by Alex Janaway
‘Doesn’t look alright, does it?’ said Larsen sourly. ‘Where are the rest of your crew? Is this it?’
‘I sent the rest to find where the wood elves were headed. Turns out I reckon they came this way.’
‘Do you think it was the same group?’
Killen did the math. ‘I wish it was. But I don’t think so. The movements don’t make sense.’
‘That makes two search parties. Is there any reason to think there are more?’
Killen sighed. He looked at the beacon. What should they do? The beacons were meant to be lit as a warning that the enemy was coming, that they had to withdraw. If they lit this thing too early it would tell the enemy right where to look. Light it too late and it might mean some of their people getting trapped by the advance. This was the problem. The wood elves were light troops, they could range anywhere through the Highlands.
‘Killen?’
‘I’m not sure, Larsen. Are they finally coming?’
‘Honestly? I don’t know. The eagles never spotted them. But that doesn’t mean anything, there is too much ground to cover. Owen isn’t here. We must make this choice. For all we know, other beacons have already fallen.’
And that was what worried Killen the most. Their existence was always on a knife edge. And retribution was always going to come, no matter what Owen believed about fighting them to a standstill. The enemy was never going to just choose to give up.
Killen stood and extended a hand to Larsen, the tracker taking it and grimacing as he regained his feet. ‘That seals it, then. We light the beacon. At the very least we’ll see if the others have been hit.’
‘Best get it going then,’ Larsen said. ‘Here, Breege, come and give me a hand.’
Killen watched the two Highlanders enter the shelter. After a few moments Larsen emerged, carrying a small bucket, behind him the woman Breege was carrying kindling wood. The bucket, he knew, carried pine pitch, a perfect fuel for lighting the beacon. Larsen looked into the pile of wood, nodding when he found what he was looking for and manoeuvred the bucket into a void between the branches. Breege passed him the kindling wood. Larsen stacked it and stood back as Breege set to lighting a flame with flint and tinder. Larsen pointed at the seated camels.
‘You might want to move those.’
Good point. ‘Hassan, Fatima, let’s get the beasts up and ready to go.’
‘That one isn’t going anywhere,’ said Fatima, joining him and pointing back at Karl. ‘Not walking anyway.’
‘Get him on to my camel. If he survives that ride, he’ll live through anything.’ Killen left them to it and headed to the clearing edge, looking out for Abbas. He walked down a little way before the scout appeared, jogging up the slope.
‘See anything?’ Killen asked.
Abbas made a face.
‘Nothing, but the trail our friends left will be easy to follow. And, I don’t know …’ He shook his head ‘Something feels …’ He struggled to find the word. ‘Khati. Wrong. I can read the sands and rocks of Erebesh. These forests are new to me. I am still learning their ways. But it feels like the trees are holding their breath.’
‘That feels reassuring,’ muttered Killen. ‘Come on, get your camel ready to ride. We are leaving.’
The returned to clearing. Everyone was either mounted or on their feet, except Larsen who was back on his knees by the fire. After a few moments he stood and joined Killen. ‘It’s lit. Once the pitch gets going, there’ll be no putting it out.’
‘Good. Time, we withdrew. Which way do we go?’
‘Head for Harald’s Foot, it’s the nearest path into the mountains proper. There are other ways the wood elves can go, but if they are following us, it’s a good place to pull them to.’
‘Fine. Northwest, I presume?’
Larsen nodded. ‘I know this land best, I’ll take point.’
‘Good enough. Everyone, we are heading out. Stay alert, weapons ready.’
Killen stood by as first Larsen then his people exited the clearing. Hassan, Karl and Fatima, plodded behind, Abbas lingered.
‘Major?’
‘I’ll be along in a minute.’
‘As you wish.’
‘Oh, Abbas, keep watching our rear.’
The scout nodded and guided his camel away.
In the silence that followed, Killen could hear the crackling of flames. Wafting through the piled wood, there were tendrils of grey smoke.
‘That’s it then.’ He gave the clearing one last inspection, spotting a small platform built into the branches of a tree on the eastern edge. Ah, a lookout point. Should have thought of using that.
