‘You all right, Ben?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What’s wrong with the leg?’
‘Just a little stiff I think. I must have lain on it bent or something.’
‘Right,’ said Yron. He looked closely, watching as Ben jumped into the water by him, landing on his left leg only. ‘Are you sure?’
‘It’s fine, really.’
‘Right,’ said Yron again. ‘Stay here, watch the opposite bank. Count the crocodiles on the mud and tell me if any take to the water before I get back with the flotsam. Think you can do that?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Yron hurried back upstream to the pocket of still water they’d finished their river journey in. The log was still there and Yron greeted it like an old friend. He edged it from its lodging place and shepherded it downstream much as the day before, smiling as Ben came into sight. The young lieutenant was staring across the river sixty yards to the mud slope where four or five of the big reptiles lay.
Yron knew they couldn’t see them from that distance but they’d sense vague movement and see clearly from about halfway across.
‘Anything happen?’ he asked.
‘Nothing at all. They haven’t moved a muscle.’
‘Glad to hear it. Right, follow me. And tread lightly; anything in the river will be able to sense movement, so take slow easy paces, all right?’
Ben nodded and Yron set off, keeping the log slightly ahead of him and brushing the rock face. His nerves began to tingle. Here there was no quick escape. Here they were vulnerable. But he really had no choice. Crocodiles were predictable to a point. TaiGethen were infinitely more dangerous.
There was no movement from the opposite bank. He didn’t necessarily expect any. Of course they wouldn’t all be resting, but it was early yet and reptiles that size would be sluggish until they warmed up. It was imperative they get across at the earliest opportunity.
About two hundred yards further downstream, the river took a bend to the left and narrowed to forty or fifty yards. The bank just before the bend was grass-covered and sloped sharply upwards but would be easy to scramble up in a hurry if necessary. The distance was as good as they were liable to get but the negative was that the river flowed that bit quicker here. It would take a lot of effort and noise to ensure they landed before drifting past the bank and into the next cliff-sided stretch.
‘You ready for this?’ asked Yron.
‘I’ll never be ready for it,’ said Ben. ‘So I’m just going to do it.’
‘Good lad. We’re headed there.’ Yron pointed downstream. ‘Anywhere along that stretch and we can get out quick. Now here’s what we’re going to do. Like yesterday, we’re going to push gently out into the stream and swim up a little way against the current. Once we’re across the middle of the river, I want you to stay quite still. Be part of the log. If you’re inert, you won’t attract attention. We’ll drift down a way before pushing for the bank. When we do, don’t thrash, for God’s sake. Do you understand?’
Ben-Foran nodded. ‘Sir.’
Gently, Yron pushed the log out and entered the water after it, hearing Ben do the same despite his care. With long slow sweeps of his legs, Yron moved them out from the bank, heading towards the crocodiles. It was uncomfortable but necessary. Fortunately the current was slow and they reached the middle of the river quickly. There they turned and began to drift downstream.
‘Now’s the time, Ben,’ he said, voice quiet. ‘Try not to move at all. Search the surface. Tell me what you see. Breathe slow.’
The rain had stopped and the cloud was breaking up quickly, for which Yron was not grateful. Heavy rain upset natural senses, cloud kept cold blood that way. Conditions were changing fast but out here peace was total. The water was cool beneath the immediate surface, and the sounds of the myriad rainforest creatures muted somehow. He forced himself to relax, to listen and to watch.
Beside him Ben was admirably silent, his eyes forward. Yron turned his head. Nothing he could see. The mudbank remained still. It was exactly as he had prayed.
Ben jerked back, his leg twitching. ‘Dammit!’
‘What was it?’ Yron, tense all over again, looked immediately behind them.
‘Nothing, I . . . Ow!’ Ben slapped the water with a hand. ‘Something bit me.’
Yron went cold all over. They were twenty-five yards from the bank. It could prove a very long way. Something bumped into his boot. He felt another impact on his leather. He knew this behaviour. This was the vanguard of an invasion. The army would not be far behind and they were unstoppable. Piranha.
