Glede behind me yelled and loosed an arrow.
I pulled up so suddenly his horse ran into mine. ‘Nothing there.’ I said.
‘Sorry, steward. Nothing there.’
This is no good, I thought. We’re getting spooked. ‘Look, if Rhydanne were around, our horses would smell ’em. They’re relaxed, so the bastards are bloody miles away.’
‘All those trees,’ grumbled Glede.
‘So it’s taken you two years to notice we live in a forest! Now come on, it’s not far now.’ Sure enough, the pall of smoke from the mine works was rising in front of us, just down the track, but we couldn’t yet see the cabins. We rode on, into the shadow of a rock outcrop, one of the buttocks of Capercaillie. A definite crunch sounded behind us. We all heard it this time.
‘That isn’t snow falling,’ said Glede.
‘Where’d it come from?’
‘There … No, there.’
‘From behind us.’
‘I can’t see anything,’ said Sparrow. ‘I know something’s there, but I can’t see it.’ He flexed his arms, half-drawing then relaxing the bow on his knees. ‘They’re fucking with us.’
We waited, but heard no other sounds apart from the whisper of the flakes.
‘Must’ve been a branch breaking.’
‘They’re fucking with us, they’re fucking with us …’
‘Stop that! Men, we kicked their arse yesterday. And we’re going to kick them again today. Let’s have that song again: The foot folk/ Put the ’danne to the poke.’
‘By way.’
‘Never heard I say,’ muttered Glede.
All together: ‘Of readier boys to get the joke.’
I glanced up to the profile of the outcrop against the sky, and on its very edge a thin figure leaned out in silhouette. It held on with one hand, the other arm extended and the fingers clawed. Its profile was jagged, the outward knee bent. It let itself be seen, then it drew back into the cliff, seemed to merge with the rock and was gone … as if a gargoyle could suck itself back into a castle roof.
I drew, loosed, and my arrow cracked off the rock. The men stopped singing abruptly. I scanned the cliff face for movement. Something fell towards us. A stone, about the size of my fist, lodged in the snow to my left. More began to shower down from above - one bounced off my cantle. God, they have good aim. ‘Come on!’ I yelled, and spurred down the track, but the falling rocks kept pace with us. God knows how many were up there, running along the ledges, clinging to niches. I scanned the cliffs desperately, squinting against the sun. ‘Can you see them?’ ‘No!’
Abruptly a ’danne stepped into the path about thirty metres ahead, waving something. A slingshot banged off my shoulder guard. Before I could draw, he darted back behind a tree. ‘There’s one! Give it feathers!’
I spurred to a gallop. I could see the ’danne running in the fringe of the trees, parallel to the path ahead, its parka white against the trunks. An arrow cut past from behind me - too wide - and the thump of hooves told me the others were following. I had no chance of shooting it while galloping but if I could keep the thing in sight we could work together and corner it. I blew two blasts on my horn: when the other squads heard they’d circle up ahead and the ’danne would be trapped between us.
Suddenly it changed direction, vanished under the boughs and I feared we’d lost it. Sorrel, my mare, carried me to the spot in a second, and I could see it had turned down a small deer track running off the path. Now it didn’t have to dodge trunks so much, it was beginning to accelerate away. I followed without pause. At the very least the path took us away from the cliffs and the rocks raining down.
I held my bow low to stop it snagging, ducked under the branches flailing my face, and sped on. Trunks flashed by; the path twisted and narrowed. We emerged into a clearing, a gash torn in the forest by a fallen spruce that lay half-buried. I couldn’t see the ’danne anywhere now. The others piled up behind me, horses and men panting steam into the air.
‘Where?’ gasped Glede.
‘Don’t say we’re lost,’ wailed Sparrow.
‘I don’t get lost riding from the keep to the mines. Not unless someone has turned the forest around. Now shut up and listen.’
We had lost sight of the ’danne but he had to be around here somewhere. My breathing seemed too loud and the icy air tore at my throat. Up ahead I heard approaching hoofbeats.
‘Crake’s men are coming - hear? We’ll catch that cat-eyes between us.’
