by J. P. Ashman
Longoss’ head shook slowly as his eyes danced across the woman’s features, soaking in the symmetry of her face, the shine of her hair. The blood had gone and the features were different now. As she approached, her body moving with such grace and confidence, Longoss almost choked as he realised he was looking upon Elleth.
‘Why?’ Elleth said, ‘I don’t understand?’ She stopped an arms length in front of Longoss and he wanted more than anything to reach out and brush the black strands of hair from her brown eyes.
Brown? Longoss’ face screwed up with confusion as he looked deep into those eyes.
‘Shit!’ he said suddenly, throwing himself to one side as Leese kicked out, a spike appearing from the front of her boot. She screamed in frustration as her illusion failed.
As Longoss rolled and came to his feet, Leese recovered swiftly, lashing out with one of her whips which tore through Longoss’ shirt, ripping at his chest before returning to her side.
Linen shirt darkening with blood, Longoss rose to his feet and swung the hafted-axe around, connecting with the thrusting sword of Leese’s companion, who'd dashed forward as soon as Longoss had dived to the side. Longoss used the whole of the axe in both defence and offence, connecting with his attacker several times, but not enough to knock the man off his feet as he managed to roll with each impact. Struggling to see where Leese was, Longoss wasn’t surprised when, like a shadow, the woman flitted across behind her companion.
Problem is, Leese, I know ye, and I know those whips aren’t the real threat.
As Longoss thought it, the female assassin suddenly appeared next to him, lashing out with her spiked boot and plunging it into his upper right thigh. The painful impact caused the big man to falter in his defence against his opponent’s dirk, which came in high and pierced the same shoulder he’d allowed to be stabbed by Blanck.
Longoss couldn’t help but cry out, but the rage caused by the thought of Blanck and who that assassin had killed gave Longoss the anger needed to wrench his axe around the back of the man’s lead leg. Hooking the curved axe head behind the young man’s knee, Longoss pulled the leg from under the assassin, crashing him hard to the floor. Before either assassin could react, Longoss released his axe and drew his eating knife from his boot. He quickly sliced it around the back of the man’s legs, hamstringing him much the same as he had Blanck.
The assassin screamed, as did Leese from behind, and Longoss rolled forward and over her partner and lover – for he knew that to be the case – turning as he came back to his feet just in time to see one of the female assassin’s whips flashing past his face. The barbs of the whip ripped through his remaining ear, and when she pulled her weapon back, Longoss’ ear went with hit, drawing forth a shouted curse from the big man.
‘Ha!’ Leese shouted, her eyes occasionally flicking to her partner, who was thrashing around on the floor attempting to press his hands to the back of his legs. ‘You’re a pretty sight indeed now, Longoss,’ she continued, stalking around her lover, flicking in and out of Longoss’ focus.
Breathing heavily, head swimming with pain, Longoss managed a golden, bloodstained grin at that. ‘It’s all the rage around here,’ he said, ‘but don’t worry, Leese, I’ll be sure to help ye join me in this bloody fashion before we’re done here.’
Leese’s seductive walk faltered and her eyes locked with Longoss’, unable to look away as he held up his eating knife and pointed it towards her, mimicking the removal of both of her ears.
Licking her full lips, she suddenly smiled sweetly and despite himself, Longoss worried he’d be helpless should she attack him right now. His small knife felt incredibly heavy all of a sudden and his arm dropped as the woman moved forward once more, whips held behind her and trailing across the floor.
‘Now now, Longoss,’ she purred, ‘you wouldn’t do that to a girl, would you?’ She stood before him suddenly, within striking distance, but no matter how hard he tried, he failed to lift his knife, or make any move whatsoever.
Leese dropped one of her whips and lifted her delicate hand to stroke across Longoss’ bloody face. ‘We had such a special thing you and I, once upon a time.’ He closed his eyes briefly, remembering passionate scenes of the two of them, scenes he’d never remembered or thought of before now. ‘There’s no reason we couldn’t have that again, just the two of us.’ Her warm, scented breath brushed across his face as he felt her draw close. Anticipating the kiss to come, Longoss opened his eyes, wanting to look upon her face before their lips met.
