by GJ Kelly
Familiar spheres, grey and smoky, began to form at each end of the Graken-rider’s rod, and Elayeen caught a fleeting glimpse of Dannis emerging from the command post building, releasing a pigeon with one hand and clutching a crossbow in the other. She drew, tilted on her hips a little, and loosed, and had loosed another shot at the Graken before the first flashed past the rider’s head.
Black fireballs rained down, wood-built sheds and cottages bursting apart and catching fire. Elayeen caught a glimpse of Dannis loosing his crossbow at the shadowy bulk of the Graken as it sped over the old man’s head no more than thirty feet above the ground, and then he was lost in clouds of smoke and debris. The fifth arrow she loosed was at the Graken-rider’s back as he sped towards the north and began wheeling around again, and she felt a surge of grim satisfaction when she saw it slam into the centre of the high-backed saddle. The arrows were good. So too was her aim.
In the middle of the road, Bede was reloading his crossbow, his features set hard, his manner calm and professional as he triggered the weapon and loosed another steel bolt out and down towards the Toorsengard’s ragged and rapidly dispersing ranks. While Elayeen nocked another arrow her eyes registered the scene around her, and the calm quiet voice she’d heard at Fallowmead narrated the unfolding of the spectacle.
Thirty does not seem so many now
It didn’t. The fiery chaos unleashed from the blazing shed had rolled down the hill, boulders large and small racing against flaming logs and barrels and other great wads of blazing material. The slope was strewn with burning obstacles, barrels bursting and showering a sticky, clinging fire in all directions. Horses squealing in protest turned aside from the oncoming terror, riders struggling with the steep slope and their terrified mounts, desperately attempting to regain the cobbled road and avoid the fiery avalanche tumbling towards them.
The wizard waits in safety far from harm
Oze remained on his horse, at the stream, far from the havoc.
The men of Callodon aim well, and make each shot count
Into this chaos, Finn and Bede were shooting their bolts, and taking a toll with each missile, and cared not it seemed whether it was horse or rider the deadly steel struck at the end of its flight. A downed horse meant a rider on foot, and for an enemy on foot, the road would be a long, long climb indeed.
The Graken wheels
And it was levelling, well out of range, wings tilting this way and that, aligning itself with some mark the rider had noted. Its flight was far from graceful, and that was doubtless thanks to the three elven longshafts that had pierced the thick scales of its skin over chest and belly. They were indeed good arrows, and true, and it was Elayeen shooting them.
“We are its target!” Elayeen called.
“Heads up, Finn!” Bede yelled, eyeing the Graken swooping lower and on a bee-line for them.
“Aye aye!” came the muffled voice from inside the blockhouse, and then the powerful thump as Finn loosed another bolt into the mess of horses on the edge of panic not yet a quarter of the way up the hill.
But for the Graken, two men could hold this road. Or one elfin
But for the Graken, the rider even now leaning forward over the creature’s neck, rod extended, smoky spheres sputtering and growing larger at its ends.
Elayeen drew and held the aim, string locked to her nose and chin, using her hips to track and follow the Graken’s approach.
Be still…
Her heart slowed, and her breath, exhaling through her nostrils, was so slight it would scarcely disturb a feather.
There was no need to lead a target heading straight towards her arrow. It was simply a matter of range and timing. Leave it too late, and the point would rip into the beast, not the rider. Too soon, and the shaft would pass over the rider’s head. Bede loosed a bolt at the beast, the dull steel a bright flash which struck the Graken below the left wing root.
Black fireballs began tumbling, forming quickly, dropping one after the other, concussions deafening, Flagellweed blasting up into the sky, ripped from the terraces by the dark fire.
Shoot
Elayeen released the string, her fingers coming to rest by her right ear. She felt the power of the bow transfer to the arrow, the shaft leaping as though with joy as it sped forward on its first and last flight. She held the pose for the follow-through, knowing instinctively at the moment of release that it would strike its mark even before she saw it streak into the hunched and iron-masked rider’s chest just below his neck, bursting through breastbone and spine and into the saddle behind him. He simply slumped forward, paralysed and dying, the Rod of Asteran tumbling down with the last of the fireballs…
“Leeny!” Bede screamed, and as the dark shadow of the Graken sped over her, the dark shadow of the middle-aged guardsman slammed into her, knocking her to the ground as great concussions threw cobbles, stone and wood in all directions.
