A Sea of Skulls (Arts of Dark and Light Book 2)

by Vox Day

  A hint of movement far below caught her eye. She frowned, wondering what it might be, and swiftly untied the reins that had been hitherto unneeded. It was a valley of sorts below, with a ridge that ran north to south to the east and a gentler series of hills to the west. There was a lake closer to the hills than to the ridge, and it appeared some sort of creek or little river ran down from the ridge and through the trees of the valley to terminate in the kidney-shaped lake. With a gentle tug on the reins, she caused Merlian to circle about, hoping to get a better view of whatever was moving down below.

  It was moving quickly through the trees, too quickly to be an orc. It could be an elf, but then, it could be a deer as well. Or, perhaps, a goblin wolfrider. She urged Merlian into a descending spiral, and reached behind the saddle for her bow and a quiver. She untied the leather thongs that held the former and withdrew three long white-feathered arrows from the latter.

  The green expanse of the forest gradually transformed into individual trees and the gaps in the forest canopy became more apparent. She saw a gap in the coverage that appeared to be in the direct path where the creature was headed and caused Merlian to level out. It wasn’t a huge opening, but it was just enough to see an elf jogging through it underneath.

  “Silverbow!” she cried. “Silverbow!”

  He pulled up, drew his sword, and looked wildly about him. He did not, however, think to look straight up. She laughed and slipped the arrows back into the quiver.

  “Up here!” she shouted as she retied the bow and slid it behind the saddle. He looked up, started at the sight of the massive hawk circling above the trees, and waved. His clothes were stained and ragged, and his face was dirty, but the white gleam of his smile showed that he was in good spirits. To her surprise, she saw he was not from Elebrion, but was a wood elf.

  “Which one are you?”

  “Arwis Autumnleaf!” he shouted. “Gelrinas is wounded. I hid him in a tree about a day’s march north of here and led the orcs chasing us away from him. Are they nearby?”

  “Didn’t see them. Do you want me to drop a ladder down to you?”

  “No, you need to find Gelrinas before they do! I can make it back to the camp on foot. But I can tell you exactly where you’ll find him!”

  “How bad is it?”

  “What?”

  “His wound! How bad is it?”

  “Took an arrow through the leg. I removed it and cleaned his leg. He should survive if they haven’t found him yet.”

  “How am I supposed to find him?”

  “It won’t be hard from the air.” He pointed almost due north, towards the direction from whence he’d come. “A bit more than two days’ march, you’ll see a round lake. A river feeds into it and out of it, and there are three small islands in the middle. Two of them have trees. He’s in the tallest tree on the second-largest island. I tied him onto a branch so he can sleep without falling off.”

  Bereth nodded approvingly. This elf was clever. Orcs and wolves hated water and wouldn’t have willingly followed them into the lake. Even if they did, there was a good chance they wouldn’t climb any trees when Arwis had left them a trail to follow on the other side of the lake. He would have made it look as if they’d camped there briefly, then continued, leaving them no reason to search the island.

  And, of course, both elves would have known that if anyone was going to rescue Gelrinas, it would be a sky raider on the back of a warhawk. A tree was the optimal location for an extrication from enemy territory.

  “How far from the outskirts of the camp?”

  “Three-quarters of a day. I doubt they’ll see you coming.” He looked back to the north. “I should leave now. They weren’t far behind me. Those cursed wolves are fast and they stick to one’s trail.”

  “Do you need anything?”

  She thought he smiled up at her. “If you don’t mind, I haven’t eaten anything in two days.”

  “I thought as much.” She reached back into her left saddlepack and withdrew a pouch containing a loaf of hard bread, then slipped a pair of apples into it. “Watch out, now!”

  She dropped the pouch and it landed with a thud that even she could hear. Ah well, even a bruised apple would ease an empty stomach. He retrieved it and held it up to salute her with it. “My gratitude is boundless. What is your name, angel of my salvation?”

  “Bereth, Bereth mer Eulenarias.”

  “Then my thanks to you, Bereth. I hope to see you again one day, so I may thank you more properly.” He bowed, adding a little hand flourish that made her laugh, then waved before breaking into a swift and graceful jog.

  She couldn’t help smiling as she watched him go. There was something spirited about him that she liked. Perhaps if Ilriathas was a bit more like this wood elf, bolder, less deliberate, less consumed by the supreme importance of his bloodline and its continuation, she might be willing to countenance the sacrifice he required of her. But that was impossible. To him, she was nothing more than another piece to be flawlessly arranged in his perfect, aristocratic life.

  It was, she supposed, a sincere compliment that he deemed her worthy of bearing his children. Her bloodline was very nearly as royal as his own, and the mere fact that he wanted to marry her indicated that she was beautiful, for Ilriathas was far too haughty an aesthete to surround himself with anything that was not.

  Never mind that for now, she told herself. There was a wounded elf who needed rescue. She directed Merlian north, and pulled back on the reins, guiding him higher into the sky, further from the eyes of the enemy she anticipated would soon be upon her. The hawk’s wings beat strongly, but smoothly as he carried her rapidly over the trees and grass and stones below.

