3 Weaver of Shadow (3 page)

Kormak went out through the door and onto the porch. He rolled over the verandah fence and dropped into the street. Movement on the roof overhead made him look up and he saw that there were figures, elf and spider, there as well. One of them raised a bow and aimed at him. He sprang aside. An arrow thunked into the ground beside him and stood there in the mud, quivering.

Grogan sprang through the door, turned and fired three shots in quick succession. Each was rewarded with a scream or a curse from the roof. Kormak glanced around, trying to assess the situation.

It was bad. The elves had got a long way into the village before someone had managed to raise the alarm. They were moving through the main square, dragging women and children and some of the merchants with them. The captives were penned in by the massive spiders. It reminded Kormak of the way dogs had been used to herd sheep in the Aquilean Mountains in the days of his youth.

Swiftly he ran to the corner of the building and used the carved wooden projections to pull himself up onto the roof. He counted five elves there, two wounded, one possibly dead and a pack of three large spiders. He sprang forward, blade lashing out. The dwarf-forged steel cut through leather armour as easily as it cut through flesh. Two of the elves fell before they realised what was happening. One had lost an arm, another was beheaded.

One of the remaining elves cursed and turned to face Kormak raising his short bow. Kormak lashed out with his blade, cutting the bow in two and slicing open the elf’s stomach at the same time. The last wounded elf, seeing the way things were going sprang from the roof. An arrow took him in the throat even as he fell, and Kormak was left alone with the spiders.

Their bodies were large as a hound’s and their armoured, chitinous legs seemed much more robust than those of a smaller spider, reminding him of jointed metal devices he had seen in alchemical labs. A closer look showed him that their bodies were similarly armoured. Groups of glowing greenish eyes gazed at him with an intelligence he had not been expecting, and a hunger he had. Mandibles the size of daggers clicked against each other. Greenish venom dripped from them.

Perhaps it was his imagination but there seemed to be a pattern in the clicking and chittering of the nearest creature. It was echoed by its companions. Were they communicating with each other?

They spread out so that one of them was coming at him head on and the others angling in from a side. They moved better than he on the uncertain footing of the sloping roof. There was soft thunking noise as they moved as if a dagger were being driven into a cork tabletop.

Something hit the spider on his right, and he realised that it must have gotten into Grogan’s line of sight. It let out a long hissing shriek, and collapsed. The remaining two came on with a sudden fantastic burst of scuttling speed.

Kormak swept his blade through a great arc. Chitin proved no more resistant than elvish armour. He took the head of one spider and carved a leg off another, stepping aside to let its momentum carry it from the roof. The head rolled down the roof, jaws still clicking together. The decapitated body performed a weird, spasmodic dance before collapsing in on itself.

“Grogan, I am coming down,” Kormak shouted, not wanting to take an arrow when he leapt off the roof. He took a quick glance around from his elevated position and saw that pockets of fighting had erupted in the streets, groups of elves and spiders fighting against humans, and the humans getting the worst of it.

“Right you are, Guardian.” Kormak leapt and landed in the soft mud.

Grogan grinned at him. “You picked the wrong day to show up in Green Oaks,” he said.

“Maybe I picked the right one for your folk,” Kormak said. They moved down the street, Grogan pausing occasionally to let off a shot from the great long bow. Kormak raced ahead, charged into a large group of elves, surrounding a small knot of struggling men. His blade took down two of the elves before they realised they were being attacked from behind. He moved through the others with the speed of a striking tiger, killing as he went. With half a dozen blows, he had slain all the elves. The men looked at him gratefully.

“Follow me,” Kormak said. “We can still turn this fight.”

He was not sure they could. In the darkness and chaos it was hard to judge exactly how things were going. For all he knew there could be an army out there. He could only pray to the Holy Sun that such was not the case and do the best he could under the circumstances.

The folk looked only too happy to be given some leadership. They were a motley group of woodsmen, merchants and housewives who had grabbed up whatever weapons were at hand when the alarm had been given. They looked relieved when Grogan came up and told them to head for the inn.

