More moredhel and renegades had joined the company overlooking the combat, and now more than fifty riders watched the Hadati butcher the moredhel chieftain. The Hadati cut down into the chest, then his hand plunged deep within the wound and with a single jerk he pulled Murad’s heart free. Holding his hand up, so that all might see, he showed the assembled moredhel and humans that Murad’s heart beat no longer. Then he tossed it aside and rose drunkenly to his feet.
With a staggering, wobbling run, he tried for the rocks, only ten yards away. A moredhel rider moved to strike him from the side, and Jimmy threw his dagger. The point took the creature in the eye, causing him to scream as he fell back out of the saddle. But another came at Baru and cut at him. The sword took him in the side, and the Hadati fell forward.
‘Damn you!’ shouted Jimmy, near tears. ‘He won. You could have let him come back!’ He threw his dirk, but the other rider dodged. The moredhel who had struck Baru stiffened and turned, and Arutha and his companions saw an arrow in his back. Another moredhel shouted something as he put away his bow. This brought an angry shout from a third and one of the humans.
‘What is all this?’ asked Arutha.
Roald said, ‘The one who killed Baru is a renegade: no honour. That fellow on the horse seems to have had the same opinion as Jimmy. The Hadati won, he should have been allowed to return to die with his companions. Now the slayer, another renegade, and the human bandits are all shouting at one another. We might gain a little time, or at least have some of them quit, now that their big chieftain is dead.’
Then the Black Slayers charged.
Martin reared up and began firing. The archer’s speed was phenomenal, and three riders were unhorsed before they reached the rock abutment.
Steel clashed upon steel and the battle was joined. Roald leapt atop the rock, as had Baru before, and his sword also struck out at all who came within his reach. No moredhel could ride in close enough to strike him with their short swords, while his broadsword delivered death to whoever rode within reach.
Arutha parried a blow aimed at Laurie, then struck upwards from a crouch to take a rider. Roald leapt and dragged one from the saddle and clubbed him with the hilt of his sword. Seven moredhel died before the others withdrew.
Arutha said, ‘They didn’t all charge.’
The others could see that some of the moredhel had held back, and others were still arguing, along with two human renegades. A few of the Black Slayers were still mounted, and they were ignoring what transpired with their companions, forming for another charge.
Jimmy liberated another dagger from a moredhel just at the edge of the rocks, then noticed something. He tugged at Martin’s sleeve. ‘See that ugly-looking fellow with the fancy red breastplate and all those gold rings and things?’
Martin saw such a one sitting at the head of the human riders. ‘Yes.’
‘Can you kill him now?’
‘It’s a difficult shot. Why?’
‘Because as sure as there’s elves in the woods, that’s Reitz. He’s captain of that band of outlaws. You knock him off and the others will most likely run away, or at least keep holding back until a new captain’s elected.’
Martin rose up, took aim, and let fly. The shaft sped between the boles of the trees and took the indicated rider in the throat. With a snap his head came up and he somersaulted backwards out of his saddle.
‘Amazing,’ said Jimmy.
Martin said, ‘I had to clear the top of that breastplate.’
Laurie said dryly, ‘Not very sporting, shooting without warning.’
‘You may convey my apologies,’ said Martin. ‘I forgot you singers always have the heroes acting that way in your sagas.’
‘If we’re the heroes,’ said Jimmy, ‘the outlaws should run away.’
True to Jimmy’s prediction, the human renegades began muttering among themselves, and were suddenly riding away. One moredhel shouted after them angrily, then waved another attack upon the Prince’s party. Another moredhel spat on the ground before the first and turned his horse, motioning some companions away as well. Twenty or so rode after the humans.
Arutha counted. ‘Fewer than twenty this time, and the Slayers.’
The riders dismounted, including those who had held back during the previous attack. They had discovered they couldn’t close in to the rocks while on horseback. They ran close, using the trees as cover and fanned out, to surround Arutha’s position.
Roald said, ‘This is what they should have done the first time.’
‘They’re a little slow, but not entirely stupid,’ commented Laurie.
