The Dreaming Void (20 page)

Edeard thrust his hands out, a motion he followed with his third hand, using his full strength. The arrow burst into splinters before it had covered half the distance between them.

This time it was the forest man who radiated shock into the ether.

“Bandits.” Melzar's call echoed faintly around Edeard, spoken and telepathic. “It's an ambush. Group together, everyone; combine your strength. Shield yourselves. Toran, help us!”

Edeard was scrambling to his feet, vaguely aware of other shouts and adrenaline-boosted emotional pulses reverberating across the forest. More bandits were emerging from concealment. Arrows were being fired. His mind reached for the ge-wolf, directing it with frenzied urgency. There was not going to be time. The forest man had slung his bow to the ground and was charging. A knife glinted in his hand.

A telekinetic shove nearly knocked Edeard back to the ground. He countered it easily, feeling the force slither over his skin like icy fingers. The bandit was trying for a heartsqueeze, an attack method that apprentices talked about in nervous awe when they gathered in Ashwell. Using telekinesis inside someone else's body was the ultimate taboo. Anyone found to have committed the act was exiled forever.

Now a bandit was thundering toward Edeard, knife ready and death lust fevering his mind. His third hand was scrabbling to assail vulnerable organs.

His earlier fear had left Edeard. He wasn't even thinking about the others. A maniac was seriously trying to kill him. That was the whole universe. And as Akeem had explained during their all-too-brief sessions on defensive telekinetic techniques, there was no such thing as a disabling blow.

Edeard stood up and let his arms drop to his side, closing his eyes. He shaped his third hand. Waiting. The pounding of the bandit's bare feet on the forest floor reached his ears.
Waiting.
The man's berserker cry began. The knife rose, gripped by white knuckles.
Wait … judge the moment.
Edeard's farsight revealed the man in perfect profile; he even perceived the leg muscles exerting themselves to the limit as they began the leap.
Any second—

The attempted heartsqueeze ended; telekinesis was channeled to assist the attack leap, to strengthen the knife thrust.

—
now.

The bandit left the ground. Edeard pushed his third hand underneath the airborne figure and shoved, the effort forcing a wild roar from his throat. He'd never exerted himself so much before, not even when Obron's torment was at its worst.

In an instant the bandit's semitriumphant scream turned to pure horror. Edeard opened his eyes to see a pair of mud-encrusted feet sail over his head. “FUCK YOU!” he bellowed, and added the slightest corrective sideways shove to the trajectory. The bandit's head smashed into a bulky tree four yards above the ground. It made a horrible thud. Edeard withdrew his third hand. The man dropped like a small boulder, emitting a slight moan as he struck the ground. The ge-wolf pounced.

Edeard turned away. All his emotions returned with tidal-wave power as the ge-wolf began tearing and clawing at the inert flesh. He had forgotten just how fierce the creatures were. His legs were threatening to collapse under him, they were shaking so bad, while his stomach heaved.

The loud crack of shots ripped across the forest. They made Edeard spin around in alarm.
That has to be us. Right?

There were shouts and cries all around. Edeard did not know what to do. One of the cries was high-pitched: Janene.

“Lady, please!” Obron wailed. His mind was pouring out dread like a small nova.

Edeard's farsight flashed out. Two fastfoxes were racing straight at the weeping apprentice. He had never seen one before but knew instantly what they were. Only just smaller than a ge-wolf but faster, especially on the sprint, it was a streamlined predator with a short ebony fur stiff enough to act like armor. It head was either fangs or horns, and way too many of both. Its hindlimb was thick and strong, allowing it a long sprint-jump motion as the ultimate lunge at its prey.

They had collars on.

Edeard started running toward them and reached out with his third hand. They were forty yards away, yet he still felt their metal-hard muscles flexing in furious rhythm. He didn't even know if they had hearts like humans and terrestrial beasts, let alone where they were.
So forget a heartsqueeze.
His telekinesis penetrated the brain of the leading one and simply shredded all the tissue he found there. It dropped in midbound, its flaccid body plowing a furrow through the carpet of dry leaves. The remaining fastfox lurched aside, its demon head swinging around to try to find the threat. It stopped, growling viciously as Edeard trotted up, limbs bent as it readied itself to pounce.

