by Duncan Lay
‘I think it is working, sir,’ Caelin said.
‘One thing is certain, we are not going near them unless they are piles of smouldering ash,’ Wulf said.
The pile of pottery balls was diminishing rapidly as the sweating slingers continued their assault on the trees. Finally their sergeant, stretching tired shoulders, saluted.
‘We are done, sir,’ he said with a smile.
‘Good work. Head to the rear and rest. Crossbows!’
A score of the army’s best crossbowmen headed forwards, their cases filled with a different set of bolts from the usual. These were much thicker, bound with cloth. As soon as they loaded, they were lit and then loosed into the trees.
‘More! Quickly!’ Wulf waved.
Some of the crossbows missed, vanishing into the greenery, but others struck the dark patches on the trees that showed where the oil stained the bark. Flames took hold instantly, flames that grew as more crossbow bolts were added to the fires.
The sight of the fiery bolts flickering into the green, striking in showers of sparks and then creating new balls of fire was amazing enough. But the reaction of the trees had Wulf and even the most hardened Forlish veteran watching, open-mouthed.
They were swaying, writhing as flames crept up their trunks and devoured their branches. Instead of groaning, the wood sounded as though it were screaming. But, as they swung and thrashed, the fires spread and jumped from branch to branch, burning hotter and fiercer.
‘Pull back,’ Wulf said through dry lips. He found himself half expecting the trees to leap out of the ground and pursue his men, reaching down with flaming limbs to tear his crossbowmen apart. ‘Let them burn in peace.’
The Forlish released one last volley, sparking fresh fires, and then edged back through the trees. No birds flew, no animals ran from the burning trees — for the trees would suffer nothing to live among them.
The fires were visible even a hundred paces away, while the noise of the burning trees was almost painful to hear. Wulf had listened to wounded horses screaming on a battlefield and found that worse than listening to his own men’s pain — but this was another level above that.
One tree fell with a crack that echoed through the woods, crashing into its neighbours and bringing them down in showers of sparks. The oil sent fire racing through the branches and ate up the trees in quick succession.
‘By the stars above, I have never seen the like,’ Caelin breathed.
‘If this is but the barrier, what waits for us on the other side?’ Ruttyn muttered.
‘Everything we have ever dreamed of,’ Harald said slowly.
‘But there was this one dream I had —’
‘Not those sorts of dreams! I was trying to set the mood, that was all. Speaking portentiously.’
Caelin and Ruttyn looked at him and he shrugged.
‘I think that’s the word anyway.’
They were saved from replying by Wulf stalking past.
‘I think this is going to work,’ Wulf said to them. ‘Get ready to go through when the fire dies down!’
Gaibun heard the noise even before the bird reached him. The sound of the fire did not reach that far but the screaming of the trees did.
‘What in Aroaril’s name is going on?’ he asked nobody in particular.
‘It is the sound of the gaijin learning the power of our magic.’ Konetsu joined him. ‘Listen to their screams!’
‘Those don’t sound like human screams. It is a sound I have never heard before — nor do I want to hear it again,’ Gaibun said with a shudder.
‘You talk foolishness. It is the sound of our victory!’
Konetsu walked away, leaving Gaibun to watch and wonder what was going on. He could see smoke rising but what that meant — beyond some sort of fire — was a mystery. He waited for as long as he could before the feeling of uncertainty grew too much to bear and he ordered a young warrior to climb up a large oak tree. The warrior managed to get at least twenty feet off the ground, where he clung to a branch and peered southwards.
‘What do you see?’ Gaibun called.
‘Flames! Lots of smoke and flames!’
Gaibun hesitated. His head told him to grab a patrol and head down there, see what was going on. But Konetsu had not given him permission and would see it as a clear disregard of his orders.
The arrival of a bird from Asami changed all that.
The crow flew straight to Gaibun, landing on his arm, where he was able to tug the message off its leg in a moment. It flew off — northwards — as soon as it was freed of its burden. Gaibun opened the tiny roll of paper with shaking fingers.