Jimmy clutched his dagger as the Dark Brothers charged. ‘I’d have preferred stupidity.’
The moredhel came in a wave, and suddenly there was fighting on all sides. Jimmy leapt away as a sword came crashing down from above. He thrust upwards with his dagger and took the moredhel in the stomach.
Roald and Laurie battled, back to back, surrounded by Dark Brothers. Martin shot until he was out of arrows, when he grabbed up the moredhel bow and arrows. His firing was rapid and accurate and a dozen more Dark Brothers were struck before he dropped the bow and pulled his sword.
Arutha fought like a man possessed, his rapier delivering injury at every quarter. No moredhel could get close and remain free of wounds. But the Prince knew time would eventually win. The defenders would fatigue and slow and then they would die.
Arutha could feel the strength drain from his arms as the certainty of death came to him. There was little point in hoping. There were more than twenty moredhel still standing, and they were but five.
Martin hewed with his sword, cutting all who came before him. Roald and Laurie lunged and parried, giving up only inches, but slowly being worn down by the attackers.
A moredhel leapt over the stone breastwork and spun to face Jimmy. Jimmy acted without hesitation, his stiff side slowing him only slightly. He lashed out and sliced the moredhel’s hand, causing it to drop its sword. The Dark Brother yanked its belt knife loose as Jimmy slashed again. But the moredhel leapt back, avoiding the boy’s cut. Then it closed and was upon Jimmy. The boy slashed wildly, losing his balance and his knife, and the moredhel was atop him. A knife blade came rushing towards the boy’s face, but he dodged and it struck rock. Jimmy gripped at the creature’s wrist, holding the blade away. The blade came towards his face, for the weakened boy could not hold back the moredhel’s superior strength.
Then the moredhel’s head snapped backwards and Jimmy could see a knife drawn across the dark elf’s throat, leaving a bloody track. The moredhel was pulled off by the hand gripping his hair, then the hand was extended to Jimmy.
Galain stood over the boy and helped him to his feet. Stunned, Jimmy looked about. Hunting horns sounded in the forests and the air was filled with arrows. The moredhel retreated before the attacking elves.
Martin and Arutha dropped their weapons, slumping in exhaustion. Roald and Laurie collapsed where they stood. Calin ran towards them, directing his elven warriors in pursuit.
Arutha looked up, relief bringing tears unbidden to his eyes. In a hoarse voice he said, ‘Is it over?’
Calin said, ‘It is, Arutha. For a while. They’ll be back, but by then we will all be safely within the boundary of our forests. Unless they plan invasion, the moredhel will not cross that border. Our magic is still too strong there.’
An elf leant over the body of Baru. ‘Calin! This one still lives!’
Martin lay back on the rocks, panting. ‘That Hadati is tough.’
Arutha waved away Galain’s hand as he stood, his legs feeling like water. ‘How far?’
‘Less than a mile. We need only to cross a small stream, and we are in our forests.’
Slowly the survivors of the attack felt a lifting of their hopelessness, for they knew their chances now were excellent. With the elven escort, it would be unlikely the moredhel would muster enough strength to overwhelm them, even should they mount another attack. And with Murad dead, i
t was likely their leadership would crumble. From the behaviour of many of the Dark Brothers it was clear he had been of major importance to them. His death would surely weaken Murmandamus’s plans for some time.
Jimmy hugged himself, wondering at the chill he felt, for suddenly he was returned to the moment he stood in the cave at Moraelin. He felt the strange dislocation in time, and knew where he had experienced that chill before – twice before, in the palace and in the cellar of the House of Willows. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and knew with dread certainty that some magic was being visited upon them. He leapt away from the rock and looked about the glade. Pointing, he shouted, ‘Then we’d better start now! Look!’
The body of a Black Slayer began to move.
Martin said, ‘Can we cut their hearts out?’
‘Too late,’ cried Laurie. ‘They’re armoured, and we should have acted at once.’
A dozen Black Slayers were slowly rising and turning to face Arutha’s party, weapons in hand. With tentative steps they began to advance upon the Prince. Calin shouted orders and elves grabbed up the near-exhausted and wounded men. Two carried Baru between them, and they started to run.
