Arrows began to fly from the walls, the elevation of their new position providing the archers with greater range. Catapults and ballistae hurled their payloads into the fray, away from the cavalry but close enough to add to the shock and fear. It was almost visible, a ripple that spread throughout those closest to the combat, slowing their reactions, their training falling away as the fear took hold.
Rhenkin hurried through the gates and rushed up onto the walls. The cavalry had wheeled and were fighting their way back towards the village. Their number seemed undiminished and they left a swathe of destruction behind them. He glanced down at the gates to see the last of his own units sprinting inside the walls. The ballistae launched their last spears and then their operators took axes to the twisted skeins of rope, rendering the weapons useless before fleeing into the village.
He watched as the cavalry charge faltered and slowed. So much of their power was built on speed and momentum. They were torn from their saddles and, once on the ground, they were as helpless as baby birds fallen from the nest.
He watched, unable to turn his face away, or perhaps he forced himself to bear witness as their numbers fell. Two hundred. Fifty. When only twenty remained, he turned to Larson. The man’s face was as impassive as his own, but his eyes spoke loudly of things he would never put into words.
“Shut the gates,” Rhenkin said softly. Larson walked away, leaving him to his doubts. The gates slammed shut, the heavy crossbar dropping into place in what seemed to be a final accusation of failure.
There were no further attacks that day. The raiders pulled back beyond bowshot almost as soon as the gates had been closed. Rhenkin stood on the walls as the sun sank slowly, the colours of the sunset mirroring the blood on the fields below him. He could pick out the Bjornmen pulling siege engines into position at the rear of their lines. Trebuchets, by the looks of things. He wondered idly what ammunition they were planning to use. Smoke rose through the trees. Despite the large number of Bjornmen on the field, still more remained in the woods.
***
Devin moved with as much stealth as he could manage in the fading light. The sun was just above the horizon and the light would soon be gone. The woods were quiet, except for the occasional burst of birdsong, and the distant sounds of the battle carried easily to them. It was little more than the faint clash of metal, but even at this distance he fancied he could hear the screams.
He paused beside a stand of beech and rubbed at his calves. The cramp had been coming and going for the last few hours. It was a pain he could have done without, but it was nothing to the throbbing ache in his head.
He looked along the trail and waved the others forward. They were spaced out into two groups, with Devin scouting ahead, and Tench and Riddal following. Though they’d not wanted to admit it initially, Devin knew the woods better than either of them and, with the light going, it made more sense for him to lead.
It was dark enough under the trees at the best of times. The canopy was dense and, when the sun had gone down, they would have an hour at most before they were blundering along in the pitch-black.
“There’s a couple of them about two or three minutes further on,” Devin whispered to the others, as they drew close.
“Just two?” Riddal raised his eyebrows. The smallest group they’d encountered so far had been fifteen, but that had been hours ago.
“I saw three,” Devin admitted. “One keeps going and coming back. I think he might be on watch on the other side of their camp. The other two are lying near a firepit. They’ve not lit it yet, though.”
“Deserters?” Tench wondered.
“They could be, I suppose. Or they could be just avoiding the fight,” Riddal whispered back. “Though you’d think they’d run further away than this.” He shrugged, looking back to Devin. “It doesn’t matter what they are really. Can we get round them?”
“Not without losing another half an hour. The woods are pretty open around here. We'd have to really put some space between us and them or risk being seen.”
“It’s going to be getting dark soon.” Riddal glanced at the sky and scratched at his cheek. “How far do you think we are from the village?”
“Not far at all. If we could get out of the trees and just walk, we’d be able to see it in half an hour.” Devin spread his hands helplessly.
“I don’t want to be out here if the village is that close,” Tench whispered. “If we can’t go past them without wasting light, let’s do it the other way.”
“Fine,” Riddal gave in. “We do it together and silent. I take one and you take the other.” He gave Devin a look as he started to protest. “I want you to have an arrow ready. If either doesn't fall straight away, you take him. I don’t want any screams. If the third man is there, you take him instead. Questions?” They shook their heads.
“How’s the head?” he asked Devin, as the young man rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands.
“The same. It's throbbing like mad.”
“Tried willow bark?”
Devin shook his head. “I think I just need water. Eating willow would just make me thirstier.”
Riddal winced in sympathy. They'd run out of water hours ago and hadn't had the opportunity to refill their skins. “We’ll take it slow and easy. Lead us in.”
Devin nodded and set off. The three of them spread out, moving in a loose wedge with Devin at the point. The Bjornmen had made a rough camp at the base of a broad oak tree, the thick leaves offering shelter from any rain that might fall in the night. Devin led the others close to a collection of dense bushes which spread out from a stand of holly, directing them with silent gestures.
The two Bjornmen were chatting quietly in their harsh tongue. The language sounded alien to Devin, full of guttural sounds that made it sound like they were arguing, although the tone of their voices made it clear they were not. They lay at ease on the ground, heads resting on their packs. The third man was nowhere to be seen.
Devin drew an arrow and set it to the string, looking over at Riddal and Tench as they picked their targets. It wouldn’t be a difficult shot. The Bjornmen were only fifty feet away, at most.
