Elfsorrow

by James Barclay

  ‘Come on!’ shouted Hirad.

  Almost too late, he saw a sword flash his way. He swayed instinctively left but it caught him in the side. He felt the edge come through his leather and cut his side, deep but not debilitating. He cried out, clearing his head of the sudden pain, and clamped his right hand on the hilt of his opponent’s blade, pushing it clear as he crashed his own down, chopping deep, very deep, into the Black Wing’s hip.

  Next to him, Darrick slipped two amateur thrusts with embarrassing ease and shuddered his own blade into the neck of his enemy. The Black Wings were down to their last men and it showed. The battle swung conclusively The Raven’s way.

  Out on the left, the ClawBound pair sank fangs, claws and fingers into exposed flesh. The TaiGethen, movements blurring, rolled, kicked, stabbed and slashed out, driving men in front of them. Hirad took on a raw recruit, saw the fear in his eyes and batted the boy’s axe blade aside before skewering his right lung. He coughed blood in a spray and fell back and aside. Hirad’s path was clear.

  ‘Selik!’ he shouted.

  The Black Wing turned and ran back towards the barracks.

  ‘Raven leaving the line!’ said Hirad.

  ‘Covered,’ said The Unknown.

  It was all Hirad needed to hear. He tore off after Selik, the cuts to his arms, leg and side pulling and bleeding. He gasped at the sudden pain but didn’t let up, leaping up the stairs into the barrack block and kicking the door in.

  ‘Nowhere to run, Selik!’

  A door banged up ahead, Hirad shouldered his way through it and saw Selik at the opposite side of the small room, working at a lock and stiff bolt.

  ‘Turn round, Selik,’ said Hirad.

  Selik did so, drawing his sword. They were in an office. A desk and chair were to one side and a bookshelf held various papers. A window let out on to the compound where The Raven and TaiGethen were mopping up the remnants of the Black Wings.

  ‘Brave move, that,’ said Hirad.

  ‘I felt I couldn’t take you all on,’ replied Selik.

  ‘Well, now it’s just me.’

  Hirad beckoned him on, keeping his blade in his left hand. Selik rushed at him, over-arming his sword. Hirad stepped smartly aside. Selik’s motion brought him on, his sword cut thin air and Hirad helped him through, shoving him hard in the back and sending him careering into the bookshelf. Selik turned.

  ‘Oops,’ said Hirad. ‘Fancy another go?’

  Selik was fast, Hirad gave him that. This time he moved in and whipped out a strike left to right at waist height. Hirad stepped back, his sword cracking across Selik’s, driving it down to thump into the floor. The barbarian saw his opening, slashing in an upward arc, but Selik saw it coming and swayed back, the breeze of the sword ruffling his hair. Hirad came on again, jabbing straight forward and moving right to dodge the counter-thrust and steady for the next. Selik obliged, a wild swing Hirad took on the up, knocking it aside hard.

  Losing control for a heartbeat, Selik reversed half a pace, his sword in no position to defend himself. He tried to bring his defence back in front of him, but overcompensated and Hirad, waiting his moment, struck down two-handed and took Selik’s sword hand off just above the wrist. Selik howled in agony and staggered back against the bookshelf, papers cascading over him. He stared down at the bloody stump in disbelief and up into Hirad’s eyes.

  Hirad’s heart was beating so hard he thought Selik must be able to hear it. He stood over the hated man for what seemed like an age.

  ‘I have waited for this for a very long time,’ he said.

  ‘We will still prevail,’ managed Selik. ‘You can’t beat us. No one beats the righteous.’

  ‘But you won’t be there to see it.’

  With every ounce of strength in him, Hirad swung his sword, severing Selik’s neck. The head cartwheeled off, bouncing onto the floor and rolling to rest by the door the Black Wing had been trying to escape through.

  ‘Still no way out,’ said Hirad.

  He turned and ran back through the barracks, bursting into the sunlight, a grim smile on his lips. Their leader was down, the Black Wings were beaten and The Raven and TaiGethen were mopping up the stragglers.

  Close to him, Auum despatched a pair of frightened youths, moving impossibly fast. His left elbow crunched into one’s throat, the dagger in his right hand thudding into the other’s temple. Hardly pausing, he led his Tai up the steps and past Hirad into the barracks to search for their prize.

