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

by Vox Day

  She climbed back up to the saddle and retrieved those items that she needed most. Her bow, her arrows, her sword, a pouch of food, and two small skins of water. Everything else she would have to abandon, because there was only one way to ensure the wolves would not easily scent her trail. Fortunately, the trees here were tall enough, and thick enough, that their big branches extended out well past their nearest neighbors.

  Bereth kissed Merlian’s beak again and plucked a single feather from his neck, then another one from his breast. After one last mournful look back at her longtime companion, she began climbing a nearby oak.

  Bereth

  She awoke to the harsh, grunting sound of orcish being spoken. Three orcs were arguing loudly amongst themselves as they approached the split-trunked oak tree in which Bereth had been sleeping. They didn’t seem to be paying much attention to where they were going, so as she yawned silently and rubbed at her eyes, she decided that it was mere bad luck that had brought them here so close to her.

  She’d leaped from tree to tree, initially heading west rather than south in an attempt to hide her trail from her pursuers, most particularly the goblin wolfriders whose mounts could not only follow her scent, but easily outpace her on the ground. Once she felt she’d gone far enough to escape the likely extent of their pursuit, she climbed down in order to make better time. No matter how agile the elf, it was much faster to run over the dark mossy floor of the forest than it was to balance on the branches of the trees, ignoring the annoyance of having your face constantly whipped by twigs and leaves, and occasionally having to stop and climb either up or down in order to find a branch that extended far enough to reach another tree.

  Only well after second Moonrise did she finally stop running and climb into the forked embrace of a slumbering forest giant. She tied herself to a branch, curled up in her cloak and fell into an exhausted, fitful sleep, only to be woken by the guttural sounds of the orcs arguing below. Or complaining, she realized as she listened to them. It was hard to understand them, as they spoke in a dialect different from any other she’d heard before.

  As near as she could tell, they were angry about being sent on a pointless chase after an elf whom they wouldn’t even be permitted to devour. Her eyes narrowed as the conversation turned more optimistic, as the smallest of the three orcs pointed out that even if they couldn’t kill her or eat her, there were other entertainments to be had. He then began expounding on his plans for her, the full extent of which Bereth never learned. It was her own fault, though, as she rather rudely interrupted his oration by loosing an arrow that entered his left eye and partially exited the rear of his misshapen skull.

  His two companions didn’t notice at first, but continued for three or four more steps before turning around to see what had happened to him. It was almost comical to see how they looked back, then down, then stared stupidly at each other for a moment before awareness of what had happened finally dawned on them. As the bigger one roared defiantly up at the trees, Bereth put a second arrow right down his gullet, and the razor-sharp point came out the back of his neck as he slumped, choking and dying, to the ground. The third orc was a little more clever, as he didn’t waste any time shouting or looking up at the trees, but instead began running as fast as his stumpy bowed legs would allow.

  Bereth raised her bow, but there were several branches obscuring her line of sight, so she was obliged to put an arrow through his thigh rather than a more lethal location. But she knew it would be enough to slow him down, so she untied herself and climbed down from the tree without hurrying, then strolled in the direction that he’d fled. He was limping badly and bleeding profusely, so it wasn’t difficult to catch up with him.

  At the sound of her footsteps behind him, the wounded orc whirled around. He was about a head shorter than her, but he was probably three times her weight. He wore a metal breastplate and had several dark tattoos on his arms, that, combined with the large rectangular cleaver he was drawing from its goblinskin sheath, told her that he was what passed for a proper soldier, not an irregular. The arrow piercing his left thigh was hampering his movements, but between the big blade and his bulging arms, there was no doubt that he could chop her in half if he could get close enough.

