Silence

by Mercedes Lackey

  “Stay close to me and keep your head on a swivel,” he growled. He was constantly scanning around, sword and shield at the ready. Staci moved closer to him. She could hear shouting and the sound of breaking glass, things being toppled over, and a couple of high-pitched screams. From the back terrace she saw bright flashes that threw everything into jagged shadows. Magic. They’re fighting back.

  “We’ve got to hurry! They’re outside—”

  “Quiet!” Dylan said in a harsh whisper. “Not alone.”

  They hadn’t taken more than three steps when there was a shout from their right. One of the Blackthornes came running at them, swinging two short curved swords above his head. Dylan brought his shield up in time to catch one of the blows, but the second sword cleaved into his helmet. Staci’s heart stopped; she thought he must have been dead, until he broke contact with the other elf, shoving him backward with his shield and striking him in the shoulder with its edge. Dylan’s helmet fell to the floor as he shook his head; there was a gash on his forehead, but he was otherwise intact. The dark elf smiled at the sight of the blood, and charged in again. They began trading blows, sword against sword, sword against shield. Dylan was staying on the defensive, probing with his sword with back cuts whenever the dark elf attacked; the dark elf was all rage and a flurry of strikes, overextending himself and cutting too far with each swing.

  Staci wanted to help, but didn’t dare try to enter the melee; she’d probably just get in the way, and get herself or Dylan killed. She was so preoccupied with Dylan’s fight that she almost didn’t notice the shadow that was creeping towards her from her left. She turned at the last instant to see a female Blackthorne raise a long and ornate dagger, readying it to plunge down into Staci’s chest. In one of those surreal moments she had read about when someone was faced with life or death, she pondered the little details; like how she remembered this particular Blackthorne cousin. She was prissy with her table manners at the family dinners, and seemed to be perpetually scowling.

  She screamed, throwing up her hands and dropping her own short sword. In that instant, she felt her emotions well up inside of her, a single word—a resounding NO. Her hands exploded into light; it wasn’t like the other times she had used the flash, though. The light burst in a fireworks spread that kept on looping back from her hands to her armor as fast as a strobe light. It scattered off of her chainmail like a spotlight off of a disco ball, and sent the female elf reeling backwards. Staci knelt down quickly, scrabbling for her sword. The dark elf shook her head as if trying to clear it, then came at Staci again; she was weaving slightly, as if she was drunk or stunned. Staci’s fingers finally found the hilt of her sword, and with a shout that sounded suspiciously like a squeak, she brought the sword up just as the dark elf reached her, snarling and wielding her dagger.

  The murder left the dark elf’s eyes as Staci’s sword scored a line of blood across her forearm. Where the sword had touched her, the skin peeled back and blackened, as if she had been touched with a white-hot burning rod. The dark elf fell to the floor screaming and clutching her wounded arm, kicking at the ground to try to push herself away from Staci. It’s like I have an anti-elf light saber. It was pretty clear to Staci that the female elf wasn’t a threat any longer. She looked like she was in utter agony, her only rational thought being “Get away from the pain.” She turned to see Dylan pulling his own sword from the chest of the other Blackthorne, the body falling to the floor. He glanced over at her, then the female dark elf, and nodded. There was something very, very different about him since they had arrived. Maybe this was just him with his game face on? He was all business, which made sense, but Staci still felt a jolt, as if she was seeing him without a mask for the first time, and what had been under that mask was…something she didn’t, couldn’t, understand.

  But he was waving at her to follow, and turned to go forward without seeing if she was coming along. Following him a few steps behind, they burst into the living room.

  Or rather, what had been the living room.

  The windows were shattered, furniture overturned, art smashed. Strangely, three of Blackthornes were staggering around like drunks, oblivious to what was going on around them. The fronts of their shirts were soaked, and their faces were dripping with what was undoubtedly Seth’s super-caffeine concoction.

