Ilbei Spadebreaker and the Harpy's Wild (49 page)

“The fire!” Mags called. “Sergeant, the fire!”

Ilbei heard her and glanced back over his shoulder. He saw all the harpies in the distance behind her, all the way past the bend in the cavern wall, waiting in their lonely crowd. He got to the creek just in time to dive in. It was shallow, too shallow, particularly given the bulbous nature of his belly, which raised his backside out as he tried to hunker down. He looked up and saw Cavendis only thirty paces from the exit through which the creek ran. Ilbei was another twenty behind Cavendis. The flare of the fire ignited, and the heat came at him in a wave. He rolled away from it, to the farthest side of the creek. By the gods, it was hot.

He fished and wriggled forward, found a slightly deeper trough, and began to roll in it as if he were on a spit.

The fire roared for what seemed a century, and even with his rolling and splashing, and with the water running by cool as it was, he still thought he must be cooking something fierce. But at last the flames went away.

He lay there for a moment panting, the air in the vicinity having thinned dramatically, but realized right away he wasn’t cooked to death. He jumped up, intent on chasing Cavendis into the narrow cave. With his hands bound and a stab wound in his side, the young lord wasn’t likely to outrun Ilbei. But then Ilbei saw he would have little need of pursuit, for Cavendis had fallen not ten steps from the exit. He lay facedown on the cavern floor, his clothes blackened and smoking. Ilbei feared that he was dead. He really wanted that man to go back and face what he had coming to him.

When he got to the downed nobleman, he rolled him over and saw, to his great relief, that he was still alive. He was struggling to breathe, however, and the pain of the deep, seeping burns on his back hurt all the more for having been rolled onto them. Ilbei did him the mercy of pulling the gag out of his mouth.

“I see ya ain’t laughin no more, Your Lordship,” he said. “But I’m glad ya ain’t dead as yet.” Cavendis was too anguished to reply, which was fine with Ilbei, and the stout old sergeant hooked him under his elbow and hauled him to his feet, causing him to groan and teeter on the brink of unconsciousness. “We get out of here far enough, I’ll see that Jasper there reads a spell of healin on ya.” The promise of that kind of relief put the motion into Cavendis’ feet that Ilbei had hoped it would, and soon the two of them were moving through the wave of returning harpy slaves toward the rest of Ilbei’s company.

Jasper looked haggard, clearly in misery, the arrow through his wrist making a cross of his forearm. Kaige had already pulled the arrow out of his own arm and was looking at the cut on Mags’ head. “It ain’t too bad,” he was telling her as Ilbei arrived. “But head cuts bleed bad. Mine did the other day, remember?”

Mags nodded that she did and smiled gratefully up at him. “It doesn’t hurt too bad, so then I guess it’s good news for now.”

“Come on,” Meggins said. “Let’s get out of here. They’re going to know where we are, and near as I can tell, there’s only two ways out of here that don’t require Jasper turning us all into fish.”

“Well, we’re not goin back downstream,” Ilbei said. “Much as I’d like to think we could get around em and go on out that main passage along the river, seems the gods went out of their way to keep us from gettin more than a step down that trail. So, back out we go the way we came in. Come on.”

Meggins was already heading that way, Kaige and Mags right behind. “Let’s go, Jasper,” Ilbei said. “You’ll be all right. We’ll get clear of this here, and ya can read one of them spells on yerself and then another on this here bit of blue-blooded dung.”

Ilbei had seen wet laundry that didn’t droop so bad as poor Jasper did. The forlorn mage looked at his wrist and back at Ilbei, his jaw quivering. Had it been anyone else, Ilbei probably would have shouted at him, or challenged his masculinity, but such things wouldn’t lift the spirits of a lad like Jasper.

“I know it hurts, son, but it ain’t gonna kill ya like them what’s chasin us will if they catch us. So ya just have to eat the misery fer a bit. Come on, now. I know ya can do it. Sooner ya get movin, sooner it will be done.”

Reason and kindness worked as he’d hoped, and soon after, Jasper was moving in the direction of the wall down which they’d first come. Kaige, despite his punctured bicep—much less the long and very recent descent—was already hauling himself up the lowest rope. Ilbei shook his head admiringly as he watched. That was one tough son of the goddess there.