He turned and walked away.
Killen jogged along, passing Abbas and drawing up next to Hassan. The lad looked down. ‘You can ride with me, Maj–’
An arrow struck Hassan clean in the chest. He looked down in surprise, sword falling from his hand. Then fell forwards.
Killen starred in disbelief.
No.
The moment drew out for what seemed like an age. Then voices pushed into his head. He barely realised it was him that was shouting. ‘Ambush! Cover, get to cover!’ Others were shouting too. Larsen was on one knee, drawing his bow. Fatima was shooting from her saddle. Karl was keeping his profile low and had the presence to roll himself off the camel and fall to a heap on the ground. Breege and the other Highlander had both found places behind trees. Another arrow whizzed by Killen’s head and he threw himself on to the ground behind a thick moss-covered branch, which lay embedded in the soil. Another missile skittered over the edge and cartwheeled away. Killen swore. This was not a good place to hide. He crawled towards a wide-trunked tree and quickly took to his feet even as an arrow passed over his left shoulder. Where were they? He stuck his head around the edge, towards the direction of fire. Larsen was down. Fatima was no longer on her camel. Shit. Who was left?
‘Can anyone see them?’ he shouted.
‘No!’ replied Breege.
Shit. Killen needed more information. How many of them were there? If he couldn’t see them his people couldn’t engage them. And worse than that, if they stayed there, the bastards could flank them. Shit.
He realised he was unarmed, and he pulled his sword free. There was nowhere to run to. All that was left was to go forwards and see if he could find an elf to kill. A movement to his left caught his eye. He turned and there was a wood elf, just six feet away, his bow drawn, and an arrow aimed right at him. He felt himself shrink. It was over. The wood elf fell forward, the arrow flying wildly into the canopy. Another arrow was embedded in its back. Abbas was behind him, already nocking another arrow.
‘I stopped one coming around on the left,’ he said calmly.
Killen felt a rush of energy. That was their flanks cleared. ‘Cover me.’ He started running full pelt towards Larsen. He passed Breege, who taking his cue, was on one knee and loosing into the tree ahead. The other Highlander, a hand axe drawn, fell in beside him. He ploughed on, desperately looking for someone to fight. A blur of motion and a wood elf stepped out from the trees, looking to shoot. An arrow flew into its eye and it fell backwards. Another wood elf appeared and shot, and Killen’s companion let out an ‘oof’ as he took a hit, his momentum carrying him forwards before he fell. And then Killen was upon the wood elf, punching his blade clean though its chest. He fell forward on to the elf and they collapsed together. He rolled off the body just as a spear stabbed down and into the torso of the dead elf. Killen looked up at a wild-haired sharp-toothed face, daubed in red paint. It howled at him. He threw himself into a roll, hearing the thwack of the spear into the ground inches from him. The hand axe lay discarded, almost in reach. He scrambled forwards. A crash on the back of his breastplate hurled him into the ground. He tasted dirt, but felt his hand tight around the handle of the axe.
Pushing off, desperate to regain his feet, he smacked into a tree, pushing instinctively as he spun to face his pursuer. The spear was already coming at him, as the wild-faced elf clos
ed.
He twisted, hearing the metallic screech of a blade on his breastplate, and swung his axe back-handed. The axe hit home, the blow jarring his arm as the wood-elf screamed and scrambled back. Killen gripped his weapon two-handed and brought it down into the elf’s neck, through hands now raised to fend him off.
Blood fountained from the wound as the elf collapsed. Killen looked down at it – a female.
Was that it?
Another wood elf barrelled into Killen and he fell backwards, the axe flying from his hand. The wood elf fell upon him, and all Killen he could see were wide, hate-filled eyes, a gaping mouth, pointed teeth and drooling spittle. He tried to push it away, to keep those jaws from his neck. The wood elf lunged forward and clamped its teeth into his forearm. Killen screamed, from anger or the tearing pain, he did not know. He yanked his arm free and pushed his thumb into the elf’s eye. It howled, its hands clawing at him, scratching his face. Killen closed his eyes and thrashed his head from side to side. He pushed deeper, giving voice to his rage.
