elves? There are seventeen of you, and I am alone! Prove to me that you really are the Firstborn! All you have to do is bare your blades and cross the bridge!”
One of the orcs halted the bowmen and started conferring with the other warriors. The count waited and prayed. Then he suddenly felt someone’s insistent gaze on his back, and swung round sharply.
She was standing behind him. A woman wearing a simple sleeveless dress, with a luxuriant mane of white hair scattered across her naked shoulders. The stranger’s face was hidden behind a half-mask in the form of a skull. She was holding a bouquet of pale narcissi and gazing at Alistan Markauz out of her empty eye sockets.
“No!” he said, shaking his head in furious anger. “No! Not like that! Not with an arrow!”
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