  Back in the compound, Aeb delivered the final blow, weapons crossed in front of him, axe carving unprotected flesh, sword swiping into helmet, crushing metal into skull. His victim dropped, blood dribbling down his forehead.

  It was over.

  Hirad leaned heavily on his blade, feeling the exertions of the morning. His body was slick with sweat, he sawed huge breaths into his lungs, the cuts in his sword arm and side stung very badly and every muscle ached.

  He looked at The Raven, experiencing none of the elation he was used to after winning a fight. None of them did. Erienne was comforting Ren by Ilkar’s charred body while Rebraal looked on, head half bowed. Denser and Darrick shook hands as if they’d played chess not won a game of life and death.

  Thraun stood alone, blood dripping from his sword, just staring around him. The ground was stained deep red-brown and here and there severed limbs still clutched swords and axes. Already the birds were circling.

  Of The Raven, only Aeb and The Unknown moved, checking bodies. They released the dying from their pain and searched for any without tattoos who could possibly be saved. Hirad pushed himself straight, circled his shoulders and walked towards them.

  ‘I got him,’ he said, satisfaction crawling through him. ‘I got that bastard.’

  The Unknown wiped a hand across his bloodied face, wiping clean a cut across his brow. He nodded.

  ‘He was always going to be yours,’ he said, and opened his mouth to speak again but shock cascaded across his features.

  Both he and Aeb snapped their heads round towards the gates and began backing away.

  ‘Oh dear Gods,’ said The Unknown. He hefted his sword. ‘Raven! Raven form up. We’ve got company!’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Hirad, not sure he could swing his sword again. ‘Who is it?’

  They continued backing away towards the barracks, Aeb, The Unknown and Hirad already in the chevron, Darrick limping over to join Hirad and Thraun loping up the other side. The Unknown turned to Hirad.

  ‘Protectors, mages, swordsmen,’ he said, voice bleak and scared. ‘Too many of them. And up in the sky, those aren’t birds.’

  Hirad looked up. Now he could hear the chittering, see the shapes. And down they came. Simultaneously, the stockade gates rattled, The Raven twenty yards away from them now.

  ‘Spells coming,’ said Denser from close behind. ‘Be ready.’

  The gates rattled again, bowed towards them and burst inwards in a hail of splintered timbers and sheared bolts. Hirad put his arms across his face, feeling the blast hit, wood whip by, dust ripple across him and a sizeable piece of timber thump into the palm of one hand. Daring to open his eyes, he saw dust beginning to settle and the Xeteskians walking calmly in.

  ‘Steady, Raven,’ he said.

  ‘SpellShield up,’ said Erienne.

  Hirad glanced left and right. Ren and Rebraal both held bows. It would have to do.

  Ten Protectors, five on each side, flanked the same number of mages while behind them a dozen soldiers fanned out, three with crossbows aimed and ready. And low over the compound now, Familiars. Laughing and spitting, promising revenge, they circled The Raven.

  ‘Well, what have we here?’ said one of the mages, stepping forward. ‘Balaia’s greatest mercenaries, I presume.’

  ‘It’s all over here, Whytharn,’ said Denser. ‘Leave us alone.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Denser,’ snapped Whytharn, a mage in his mid thirties, tall and powerful, a deep purple skullcap pressed down over his head, leather arm
our covering his neck and chest. ‘You know why we’re here.’ He looked around him. ‘Some mess you made in here.’

  ‘And there’ll be another one if you don’t leave now,’ grated Hirad. ‘We’re not in the mood.’

  ‘Your posturing is ridiculous,’ said Whytharn. ‘You are in no position to fight us. I am not under orders to kill, but I am to bring back the statue fragment. Give it to me.’

  ‘I’m afraid we can’t do that,’ said The Unknown quietly. ‘You know why.’

  Whytharn studied the ground for a moment. ‘And how are you going to stop me, Sol? I am well aware the Protectors won’t fight you but they will protect us. And flying above your heads is plenty enough to kill you all. Don’t make this difficult.’ He clicked his fingers. ‘Oh, and I almost forgot.’ He pointed at Aeb, mouthed words in a language Hirad did not understand and dropped his arm to his side.

  Denser cursed and clapped his hands to his head.

  ‘Come, Aeb,’ said Whytharn. ‘Your place is with me. Step away.’

