by Chris Ward
The king turned to Aaraghant.
‘Give me your bow Underlourde Aaraghant,’ he said evenly. This took the proud man by surprise.
‘My Lord?’
‘I am your king. Give me your bow. It is time for you to use that sword which you insist on waving in my face.’ He held out his hand and all watched as Aaraghant reluctantly gave the bow and quiver to the king, who slung it on his own back, and then turned to Leander.
‘We are ready Commander.’
*
‘They have arrived,’ said Reigin from where he rested in the shade of the small overhang above. His sharp eyes had watched the cleft for three span, and now he saw them.
‘How many Reigin?’ Rema asked quietly. He stood alone at the front of the small rock platform and looked to where Reigin was pointing. He too could see the distant figures.
‘A score, as we are,’ Reigin replied. ‘All three Shadow Hunters are there. A dozen Wolvers.’ He squinted hard. ‘I think the king Petros, for I know his shape and stance. Zelfos came in first and there are two others, I think one is an Underlorude, for his dress is impressive. The other just a soldier not a Wolver. He will be easy prey.’
How is Sylvion?’ Rema asked.
‘Unchanged Rema.’ Reigin looked upon her prone form. She was breathing more easily but her eyes were still closed and they flickered irregularly as though she were dreaming in some far off place. ‘I think I could rouse her.’
Rema considered this for he knew that her blade alone would hold back the shadow Hunters and Zelfos too. He remembered his arrow which had turned to ash on contact with the evil sorcerer. In that moment he wondered what the prophecy held for him. He had but five arrows, and no power to harm any of the most deadly ones which now stalked them. He sighed in resignation. He could do no more. What would be would be.
‘We will wake her soon, but perhaps she is gaining strength. Let her be.’ He called softly then to each of the group who were able to stand and fight and from their positions all but one replied.
‘Ofeigr!’ He called. There was no reply.
‘Scion, where is Ofeigr?’ There was silence for a moment.
‘Rema I saw him go into the forest on your right side. He went up into the trees. I did not call him back for this might have given his position away.’ Scion replied finally with a worried tone in his voice.
Rema swore softly, and wondered why the strange quiet man from the Faero Islands had disappeared when he was most needed; but whatever Ofeigr planned, it was beyond him now.
He had placed the highlanders behind him on top of the rocky overhang. He knew they would be no match for the Wolvers and from there they could protect the rear and from a height see things he could not. It also gave their wounded a chance to be safe for if the Wolvers swarmed the platform they would be slaughtered quickly. Clarynda and Goodman Cantor he had placed with Cordia and Rhynos below him and on either side. The Edenwhood were even taller than the Wolvers and with the highlanders to help could most likely deal with one or even two Wolvers such that he might get the chance to shoot them.
He stood and waited and wondered what would be the first move.
‘Fight well my friends,’ he called out. ‘They will be upon us soon.’
*
Zelfos took his three Shadow Hunters around the base of the towering cliffs hidden in the trees and there they waited, about a half league off from where the archer stood. He spoke to them in his strange guttural tongue and they melted into the shadows. He wanted them for the final act; there was no point yet in rushing in. The woman might well be feigning injury and the Shadow Blade still deadly beyond any power he had to stand against it. The sickness it had visited upon him in so short a time made him greatly wary until he was sure he could move without fear of that awful light.
He found a hidden vantage point and viewed the coming battle with an eager anticipation. The Wolvers seemed to think they were invincible despite the events out upon the plains, and were facing off before the enemy in a more traditional manner. They prided themselves upon a frontal attack, so confident were they of their great prowess. Aaraghant had moved around the far side and seemed uneasy about reliance upon his sword. His steward had disappeared. And so had the King. This made Zelfos uneasy for he wanted the king alive. Petros’ rule had perfectly allowed the growing evil to multiply throughout the land. He was vain and easily manipulated. Zelfos had no wish for another on the throne, and this Sylvion would destroy all he had worked for just when it seemed within his reach. The door to a lower world stood partly open and the evil of this day must see it swung wide. He smiled at the thought, for never before had the world of man come so near to losing all. He would succeed. It was so close. This woman had to die.
Leander stood with the Wolvers.
They would move fast. The battle could well be short, but he could use his sword, his right arm was perfectly good. He was uneasy about the archer but could not imagine that he could take them all, for their speed must surely be too fast.
*
Rema thought about his arrows.
How did I leave myself with only five arrows? He berated himself. He knew he stood before a small force, but it was clear enough; even if each arrow found a deadly mark, it would not suffice. He must delay the attack so that Sylvion could once more wield her Shadow Blade. There was no other way.
Or was there?
Suddenly in a strange flash of remembrance his hand went to the small leather pouch which he still carried upon his belt. He had worn it so long that it had become more adornment than anything other. Something he wore by habit.
Hastily he took the strange pouch from his belt and laid it carefully upon the rock at his feet. For the first time he unwrapped the contents and was disappointed to discover nothing more than a sweet smelling paste. He recalled the advice of the strange man who had given it to him, a crazy wizard he had thought at the time.
Only use this in the last battle, when things are desperate beyond measure.
