Elfsorrow

by James Barclay

  ‘That’s why we look so calm. It’s because if we thought for one moment we might fail and that Ilkar might die, we’d already have lost. And The Raven do not like to lose.’

  ‘So I’ve noticed,’ said Ren. ‘But you’re not even with him, talking to him. It could be the last chance you get.’

  ‘Fate decides that, Ren. And, who knows, he could survive the trip to Calaius. Until he dies, we believe we can save him.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No buts, Ren. It’s as simple as that.’ Erienne pushed herself upright. ‘It’s the only way to think. Come on.’

  She held out a hand and Ren accepted it and pulled. The two walked back to the centre of the camp.

  ‘We all ready?’ asked Hirad.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ren decisively.

  ‘Good, then let’s be on our way.’

  The Raven walked out of the camp. Hirad put an arm around Ren’s shoulder.

  ‘It’s all right to feel like you do. We all do. But do it later. Right now, we have work to do and we need you.’

  ‘You do?’

  Hirad shrugged. ‘Of course. You’re Raven.’

  Behind them, Erienne smiled. Denser was beside her and they watched as Ilkar walked as easily as he could to Ren’s other side and laid his arm across her shoulders too. She responded, wrapping an arm around each of their waists.

  ‘A picture of the professional mercenary approaching battle,’ said Denser.

  Erienne jabbed him. ‘Leave them be.’

  ‘How’s the body this morning, Ilks?’ asked Hirad.

  ‘Agony,’ said Ilkar. ‘But I’m walking.’

  ‘Good. Can’t spare anyone to carry you, anyway.’

  ‘Your sympathy overwhelms me.’

  ‘I do my best.’ Hirad looked across Ren to Ilkar, and Erienne could see his expression in profile, picked out in the vague pre-dawn light. It was desperate, still disbelieving. ‘Anyway, the pain won’t last for ever. It’s only twenty-odd days to the temple.’

  Ren tensed but Ilkar laughed. ‘I’ll attempt to keep my insides from decomposing too much before we get there.’

  ‘Bloody right,’ said Hirad. ‘I’m not sharing a cabin with you if you smell.’

  Their chuckles echoed a little loud.

  ‘Keep it down,’ said The Unknown.

  It was only a mile to Understone.

  Auum watched The Raven go, ambling away down the slope like they were out for an early-morning stroll. He heard their talk and laughter and shook his head.

  ‘Perhaps my assessment was premature,’ he said.

  ‘It’s their way,’ said Rebraal. ‘We pray to ease the tension and fear, they talk to keep their minds from it until the moment arrives.’

  ‘I will never understand strangers,’ said Auum.

  The TaiGethen bowed their heads and prayed to Yniss to keep them strong for the fight to come. Auum murmured offerings to Tual while he painted Duele’s face, and when all three were ready they stood with the ClawBound.

  ‘Fight with us, Rebraal. You are our link to The Raven so keep close. This day we will start to right the crimes committed against us. This day I will hold the thumb of Yniss in my hand or I will be travelling to meet him to account for my failings in this life. This I swear.’

  The TaiGethen jogged from the camp, heading for the eastern edge of Understone, Rebraal with them. The ClawBound, swift and sure, were just ahead. Auum felt no thrill, just a sense that Yniss might once again be prepared to look their way.

  And the god would be looking down when the desecrators and thieves and those who thought to kill his people paid.

  The Raven looked down on Understone. It was quiet. Along the single street the ramshackle buildings still stood: the inn, the grain store, the boarded-up traders’ offices, the whorehouses, a few homes. Elsewhere the ground was covered with tents and shelters, all dark and silent. There were over a hundred of them. The only life was in the stockade at the western end of the town. Fires burned around the rampart and lanterns shone from barracks windows. They could see figures walking the raised platform. After the end of the second Wesmen wars, the town had been rebuilt in the image of the old in the hope of renewed trade with the west and just as quickly abandoned again. Only the stockade had remained staffed.

  ‘That’ll be where Selik is,’ said Hirad.

  ‘All in good time,’ said Darrick. ‘We’ll do this in the right order and be the safer for it.’

  They moved quietly now, heading for the first tents. Spread panic, Darrick had said. Target the tattoos. Let them make the moves and see who is prepared to fight. Not many, guessed Hirad, but time would tell.