A whoosh. I felt the passage of air behind me, and Glede was carried off his saddle. He hit the track, something tall waving above him. A spear. He screamed a wide-jawed scream, and my other three men loosed their arrows indiscriminately into the trees. They fumbled for more, drew again. Their shafts needled between the trunks, struck bark, ricocheted off. ‘Stop! Stop!’ I bellowed. ‘Mark your targets!’
Glede flexed and kicked on the ground, screaming. The spear had gone through his cheek, through his mouth and out his other cheek. He was holding the shaft upright, his head on the snow. He couldn’t close his mouth, couldn’t pull the spear out. From the dumbness of his screams it had severed his tongue. From the clacking it had knocked his teeth out as well.
Now a bolas came whirling from between the trees on the other side, whacked Sparrow on the shoulder, tangled around his bow and whipped it out of his hands. In its wake the forest edge erupted with Rhydanne. They dashed into the clearing and towards us like a flight of arrows. Three, four, five, that’s all. Howling and shaking antler rattles they bore down on us. Sorrel bucked so deeply I were almost over her head, and she swung round so all I could see were a line of trees. I opened my wings to steady myself, felt the cold stab at them, and forced her to turn back. With a kick in the ribs and dragging her rein I won the battle of wills and saw the ’danne split up.
Two ran round me on each side and passed by a whisker, melted into the forest still shrieking and rattling. The last alighted beside Glede, who tried to kick away. Its hood bent to Glede’s screaming face; it grabbed the shaft and with a swift twist and thrust shut Glede up permanently.
It turned and ran for the forest. I drew, loosed. It dropped its spear and fell flat on its face, my arrow projecting from its back. Take that, murdering cat-eyed scum! At once the howling and rattling started again. Two of the things bounded from behind a fallen trunk; two dashed from the trees on our right, forming a circle around us. Spears pointed at us - in their other hands they shook rattles or flaming branches, and their yowling was unearthly.
Sorrel reared so high I thought they’d dash in and spear her belly, turned and came down hard. My mates were squashed round me as their horses pitched and panicked, trying to turn but jammed too close. We tangled in a mesh of horses’ hindquarters and our knees pressing together. The ’danne looped round behind us and closed in.
Sorrel pawed the ground, combing up the snow, lurched this way and that, then bolted. I tightened her rein but she kept bloody going, out of the clearing, away from the path. Trees loomed either side of me, then I was between them. She carried me, dashing between the trunks. Cries told me the others were following. Yowls further back as the ’danne chased us. My mare stretched out her neck and went hell for leather.
Terrified by the savages’ hooting, terrified by their stink, and maddened beyond terror by slingshots, Glede’s riderless horse plunged on behind me. Their aim was deadly - slingstones smacked off my helmet with such force they shoved my head forward. Sorrel wouldn’t respond - I couldn’t rein her up - at that speed if I tried to guide her she’d smash into a tree.
Damn ’danne could come from anywhere. A spear through the branches at any time! They were everywhere and I couldn’t fucking see them! I was helpless. I was fucking helpless! They could snuff my life any time now, so why were they chasing us? Why were they chasing us? Why didn’t they just kill us?
Sorrel crashed on. Snow flew up from her hooves. My quiver rattled on the saddle bow - I unclipped it and let it fall. I folded my coat
back and checked the hilt of my snickersnee - I’m braced to take one of the fuckers with me.
I heard more cries to my right - human voices yelling, bawling, keeping pace with us. A second later I saw them through the trees - fleeting, pine trunks in the way like an illusionist’s trick. A bay horse, the rider clinging to her mane, not the reins, his blue scarf streaming out behind. Another horse with blood streaks down her withers and froth all over her muzzle. They were the patrol - what was left of them - on our right, who’d been riding to Lanner’s place. The savages were chasing them too.
I turned in the saddle and glanced back at Sparrow. His face was a mask of fear and his wings clamped tight. The other team was coming closer and closer. Rhydanne were driving them, and they’d have joined with us but our horses were starting to veer to the left. Cries were now coming from their other side - I glimpsed more horses among the trunks. Another squad. I recognised Crake’s bellowing, his voice raised high in fear. They were out of control as well, and stampeding nearer and nearer. Were the scum hounding them too?