By the time Ilbei and his captive arrived at the base of the cliff, Kaige had reached the ledge and was hauling Mags up after him. She held tightly to the rope and used her feet to expedite the climb. Ilbei took the time to look behind them, trying to reclaim some strength and breath. He saw Ergo the Skewer coming around the bend. Ergo and at least a dozen of the mining men.

“All five hands of Anvilwrath are turned against us, folks,” he called out. “Meggins, get that bow of yers.”

Meggins turned back, saw the problem, and went immediately to work. He hadn’t had time to test the range of the black bow yet, but his first shot showed that its range was marvelous. “Sweet soarin long shots,” Ilbei muttered, noticing the range as well. “That’s the thing fer it! Hold em off, son.”

Meggins fired several shots in rapid succession. He missed the first, but the second and third found targets despite being over a hundred spans away. Ergo the Skewer, nearly skewered by Meggins’ first shot, dropped to a knee behind a boulder near the shadowed wall. Right after, the metallic clank of one of his long steel bolts sparked off the cliff face near Ilbei’s head.

He jerked reflexively, though it would have been too late had the shot angled left a half hand more. He shuddered as he looked down at the long bolt lying nearby. “Well, there ain’t no luck fer the straight player round here, is there? That damned ballista of his has got more range than a trebuchet.”

“More power too,” Meggins muttered between measured breaths. He let go another arrow and sent a man who’d been trying to advance flying back against a pile of rocks. “But I have better arrows.” He laughed, if only one note of it, and then continued with his work. Ilbei glanced at Meggins’ quiver and saw that he couldn’t have more than twenty arrows left.

He craned his neck around and saw that Jasper was already halfway to the ledge that fronted the cave where the harpy’s nest was. The moments that followed were an agony of waiting. Finally, Jasper was up, and Kaige threw the rope back down. Sparks flew near Ilbei’s head again as he tied it to the bindings at Cavendis’ wrists. “Like as not, this won’t be comfortable,” he said, “but I expect you’ll live.” He waved for Kaige to pull their captive up.

Meggins shot one of the Skewer’s compatriots in the chest, the impact hurling him backward several spans. Meggins laughed. “Gods, but I love this thing.” Ilbei ducked behind a rock that only half covered him at best, and he watched impatiently as Kaige dragged Cavendis up the wall. He knew that to speed this along, he was going to have to go up next, on his own, so that Kaige could get to the top.

“Don’t let that bastard shoot me in the back while I go up,” he said, leaning down to Meggins. “And save a few shots fer coverin yerself while I drag ya up after. This ain’t gonna be pretty.” Meggins nodded as the arrow he’d just fired punched a hole as big as his fist through another miner’s head, a perfect eighty-span shot. He hardly had to give it any arc at that range.

Cavendis was up, and Kaige dropped the rope to Ilbei. Ilbei called up that Kaige should get to the top, which the big man immediately set himself to. Ilbei took the end of the rope and turned back to Meggins. “One sec. Raise up yer arms.” Meggins did, leaving off shooting for the time. He jerked his head aside as a steel bolt came whistling by.

Ilbei tied the rope around Meggins’ chest, then made another loop, which he dropped down between the archer’s legs. “Don’t get no ideas,” Ilbei said as he reached down after it and pushed the rope through.

“Aw, come on, Sarge. You don’t even buy me flowers first?” He tried to shoot another of the approaching men, but Ilbei working with the rope behind him ruined his aim. Still, the shot managed to drive the man to cover behind a boulder.

“I’ll kiss ya sweet if’n we both get out of this alive,” Ilbei said. “Just keep shootin, and try to save enough of them arrows to cover yerself goin up. And keep that bastard Skewer pinned down so he don’t nail me to that wall up there like some fat tapestry.”

“I will, but hurry up.”

Ilbei once again set himself to a rope, and with the help of his feet this time, he made quick work of it. Only twice did the long, wicked steel of Ergo the Skewer get close, but neither so much as to give Ilbei pause. By the time he was up to the harpy’s ledge, Kaige was pulling Jasper up to the top. Mags was warily menacing Cavendis with her quarterstaff as the two of them waited beneath the rope. She could lever him off the ledge if he tried anything, but he looked too beleaguered to do much beyond keeping his feet.

