Hunted (Book 3)

by Brian Fuller

  “What do we do?” Chertanne finally said, voice weak and unsteady.

  “You are in command, Ha’Ulrich,” Maewen returned. “What is your will?”

  “My will? My will is to be off of this accursed shard as soon as possible! I suppose that since you’re finally asking me for an idea that you’ve run out of them. We’re all dead, aren’t we?”

  “Have courage, Milord,” Athan soothed. “We have resources yet. Tonight I will place a ward of turning on our camp to keep us safe. It will cost me strength, but that cannot be helped. What we need is time to think about what can be done. The morning light will, no doubt, lend our minds a bit more clarity than our present worry can permit.”

  But after a night of bitter cold shivering, the dawn only saw them wrenched with worry and agitation. They decided not to make way for fresh panic, conservatively choosing to keep on with the unrelenting, stale panic they had lived with for weeks.

  Maewen left before full light to scout ahead again, and in the cramped quarters of their stony enclosure, it took a supreme effort from everyone to keep from shouting in annoyance at every bump, discomfort, and misstep. All annoyances quickly passed when the sounds of Uyumaak drums reached their ears, though at a distance. Maewen arrived soon after.

  “They have grouped and are moving. I expect them soon. Anyone that has a bow and can shoot it with some accuracy, join me on top of the rocks when I give the order. Those with weapons or magic, stay inside the stone circle until I tell you to leave and form a line of defense. If you leave cover too soon, you risk getting cut down by the Uyumaak archers. The rest should stay inside the cover of the stones.”

  The day rose clear and cold, and they stood tensely listening to the rise and fall of the drums. Maewen lay atop one of the rocks silently surveying the tree-dotted ridge top around them.

  “I wish they would bloody come,” Jaron grumbled impatiently.

  But as they waited, the drums gradually faded again until they could not hear them. Longer they waited, and after nearly an hour of hearing nothing but pleasant birdsong and wind, Maewen hopped down and left, returning a while later with a puzzled expression.

  “I don’t understand it, but the main body of Uyumaak has moved south and east of here. I can’t be sure where they are going or why, but it is good fortune for us.”

  “Is the way ahead clear?” Athan asked.

  “Not entirely, though the defenses are much thinner. Their shaman remains at the Portal gate, but only about fifteen Uyumaak, mostly Hunters, linger nearby.”

  “We can kill that many,” Jaron affirmed, “but it won’t be easy.”

  “It’s not their numbers I fear,” Maewen said. “It is their drums. If they are able to signal to their brothers that we are passing through or engaging them, they will chase us and catch us with ease.”

  “Then we wait until the cover of night and try to slip by,” Athan suggested.

  “You forget,” Maewen reminded him, “that the Uyumaak see well in the dark and smell all the better. We’ve hardly a better chance of slipping them now than in the dead of night, though it will improve the odds some.”

  “We need a diversion to pull them in the wrong direction,” Jaron piped in, “although whoever does the diverting will likely die for it.”

  Chertanne stepped forward and opened his hand, revealing a number of shiny discs. “I’ve been making these to practice my magic. I believe, Maewen, you said that these attracted them.”

  Padra Athan smiled proudly.

  Maewen nodded. “That is good. Make as many more as you can. The question is how we can get these into a position where they will start fighting over them without compromising ourselves.”

  “Perhaps I can help” Athan spoke up after a pause. “If I can get close enough to see one of them, I can use my magic to direct it to go wherever we choose. Maewen could place the discs away from the main body, I could guide an Uyumaak there and direct it to return and dump them on the ground.”

  Maewen considered for a few moments. “It is the best we have, but rather than drop them on the ground, have the creature show his companions and then run in another direction away from the Portal. For now, rest. We will be traveling through the night.”

  The Chalaine tried to sleep, but she found her busy thoughts and general lack of exhaustion prevented her from doing so. The hours limped slowly by, Chertanne creating four more of the shiny, coin-like objects during the day before Athan insisted that he conserve his strength and rest.

