by Shelley Cass
I froze as my prey trotted away, snuffling and snorting while I forgot about it and felt my heart bounce crazily in my chest.
“Frarshk!” I swore under my breath, and slung my bow quickly back over my shoulder, moving rapidly and quietly back to where I had left Dalin and Noal, only to find that the glade was empty of everything.
Even packs were gone, which gave me hope that my companions would be alive and kept as prisoners, if indeed that single shout had been because of an attack.
I followed the imprinted trail Noal and Dalin had left in the grass, tracing their meandering steps as they had wandered in search of firewood, until their tracks stopped abruptly.
My eyes spotted evidence of many more heavy footprints encircling where my boys had last stood, and I could see the squashed indents in the grass where a number of men seemed to have been hidden behind trees in wait. I could also see where Noal and Dalin’s footprints were replaced with marks that suggested they’d been dragged from the site.
I hurried on after the skid lines and stomping marks that had surely been made by stout Krall warriors, maintaining caution but wondering how long I had before the attackers left the Forest, and for my companions to be lost to Darziates.
A glance at the sky through the treetops told me I had three hours of light before the sun would set. Three hours to find Dalin and Noal, and to have a plan ready to get them away safely.
Even when their trail became lost in wildly growing roots, I rushed onward until at last I heard the muffled, distant sound of people and movement ahead.
I began moving from tree to tree, observing the area around me and steadily getting closer to the increasingly loud noise, which was in fact made up of many rough voices, of outbursts of laughter, of barked orders, and of a camp being set.
I noted as I approached that the trees sloped downward, and the great din of their camp site echoed up to me from what had to be the bottom of a steep drop in the land.
Creeping carefully towards the growing rabble of an army deep below, I found myself on the edge of a jutting cliff, where the ground suddenly dropped away as I’d suspected. I pressed my body against a tree on the brink of the drop, feeling its wooden roughness against my cheek and palms, and edged my face around the thick trunk.
It was the largest clearing I had seen so far in the Forest, sprawling outwards at the base of the cliff I peered over. And within that clearing a formidable camp for what had to have been over a hundred Krall soldiers had been constructed, with their harsh voices rising even more clearly now to greet me.
Numerous camp fires were already lit both around the border and within the camp itself, with each border fire accompanied by some armed, raucous soldiers loosely doing their duty of watching their surrounds. There were further fires within the camp for food, and one monstrous bonfire in the centre of the clearing had also been lit.
Such magnificent light would dazzle me if I approached, and make it impossible to get close to the camp without being seen, but I wondered at their extravagant measures when Sylthanryn was normally void of people – and when they surely knew there were only three of us to contend with. I considered again why Darziates may have needed to send a force of mortals who were being so watchful now, and why his magical beings had been unable to come after us in the Great Forest themselves. Perhaps the Sorcerer did believe in a need to be wary of the mythical Lady of the Forest.
Beyond the abundance of camp fires, I counted three tents that had been pitched in a circle around the enormous bonfire at the centre of everything, obviously for the use of higher ranking members of the troop. The larger tent of the three was set up regally and topped with the black Krall flag, marked ominously by a crimson hand insignia which waved on the material like a warning. I guessed it to be the General of the troop’s abode, but squinted past it to see that a separate canvas structure had been erected a short distance back – almost blocked from view by the size of the General’s tent.
It did not have its canvas windows open, and two guards in demonic, spiked armour stood at its closed door, armed with their sabres.
I felt my fingers grip into the flaking bark of my tree. That segregated, darkened shelter, huddled out of the fire light and away from prying eyes, had to contain my stolen friends.
“All or nothing to get them back,” I told myself resolutely.
Chapter Sixty Eight
Kiana
My mind raced with the need to beat all odds and use the set up of their camp against them. I considered many unlikely possibilities of how I could try to breach my way in and somehow get back out again with Noal and Dalin. But as I discounted one useless idea after another, I scoured every inch of the top of the cliff, following its bite shape around in a curve and scrutinising the camp below from different angles.
During my surveillance of the impenetrable complex, another layer of challenge was added as I discovered ten skilfully camouflaged sentries positioned at intervals along the cliff top’s edge – watching for anything out of the ordinary, or anyone like me who might try to creep up on the camp.
I was cursing internally as I at last moved away from the cliff edge and silent sentries. For, including the sentries, there were roughly one hundred and ten men – and my usual methods of stealth didn’t seem to offer any hope in the face of such a brightly lit camp. In fact I needed to grow wings, or to adopt the exact opposite kind of approach to my usual ways.
“Need to attract attention,” I muttered almost inaudibly, scrambling up a log.
“Need to create the illusion that I have numbers.” I slid down the other side, searching for inspiration.
“No healer bag of tricks to help me,” I grimaced. But when I peered over another sloping ravine, I grinned at what the Gods seemed to have sent me.
“But those will do.”
Growing out of the jagged rocks was an evil looking weed covered in potent red fruits that I knew to be called Rupta berries. The most explosive ingredient anybody could ever ask for.
I eagerly scraped, clawed and skidded my way down the ravine to where the prickle covered in flaming coloured berries grew, and I wedged my boots into some cracks in the sloping wall before I dug out the entire plant with my dagger.