Riddal let fly and the arrow buried itself neatly in his target’s throat. The man clutched at the shaft as he rolled sideways, gurgled and was still. Tench’s shot, however, went wide, his arrow heading off into the trees at the other side of the clearing. The Bjornman sprang to his feet, clearly about to sprint into the trees. Devin pulled back and released in one motion, his actions automatic. His arrow slammed into the base of the man's skull and dropped him like a stone.
“Good shot,” Riddal muttered, as he pushed his way through the bush to collect his arrow. “What happened to you?” he called over to Tench, as he worked his arrow free of the Bjornman.
“Bloody bird flew out of the bush as I shot,” the man explained. “The arrow must have tapped a twig as it went.”
Devin knelt and grasped hold of the arrow shaft where it protruded from the man’s neck. It seemed like this should bother him, but he was past that. Perhaps it was fatigue. Maybe he’d just turned hard in the past few weeks. He worked the arrow back and forth, but the head seemed stuck tight.
Later, he would never be able to say what it was that had made him look up. He couldn't remember hearing anything. The Bjornman stood at the other side of the camp, shock plain on his face as he caught sight of the trio.
Faster than he would have thought it possible, Devin dropped the arrow and his fingers flew to his quiver. The arrow barely seemed to touch the string, as he drew and released quicker than he could take a breath. The shaft flew true and took the Bjornman in the eye, dropping him without a whisper.
He turned to see Riddal and Tench staring at him, awestruck. “How the hell did you do that?” Tench gasped. “I’ve never seen anyone move so fast!”
“In the eye too,” Riddal said and whistled. “That’s a shot I’d be lucky to make even if I stood still and aimed it.”
“Just
a lucky shot,” Devin said, embarrassed. His hands were shaking. The first shot hadn’t bothered him, but to kill a man without even thinking? To just act on instinct and to kill as easily as breathing? That was different, and he was both amazed and horrified by it. He waved Riddal into the lead and followed him, his mind full of thoughts he didn’t have time to process.
The woods grew steadily darker until the moon began to rise. Their progress slowed to a crawl and Devin took the lead again. They would need to rely on his knowledge of the woods. The sounds of the battle had been filtering through the trees for the last few hours, but they had faded with the light. He wished they were closer, so he could see what was going on.
The forest was still except for the occasional rustle of leaves as small animals hunted in the night. They moved as fast as they dared. None of them had mentioned the fae, but they all cast frequent glances up at the full moon.
Finally, they seemed to be on familiar ground and Devin began to move more swiftly. Being so close to home made the danger seem less real. Tench and Riddal hurried to keep up with him, as he passed along the game trail and through the woods, to the edge of the clearing where he'd heard Erinn scream all those months ago, when Artor had pressed his luck with her. He pushed back a branch and froze.
The massive creature he had seen in Obair’s glade stood in silence, close to where Erinn had once sat, its bearded face raised to the moon. Tiny green sparks were just visible, dancing on the skin of its shoulders and chest, as it drank the light in.
Devin waved at the others to stop as he fought the wave of terror that threatened to overwhelm him. Should he attack the creature? No, that was ridiculous. He had no iron on him and he’d seen what the thing could do when threatened with arrows.
“There is no need to hide low in your bush, manling,” the thing said, in an amused tone. “I could end you in an instant, should I so choose.”
Devin stepped out of the trees. “What are you doing?” hissed Riddal, grabbing for his arm.
“He already knows we’re here, Riddal,” Devin replied calmly.
It turned its antlered head to regard him, amber eyes shining bright in the moonlight. “I have no interest in three of your kind this night, manling. Know, however, that my children are already out at play. I expect they would think differently.” He closed his eyes and raised his face to the skies again, absorbing the silvery light.
Devin was struck by the beauty of the creature. Majestic was simply too coarse a word to describe it. He felt inferior just being near it, as if even by breathing the same air as it, he was somehow an affront to its perfection.
A smile spread across the thing’s face and its bright white teeth shone against the dark green of its beard. Devin wondered if it somehow knew what he was thinking.
He took a step and then another around the edge of the clearing, watching the creature all the while to see if it would react. His eyes sought out and met Riddal’s, who seemed frozen to the spot. Devin waved him on and they worked their way around the creature and into the trees. It was only once the leaves of the trees had obscured the scene that they broke into a run.
Devin sprinted, fear lending a strength to his legs that he would have denied was there before the encounter. They ran wildly, the kind of running that can only be born of terror, with no thought given to stealth or of tripping over roots or fallen branches. They thought only of the need to put space between themselves and the thing that stood in the clearing, drinking in the moonlight as if it were summer's mead.
He became aware of Tench calling his name in a weak gasp and he forced himself to stop until the others had caught up with him. There were no words. Nothing could be said about it that would make it any less insane, less surreal. Instead, they met each others' eyes briefly, each seeming to recoil from the horror that shone there.
They walked on. What else was there to do?
***
Devin crouched low in the long grass beside the trees. It was fully dark now, but the field was illuminated by the bright moonlight and the fires that burned on the fields before Widdengate. The smoke hung low, hugging the ground, heavy with the stench of burning pitch.
