by GJ Kelly
“Good fer you, Leeny!” Finn declared fiercely.
“Look at them,” Bede grimaced. “Trotting up the road like they own the bloody place.”
“Yes, arrogant fellows by the looks,” Dannis agreed. “I do not think they shall sit so tall in the saddle on the way back down.”
Elayeen glowered, but still worms of doubt and alarm wriggled through the darkness of her ire. Should she show herself, here, in the open, so brazenly? All those of Toorsen’s creed would certainly know of the sentence of death upon her. By now, it was likely that agents of the creed had reported to their masters in the great tower at Ostinath the death of A’Knox and his escort. If they knew in Dun Meven of those events, they would know in all lands by now, and thus, most likely, in Elvendere, closed though its borders might be.
But her clothes though clean were worn and frayed, and made in Tarn, her elven garb long gone. Her hair, what there was of it, still a blotched mess in comparison with its former glory. She was by appearance Ranger Leeny, not the elfin beauty of long, silver-blonde silken tresses. She would stand, and learn what it was that had brought thirty two of the Toorseneth out of Elvenheth, travelling like spies, their colours hidden. Whatever it was must be important, and Gawain, when he found her, must be told of it.
The three of the ‘gard rode boldly and without a care for their horses, forcing them with spurs to maintain the pace all the way up the zigzagging path. It did not endear the riders to any at the top of the hill observing their progress and waiting impatiently for their arrival. When, finally, the riders turned on the last zag and began climbing the straight fifty yards directly towards her, Elayeen studied them closely.
Eldeneyes revealed dim lights but not dark ones, and her ordinary vision revealed much more. They were heavily armed, and their horses sweating and snorting, packs obviously heavy though with what she of course could not see. One of the riders she thought she vaguely recognised from Elvenheth, or possibly from her brother Gan’s province, but she could not place a name to the face and had seen so many of the ‘gard over the course of her life. None of them appeared to recognise her, their eyes fixed firmly on the two poorly-dressed bearded peasants armed with cocked and bolted crossbows. And for that, she was distinctly relieved.
They reined in, some eighteen yards from the distinct line of lighter coloured flint cobbles set across the road where the four who opposed their progress stood barring their way.
“Greetings from Elvendere,” the elf in the middle of the three announced, his horse breathing hard, its muscles twitching in spasms from the climb and shifting its weight this way and that. “And honour to you. We bring word from Oze of the medyen-Viell, wizard of the Toorseneth, who stands below. Your village bears a blight, dark-made, a curse of Morloch’s making…”
“Tell us summink we don’t know, like yer own name,” Bede announced firmly.
The elf paused, and blinked, and raised an eyebrow, clearly unused to being interrupted or challenged in any way.
“I am Sahn of the Toorsengard.”
“Good fer you. What do you want here at Dun Meven?”
“I bring word from Oze of the medyen-Viell, wizard of the Toorseneth, who stands below. Your village bears a blight, dark-made, a curse of Morloch’s making which only the white fire a wizard may summon can destroy.”
“And this Oze of yours,” Dannis announced, “How learned he of this in Elvendere? We are a very long way from the forest.”
There was a pause.
“Oze of the medyen-Viell will be pleased to scour your lands of the blight.”
“Very nice of him I’m sure,” Bede announced cheerfully. “How much does this medium veal charge for his services to humble folk of Callodon like us?”
“And speaking of money,” Dannis added, “It must have cost a fortune in fresh horses to arrive here from the forest in the west so quickly, it being only three days since this blight struck and we unable to send word of it. How curious, then, your timely arrival. Or was it simply serendipity placed you and your wizard in our vicinity, in the very hour that we humble folk of Callodon find ourselves in need of such services?”
“Aye,” Finn sniffed, “Considering neither him nor you weren’t anywhere near Far-gor when ‘umble folk of Callodon needed them services more.”
The three elves shifted nervously in their saddles, and gazed down at Elayeen. Their expressions were far from friendly. One of those expressions promptly changed when she brought forth the Sight, and pinned the elf she thought she might have recognised.