  “Yar!” he shouted as he took a step towards her. She calmly put a second arrow in his throat, then stood there and watched him die. She retrieved that arrow easily enough, as it very nearly went all the way through him, but the one in his thigh was a little tougher. She walked back and recovered the second arrow, but not even putting her foot on the dead orc’s head and tugging hard was enough to pull the first one out of its skull. She gave it up with a sigh; that still left her with eighteen arrows, although three of them were now fouled, like her hands, with dark green orc’s blood.

  She wiped them off as best she could on some leaves, followed by some moss, then slipped them back into her quiver. It was tempting to use a little of her water to at least rinse off her hands, but she knew she’d better save it for drinking. Perhaps she’d stumble across a creek soon. In any event, it was time to move on. If they were still looking for her this far west, they probably weren’t going to give up the chase easily and although orcs were undisciplined, three regulars would be missed well before sunset.

  Still stiff from her makeshift bed, she took the time to stretch her arms and legs before breaking into an easy jog heading south. With any luck, she’d be spotted by one of her fellow raiders before the end of the day.

  The sun was just approaching its apex when Bereth heard the howls in the distance. Wolves. She cursed under her breath and took one last bite out of the apple she’d been eating before tossing it into the stream at which she’d stopped to wash her hands and catch her breath. She debated wading through the water to try to break her scent trail, but the stream seemed to be meandering more west than south and the water would only increase her pursuers’ worrisome advantage in speed.

  If they lost her scent here, they’d simply send a pair of wolves running along each bank until they picked it up again, and gained even more ground on her. Best to simply run straight south as fast as she could and hope someone spotted her from above before they caught her.

  And so, she ran. She wasn’t tired, but it soon became apparent that something in her left knee wasn’t quite right. Had she twisted it without noticing when poor Merlian struck the ground? She tried not to favor it, but the more she tried not to do so, the more conscious of it she became. It wasn’t exactly painful, it was more of a discomfiting pressure, but it prevented her from properly stretching her left leg out as she ran and put a sort of hitch in her stride.

  Again and again, she looked to the sky above the forest canopy and saw nothing. Every time she sensed motion overhead, her heart leaped, hoping that it was the familiar shape of a warhawk soaring above her. But time and time again, it was only birds, or occasionally, a squirrel leaping from one tree to another. At first, she felt despair, especially as the howls of the wolves grew louder, although they were still too far behind her to see. But the despair rapidly turned to irritation, then anger.

  Where were they? They knew she was out here. Surely Arwis Autumnleaf had reached their forward base and told Lord Oakenheart that he’d seen her, and where she was heading! Why didn’t the High Guard commander have sky raiders out looking for her, as she’d been ordered out to find the wretched Silverbows? And where was Ilriathas? He came up with one excuse or another to inflict himself upon her nearly every evening, surely he, at least, would have missed her. He probably wouldn’t have gone looking for her himself, given his other responsibilities, but he might at least have sent out a hawk or two.

  She fumed as she ran. If an elf was so besotted with her as to propose marriage more than a dozen times, how could he possibly not notice her failure to return to camp by nightfall? The howls were getting closer and she knew she didn’t have much more time. Should she climb a tree and attempt to keep running? Or should she try to find some defensible ground and make a las
t stand?

  She looked back and saw a green-and-grey flash behind her. It looked like her choice was made for her. She nocked an arrow, waited until the wolfrider cleared a large tree, then loosed the arrow at his chest. She didn’t wait to see if she’d hit, instead she looked upward to locate the biggest, most branch-laden oak she could find. There was one about twenty paces to her left, so she ran towards it as fast as her injured knee would allow.

  It was a snarl that saved her. Somehow, the wolves must have gotten past her and circled back to cut her off, because she heard the sound and instinctively ducked to her left just as the wolfrider shot past her, the tip of his lance barely missing her right shoulder. She had a clean shot at the goblin’s back, but without knowing if there were others, she didn’t dare take the time to draw and nock an arrow.