  Without missing a beat, Dylan walked calmly forward. Staci caught a glimpse of his eyes for the barest moment; he was emotionless, fixated on the three dark elves. Before she could even say anything, he swung his sword in three, quick slashes. All three of the elves fell, their throats opened by Dylan’s sword. Staci was struck speechless by the brutality of it all. It still paled compared to the cold and calculating murders she had witnessed at the hands of the Blackthornes, with the homeless kids and the plague…but even with that horrible act to hold up against, this was awful. She knew, on some level, that maybe it had to be done. That didn’t change the fact that she felt sick watching it, now. Once the last of the elves had finished kicking against the floor and lay still, Dylan was about to continue marching toward the back of the house, when there was a rustling sound in a sort of nook off of the living room. There were four of these, bigger than window seats, big enough to hold a sofa and a couple of tables and lamps, and when Staci had last been here, the cousins had used them as places to get a little bit away from the crowds watching movies or playing the video games. This one was just out of sight—and it looked as if someone had overturned the sofa to provide some semblance of a barricade. Dylan was already raising his sword when Staci heard talking from behind the sofa, and recognized the voice.

  “Wait! Stop!”

  Dylan pulled back at the last moment, his shield hand still on the couch and ready to flip it over and strike. Staci rushed forward, pushing him out of the way; he winced, falling backwards a step from the proximity of her chainmail. She roughly shoved the overturned couch to the side, grunting with the effort. Behind it, she found the person she had heard: Wanda, kneeling next to an unconscious and bleeding Seth. He was still breathing. His chainmail shirt was gone. She was cradling his head in her lap while holding a makeshift bandage against his chest. Why didn’t we make sure all of us had first aid kits of some kind? Wanda kept on talking to him, telling him to be okay, and how she would hate him forever if he died. It took Staci a moment to realize that there was a third person behind the couch. Tucked against the wall to her left was one of the Blackthorne cousins: Morrigan, the Goth one that had latched onto Wanda during the gang’s first visit to the estate. Morrigan was holding some sort of elaborate bow, with an arrow nocked to it. From the look of things, she had been protecting Wanda and Seth with it. Her gaze was riveted on Dylan.

  “Dylan ap Gwynnerian ap Griffud,” she said calmly, although her voice sounded strained. “Why am I not in the least surprised? I claim sanctuary—”

  “Not of—” Dylan began harshly.

  “No, I’m not insane. I claim sanctuary of Elfhame Fairgrove and Keighvin Silverhair.” Her hands twitched a little, but she didn’t raise her bow. “Last I heard, which was only a fortnight ago, you were still allies.”

  Wanda looked up from Seth, and immediately broke in. “She helped us. Seth got hurt, and I ran out of stuff for my water gun. He wouldn’t get back up, and…she dragged us both over here when I got his shirt off. He’s gotta wake up…” She didn’t cry, but she couldn’t look at anyone but Seth after that.

  “Dylan, if she’s helping us…” Staci reached out, lightly touching Dylan’s arm. He didn’t quite recoil from her touch, but it was clearly unwelcome, right then. He looked from Staci, to Wanda, and back to Morrigan. After what seemed like an eternity, he slowly lowered his sword.

  “If they live, then so do you. Otherwise, you’ll share whatever fate becomes of them. Understood, twp slebog? You know me, which means you know I’ll keep my promises.” He thrust his chin towards Wanda and Seth. “Protect them, and you’ll have sanctuary.”

  “Then give us protection for a m
oment,” Morrigan demanded. “If you really want this human boy to live.”

  “Make it quick. We have a job to do.”

  Morrigan didn’t reply; instead, she put down the bow and arrows, and knelt next to Seth, avoiding Wanda’s chainmail. She put one hand over Wanda’s, hissing a little, and whispered something Staci couldn’t quite make out.

  Then there was a whining sound that ramped up in pitch, and a crystal pendant that had been around Morrigan’s neck exploded. Wanda and Staci both jumped and yelped, but it seemed that Morrigan had been expecting something of the sort. She stood up, bow and arrow at the ready again. “It’s a good thing I like you, humans,” she said. “That talisman cost me the better part of a week to make. If it weren’t for all the blasted iron all over the place, that spell would have been more powerful.”