Bitch, he thought suddenly, eyes widening in horror as he realised what she was doing to him. He willed himself to react, but his body refused to answer his call, every nerve ending crying out for the touch of her lips on his; her poisoned lips.
Longoss, ye stupid bastard…
As he roared inside, trying everything he could to pull his head back, to kick out or to fall to the ground, anything to stop those lips touching his, he heard what sounded like a distant female scream. Opening eyes he hadn’t realised he’d again closed, Longoss saw Leese’s beautiful face contort with pain and rage as a woman’s open palm slammed into the side of her head, knocking her to the floor. Green hair flashed across his vision then and he saw moonlight catch on the blooded blade of a long knife, which slashed down and plunged into the chest of the female assassin at his feet.
‘Leese!’ a man further off shouted, and Longoss knew it to be her lover, moments before Sears appeared and finished the man with his blood slick sword.
Coppin gasped. ‘Longoss…’ She was stood in front of him now, her eyes taking in his multiple wounds in horror and her hands holding his face gently. ‘Are ye with us?’ she asked, staring into his eyes.
The first command his body responded to was a smile, a smile reciprocated by the woman in front of him, who pulled him close and held him tight.
All pain fell away then, all pain and all fear for her safety. They'd come through it, it seemed, and Longoss allowed a brief thought of Elleth before allowing Coppin and Sears to pull him from the centre of the street.
I think yer sister will be alright from now on, Elleth, whether I’m with her or not, I really do.
Despite that thought, Longoss knew he and Coppin would stay together for some time to come; he knew it was most likely his imagination, or the pain addling his brain, but he could have sworn he heard Elleth’s voice telling him so through the throbbing of his ears.
***
The moon cast ghostly shadows around the edge of the small wood as Fal and Sav walked around rather than through it. A distant screeching roar and the thunder of hooves filled the area again. Fal struggled to support the weight of his tall friend, who'd almost collapsed after Fal had finished the Witchunter General.
The arrow Sav had taken to the shoulder, his own arrow rebounded by the charm on the balloon, had been removed and his wound bandaged. Drawing his bow, however, had taken immense effort and had no doubt damaged the scout’s shoulder further. It had certainly sapped the last of his strength. Sav leant heavily on Fal now, as the pair slowly walked through the knee high grass and on to the gathering group in the middle of the large field, next to the crumpled outline of the destroyed balloon. Fal caught a glimpse of the griffin and its rider in the distance, flying high over the line of trees that was the Woodmoat; a black shadow against the star-filled sky.
Hooves pounded the ground and Fal stopped, holding Sav up whilst looking back over his shoulder. Four elven riders approached with someone slumped over one of the rider’s laps and a figure sat behind another, waving wildly. Fal lifted his free hand to show he held no weapon and the riders slowed their horses as they approached, lances and shields held high.
‘That’s my sergeant and the scout I told you about,’ Starks shouted from the back of the lead rider, his bandaged face now visible.
‘Hail, sergeant,’ the lead rider greeted.
Fal smiled. ‘Hail, master horseman. I don’t suppose a lift is out of the question, to the others over there?’ F
al pointed across the field towards the other group of riders and the destroyed balloon.
‘Of course, sergeant, climb up,’ the lead elf said. ‘Here, we will take your scout.’ The elf pointed forward and two of his riders brought their horses up besides Fal. One of them heaved Sav – who was almost unconscious – over his lap before Fal climbed up behind the other.
Fal looked to the body lying across the fourth rider’s lap and his heart lurched at the sight. Mearson’s face was almost unrecognisable. Starks’ smile dropped as he too looked to the body.
Looking back to Fal, the young man’s voice shook as he explained. ‘He ran back to the camp for more supplies to help Sav, just after you all rode out for help. Another explosion struck close to us, burnt my face' – Starks pointed to the bandage that covered one eye – 'but Mearson… he didn’t make it.’
Fal’s stomach twisted and he felt physically sick as the news struck him. ‘The bastards are dead,’ he said angrily, more to himself than anyone else. Not that it makes any difference to Mearson.