‘Barrier has been broken. Nothing to stop them coming in. Asami.’ He read the words aloud and was running for Konetsu’s tent as soon as their meaning sank into his head.
‘Message from the north.’ He held out the scrap of paper to Konetsu.
The clan leader read in silence, then dropped the paper.
‘They can only have a small hole in the barrier. We shall advance down there and throw them back,’ he declared.
‘Lord Konetsu, would it not be better to send word back to Dokuzen that we are following their advance, and then shadow their path northwards? There is nothing of value in these woods. We can watch them, see their weakness and be prepared to reveal it to Lord Daichi when he arrives with the rest of the warriors. They may only be human but they outnumber us twenty to one and have all tasted success against other armies.’
Konetsu stared at him. ‘They are gaijin. We are elves. We would sweep them away if we had but half of our number. We march to meet them. Now!’
Gaibun seethed silently as he joined the company of Border Patrol as they hurried through the trees, to where smoke hung over the treetops.
23
The forefathers tried to keep the peace. They remembered being driven out of their first home and they wanted to stay here, in this beautiful new land. But then they died. These supposedly immortal forefathers crumbled to dust. Time had run out for them.
Sendatsu’s song
The fires had died down, having reduced the undergrowth to ash and most of the trees to charred sticks. Like everything else about the barrier, it had happened unnaturally. The speed and ferocity of the flames had consumed the trees then died off, also as if by magic. While the trunks still stood, almost all the branches had been burned off. Small flames still burned on the few remaining branches or on the ground and smoke hung thickly but the screaming had stopped and all seemed peaceful.
‘Caelin, take your men forwards and check it is safe,’ Wulf ordered.
The sergeant saluted and tried to hide his horror. Ever since he had seen his men ripped apart by this barrier, he had dreaded this fate. Normally he would have got rid of two jokers like Ruttyn and Harald but having them around helped bury those memories of gruesome deaths. Now there was no escape.
‘Good luck, lads.’ He shook them both by the hand. ‘Stay close to me and I’ll see you on the other side.’
It was as much an instruction as a farewell, he knew. Without waiting for an answer, he led them forwards. Now was not the time for laughter.
The fire had restricted itself to the barrier, as if something magical had kept it trapped there. It was not natural, but then nothing was natural about this place, he decided. Rather than let his fear get the better of him, he ran ahead, Ruttyn and Harald close behind. His boots crunched on ash and charred bark, the warmth of the fire still enough to make him sweat, above and beyond what the fear had already inspired. He closed his eyes, expecting the first tree to reach down and rend him limb from limb — but it did not. It groaned, it tried to move but it could not bend, could not move the charred sticks that were its branches. In a flash, Caelin was past it, then the other two.
To his left, a tree tried to reach down and strike — but instead it cracked in the middle and fell to the ground in an explosion of ash, right behind the running men.
Others creaked and groaned as they passed, then, w
ithin a dozen paces, they were through the band of black and grey and back into green undergrowth again.
They stopped, panting, faces smeared with soot and sweat, looking at each other in disbelief and joy.
Caelin slapped their backs with delight, then Ruttyn fell to his knees and vomited. Harald, meanwhile, was trying to wipe his eyes on his dirty tunic sleeve.
‘Just some ash in my eye, sarge,’ he said hoarsely.
Caelin felt like screaming with happiness that he was still alive. He looked back the way they had come, where dust and ash still billowed up from the fallen tree.
‘Sergeant Caelin! Are you through? Are you safe?’ he heard Wulf bellow from the far side.
‘We are through! It is safe!’ Caelin shouted, waving his sword above his head.
The Forlish on the other side let out a roar of triumph.
‘It worked! It really worked! Send riders to Captain Edmund and then start pushing through. And get scouts forwards. The elves could be coming to meet us at any moment!’ Wulf shouted, clapping slingers and crossbowmen on the back, watching his men grin back at him delightedly. ‘Next stop is Dokuzen!’