  Staci glanced down at Seth. He was still unconscious, and when Wanda pulled up the wad of fabric she’d been pressing against his chest, there was still a wound there. But it wasn’t bleeding anymore, and looked half-healed.

  “I hope that’s surety for you, Dylan ap Griffud,” Morrigan said, putting the arrow back on the string and taking a ready stance. “The boy won’t die of that, at least.”

  “There’s still more night to go, Morrigan. And I don’t have any more of it to waste on you, for now. Keep them breathing.” Reluctantly, Dylan turned and started towards the back of the house. Staci lingered a moment, facing the—former?—Blackthorne cousin.

  “Please…make sure nothing happens to them.”

  “Many things I have done, but I am no murderer of children,” Morrigan replied. Then she softened a moment. “All that besides, you and Wanda have been better friends to me than my own kin. A change of coat is in order, methinks. The Silverhair is not so harsh in judgment as some others…and not so quick to abandon his allies when they are no longer immediately useful.” She glanced from Dylan to Staci, then back down again. Staci thought there was something—a warning?—in Morrigan’s expression when she said that last. “Go now. I’ll keep these two safe. Do the same for yourself.”

  Staci started to move away, then saw Seth’s chainmail shirt discarded a little way away, along with a smear of blood on the carpet. Next to it was one of the leather bags they’d used to hold the jacks. She sprinted over to grab it, then spread out the jacks on the carpet between the alcove that held her friends and the rest of the room. Morrigan flashed her a thumb’s-up, as Staci threw the pouch aside and dashed after Dylan, who was heading for the dining room and the patio entrance—and from there, the outside and the maze.

  There was a flurry of activity outside. There were easily a dozen Blackthorne cousins, along with servants, running all over the place, most looking like they were confused or terrified or both. Almost none of them paid any mind to Staci and Dylan; any that ventured too close were greeted with Dylan’s sword, either the menace of it or an actual slash. A lot of them were staggering rather than running, not as bad as the three inside that Dylan had killed, but looking very confused. Was this the result of the caffeine-saturated stuff from the water guns?

  Staci spun around as she heard a crash to their left, followed by more shouting. This wasn’t the same panicked sort that she had been hearing since they got close enough to the mansion. This was fierce. Dylan had noticed the sound as well, and was moving purposely towards it, clearing the way for her. Through the gaps in the rushing bodies, she saw that there were two figures, their backs against the swimming pool, being harried by several others. They were fighting back ferociously.

  It took her a moment before she realized it was Jake and Riley. They were standing side by side, both staying in the low fighting stances that Dylan had showed them. Jake was hacking and slashing with his sword, dancing in and out as he sliced at the nearest dark elves. Any that he struck fell back, only to be replaced by more, though the replacements were less and less bold with every encounter they had with his sword. Riley, on the other hand, was something else entirely to behold. She was constantly moving, her lips pulled back in a snarl, occasionally screaming at the dark elves. She switched between using her water gun and throwing knives, first blasting a dark elf with the super-caffeine mix, then throwing a blade at the now-staggered Blackthorne. Most of her knives were landing home, though a few hit at the wrong angle and did little more than a surface burn where they hit. Staci’s heart skipped when a single, stockily built Blackthorne bulled through the ranks of his cousins, raising a war axe high above his head and bringing it down at Riley. She threw up her water gun at the last instant, catching the axe blade; a pressurized blast of the mixture sprayed outwards from the impact point, mostly splattering the dark elf bruiser. Before he could even react to that, Riley had dropped the cracked remains of her water gun and reached into the pouch at her side. With another scream, she chucked a handful of the iron caltrops directly at the dark elf’s face; more than a few of them stuck there, sending the elf screaming to the ground, unable to even clutch his face in pain. Before any of the others could press the advantage, she had her backup water pistol up and out of her belt, spraying away.

  “We’ve got to help them! They’re—”

  “Doing what they’re supposed to do. They’re distracting most of the trouble, so that we can get to the Gate. Think of Return of the Jedi; they’re the fleet, we’re the strike team. Sooner we do our job, sooner they’re safe. If we get bogged down here, we’re all dead. Let’s move.”