Sahn of the Toorsengard, leader of the small party of elves, clearly didn’t notice the paralysis and rising discomfort suffered by the comrade on his left rear flank, and stiffened arrogantly in his saddle. He seemed on the verge of a speech, perhaps contemplating some kind of plausible explanation for their presence at Dun Meven, unannounced, uninvited, understanding of course that blind luck as an excuse was entirely unbelievable. Then he sniffed, and all pretence at polite discourse was abandoned.
“You have three elves of the so-called Kindred Rangers here in Dun Meven. You will hand them into our custody that they may answer to Thallanhall for their crimes against the Toorseneth. In exchange for them, your lands will be cleared of blight by Oze of the medyen-Viell. If you refuse, the blight shall remain. And you shall starve.”
Elayeen released her choking prisoner and flicked her Sight to the lead elf. The first, clutching his throat and taking great gasps of breath, pointed at Elayeen, and Sahn made the mistake of looking straight into her eldeneyes.
“Well now,” Bede sniffed, and slowly hefted the crossbow from his shoulder, Finn following suit. “Now we come to it.”
“The three elves here are guilty of vile crimes against Elvendere!” the third elf announced, an edge of desperation in his voice, “They are to be taken to Thallanhall for judgement! What are they to you, against the well-being of your entire village? Would you see your children starve before your very eyes? What kind of people are you who would harbour criminals at the expense of your own loved ones? They are not even of your kind!”
Elayeen released the leader from her gaze, his eyes bulging, tongue protruding, lips faded almost blue. He choked, and coughed, wheezing as he gulped air.
“I have a question for you, Sahn of the Toorsengard,” Dannis announced, calmly, menacingly. “Just so that we may be clear. We are to give you the three Rangers of the Kindred Army, or you will besiege us, and watch us all die of starvation, unable to plant our crops?”
Face flushed, and struggling to regain his former composure, Sahn spat. “The choice is yours, old man. You shall give us the elves, either now, in peace, or later, besieged, when your children are wailing, and your infants sucking at their mothers’ dry teats!”
“Ah. Just so we were clear, you do understand.”
“I got a question for you, too,” Bede announced, and the elves regarded the bearded peasant with obvious distaste. “When you come riding up ‘ere, all jaunty like, knackering them poor horses of yours? When you come riding up ‘ere with your demands and yer threats, just exactly how did you reckon you were going to get back down again?”
“Now there’s a vurken good question, I reckon,” Finn levelled his crossbow. “Especially seeing as the Rangers are mates of ours.”
“And especially since here in Dun Meven we have an old saying,” Dannis announced, his voice chilling. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend…”
“We have heard this foolishness before,” Sahn sneered, “It means nothing to us. We shall simply wait until you are all too weak to resist, and come and take the criminals, whether alive or not.”
“Oh dear, you’re very rude, Sahn of the Toorsengard. You didn’t let me finish.”
Elayeen tensed, heart beginning to pound, hearing for the first time an iron-hard tone in the old man’s voice that reminded her of the blacksmith’s forge, hammers pounding red-hot metal.
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Dannis repeated. “The enemy of my friend is dea
d.”
Sahn’s eyes widened in shock and surprise, and he hissed a warning to his comrades, hand caught between reaching for an arrow or the sword hanging from his hip.
Two crossbow bolts hissed in reply, and thumped into his chest and burst through his heart, half an inch apart, knocking him backwards out of the saddle, dead before he hit the cobbles. His long-suffering horse ran forwards past Elayeen into the village at the same moment she drew her own string, eldeneyes snapping, pinning the one to the right.
“Stent thool!” she hissed, “Nai murthen!”
But the one on the left lost his nerve, and broke, wheeling his horse around to bolt down the road. It would have been a hopeless attempt at any time, the road long and zigzagging. The two Callodon Guards could have casually reloaded their crossbows and picked him off at leisure. Instead, Elayeen swivelled on her hips and shot the elf through the head, and had the ‘gard on the right pinned again before he had a chance to gasp for breath. With a flourish, she nocked and drew another arrow.
“Does he hear me, lady Ranger?” Dannis asked, as Finn made clucking noises with his tongue to attract the second horse and send it towards the safety of the village.