She felt something strike Bede, felt it in the sudden spasm of his body lying on top of hers. All around, the sound of debris crashing to the ground, and then an eerie silence, broken only by her laboured breathing, and Bede’s.
“Bede!” she gasped, trying to heave the man’s body off her.
He gasped in turn, pain in the sound, and rolled clear of her. A quick glance showed a piece of timber sticking through Bede’s lower leg, blood flowing freely. A piece of roofing joist. There was a crackling of flames, and that drew her attention to the blockhouse.
“Finn?” Bede choked, trying to sit upright, “Finny!”
The blockhouse had taken a direct hit from two of the dark wizard’s fireballs. The roof was gone, thatch and timbers ablaze and blown asunder. Most of the south wall was a gaping hole, shattered blocks on the cobbles. Finn was dead, of course, it needed only the briefest of glances to understand that the jovial man of Callodon was no more.
“Finny,” Bede croaked, reaching for his crossbow. “Finny!”
Elayeen coughed, and picked up her bow. Two craters lay at the southern edge of the road, scant yards from where she had stood shooting at the Graken. The flying creature itself, its rider dead and his body hanging limp and precariously from straps fixed to the saddle, had come to ground a quarter of the way down the slope and was flapping one wing frantically, wounded, screeching in agony, trying to hop and fly clear of the burning obstacles that had been Dun Meven’s defences, aquamire-tipped Spikebulbs bursting in its feet.
Below, the Toorsengard had recovered something of their composure, and were making progress up the road.
“I can’t cock the bastard, Leeny!” Bede cried in disgust, sitting up and trying to draw the crossbow’s string back with his hands instead of the cocking-hooks on his belt. “I can’t cock the bastard!” His left foot was jammed awkwardly through the ‘bow’s stirrup, but without the aid of the hooks, making the weapon ready would be next to impossible, the tension on the string far too great for fingers to draw.
“Below!” a voice shouted from behind them. “Get below!”
Dannis, a hundred and thirty yards away, hobbling and still clutching his spent crossbow, was waving frantically at them, something small and shining dully in his hand. The key to the portal of the down-below.
“Up, Bede, up!” Elayeen urged, slinging her bow over her shoulder and trying to heave the man up onto his one good leg.
“I’m staying Leeny!” he shouted in protest, “We hold the road! Me and Finny will hold the vurken road!”
“Finn’s gone, Bede! He’s gone! We must get below! We cannot let them take the key!” she screamed back, dragging Bede up.
Realisation dawned when Bede saw Dannis waving from the wreckage by the command post, the cottage still intact but the tavern on the other side of the road through the village destroyed and ablaze.
“Come on!” Elayeen shouted, and Bede threw his arm around her shoulders, discarding his crossbow and limping as best he could. Together, they scurried to Dannis, Bede gasping in pain every step of the way.
“Take the
key!” Dannis cried, “Get to the down-below!” And he shoved the key into Elayeen’s hand.
“I can hold the road,” she cried, “The two of you must get to the portal!”
“There is no time!” Dannis gasped, “And it is too far for me! Go, Elayeen Raheen! Go, they must not take you!”
“Raheen!” Bede gasped, eyes wide, “It cannot be!”
“Go! Quickly I beg you!” Dannis cried, and pushed them both towards the portals at the far end of the village.
Tears of anger and frustration blurred Elayeen’s vision. A sideways glance towards the road showed the Toorsengard three quarters of the way up and much more confident now in the absence of missiles raining into them, and below, Oze had already begun the ascent.
“It cannot be!” Bede gasped, and Elayeen lurched forward through the roiling smoke and heat, heaving on his arm.
“Hurry, Bede, by the vakin Teeth hurry!” she managed through clenched teeth.
The sudden knowledge of Elayeen’s identity seemed to spur Bede on, and gritting his teeth against the pain he lurched and lumbered faster, past the burning wreckage of home and workplace, smoke belching and rising high into the sky.