  She felt utterly torn. She knew he was right. It was the plan. It was what they had talked about, practiced for. But that still didn’t help her feeling helpless, watching her friends fighting for their lives and having to leave them. Even if it was ultimately to help them, she still felt a wrongness about leaving. They were her friends, and she had made a promise, to herself at least, that they would be safe!

  In the end, she found herself following Dylan. He was the voice of experience. Even though he was in some zone of his own, he still made sense; they had to get this over with. The sooner the better, for everyone; especially for her friends. Jake and Riley were doing all right at the moment, but that could change any second. The same went for Wanda and Seth, hiding in the house; even with Morrigan protecting them, there could only be so much that one formerly dark elf could do against several attackers.

  He cut—sometimes literally—a path for them to the entrance of the hedge maze. They had to make their way through the injured, the dead and the dying to get to the Gate, and she was dreading that moment when they reached the maze more than anything. Memories bombarded her, memories of that night she had fled through it, terrified. Seeing the Fae drinking blood from the cauldron, the night she had gone through the Gate and been chased by the Hunter’s hounds. She pushed all of that down to a deep and dark place inside of her; she could cry and shake and be scared later. She had to control all her emotions, she had to be brave and calm, if she wanted any chance to save her friends.

  Staci almost ran into Dylan, he had stopped so suddenly. She immediately saw why he had stopped. Five Blackthornes stood in front of them, weapons drawn and ready…and they were blocking the entrance to the hedge maze. Dylan was good—better than good, he was phenomenal—but even with her trying to help, the odds were against them. She didn’t have reliable magic while she was wearing her chainmail shirt and carrying the sword and daggers, and it would affect Dylan’s magic, too. Sword for sword…they were outmatched. She sensed that Dylan knew this…but just didn’t care. He’s going to take them all out…or die trying. She felt equal parts admiration and horror for him.

  Five against two at the entrance to the maze. Both sides seemed to tense, about to spring forward and attack, when both were interrupted by something unexpected. There was a sound in the distance, something carrying over the din of the fighting and assorted chaos on the grounds…and it was growing louder. Something like a growl, guttural and primal, but also…mechanical? Staci realized what it was at the last moment. Everyone’s gaze, even the fighters near the swimming pool, w
as drawn towards the second story of the mansion. There was a light coming from one of the balcony doors. For a split second it became brilliantly bright, a solid rectangle of light. A futuristic motorcycle—all chrome, brushed aluminum, and metallic light blue coloring made it look like some sort of scifi missile on wheels—burst through the balcony door, then the stone railing in a shower of glass and rubble before sailing into the night air. Staci, transfixed, watched as the motorcycle…suddenly wasn’t a motorcycle any longer, but a gigantic warhorse, still possessing the same coloring, and now wearing the spiked armor and bridle that she remembered from the first time she had seen the elvensteed. Metalhead touched down just before the line of Blackthornes, kicking up great clods of dirt before he bowled into the dark elves. They barely had time to throw their hands up before they were trampled underfoot or turned into rag dolls after being dashed against the elvensteed’s shoulder armor. The clamor immediately resumed now that the spectacle was over. Staci was aware that her jaw had dropped, and closed her mouth quick enough to make her teeth click. Metalhead pawed the dirt for a moment, snorting.

  Staci swallowed hard. “Uh, good boy. Good boy, Metalhead.” She took a step forward, petting Metalhead’s muzzle. Metalhead bent his head and accepted the caress graciously, before backing a few steps and rearing up on his hind hooves. He pawed the air, then dropped to all four feet again and snorted, tossing his head in the direction of the now-open entrance to the maze. Then he was off, charging forward into another crowd of dark elves, the ones converging on the last place Staci had seen Riley and Jake.

  She hesitated, but Dylan waved her on to the maze. “He’s going to go help your friends. Don’t worry about him; this is fun for him.” A rush of relief hit her; at least someone was going to help her friends! She turned and followed Dylan into the maze.