“He does.”
“Good. I have a message of my own for this Oze, who commands down below. Do you hear me, Toorsenelf?”
Elayeen released her grip, and the elf gasped for air, nodding furiously in response to Dannis’ question while clutching his throat.
“Good. Tell him this: Dun Meven shall starve and die long before it betrays its friends or submits to tyranny of any kind, least of all the kind which abandoned these lands to Morloch’s horde at Far-gor. Tell him Dun Meven stands by its allies and spits in the eye of their enemies. Tell him Dannis invites Oze to come and take our three friends from us, if he has the courage. We shall gladly welcome him, as we welcomed your two comrades.”
The elf nodded, and reached for the reins.
“Oy!” Finn gasped, almost laughing in surprise, “Where’d you think you’re vurken going, matey?” and brought up his crossbow, reloaded.
“I am done with him,” Dannis smiled disarmingly.
Bede flicked a glance at Elayeen, who gave a slight nod of her head but kept the string drawn tight back against her chin.
“Seems you get to go back down the hill after all,” Bede glowered.
“Yeah, but not on that poor beast,” Finn declared, “And not with all them weapons you planned to use against us ‘umble folk of Callodon. Come on, off it, Toorsenspit bastard.”
The elf dismounted slowly.
“Lose the bow and the blades, you smarmy little ‘spit. Vurken coming up ‘ere and threatening our kids… I ought to nail your vurken ‘ead to the road. Might just do that anyway, while yer on yer way back down.”
When the elf was disarmed, his weapons lying on the ground and his horse ambling into the village to join the other two animals being tended there, Finn pointed with his crossbow.
“Start walking. And slow. Wouldn’t want to just wound you if I change me mind and nail you. I’d have to leave you there, see, wounded and bleeding to death on the cobbles, rather than making it quick. Go on, vurk off!”
oOo
43. One Word
They watched in silence until the elf was halfway down the road, and then Bede removed the bolt from his ‘bow and handed the weapon to Dannis. With a nod, the guardsman then walked forward, stripped Sahn’s corpse of its weapons, heaved it over his shoulders and carried it to southern side of the road; the side seeded by Spikebulb of the Tansee. With surprising speed and agility, he squatted and thrust up, heaving Sahn’s body out and downhill.
The corpse rolled, gathering speed, triggering Spikebulbs as it went, taking on the appearance of a grotesque and elongated black snowball as it gathered more of the hideous, pulsing puffballs on its way downhill. Before the body reached the end of the seeded section, Bede had stripped and flung the other corpse out. Dannis handed the guardsman back his ‘bow when he rejoined the group.
“I hope the stores in the down-below will suffice to supply Dun Meven’s needs for a long time, Serre Curator,” Elayeen sighed, swamped by emotion. Pride at the honour of the simple men beside her, dismay at the horrors of personal combat, lingering fear and alarm at the presence of the Toorsencreed and shock at their demands. “The Toorsengard will not give up the siege.”
“The Toorsengard clearly know nothing of our stores, nor this hill’s true purpose, if they think a siege can overcome us.”
Bede sniffed. “They know a bit more about us now, that’s for sure.”
“Aye,” Finn nodded, features grim, “Like what happens to them that dares threaten our families.”
“Indeed,” Dannis agreed. “But lady Ranger, there is much to discuss, not the least of which is the how and the why and the wherefores of their presence here. It surely can be no coincidence that they knew three Rangers of the Kindred were here.”
“That’s true, Leeny,” Finn announced. “Good news is, they still think all three of you are still here. Bad news is, your mates Valdo and Meemee are on the way back. If they’re not careful, they’ll walk straight into that lot down there, and there’s bugger-all we can do about it.”
“And,” Bede added, “Looks to me like those bastards down there had something to do with that Flagellweed muck. Funny, isn’t it, them turning up like that, so quick, like, with offers of help. If we’d let them in, they could’ve overrun us in no time flat, and taken you.”
Elayeen sighed, and nodded.
“Lucky for us they were stupid and showed their true colours then, else they might’ve got in, especially with a wizard of the veal with ‘em.”
