The Longsword Chronicles: Book 06 - Elayeen

by GJ Kelly

  It was puzzling, and distinctly unnerving, and the similarity with the woodlands around Calhaneth stirred the butterflies again. Elayeen knelt abruptly, drew her boot knife, and, as she had seen Gawain do so often, flipped over a clod of rich Mornland earth and woodland debris. Worms wriggled, insects scurried, all hurrying to escape the sudden light and to regain the safety of the dark damp that was their home.

  The others eyed her quizzically, but though they exchanged puzzled glances, said nothing. Elayeen frowned, and pondered the significance of the life thriving underfoot. At Calhaneth, near the centre of that long-dead city, there was no life to be found at all, only mould beneath the rotting leaves of the forest floor. But birds lived well enough further from the round tower at the heart of that ancient city, while here there were none.

  “We shall move directly to the centre of the summit,” she announced, sheathing her knife and rising gracefully. “Watch well, and move softly.”

  It took time to become accustomed to the sound of their progress through the trees, marking each other’s footfalls and their relative locations, the better to filter out their own noises from any a threat might make. Trigo of course moved well enough and with stealth, but Pahdreg and Rickerd were certainly no scouts of Callodon. Memories of the journey from Jarn to Ferdan jostled for her attention, though Elayeen knew she must keep her wits about her. Of all those memories, one filled her with dread. What they would do if they now heard a call of gok! she did not know…

  The thought of a Kiromok stalking them silently and unseen sent a shiver down Elayeen’s spine, and her mouth went dry as ashes. Another memory screamed at her as they moved through the tangled undergrowth: Foolish child. This is not your path.

  Her heart began to pound, her throat began to tighten, and the realisation that she had made a terrible mistake leading them all in here began to crush her chest as though the weight of a Borbo were pressing down upon her…

  Breathe, silly girl!

  She had been holding her breath. She let it out slowly, quietly, and took a gulp of fresh Mornland air, and another. Around her, everyone still moved slowly forward, no-one giving any sign of noticing the crisis that had threaten to rob their leader of her senses. Elayeen almost laughed with relief; the strain of listening for the imagined horror of a Kiromok had paralysed her lungs, and the fear and the worry had amplified the sound of her pounding heart.

  Silly girl indeed, she thought to herself. The last time she could recall feeling so helpless was at the tree line in her brother’s province, her foot stuck in a hole, a spiteful stake through it, and a tall, blond stranger from the plains of Juria advancing towards her in the moonlight…

  They were perhaps a hundred yards from the tree line when the three elves seemed simultaneously to notice spoor in the undergrowth suggestive of the passing of an animal, and instinctively they moved towards it.

  “Badger, mebbe,” Trigo whispered. “Too low for ought bigger, too big for ought smaller.”

  They were far enough into the woods for larger plants to have died back, only the hardier and smaller ferns and bracken growing in clumps in the spaces between trees where spring and summer sunshine might yet penetrate the lush canopy of those distant seasons. The rest of the ground underfoot was all browns and dead greys of rotting leaf litter. Here and there, clods had been overturned, as though an animal had been foraging for worms.

  Elayeen summoned the Sight, and swung it in an arc before her. A small patch of something, dark and fuzzy, darker than the grey backdrop of their curious vision, sat silently, perhaps a hundred yards to the southeast of their position. She canted her head a little, trying to resolve details, but the shape remained blurred.

  “Do you see it?” she asked aloud.

  “Yes,” Valin announced. “Though I know it not.”

  “Nor I,” Meeya whispered, “It is small, and indistinct, and unmoving.”

  The Mornlanders, noting the direction of the Rangers’ gaze, eased themselves further around, affording the elves a clear path to advance upon whatever it was only they could see through the trees. That they could see anything at all left the simple men of Fourfields in awe, and feeling hopelessly out of place in their company.

  Elayeen eased forward, picking her way around the trees, ignoring the clumps of undergrowth which were no real obstacle to their progress. Still, the blurred shape remained motionless. It could be a badger, she thought, in terms of the thing’s size. But a badger would shine with its own bright life-light, far brighter than the slumbering trees, and this object, whatever it was, was darker than all the things of nature’s making surrounding it.