Starks nodded and the riders set off, their proud mounts cantering ever so gently whilst bearing their injured guests. Despite the shock and his anger, Fal couldn’t help but be amazed at how smooth the ride was, especially considering his steed’s obvious power. He felt no need to hold onto the rider in front as the animal beneath him crossed the meadow swiftly, almost gliding as it went and hardly jolting him at all. Fal allowed himself a brief smile at the privilege of not only seeing the magnificent equine creatures, but riding atop one of them as well. Alas, his smile faded quickly as he looked ahead and saw two more figures lying on the ground. Correia and the elf riders, Errolas amongst them, crouched over the still figures that could only be Severun and Gleave.
Fal’s heart skipped suddenly as he heard Gleave shout and curse, although no sound came from Severun’s motionless form.
As they reached the group, Fal slid from the saddle and ran across to them; Starks close behind whilst the riders lifted Sav, and Mearson’s body from the horses.
‘How are they?’ Fal said, and the group turned around to look upon him, their faces serious, but not grave.
‘I’ve a bloody broken leg, how do you think I am?’ Gleave shouted, his words turning into a yelp as a loud crack indicated the re-setting of bone. ‘Flayed… shitting… argh… you bastard… that bloody hurt!’
‘How about Lord Severun?’ Starks asked as Errolas rose from the unmoving wizard.
‘He will be alright,’ Errolas said. ‘He is unconscious, but our cleric here said Severun is strong and will recover. We need to get you all patched up though.
‘Bring the scout over here,’ Errolas shouted lastly, and two of the elf riders carried the near unconscious and groaning Sav over to the group before laying him down besides Severun.
‘Where’s Mearson?’ Correia asked. Fal looked down, then slowly up again to meet her worried gaze. She closed her eyes then and turned to Gleave, who was now looking at them both, his ashen face screwed up in disbelief.
‘Dead?’ Gleave’s voice, barely more than a whisper, shook.
Fal nodded and the pathfinder cursed some more, punching the ground beside him before lying back in the grass.
‘I’m sorry,’ Fal said, sincerely.
Correia shook her head. ‘He knew the risks. He was a brave one. Been with Gleave a long time and he’ll be sorely missed, as will the others back at the cave.’
‘I’m sure they will,’ Fal said quietly, as he placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder. ‘Mearson was a good man and a great warrior.’ Correia turned to him then, her stern visage faltering as she buried her head in his shoulder. Fal stroked her short, tangled hair and said nothing, knowing there was nothing more he could say.
Errolas looked to the ornately armoured rider who'd carried Starks. ‘Lord Nelem, these people seek an audience with the council. We cannot delay too long, despite their injuries. Wesson has an epidemic and King Barrison has asked for aid.’
Nelem nodded and turned to his riders. ‘Splint that leg and do what you can for the scout and wizard. The rest of you guard this area and bring them in when they are able to be moved. Errolas,’ the elf lord continued, whilst looking back to the ranger, ‘the rest come with us, but we cannot spare the horses, they are needed to defend this area. We have heard the rumours of a large goblin host and we cannot afford to let our guard down. We will travel on foot with the sergeant here and his two fit companions.’
‘I’m fit,’ Sav said, coughing as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. He winced as the weight pressed through his injured shoulder. ‘I’m not missing Broadleaf Forest. You said I’d see your home, Errolas, and I intend to.’
Fal moved over to and crouched by his friend. ‘Sav, you could barely walk back there.’
‘Very well,’ Nelem said, surprising them all. ‘Take this, scout, it will give you the energy you need, but you’re to have no more, for a human could grow addicted to this far too easily.’
Sav’s eyes widened and he managed to sit up, despite the pain, to swig the small glass vial the tall elf handed to him. The scout’s eyes lit up further still and he licked his lips and smacked them at the sweet taste.
‘What is it?’
‘Never you mind, Sav,’ Errolas said. Although humans normally find the taste quite bitter, trust you to enjoy it. He looked disapprovingly at the elf lord, who shrugged and headed off on foot towards the Woodmoat.
‘What about Lord Severun?’ Correia asked of Errolas. ‘He is needed to explain what has been happening in Wesson.’
‘He will be brought by horse when he is fit to ride, tomorrow hopefully,’ Errolas explained. ‘For tonight, let us make our way into Broadleaf Forest and hope the others can be with us in the morning.’