“Vee-yell,” Elayeen whispered, “It is pronounced vee-yell by our people. Sahn of the Toorsengard spoke poorly, and slurred his words. And they chose to show their colours because they knew they could not hope to approach close enough to gain advantage without being recognised by Rangers. We know an elf when we see one, and their hated symbol is emblazoned on everything they own, including their saddles.”
“How much power does that wizard Oze wield in his staff, lady Ranger?”
“A wizard of the medyen-Viell bears a wand, not a staff. In rank and power he is halfway between the lowest, the soolen-Viell, and the Ahk-Viell, the highest.”
“Ah, perhaps of the power of a D’ith Met, then.”
“I do not know for certain.”
“No matter. Come. It is time I sent one of King Brock’s birds back home. The enemy are making their camp below, Finn and Bede hold the road, and you and I must talk some more about these unsettling events.”
With a weak smile and a nod for the two guardsmen, Elayeen turned, and followed Dannis back to the command post. The curator spoke briefly with one of the villagers, who promptly hurried off on some errand, and then they were inside the office, Dannis seated at his desk, Elayeen standing and staring at the map on the wall.
The curator took a small capsule from a drawer, twisted it open, and drew out small strip of paper folded and rolled into a pellet just small enough to fit inside the capsule. Then he took a book from another draw, opened it, and nodded, muttering to himself.
“Do forgive me, lady Ranger, but I must prepare the message in the proper code, and it requires the full attention of my poor age-addled mind.”
“What message to you intend to send, Serre Curator?”
“Besieged by Toorsengard. I am assuming that there are Rangers serving in Castletown who will be able to inform his Majesty as to the nature of the threat we face?”
Elayeen nodded, though sadly, plagued again by self-doubt, driven by compulsions perhaps not her own, fearful for the safety of Valin and Meeya, and now, fearful for the good people of Dun Meven. She could feel Dannis staring at her, and knew that the sparkling intelligence she had seen in his eyes belied his claim to an ‘age-addled mind’.
“There is, perhaps,” he said softly, “Something you wish to add, lady Ranger?”
&nb
sp; She drew in a breath, felt the bubble rising from the pit of her stomach, fought hard against it, biting her lip and closing her eyes against the tears that threatened to burst a dam long, long overdue for demolition.
She had hidden herself in the wilds, yet events had conspired to drag her back into the world of men and Morloch. She had hidden herself behind the crop-haired Ranger, dirty and dishevelled and leading her two friends into peril in Mornland, in the name of duty. She had hidden herself in that simple Ranger’s persona at Fallowmead, leading her pressed lieutenants into a short-lived but ferocious and ignoble battle, and had maintained the trappings of that character in the aftermath, pursuing the Goth-lord across the wilds of Arrun’s Southshearings, clear to Dun Meven. And here, among the honourable and noble guardians of Dun Meven’s refuge, she had hidden herself so well that Bede and Finn now regarded her simply as Leeny, admired as a friend, a comrade, a warrior who’d fought in the war and might well have stood beside Bede’s son, Thad, who fell there in battle. Leeny, who had stood with them at the line, here in Dun Meven.
She had deceived them, in all good faith, and for the best of reasons, but she had deceived them all. And now she was trapped atop a hill, far from help, far from her friends, far from her beloved Gawain, and the only people of her kind anywhere within reach were waiting below, and seeking nothing but her death.
The Toorsengard would not abandon the siege, except by force of arms. And the nearest force large enough to force them anywhere was to be found at Brock’s hall. Oze of the medyen-Viell had come seeking three elves. He would not have ridden from the trees of Elvendere and Ostinath for just three elves of the ninety-five. She knew that. Not even the Toorseneth could persuade Thallanhall to risk war with eastern lands through so bold an act as sending out a force of Toorsengard incognito to snatch three Rangers of the ninety-five.
Unless Oze, a wizard of the tower, a ToorsenViell once under the direct command of A’Knox, the Sceptre of Toorsen himself, had ridden from the forest without the Thallanhall’s knowledge or authority. Or unless they knew that one of the three Rangers at Dun Meven was Elayeen Rhiannon Seraneth ní Varan Raheen.