He stared hard at it. It was unremarkable. Only its sweet smell in this place of death recommended it at all.
What in all Revelyn was the use of such a simple paste?
He thought on it for a moment, and then with a shrug decided that if there was magic all about, why not this too. It could do no harm. He took an arrow and gently smeared some paste upon its tip.
He was amazed to see it glow. It was hardly more than that, and none else noticed, but sure enough it gave off a simple light. He repeated this simple task with all five arrows. It did not take long and then there was an anxious cry.
‘Rema they come!’ Scion called urgently from above.
He glanced quickly up and saw the direction from Scion’s outstretched hand. He turned and drew in one smooth motion and as he did, the arrow tip burnt ever brighter. Two hundred paces off to his right and well down the open grassland a Wolver ran in waist high grass. He held a simple shield and his sword was ready. He was fast but Rema knew not fast enough.
The deadly arrow travelled like a lightning bolt and only Rema saw it; he marked the man dead before it was half way to its target. He was not surprised to see the arrow pass clear through the surprised Wolver, just above his left eye. What shocked Rema beyond all that had come to pass so far was the arrow’s path thereafter. He had a habit of tracking his shafts, it only took an instant to note where it had ended, in a tree or in the turf, for if fate allowed he might retrieve it later.
But the arrow did not fall, it began to climb. It soared high up into the vaulted sky above the deadly field and circled back toward him. In open mouthed astonishment he saw it come. It flashed back and down, and then it landed at his feet without a sound, the bloodied tip now unlit, but deadly all the same. All in the time it took to notch his second shaft.
Rema smiled broadly as the realisation of what this mighty magic meant suddenly dawned upon him.
His arrows were few but each would return.
I have as many arrows as I need.
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‘Where next?’ he called back to the watching highlanders who too were astounded at such a trick, for they had seen the return of it, if not its initial flight of death.
And then the battle came fast and furious.
The Wolvers moved forward through the tall grass in a confusing manner. They ran fast for a short distance then ducked down as another ran. By this method they could approach as one but without allowing too much time for an enemy to aim and fire. But none had come against the skill and speed of Rema Bowman. Their great overconfidence was their downfall in the end.
With Scion calling sightings, Rema drew and fired fast enough to best their plan.
His second arrow was to his left and at one hundred and eighty paces the Wolver’s heart was torn in two, the arrow back at Rema’s feet just as he fired the third. This shaft took out a large Wolver who had crept a long way around through the trees before charging out into the field. He was barely a hundred paces off when he fell, his throat holed cleanly and his spine severed. Once again the arrow did not falter on its homeward journey.
The fourth arrow was not so lucky. It found its mark not far from the previous Wolver but a tree behind caught it in its upward flight and so it shattered into many pieces.
‘Four left,’ Rema murmured as he drew the next shot.
A cry came from behind. Rema turned. Reigin, standing watch over Sylvion had taken an arrow in his left arm just below his previous wound. It broke as he pulled it out and staunched the flow. It had a silver tip. Rema had not time to inquire of the great man. Two Wolvers had sped fast through the grasses and suddenly come upon Cordia and Rhynos. A mighty sword fight began and ended quickly, for the two were but testing the defences, and saw that the Edenwhood were a match for them. Each scored some cut upon the other but then they disappeared back into the grass and Rema let them go. He knew he could have tracked and felled them but others were on their way.
He fired long and straight ahead. He had seen the Wolver duck down into the grass. He chanced his luck and waited, bow full drawn. He guessed the Wolver would think the distance too great. A soon as he stood to run again the arrow hit him in the chest and carried on and up and back once more.
King Petros’ first Underlourde, Aaraghant was well back in the trees and quite high up. He saw the deadly arrows do their work in sheer amazement, and a great fear came upon him. His bow was gone and he knew his show with the sword was no more than that. He could not wield it well enough to best his one thumbed steward, let alone to stand against this enemy. He glanced about and then unseen, found a safe tree behind which he crouched and let the others take up the fight.
His steward was an angry bitter man. He was brave enough, but had no love of any plan except for his revenge upon the man who drew the bow. It was this one who had taken off his thumb and so stolen forever his one love in his lonely life; his skill with the sword. He cared not what happened to the woman whom the others seemed to hunt. All he desired was to slay the archer. They could do what they willed with the others.
He crept through the tall grass from a point below where his master crouched in fear. The distance to the rocky shelf he had judged was perhaps no more than a hundred paces. He kept low and did not stand to look about; trusting his senses and urging himself on with hateful curses he arrived unseen and undetected by the rocks upon which his enemy stood and rained death upon the charging Wolvers.
Soundlessly he leapt up the rocks and landed upon the level rock above. Reigin saw him and despite his double wound sprang ready to defend the still unconscious Sylvion; but the man was not after her. He charged at Rema’s unprotected back and with a cry swept his two handed war sword once around his head, but just as his blade was about to strike he was bowled over, stone dead, by Reign’s sword which had travelled in mighty cartwheels through the air and caught him in the back. He fell with hardly a sound but a look of sheer hate froze upon his face when his heart was stilled shortly after.
