Honored Enemy (8 page)

between the fort in the centre and the woods. An arrow skimmed past, kicking up a slushy spray of snow. He spared a quick glance at the fort. Dark forms lined the wall, bows raised. It was the Forest Demons, their distinctive visage clearly visible. Never had he seen so many of them and at such close quarters; before it had always been a furtive glance, a half-seeing as they drifted nightmarelike through the woods.

Asayaga had scouted this place several times over the last year and knew its layout. At the north-west corner a trail entered the clearing, leading to a fort taken by his command in the spring. It was four leagues to that place.

It would most likely be covered but it had to be tried. The east was Kingdom territory and impenetrable marshy ground for several leagues, a death trap. Straight north was the route to the realm of the Forest Demons, rocky game trails through high passes, a death trap as well.

Asayaga headed for the trail that might be either a trap, or a path to safety and then he saw someone stagger out from the trail clutching his chest, blood pulsing from between his clutching fingers. Stunned, he slowed to a stop as the dying person looked at him with blank eyes and then collapsed.

He stopped, not sure for an instant what to do next. He looked to his left, directly into the woods. Perhaps it was better to go that way rather than take the trail, for obviously something was covering that trail.

He started to run again, and his men following. Within seconds they were closing on the edge of the clearing and then a shower of arrows snapped out from the treeline, dropping half a dozen of his men.

Asayaga, sword held high, charged for the woods, praying that he could take one of his tormentors with him.

Dennis Hartraft stared into the eye of the archer poised not fifty paces away. The dark elf had his bow fully drawn and aimed. Remarkably, though, the moredhel had cracked a frozen branch when he stepped out from behind the tree to shoot – he must have been a relative youngster to make so basic a blunder.

42

It was, at best, a second of time since Dennis had heard that crack.

Time distorted and slowed; he saw the tips of the fingers relaxing, releasing the taut bowstring. Pushing off from the tree, he kicked backwards, eyes still fixed on his stalker. He saw the snap of mist breaking away from the bowstring, the blur of the arrow, the stinging brush of the feathers as the shaft creased his face.

He hit the ground, rolled across the trail, slammed up against a boulder. Two seconds, maybe three, had passed. He was on his feet, saw the elf flinging back his cloak, exposing a quiver.

Instinct drove him forward. In a single bound he vaulted the narrow stream, landed hard, slipping on the icy slope, then started up the rise, reaching for the dagger at his belt. The moredhel had the arrow drawn from the quiver, was reversing it, fitting the nock to the string.

Dennis sprinted forward, lost his footing on an ice-covered boulder, slipped and fell, nearly dropping his dagger, and came back up to his feet. The dark elf was drawing his bow and he knew he had lost the race.

Snakelike he lashed out with an underhand throw of the dagger.

The spin was off, the dagger striking the elf in the chest, hilt first.

But the impact startled him, he lost his grip on the bowstring and the arrow snapped off, missing Dennis.

Dennis leapt forward even as the dark elf dropped his bow and reached for his own dagger. Dennis dived in, catching the moredhel in the chest with his right shoulder. The pain to his old wound shocked him but he heard his foe grunt as well as the wind got knocked out of him.

The two fell together in a tangled heap, Dennis clutching at the dark elf ’s arm, preventing him from drawing his blade. They grappled, rolling on the ground. The moredhel attempted to cry out; Dennis clamped his hand over his mouth. The moredhel bit down and Dennis clamped his jaws together to cut off his own cry of pain.

The two rolled back and forth on the slushy ground, kicking and clawing in a primal fight for survival. He caught a glimpse of his foe’s eyes – so strange, so like Tinuva’s, yet different, filled with fury and murderous rage.

43

As if from a great distance he heard shouts, but all his world was now focused on the dark elf, who writhed like an enraged serpent as he sought to escape. They rolled again, Dennis on top, faces only inches apart. The moredhel head-butted Dennis in the face. The blow stunned Dennis, blurring his vision.

They rolled down the slope and crashed into the icy creek. Dennis lost his grip and felt the moredhel break free of his grasp and draw his dagger. The moredhel’s arm snapped up. And then he moved with a spasmodic jerk. An arrow had slammed into the dark elf ’s chest, going clean through his body. A mist of blood exploded from the elf ’s back.

With a gurgling cry the moredhel staggered to his feet and started to run, blood pulsing out. Dennis gasped for breath and caught a glimpse of Tinuva standing up on the trail, already drawing a second arrow, tracking the moredhel, but then held his shot as the Dark Brother staggered into the clearing.

Tinuva relaxed his grip on his bow and looked down at Dennis.

‘Move now!’ Tinuva hissed.

Dennis, his heart pounding, shoulder aching, came to his feet and started up the slope to Tinuva’s side.

‘Trap, we’re in a trap!’ Tinuva announced.

As he gained the trail he caught a glimpse of the dying moredhel collapsing and confronting him, the column of Tsurani. There had been only one Tsurani, and now there was near on a hundred and he realized that his struggle with the moredhel must have dragged out for several dangerously long minutes.

Too much was happening too quickly and he leaned over, gasping for breath. The shock of his fight and near death was having its impact and he fought down an urge to vomit. Tinuva grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him back off the trail.

‘The moredhel net is wide,’ Tinuva said quickly. ‘They are waiting on the trail, two hundred yards from here. Ambush prepared. ‘They didn’t know we were near and the one you killed was one of their flanking scouts. They will find us in a few minutes, crossing the trail we made in the snow. Gregory sent me back to tell you.’

At that same instant he saw that the Tsurani were turning, shying away from the trail and heading straight into the woods in the 44

direction where his own men were concealed. The move triggered a response: a shower of arrows snapped out from the forest.