Now a snow pile loomed on my left, a long ridge between the trees. A savage appeared from behind it, leapt onto its summit, waving firebrands in both hands and yelling. Sorrel plunged away; all the other horses did too, carrying us closer than before to the team in the middle - now only three or four trees away. God, if we’d only brought dog teams instead of horses!
The ridge continued - it must have been shaped by hand. It rose half the height of a man and the ’danne had stuck branches in the top, sticks with rags and rattles on them. Our horses hurtled straight along it and I tried even harder to rein Sorrel back, but she was running for her life and cared for nothing. Had the ’danne built this bulwark? I thought they lived in potholes and tents. They’re not capable of building! Tiny dwarf-creatures bounded up on top of it, howling and shrieking, waving flaming torches. I raced past. What were they? What the fuck were they? They were the same leggy shape as ’danne - dressed the same way. They had damp patches on their knees where they’d been kneeling, hiding. Then I realised - they were Rhydanne children.
I’d never seen one before. They were acting like adults. Shit, they were creepy. They were hunting us. Hunting us! I set my jaw. Can’t get through my armour, can they? Then I’ll damn well outride them.
The team on our right merged with us, thundered beside me at arm’s length. Now something else on top of the ridge. Angular scarecrows of black and white with fluttering twig fingers, all along the crest. Can I break through? I gathered Sorrel’s reins and tried to force her left against the mound. She swerved closer, closer still and then I saw ropes strung between the trees, at the level of her withers. The ’danne had netted the trees! The ropes looked as thin as threads, but for me to see them at all, they must be sturdy. The sort the savages climb with. The sort they make from their own hair.
I eased the rein and she bent to the right again. We were among Crake’s squad now - ten riders left alive and two, three riderless horses including ours - and another squad was close ahead.
I hadn’t known, none of us had known, there were so many ’danne. The forest had been silent, but now they were everywhere! How many? Twelve? Fifteen? No more than that. We should be able to kill them, easily, but Sorrel won’t stop!
More jumped out from behind the barricade. They let us pass then sprinted after us. Those previously screeching on our tail lost pace and climbed up the barricade. They were exchanging places with the new relay. It’s like a racetrack, I thought wildly, and then they’re funnelling us together. They’re funnelling us together! Where are we?!
We descended an incline. The ground became rougher, the snow more powdery. Sorrel and everyone around me plunged down without breaking pace. One brown horse lost her footing and went down in a whirl of snow - the rider catapulted over her head, smashed against a tree and lay still.
Screams sounded from the squad ahead. It’s a cliff! A fucking edge! I pulled the reins with all my strength but Sorrel stretched her neck and the bit ring snapped. They went loose in my hand.
The horses in front of me went over - heads and forelegs into space, their butts shining, rear hooves raised. The riders screamed and looked down in front of them. They threw out their arms. One grabbed his horse’s neck; another prepared to jump - too late! There was clear air between the saddles and their arses. All were in free-fall. Then they were gone.
I struggled to kick my foot out of the stirrup - the tab on my boot wedged and all the time the cliff edge was getting closer. I wrenched my foot out, kicked the other free, swung my leg over the saddle and dived.
I hit the ground, my arms around my head. I rolled over and over till I crunched into fresh snow. The hooves of the following horses charged past, beating the snow. They pounded across my vision, kicking up clods. Thunder and crunching all around me, the riders yelling, trying to rein in their horses. The horses jamming to a halt with all four legs and sliding. Some tumbled. Others stretched out galloping without pause straight over the precipice. They fell, slamming into each other. The heads and upflung arms of the riders were last to vanish.
The last group hurtled towards me and with them Crake, his face set in horror. I yelled, ‘Jump!’ He slipped back on the saddle, then threw his leg over and crumped to the ground - didn’t roll - and all the horses following went over him, throwing his body this way and that. They stormed over the precipice and shrieks rang out … faded … horses and men falling a great distance through the air. Distant thumps as they smashed against the rock … fainter … fainter … and a remote series of thuds and crashes.
