Elfsorrow

Chapter 25

Just before dawn, Erys had woken experiencing a dread fear. Barely a day and a half out from the temple and the calming influence of Captain Yron and, while the group weren't lost, their minds were full of the terrors of the forest and their thinking wasn't straight. He'd tried to bring them back to themselves time and again in their ill-disciplined march towards the coast. He'd reminded them that Yron had trusted them to escape and had bought them time by sacrificing his own life.

And it had worked, brought them all back to what they had sworn to do. For an hour, maybe. Time was so difficult to judge. And then the bickering had started again. The backbiting and the fights about who was to lead. Erys had kept out of it. Let the egos of the other three battle it out. He gave up trying to reason with them and consoled himself by reflecting that it was he who carried the vital cargo. When it came to it, only he had to survive. Everyone else was expendable. He hoped they all went to hell.

It had been the previous dawn that they realised they were being followed. Tracked. There was nothing they could point to. No evidence. But it was there all the same, the indefinable feeling that they were being watched. Perhaps it was a change in the quality of a shadow; perhaps a branch cracked at a quiet moment in the din that was the forest day, or maybe the call of a bird didn't ring true. Whatever it was, it had destroyed any semblance of order and the day had been little more than a blind rush north.

Heedless of where they had run, they had suffered cut, bruise and sprain. Only Erys, who had seen their charge for what it was, had kept a reasonable pace, kept up with them easily and so avoided injury. The Gods only knew how they had escaped broken bones or snakebite. And worse than it all had been the unearthly chorus of growls, barks, grunts and calls that had echoed from all around them, dimming the rest of the forest din for what seemed like an age. None of them had spoken of it, too scared at what it represented to give voice.

The night had been unbearably tense, but despite the determination of everyone to stay awake because they didn't trust each other, Erys had slumped into an exhausted sleep. But now he was awake and his heart was thundering in his chest. He tried to quiet his breathing, lay completely silent in his hammock and listened. He turned his head slowly from side to side and in the thin light he could see one of the soldiers lying asleep. From where he was, Erys couldn't see the other two. He couldn't hear anything out of the ordinary.

But something had woken him. He was sure it hadn't been a dream. Erys shuffled out of his hammock, slipping on the wet ground under his feet. A quick look round and he shuddered. There was no one on duty. An eerie quality lay over the camp. Walking quickly towards the nearest of his colleagues, Erys genuinely didn't know if any of them was still alive, such was his feeling of impending dread.

He shook the soldier's shoulder and was rewarded with a grunt. He shook it again.

'Wake up,' he hissed. 'Can't you feel it?'

'What?' muttered the soldier, a surly young individual called Awin.

'Just get ready. We've got to go now,' said Erys.

He hurried across the camp and woke the other pair, whose hammocks were strung close together. Once he'd got them moving, he ran back to his own bed and began to unstring it, his eyes flicking into the forest as the watery light grew in strength. He stuffed the hammock into his pack, checked the wrapped parchments were secure and slung the bag over his shoulder.

Straightening, he met Awin's eyes.

'What's got into you?' asked the soldier. 'There's nothing anywhere near. I-'

He stopped and looked past Erys's shoulder. The mage swung round and saw it too. A shadow flitting across his vision, fast and low. Erys backed off.

'Get behind me,' said Awin, drawing his sword from his scabbard. 'Trouble, you two, look lively. To your left. Get a shield up, Erys.'

The other two scrambled to shrug on leather armour and grab swords but Erys didn't even begin to form the shape for a HardShield. He could see more figures moving. Upright this time. Like darker patches of shade and moving impossibly fast in the dense, overhanging, choking growth. He kept on backing away, his ears roaring with the clamour of his fear, praying that none of the shades were behind him. He'd have turned to look but he didn't really want to know.

