by Rex Sumner
never heard of a band of Elves coming through, but thought it worked as an excuse. He preferred the open moorland and didn't feel like moving any fallen trees which were undoubtedly across the main track. However young Trev clearly believed him, going white at the very thought.
"But Chad, we can't fight off a bunch of Elves! We can't fight anyone. A couple of weak crossbows and short swords won't frighten anyone."
Chad, who had once famously missed the barn door with a crossbow from fifty paces to lose a sizeable bet, agreed with him. "Why we are taking the open road. Nobody can sneak up on us." He pulled his hat down to forestall more questions and was helped by the rain, which slanted across the moor straight into his face, so he twisted sideways and took it on his shoulder with his back to the boy.
Chloe was the lead horse so he let her have her head, trusting her to find the safest way. He dozed in the damp rain, ignoring Trev, till the wagon bumped heavily, nearly throwing him off. He swore under his breath, thinking it was going to be one of those days. Damn horse would sometimes find every bloody hole it could and unerringly run the wheel under his arse straight into them. Another jolt told him it was going to be one of those days.
It was one of those days for the next three, with Chloe getting more and more irritable. She even bit him twice and firmly kicked Trev when he hobbled her. The weather stayed closed in and Chad didn't know when he had had such a miserable, cold, wet trip. Finally, as they came round a hill, the clouds lifted slightly and the valley was laid out before them, glowing with subdued, clean hues of mauve and green. The fort lay a mile down the valley on the junction of two rivers, where the pass came out of the mountains. The best route through on the western side of the country, a route for the occasional raider.
Chad perked up and clicked at Chloe who picked up her pace for all of three yards in response. Trev was looking at the fort.
"Chad, why are the gates shut?" he asked, squinting at the fort.
Chad grunted, uninterested. He'd lost interest in Trev's conversation on the second day.
"Shouldn't there be horses in the paddock?"
Chad looked at the fort. It wasn't large, but containing a couple of acres with several houses and barns around a square. He could make out tiny figures on the high wooden walls, more than normal. The gates were indeed shut, but surely they would be seen any moment. He waited for the gates to open and somebody to come out to greet them, and prepared some stinging repartee in case one was Husk, an old crony.
Nothing happened, and something cold crawled through Chad's guts.
"It can't be," he whispered, the cold fingers of dread running up his spine and tickling his neck.
"What?" grunted Trev, who was thinking about a warm bath and wondering if they had a barmaid at the inn.
"They're under siege," whispered Chad, looking at the woods beyond the fort and seeing a couple of small trails of smoke coming up from cooking fires.
Trev sat up abruptly. "You're funning me," he said stricken, staring at the hills around the fort. "Don't say that, Chad! You're scaring me, you are!"
"Oh fuck," whispered Chad, "we're dead men. They're elves." The reins were forgotten in his hands as he looked across the valley. He could make out a shadow sign blowing from a lone pine on the hill. Abruptly, he threw up breakfast, just missing the side of the wagon and onto the dirt. The horses went on regardless.
Trev was whimpering. "Can we turn back, Chad? We can get away, mate, if we move fast?"
Chad could feel tears behind his eyes. "No chance. Once they see us, they can run us down. I don't know what to do! And without this food, the guys in the fort are dead."
"Oh!" Trev brightened. "They'll come out and rescue us, won't they Chad? Chad? They'll save us?"
"They're elves, Trev. If you ain't behind a wall, you're dead. Those arrows of theirs will take you every time. If they come out to rescue us, they'll die." Chad felt the tears start to run down his face, the bitter taste of death on his tongue. Why had this happened to him? There were no elves this far north. Patrols hadn't found any or he would have been escorted.
Trev broke, great sobs racking his body. "I, I heard what they did to you, how they killed you. Tell me it isn't true, Chad! I don't want to hurt like that. I want to be in the fort, Chad!"
Chad couldn't tell him it wasn't true. Elves liked bravery. He wasn't a brave man, he knew, and would always avoid a fight. Half the reason he was a haulier and not a soldier. Elves wouldn't like him, and they wouldn't like Trev, who was equally scared. Through the mists of terror, a thought burbled through. The fort. They would be safe in the fort.