‘Swim, Ben!’ he shouted, thrashing his legs to action, driving them across the river. ‘Pump those legs and don’t you fucking stop! Swim!’
He knew it gave out distress signals but they had no option. The fish had scented blood from somewhere and he and Ben were the targets. As he swept his legs through the water, bringing the log around to steer them straight for the bank, he saw the mudbank was empty. The crocodiles were already in the water, heading downstream. Their thrashing had been like a call to feeding time and none wanted to miss out. They had a start of a hundred and fifty yards or so. It was going to be very close.
Ben was under concerted attack. His heaving legs made purchase difficult but piranha were quick and their jaws awesomely strong. He cried out again and again as they bit clean through cloth and into his flesh, every bite pumping more blood into the water, attracting more of the voracious killers.
From their left, the crocodiles closed in, strong tails powering them through the water faster than any man could hope to swim. The bank was nearing, moment by moment. Yron felt a sharp bite on his ankle through the leather of his boot. He thrashed his legs harder.
Ben moaned.
‘Keep going, son, almost there,’ urged Yron. ‘You can do it. Don’t you give up on me, lad.’
‘No . . . intention,’ gasped Ben, but he was weakening quickly.
‘So much more to teach you, Ben. Don’t let go now, don’t let go.’
Yron’s legs struck the bottom. Reacting instantly, he plunged his feet to the bed of the river and stood upright, dragging Ben with him. He forced his way through the stomach-deep water, feeling the press of the fish around him, their incessant probing, feeling the brush of teeth and the tearing of cloth.
With Ben practically under one arm and barely able to stand, he scrambled up the mud at the edge of the river and pushed Ben ahead of him, the boy stumbling through the shallows and falling forward onto the grass. His right leg was a bloody mess, his trousers shredded; one of his boots hung by its laces and his jerkin was ripped and torn around the waist.
‘Don’t stop, Ben.’ He heaved in a breath. ‘Not safe.’
Ben tried to get to his feet, made it to a crawling position and dragged himself up the slope of the bank. Behind Yron the water boiled. A crocodile erupted from the river, hammering at them with extraordinary speed. Yron slipped on the bank, fell onto his backside and pushed himself backwards, his back against Ben’s floundering body.
The crocodile came on, head still, running at its intended prey. Behind it, others fought each other in the shallows but it ignored them. Its jaws snapped once, missing Yron’s foot by a hair. The captain lashed out with his boot, catching it across the snout. It hesitated then came on. He kicked again, another good contact. The crocodile stopped and hissed.
‘Ben, go!’ he yelled. ‘Go!’
Below him, the huge reptile shook its head from side to side, gave Yron one last malevolent look and retreated into the water. He looked down on it from the top of the bank, stood and dragged Ben further into the forest and under cover. He laid the boy down and stared at his wounds.
‘Damn you, boy,’ he said, though his tone carried no anger. ‘You were cut, weren’t you?’
Ben nodded feebly then slumped back to lie prostrate. He was a mess. Ignoring the scratches and bites on his own body, Yron assessed his charge. Blood poured from Ben’s ravaged right leg, and ooz
ed from more other places than he could count. Flesh had been ripped from bones, which showed through where the piranhas had got to work. Back home the leg would have been amputated; here it had to be patched up.
One thing was clear. If Yron didn’t bathe and dress the wounds with the right herbs, the boy was going to die.
Auum led his Tai along the banks of the River Shorth, his frustration growing. These men he’d ignored near the temple had proved to be difficult prey, and within his frustration there was a sense of grudging respect. A respect, though, that didn’t lessen the outrage at the crime for which the strangers would pay.
They had followed the easy trail north and then east to the banks of the river. Footsteps had dragged down to the shore and there the trail had gone cold. It was clear they had gone downriver but how far was currently not known. Duele had found a disturbed pile of driftwood just upstream and it was then that Auum had to confess his surprise. The tributary was quick, with rocks not far under the surface. Even with driftwood to cling to, the chances of injury were very high, and where the flow eased, the predators massed.