The sight of the first pack of spiders daunted them but they gained heart as Kormak chopped the arachnids down, and Grogan put deadly arrows through their glowing eyes.

They raced on through the streets, smashing into the swirl of melees, turning the tide wherever they went and gathering more fighters to them like an avalanche gaining power as it rolled down a mountainside.

They emerged in front of the Royal Oak and, as Kormak had suspected, found that it still stood. The collection of woods rangers inside had put up a better fight than most of the villagers. They emerged from the building led by Bertram and the men Kormak had almost got into a fight with earlier. A smaller group of elves appeared on the street around them, making strange mocking calls in their liquid tongue, saw the size of the group and turned to flee.

Somewhere off in the distance a horn sounded. It was high-pitched and the notes were haunting and inhuman, rising in pitch until they were inaudible to the human ear although hounds still howled.

The company started to pursue but Grogan shouted, “Careful now, it may be a trap.”

That curbed the enthusiasm for hot pursuit. “I want all the men who have bows to stay with me,” said Grogan. “Those of you who have axes, swords or knives go with Kormak. We’ll fight better that way.”

It took some time to organise things but once it was done, they moved through the streets. The elves had gone. It looked like they had taken a large number of the villagers with them. The streets were empty. Many of the house doors had been smashed in and there was no one visible within.

Kormak led his band to the gate. The watchman was still there, a black fletched arrow through one eye. His warning horn still hung unsounded from his neck. Another was in the gate-tower tower, throat cut. His crossbow was unfired. The body of the elf that had been hanging there had been cut down. A few human bodies lay on the ground between the village and the forest. Prisoners who could not keep up or who had tried to escape, Kormak reckoned. He moved over to one. The body had an odd smell and he could see that one of its legs was bloated. The boy’s trousers had been pierced by mandibles beneath the knee. The venom must have gone in there. Kormak hoped his death had been quick.

Grogan emerged from the gate behind him. “Bastards have all gone,” he said. “Looks like we drove them off.”

“Or they got what they came for,” said Kormak.

“Or maybe that,” said Grogan. He did not sound happy. “Let’s go count the cost.”

CHAPTER THREE

THE SUN ROSE over a very different village from the one Kormak had rode into the previous day. The streets were a lot emptier. Scared and angry men, all armed, moved around in groups.

The corpses of dead spiders lay on the ground. No one wanted to touch them. In the sunlight their armoured carapaces were an oily black. They sprawled in pools of dark fluid with puddles of green venom around their heads. Occasionally a limb twitched, and folk moved away. A few put arrows into the stirring bodies but the spiders just lay there.

The elves were all carried outside the village. This time folk were not going to hang these corpses; they were going to burn them. Kormak inspected a few of the bodies. Most wore leather jerkins and britches, their shirts and headbands were made of a grey silk-like material that he guessed had come from their pets. The arrows for their short bows and their spear tips were all tipped with a poisonous blackish-green paste. All of the elves had tattoos, patterns of webs and spiders and complex symbols that offended Kormak’s eyes, labyrinthine runes sacred to the Shadow.

Grogan walked over to where he stood and studied the pile of bodies dispassionately. “We’ve taken a head count. Fifty folk dead, thirty unaccounted for, mostly women and children.”

“Taken?”

“That would be my guess.” There were others nearby, listening to their conversation. Among them were Bertram and the woods-ranger Kormak had threatened the night before.

“We’re going to have to do something about that,” said Bertram.

The woodsman looked warily at Kormak but he nodded. “We can’t leave little ones in the hands of those cruel bastards.”

Grogan nodded but he said, “There must have been fifty elves here last night, that’s a warband at least. We got maybe twenty of them and we were lucky. They did not expect us to hit back so fast and so hard. We don’t have the men here to beat them even if I take everybody here that can carry a sharpened stick.”

“Then we send out runners with the war-arrow to Silas Springs, Karlston and the other villages, and to the rest of the settlers in the woods,” said Bertram. The sadness had fallen from his face now and he had taken on real authority. “This goes way beyond a few kidnappings. This is a challenge that can be met only with force.”