  Aeb took a pace from The Raven line. Hirad went cold all over. Beside him, The Unknown seethed, his hands tightening on his sword, his jaws grinding together, his muscles bunching.

  ‘Don’t you hurt him,’ he said.

  ‘I am his Given. My judgement will prevail.’

  The whole Raven line took the pace that brought them back level with Aeb.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ said The Unknown.

  Aeb took another step and before they could stop her Ren ran from the edge of the line, took cover behind Aeb’s huge frame and drew back her bow string.

  ‘He takes one more step, Xeteskian, and you die.’

  Everyone started shouting at once.

  Chapter 50

  ‘Tell her to stand down!’

  ‘Get back, Ren.’

  ‘I’m not moving. Hear me, Xeteskian?’

  ‘My men will fire, now get back.’

  ‘Keep down, Ren. Keep down.’

  ‘Last warning.’

  ‘Yours too, mage. He’s Raven. You leave him and us alone.’

  ‘Aeb. Come.’

  Even the chittering above them ceased. Silence pressed. Hirad watched, they all did. Whytharn beckoned with a finger, The Unknown leaned forward.

  In front of them, Aeb took a long deep breath. He moved.

  ‘No, Ren, no!’ shouted Thraun.

  Arrows and bolts filled the air. Ren fired, missing Whytharn, the arrow smacking into the mage at his side, clear through the chest. A Familiar dropped from the sky wailing, already dying. A split heartbeat later, Rebraal’s arrow punctured the side of a crossbowman’s skull, spearing his brain. His bolt flew high and wasted, another thudded into timbers behind The Raven line but the third found its target. Ren was punched from her feet, sprawling backwards by Hirad’s feet. Her eyes were open but she was fighting for breath, the bolt protruding from her chest just above her sternum.

  ‘They’re casting,’ warned Denser. ‘Keep that shield.’

  The barbarian saw red. He growled, his gaze moving quickly up and catching Aeb’s. The Protector’s eyes narrowed behind his mask, the pair of them looked again at Ren, back to each other and nodded almost imperceptibly.

  ‘Raven!’ he screamed. ‘Take them down!’

  In front of him, Aeb put one hand behind his head and ripped the mask from his face.

  ‘Want me, you bastards? Then take me!’ He hefted his axe and ran, huge strides eating up the ground.

  Chaos.

  The Raven surged after him, Hirad at their head, The Unknown by him and Thraun tearing up the ground, an animal bellow on his lips. Aeb swung down, his axe hammering through Whytharn’s stunned body, dead before he could begin to loose a spell. Hirad drove in beside him, taking a casting mage apart at the shoulder, the arm flying into the air, spraying blood into the barbarian’s face, his own pain and exhaustion a dim memory as he piled in.

  Soldiers fought to get through their own line of mages to protect them, the Protectors standing confused until their minds were made up for them. At the back of the group a mage invoked soul punishment and Aeb crashed to the ground, the sounds from his mouth alien as he gibbered for mercy, his hands clamped to the side of his face.

  ‘Get that mage!’ yelled The Unknown, delivering a blow that took the sword and face of a soldier with it, his other hand punching and shoving his way through the mêlée. ‘Release that punishment. Now!’

  A bow thrummed, Rebraal’s next arrow another killing shot, and, with Aeb still crawling in agony in the dust, the Protectors turned on their masters. In a single move they spun and struck, axes hacking great splits in skulls, rising to spread gore and falling again. The Xeteskians fell back immediately, but there was no escape.

  A Familiar landed hard on the back of Hirad’s head, clawed hands raking across his scalp. The barbarian reached round and grabbed the creature while he fended off a soldier in front who looked to gain from his distraction. He slapped the blade aside, clouted his hilt into the soldier’s nose and knocked him cold. Finding purchase on the Familiar’s neck, he tore it from his head and brought it in front of him, clumps of his hair in its hands, its slathering mouth snapping at his face. He tightened his grip, the Familiar’s tail whipping round and stabbing into his arm. He grunted in pain and looked for the Familiar’s mage.

  ‘This yours, Xetesk man?’

  The Unknown had cleared a path, beating his sword into the back of a soldier, and Hirad pushed ahead, keeping his grip on the Familiar and dashing its skull again and again into the mage’s face, the man trying to fend him off, the Familiar screeching its hate.

