The horn had been closer this time. It sounded as if the hunter had been close enough to watch them from the trees. They were being goaded, driven on for the amusement of the creature that hunted them. Another horn sounded, off to the left of them this time and the sound of crashing branches had him shrugging the bow off his back and scrambling for an ironhead. Joran held his own bow ready as Ylsriss and Obair stood close behind them, iron daggers at the ready.
Devin stood with the bowstring to his lips. His arm was already trembling with the effort and, with a grimace, he let the tension relax in the bow. “It’s nothing,” he told Joran. “He’s just playing with us.”
“What if it’s not though?” Joran said, his words tight and just one frightened step from panic. His hand shook as he held the bow and he looked about wildly.
“Joran.” Ylsriss made the word a sentence all its own. Calming, soothing. She laid a hand on his shoulder and he relaxed the string. “You say it’s only one fae, Devin,” he said, as the panic faded from his eyes. “What if you’re wrong? What if there are others? Or satyr and fae’reeth?”
Devin looked at Obair and Ylsriss, taking the measure of them before he met Joran’s eyes. “It wouldn’t matter. They could have us any time they wanted, Joran.”
The confused expression stood in place of Joran’s reply and Devin sighed. “We probably cover the best part of twenty miles during the daylight, Joran. If this thing can find us again to sound that horn at us as the moon rises then what hope do we have of running from it?”
The panic returned again as the words sank in. “Why run at all then? What’s the point?” His voice rose as he spoke, the fear riding high and clear.
He was close to breaking. Devin grabbed him by the arms, just below his shoulders, and shook him as he spoke. “Because every mile we cover is another mile closer to Druel. We’re not running from this fae, Joran. We’re running to Druel.”
“What if it attacks us, stops playing games?”
Devin looked him in the eyes and spoke softly. “Then we’ll kill the bastard.”
Joran looked at him, disbelieving. Devin might as well have told him he could fly from the look on his face. “I hope you’re right, Devin,” Joran said after a moment. “That it is just the one. I really do.” He didn’t wait for a response and set off down the road, running in an easy trot.
Devin watched him go and, as the others set off after him, he looked around at the bushes lining the edge of the trees beside the road. “So do I,” he whispered.
That night passed more peacefully than most. The woods were far from silent, even over the sound of their packs jostling around on their backs, the hoots of owls and rustle of creature darting to cover in the brush were clear. It was a natural sound and Devin was glad for it.
The fae seemed to bring a silence when they entered the woods. The birds hushed and animals huddled in their burrows. Tonight the woods were alive with noise and Devin took comfort from it, though Obair twitched and started with each noise. They were making good time, though it was hard to judge how much ground they’d truly covered. Obair was adjusting to the routine and seemed to stop less often. The fact their packs were growing lighter was definitely a factor and Devin tried hard not to think about it. Normally, there would have been time to set snares or to try and hunt but now they had to rely on what supplies they had and those were dwindling far too quickly.
A faint sound tore him from his thoughts. Something at odds with the rest of the sounds of the night. He reached for Obair’s arm and slowed, trusting to the druid to pass the signal on. An owl screeched a hunting call behind them and, for a moment, he relaxed until he caught the sound again. It was the faint strain of music and laughter.
He opened his mouth to speak but Ylsriss’s pale face caught at him, fear mixed with despair and something that might have even been guilt. He frowned at her but she shook her head.
“Did you hear that?” he whispered at Obair.
The old man nodded. Shadows hid his face but Devin didn’t need to see the expression. “It could as easily be the same as the hunting horn. More games.”
There was something in the man’s voice though. “You don’t believe that though, do you?” Devin asked.
The shadowed figure shook his head. “No. I can’t tell you why but no, I don't.”
They wasted no more time talking and fell into a trot, shifting into a run as soon as they were all moving. Laugher followed them along the road and the trill of flutes grew closer with every passing mile.
“Devin!” Ylsriss cried out, grabbing at his arm and pointing behind them.
He lurched to a stop, twisting to see what she meant. The figure was clear in the moonlight. A satyr stood in the centre of the road behind them, at the very limits of their vision. It stood still, watching them with eyes that were visible even at this distance. Devin pulled one of the precious ironheads from the quiver, spilling the strips of torn cloak he’d stuffed into it to keep them from falling, out onto the road.
“What do we do?” Obair asked, deferring to him again.
He said nothing for a while, staring as the fae creature watched him. “Nothing,” he said at last. “Nothing for now. We keep going.”
They set off again, fear pushing them into a faster pace. Devin glanced back once as they set off but the satyr had vanished. It was different somehow, knowing for certain that they were back there. Before, the fear had almost been an abstract thing. Despite the horns and glimpses of movement it had been fear more of the unknown than anything else. The suspicion that everything they’d seen and heard could be a trick of the fae had given the fear an unreal quality.
He heard the snarl before he heard the footsteps and turned mid-step, staggering sideways for a moment before he came to a stop. The satyr threw themselves after them with an abandon that only a child could match. Devin nocked the arrow he’d already held as they ran and released smoothly. The fear was gone now. All he felt was the icy calm that had surrounded him when he’d shot the Bjornman in the eye.