He felt a moment’s pang of loss. Widdengate was gone, at least the Widdengate that he had known was. Even if they managed to drive the Bjornmen back, the village would never be the same. The fields had been ruined by the long lines of trenches and littered with stakes. Grief fuelled the growing anger he felt towards these men from across the seas.
The village still stood, however. The Bjornmen seemed to have pulled back to stay out of range of anything that might be launched from the walls. Their army seemed to stretch forever in the darkness, a thousand campfires belching smoke out into the tainted night.
Devin was glad they hadn’t surrounded the village. There was probably a strategic reason as to why they hadn't, but he was content just to know that there was a clear route to the walls.
“Ready?” Riddal called over to them both, in a hoarse whisper.
“Yes,” he managed, hearing Tench’s voice from the other side of Riddal.
“Go!” Riddal sprinted for the walls. There might have been no need to run, but even though an hour had past since their encounter with the creature in the woods, they were still jumpy. The fae were loose somewhere, the creature had made that clear. As they drew close to the limits of a bow’s range from the walls, Riddal pulled out a horn and gave three long blasts. Movement on the walls showed they’d been spotted and a bell rang out loud.
“Scouts returning!” Tench bellowed, as they ran. The horn ought to have been enough, but it never hurt to be careful.
Torches bobbed as men ran along the walls and let down ropes over the side. Devin hauled himself up the rope as best he could, though in truth he did little more than cling to it as the soldiers pulled him to the top.
He collapsed on the walkway on the other side of the spiked parapet. He was home. Maybe not safe, but to be home was enough for now. Strong arms pulled him to his feet and helped him down the steps to the ground.
Everyone seemed to be speaking to him at once, asking questions and patting him on the back. The fatigue he’d been fighting seemed to have hit him all at once and his head swam.
A blur of red streaked through the growing crowd and Erinn hurled herself at him, wrapping her arms around him. She held him close and buried her head in his chest.
“Devin! I thought you were…” She pushed him away and sniffed. “You… You!” She wiped her tears away with a sleeve and slapped hard at his chest. “You scared me half to death!”
“Erinn, I…”
“You nothing, Devin. You had me scared witless when you didn’t come back with the others! Don’t you ever do anything so stupid again!” She flung her arms around him again as the soldiers chuckled at his helpless expression.
“Alright, that’s enough, girl. Let him up to breathe,” Harlen said, peeling his daughter off Devin gently.
Devin was dimly aware of a man speaking to Riddal. “Are you injured? Do you feel able to report?” Riddal nodded and the weary-looking man turned to Devin. “If you are able, son, Captain Rhenkin would like to speak to you as well.” Devin nodded dumbly.
“Good lad. I’m Lieutenant Larson. I’ll walk you over.” He led them towards the command centre, one of the new buildings close to the barracks. One glance at the darkened windows was enough to show Larson that Rhenkin was not inside, however. He muttered something under his breath that Devin was reasonably sure was impolite at best, and led them back towards the walls.
Rhenkin stood in the watchtower staring out at the Bjornmen's fires. He nodded at Larson as they filed in and turned back to the view.
“You’re late.” He glanced back at Riddal with a wry smile.
“We were cut off,” Riddal said. “Sir,” he added, as Larson raised an eyebrow at him.
“Were you now? Go ahead and report then.”
Devin was only half listening as Riddal recounted the story of their m
ission. He looked past Rhenkin’s shoulder at the army camped out on the fields. He could see little except their fires but, despite the distance, he heard the scream clearly.
He stepped past Rhenkin, ignoring the startled look on Larson’s face, to the edge of the watchtower and leant on the railing as he stared out. Shadows passed in front of the fires and the faint clash of steel carried to him.
“What’s happening?” Rhenkin asked, joining him at the rail.
Devin flushed, suddenly realising what he was doing. “I’m sorry, Captain, I…”
“Never mind that, lad. You’ve seen something. What is it?”
“There’s something going on in the Bjornman camp. I thought I heard fighting.”
“What?” Rhenkin stared out into the moonlit fields.
“The fae!” Devin cried, as it hit him.
“What?”
Devin ignored him and spun round to look at Riddal. “He said his children were at play. Do you remember?”
“What’s this?” Rhenkin’s tone lowered as he fixed Riddal with a glare.
“I'm sorry I didn’t mention it, Sir. I didn’t think anyone would believe us.”
“I will decide what to believe and not to believe! From now on, you will report everything.” Rhenkin’s voice was low and angry.
“Yes, Sir,” Riddal managed, but Rhenkin had already turned away.
“Larson, give the order to clear the streets. I want everyone on the walls or in their homes unless they are in one of the street squads. Pass the word to ready iron as well.”
Larson was down the steps in a moment and, minutes later, a bell began to ring.
“You’d best get yourself home, my lad,” Rhenkin told Devin. “You look all done in.”
“I’d rather stay on the walls if that’s okay, Sir,” Devin replied. Somehow the fatigue had fallen away from him.
The Riven Wyrde Saga boxed set Page 48