Ilbei leaned out over the edge. “All right, Meggins, here comes the hard part.”

“Just get it done, Sarge,” Meggins called back.

Ilbei began the work, drawing the rope taut, which prompted Meggins to stand up in clear view of the Skewer and that infernal crossbow. Ilbei waited until Meggins fired another shot, which sent the Skewer ducking behind his rock, then Ilbei started pulling him up. His arms and shoulders and hands were tired from the excruciating descent down the long vertical shaft, and though he pulled mightily and there was only one person’s weight to lift, he could only pull him up so fast. He kept at it, cursing the fate that had let him think coming down this cliff had been hard not so long ago. The chore was a nasty encore in reverse.

Meggins tried to fire a few shots, but it was hopeless. Ilbei tugging on the rope made it difficult. Meggins’ armor, the rope and his gear snagging on the rough surface of the cliff made it impossible. He bounced along as he went up, turned a quarter turn this way one moment, a half turn the other way the next. Aim was impossible, though he did his best. His next two shots went wide, far wide, the arrows spent uselessly.

Sparks erupted between Meggins’ legs. He cringed. “Sarge, that kiss you promised me might be on the cold lips of a dead man if you don’t get a move on.”

Ilbei pulled harder, but there was still so much farther to go. The other men were running full tilt toward the cliff now, and several of them had ranged weaponry that they could bring to bear from closer range. Two dropped to their knees and aimed crossbows as two more ran up even closer with shortbows in hand.

“Shite. Meggins, swing!” Ilbei called. “Don’t just hang there, move.” He kept dragging up the rope, hand over hand.

He could hear the clatter of all the bolts and arrows sent Meggins’ way even as the rope twisted in his hands, the movement proving Meggins had begun to swing. He didn’t think he had his man even halfway up yet.

Fear for Meggins began creeping in, threatening to distract him from the work, but he breathed deep and kept pulling. He looked around as he did, seeking inspiration, praying to Mercy for it.

It occurred to him that while his arms were tired and slow, his legs were not. “Hang on,” he shouted. He gripped the rope tight, then ran, sidestepping across the ledge until it widened enough that he could square his hips and run full on. The moment he came even with the harpy cave, he darted in, sprinting for its depths and dragging the rope up behind him. The rope buzzed as it slid over the lip of stone, and Meggins came up and over so quickly that he rolled twice before coming to a stop. Ilbei, his piston legs still driving, was not ready for the change in drag, and he shot forward, plunging headlong into the dusty puff of the dried-out dung nest. He crashed into it, raising a putrid cloud of gray powder, and with it, the furious screech of the harpy, Miasma.

She leapt upon him with the reflexes of a beast, and her long, taloned hands wrapped around his throat so fast he had no time to react. He couldn’t see her for the choking dust cloud and only knew it was her for the terrible shriek, the flapping sounds of her wings and the stench. He blinked and gasped and groped behind his back trying to reach for her, but she beat down upon him with her wings, the bones in them like cudgels battering his arms and ribs. The wind she stirred threw up more of the cloying powder, further blinding him, and he sucked it in with each gasping breath, choking on it. The power of her grip was incredible, and soon he wouldn’t be able to do even that.

“Back off, harpy,” Meggins snarled from behind Ilbei. His bow creaked as he drew it back. “Let him go, or I peg you to the wall.” He advanced slowly, with balanced, measured strides, and the tip of that black arrow pointed right between her eyes.

She recoiled at the sight, whether of Meggins or of the bow, they’d never know, but she scrambled back and crouched defensively in front of her eggs, her arms out, her wings spread to hide them.

“Get up, Sarge, let’s go.” Meggins’ voice was calm, but the urgency was apparent.

Ilbei crawled out of the crumbled heap of dung as quickly as he could. It gave way like dry rot beneath his knees, worse than crawling in sand. But he got out. He stumbled to his feet, still half-blind, his whole body coated with the stuff. Choking, he stumbled past Meggins, who backed away after him.

The harpy jumped from her nest, and just as she had before, she approached them in a low crouch, ready to plunge at them, ready to sweep them over the edge with those wide, powerful wings.