  Near evening Maewen left to scout once again, returning just before full dark. “Everyone, follow me and keep as quiet as you can. One loud noise will ruin us all.”

  No one needed the additional encouragement as they slunk into the night, the bright moons providing just enough light to keep them from committing the gravest of blunders. After nearly two hours of slow going, Maewen silently raised her hand to halt the party, waving Padra Athan forward. The two disappeared into a line of whispering, long-needled pines swaying just ahead of them.

  Since the Uyumaak did not talk or shout, the commencement of the scuffle manifested itself in thumps and the crack of rocks dislodged by hurried feet and the crunch of gravel beneath squirming bodies.

  Maewen signaled them forward from the edge of the trees, and they jogged forward as the sounds of Uyumaak fighting moved slowly away. Padra Athan stood inconspicuously behind a tree, joining Chertanne as they pushed forward into a large clearing. Stumps still remained where the Uyumaak had cleared space in the trees. Feces, ashes, and several slashed Uyumaak bodies littered the ground as they picked their way between roots determined to trip them.

  As they neared the opposite edge, a blue light cascaded through the clearing, the stumps casting long shadows. All eyes turned the source, finding the familiar sheen of a Portal some fifty yards to the north.

  “Hurry! We run!” Maewen commanded.

  The Chalaine picked her way through the difficult tangle of roots and detritus with surprising ease, leaving her companions and guards behind and finding herself second after Maewen to enter the relative safety of the tree line on the other side.

  “You run well,” Maewen complimented her. “Those stones are more beneficial than I thought.”

  As the rest of the party straggled forward, the first shadowy silhouettes appeared in the Portal. Only Maewen’s restraining hand kept the Chalaine from darting out to help her mother. As soon as they all managed to get inside the dark of the trees, they spent several moments catching their breath and watching what would unfold behind them.

  The Portal only remained open for a few minutes before it winked out.

  “I count a full company of Uyumaak,” Maewen reported. “Walk away into the wood quietly. If they pick up our scent, we may have a fight yet.”

  But before they turned to go, the Chukka thumped to his subordinates, and the Uyumaak company dashed away in the direction the Chalaine's party had come from.

  “What could possibly have been so important that finding us became the second priority?” Maewen mused out loud. “Well, let us use our good fortune to our advantage. Stick together. Getting lost in a forest during the day is easy. At night, it is nearly unavoidable.”

  Chapter 57 - Lights in the Mist

  Maewen waited until the mist of the lake had crawled inland and obscured the open grassland before she sneaked into the twilight of evening for another glance at the stalemate they had faced for three days. They encamped in a weedy, though spacious, copse of trees that grew a mile from the slope that descended to the beachhead.

  Their rejoicing at having come so far and nearing what they hoped were friendly fortifications was dashed instantly at the half-elf’s first report—Uyumaak had control of the beach and the hastily built fort and enjoyed the security of numbers and position. The only way off the shard lay as far out of reach as the moons in the sky. Once Maewen confirmed repeatedly that she, despite her experience, could not conjure up a way past the barricade, conversation in the party lap
sed into laconic grumbling and terse complaints.

  Maewen could find no fault with their collective surliness. What bread remained had the texture and density of rock, and the dried fruit had gradually turned black and leathery. Of the two, the fruit claimed favor, for the length of time required to chew it at least afforded the illusion of a larger meal. Adding to this, daylight no longer brought relief from the cold, and during their second night, an inch of snow fell that did not melt away from the blond grass until well past midday. Shoulders hunched habitually beneath tattered cloaks, and sore muscles cramped from the cold and lack of exercise.

  As she stepped to the edge of the tree line, Maewen breathed in the smell of the lake, damp and bitter, tinged with the more unpleasant smell of scaled hides and bubbling cook pots. The fog dampened the steady pounding of Uyumaak drums, but as she jogged out into the field, she noted that the character of the beats differed from what she had grown accustomed to in her previous forays. An increased frequency and subtle shift in the rhythm signaled a change, and—while she did not know how to interpret the language—reporting even the minutest difference in their circumstances to the party would provide her human companions at least a day’s worth of pointless speculation to help pass the time until rescue or death.