  For its part, the creature, if creature it was, remained motionless, and whether dead, dormant or devious remained to be seen. The group stalking it through the woods were spaced but a few yards apart from each other, the three elves to the fore and the Mornlanders behind, Rickerd two long strides behind Elayeen and towering over her… And then there it was, a little more than ten yards in front of them, laying in a small glade on its belly like a small dog before a fire, its nose pointed straight at them. As were its eyes. Black, beady, bereft of life, and utterly malevolent.

  “It do be a badger,” Rickerd whispered, letting out a sigh of relief.

  “That be no badger!” Trigo hissed as the creature rose up from the ground and stretched its back like a dog.

  No, Elayeen thought, it isn’t and presented her bow, drawing string and loosing the longshaft in a single fluid motion, Meeya and Valin loosing their arrows but half a blink behind hers.

  Three Threlland spruce yard-long arrows, carefully measured, made and weight-matched for the ninety-five after the Battle of Far-gor, slammed into the badger’s head almost simultaneously, and the creature sank to its belly again. Elayeen fixed it with the Sight, expecting to witness the darkness within it fade with its destruction, but still it seemed slowly to pulse with its fuzzy, dark light.

  “Shoot ‘im again!” Trigo called, and there was a metallic twang as his crossbow loosed to Elayeen’s left, the steel bolt piercing the creature’s throat as it began to rise up on its haunches.

  Elayeen blinked. The badger was almost upright, squatting on its hind legs, three arrows jutting like signal-flags from the crown of its head and the flights of a steel bolt embedded in its throat. From behind her to her right, another metallic twang as Pahdreg loosed his bolt, the missile taking the badger in the centre of its chest.

  The creature began to hiss, and its body began to pulse. Again Elayeen summoned eldeneyes, and there, low down in creature’s abdomen, just above the groin, she saw for a moment a small mass, hard, wrinkled and porous, like a peach-pit the size of an apple. It glowed darkly, black and pulsing, and she heard Meeya and Valin loose two more arrows into the thing’s chest.

  Trigo uttered the crudest of curses and there was stress in his voice, the strain of his old frame heaving on the cocking-hooks hanging from his belt as thrust himself up against the tension of the crossbow’s prods, drawing back the string.

  Elayeen blinked away the Sight and nocked another arrow, eyes widening as the already arrow-riddled creature pulsed grotesquely. It grew taller, its legs immensely thicker, the colour of its fur changing with its form, arrows falling from its head as that part of its body changed slowly and obscenely from badger to bear.

  “Kill it!” Trigo shouted above the click of his crossbow’s latch setting, and again Elayeen loosed an arrow.

  Again the arrow struck where the bear’s heart should have been, but the transformation now complete, the bear rose up, standing perhaps four feet high, paws spread wide, and another hiss filled the air, emanating from its gaping maw.

  Sudden insight seemed to flash like lightning and Elayeen screamed “Aim low! Aim low! In the groin!” and snatched another arrow from her quiver.

  Two longshafts sprouted from the creature’s stomach, too high.

  “Back away! Back away!” Elayeen yelled as the bear advanced, “Aim lower!” and loosed her arrow, m
issing by an inch high the pulsing black organ which, now the metamorphosis was complete, took on its former indistinct hue.

  Another twang, Trigo’s crossbow, the bolt three inches to the left of Elayeen’s arrow.

  “Lower by an inch!” she cried, but before anyone could shoot again, the creature dropped to all fours and lunged forward.

  Its speed took them all by surprise, and when Pahdreg loosed his crossbow the bolt missed its mark and raked a long and bloodless furrow down the beast’s back.

  “Back!” Trigo yelled, but it was too late.

  The bear lurched to a halt, showering debris, teeth exposed, rose up, and swiped at Meeya, batting her aside as a cat might bat a mouse with a playful paw. The elfin was knocked clear off her feet and flung three feet sideways into a tree, where she slumped, eyes wide and rolling.