The dead warriors staggered after, their wounds still bleeding, and as they moved, their movements smoothed out, as if some agency was perfecting its control over them.
With increasing speed the undead followed. Elven bowmen ran, halted, turned, and fired, to no effect. The shafts struck the dead moredhel and would rock them, knocking a few to the ground, but they would only rise again.
Jimmy looked back, and somehow the view of these creatures running through the bright morning light in the lovely forests was far more horrible than anything he had seen at the palace or in the sewers of Krondor. Their movements were surprisingly smooth as they ran after, weapons at the ready.
Those elves carrying the injured and fatigued humans kept running while Calin ordered others to slow the moredhel. Elven warriors drew swords and engaged the undead creatures; after a few parries, they would retreat. The rear guard slowed the Black Slayers, but they could not be halted.
The elves worked themselves into a pattern. They would turn, fight, retreat a little, fight again, then flee. But the inability to visit harm on their foes served only to delay these, not to end their threat. Panting, fatigued elves laboured to halt an inexorable flood. After several minutes the humans were being half carried, half dragged across a small stream.
Calin said, ‘We enter our forests. Here we will stand.’
The elves drew swords and waited. Arutha, Martin, Laurie, and Roald readied weapons and waited. The first moredhel entered the water, sword in hand, splashing towards them. He reached the shore as an elf made ready to strike, but the moment the undead creature placed his foot upon the shore, it seemed to sense something behind the elves. The elf struck it to no effect, but the dead Black Slayer staggered back, raising its hands, as if seeking protection.
Suddenly a rider sped past the defenders, a figure resplendent in white and gold. Upon the back of a white elf steed, a legendary mystic horse of Elvandar, Tomas charged the moredhel. The elf steed reared, and Tomas leapt down from its back and, with a golden arc of his sword, nearly split the Black Slayer in twain.
Like a raging flame incarnate, Tomas sped along the shore, visiting destruction upon each Black Slayer as they set foot across the stream. Despite their arcane origin, each was helpless before the combined might of his arm and Valheru power. Several managed single blows, which he easily turned aside, answering with terrible swiftness. His golden sword lashed out and black armour was cracked as if little more than brittle hide. But none of the undead sought to flee; each came on, and each was quickly dispatched. Of those with Arutha, only Martin alone had seen Tomas in battle before, and even he had never seen such a display. Soon it was over, and only Tomas stood upon the edge of the stream. Then came the sound of more horses. Arutha looked behind and saw more elf steeds approaching, ridden by Tathar and the other Spellweavers.
Tathar said, ‘Greetings, Prince of Krondor.’
Arutha looked up and smiled weakly. ‘Thanks to you all.’
Tomas resheathed his sword and said, ‘I could not travel with you, but once these dared cross the boundaries of our forest, I could act. Elvandar is mine to preserve. Any who dares invade will be treated as these.’ To Calin he said, ‘Build a funeral pyre. Those black demons shall never rise again.’ And he said to the others, ‘When it is done, we shall return to Elvandar.’
Jimmy fell back upon the grass of the stream bank, his body too sore and tired to move. Within moments he was asleep.
They feasted the next night. Queen Aglaranna and Prince Tomas hosted Arutha and his companions. Galain approached where Martin and Arutha sat and said, ‘Baru will live. Our healer says he’s the toughest human he’s seen.’
‘How long before he’s up again?’ asked Arutha.
‘A long time,’ said Galain. ‘You’ll have to leave him with us. By rights he should have died an hour before we got here. He’s lost a lot of blood, and some of those cuts are severe. Murad almost crushed his spine and his windpipe.’
‘But other than that, he’ll be as good as new,’ said Roald across the table.
Laurie said, ‘When I get home to Carline, I promise never to leave again.’
Jimmy came to sit next to the Prince. ‘You look thoughtful for one who’s pulled off the impossible. I’d thought you’d be happy.’
Arutha ventured a smile. ‘I won’t be until Anita is cured.’