Awin was crouched low, snapping out what he could see as he scanned the dark depths. The others were circling round slowly, swords and daggers drawn, armour untied and flapping. Erys saw the shadows move. He heard a growl. Something black, sleek, low and full of muscle flowed from the forest. It slammed into one of the soldiers whose name escaped him in the muddle of his mind. The scream was inhuman.

Awin and the other soldier ran in opposite directions, the latter stopping suddenly as the forest moved in front of him. Steel glinted and his head snapped back, blood misting into the dawn. Awin saw him go down and ran back.

'The shield, Erys, now!'

Erys desperately tried to clamp onto some concentration. He knew what he had to do. The shape was simple but its edges kept getting away from him and he had to lose himself before he could save himself. The shape formed. He dragged it together, blotting out Awin's panicked shouts and the sounds of the sleek shadow ripping the life from a man he'd heard laughing the night before. He cast as Awin turned a despairing face to him. CloakedWalk.

He stepped back and knew by Awin's expression that he'd disappeared.

'Bastard!' yelled the soldier. 'Coward!'

He was almost crying; he knew his death was imminent. Erys edged further away. Awin turned at more sounds, a whimper escaping his lips. The black cat was gone, returned to the shadows. And from the forest they came.

Three of them, moving smoothly into the campsite. Tall, lean and with faces painted black, green and brown. Two carried short slim blades, the third had a hand in a pouch at his belt. Erys tried to contain his breathing and the urge to run. He heard movement and the black cat, the size of a war dog, stopped beside him. It sniffed the air, knowing something was amiss but seeing nothing with its keen eyes. It moved on, a low growl in its throat. And after it came another elf. White and black halved face, the stark contrast in the dark was terrifying, like the half-face was floating, ghostly. He too looked square at the delicately retreating Erys but didn't stop.

Poor Awin was surrounded. He straightened now and dropped his sword. He held up his hands.

'Please,' he begged. 'I surrender.'

But they said nothing, just carried on advancing. Two came to his sides and grabbed an arm each. The third stepped up, pushed Awin's chin up with one hand and drove his blade through the man's neck with the other. The cat roared, the black and white elf exulted.

It was all Erys could do to stop himself crying out. He put his hands behind him, feeling his way. They found the trunk of a tree. Erys carried on, edging himself around it. His foot came down on a twig which snapped with a report like thunder in his ears. Elves and animal looked towards him. Awin's body dropped to the ground and he died ignored.

Erys fought the urge to stop moving, to become even more silent. He saw them speaking to each other. They couldn't see him. One of them came towards him, his eyes piercing green, catching the first shafts of sunlight. Erys kept on taking his gentle steps. He wanted to turn and run but was fearful of letting them out of his sight.

The elf came on but he was shaking his head. He said something then turned and rejoined the others. Another brief conversation and the cat and the spectral elf ran off to the north. The three others bent immediately to their task, and as Erys watched and the forest slowly obscured his view, packs were torn apart and bodies were searched. Erys's last memory was of the elves systematically shredding every item of kit and clothing.

Wanting nothing more than to find a place to hide, Erys clung onto the CloakedWalk, turned and walked forward at last, hoping to find the river to follow all the way to the coast. Yron had done everything he could. Dragging Ben-Foran into the obscurity of the forest, he'd laid him down on a clear patch of ground and used his soaking leather jerkin as a pillow of sorts. He'd lit a fire using rubbed bamboo and fashioned a rough tripod from damp wood. They both still carried the mugs they'd run from the temple with; Yron had forbidden Ben to discard his, knowing they might prove vital. He'd filled both from the river and balanced them on the tripod.

Taking off his shirt, he'd cut it into strips and put them in the water to boil. Finally, hoping no predators were attracted to Ben's bloodied body, he made a quick hunt for legumia bark, rubiac fruit and vismia stems. He found none of the latter. He could have done with its antiseptic qualities and reminded himself to keep looking, assuming Ben survived.

The youngster was conscious when he returned and incredibly was struggling to sit up.

