The Riven Wyrde Saga boxed set

by Graham Austin-King

  Troops began to form up into small squads on the streets, with sergeants and corporals yelling orders in the confusion. Curtains twitched and villagers poked their heads around their doors to see what was going on. Rhenkin charged past them all, the creature's laugh carrying back to him as he ran, his heart pounding. The figure was managing to stay ahead of him, seemingly without effort, spinning, and almost seemed to caper along with a mad, wild laughter, as if this were all a child's game.

  A door opened ahead of them and a girl in her late teens leaned out, the lamplight catching her red hair. With a gleeful cry, the creature ran to her and grabbed her arm, dragging her into the street. It pulled her around in a spinning dance, whooping as she whimpered in terror and fought to get away. Rhenkin closed the distance and crashed into its back, knocking all three of them to the ground.

  It was up as quickly as it fell, rolling with a smooth, easy motion as it turned to face him with its curious knives held ready as he found his own feet. It darted in, with slashes to his face and thigh almost before he was upright and Rhenkin was forced to stagger back awkwardly to avoid having his thigh laid open, as he parried the attack at his face with his knife. The thing, whatever it was, turned to grab at the girl, who was still pulling herself upright. Seizing the moment, Rhenkin swept his knife across its back, but the blade did not penetrate the skin. Instead, it bounced off, as if he'd hacked at a pell-post leaving a dark black line but causing no real damage. The thing hissed in pain and spun to face him, whipping the girl round in front of it as it brought its knife around in front of her. It fixed him with a grin, the human expression looking odd on its bearded face and those amber coloured eyes shining in the lamplight.

  Rhenkin raised his sword to thrust as he realised the monster's intention. Even as he began the move, he knew there was no way to save the girl. He caught a flicker of movement behind the creature and then the night exploded in blue fire. Rhenkin threw his arm up across his face as the brilliant light threatened to sear his eyes, his sword flying from his grip, as he dropped to one knee. As the light died down, he pulled himself warily to his feet, holding his dagger loosely. He blinked, trying to clear away the blue-green after-images, and approached the charred wreckage of the creature. The big man Rhenkin remembered from the town council had pulled himself up from where he'd fallen back against the doorway, and was staring at the hammer in his hands in amazement.

  “What did you do?” Rhenkin asked, in an awed voice.

  The man met his eyes and shook his head dumbly. “I...I just struck it in the head. I...” He trailed off and stared at the large black hammer again, turning it in his hands as if looking for something.

  “What is that thing?”

  “This?” Harlen said, raising the weapon. “It's just a forge hammer.” He looked as though he was about to say more, but the girl at his feet moaned and tried to pull herself up. “Erinn!” Harlen dropped the hammer and knelt beside her. Rhenkin stepped towards them to help, but then whipped his head around as the sound of distant screaming carried through the village.

  The satyr cut through the village like a scythe through a wheat-field, crashing into homes and dragging villagers from their beds even as others tore through the massed camp of troops and refugees. Chaos reigned, and the fact there were only a small number of the creatures worked in their favour as the village twisted and coiled like a confused serpent, trying to respond to the attack.

  Finally, the creatures seemed to tire of the game themselves and fled into the night, their bodies covered in thick, black lines where sword blades had struck them.

  ***

  Devin stormed through the village in a rage, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides and his cheeks streaked with tears. His hair and clothes were covered in straw, but he was oblivious to how he looked as he walked into the hospital. The main room was packed with wounded, spread out over the floor on blankets and sheets. He looked around blankly, as snippets of conversation carried to his ears.

  “Apparently, she's in a right state. She found Trallen in the woods, all tore up to pieces!”

  “Sarah? What was she doing in the middle of the woods at that time of night?”

  “What do you think?”

  He picked his way through the wounded on the floor, struggling to find places to put his feet in the press of people. They looked up at him as he passed, but their faces might as well have been the faces of strangers to him.

  “...nearly had Erinn. Dragged her out of the door when she stuck her head out to see what all the noise was about. If Harlen hadn't been there, anything might've happened.”

  “She's luckier than our Karren then. They found her half-naked and sobbing, her dress all torn to shreds. She's not spoken since.”

  Finally, Devin spotted Hannah and Obair. They were crouched down by a wounded soldier in a far corner. Hannah’s face was haggard and tear-streaked, but she gave him a feeble smile as she looked up and rushed over to him, her arms outstretched. He clung to her like a lost child, for a moment, before pushing her back. “You knew.” It was not a question.

  “I knew there was a chance of them coming,” she said in a low voice so as not to be overheard. “I didn't know what would happen to all these people or how bad it would be.”

  “How could you know those things were coming? They were like something from a nightmare. How could you possibly know?”

  “Obair knew. He told me nobody would believe us and it's true, Devin, nobody did.”

  Devin turned and glared at the old man. Pushing his way past Hannah he grabbed the old man, pulling him up by his robe. He was still not a large man but work in the fields had given him strength in his arms, and the old man felt as light as straw as he swept him up and slammed him against the wall.

  “You knew!” he shouted into the man's shocked face.