They moved on at speed, never more than five yards apart in a line that gave them a view across the river and deep into the forest eastwards.
‘Thoughts,’ he asked of them.
‘The ClawBound has sensed nothing of them north to Shorth’s Teeth rapids,’ said Duele. ‘I suggest they are back on land upstream of the rapids, possibly on the opposite bank.’
‘They moved quickly to the river yesterday,’ said Evunn. ‘They have direction and they are unharmed. They may have reversed, leaving a false trail.’
It had to be considered, but Auum dismissed it. ‘Not that good,’ he said. ‘But quick, yes. I suspect one of them knows of us.’
‘So he would take great risk to escape,’ said Duele.
‘Speed is nothing without guile. We will always be faster,’ countered Evunn.
‘To a stranger, distance is safety. They chase the goal of escape,’ said Auum. ‘We should alert the ClawBound west of the river. These strangers must not escape.’
A roar lifted above the buzz of the forest. It was echoed at greater distance. The Tai stopped, waited. It was communication. A series of calls circled out, some elven, some animal. Growls, whistles, wails, grunts and barks. Auum understood none of it. Despite the closeness of their alliance, the ClawBound never revealed any of their secrets. The TaiGethen would know what was relevant soon enough.
The discordant messaging went on, silencing the forest denizens. This was noise at odds, noise that meant trouble and the determination to find a cure. None of Tual’s creatures would interfere. Most would be scared by what they heard; an instinctive memory cowed them where they stood, caused them to land on the nearest perch or hold themselves still in the water or high in the canopy.
The moment it died away, the forest buzzed once more and a ClawBound pair emerged from the shadows to Auum’s left. The panther trotted in and stood in Auum’s path, its eyes glistening, asking him to stop.
‘Tai,’ said Auum and they came to him.
The ClawBound elf, very tall, his face impassive beneath his paint, bowed his head and spoke, the voice unused to speech.
‘We have one group. Two trails are new. The fourth is west. The fifth group has crossed the Shorth. They are hurt. We will follow.’
He turned to go. Auum’s question stopped him.
‘Where are they running to?’
‘Verendii Tual,’ said the ClawBound. ‘Many strangers wait. We watch.’
He turned and walked away into the forest, the panther sniffing the Tai’s scent on the air before growling low and trotting after him.
‘Verendii Tual,’ said Auum. ‘We haven’t much time. The ClawBound will not lose them as I did. We’ll wait for them at the estuary.’
His Tai knew better than to question him and they followed him away from the tributary, which would soon carve away west to join the Shorth, the combined river flowing on to its mouth at Verendii Tual, the staggering high-cliffed inlet that bit deep into the forest.
All the groups were tracked and one would be down by dawn tomorrow. The net was closing.
Chapter 25
Just before dawn, Erys had woken experiencing a dread fear. Barely a day and a half out from the temple and the calming influence of Captain Yron and, while the group weren’t lost, their minds were full of the terrors of the forest and their thinking wasn’t straight. He’d tried to bring them back to themselves time and again in their ill-disciplined march towards the coast. He’d reminded them that Yron had trusted them to escape and had bought them time by sacrificing his own life.
And it had worked, brought them all back to what they had sworn to do. For an hour, maybe. Time was so difficult to judge. And then the bickering had started again. The backbiting and the fights about who was to lead. Erys had kept out of it. Let the egos of the other three battle it out. He gave up trying to reason with them and consoled himself by reflecting that it was he who carried the vital cargo. When it came to it, only he had to survive. Everyone else was expendable. He hoped they all went to hell.
It had been the previous dawn that they realised they were being followed. Tracked. There was nothing they could point to. No evidence. But it was there all the same, the indefinable feeling that they were being watched. Perhaps it was a change in the quality of a shadow; perhaps a branch cracked at a quiet moment in the din that was the forest day, or maybe the call of a bird didn’t ring true. Whatever it was, it had destroyed any semblance of order and the day had been little more than a blind rush north.