The arrow took the first satyr in the chest, burying itself deep. The iron tasted the fae blood, filled with the grace the moonlight had given it, and the creature exploded into blue flame, falling without even the time to scream.
Devin reached for another arrow and let fly before Joran had loosed his first. His second shot was as true as the first and within moments it was over.
“Lords and Ladies, Devin!” he heard Obair gasp but the words were muffled, like he was hearing them from a great distance. He ignored them and ran to the first of the satyr, ripping the arrow free before the fire could ruin the shaft. He dashed to the second, burning his hands as he worked the arrow free from the creature’s throat. Then Ylsriss was there, pulling him backward away from the flaming corpse.
“Your hands, Devin!”
He looked down at them and the pain came with the sight. His hands were already an angry red where they weren’t covered in black and gore.
“Stupid man,” Ylsriss told him as she soaked bandages in water and wrapped them. It wasn’t ideal but they couldn’t spare the water to soak his hands properly. Devin grinned despite himself. It was one of the first phrases she’d asked him for. She seemed to be putting it to good use.
“Stars above, Devin, have you lost your mind?” Obair puffed at him as he came to stop. “What were you thinking?”
He shrugged. “We need the arrows, Obair.”
The old man muttered to himself. The simple fact was they both knew he was right. The arrows were their only real weapon against the fae. The knives would mean a hand to hand fight and that didn’t even bear thinking about.
“Can you stand?” Obair asked him finally.
Devin nodded. “I’ll be fine.” Movement behind the old man drew his eye and the others followed his gaze. The fae watched them calmly, surrounded by a pack of satyr. They were too far for Devin to make out numbers but the sound of their voices carried easily on the breeze as the tall figure turned and vanish
ed into the trees, the satyr glaring at them before they too were swallowed by the woods.
It was less than three hours before they came at them again and the satyr came rushing out from the trees beside the road. The creatures were among them almost before anyone had a chance to put an arrow to bowstring, and the bone knives flashed in the moonlight. Joran fell quickly, grasping at his thigh as the blood ran through his fingers. Devin fired an arrow into the mess but it struck only ground as the satyr skipped aside. Things would have turned badly had Obair not acted. He struck out with the iron staff, slamming it into the side of a satyr’s head and throwing the creature to one side, where it crashed to the ground twitching as tiny blue flames licked at the blood oozing from the crater in its head.
The blow seemed to shock both human and satyr alike and the fight paused long enough for them all to take in the spectacle. Ylsriss didn’t slow however and her iron dagger slammed into a satyr, thrusting up into the beast’s side and up between the ribs. She tore the blade free and stepped back as the flames erupted from the wound and fountained from its mouth.
The sheer savagery of their attack seemed to confuse the satyr and the remaining two fell back for a second, long enough for Devin to find his arrow and put it into one of their legs. The last creature gave a snarl of rage before breaking free and rushing into the trees.
Ylsriss dashed to Joran, kneeling over him and speaking quickly in their language. The blood was pooling under his leg and, even if he hadn’t seen that, the look on the man’s face was enough to tell Devin it was bad.
She turned to him, snapping her fingers as she motioned for him to come closer, then tugging at his cloak until Devin handed it to her. Three quick slashes and a tug had a thick section torn from the bottom, which she twisted and thrust under Joran’s thigh, pulling it tight and looking up at them.
“Get me a wood,” she ordered.
“A wood?” Devin repeated. “You mean a stick?”
“Yes, stick,” Ylsriss snapped. “Go!”
He returned with a thick stick quickly and watched as she tied it into the knot and twisted it, drawing the tourniquet tighter. Joran screamed as it grew tighter and Devin and Obair exchanged awkward glances before looking away.
It took two of them but they managed to get Joran to his feet. He leant heavily on Obair’s staff with one hand and stood with his other arm around Ylsriss, white faced and shaking.
“What are they doing?” Devin burst out. “There’s no thought to these attacks. They don’t seem to care if they live or die!”
“Possibly they don’t.” Obair shrugged. “I don’t know much about the satyr. They’re nowhere as intelligent as the fae, I know that much. Maybe it doesn’t occur to them that we might be able to hurt them.”
“It’s not that,” Joran managed in a strained voice. “They don’t expect the iron, that much is true, but they’re not as stupid as you might think. They’re not used to battle. This is more of a hunt to them. They tried the direct approach when they charged at us. Then they tried rushing us from the trees. I don’t know what they’ll do next but they’re testing us, learning our responses.”
Their progress was slow and painful over the next few hours. Joran hobbled between him and Obair, making as best a pace as he could with his arms around their shoulders. His face was pale and it was probably only the pain that kept him conscious. The night showed no sign of ending and Devin travelled in silence, not trusting himself to speak.
“What’s that?” Ylsriss called out, pointing ahead of them into the darkness. Devin stopped with the others, squinting into the gloom.
He shook his head. “I don’t see any—”
“There, look!”
He glanced at her face before looking again. A flicker of light from between the trees, so brief he almost lost it. It came again as the breeze shifted the branches gently.