‘You fuck. You fucker!’
Killen felt something give way beneath his thumb and the elf released its vice like bite, pulling away. Killen opened his eyes, saw the blood pouring from the open maw, the flesh stuck in its teeth. He forced the elf off him and scrambled backwards. He searched for a weapon, a questing hand finding a broken piece of branch. Before him, the elf shook his head, regaining its senses. Where the Hells were his support? Killen got to his feet and the elf stood to meet him. Its left eye a ragged red mess, its cheek streaked with fluid. ‘Come on!’ Killen shouted, trying to give himself courage. Two white-cloaked figures appeared, falling upon the screeching wood elf. Their sabres rising and falling, hacking at the defeated creature. Killen felt a wave of relief as more figures emerged from the trees. Despite the horror, he started to laugh. He looked at the ragged wound on his arm, a chunk was missing, and strangely it didn’t hurt. Sadad hove into view. ‘Better late than never, Sadad,’ he chuckled.
‘Major? Have you cracked your head?’ asked the scout.
Killen dropped the branch and wiped his eyes.
‘Just happy to see you.’
Then he remembered.
‘We need to check the others.’ He turned purposefully and walked back towards the camels. They had not bolted, they were too well trained for that. Other scouts were already there, coaxing the camels down into a sitting position. He ran to Hassan. The lad was sprawled on the forest floor. He placed a gentle hand on Hassan’s shoulder. ‘Hassan, can you hear me, lad?’
There was no response.
He gripped harder and pulled Hassan over and on to his back. The arrow had taken him in the centre of his chest and had snapped in the fall, so that only a few inches were sticking out. Hassan’s eyes were closed, but his mouth had formed a small ‘o’ like he had been surprised. Killen brushed some dirt from the scout’s face. ‘Hassan, Hassan, wake up. Wake up, you idiot.’ He reached out with his left hand and cupped Hassan’s head. A line of blood trickled down his arm, across his thumb and pooled on to Hassan’s cheek. Killen’s vision blurred as ears started to form. One dropped and landed near the blood, merging with it and running away. ‘Ah, shit! Bastard bloody shit!’
‘Major?’
Killen lowered Hassan’s head, and wiped his eyes. ‘Yes?’
Sadad loomed over him. ‘Major, the Highlanders are all dead, except for the one on your camel, but he is unconscious. There are two arrows in its saddle.’
Of course there were. ‘Larsen is gone?’
‘Yes.’
‘Shit. And our casualties?’
‘Fatima is dead,’ said Abbas, as he walked across to join them.
Sadad grimaced but continued. ‘The trail we followed turned north. If we had been quicker, we could have stopped this ambush.’
Killen waved it off. ‘I was the one who ordered us to split. I bear the responsibility.’ He did, it was his fault. Sadad and Abbas both inclined their heads slightly in respect of his words.
‘The beacon has been lit,’ said Sadad, pointing to a break in the canopy.
‘Yes. And the camp has been lost.’
‘They are coming then.’
‘I believe so. Where there are two parties, there may be more.’ Killen gazed across the ambush site. ‘We must leave, it is not safe here.’
‘And our fallen?’ asked Abbas.
Killen had not even thought about it. ‘Yes. We must bury them. At least, we must cover their bodies.’
‘That is good,’ said Sadad. It was the Erebeshi tradition to bury their dead and say prayers of passage. The Imperial Church had tried to change those rites, but his scouts had always ignored that particular edict. Sadad turned and started to shout orders.
‘I will clean and bind your wound,’ said Abbas.
‘What? Oh, yes.’ There was no stitching that hole. It would be a nasty scar, that’s if it wasn’t infected.
After Abbas had washed it out and bound it with boiled cotton, Killen walked around the perimeter. He checked his wound. The cotton was already starting to stain red. He turned his attention to the skirmish. They had left the elves where they lay. One had an arrow in its mouth. It was one of Larsen’s. The Highlander had died with four arrows buried in him. Tough old bastard. He counted ten dead elves. Sadad assured him none had left this place.