Crake lay still, extended and rigid. His back was broken. His hands shook. Between us hoof prints and gouges scored the snow to the precipice about five metres away. Shit. They were all dead. Thirty good men, all killed.
I was about to run to Crake when a light crunching signalled the arrival of the ’danne who’d been chasing us. Two ran past me to the cliff edge and looked over. Teetering there, spears in hand, they started laughing. I boiled with fury and hatred. I lay still. Their fur-bordered hood openings turned to each other; the smaller one nodded and pointed downward. The other actually dug his talons into the snow and lowered himself over the edge! He turned, facing me. I caught a glimpse of his weedy, beardless face, then he climbed down the cliff and disappeared.
Another couple stopped beside Crake and stood with spears raised, wondering where to thrust between his armour. It’d be folly for me to move. I wanted to be up and running but they’re like dogs - if you run they register you as prey and chase you. I figured I had bugger all chance of living through this and I had best lie still and not give them the pleasure of hunting me.
The small ’danne left the cliff edge and joined the others around Crake. One of them tapped his spear on the plates of armour - his head on one side. He raised his spear and tried to thrust it into the gap between Crake’s gorget and breastplate. Ching! The flint point broke. He threw his spear aside in disgust, hunkered down and drew a knife. He began sawing into the gaps between the joints of Crake’s armour - armpits, throat, the backs of his knees - wherever he could find a slit, until blood spurted onto the snow. Crake was alive all through this and they cackled louder than ever.
Eventually the short savage figured out how to unbuckle the gorget. He took it off, gave it to his accomplice, then cut Crake’s throat with one neat slash. The tall one, having got the idea, eagerly started stripping Crake’s armour. The little one left him to it and ran towards me. Halfway over I recognised her as the small woman who’d come to the keep with Comet. The one who’d chattered to our porters and spilt the barrel. She had more bear claws on her belt than the other savages and they rattled.
Recognition flickered across her face as well. She crouched an arm’s length away, her spear at the ready. My fingers curled numbly round the hilt of my blade but I knew I could never draw it before she’d finish me. This is it. I braced myself for the thrust.
Her eyebrows drew together. She spoke and was
halfway through the sentence before I realised I understood her. She was speaking Awian! I could hardly hear it through her accent. ‘You are Steward Snipe, yes? Raven’s man? The bruise eye man?’ She reached out her spear and the point came at my face, circling round and round.
I nodded, scraping my cheek in the snow.
‘Steward Snipe. Jant hit you.’ She laughed and her cold eyes glittered. ‘Jant hit you hard and good. Now I beat you too. What you think of this?’ She flourished her spear at the precipice then trained it on me again immediately. ‘Go, tell Raven this. Tell Raven to leave Carnich or I hunt him. I hunt you all!’
I scrambled to my feet, slipped and stumbled. I forced myself up again and ran, sure she would pounce. The male ’danne looked up from claiming Crake’s armour but she barked a command at him - a command! - and he shrugged.
I passed other ’danne squatting by my dead friends or sitting on their snow bulwark. They all eyed me keenly and their babies trotted alongside me but not for very far. They were obeying the words of the huntress.
I staggered back into the forest and began to follow our footprints. I was shivering and gazing wildly round, thinking more Rhydanne would appear like ghosts. The light were fast ebbing and even the fucking trees seemed alive. The ’danne behind me fell quiet and when I looked back they’d gone. Crake’s body lay alone, surrounded by wide bloodstains, sprayed out onto the snow from every joint.
I found the track as dusk were falling. I walked all the way back to the keep and emerged from the forest long after dark. The tower rose before me. I were shivering so violently it hurt; my face was numb and stinging, my lips cracked and bleeding, and I couldn’t feel my arms or legs, let alone my bloody hands or feet. I stumbled like a dying thing out of the wilderness, and all the way I hummed to myself to take my mind off the pain. I clambered over the snow piled beside the path and the guard at the gate drew his bow. I called to him and he looked horrified at the state of me. No one in front of me, no one behind. I was the only survivor.
Above the Snowline Page 24