  A second lancer appeared, but this time she was ready. She let him come at her, then ducked under his lance and jammed her bow into the wolf’s slashing jaws. It snapped in two, but did something to the wolf that cause it to break its stride and start thrashing and snapping wildly at nothing in particular. Its rider pulled desperately on the reins, but to no avail.

  She regretted the loss of her bow, but admittedly, it wouldn’t have done her much good in the belly of a wolf pack. She reached the tree she’d picked out and leaped at the huge trunk, using her right leg to propel herself up to the lowest branch. She pulled herself up to it just in time to avoid having her legs skewered by a third wolfrider who was standing in the saddle and stabbing up at them with his lance.

  A quick count revealed there were at least ten of them approaching, and several appeared to be pulling shortbows from their saddlebags. Goblins might not be crack archers, but considering she was barely off the ground, they didn’t have to be. So, she grimly clambered up the giant oak, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before some of them started climbing up after her. Assuming, of course, none of their archers managed to pin her to the trunk first.

  A shaft flew past her and struck a branch above her. She had no choice but to keep climbing, until finally she was high enough that none of their wild attempts were coming anywhere near her. That being accomplished, she stepped out on a branch that reached out to entangle itself with one from a neighboring tree and adroitly changed trees. But any sense of relief was short lived, as she could see there were already two goblins well off the ground and rapidly climbing the first tree.

  She looked down at the branch on which she was standing and wondered if she might be able to saw through its thickness before the goblins could reach it, but one look at her knife’s sharp, non-serrated edges convinced her otherwise. What else did she have? A sword, some food, some water, and a few rudimentary magic spells, none of which would permit her to blast a goblin from a tree.

  But one of them might help someone find her, if only they were looking. She hadn’t dared send up a signal previously, for fear that it would lead her pursuers to her first, but that was a moot point now. She reached into her pouch, withdrew a small sack containing an amount of red powder, and poured about a third of it into her hand. She closed her eyes, concentrating to remember the words of the spell, then spoke them quickly and hurled the powder skyward.

  A burst of red light shot skyward, forcing her to shield her eyes against it. She heard unintelligible shouts from below; the goblins had obviously grasped what she intended, though what they planned to do about it was beyond her. She continued moving from tree to tree, and sent up three more magical beacons before the spellpowder was exhausted.

  Her options appeared to be exhausted too. It sounded as if more goblins had arrived, as the first two were following her path through the trees, while judging by the cries, others had marked the trees from which her spells were shining into the sky and were climbing them. Her hands began to shake with fear as she realized there was nothing more she could do. She had a sword, she had a dagger, and she had her arrows, but the chances that none of the climbing goblins was carrying a bow didn’t strike her as very likely.

  Despite herself, she began to cry. Silent tears made their way down her face as she realized that her terrible decision to go after the unlucky Gelrinas had not only gotten Merlian killed, but sealed her own fate too. Why didn’t she turn back after seeing he was gone? He was as good as dead already, now she had thrown away her life, and her hawk’s life, for nothing!

  A shadow passed by overhead. From her vantage point, she couldn’t see what it was. Was it just another cursed bird? Or had someone seen her signals? Could it be she wasn’t high enough for them to see her through the leaves and branches? She put a hand to her lips and gave out a piercing whistle, followed by another, then she began to climb to the very top of the forest canopy.

  She had nearly reached the top of the tree when a black-feathered arrow whirred past her shoulder. Whipping her head around, she saw a grinning forest goblin sitting precariously on a thin, swaying branch with his back to the trunk, holding a shortbow in his left arm. He must have anticipated her and climbed higher once she started throwing out the spell-beacons; how else was she going to escape, after all, but from above?

  Calmly, deliberately, he nocked a second arrow and raised his bow. But before he could aim it, there was a soft whirring sound and he convulsed unexpectedly, arms flailing, dropping both bow and arrow to clatter their way down through the leaves and branches below. He jerked twice more and then sat still, his head slumped on his chest, just above the bright yellow-feathered arrow now buried in his heart.