  It wasn’t long before she began seeing signs of the orc depredations. Sizable swaths of forest were blackened and burned, presumably on the part of foraging expeditions sent out to obtain meat of one form or another. Instead of stalking their prey or even utilizing beaters, the orcs would set a series of fires that drove their prey into nets. It was an effective tactic, especially in enemy territory, since it could take years for the flora and fauna to recover.

  Although it was not the first time she had seen such abuse of the forest, the sight awoke an anger within her. She curled her lip and shook her head. How was it that her people had not wiped out these hateful creatures long ago? She thought for a moment, and then spoke into the wind.

  Fire, madness, and pain

  They rape the green land.

  Great spirits of the trees

  Awake! Arise, in righteous wrath,

  And wreak your vengeance upon them!

  But the great spirits slumbered on, insensate. Or perhaps they were no more, gone, departed from the world like the ancient races of old. Only the elves remembered them now, the Deathless Ones, the Shadow Walkers, and the Sylvanae. The younger races, Man, Orc, and Goblin, knew nothing of their kind. What she would not give to see the woods awaken, to see the trees rise up and tear their violators limb from limb! But the forest slept on.

  She passed over a dozen black gouges torn from its green body before she stopped counting them. Doing so served no purpose except to quantify her pain. And then, she had spotted a gleaming ribbon that worked its way south in a twisting, curving path that might be the outlet of which the scout had spoken. She followed it, and before long spotted the lake with the three islands she had been seeking.

  Before descending, she circled it, looking carefully for any sign of the enemy. It looked as if there might have been a pair of modest camps, judging by the two areas where trees had been downed near the water, but no one was there now. It looked safe enough, so she guided Merlian towards the middle island, then towards the more thickly wooded part of it, where the trees grew the highest. But although she circled it twice, and even called out Gelrinas’s name, she saw no one and heard no reply.

  It wasn’t until Merlian landed and she dismounted to investigate the trees more closely that she saw the signs of the struggle. Enough feet to tram
ple the grass had been here recently, and there were small traces of blood, red blood that belonged to no goblin or orc, along the way those feet had been traveling. She followed the blood and bent grass to the water’s edge, and saw the marks of clawed and booted feet imprinted on the damp, sandy soil, as well as the unmistakable indications of a boat landing.

  She swore bitterly. She could not have missed him by long! Judging by the marks, a mere two day-tenths sooner and he would have been safe. Vexed, she folded her arms and tapped her fingers. Should she go after him and try to see what had become of him? She had a bow and she was a fair shot from Merlian’s back, perhaps she could even spare him the rape and torture that were his most likely fate. She knew rescue would be impossible, but mercy might not be beyond her reach. Her other option was to fly south and ensure that Arwis Autumnleaf was not ridden down and captured.

  Lord Oakenheart would have her bring Autumnleaf to him, on the off-chance that he had gleaned some useful intelligence concerning the enemy’s intentions. And for her own sake, she did not wish to fly over the enemy’s camp again; the stench alone was sufficient cause to turn away. But she could not bear to think about the atrocities that would be visited upon a brother elf; it would have been kinder if Autumnleaf had simply cut his wounded companion’s throat before leaving him behind.

  She turned west before she even realized she had done so. Taking a deep breath, she resigned herself to the morbid task before her, and untied her bow once more. This time, she only took out one arrow, but she slung the quiver over her shoulder. She knew that she might not get more than one or two shots before the orcs reacted to her; hopefully Gelrinas’s captors would not have reached the main camp before she caught up to them. She stroked the great hawk’s neck and urged him on, then rocked back as his next wingbeat, more powerful than the previous one, sent them surging forward.

  The signs of the invasion, or infestation, as she thought of it, were unmistakable. Instead of blackened, burned-out scars, the trees had been leveled and the grass all but killed by tens of thousands of orcs tramping about and spraying their stinking urine everywhere. The green carpet below her gave way to sickly browns and yellows, dotted with tents like warts or tumors upon the land.

  She took the risk of descending low enough to make out individual orcs, and sure enough, it was not long before the first alarms went up. She could see arms pointing at her, and two or three archers sent shafts up towards her, but none of them came anywhere near her or the hawk insofar as she could tell. They didn’t worry her; orc archery was little more accurate than children throwing stones. Her attention was focused on the ground, looking for the small party that would, if she was any judge of things, be bringing their captured treasure to one of the warleaders in the center of the camp.

  Then she spotted them. There was a score of armored warriors marching in two lines on either side of about half that many irregulars. In the middle of the irregulars was a supine figure lying on what appeared to be a makeshift cart, only the ends dragged on the ground and left two parallel lines in the dirt behind it. Two big orcs, one on each pole, were pulling it along; it was essentially a stretcher, she realized, only the orcs couldn’t bother to carry it in a manner that would give the passenger a smoother ride.

  She considered her options. A shot straight ahead and down was difficult, but shooting to the side as the bird moved perpendicular to the target was nearly as hard. She would have to come at Gelrinas from behind due to the stretcher-draggers, as their big bodies would be in the way if she flew ahead and then came back towards him. The problem was that she would probably have only one shot before they understood her purpose and took measures to stop her by shielding his body.