At the side portal, Bede propped himself against the rock of the cliff face, holding his torn and bleeding leg while Elayeen fumbled with the key and the brambles to unlock the door, looking for the crack in the stone which was the keyhole. A glance over her shoulder showed Dannis, blood streaking the white of the shirt on his back, shooting his crossbow towards the Toorsengard riders even now approaching the line.
The missile struck, a horse reared in sudden pain and bolted off the road onto the smouldering slopes, throwing the rider onto the ground before charging away down the hill and collapsing. The rider screamed and writhed, and the whole of the troop of Toorsengard gaped in horror as their comrade gained his knees, flailing wildly, trying to reach at something sticking in his back, screaming all the while. Then abruptly, the elf stopped screaming, and fell forward onto his face.
“Spikebulb,” Bede gasped, “Serves you vurken right you bastard!”
Dannis was attempting to reload again, but arrows loosed his direction had him ducking behind the broken wall of what had once been a gaily-painted cottage.
There was a click, and the portal swung open.
“Bede, here, quickly!” Elayeen gasped and helped the stricken guardsman through into the broad and empty mustering area inside.
“You are Raheen’s queen, in truth?” Bede gaped, his face pale, sliding to the floor and clutching his leg.
“I am,” Elayeen admitted, and turned to look back towards the command post.
Dannis had managed to reload the crossbow, and was aiming into the group of riders who had mustered at the line over a hundred yards from the old man, and were eyeing the damage to the blockhouse and the remains of Finn within.
“My lady, you did what I could not… you fought with my son…”
“And with his father,” Elayeen said, tears welling again.
She saw Dannis shoot, and saw one of the Toorsengard slump and fall from his horse, scattering the others in panic. They could not mark Dannis through the swirling smoke and flames, and did not know where the shot had come from.
“Wait here, I shall fetch the curator.”
“Leeny… lady… wait…!” Bede gasped again, sitting on the cold stone floor and watching helplessly as Elayeen sprinted out into the open, heading for the old man.
Arrows clattered here and there, the Toorsengard shooting aimlessly into the smoke. Elayeen drew and loosed on the run and shot a rider from the saddle a hundred and twenty yards away, causing more panic in the ranks. Riders dismounted hurriedly, seeking cover, and seeking a target.
“Go lady! Go! They must not take you!” Dannis cried.
“I am Raheen’s lady! Raheen does not leave friends to die alone!”
She snatched the crossbow from Dannis’ startled hands and tossed it aside, slipping an arm around the elderly man’s blood-soaked back and heaving him to his feet, bow held tightly in her other hand.
“Quickly, Serre Curator, Bede awaits us!”
Together they stumbled towards the portal and the figure of the Callodonian guardsman slumped there watching their approach. Arrows fizzed harmlessly overhead, others thwacked into walls around them and clattered on the cobbles, the enemy shooting blindly.
“Madness, my lady! Madness! Leave me!”
But Elayeen could see Bede sitting on the cold stone floor of the down-below, trying to draw attention of the villagers further down in the refuge by banging his sword on the flagstones. He barely had the strength to the lift the blade now, shock and loss of blood taking its toll. Bede, who had lost a son at Far-gor, a son who’d fought with the Kindred for the sake of all people. Dannis, begging to be left behind, who had given his life to the safeguarding of Dun Meven and its secrets, like his father and his before him, and whose attention to their unsung duties had ensured the Kindred Army had stout weapons on which they could rely in the battle.
She could not leave any of them, any more than Gawain could have left Martan of Tellek on the farak gorin. There was no voice in her head urging her to flee or making pretty noble speeches concerning sacrifice and duty and urging her to stay. There was just a friend, bleeding on the floor before her, hoping for shapes in the darkness to come to his aid. There was just a dear old man, his frail and bleeding body held tight in her right arm, lurching towards safety. And a merciless enemy behind them who must be denied the lives of her friends at all costs.
Halfway to the gaping portal, perhaps with only twenty yards to go, Dannis collapsed with a cry, dragging Elayeen with him.