  Yellow feathers? She only knew one elf who insisted on dying his feathers yellow! She looked up to see the familiar face of Ilriathas, Lord Kelethan, as he drew back the string on his silver bow again and sent a second arrow down into the trees beneath her. There was a scream, followed by a crashing sound as a second goblin plunged towards its death on the forest floor far below. His warhawk, a black-headed giant nearly half again the size of Merlian, was perched with its huge wings spread on the very top of a taller tree nearby.

  “Bereth!” he cried. “Are you hurt?”

  “No!”

  He held up a knotted rope that she assumed was attached to his saddle. “Can you climb?”

  “I’m up here, aren’t I?” She couldn’t help it. There was something about Ilriathas that inevitably sharpened her tongue.

  He merely grinned, shook his head, and tossed the rope down. It tangled on the branch above her, and she pulled herself up to grab it. But before she could start climbing it, he held up his hand. “Hold on tight, let Ebon pull you clear.”

  At his urging, the huge hawk beat its powerful wings and pulled her up and out of the treetops. The rope swayed back and forth, but with the aid of the knots she easily climbed up it until Ilriathas was able to reach over and pull her bodily up into the saddle in front of him. He held her close for a moment, and she let him, allowing herself to relax against his strong, lean body in a moment of pure relief.

  He pushed her back and examined her closely. “What happened to your face?”

  “Trees,” she said, wondering how bad she looked for him to comment on it. “I tried to break my trail by going west through the branches, but some orcs stumbled upon me. I think the wolfriders must have found the bodies and picked up my trail from there.”

  He nodded. “That would explain why you’re so much further to the west than we expected. Elrithas sent out ten raiders looking for you this morning, but no one thought you’d do anything but run straight south.”

  She was glad to hear she’d been missed after all. Elrithas was Lord Oakenheart to those less highborn than Ilri. “You did.”

  “You’ve never done anything straightforward or sensible in your life, Bereth. I didn’t see any reason you’d start now.”

  She hit him on the shoulder and then put her head against his chest again, stifling a sob. “Why didn’t you come sooner? They almost got me!”

  “I thought you were already dead until I saw that first red light go up. I came as fast as I could. Bereth, don’t
cry!”

  She couldn’t help it. “Merlian’s dead, Ilri. And I couldn’t save Gelrinas. The orcs already had him.”

  “Shh, it’s not your fault.”

  “It’s not my fault? I followed him. I put an arrow in him! And then… and then they shot poor Merlian with… with a scorpion!”

  She was crying too hard to say anything more. For once in his life, Ilriathas had the sense to keep his mouth shut. He simply held her close in his arms and let her weep as the giant hawk bore her south, to safety.

  Her face was healing, but it felt like a map of the northern mountains as the little cuts and scratches inflicted on her by the trees scabbed over, creating ridges and peaks on her cheeks and chin. They itched, too, and it was hard to resist the temptation to pick at them.

  She pulled on her flying leathers with reluctance. She didn’t know what Lord Oakenheart had in mind, but she’d been summoned to him and told to be armed and armored. So, she buckled her belt with its two scabbards, sword and dagger, ran her hands through her unbraided hair, and went to see him.

  The elf lord was in his tent, poring over a map with two of her fellow sky raiders. He looked up when she entered, and she was surprised to see him frown at her.

  “You don’t look ready to fly, Bereth. Your hair is loose. And where is your bow?”

  “I don’t have a hawk,” she protested. “How am I going to fly?”

  “You’re still a raider, aren’t you? You’ll fly with Lassarian on Mellt.”

  “I don’t know if I’m ready-”

  “I don’t care if you think you’re ready or not, Bereth. You cost us one very valuable bird in a foolish attempt to save an elf who was already lost to us. You very nearly cost me an equally valuable raider and put the lives of twelve other elves at risk in the process. So don’t tell me that all that effort was in vain or I’ll send you back to Elebrion today!”