Heedless of where they had run, they had suffered cut, bruise and sprain. Only Erys, who had seen their charge for what it was, had kept a reasonable pace, kept up with them easily and so avoided injury. The Gods only knew how they had escaped broken bones or snakebite. And worse than it all had been the unearthly chorus of growls, barks, grunts and calls that had echoed from all around them, dimming the rest of the forest din for what seemed like an age. None of them had spoken of it, too scared at what it represented to give voice.
The night had been unbearably tense, but despite the determination of everyone to stay awake because they didn’t trust each other, Erys had slumped into an exhausted sleep. But now he was awake and his heart was thundering in his chest. He tried to quiet his breathing, lay completely silent in his hammock and listened. He turned his head slowly from side to side and in the thin light he could see one of the soldiers lying asleep. From where he was, Erys couldn’t see the other two. He couldn’t hear anything out of the ordinary.
But something had woken him. He was sure it hadn’t been a dream. Erys shuffled out of his hammock, slipping on the wet ground under his feet. A quick look round and he shuddered. There was no one on duty. An eerie quality lay over the camp. Walking quickly towards the nearest of his colleagues, Erys genuinely didn’t know if any of them was still alive, such was his feeling of impending dread.
He shook the soldier’s shoulder and was rewarded with a grunt. He shook it again.
‘Wake up,’ he hissed. ‘Can’t you feel it?’
‘What?’ muttered the soldier, a surly young individual called Awin.
‘Just get ready. We’ve got to go now,’ said Erys.
He hurried across the camp and woke the other pair, whose hammocks were strung close together. Once he’d got them moving, he ran back to his own bed and began to unstring it, his eyes flicking into the forest as the watery light grew in strength. He stuffed the hammock into his pack, checked the wrapped parchments were secure and slung the bag over his shoulder.
Straightening, he met Awin’s eyes.
‘What’s got into you?’ asked the soldier. ‘There’s nothing anywhere near. I—’
He stopped and looked past Erys’s shoulder. The mage swung round and saw it too. A shadow flitting across his vision, fast and low. Erys backed off.
‘Get behind me,’ said Awin, drawing his sword from his scabbard. ‘Trouble, you
two, look lively. To your left. Get a shield up, Erys.’
The other two scrambled to shrug on leather armour and grab swords but Erys didn’t even begin to form the shape for a HardShield. He could see more figures moving. Upright this time. Like darker patches of shade and moving impossibly fast in the dense, overhanging, choking growth. He kept on backing away, his ears roaring with the clamour of his fear, praying that none of the shades were behind him. He’d have turned to look but he didn’t really want to know.
Awin was crouched low, snapping out what he could see as he scanned the dark depths. The others were circling round slowly, swords and daggers drawn, armour untied and flapping. Erys saw the shadows move. He heard a growl. Something black, sleek, low and full of muscle flowed from the forest. It slammed into one of the soldiers whose name escaped him in the muddle of his mind. The scream was inhuman.
Awin and the other soldier ran in opposite directions, the latter stopping suddenly as the forest moved in front of him. Steel glinted and his head snapped back, blood misting into the dawn. Awin saw him go down and ran back.
‘The shield, Erys, now!’
Erys desperately tried to clamp onto some concentration. He knew what he had to do. The shape was simple but its edges kept getting away from him and he had to lose himself before he could save himself. The shape formed. He dragged it together, blotting out Awin’s panicked shouts and the sounds of the sleek shadow ripping the life from a man he’d heard laughing the night before. He cast as Awin turned a despairing face to him. CloakedWalk.
He stepped back and knew by Awin’s expression that he’d disappeared.
‘Bastard!’ yelled the soldier. ‘Coward!’
He was almost crying; he knew his death was imminent. Erys edged further away. Awin turned at more sounds, a whimper escaping his lips. The black cat was gone, returned to the shadows. And from the forest they came.
The Raven Collection Page 185