  Fifty yards from the tents and all was according to Darrick’s plan. The bulk of the Black Wings were looking after themselves in the stockade and the innocents, if you could truly call anyone that who had travelled here to fight with Selik, were unguarded in their tents. They didn’t understand conflict. Didn’t realise the vulnerability of masses of men to targeted magical attack. Why should they? They were tradesmen.

  ‘He’ll have paid mercenaries too,’ said The Unknown. ‘We’ll know them when we see them.’

  ‘Paid,’ mused Hirad. ‘An unfamiliar idea for us these days.’

  ‘Erienne, Denser, ready?’

  The pair nodded, preparing, melding their constructs for wider effect.

  ‘A short sharp shower. When it’s down, we go and we don’t stop,’ said Darrick. ‘Is everyone clear?’

  ‘Ilks?’ asked Hirad.

  ‘My ears are on the side of my head not in my gut, Hirad. Yes, I hear and understand.’

  ‘Just checking.’

  Hirad felt a touch on his back. ‘Thank you.’

  Hirad readied himself, checked his hilt for loose binding again and angled the blade to see the edge. The drizzle had stopped and the cloud was shifting. It would be a bright dawn. A few birds began to call. From somewhere the bleating of a sheep carried over to them. It was tranquil. Just for a moment.

  ‘Casting,’ said Denser faintly.

  HotRain filled the sky above the southernmost tents. For a while they watched it fall, tears of flame the size of thumbs. Thousands of them. People were going to die in terror. So be it. From the stockade the first shouts of alarm were raised. HotRain struck canvas and canvas burned. The screaming began.

  ‘Raven!’ yelled Hirad. ‘Raven with me!’

  He ran towards the first tents, seeing movement bulging against the canvas. The HotRain shower was almost gone but it had done its job, deluging the acre of canvas in flame. Everywhere smoke was rising, fires agitated at rope and cover and the pitch of voices rose with every heartbeat.

  He slashed at the guy ropes of the nearest tent and thumped his hilt against a shape inside, sending the victim sprawling.

  ‘Run!’ he shouted. ‘Run!’

  A head emerged from a flap. Hirad smashed his fist into it and dragged the body out, his clothing smouldering. He pulled their faces close.

  ‘Run. Don’t look back. Take your friends.’

  The man jabbered as Hirad dropped him, then he wiped blood from his mouth and took to his heels away out of Understone.

  The Raven roared through the burning campsite. Aeb laying about him with his axe, smashing ridge poles, splitting skulls and kicking burning canvas into the air. Thraun was howling like the wolf he had once been and, like Hirad, was shouting at men to run and not look back. The Unknown and Darrick strode in behind, the mages at their backs, preparing again.

  Utter mayhem descended. Swords slashed, burning men flailed uselessly, cries crescendoed and the choking smoke thickened. Hirad turned on a pair of men standing with swords ready; neither was fully dressed, neither a soldier. He sprang at them, hacking downwards as he landed, his blow striking the blade of one and jarring it from his hands.

  ‘What are you waiting for? Fight or run, I’m happy either way.’ He switched his grip three times, very fast. The men turned and ran to join those pouring into the main street and aw
ay. Most of them headed out of the town but a few went up towards the stockade in which activity must be starting in earnest.

  ‘Raven!’ called The Unknown. ‘Move on!’

  The campsite was pitched next to the grain store. The Raven gathered by its rear doors, out of sight of the stockade, hauled them open and ran inside.

  Auum saw the signal. The rain of fire from the sky. He sprinted into the town on the north side of the main street and headed for the second tent encampment. The elves would spread their fear in another way entirely. The ClawBound panther roared and leapt at the nearest tent, her bound-elf at her side, slicing through the bindings.

  Auum and his Tai split. His blade carved open the side of a tent, revealing all those inside, five of them just coming to waking. Very slowly. Auum whipped his sword into the upturned face of one, stamped down on the head of the next and moved through the panicked tent, his blade flickering, his feet jabbing out. Taking a man through the eye, he leant in to the last survivor and used the word he had been taught.

  ‘Run!’