  Stealthily, she pushed forward, keeping low among the tall grass and scattered bushes, which dampened her leggings with the watery residue of the mist. Proximity to the pounding beat of Uyumaak speech confirmed her initial perception—a note of agitation resounded within the menacing cadence. Carefully, she wound her way to a mound to the left and above the beach, scooting forward on her belly until she could glimpse the Uyumaak encampment.

  The virtue of her elven blood allowed her eyes to penetrate the weak light and swirling mist. At first she saw nothing that would account for the change she had discerned earlier. As before, the Uyumaak surrounded both sides of the wall, half facing out toward potential threats from the lake, the remainder watching the hill and waiting for an attack or wild attempt to circumvent their lines to gain the freedom of the water.

  But even should the weary travelers gain such freedom, the Uyumaak had burned all the boats, a fact Maewen had not yet worked up the courage to tell the ragged survivors of the caravan. Given time and means, they could probably construct a rude raft, but the thought of them awkwardly hoisting such a craft onto their shoulders and charging the Uyumaak lines like beggars with a battering ram brought a grin to her face despite the decided lack of levity in their situation. The probability of the Uyumaak archers butchering them before they paddled to knee-deep waters returned her expression to its usual sobriety.

  A gentle breeze momentarily cleared a portion of the hill that descended to the wooden wall, and in the brief moment of clarity she saw what she was looking for. A ragged line of Hunters, Bashers, Archers, and Warriors descended in a file to an audience of their fellow creatures, who ogled them and slapped their chests in a staccato commentary. The idea that their enemies were receiving reinforcements momentarily gripped her heart with terror and frustration until a few minutes of additional vigilance revealed something more favorable.

  While little more than faint shadows even to her eyes, the way many of the creatures walked or carried themselves was off somehow, and it took her only a few moments of puzzling to discern that several of the Uyumaak limped while others held injured arms close to weary bodies rather than swinging them as they normally would when walking. This was not a reinforcement; this was a retreat.

  Maewen slid backward and turned over, letting the obscuring fog envelop her in its dampness until full darkness had fallen. What did they leave behind them that could put large numbers of Uyumaak to flight? Had Ethris and Shadan Khairn survived the battle of Dunnach Falls with a large enough remnant of his army to push the Uyumaak toward the shore? Had the soldiers that once occupied the walls regrouped somewhere behind them?

  Both possibilities struck her as wrong. The Uyumaak had nearly decimated the soldiers at Dunnach Falls before she had run out of the meadow that day, and the soldiers that had once occupied the fortifications at the beach had no doubt been trapped on the wrong side of their own protection and been slaughtered, although they all hoped that some few had escaped in boats back toward the Portal to deliver warning.

  Shivering, she rose and picked her way through the field back to the quiet, cold camp where she related her news to the huddled group. They raised the same possibilities that she had to herself, dismissing them and reintroducing them with desperate ‘buts’ and ‘what-ifs.’ Frustration and irritability ended the conversation nearly an hour later, and everyone settled in amongst the boles for another uncomfortable sleep.

  “Injured Uyumaak are, at the very least, a good omen,” Geoff announced before lying next to Fenna. Maewen hoped he was right and meandered around the camp until everyone was asleep. As night deepened, she walked toward Jaron and Cadaen, who took the first watch. The men guarded their charges silently, arms crossed against the cold, just inside the edge of the copse. Mirelle slept close by with her daughter, and Maewen took great care not to wake them. Their Protectors sensed Maewen approach.

  “Have you heard anything unusual?” she whispered.

  “I think I can make out movement in the dark, though it is distant,” Jaron replied.

  “Have care tonight,” Maewen advised. “If there are still stragglers fleeing a battle, our little hideaway may seem as attractive to them as to us, though I would hope the smell of their own food would lend them enough iron to march the rest of the way to their camp.”