  Trigo was next in line, completely exposed and helpless, fumbling with his cocking-hooks and staring the beast not six feet away from him straight in the eye. Meeya had been to Elayeen’s left, which meant she too was now some six feet from the creature’s flank. She tossed down her bow, drew her shortsword, and lunged, plunging the tip into the bear’s muscle-packed left thigh. Its head swivelled, the black and lifeless eyes regarding her coldly for a moment, and it swung its hips slightly in her direction.

  And then Rickerd screamed. The sound coming from the big man was deafening, a stunning and almost primeval battle-cry which drew the beast’s attention too late.

  There was a large blur of motion to Elayeen’s left, and she barely caught sight of Rickerd charging forward, the sledgehammer whirling too fast for her eyes to register. There was a sickening thud as the six pounds of forgeman’s steel slammed upwards between the creature’s legs with a force that would have lifted a man in armour clear off his feet and killed him while he was still on the way up.

  The bear’s eyes widened a little, and Rickerd simply dropped his shoulder, slamming into the creature and driving it backwards across the glade. It stumbled, and fell onto its back, paws flailing as it tried to right itself, and then Rickerd stepped back, braced, and brought the sledgehammer down upon its groin with all his considerable strength.

  Something hard cracked within the creature.

  “Back Rickerd! Back! Now!” Elayeen cried, and the Mornlander, gazing down at the creature in triumph and rage, blinked, and turned towards her, hammer poised.

  “Run, Rickerd!” Elayeen screamed, with all the urgency she could muster.

  That urgency cut through the big man’s battle-fury, and he turned, and began lumbering back towards them. Behind him, the bear began twitching, and then writhing, tendrils bursting from its skin, lashing the air, its shape changing wildly, claws appearing here, talons there, grotesque shapes shifting as if trying to find a form with which to escape its own imminent destruction.

  But it was too late. Elayeen saw the cracked black heart of the creature, low down in its loins, splinter, and burst, and a gout of purple flame shot like a geyser thirty feet skyward with a roar of rushing fire. The fire spread outwards, consuming the flailing tendrils and flesh, burning out in seconds and leaving a smoking, greasy puddle on the smouldering ground to mark its passing.

  Elayeen and Valin rushed to Meeya, still sitting with her back against a tree, clutching her bow and staring, wide-eyed, at the fuming mess some ten yards from her boots.

  “Meeya! Are you hurt? Speak, Meemee!” Elayeen begged.

  “Winded…” Meeya managed, and her left hand slid to her right side where the bear’s paw had slammed into her. “And my ribs hurt.”

  “Watch well,” Valin ordered the three Mornlanders, and leaned forward, easing Elayeen out of his way as he examined his dazed wife with great tenderness.

  Elayeen reluctantly stood, and moved back a pace or two, racked with concern. A click, and she turned to see Trigo, his boot through the cocking-stirrup fixed to the nose of his crossbow, releasing the dangling cocking-hooks hanging from the belt around his waist.

  She couldn’t tell from his expression whether he was in the grip of fear or resolve. Perhaps it was both. Pahdreg was sweating, and the fingers fitting a fresh bolt to the grooved bed of his ‘bow trembled, though whether through the effort of cocking the weapon or nerves, she couldn’t say either. Rickerd simply stood there, breathing a little harder than the others, staring with great concern at the doe-eyed elfin warrior laying against the tree and gasping for breath.

  “That done fer the badger,” Trigo whispered. “Got the sheep an’ the wolf, yet.”

  “You think there are two more? That thing wasn’t all three?” Pahdreg gasped.

  Trigo shrugged. “Story spoke of three.”

  “Best to assume the worst, and hope for the best,” Elayeen announced softly, remembering Gawain’s words of advice, casting her eldengaze around them, and seeing nothing. Yet.

  “Could be the noise it made, were callin’ on its mates. Could be we can expect company soon.”

  “Then watch and listen well, and move back a little more. Give Ranger Meemee some air.”

  Rickerd seemed reluctant to step too far from the two elves at the foot of the tree, shuffling back a pace or two and clutching his sledgehammer at the port across the broad expanse of his chest. He had, it seemed, appointed himself Meeya’s guardian, in spite of the fact that her husband knelt beside her, murmuring gently in elvish, easing her breathing and feeling for broken bones.

  Elayeen and the others stepped well clear, and let the huge man stand wherever he wanted. It was his mighty hammer-blow which had destroyed the creature, after all.