  ‘Is it?’ he said as he piled the demon in again. ‘Is it?’

  The mage went down, face a mask of blood, Thraun’s sword crushing his ribs. The Familiar went limp, its strength disappearing.

  ‘Good guess,’ said Hirad, and dropped its dying body to the ground.

  He looked left. Thraun was a man possessed. He caught the sword arm of a soldier, forced it back and stepped forward, jamming his blade into the man’s stomach. Trampling over him, he over-headed his weapon into a mage’s collarbone, slicing through into his chest, pushed the dead man away and went searching for more.

  All around the Protectors fought silently, never once giving an opening, showing no mercy to their Given. Axes rose and fell, masks were smeared with blood, brain and dust. Eyes stared brooding through eye slits and mouths moved wordlessly.

  But still Aeb cried out. The Unknown smashed his blade across the legs of the last defending soldier and bore down on the mage holding the punishment.

  ‘Release him,’ he grated, pommel of his sword raised to crush. ‘Do it now.’

  ‘Too late, Unknown. Or didn’t they tell you? Once invoked, it can’t be stopped. There is only death.’

  ‘Right,’ said The Unknown. He brought the pommel down and dashed open the mage’s skull, swinging round immediately to run to the heaving Aeb.

  Foam flecked his mouth, his legs thrashed, his back arched and his fists beat the sides of his chest. His eyes were bulging and wild, the demons ripping his mind to shreds from inside, his soul in torment in the Tank. But even in the hell of his consciousness he locked gaze with The Unknown and Hirad heard one word gasped out.

  ‘Please.’

  The Unknown nodded, drew a dagger from his belt and stabbed quickly into Aeb’s temple. The Protector, at peace, lay still.

  Quiet reined again.

  Hirad sat down among the corpses, his hands draped over his knees, his body spent. He could feel blood oozing through his hair and dripping from his right hand to the ground but he ignored it.

  The Unknown threw the dagger down by Aeb’s body, stood, grabbed his sword from the ground and walked away towards the barracks. Hirad followed him with his eyes, hearing a soft sobbing. Erienne was kneeling over Ren, her body crushed in Denser’s embrace, her shoulders hunched and jerking as she cried. Standing by them was Darrick, the bodies of three Xeteskian soldiers at his
feet. Hirad hadn’t even realised they’d broken through. Thank the Gods for the General or they might have lost all their mages in a day.

  Hirad sighed and looked up. Thraun held out a hand. Hirad took it and pulled himself to his feet. With his sword dragging over the compound dirt, he forced himself after The Unknown, who was walking slowly towards Ilkar’s body.

  ‘This is a black day for The Raven,’ said Hirad.

  ‘But we have the thumb,’ said Thraun. He pointed to the barracks. Auum was walking through the doorway, the prize in his grateful hands. Duele and Evunn came after him, pushing a man in front of them.

  Yron.

  Hirad started to move more quickly, a new target for his hate right before him. The Unknown stepped in his way.

  ‘Leave it,’ he said, his face full of sorrow, his voice shorn of its usual power.

  ‘He killed Ilkar,’ said Hirad.

  Thraun growled deep in his throat.

  ‘Yes,’ said The Unknown. ‘But Auum will deal with him. He can dispense elven justice on Yron.’

  The Raven trio walked towards him nonetheless. Yron focussed on them, his eyes still adjusting to the brightness.

  ‘Sorry the TaiGethen didn’t join you in the fight,’ he said. ‘What they had was more important than risking themselves against Xetesk.’

  The Unknown nodded. ‘Why did you do it?’

  ‘I didn’t know,’ said Yron. ‘If I’d realised that . . . souvenir would have caused so much death, I’d never have done it.’

  ‘Ilkar is dead because of you,’ said Hirad. ‘Ilkar.’

  Yron sighed. ‘Nothing I can say will help. But believe me I had no knowledge this would happen. That’s why I was trying to return it.’

  ‘You should die for this.’

  ‘I am going to, Hirad. That’s why I’m out here.’

  The elves gathered to offer prayers. The ClawBound pair padded out of the barracks and Auum opened his eyes and waved The Raven away from Yron. The Xeteskian mouthed an apology then knelt on the ground, Auum’s hand pushing him down.