  “Devin, please!” Hannah pulled gently at his arm and he slowly let the man slide down the wall to the floor.

  “He couldn't have done any more. It's not his fault,” she said, a plea in her tired eyes.

  “I can't believe you're taking this so calmly,” Devin said, accusingly.

  “I had a couple of days to get used to the idea.” She smiled.

  And then it all made sense to him. “You don't know, do you?”

  Her face fell as he spoke. “Know what?”

  “Khorin's dead, Hannah. Those things killed him.”

  And then she crumbled. He sank to the ground beside her and wrapped his arms around her as they cried. Her in shock, him for the loss he'd known about already.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Obair stepped back from the boy and his mother. Their display of grief had turned heads, and now they held each other in a widening circle amid the bustle of the hospital, as refugees and patients looked on awkwardly. He turned away to find cold blue eyes appraising him from across the room. Rhenkin cocked his head towards the door and left.

  The sun was warm on the steps and the sky clear as Obair stepped out through the double doors. It appeared to have all the makings of a beautiful day, almost making a mockery of the events of the night before. He caught the sweet smell of burning stourweed and turned to see Rhenkin sat to one side on the steps as he sucked his pipe into life.

  “A young scout came to me a few weeks ago,” the soldier began as he held a glowing taper and puffed on the pipe until it was burning to his satisfaction. “Told me that the Bjornmen had brought some kind of beasts with them.” He met Obair's eyes, “He was terrified. You could see it on his face. It's funny really, if he hadn't been so scared, I don't think I'd have believed him.”

  Obair nodded and waited for the man to go on.

  Rhenkin drew deeply on the pipe and stared across the village in silence for a moment, watching the flow of the crowd. “For all that, I would never have believed what happened last night if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. I've been a soldier my whole life, old man. I've fought in border skirmishes that we all pretend didn't happen, and I've seen men
piss themselves as the enemy charged. I've never, in my life, seen or heard of anything like those things last night.” He stood and turned to Obair. “Which raises the question of how you knew they were coming, and just what they were.”

  Obair met the younger man's eyes. “What exactly did you see?”

  “I chased one of those damned things across half the village and watched it cut through my men like they weren't there. I've never seen anything move that fast. And then, when we fought...” He looked down at his feet, shaking his head.

  “When you fought?”

  “When we fought, my blade just bounced off it. It barely left a mark.” His composure cracked for a moment, showing the briefest glimpse of the turmoil he was feeling, and then the mask was back in place, cold and immovable. “How did you know they were going to attack?”

  “Let me ask just one more question first, if I may?”

  Rhenkin grunted.

  “Do you believe your scout? That the Bjornmen brought these things with them?”

  Rhenkin pulled the pipe from his mouth and scratched at a day's growth of stubble before answering. “No, I don't. That thing I fought last night had weapons. It had intelligence. Whatever it was, it was too strong to be controlled by any man. It was no beast set loose by a handler.”

  “You're right, of course, they are nothing to do with the Bjornmen at all.” Obair said. He glanced down at the wooden steps leading up into the hospital. “Do you mind if we sit? It's been a long night for me too.” He eased himself down onto a step and gave a contented sigh. “No, they are not the Bjornmen's pets. They are part of the fae.”

  Rhenkin coughed, stifling a laugh and fixed his face into a glower. “The fae? I came looking for answers from you, not children's tales.”

  “Perhaps you should look to the children's tales for the answers?” Obair said, with a humourless smile.

  “What?”

  “Think on it, Rhenkin. What have you witnessed? Creatures no man can say they have ever seen, that move through your troops like wind in the long grass. Eyes that glow in the dark and skin that your blades will not cut.” He glanced at the soldier's face and noted his troubled expression. “Did you happen to see the one that was killed?”

  “See it? I watched it happen!”

  “What did you see, then?”

  “The smith. Harlen, I think his name is. He stove its skull in with a forge hammer.”

  “And what do you suppose the hammer is made of?”

  “I see where you're going with this, but I don't think I'm quite ready to accept the idea of faeries coming to get us in our beds.”

  “Isn't that exactly what happened, Rhenkin?” The captain opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again slowly.

  “There are more coming, Captain. These few were simply playing, toying with us because they could, like a cat with a mouse. Tomorrow night, the real force will come and we must be ready.”

  “Who are you?” the captain breathed.

  “That's one place to start,” Obair said with a small smile, ignoring the sound of the doors closing behind them. “My name is Obair, but there are far more important questions to ask right now, and we are short on time. Do you think you can just accept that I am someone who knows more of these creatures than you, for now?”

  Rhenkin nodded. “For now, at least.”

  “Good,” Obair replied. “Now, how many of them do you think there were?”

  “If I were to base it on the number of wounded and the damage caused, I would have said upwards of fifty, maybe even a hundred,” Rhenkin said, as he stared into the distance and puffed on his pipe.

  “But you know that isn't the case.”

  Rhenkin grunted his agreement.

  “Would you believe it was only five?” Obair pressed.