The young warrior Gaibun had sent up a tree was leading the way through the forest but came racing back to report.
‘The gaijin are just ahead. It looks as though they have scouts out.’
‘Scouts, eh? Are you still so sure they are little better than animals, Lord Konetsu?’ Gaibun asked.
‘Form up here. We shall pick them off as they come through the trees and, when they run, we drop bows and draw swords,’ Konetsu ordered.
‘We don’t know how many have come through and this area is too open. They can use their numbers against us,’ Gaibun argued.
‘One more word. Just one more and you shall be sent back to Dokuzen in disgrace to labour in the mines with the other dogs of your clan. Now string your bow!’ Konetsu told him.
Gaibun took his place in the middle of the line, wishing he could loose a few arrows at Konetsu. The fool was going to get elves killed today.
The elven line melted into the undergrowth, finding hiding spots and using the available cover. But, of course, when they stood to loose their arrows, they would reveal themselves.
The humans were pushing forwards fast and Gaibun picked up the movement easily enough as they approached. But they looked like they knew what they were doing, darting from tree to tree, covering each other. Gaibun’s lips tightened as he realised they carried crossbows. In this sort of ground they were probably better than bows, as they could be loosed while kneeling or lying down.
‘Loose!’ Konetsu shouted, giving the Forlish scouts a moment to dive for cover before the elves could stand and release the arrows, even though they held them ready on the strings.
Gaibun spat a curse at Konetsu’s foolish arrogance but had picked his target and sent an arrow into his chest, while several other Forlish were also down, screaming. But not enough. And now the elves were the ones standing and the Forlish were loosing crossbows and it was the elves’ turn to start dying.
Gaibun ducked behind a tree as a bolt whistled past. This was ridiculous. They were achieving nothing other than getting warriors killed.
He placed an arrow on his string but stayed where he was. To release it, he would need to show himself, spot a target, draw and loose. It would take less than ten heartbeats but, in that time, the Forlish could pick him off.
But several Border Patrol tried it anyway — and fell back dead, or screaming, which was somehow worse. The noise of their pain was affecting the other young warriors; Gaibun could see them loosing too fast, not aiming properly, and recognised the wide eyes and fear in their voices as they called to each other. And Konetsu was doing nothing to get them back under control.
‘Come on, get us out of here,’ Gaibun growled to himself.
Then the crossbow bolts stopped.
Gaibun risked a quick look around his tree but could not see any movement in the bushes opposite. He looked for longer, glancing around the other side, but all seemed clear. That was ominous.
‘They have run away!’ Konetsu called, stepping out of his hiding place.
Gaibun stayed where he was. From what Huw had told him of the Forlish, they were too good to be so easily defeated.
‘They must be running for home! Draw swords! Forwards! We shall chase them away!’ Konetsu ordered, walking out in the open.
Gaibun cursed the fool and waved to those nearest to him to stay where they were. Of course they ignored him and followed the clan leader in a rush into the open.
Then the Forlish reappeared, a solid line of big humans in metal armour, with heavy wooden shields locked side by side. And they kept coming, three lines of them, a solid block that overlapped the elven line and crashed implacably through the bushes.
Konetsu waved his sword at them. ‘Kill them!’
Instantly Gaibun saw the danger. These Forlish had been taught to fight together while each elf saw himself as a warrior alone — part of a team, certainly, but not used to working together.
‘Send them back to the pit they crawled out of!’ Konetsu howled.
Some elves, Gaibun along them, loosed arrows, snapping the big shafts in flat and hard, picking out the small targets they could see behind the thick shields. Gaps appeared in the first line and elven warriors swarmed in, swords flashing. At first they had success, using their superior skills to rip open throats and chests and bellies. But their steel quickly blunted on the wood and metal. Meanwhile, the Forlish pushed in close, used their shorter stabbing swords and closed up the gaps and now elves began to fall as well.