‘When do we ride home?’
‘We go to Crydee in the morning; the elves will escort us there. Then we take ship to Krondor. We should be back in time for the Festival of Banapis. If Murmandamus can’t find me with his magic, a ship should be safe enough. Unless you’d prefer riding back the way we came?’
Jimmy said, ‘Not likely. There might still be more of those Black Slayers about. I’ll take drowning over another run-in with them, anytime.’
Martin said, ‘It will be good to see Crydee again. I’ll have much to see to, getting my house in order. Old Samuel will be at wits’ end with the estate management, though I’m sure the Baron Bellamy has done well enough running things in my absence. But there will be much to do before we leave.’
‘Leave for where?’ said Arutha.
In an innocent tone Martin said, ‘Why for Krondor, of course.’ But his gaze travelled northwards, and silently he echoed his brother’s thoughts. Up there was Murmandamus, and a battle yet unjoined. The issue was not decided, only the first skirmish. With the death of Murad the forces of the Darkness had lost a captain, had been pushed back, retiring in disorder, but they were not vanquished, and they would return, if not tomorrow, then some other day.
Arutha said, ‘Jimmy, you have acted with wit and bravery beyond what is required of a squire. What reward shall you have?’
Biting a large rib of elk, the boy replied, ‘Well, you still need a Duke of Krondor.’
• Chapter Nineteen •
Continuation
The riders reined in.
Staring upwards, they studied the mountaintops that marked the boundary of their lands, the great peaks of the High Wall. For two weeks twelve riders had picked their way through the mountains, until they had journeyed beyond the normal limits of Tsurani patrols, above the timberline. They moved slowly through a pass it had taken days to locate. They were seeking something no Tsurani had searched for in ages, a way through the High Wall into the northern tundra.
It was cold in the mountains, an alien experience for most of the riders, except those who had served on Midkemia during the years of the Riftwar. To the younger soldiers of the Shinzawai Household Guard, this cold was a strange and almost frightening thing. But they showed no sign of their discomfort, except to absently draw their cloaks more tightly about their shoulders as they studied the odd whiteness on the peaks, hundreds of feet yet above their heads. They were Tsurani.
Pug, still in t
he black robes of a Great One, turned to his companion. ‘A short way from here, I think, Hokanu.’
The young officer nodded and signalled his patrol forward. For weeks the younger son of the Lord of the Shinzawai had led this escort beyond the limits of the Empire’s northern borders. Following the river Gagajin to its highest source, a nameless lake in the mountains, the hand-picked warriors had passed the trails followed by patrols of the Empire of Tsuranuanni. Here were the wild, rock-strewn, seemingly desolate lands between the Empire and the tundra of the north, home of the Thun nomads. Even with a Great One in attendance, Hokanu felt vulnerable. Should a Thun tribe be migrating nearby when they came out of the mountains, there would be a score or more of their young warriors running as flankers, seeking any excuse to take a Tsurani head as a trophy.
They rounded a bend in the trail and a narrow gap in the mountains provided a glimpse of the lands beyond. For the first time they could see the vast expanse of the tundra. Vaguely perceived in the distance, a long, low white barrier could be made out. ‘What is that?’ said Pug.
Hokanu shrugged, his face an implacable Tsurani mask. ‘I do not know, Great One. I suspect it is another range of mountains, across the tundra. Or perhaps it is that thing you described, the wall of ice.’
‘A glacier.’
Hokanu said, ‘Whatever; it lies to the north, where you said the Watchers may be.’
Pug looked behind him at the ten silent riders. Then he asked, ‘How far?’
Hokanu laughed. ‘Farther than we can ride in another month without starving. We shall have to stop to hunt.’
‘I doubt there is a great deal of game about.’
‘More than one would think, Great One. The Thun struggle to reach their traditional southern ranges every winter, the lands we have held for over a thousand years, but they still somehow survive the winters here. Those of us who have wintered on your world know how to forage in snow country. There will be creatures like your rabbits and deer once we drop back down below the timberline. We shall survive.’
Silverthorn Page 39