  “Five? That few?” Rhenkin pulled his pipe from between his teeth.

  “Just five,” Obair nodded. “Five satyrs alone did this much damage. Tomorrow night, we face the full host, a force that will hunt us down like a rabbit before a pack of dogs.”

  “And just what would you have me do, old man?”

  “We have one chance, Rhenkin. This is the first time in probably a hundred generations that we will face the Wild Hunt. We must meet them as they arrive and strike at them before they form up into any real force.”

  Rhenkin snorted. “Even if I did as you ask Obair, we don't know where they will muster, and how do you propose to attack creatures who can face good steel without a scratch?”

  “With iron, Rhenkin. You saw yourself what Harlen's hammer did to the satyr. As for the other, I know precisely where they will muster.”

  Rhenkin sighed. “I can't do it, old man. The Bjornmen are on our doorstep. I have reports that their main strength is pulling back, consolidating, but they have a force moving on a village less than ten miles distant. Even if I could spare the men, which I can't, what would we use for weapons? My sword didn't even scratch that thing.”

  “Have your field smiths make iron weapons,” Obair said softly.

  “I told you, I don't have the men to spare.” Rhenkin said flatly. “Besides, iron is too brittle to make a good sword.”

  “So make spears and arrowheads.” Devin interrupted from behind

  Rhenkin turned in surprise. “You've quiet feet for a farm boy,” he said with raised eyebrows.

  “I'm no farmer, I'm a hunter,” Devin said shortly. “Those things killed my father last night. I know I wouldn't be the only one willing to lend their arm.”

  Obair looked at Rhenkin, one eyebrow raised.

  “I'll not strip the walls for you, but I'll give you what I can,” the captain said, with a sigh.

  ***

  Klöss stood on the hilltop overlooking the village, watching the line of carts and people as they fled from the rear gates.

  “You should not be here, you know?” Tristan rumbled from beside him.

  “So you've said,” Klöss replied without taking his eyes from the village.

  “If something happens…”

  “I know,” sighed Klöss, glancing at the big man. “If something happens then the plan is affected.” He grimaced. “I'm sick of hearing this Tristan, I'm no more important than anyone else at this point. The plan is finished, all we have to do now is hold what we've taken.”

  “I was going to say if something happens, your uncle will have me flayed,” Tristan said, without expression.

  Klöss laughed and punched him in the shoulder. “You'd better stick close to me then, hadn't you? I imagine a man as big as you looks a little odd without his skin.”

  He waved vaguely at the village. “They've thrown these walls up quickly, haven't they? This place was only scouted three weeks ago.”

  The village was surrounded by a wooden palisade, twenty feet high, with a deep ditch immediately before it. Armoured men could be seen standing on a walkway inside it, above the thick double gates.

  “They work fast,” Tristan agreed. “They don't seem to learn, though,” he said, pointing to the two lines of catapults behind them, in front of their own massed troops.

  “No,” Klöss said, with a grim smile. “Wooden walls are never a good idea.” He turned to an older man, who stood beside the rows of catapults. “Are your preparations complete, Weaponsmaster?”

  “Just awaiting the permission for a ranging, Shipmaster,” the grey-haired man replied. “It's an easy shot with no boat shifting.”

  Klöss grinned and drew his sword, pointing it towards the walls. “Then loose!”

  At the Weaponmaster's echoing shout, a single catapult lurched forward as it lofted a barrage of rocks towards the walls. Klöss watched carefully as the stones fell and noted they fell short by just fifty feet. A jeering cry rose from the defenders as they watched the barrage miss but silence fell swiftly as older, more experienced men explained what was really going on. The gates closed at the far side of the village. Even from this distance, Klöss could make out the small crowd of villagers trapped inside,
being forced back by armed men.

  A small flight of arrows flew futilely from the walls towards the Islanders, but it was a vain hope. Klöss was well aware they were far out of range of anything that wasn't a siege engine.

  He watched as the old weaponsmaster supervised the adjustments to the catapults, and turned to Tristan. “There is something that feels wrong here, though.”

  “How so?”

  “These people are not idiots. They must know the fate of the other villages.”

  “You expected something more from them?”

  “I don't know, Tristan. I expected something.” He turned and waved at the village vaguely. “They're doing the same as all the others. Trying to defend the village, trying to stop us from taking it. They ought to know by now, that's not what's going on.”

  “Stupidity is not that uncommon, Klöss,” Tristan offered.

  Klöss glanced at the preparations again and watched as the old man signalled to him from one of the farthest machines, holding a white baton aloft. Klöss gave an exaggerated nod and the baton cut down through the air. Half a hundred catapults lurched forwards, straining against the ropes staking them firmly to the ground, and rocks and stones rained down on the walls.

  The barrage cracked timbers and smashed through sections of the palisade in some places. Men screamed as parts of the wooden walkway collapsed and others were flung off it like wet rags, as the fist-sized stones fell like rain. At the catapults, men rushed forward and emptied huge, smoking pails into the cradles. The weaponsmaster held a red baton aloft and looked at Klöss again for the nod, before giving the order to loose.