  He peeled away. Screams filled the air around him. The panther had torn the throat from a stranger and by her, the bound-elf faced a man carrying a sword he had no idea how to use. He swung it but the elf simply stepped inside the blow and rained straight-fingered blows into his exposed neck, blood spraying over his face. The man dropped. The ClawBound moved on.

  Auum tracked them through the camp. Duele emerged from a tent right, a survivor racing in the opposite direction. Evunn had split the stomach of a stranger stupid enough to face him and was moving on towards the main street. The panther darted around the camp, roaring at every turn, growling deep, teeth and claws lashing out, scraping rents in tent sides.

  The sound of voices was a babble of fear. Auum smiled mirthlessly, watching the strangers run, many only part-clothed. Across the street, the other camp burned fiercely and through the tumult he could hear The Raven. Like causing a stampede of animals. The night, the fire, the smell of blood and the threat of steel. Too easy. But down on the street, up towards the end of the town where the stockade stood, it would be more difficult. Men were gathering.

  It was time to move.

  Lanterns were alight in the grain store, which had become a dormitory for three dozen and more. The Raven hauled the doors back to see men in the act of scrambling to put on clothes and belt weapons. Sleep was muddling minds and the storm that came at them stoked their confusion.

  ‘Run or die!’

  Hirad chased in, The Raven forming around him. The Unknown left, Darrick right.

  ‘HardShield up,’ said Denser.

  Already some of their opponents were running for the opposite door but others faced them, one with the Black Wing tattoo. Hirad swung his sword right to left, clashing against an enemy blade, driving the man back. He rebalanced, jabbed forward - the blow turned aside - easily blocked the riposte then swept his blade up in a left to right diagonal, catching the man in the base of the gut. He fell back, entrails boiling from his stomach.

  Next to Hirad The Unknown wasn’t wasting as much time. His first strike crushed the ribs of his opponent and he stepped forward across the falling corpse, deflecting a blow with his dagger and driving his sword into the exposed midriff of the next man. Simultaneously, Aeb delivered a massive flat-bladed axe blow, catapulting his enemy from his feet to crash into the man behind.

  The survivors wavered but the Black Wing brought them on. He snapped out a command for order and came at Hirad. He whipped in a quick jab which Hirad blocked, followed up with high strikes to either side of Hirad’s head which the barbarian ducked and deflected respectively before being cut at the top of his sword arm. He swore.

  The Black Wing smiled and came again but found Hirad had changed his sword to his left hand. The expected block came from the other side, forcing him round and off balance. Hirad seized the opening, backhanding his blade into the Black Wing’s lower spine. The man grunted and fell.

  ‘Not smiling now, eh?’ spat Hirad, and looked into the face of his next victim. The man was nervous. Hirad feinted to move and he sprang back like a frightened dog. ‘Had your chance.’

  Hirad struck out, the defending sword knocked aside, the tip of his blade slicing through cheek, nose and forehead. The man wailed and staggered. Hirad finished him with a thrust through the chest. Everyone else had run.

  ‘Good work,’ said Darrick.

  He hurried to the front entrance of the grain store and looked out, The Raven crowding behind him. Right, the scene was still chaotic; fires were burning fiercely, dozens of men running in every direction. They could see the TaiGethen moving towards the main street just by some boarded-up sheds.

  To the left the picture was little different barring a group of swordsmen walking out of the stockade and moving up the street.

  ‘There you go,’ said Darrick. ‘Told you they’d show themselves.’

  ‘We’ll take the back route,’ said The Unknown. ‘Come at them from the side.’

  Nearby, the panther growled and then padded past, frightened people scattering in front of it. Her partner was close by. The TaiGethen had made the road and had obviously seen the organised group.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Hirad. ‘Perfect decoy.’

  The Raven ran the length of the grain store and back out into the lightening dawn. They moved quickly along the back of the store, a private house of some substance and the remains of a brothel before turning back towards the street again.

  ‘FlameOrbs ready,’ said Erienne.

  ‘When we clear the buildings,’ said The Unknown.

  Voices of authority were beginning to be heard over the chaotic shouts of the poorly prepared Balaian men. There was concerted running in the direction of the stockade. Time to snuff out the voices. Time to render the Black Wing army leaderless.