There was an elven longshaft sticking from the back of the old man’s thigh, and poking through the front of his leg.
“Stent thool!” a voice screamed, “Nai murthen! Stent thool!”
Elayeen looked up and back, and saw the Toorsengard running towards her, screaming.
“Vakin Dwarfspit,” she sighed, brought up her bow, and shot the elf clean off his feet.
“Go dear lady! Go I beg you! Leave me!”
“Stent thool! Stent thool!” another voice, and then more.
“Wait for me!” Elayeen commanded, and sprinted towards the portal, arrows buzzing angrily wide of the mark. She was, she knew, wanted alive. Mostly.
At the portal, she hurled the key into the gloomy interior, and heaved against the heavy stone door, pushing it closed… Bede’s expression was all shock and desperation, villagers pouring up from the bottom of the slope of the mustering area in answer to the ringing of his sword. His hand stretched towards her, fingers spread as though the man were trying to make them grow by mystic means in order to grab her and pluck her to safety, and then the portal boomed shut.
Then she turned, drawing and shooting on the run, taking three of the Toorsengard through the smoke with breathtaking accuracy and efficiency.
Dannis muttered protest after protest when she dragged him into cover behind a drystone wall and waited, poised to shoot, peering through the smoke which billowed and swirled on the breezes.
“You should not be here, dear lady,” the old man managed. “You should not risk all for an old man such as I.”
“Yes, I should,” Elayeen said quietly, snapping her pupils and spotting one of the ‘gard inching forward through the smoke. She drew and shot him, then blinked away the Sight. “So should all free people stand, when a tyrant comes to call.”
“Why did you leave Tarn? You should be safe in a mountain hall, not here.”
“It does not matter now. My path is at my feet. It always was. There is just now, and here, and this, and us.”
Smoke, flame, and broken walls were no obstacle to the Sight. She saw a group of four Toorsengard inching forward, crouching low, trying to work their way from what had been the cobbler’s workshop to the shattered remnants of the village well. Elayeen shot the leftmost, the other three instinctively moving away from their dead comr
ade towards a blazing house. Again, Elayeen shot the leftmost, and she saw with eldeneyes the other two raising arms against the heat and then suddenly turn to retreat back towards the northern end of the village. She shot both of them in the back without a moment’s hesitation.
Thirty does not seem so many now. Now that less than a dozen remain.
Aim well and make them count, Finn had said. The men of Callodon had aimed well, while they could. So too, Elayeen.
“I was right,” Dannis sighed, blinking in a sudden shaft of sunshine that broke through the smoke and was gone. “What could he possibly have done to deserve you?”
“Hush, Serre Curator,” Elayeen whispered urgently, scanning through the flames and smoke billowing along the cobbled way that ran the length of the village. Oze, she knew, was the key. Destroy the ToorsenViell and the remnants of the ‘gard would flee. But which of those dim lights lurking behind the walls at the northern end of the village were the Viell’s?
Sudden movement, two elves, one racing from cover on the left and crossing to the right, the other racing from the right and crossing to the left. The latter was shot off his feet before he reached the small cottage where Norris the Weedwalker lived with his parents and siblings. The former crouched low, and Elayeen could see his gingerbread arm waving others forward. Perhaps they could not see through the smoke that their plan had only half worked. Elayeen drew, and held the aim in the centre of the road.
Something shimmered to her left, and she was bringing her bow to bear when she thought she saw an elfwizard standing there, pointing a slender stick at her… something struck her, and the world faded from view.
oOo
47. Oze
Her head throbbed and her back ached. Her wrists were burning, and as she regained consciousness, Elayeen realised that her arms were bound behind her and to the chair on which she sat. She opened her eyes, but could not see, a blindfold had been tightly bound around her head, covering her eyes. For a brief moment, her heart hammered, fear surging, and then she remembered. Oze. The elfwizard must have used some kind of spell to hide him from her Sight, the way the pillar on Croptop Hill had deceived all eyes over the centuries. She had been focused on the lights of the enemy guardsmen, and ignored the misty regions at the periphery of her vision where fire had blazed and smoke had billowed.