“Fire!” he breathed the word, almost with reverence, and urged Joran onwards.
“Devin…” Obair’s voice was low and urgent and Devin was already groaning as he turned. The glow of the eyes filled the road behind them in the distance, shifting around in the darkness. It was hard to judge the distance but it was close enough.
“Ylsriss, get his feet,” Devin ordered as he lifted Joran up higher. She reached to grab Joran’s ankles, bending his knees back towards her and they began an awkward run. It wasn’t much faster than a trot and Joran grimaced with each step, fighting to keep the cries in.
The firelight was clearer now, a large campfire shining through the trees.
Ylsriss twisted to look back over one shoulder “They’re coming!”
Obair pulled them into a run and they lurched unevenly as Joran screamed in pain between them.
“It’s no good!” Devin shouted as he slowed, lowering Joran down to the road. He snatched up the bow, drawing and releasing before the image before him really registered. Another ironhead left his fingers and the scene drew into focus. A seething mass of satyr surged towards them, knives bare in the moonlight.
Devin froze with the arrow in his hand. There were so many they couldn’t hope to stand against them. He looked to Obair and saw the same thought mirrored in the old man’s face.
Arrows erupted from the woods to either side of them with yet more arcing overhead. The satyr exploded into flame as Devin looked behind him with mouth agape as figures rushed forward to help with Joran
“We can’t hold them here,” one told him. “Come on!”
Devin allowed the strangers to pull them back as they fired arrows in a retreating line back towards the light of the fire. Whoever they were they had ironheads and the line of satyr was scattering, breaking for the trees to either side of the road as the arrows brought fire wherever they fell.
The camp was larger than it had looked through the trees and Joran was rushed off to a row of tents to have his leg tended. Silence fell as the satyr melted into the woods and men quickly took up positions around the camp. Devin found himself watching the trees as he snatched up the quiver of ironheads that had been dumped at his feet. This had all been too easy. A quick glance at some of the men told him he wasn’t alone in thinking this. A man on the far side of the camp fell with a gurgling scream, and then the satyr boiled out of the trees, rushing into the camp from all directions.
Arrows flew and blue fire flared. Devin froze for a moment, taken by the chaos that raged all about them. The satyr surged into the camp and it seemed that for every one that fell, another two pressed on, darting past the swords that sought to find them.
Devin buried an arrow into the back of a satyr fighting in front of him and moved on, seeking another target. The camp seethed with the creatures and he fired again, reaching for his quiver before the arrow had even struck.
The air seemed suddenly to be full of a gritty sand and he coughed and spat before the taste of the iron registered with him. Around him satyr clawed at their eyes as tiny pinpricks of blue fire flared and were gone. Another grasped at its throat, lurching with panic-ridden eyes as flame burst from its mouth with each breath.
None wasted the moment, and swords rose and fell in an orgy of butchery. As the beasts fell Devin caught sight of the fae. He stood in the centre of the fray, bone daggers whistling around it as he danced between the swords striking at him. A man fell as the fae laid open his throat with a casual stroke and thrust both knives deep into the side of a second man as he moved past. The creature moved like a cat, making his way through the camp with a grace as beautiful as it was deadly.
Devin released the arrow without thinking. He was barely aware he’d drawn the bow. The fae moved in a blur, batting the shaft out of the air with one knife as he shifted out of path of its flight. Devin’s hand scrabbled at the quiver at the creature turned its burning eyes on him, stalking unhurried through the chaos towards him.
A frantic glance told him what his hand already knew, the quiver was empty. He backed away, feet catching at unseen obstacles as his hands reached for the knife he knew w
ould be useless. The fury on the face of the fae was the sea at storm and it leapt the last ten feet, landing without a sound and sinking into a fighting stance.
Devin flailed with the dagger, lashing out in a desperate attempt to keep the fae’s blades from his skin. It didn’t even bother to block the strike, leaning back away from the iron blade, and then shifting in toward him.
A figure in a long cloak stepped past him as the fae lunged in and coolly hurled a handful of dust into his face. Blue sparks erupted from the fae’s eyes as he screamed, the lunge forgotten as he pawed at his face. The figure didn’t pause but moved in low and rammed a dagger into the fae’s chest, reaching for Devin’s arm to pull him back away from the creature as it fell.
The flames that erupted around the wound were far fiercer than anything Devin had encountered from satyr and he staggered further back with a cry, shielding his face with his arms. It was only as the fire began to subside that he realised the hand holding his arm still belonged to a woman. He looked up to her face and the shock of recognition mirrored his own. “Erinn? Is that you?”
Chapter Twenty-One
Caerl spat, his vomiting had long since stopped bringing anything up and now the heaves were dry and painful as his stomach spasmed. He shook his head blearily and crawled back away from the spattered mess he’d left on the broken flagstones of the alleyway. He felt his way up a wall, leaning heavily as he found his feet.
Staggering steps took him out to the street and, by the time he made it through the winding roads and alleyways to the docks, he almost felt close to human again. It wasn’t the first time he’d woken in an alleyway. It probably wouldn’t be the last either. He caught the disgusted look of a man passing him. Rich, a merchant or something, by the looks of him.
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