  “We had discussed the same,” Cadaen replied.

  “Good. I will let Chertanne’s guard know as well.”

  Maewen turned and started back toward the heart of the camp when a bird trilled loudly in the distance. At its call, she stopped immediately and turned her head toward the sound. Again it broke the night. A smile crept across her face. When it sang the third time, she answered in kind—the call of the Silver Loon from the forests of her home. Only one person living would know the sound or how to make it so well. She turned around.

  “I am going to scout a bit more,” she explained to Jaron and Cadaen. “I will return shortly.”

  Neither appeared to think anything was amiss as she again disappeared into the night. She waited until she was well away from the camp before using the bird call again and waiting for its answer to guide her. For the first time in months, a genuine enthusiasm coursed through her veins. Wounded Uyumaak and Gen arriving on the same day could be no coincidence.

  At last she saw them, Gen, Gerand, and Volney huddling against the lee side of a steep hill in a low thicket not a half-mile from Chertanne’s camp. They stood as she approached and greeted her on the plain. The faces of the young men, bearded, gaunt, and gray in the night, matched those of her own party, and at her approach, only Gerand and Volney managed a grin. Gen’s severe demeanor dampened Maewen’s excitement at seeing him again. The lines on his face and the gravity of his eyes immediately refreshed to her mind the scenes played out at Elde Luri Mora, and at once she comprehended the weight of his predicament and his sorrow.

  “Your coming brings great joy, Gen,” Maewen greeted him in Elvish, despite his determined solemnity.

  “I am glad to see you well. How fares the Chalaine and her party?” Gen asked, voice tired.

  “They are frustrated and trapped. Health has favored us, but there is little else good to be said. The food runs short, and the Uyumaak bar the way home.”

  “We have been without food for two days ourselves,” Gen reported. “The Uyumaak have killed all the game. We have help for the last. Where are you encamped?”

  “Not far from here. A contingent of Uyumaak limped past our position this evening. I take it you are responsible, then?”

  “Yes,” Gen said, “but what aid we have brought is not . . . wholesome. It is a long tale. Tonight you will see green lights upon the hill that leads to the shore. Stay well away from them. In the morning,
your prospects will be brighter, I think.”

  “As you wish. What do you plan to do?”

  “I need to talk to Mirelle. Does she . . . does everyone know who I am?”

  “What do you mean?” Maewen asked, eyebrows knitting together. She thought she caught a flash of hope in Gen’s eye.

  “Forget it. Do you think I could speak to her alone? I know Cadaen will be nearby, but it cannot be helped.”

  “It is possible, but not wise. If Athan were to trap you again, you would not escape his justice.”

  “See if he is asleep. If you can bring Mirelle a little apart from the camp, that would be best, but if not, I will risk venturing in. I will be brief. Once the night’s business is done, we three will try to reach the Portal before the rest. If we get there before Athan, then perhaps we can pass through without any difficulties.”

  “Remain here,” Maewen said. “I will return shortly.”

  Gerand and Volney approached Gen as Maewen loped away. “Well,” Volney asked, “anything you would like to share with us?”

  “They will wait while Ghama Dhron does his work,” Gen said. “I am going to speak to the First Mother.”

  “That is insane, Gen!” Gerand protested. “You’ll be caught!”

  “It matters little anymore. The Chalaine will get off the shard now, and that is really all I can do for her anymore. You will soon know why. Stay here. If I do not come back—or even if I do—you are free to find your own path. Again I thank you for your help and remind you of your vow.”

  Maewen returned shortly and waved him after her. When visible between waves of mist, the night sky gleamed full of stars above them, the moons suffusing the fog with an ethereal glow. Uyumaak drums beat slowly and irregularly in the night, footsteps of half-elf and man crushing the damp grass the only other sound in the still night. Mirelle waited just outside the trees, Cadaen close behind. Her hood was off, and she fussed with her hair while casting glances into uncertain gloom.