And so they did.
Fal, Correia, Starks and Sav followed Errolas and Lord Nelem across the fields, through the Woodmoat where a dozen Meadow Guard greeted them, and across the meadow into the elven realm of Broadleaf Forest, their emotions torn between grief at the loss of Mearson, and elation at finally reaching the elven realm.
***
It was the most relaxed Ellis Frane had felt in what seemed a long time. He sat back and let the white robed cleric’s hands hover over and around his body. The warmth those hands released eased his aches and pains, almost making him feel like nothing bad had happened… almost.
‘Will he be alright?’ Biviano asked.
‘Yes,’ Morri said, although his expression didn’t show it.
‘Thank you for seeing us.’ Biviano looked around the guardroom, taking in the other people being tended to by clerics. ‘I know ye’ve had it hard this night.’
‘Doesn’t mean we’d turn anyone away, I’m just sorry your warning came too late,’ Morri said, looking to Biviano with a sad smile.
Biviano nodded. ‘Aye, me too.’ And if I hadn’t forgotten Ellis Frane in the first place, we might’ve got here in time to warn ye of the attack.
‘Will ye be alright here, Ellis?’
The royal scribe turned to Biviano with a dreamlike expression upon his face and simply nodded.
‘Good, because I need to call for reinforcements and then I need to go for Sears.’
The man nodded again and then closed his eyes.
‘He’ll sleep some time now,’ Morri explained, ‘it’ll aid his healing. Well, his physical healing anyway.’
‘Aye, there’s not much cure for the other kind, I know from experience.’
‘As do we all,’ Morri said, gazing across to the wrapped corpses in the corner. ‘Now go, you’ve seen this one is safe, do the same for Lord Stowold, and your friend.’ Morri placed a hand on Biviano’s shoulder and gave him a little shove, encouraging him to move.
Smiling with thanks, Biviano turned and made for the door. Reaching the blood stained, scorched corridor, he turned and made for the steps, almost bumping into two men as thoughts of Sears distracted him.
‘Watch out, Sir Biviano,’ a familiar voice
said. ‘Ouch!’
‘You really are something you know that, Bolly?’ Effrin shook his head at the man he’d just jabbed in the ribs.
Biviano looked up, clearly confused, but before he could open his mouth, Bollingham told him Lord Stowold had ordered them after him.
‘So he just let ye follow?’ Biviano said, wincing slightly as he scratched the inside of his left leg. His question had been mainly directed at Effrin – whose eyes were fixed on Biviano’s scratching hand – knowing the cleric to be the trustworthy one of the two.
Effrin looked up and nodded. ‘He did. He seemed torn with his decision to let you go, and as soon as you’d left, he pulled us to one side.’
‘We thought he wanted us to call ye back,’ Bollingham said, ‘but oh no, he says whether ye don’t wanna be a knight or not, ye have been one and he has to respect that, so sent us to assist ye.’
Biviano looked sceptical.
‘He said he’s sorry he couldn’t send more,’ Effrin said.
‘And to hurry the hell up with the reinforcements,’ Bollingham added, followed by a grin.
Smiling back at the both of them, Biviano nodded once. ‘Well, what’re we waiting for then, lads? Let’s crack on.’
As the trio set off up the steps, Effrin staggered slightly, a sudden dizziness overcoming him.
‘What’s up?’ Biviano asked, genuinely concerned.
I don’t know, but whatever it was, it almost knocked me off my damned feet. Shaking it off, Effrin waved Biviano’s concerns away and motioned for him to follow Bollingham, who was already away and up the stairs.
Chapter 41: Keep to the Path
A small clearing gave some relief from the intense, almost oppressive closeness the humans felt once they'd entered Broadleaf Forest. They'd walked into the forest from the meadow, following a barely visible path lit only by the ambient glow of the moon and stars above, which filtered down through the leafy canopy. The elves seemed to see just fine in the gloom, but at Correia’s request, Errolas had agreed to use his star stone to give the humans some extra relief from the darkness. Now in the clearing, however, the moon’s light was enough to not need the star stone as Lord Nelem stopped to talk to the group.