  “A thing of Morloch’s making, Ranger Leeny?” Pahdreg whispered. “Why would it be here? And for all this time?”

  “I do not know,” Elayeen admitted, studying the woodland around them. “Nothing Morloch does seems to make sense. Spite and hatred motivate his actions, and I have too little of such darkness in me to understand his deeds.”

  But there was far more Elayeen didn’t understand, though she didn’t mention it aloud. The Grimmand and the Kiromok, Graken and Razorwing, Kraal-beast and Condavian, even Black riders and dark wizards she had seen, all of them fuelled or created by aquamire. All of them glowed a foul yet pristine jet black against the light of nature’s realm. The creature whose remains still smouldered across the glade had been different, its evil somehow less intense, its dark heart charcoal-grey and indistinct, only pulsing deepest black while the creature began a metamorphosis.

  There was nothing in the pages of Allazar’s book which described such a creature, at least not in the pages she had read. Her stomach sank a little, again, with the realisation of how ill-prepared she was to lead such an expedition as this. She hadn’t even waited until the scribes of Crownmount had finished copying Allazar’s book, and distributed it…

  Noise diverted her attention back to the glade. Valin, helping Meeya to stand. Her best friend seemed still a little dazed, and was rolling her head on her neck and flexing her shoulders, carefully testing joints and muscles. Meeya nodded to Valin, took her bow from his hand, and together the two elves moved quietly to rejoin the small group.

  “Are you well, Meemee?”

  “No. My ribs are badly bruised on my right side. I think two at least might be cracked. I do not know if I shall be able to draw my bow…”

  “Then do not try, unless it is absolutely necessary. There may be two more such creatures at large in this copse. It will be for us to destroy them, and you should reserve your strength.”

  Meeya nodded her understanding, eyes wide with disappointment, and perhaps a little pain. Rickerd moved a little closer, towering over her, a gesture that was not lost on any of them.

  “The heart of that creature was low down in its loins. If the others are twin to it, theirs will be likewise.”

  “Looked more vegetable than animal, at the end,” Pahdreg muttered, which raised a few eyebrows in appreciation.

  It was true, the creature did seem more plant-like than beast. It shed no blood, and t
he whipping, lashing tendrils that sprouted from its carcass at the end of its existence were like no animal seen in nature’s realm.

  “It would explain how futile were our arrows,” Valin announced. “Unless we strike the core, wherein lies the evil of its creation. It is a small target though, and well-protected should the things take a form on all fours.”

  “Well, I hates to be the one to wet on yer chips, but neither sheep nor wolves are much given to standin’ upright.”

  “Then we must persuade them to adopt a form which does,” Elayeen announced softly, brushing woodland debris from her bow.

  “Northwest,” Valin whispered, and all eyes swung in that direction.

  Elayeen nodded. “Something dark approaches. Meeya, rearguard, keep watch in all other directions.”

  The group eased around, facing the oncoming threat, Meeya standing with her back to them all, gingerly trying the tension on her bowstring and raising and lowering her right elbow, wincing all the while. And they waited.

  It was the silence which they all found the most disturbing. The damp earth of the glade had ceased its smouldering and gentle crackling, all heat from the creature’s immolation gone, leaf litter too damp and too cold to fuel the embers of its passing. Now there was nothing to hear, save for the occasional ‘soft whisprin’ of the breezes in the winter-bare boughs above them that Trigo had so succinctly described.

  Elayeen rested her bow on her boot, and waited. The blurred form advancing towards them did so cautiously, and above the sibilance of the breezes she thought she heard a high-pitched hiss. The creature, perhaps, calling out, and perhaps expecting an answer it would never now receive. It was now some eighty yards away through the trees, unseen save for the two pairs of eldeneyes marking its progress.

  One thing she did quietly acknowledge to herself as she drew an arrow from her quiver: imminent danger swept away the worms of self-doubt, of fear and perhaps even despair, and she finally understood the haste with which Gawain had fled Rak’s house for the barracks and headquarters of Sarek’s Rangers, and why he had remained there so much longer than planned. Action stilled thought, and too much thinking when action was needed was not to be recommended.