Rema fired to his left and once more felled a Wolver in mid stride but this arrow too was broken upon a rocky outcrop close behind.
‘Now three,’ he whispered to the air.
Zelfos watched the battle unfolding with increasing agitation. He knew he must unleash his Shadow Hunters soon but he was in part enthralled by the deadly violence, and still he feared the Shadow Blade, for all would hang upon it, and now, upon the very brink of his evil plan’s success, he vacillated back and forth.
Rema’s next arrow hit the giant Leander, but his shield which took the shaft stopped it dead for it was thick and he used it well, the man was agile despite his size. His arm wound bled under the coarse canvas bandage but he felt no pain and no fear as well. He moved steadily down the grassy plain encouraging the remaining Wolvers to work together.
‘Two,’ said Rema as he smeared more paste upon an arrow tip.
A Wolver darted in close and once more engaged with Rhynos. He fought well and the Edenwhood warrior was hard pressed to hold him off and was wounded twice, once upon the leg, low down and then across the face which was ugly and bruised from the earlier battle on the plains of Amrosi under Fellonshead. Rhynos stumbled then and so Goodman Cantor by his side stepped in and faced the Wolver who was way too skilled for the brave highlander. Rema sought to shoot the Wolver from above but the fight danced in many directions all at once, and then Goodman cried out and was pierced through the leg. He fell bleeding and only then did Rema have a shot and felled the Wolver but lost the arrow for it shattered on the rocks below.
Rema took the last arrow and quickly smeared it with the wizard’s paste.
He felt then that the battle teetered on an edge, and so called back to Reigin.
‘We are in need of Sylvion’s blade my friend. The Shadow Hunters must surely be ready to pounce. I have one arrow left.
He did not turn and see what Reigin might do, but once more with Scion’s guidance he moved about the rocky shelf and with great skill so that he did not endanger this last arrow he felled three more Wolvers and then suddenly the battle seemed to stall. The highlanders up high upon the rocky ledges could see no further movement in the grasses. They waited and in the silence Rema heard Reigin pleading gently with Sylvion to return to them.
‘She stirred Rema,’ he called but he had no time to think upon what this might mean for suddenly the giant Leander was almost upon them. He was so huge a man that Rema knew he could absorb horrendous injury before defeat. He held a huge shield before him and so the target was not clear.
Rema knew he must keep this last arrow safe for there were two more Wolvers yet to fall upon them.
He drew his bow and aimed at the giant soldier who approached in a furious anger. He had seen the Wolvers fall and still did not believe it possible. He stormed on, driven by the warrior’s need to die with honour, for he now felt that the battle was lost. He cursed Zelfos and his king who had promised that these fell creatures would turn the tide, but they had not appeared. And the king had disappeared. For the first time he thought that perhaps their cause was not as just as he had believed. But he had no time to dwell on such a distraction.
Rema tracked his movements and fired when almost too late. The arrow clipped the edge of the mighty shield and deflected down passing right through the soldier’s lower leg and burying itself deep in the earth.
Leander felt a burning tear all along his leg and found he could no longer walk. He crashed to the ground and in an instant a huge and powerfully lithe woman stood above him.
‘I am Cordia of the Edenwhood, and your death is at my hand,’ she cried.
As her sword descended Leander cried out in humiliation.
‘I yield!’ and none too soon did his words cleave the air, for her blade pierced his tunic and drew blood all down his mighty chest before hitting rock below. She took it up and swung it hard and hit him around the head. He lay dazed but conscious enough to see the end of what was to come.
Rema felt a panic rise within him.
His last arrow was
lost. The last arrow has fallen, he thought, and the words of the prophecy came back then for he had committed it to memory long before. I have no other arrow.
Scion called, ‘two more Rema!’
He looked up and saw they were coming fast, almost together, but one a little further back.
He desperately looked about in case he had miscounted, and another arrow lay where he had been standing, but there was none. He knew he had only a few moments. Suddenly he spied the sword of the man who had come against him and who had been felled by Reigin’s tumbling blade, and several things happened, almost faster than thoughts can travel.
He recognised the man lying there so hatefully in death. He was the one whom he had injured long before on Gymble’s barge and left upon the river bank without his thumb and his head tied sightless in a leather bag. And then he saw that along the shaft of this dead man’s sword was fastened an arrow. His arrow. The man must have carried it as a spur to this final revenge which had failed him in the end.
An arrow! The thought exploded upon his brain and in a flash he had it, and taking up his bow he sprang with this last of all his shafts so miraculously provided, down the rocks and out into the grasses to the left side for he knew what he must now do.
Two Wolvers, one arrow; he had to get it right. He ran at an angle from the rocky shelf toward the trees drawing the bow as he went until he judged that the moment was just right, when the two fast approaching lethal soldiers were about to fall into a line. He fired then, and by the conjunction of all he had momentarily foreseen, the arrow hit the first Wolver in the heart and passing on took down the one behind a single heart beat later. They fell without a sound and Rema halted, his breath coming now in deep gasps, for he had forced it to be calm and steady to take the shot, but now he needed to breath, deep and long.