Damn!
Now
we
are
revealed
.

He sprinted up the slope, Tinuva bounding forward by his side.

Ground that had taken minutes to cover before he crossed in seconds.

He caught a glimpse of Alwin Barry and a dozen of his men poised around the boulders firing down on the Tsurani. Several of the Tsurani had their alien short-bows out and crouching behind the stumps of trees in the clearing, were shooting back.

Horns now echoed all around them. From the east side of the clearing he saw dark-cloaked forms, a hundred or more charging, while others poured out of the fort. More were coming up from the south. It was chaos. He needed to think clearly, but the smashing blow to his head from the dark moredhel still had him stunned.

Looking down at the Tsurani he saw one of them barely a hundred feet away charging, sword held high. There was something vaguely familiar about him, an enemy he had faced before.

‘Stop fighting!’

The booming cry echoed through the forest. It was Gregory, running hard, coming through the woods. He leapt onto the boulder they had hidden behind earlier and extended his arms wide so that even the Tsurani in the clearing could see him.

‘Stop fighting! Dark Brothers are closing in!’ Gregory shouted. ‘We settle our differences later!’ Then he said something else and Dennis recognized it as Tsurani. ‘If we fight one another, we die! No honour in throwing our lives away!’

The Tsurani warrior leading the charge slowed, then came to a halt.

Gregory said something else and pointed back across the clearing.

‘Those we call the Dark Brotherhood are upon us in strength.’

The leader turned and looked.

Gregory’s words forced Dennis to focus his attention.

I
am
in
command
, he remembered, and he felt a flicker of anger towards Gregory overstepping his bounds yet again, and yet again being right.
If
we
and
the
Tsurani
fight
now,
we
all
die
. He turned the anger on himself.
I
should
have
grasped
this
immediately;
Gregory
realized
it.
Jurgen
would
have
too
.

45

He turned about in a full circle, judging sound, distances, ignoring the Tsurani. He saw a line of horse-mounted warriors emerge from the trail that headed south, one of them holding a banner aloft –human renegades serving with their moredhel masters. Dennis felt his stomach knot; the only time the moredhel hired mercenary cavalry was when they were mounting an offensive; they had no use for humans otherwise.

A dozen or more trolls swarmed about the standard-bearer like dogs about to be unleashed for the hunt. Others on foot were pouring out of the forest from the far side of the clearing.

Main
force
there
, he realized.

From behind, to the west and north-west he heard horns. The blocking force on the trail were spreading out and closing the net.

If
they
delay
us
even
for
a
few
minutes
the
mounted
riders
and
other
fell
creatures
accompanying
them
will
close
in
for
the
kill
.

It was obvious they planned for a fleeing force to turn and go up the trail, and straight into their doom.

To the north, nothing, only a few sentries. Arrogant of them: it was the way back to moredhel territory and they had left it open.

North then, it was the only way out!

He looked back to the clearing again, and the Tsurani were already gone, moving rapidly to the north. All he could see were their retreating backs.

Damn them, they were suppose to be the diversion and now he was the diversion instead!

Furious with himself he held a hand up, circled it then snapped it down and set off at a run, his men following.

He bounded back towards the trail to Mad Wayne’s, praying that perhaps the Tsurani had taken that turn and stumbled into the moredhel’s trap.

He hit the edge of the trail and without hesitation jumped down.

Within seconds his men were sliding down around him.

He looked down. No Tsurani tracks.

Damn! They had slipped out some other way.

A man next to him, Beragorn, was an old veteran. He grunted and turned, clutching at his stomach where an arrow with black feathers quivered.

46

Out of the mist he saw them coming, half-a-dozen moredhel. More filtering through the trees to either side of the trail. Instinctively he crouched, and an arrow snapped overhead. More men were sliding down onto the trail, turning, ready to fight.

No.
In
a
minute
those
in
the
field
will
close
in
.

‘Alwin! Block force. Then across creek!’ he shouted. ‘The rest of you, follow me north!’

He hesitated for a second, looking at Beragorn who was down on his knees. He reached for his dagger, to do the task any friend would do for a comrade when the moredhel were closing in.

Damn, his dagger was lost.

He glanced at Beragorn, whose eyes were glazing over as he fell backward against a bole. Taking a breath, Dennis seized the shaft sticking out of Beragorn’s stomach, and with a single push, jammed it up into his old comrade’s heart. The man stiffened and died.

Dennis sprinted off the trail, leaping the creek and running up the slope where he had fought the moredhel sentry.

This time his footing held. He looked back.

The tail end of his command were just now crossing the trail.

Alwin had heard him, calling out half a dozen men who stood to either side of the trail, their first volley of arrows slowing the dark elves’ charge. A couple more men went down from a return volley. He caught a glimpse of Tinuva leaping the stream, landing, turning, bow drawn. He let fly, aiming back towards Brendan’s Stockade. It was a long shot, yet it dropped a horse at the head of the trail, throwing the rider. Gregory sprinted past him, dodging through the trees.

‘Follow Gregory!’ Dennis shouted, pointing the way.

He waited a few more seconds, grabbing the shoulder of a man who started to slip back down the slope, pulling him up and over. It was the priest. He shoved him forward, screaming at him to run. He was about to shout for Alwin to break but the sergeant knew his business. The six men holding the trail leapt down to the stream and bounded across. Archers to either side of Dennis gave covering fire, killing two of the moredhel who tried to follow. Tinuva raced past, his retreat clear signal enough to withdraw. Riders were on the trail. Out in the clearing hundreds of the enemy were swarming in. But what of the other enemy, 47