Man and elf cursed and sweated and bled, all a few inches away from each other, then the Forlish began to back off, stepping away and using the bodies of their own fallen, as well as the dead elves, to slow down the Border Patrol’s advance.
‘Don’t let them get away! Kill them all!’ Konetsu urged elves forwards but the Forlish line had reformed and presented a smooth wall of wood and metal and even the bravest elves hesitated a moment before throwing themselves at it.
Gaibun drew back his bowstring and looked for a target. He did not want to waste it but, more importantly, the pause in the noise of battle allowed him to hear a new sound. Hoof beats.
‘Watch right!’ he shouted, his voice lost in the din.
Then the Forlish swept in from that side, big warhorses racing out of the trees and into the elves, armoured riders grimacing as they attacked.
The lead rider slashed upwards, sending an elven head flying high into the air, the blood spraying across his horse’s chest and the elven warriors behind.
Gaibun watched in horror as another half-dozen elves were ridden down, knocked aside by the big horses, heads and shoulders laid open by the cavalry swords. He reacted without thinking, drawing and loosing, sending a Forlishman tumbling from his saddle. Many of the other elves were not so fast. Some ran for cover, diving for safety, while a few fought back, darting aside and slamming swords into horses’ mouths or into men’s arms and legs, anything they could reach. But most were too slow to react, while the Forlish were remorseless.
‘Get away! They can’t follow deep into the trees! Use your bows!’ Gaibun shouted and those closest took his advice, darting away before they could be ridden down. For a moment Gaibun dared to think they could survive this attack — but then he heard Konetsu roaring for the Border Patrol to stand firm and send these gaijin back to the hell they had raced out of.
‘No!’ Gaibun cried as the big horses thundered past and slammed into the thick knot of elves around Konetsu.
Elves tried to fight back but they were easy targets for Forlish swords. They dodged and ducked but each horse was a weapon in itself, kicking and biting. Gaibun watched as one ripped the face off an elf, the warrior staggering away, screaming through the bloody mess until a Forlish sword took his head and ended his terror and agony.
‘Back! Get back!’ Gaibun could see there was nothing but death here for them
. ‘Fall back!’
Behind the charge of the cavalry came a new rush of Forlish soldiers carrying sword and shield, swamping the few elves that had avoided the cavalry. Elves fought by themselves or back to back, swords flashing in desperate, bright patterns of steel and blood. But they were too few and Forlish surrounded them, dragging them down one at a time. Gaibun had a glimpse of Konetsu driving back a pair of Forlish with extravagant sword strokes.
‘Come on, they are only gaijin!’ Konetsu’s bellow rose above the shouts and screams of fighting. But one man bashed him with a heavy shield and, as he staggered, two more rammed their short iron blades repeatedly into his chest and stomach, each one drawing a fresh spurt of blood, until Konetsu collapsed.
The last elves were now running, heedless of anything else, chased by cheering soldiers.
A Forlishman raced at Gaibun, lips drawn back over blackened teeth, sword ready to take his head. But Gaibun did not want to be killed. He locked his wrist and thrust, feeling the impact as his blade sliced open the man’s throat, sending hot blood splashing across his face. Another swung furiously at his chest but he stepped aside and thrust down, driving his sword deep into the man’s thigh and then ripping the blade out. The man fell, screaming, his lifeblood spraying through his fingers.
Gaibun wiped it off with a forearm then raced into the woods, confident his speed and woodcraft would enable him to get clear easily enough. Behind him, the battle — if it could be called that — was coming to a close, as the last few elves, those who refused to run, were dragged down and butchered. The Forlish victory cry echoed through the trees, brutal and savage in the same breath.
Gaibun found a handful of terrified elves — two of them wounded — on his run and gathered them, leading them north.
‘Did others get away?’ one asked.
‘Who knows? But we did. And we can gain revenge,’ Gaibun promised.
‘We must return with the clans and destroy these gaijin, down to the last one,’ the elf agreed.