  She must make it count, she told herself, if she was to spare the elf the indignities and depredations of his captors. And, she realized, there was only one option if she was to be absolutely sure of her shot. She would have to bring Merlian to a stop in the air, and the best way to do that was to cause him to bank steeply just as she passed in front of the stretcher in a curve tight enough to put her directly above her target. That would leave her vulnerable to any archers quick enough to respond, but there were no more shafts being directed her way at the moment so she decided the risk was minimal.

  She nocked her arrow and aimed Merlian for a point to the right of the orc party. Just as she passed it, she leaned to the side and pulled hard on the left rein. The hawk obeyed instantly, and for a brief moment she was suspended almost parallel with the ground as the great bird seemed to swoop around an invisible pole. The ground swept past her in a dizzying blur, but the elf on the stretcher was right at the center of her perception and all the world rotated around him. Without thinking, she pulled back the drawstring, and loosed her arrow. Almost as soon as the drawstring snapped, she felt herself being lifted skyward again as Merlian leveled out and began flying back the way they’d come.

  She heard the consternation erupt below before she’d even looked back to see if the arrow had hit home. She looked back over her shoulder and saw the two orcs had dropped the front of the stretcher to the ground, and like many of their companions, were staring up at her, gesticulating angrily.

  Bereth laughed, as much in relief at the sight of the arrow protruding from Gelrinas’s chest as at the furious impotence of the orcs. Even if he wasn’t dead yet, he would be soon, before he could face further torture. She toyed with the idea of trying the same trick to kill a few of his captors, but decided against it. The faster she could leave this enfouled, diseased land, the better.

  Then, without warning Merlian let out a high-pitched shriek of pain and he unexpectedly pitched to the left. His wings stopped beating, and he held them out, spread wide, as if trying to keep himself aloft. Bereth knew at once that something was wrong. She looked down, and saw a group of orcs jumping up and down, pointing, celebrating. And, to her horror, she saw a pair of cart-bows, insidious machines that were similar to the elven hydra, only they loosed one large bolt instead of three. Both were propped upon upon a pile of logs to permit being aimed skyward. The cart-bows were normally used as anti-cavalry artillery, as its winched cables allowed the bolts to punch right through armor.

  Or, as it happened, feathers and flesh. As Bereth urged him on, Merlian fought to beat his wings, but the effort was halting, as if it pained him too much to do so. Bereth looked back and saw a small group of orcs was chasing after her, as if they knew her struggling warhawk could not long stay aloft.

  Anguish smote her heart as she realized they were probably correct. Merlian’s eyes were pinning, the irises growing rapidly larger, then shrinking again, a certain sign that he was in pain. She wanted to sob and throw her arms around his thick feathered neck, but she knew that doing so would only make it even harder for him to keep flying. Instead, she took a deep breath, set her face, and tried to put her terror and her grief aside for the moment, in order to better calculate what she would need to do to stay alive once she was forced to ground.

  Merlian was gliding now in a slow, steady descent. They were still over the ruined earth of the orc camp, or rather, the section that was given over to their goblin slave-allies, and she was low enough that she could hear the smaller monsters jabbering as they halted their activities and came out of their tents to point at the sky. At their current altitude, they would barely make it to the tall green trees that marked the extent of the orc army’s deforestation.

  “Come on, brave heart, come on, my dear,” she leaned forward and whispered to the stricken warhawk. Tears streaked back from her eyes into her hair, as the wind refused to permit them to fall. “Be strong, my darling.”

  Arrows flew up at her, as did stones from goblin slings, and she was forced to lie flat on his neck to avoid them. She could feel his body twitch as several of them struck him, and she felt his pain in her soul as if it were her own.

  He somehow seemed to understand her need to reach the trees, because he stroked his wings twice more, a valiant effort that gave him just enough h
eight to clear the first row of them. Then they were engulfed by a leafy green storm, leaves and branches whipping at her face as Merlian broke through the forest canopy into the shadowed depths below.

  Miraculously, the great hawk found the strength to backstroke once, twice more, slowing them down considerably before he abruptly furled his wings and fell to the forest floor. “Merlian!” she screamed, more concerned about her bird than the fact that they were plunging rapidly towards the ground. Somehow, they missed striking any trees, and when they struck, his big body and soft feathers cushioned the impact for her.

  “Merlian!” she screamed again. He opened his eyes, only a little, and she rapidly undid the two buckles that held her strapped into the saddle, then leaped to the ground. She ran around him and embraced his head, crying and kissing his beak. But no sooner had she thrown her arms around him than he gave out a whistling sigh and sagged to the ground, his ink-blue tongue lolling from his beak.

  “Merlian, no!” she cried. But when she stepped back, she could see the end of the crudely hewn wooden bolt protruding from the left side of his breast. It must have nearly pierced his heart; she wondered at the amazing strength that had allowed her to escape the orc encampment.

  Which reminded her, she was far from safe. The orcs would already be after her, the wolves would soon be on the scent of her trail, and though it made her soul-sick to think of the foul beasts devouring her dear hawk’s flesh and decorating themselves with his noble feathers, the discovery of his sizable body would be a major distraction to most of the hunters now chasing after her.