'Lie back, boy,' said Yron. 'Best you don't look.'

'It's bloody agony,' said Ben.

'I know. I got the odd nip myself.' It was an understatement. Though the piranha had concentrated their attack on Ben's legs, the Captain had been the victim of more snaps than he could count. Most were little more than exploratory attacks but enough were full-blooded bites to cause him serious pain. He mustn't forget to treat himself. Ben would not be served by his own death.

Yron dropped the bark into the mugs and waited as it bubbled and spat.

'You'll be fine, Ben,' he said. 'You've broken nothing. It hurts like hell but I can numb the pain later. For now I have to clean it. That'll sting but you'll know it's doing the job, right?'

The commentary was as much for Yron as it was for his frightened lieutenant. Yron stared up at the sky, seeing the smoke trailing up into the canopy. The cloud had disappeared and strong light was shining down, bringing with it humidity and heat. He was aware they'd have to try and move soon. The smoke, while keeping away the flies, was a beacon for any watching TaiGethen and their silent ClawBound brethren.

When he'd waited as long as he could, Yron took the mugs from the tripod and placed them by Ben. He cut the remnants of Ben's trouser legs away, took a deep breath at what he saw and gave the stricken man a reassuring smile.

'It's not so bad,' he said.

'Liar,' replied Ben. 'Sir.'

Yron hooked a piece of cloth from a mug with a stick, let it cool a little in the air, then dropped it into his hands where he balled it up.

'Try not to cry out,' he said gently. 'I have to do this.'

He began to clean the right leg, beginning at the foot. At the first touch of the infused cloth, Ben tensed and bit down on a scream. Yron pressed on; he really had no choice.

He had no real idea how long he worked. Meticulous and tireless for hour after hour, he cleaned each wound separately, biting his lip as he looked at the torn flesh, the flaps of skin and the deep bite wounds. The right leg was torn to bits. Bone and muscle were exposed and he covered what he could with the makeshift bandages. Perhaps magic could save it but they were far from such help and Ben's survival chances were already low.

The left leg was better but his buttocks had both taken bites as had hips and lower stomach. Yron cleaned and bandaged, refilled the mugs again and again, kept the fire going and, latterly, made rubiac poultices for himself to try and combat any infection.

Finally, he dressed Ben in the remains of his trousers, helped him back into his leather armour, having used his shirt for bandages too, and sat him up. Ben-Foran was shivering in the heat as the shock of the attack began to set in. It was after midday.

'We can't stay here, Ben,' Yron said, keeping his face close to the boy's, forcing him to focus. 'We don't have to go far but we do have to go. Now I want you to prepare yourself, all right? Think strength, and know I'll be supporting you. We can still make it.'

'If you say so, sir,' said Ben. His face was pale and sheened in sweat.

Yron smiled as best he could. If the infection didn't get him, the blood loss or the shock just might. He turned from Ben to the fire, noting how the blood was already soaking through the boy's bandages, and put out the blaze, trying to minimise the smoke as he did so. Ordinarily he'd have hidden the site, the embers and the remnants of the tripod to put off any pursuit, but with the TaiGethen it was pointless. Even without the fire these elves would have enough signs to track them easily.

Yron put his leather jerkin back on and stooped over Ben. 'Come on, son. One arm around my shoulder, let's get out of here.'

Gasping in pain, Ben hauled himself up Yron's body. He leant heavily against the captain, not daring to put his right foot on the ground.

'You should leave me, sir,' he said. 'You could make it on your own.'

'To what purpose?' said Yron as they moved slowly off, Ben in a half hop, half drag, wincing at every movement. 'My duty is to my men. You represent my men.'

'But-'

'Decision's made, Ben. Let me assure you, if I was carrying anything important I'd have left you. But I'm not. So shut up and save your energy for shambling.'

Through his pain Ben-Foran chuckled. 'Thank you, sir.'

'No problem.'