Fifteen minutes later he climbed back on to his camel. Karl had been moved on to Fatima’s. He did not look good. He turned to inspect the row of five very shallow graves that their dead now occupied. He touched his fingers to his forehead and then to his heart, before speaking the tradition words of farewell. ‘Your life begins in Paradise.’
And I am sorry.
He raised his hand.
‘We move out.’
The camels fell into line, one after another.
After three hours, they emerged on to a bare hillside offering them a wide view of the eastern foothills and lower peaks. Killen looked southeast. The beacon was clearly visible, its black and grey smoke rising high though windless air. But were there others?
‘Major, look.’ One of his scouts pointed to the north, obscured by several peaks, another beacon’s smoke signal climbed high. The chimney looked thin, like a strand of hair.
‘How far away is that?’ he asked.
‘A long way,’ said Sadad.
‘There should be some closer ones.’
Sadad did not respond. There should be. The beacon they had lit was the most southerly. He just hoped that anyone still out there would see the signal and head back in.
‘Come on,’ he ordered. They had to pull back and regroup. They were exposed out here, the wood elves were in their element and running into another search party could wreak havoc on his remaining troops. He could not afford to, could not bear to, lose anyone else today. Not this day. Yes, regroup. Back at Harald’s Foot they could regain the advantage. They had prepared for this eventuality.
It was late in the day, and the dark was already pooling in the passes and trails among the mountains. Only those who knew them well would dare travel in the black of night, when the skies were clouded and the moon hidden. It said much for the mindset of wood elves that they chose to continue on. Either they were brave or foolhardy, or so confident of their own abilities. Killen suspected it was a mix of all three. He had counted four riders appear at the top of the trail before his eyes failed him in the waning light. And where there were four …
It was clear the elves had been tracking them – the trail a camel left was as obvious as it was unusual. All to the good, they had counted on it, in fact.
He felt a tap on his shoulder and he leaned back behind the boulder.
‘Did you see them?’ whispered Anneli.
‘Yes. But I don’t know how many.’
‘I counted ten.’
Huh, younger eyes. Or maybe her eagle’s.
‘Alright, pass the word.’
She nodded and sloped off. It was a relief to have her here. When
they had arrived at Harald’s Foot, a day after their costly skirmish, they had found the place deserted. Killen had despaired a little. They could find their way back to Eagle’s Rest eventually, but it didn’t feel right not having a Highlander with them. How many were dead, back on the eastern approaches? And then as the sun had started its game of hide and seek behind the western peaks, her eagle had swept over their position. Some of his people had even cheered. Though for her part Anneli had wept when Killen had told her the news. Larsen had been like an uncle to her, he’d looked after her since the scouring of the Highlands and their retreat into hiding. Still, she had rallied to help them.
Killen shifted position to get his back against the boulder, it moved a little from the pressure and he eased back. She was probably not thinking about it. Like he was doing. He brushed shoulders with the scout next to him. ‘Ready, Misha?’ A barely perceptible nod. He took the hint, best to stay quiet. There were three more boulders to his left, all chocked underneath with smaller rocks to help with their tipping point, all concealing scouts. Just beneath them was the narrow trail that wound between the opposite steep-sided slope and Harald’s Foot. Killen had to take it on faith that the rock they were on was shaped like a foot. The Eagle Riders insisted that from above the mountain’s base flattened and spread out and the gaps between it and the other slope looked like toes. And here they were, perched on those same toes.
He heard a slight scratching sound. Then it was gone. A few seconds passed and then a horse whickered, just below where they were. A whispered voice. Then a stone knocking against the side of the passage wall. This was as good a moment as any. Killen put his shoulder to the boulder and pushed. Misha leant her strength. The boulder, already dangerously balanced, quickly rolled forward. It fell over the edge making a loud ‘whumping’ sound just as several shouts preceded and followed it. A high-pitched shriek pierced the air, as the other boulders dropped into the passage. Horses were panicking, and someone was screaming. There was shouting coming from the end of the foot, the clash of arms. Killen pulled his weapon free and crouched low.