As I climbed my way back up, a tiny prickle punctured the soft pad of one finger tip – and my entire hand suddenly felt as though it had slipped into a vat of burning oil. Sweat broke out across my brow, and red blotches spread along my hand and arm, though fortunately that was the worst of it.
“Thank you!” I whispered up to the Gods, a somewhat plausible idea beginning to formulate in my mind.
Rupta berries were incredibly rare, and usually highly sought after by the worst types of people. They did not grow for long, as the sun’s touch or even the slightest nudge of a warm breeze could cause them to combust. A crater would be left wherever they exploded, and most of the time the roots would burn away. A messier scenario occurred if people tried eating them.
I clasped the prickle’s stem lightly in my teeth then, while I sweated the rest of the way back up the rocks. And even as I pulled myself back up onto level ground, I fought not to let the heat of my breath touch the shiny, round sides of the berries, though my mouth still stung as if I’d consumed something horribly spicy as I set the plant gingerly down in the shade.
I fervently searched further into the Forest; climbing trees, scaling rocks and tunnelling through roots before I was satisfied that I had found the most volatile plants on offer. Then I selected twelve palm-sized rocks and brought my collection together cautiously, maintaining a safe distance from the cliff edge and camp.
My developing idea revolved around things I had learned in my travels to Lixrax and around isolated desert clans, where I had witnessed how to cause little explosions by making pastes out of certain ingredients. I had witnessed temple priests using these flares for effects to scare superstitious followers, but I had developed the little detonations into big ones in my time, and now I focused intently on com
bining my ingredients into a paste without melting my own hand off.
I used water from my flask to cool the sparking tingles running along my fingers as my skin singed and reacted, and smoke wafted from the mix as it began to thicken and glow. With smarting eyes I at last finalised the paste I’d made, and cautiously dipped the rocks into it. The resulting covering quickly dried and hardened like shells on the rock surfaces – making the best explosives for dramatic effect that I had probably ever designed.
I hoped that these lethal rocks might make the many fires in the enemy camp an advantage for me. If I could find a way to get those rocks into the fires, the paste on the rocks would melt, the heat would grow so intense that the Rupta berry ingredient would activate to explode, and shards of rock and acidic juices would be thrown out at the soldiers.
However I had not yet sprouted wings or figured out a way to actually get the explosives into the fires.
I left the real weapons safely stowed away in the shade, but made my way covertly back to the camp to experiment with dropping normal rocks from above into the fires.
A couple of soldiers down below rubbed their heads and cursed loose pebbles that seemed to be dropping from the cliff top where I hid, but the distance was too great for me to be able to reliably hit anything other than one unsuspecting head at a time down there.
There was a slope entrance down to the base of the camp, but it was too obvious, so, sighing at the prospect of using my throbbing hands, I took cover in a wall of swaying branches and vines that covered the cliff face, and made my way down the rocky wall so that I touched down a small distance away from the camp.
I crouched in the cover of the trees, taking aim at the outer-most border fire with an ordinary rock as another trial from ground level this time.
Unfortunately the rock made a distinct ‘poing’ sound as it ricocheted off a helmet that had been set down next to the fire.
At once the confused, dirty warrior who had removed his helmet stood up.
My idea once again seemed quite impossible as I noted how hard it was going to be to toss rocks into heavily guarded flames – without drawing a crowd to where I’d thrown it from.
I rolled my shoulders and drew my dagger as the soldier peered in my direction.
“Whawasat?” he growled in a thick Krall accent, grasping a heavy bludgeon.
“Unno,” the soldier closest shrugged. “Falling branch.”
The first warrior spat and growled like a rabid bear, stomping away from his disinterested comrades, and into the trees where I waited.
He peered into the dense shadows to my side, and I quietly ghosted back a few trees, running my sensitive fingers over leaves to create a swishing sound.
He grunted, and stepped further into the trees, squinting his small eyes.
I skipped lightly backward once more, and then found some fallen leaves to crunch on so that he turned completely in my direction as I hid in the shadows and he followed the sound.
I took hold of a lower hanging tree branch while he stomped straight past, and I was afforded the opportunity to lightly swing my body up to land on his back.
Before he could let out an alert, or bellow like a dumb animal, I rammed his windpipe with the hilt of my dagger. Kicking off from his stocky back, I slid around his wide body; clinging to his neck, and propelled my feet into his stomach.
Instead of battle cries, there was only a sucking vortex of air as he sank to his knees.
I rammed my dagger hilt into his skull to knock him out then, but was momentarily surprised to find this human being had one of the thickest, most protective skulls I’d ever come across.
As I stepped back his eyes did roll, and he continued to wheeze, but instead of losing consciousness, he suddenly launched at me, bludgeon and all.
I ducked and reflexively slid my dagger under his raised arm, and because of the blade’s purposeful length I knew its coldness would have touched his heart.
A little gurgling bubble sounded from my opponent, before he was gone after a very quiet fight.
I withdrew my dagger, and wiped it clean on the grass with a flicker of regret that I suppressed.