  Chapter 48

  Auum and his Tai sprinted down the main street, ignoring the white faces of fear they passed, heading for the heart of the army, such as it was. Rebraal was with them, sword bloodied, a gash on his thigh but grim belief on his face. In front of them, men were gathering about thirty yards in front of the stockade. Twelve men had formed a line across the street and others were behind them. Crossbowmen stood on the flanks.

  The Tai unhitched bows and nocked arrows as they ran, releasing shaft after shaft at the crossbowmen. Auum’s first arrow was wild but his second found an enemy arm. Duele, who was their best archer, saw his first shot rip into the mouth of his target and his second drive deep into a stomach. The bolts that came back were few and inaccurate.

  Discarding his bow, Auum unsheathed one of his swords and snapped open his pouch of jaqrui. The enemy had begun moving towards them now but were still some forty yards distant. The ClawBound pair raced in along the left, inducing more panic in the strangers’ ranks.

  ‘At will,’ said Auum.

  Jaqrui wailed and whispered across the open space, another sound to add to the cacophony and another killer unleashed against the milling Black Wings. Auum flicked out three jaqrui. They were his last. One cut into the back of a running man’s neck, pitching him forward into the mud. The second bounced off a mail shirt and the third chopped into a sword hand, slicing away two fingers.

  They were closing with the swordsmen when The Raven beat them to it. Rushing from between two buildings, they fell on the left-hand edge of the line, the barbarian hacking deep into the neck of the first man, kicking out into the stomach of the next and plunging his sword into the back of a third.

  The enemy bunched and turned. The masked Protector exploded into a group of four, his twin weapons whistling through the air, burying themselves in flesh. The quiet powerful blond man with the animal eyes took the arm from one man and straight-punched his companion in the chin. Both victims dropped.

  The Tai entered the fight. Auum backhanded his blade into the chest of one man, drove the heel of his palm into the same face to knock him from his feet and delivered a killing thrust to the chest. He ro
lled right, a blade thudding into the mud by him. Darting to his feet far too quickly for his opponent to follow, he stabbed straight through the man’s groin. He screamed and fell, blood pulsing out and down his legs.

  The ClawBound roared together, the panther clouting a hapless Black Wing across the jaw with one paw and landing on top of her victim and biting down hard on the neck. Weaponless but never helpless, the bound-elf jabbed straight-fingered into the girth of his target, caught the sword arm in his other hand and bit forward himself, his teeth shearing through nose and tearing away. He spat out the flesh and flew in again.

  Auum crashed a fist into his next enemy’s chin, spun, and delivered a straight kick which caught the man on the point of his jaw. He stumbled back, bringing up his sword in defence, but Auum had dropped to his haunches. He swept away the Black Wing’s legs and broke the man’s neck as he fell, catching his head and twisting hard. He stepped away from the battle, knowing he was covered, and turned to see where they had positioned themselves. While a great number of the strangers had run, panicked way beyond organisation, the braver were on their way back. He could see weapons glinting in the early light and heard more orders bringing men into the street at their backs. It wouldn’t be long before they were cut off and overwhelmed.

  Fortunately, The Raven had seen the danger too and FlameOrbs soared out over his head.

  ‘Press in!’ shouted Darrick, slashing at the arm of a Black Wing, his sword biting deep. ‘We need to break them. Come on. Erienne, Orbs to the rear. They’re massing.’

  Hirad hadn’t noticed. He had cuts on both arms now and the edge of a blade had nicked his left ankle as its owner had fallen dead but he didn’t care. This was what he lived for. Next to him, The Unknown hammered in blow after blow, his massive muscles delivering awesome power only matched by Aeb. The Black Wings were falling back before them, and with no escape right because the TaiGethen were there, were breaking towards the stockade.

  The barbarian closed with a wiry old fighter, his tattoo dulled with age. Probably a man that had served with Travers. Their swords met high and Hirad pushed back hard but the man stood his ground, driving his heels into the mud for purchase. His fist whipped in. Hirad saw it and angled his head, the blow missing him left. He stepped back smartly, hauling his sword in front of him and striking out again. Slightly unbalanced, the Black Wing only just blocked. Hirad struck again, right to left. Another block. Jabbed straight. Blocked again. The man was good. But not that good.