“What are you doing?” Obron bawled.

Edeard knew he was acting crazy but did not care. Adrenaline was powering him recklessly. He snarled back at the fastfox, almost laughing at it. Then, before the creature could move, he closed his third hand on it and lifted it clean off the ground. The fastfox screeched in fury. Its limbs ran against nothing, pumping so fast that they were a blur.

“Are you doing that?” an incredulous Obron asked.

“Yeah.” Edeard grinned.

“Oh, crap.
Look out!
”

Three bandits were running toward them. They were dressed the same as the one who had attacked Edeard: simple ragged camouflage cloaks and belts with several dagger sheaths. One of them carried a bow.

Edeard sent out a single longtalk command, summoning the ge-wolf.

The bandits were slowing. Consternation began to glimmer in their minds as they saw the furious fastfox scrabbling uselessly in midair. More gunshots rang through the forest.

“Protect yourself,” Edeard ordered sharply as the bandit with a bow notched an arrow. Obron's shield hardened.

The three bandits came to a halt, still staring disbelievingly at the writhing fastfox. Edeard rotated the predator slowly and deliberately until it was pointing directly at them. He was studying the animal's thoughts, noting the simple motivational currents. It was similar to a genistar mind, although the strongest impulses seemed to be fear-derived.
Some kind of punishment/reward training, probably.
The bandit with the bow shot his arrow. Obron yipped as Edeard confidently swiped it aside.

There was another pause as the bandits watched it clatter against a tree. Telekinetic fingers skittered across Edeard's skin, easily warded off. All three bandits drew short swords. Edeard slammed an order into the fastfox's mind, sensing its original compulsions changing. It stopped trying to run and snarled at the bandits. One of them gave it a startled look. Edeard dropped it lightly on the ground.

“Kill,” he purred.

The fastfox moved with incredible speed. Then its hindlimb slapped the earth and powered it forward in a low arc. Telekinetic shields hardened around the bandits. Against one demented predator they might have stood a chance, but the ge-wolf hit them from the side.

“Ho, Lady.” Obron shuddered as the screaming began. He paled at the carnage yet could not pull his gaze away.

“Come on.” Edeard caught his arm. “We have to find Fahin. Melzar said to join up.”

Obron stumbled forward. A burst of pistol fire reverberated through the trees.
It must be from the shooting line,
Edeard thought.
They've come to help.
The turbulent shouting was turning into distinct calls. Edeard heard several apprentice names yelled. Longtalk was hysterical snatches of thought mostly overwhelmed with emotional outpourings; a few raw visions threatened to overwhelm him. Pain twinned with blood was pumping out from a long gash in Alcie's thigh. An arrow stuck out of a tunic, numbness from its entry point spreading quickly. Mud-caked faces bobbed as punches were thrown. Impact pain. A camouflaged bandit was sprinting between trees as the rifle barrel tracked. A fastfox was a streak of gray-black. Blood was forming a huge puddle around a torn corpse.

Edeard ran around to the side of the zebrathorn thicket. “Fahin! Fahin, it's us. Where are you?” He could not see anyone. There was no revealing glimmer of thought in his farsight. “Fahin!”

“He's gone,” Obron panted. “Did they get him? Oh, Lady!”

“Is there any blood?” Edeard was scanning the leaves and soil.

“Nothing. Oh—”

Edeard followed Obron's gaze and caught sight of a bandit running through the woods. The man had a sword in his hand that was dripping with blood. Anger surged through Edeard, and he reached out with his third hand, yanking at the man's ankle, then pushing him down hard. As the bandit fell, Edeard twisted the sword, bringing the blade vertical. The bandit's agonized bellow as he was impaled made Edeard recoil in shock. The man's dying mind wept with frustration and anguish. Then the glimmer of thought was extinguished.

“He was fifty yards away,” Obron whispered in astonishment and no small measure of apprehension.

“Fahin,” Edeard called. “Fahin, can you hear me?” His farsight picked out a tiny iridescent glow that suddenly appeared inside the thicket. “Fahin?”

“Edeard?” the lanky boy's longtalk asked fearfully.