“That’s what worries me,” said Grogan. “They know what we will do. They must want us to do it.”

“You saying we should do nothing?”

“If we summon a Warmoot, it will draw folks away from the other villages. It will make all of them vulnerable and if we cross the river to punish the bastards we’re marching right into their territory and a Blight to boot.”

“So you are saying we should do nothing.”

Grogan spat on the ground and squinted off into the woods. He spoke slowly as if he was thinking through what he said as he said it. “Most likely by the time the Warmoot is called, the elves will be so far away we’ll never catch them.”

“We can burn their villages,” said the woodsman. He looked angry.

“You want to burn their villages or get our people back?” Grogan asked.

“Both would be good,” said Bertram, not without a certain sardonic humour.

“Then here’s what we do,” said Grogan. “I’ll take the Guardian and all the woods-runners we can round up and I’ll follow the bastards. We might get lucky and take them by surprise. If we can do that we might save some of our folks. We can at least follow their trail and find out where they go.”

He looked at Kormak to see if he agreed with this. Kormak nodded but said nothing. “Meanwhile you send out the war-arrow to the rest of the villages in the strip. Tell them what happened. Call a moot and tell them to get ready for war. May as well send runners to the Lords along the border— they probably won’t help but they may thank us for the warning later. Maybe Baron Enderby will come— he’s always keen enough to seek glory in battle.”

Bertram and the woodsman nodded. “Go tell the folks,” said Grogan. “I want a word with the Guardian. And send out some runners to check the steadings between here and the river. They might have been attacked on the way in.”

They went, leaving Kormak and Grogan looking at the pile of bodies.

“You up for this?” Grogan asked.

“I was going to take a look at the Blight anyway,” said Kormak.

“Good. Because I would be glad to have you along. I don’t like the feel of this at all.”

“Then why go?”

“You saw what they were like. We lost people, more in one night than we have in the past few years. Tensions have been growing with the elves for months and it was going to come to a head anyway. Unless I get them to do this sensibly, they’ll go rushing off into trouble.”

“You’re going to be doing that anyway, by the looks of things,” Kormak said.

“Yeah but at least we’ll be going in as prepared as we can be, and I’ll be taking men who have some chance of hunting elves. And if anything happens to us, the Settlements will be ready to fight. I want you to talk to the hunters about the Blight, tell them what they need to do, what to avoid, how not to get themselves killed. Will you do that?”

Kormak nodded.

“Why are you smiling?” Grogan asked.

“King Brand always said you were the best Ranger Captain he ever had. You still seem to have the habits of command.”

Grogan grinned sourly. “I’m the only Ranger Captain this mob are ever likely to have. Let’s hope I am up to the job.”

Kormak looked at the assembled woodsmen. There were about thirty of them and they were a tough looking bunch, all garbed in fringed leather and buckskins, carrying bows and long vicious hunter’s knives. They stared back at him, some resentfully, some with mocking grins, most with interest.

“I am going to tell you how to save your lives and your souls,” said Kormak. He spoke evenly but in a voice that would carry, the sort he had used before to address men before a battle. “You’re going into a Shadowblight. Some of you have probably been coming and going through it, and think you know what you’re about. I want you to forget that. What’s on this side of the river is a pale shadow of what will be on the other side.”

“Some of us have been across, Guardian. We’ve seen what it’s like.” There were nods.

“Then I want all of you who have been across before to come talk with me after this.”

“Why?”

“I’ll need to check you for the taint of Shadow.” There were groans and mocking shouts from the men who had been across but the rest of the woodsmen were looking at them seriously. Kormak had just made an accusation that could get a man burned in many places, and deservedly so.

“None of us are Shadowbrood,” someone shouted.

“Most likely,” said Kormak, “but it needs to be tested. Or do you have something to hide?”

It was a speech Kormak never liked to make but it had to be done. He could whip these people up into a lynch mob if he had to. They were already scared and suspicious enough.