I rationalised to myself that, though I was used to battling animalistic beasts, many mortal lives were going to be impacted if I could find a way to make my plan work. So I calmly dragged his heavy body over to rest against a trunk and hacked down a heavy branch so that it looked like it had fallen on him.
My dagger mark had been clean and had left a barely noticeable piercing and stain under his jerkin, so I hoped nobody would suspect an intruder just yet. I needed time to find some other way to get my rocks to the camp fires, because I could not just quietly kill another one hundred and nine thickly skulled soldiers.
Once back at the top of the cliff and a safe distance away from the camp again, I wasted time trying to shoot one of my arrows in practice with another harmless rock attached to it. But it was too heavy, as common sense had warned. And three arrows would never help anyway.
I wandered on again for a while, searching for some new form of inspiration, and feeling time slipping away until at last I sank down to lean against a tree, thudding my back into it with a grunt.
“Well!” a small bird squeaked in alarm and flapped out of the branches above me; shocked by my abrasive entrance.
I blinked stupidly. “What in the Gods’ names …” I leaned forward to look around and the small bird landed at my feet.
“You’re in a bad mood,” it said. “Can I help?”
And my eyes widened with shock.
Chapter Sixty Nine
Kiana
“By my beak, you creatures are so simple. Shame, shame.”
The little bird puffed up and enunciated its trill sounds this time. “CAAAN I HEEELP?”
I clutched my chest.
“Ahhh,” I floundered in uncertainty. “ … Yes? Please?”
It hopped up and down in excitement. “Oh good, good!” It flapped. “I knew this dialect was not a dead one! Everyone else said not to bother, but no, I persisted, and now look, I’ve found one!”
“One what?” I asked weakly, feeling faintly ill.
“The One! One like you!” it said matter-of-factly. “The others will understand you. But they’ll sound like thugs if they try to respond.”
“You do seem surprisingly eloquent …” I pressed the back of my hand to my forehead, at a complete loss, and fearing for my health. Perhaps the Rupta berries had done something to me.
“I’m fluent! Living in the Forest helps.” it peeped happily. “Now what can I do?”
My pulse was pounding so strongly, I felt it vibrating in my temples, in my throat and even in my digits.
“Krall soldiers have invaded the Forest,” my voice shook as I told it.
“Yes, we’ve been complaining of their smell all day,” the bird tittered with distaste. “Filthy magic is in them, but they’re not magical themselves – so they get to drag their filth around the Forest without anything to hold them back.”
“Yes,” I said nervously, wiping my palms on my trousers. “They have taken my friends prisoner, and I could use any help possible to get them back.”
“Sure, sure,” it moved its head up and down in a wise nod. “I can see why you were so flustered before. Like a worm was still wriggling in your throat. You wait here and I’ll see if any of the others can spare you a moment.”
“Thank you, friend,” my voice was a wisp as the little feathered ball fluttered away to leave me waiting and trying to compose myself.
I hadn’t quite felt myself take a secure grip on my sanity once more before my tiny helper returned gaily with a loud, chirping crowd of assorted birds that alighted all around me.
I stared at my winged audience and the original little bird flitted closer and nodded encouragingly.
Feeling my face heat at this madness I cleared my throat.
“Well met …” I started falteringly. “I appreciate your time.”
Imme
diately the gathering stopped chattering and cocked their little heads to look at me.
“Don’t worry, they’re comprehending you. They just speak Fairy tongue like oafs,” the first little bird who was helping me explained. “I announced that you need help to get your friends back from those corrupted men,” it prompted me as I gaped around myself, at a loss once more. “Just tell them what you need.”
I felt pins and needles all down my back and across my palms as though I had been drinking liquor. But my mind did somehow feel completely lucid, and within me there was the sense that something was falling into place, like when a dislocated joint clicks back into the right spot inside, and everything seems to fit more smoothly in your body.
“I am Kiana,” I began again more calmly, my mind shying away from the surreal situation. “And I have a great favour to ask each of you, which none of you are bound to accept.”
They watched me with intelligent eyes, listening patiently and not uttering a peep.
“I am only one against that great troop of Krall. I need sentries, and I need helpers that can carry heavy, eruptive rocks to drop into the camp fires below.” I swallowed the disbelief that still pounded through my sense of logic. “If you understand and are willing to help me, please remain. But to do so will be dangerous.”
Not one bird moved.
I regarded this strange gathering awkwardly and gratefully. “We have work to do then.”
I collected my cooled off rocks and returned to the cliff edge, where the Forest suddenly plateaued and where the Krall camp was set up below. I directed smaller members of my feathered army to spread themselves out around the tops of the cliff. From above the camp site they could watch the Krall sentries positioned on the same level of the Forest as myself, and serve as alarms.
When I at last found myself a sheltered ledge, I dispersed the average sized birds of the flock to keep watch around it, and I kept the larger birds with myself to serve as rock bearers.
I gritted my teeth and lowered myself over the lip of the cliff, climbing down a yard or two to reach the ledge, which jutted out from near the top of the rocky wall, but which was out of view because of hanging vines and leaves that spilled down from the top.