“Yes! Yes, it's me and Obron. Come on, come out. It's safe, I think.”

They both watched as Fahin crawled out of the bushes. His face and hands had been scratched mercilessly; his loose woolen sweater was missing completely. Tacky berry juice was smeared into his hair and over his glasses, which hung from one ear. Amazingly, he was still clutching his physick satchel. Obron helped him up and abruptly found himself being hugged.

“I was so frightened,” Fahin mumbled piteously. “I fled. I'm sorry. I should have helped.”

“It's okay,” Obron said. “I wasn't much use, either.” He turned and gave Edeard a long thoughtful look, his mind tightening pensively.

“Edeard saved me. He's killed a score of them.”

“No,” Edeard protested. “Nothing like that …” He trailed off as he realized he really had killed people that day. His guilty glance stole back to the bandit impaled on his own sword. A man was dead, and he had done it. But the sword had been slick with blood. And the other bandits … would have killed them.
I didn't have a choice.

Sometimes you have to do what's wrong in order to do what's right.

“Can anyone still see or sense bandits?”

Edeard's head came up as he received Melzar's weak longtalk. Obron and Fahin also were looking around.

“Anyone?” Melzar asked. “Okay, then please make your way toward me. If anyone is injured, please help bring them along. Fahin, are you here?”

Somehow, Melzar being alive made the world a little less intimidating for Edeard. He even managed a small grin. Obron let out a whistle of relief.

“Yes, sir, I'm here,” Fahin replied.

“Good lad. Hurry up, please; we have injured.”

“Oh, Lady,” Fahin groaned. “I'm just an apprentice. The doctor won't even let me prepare some of her leaves.”

“Just do the best you can,” Edeard said.

“But—”

“You cured our hangovers,” Edeard said. “Nobody will start mouthing off at you for helping the injured. We're not expecting you to be as good as old Doc Seneo. But Fahin, you have to do something. You can't turn your back on wounded people. You just can't. They need you.”

“He's right,” Obron said. “I think I heard Janene scream. What would her parents say if you walked away?”

“Right, yes,” Fahin said. “You're right, of course. Oh, Lady, where are my glasses? I can't do everything by farsight.” He turned back to the thicket.

“They're here,” Edeard said. His third hand lifted them gently into place, at the same time wiping the berry goop from them.

“Thank you,” Fahin said.

They hurried through the forest toward Melzar. Other figures were moving with them in the same direction. Several apprentices sent panicky hellos via longtalk. Edeard remembered an image of Alcie and the wound in his thigh. It had looked bad.

Toran and the apprentices with pistols had gathered into a defensive group with Melzar. Edeard exchanged a relieved greeting with Genril, who was all jitters. He said he had one bullet left in his revolver and he was sure he had hit at least one bandit. “I got really scared when the fastfoxes charged us. Toran killed one with his rifle. Lady! He's a good shot.”

“You should see what Edeard did,” Obron said flatly. “He doesn't need guns.”

“What?” Genril asked. “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Edeard said. “I know how to deal with animals, that's all. You know that.”

“Just how strong are you?” Obron asked.

“Yeah,” Genril said. “We heard your longtalk right over on the ridge. It was like you were next to me, screaming into my skull. Lady, I almost ducked when that arrow came at you.”

“Does it matter?” Edeard asked. He was looking around, wondering where the others were. Out of the twelve apprentices and four adults in the flusher line, only five had made it back so far, including the three of them. Then Canan the carpenter arrived, carrying an unconscious Alcie. Fahin gave his friend a worried look, seeing the crudely wrapped wound already soaked in blood. His mind started to get agitated.

“Go,” Edeard directed with quiet longtalk. “Do as much as you can.”

“P-p-put him down,” Fahin said. He knelt beside Alcie and started rummaging through his satchel.

Edeard turned back to the forest, sending his farsight ranging out.
Where are the others?
His heart quickened as he detected some movement. A couple of apprentices came running through the trees.

“It's all right,” Melzar said soothingly. “You're safe now.”

“We left Janene,” one of them wailed. “We tried to save her, but she took an arrow. I ran—” He collapsed on the ground, sobbing.

“Nine,” Edeard whispered as he kept his vigil. “Nine out of twelve.”