"We got to race them, Trev. We got to get in before they catch us."
"How the fuck are we going to do that? They've got bloody great longbows, kill us from half a mile away."
"We'll hide, mate," said Chad confidently as it came to him. "Here, lend a hand."
"Sir! It's the relief wagon!" A sentry cried from the eastern rampart, unexpectedly and Sergeant Major Hollis hurried up the ladder to look over the wall. The wagon was coming straight down the hill, the horses going at a steady, even canter.
"Must've run into trouble, sir. Only one haulier."
Sergeant Major Hollis took this in and didn't comment. He knew how much his command needed these supplies, and that the elves would seek to cut them off. He acted swiftly.
"Sergeant Cochrane! Best archers to the southern and eastern walls, best crossbowmen to the corner." He shouted down into the compound, determined to give the wagon a chance. There were no woods to the east, just gently sloping moorland, but the woods came closest to the south and west, just out of bow range. The soldiers from the garrison were appearing from their bunks and duties, together with the few people who actually lived and worked at the outpost. All knew their lives depended on the relief wagon. There was barely a week's worth of food left and they were all on half rations as it was. The elves had been in the woods for three days, stopping all patrols and activity. They had arrived the day the first patrol had come and gone.
"Sergeant Cochrane, on my order, all crossbowmen will fire quarrels into the long stretch of woods in front of them. Repeat fire as fast as they can manage." It took the best part of two minutes to rewind a heavy crossbow for firing again, but they had the range for the woods. "Every crossbowman we have to the walls."
Soldiers were racing to the walls now, excitement rising and smiles across their faces. The chance of action raised morale, never mind if it succeeded. A soldier always thought he would succeed, even those who groaned and complained.
The wagon was several hundred yards away, and for a moment Sergeant Major Hollis wondered if it had been seen yet by the elves. He shook his head. Of course it had been seen, their eyes were far better than human eyes. Even now they would be making their way to the stretch of wood he had targeted, for from there the arrows would reach the wagon when it was about four hundred yards from the fort. He dare not wait any longer, for if he fired now he might injure some getting into position. But would it alert them to the wagon? He stopped the constant balancing, constant questions and doubt in the mind that is a commanding officer's lot and gave the command to fire.
The bolts hissed into the air and thumped into the woods. They were absorbed with barely a leaf fluttering, and no sign of any result. A constant rain of quarrels into the woods now began, and the wagon was coming into range. For a moment, the sergeant major thought he had succeeded, and then an arrow flew out of the very end of the wood, from a bush that no one would think could hold an archer. It arched high in the air and came down perfectly into the body of the haulier. There was a deep sigh as thirty breaths were released, but the wagon came on.
"What you goggling at, you sorry excuse for archers! Come on, hit that bloody bush! All around it! I want that fucking elf pinned like your aunt's sewing cushion or your bleeding sister in a tavern!" Sergeant Cochrane chivvied the crossbowmen back to giving
covering fire.
The wagon kept coming.
More arrows came from the woods, oblivious of the covering fire from the crossbows, and the haulier was riddled and pinned to the seat, clearly dead. But the wagon kept coming.
"Why don't they shoot the horses?" asked the soldier beside the sergeant major.
"Elves respect horseflesh," answered the sergeant major absently, remembering a trip to their kingdom ten years earlier. "They don't hurt animals. Even so, I would expect them to shoot the horses rather than let us have them."
The wagon kept coming down the faint trail, now with heather on either side. They were barely two hundred yards away now, and beginning to pick up speed.
"Not too fast," whispered the major. "You don't want to hit a hole now. Corporal Jenkins! Ready the gates! Get them open so the horses know where to go. Shut them as soon as they are through."
Just as he turned back to the wagon, an elf came out of the heather, running at the lead horse. He groaned, knowing they were done.
The elf closed quickly, and tensed, ready to make the jump as the horse went by. He would swing up onto its back and turn the wagon away. At the last possible moment, the reins twitched, the horses turned abruptly, the wagon swung dangerously and the lead horse took the elf in mid-jump with her shoulder. He went flying and next moment the wagon bumped
