Elfsorrow Part 47

Order dissolved into chaos. Aeb turned and dived for Denser and Erienne, scooping them and the Familiar up and diving headlong away from the fire as the FlameOrbs seared in. The Unknown rolled left, coming up quickly and slicing his dagger into the arm of a Xeteskian swordsman who hadn't been quick enough to adapt. Thraun and Darrick simply charged into the enemy, looking to confuse and spread mayhem. Ren loosed off another shaft and ran into the night.

The Orbs splashed down just beyond the fire. Denser, the Familiar shouting curses into his ear and dragging its talons down his face, was covered by the body of Aeb. Erienne was crushed beneath them both but safe from the flame that spattered across the campsite. It smeared over Aeb's back, eating into his leather, burning the skin where it touched. He rolled away, grunting in pain, tearing at his jerkin straps while the fire ate through to sear the flesh beneath.

Denser grabbed at the Familiar, rolling aside to let Erienne free, punching upwards blind and feeling his fist meet the demon's head again and again. It yowled but didn't stop, its tail raking down his arm, a fury of thrashing limbs and scything talons and teeth as the pair rolled on the scorched earth.

And then, incredibly, Aeb was there. Bare-chested, his axe in one burned hand, his other reached down to grab the Familiar at the back of the head and wrench it clear. Denser felt the talons gouging at him as it was torn free and heard Erienne's voice close to him.

'Aeb, hold it still, keep it still.'

Denser looked round, wiped a film of blood from his eyes and saw Aeb holding the Familiar at arm's length while it boiled and heaved in its desperation, calling for its master.

'Too late, you little s.h.i.t,' said Erienne, and she clamped both hands over its skull. FlamePalms erupted from them and blazed through its head, killing it instantly.

Aeb threw the body away, helped Denser to his feet and ran back into the battle, the Raven mages right behind him.

The Unknown saw a mage crumple ahead of him in the act of casting another spell and breathed a sigh of relief. He charged into the swordsmen defending him, delivering his sword overhead and through the shoulder of an unprepared man, rotating on his weaker left leg and kicking into the stomach of the other.

Pain from the old injury flared briefly and he landed unbalanced, barely getting his sword up to block. The Xeteskian was good and quick, moving to The Unknown's left, seeing it was his weaker side and forcing the attack. The Unknown fielded blows on dagger and sword, looking for an opportunity, but didn't need it. An arrow took the man clean through the neck as he backed off to compose himself and Ren ran past, nocking another.

The Unknown turned, searching through the dark for The Raven. Hirad and Darrick were together, Ilkar behind them, casting again. They were facing three swordsmen and a mage. The Unknown watched as Darrick disarmed one of them, disembowelling him with the return strike. Hirad leaned in and headb.u.t.ted his nearest opponent, following up with a punch to the nose and his sword across the man's chest. He turned far more quickly than the third man was expecting, switched his sword to his left hand and jabbed it forward, slicing through his neck. The two Raven men advanced on the doomed mage.

The Unknown ran back towards the fire and Aeb. The Protector, with Denser and Erienne in his wake, his axe in both arms and his back covered in burns, savaged into the two men attacking Thraun. The shapechanger was only just keeping them at bay but Aeb changed all that, unleashing a blow of shocking power that divided one of the enemy in two from left shoulder down to right hip. He hung together a split second, eyes wide, and fell in a ma.s.s of gore. The other disengaged and ran. He didn't get far. Thraun was far quicker, clattering his blade through the enemy's lower back.

It was over. Hirad and Darrick quartered the field checking the bodies of the Xeteskians, quick thrusts killing those that still breathed. Aeb, at Denser's instructions, came back to the fire. The Unknown followed them, as did Ren and Thraun.

They had been lucky. Very lucky. The Unknown wanted to know how they had been found and attacked so easily and there, still trapped beneath a log by the fire, was the route to the answers. Damaged by FlameOrbs but still spitting and cursing was the surviving Familiar.

The Raven gathered around it.

'See to Aeb, will you?' said The Unknown to Denser. 'I'll ask this some questions.'

'His master is dead,' said Denser. 'He's fading but still dangerous. Don't let him up.'

The Unknown nodded and knelt by the creature. It stopped its squealing stream of abuse and fixed its gaze on the big shaven-headed warrior.

'Sol,' it hissed, dragging out the word.

'Yes, Sol,' confirmed The Unknown. 'And you are dying.'

'Soon,' said the Familiar, its voice like a rake over gravel. 'Let me up.'

'I don't think so,' said The Unknown. 'But maybe I will if you answer me truthfully.'

The Familiar's hairless head pulsated, veins throbbing. It spat into The Unknown's face. 'Traitor.'

The Unknown wiped the fetid spittle from his cheek. 'No. We did not start this.'

'We will finish it. Raven will die.'

'How did you find us?'

The Familiar chuckled. 'You know already. Your allegiance is your weakness.'

'Aeb,' he said, and the Familiar smiled, its fangs revealed, slicked in blood. Its tongue licked out. 'Why do you want to kill us?'

The Familiar coughed. It was fading quickly and its voice was weaker now. 'You would stop us. Take what we need . . . Not allowed.' It was struggling for words. 'There will be more.'

The Unknown watched the fury in its eyes dim as its heart failed. 'You will not beat us.'

'We hold the power.' Its head fell to the side and it breathed its last.

The Unknown stood and looked at The Raven, Darrick, Denser and Aeb all with wounds. Aeb's looked bad. Denser had blood running from his face and Erienne was seeing to him while Ilkar moved his hands slowly over Aeb's burned back. The elf's hands were shaking.

'Are you all right, Ilkar?'

He nodded through his concentration but didn't look round. 'I'm just tired. I don't like losing spells suddenly. It drags at the reserves. I'll be all right.'

'We've got to get on. We need to find secure rest and we have to get into Xetesk tomorrow night. Something tells me we've run out of time.'

From the corner of his eye, he saw Ilkar nod.

Chapter 42.

Yron waited and waited. He threw the windows of his chambers wide to let in the fresh air, he paced the room, he ate from the fruit bowl on a side table, he plunged his head into the cold water of his wash bowl. He played word games in his mind, he fenced against the full-length mirror, polished his already gleaming axe and holster. Anything to focus his mind, sober up and stay awake.

He waited while the college quietened and the last of the revellers staggered to their chambers. He waited while the servants cleaned the banqueting chamber, cleaned the table and mopped the floors. He waited until the deepest depths of the night. And only then did he slip from his room, rough travel cloak covering his new clothes, cleaned leather and glittering axe holster, and into Erys's room.

The mage was lost to sleep, flat on his back and snoring gently. A smile played on his face and his arms were flung wide across the luxurious bed. Yron placed one hand over Erys's mouth and shook him hard awake. The mage's eyes flew open and his hands scrabbled at Yron's in sudden panic, only relaxing when he saw the captain's smile. Yron removed his hand.

'Don't worry. Just me,' he whispered. 'Get up.'

'What the h.e.l.l is going on?' Erys hissed. 'It's the middle of the b.l.o.o.d.y night!'

'I'll explain while you dress. We've got to do something. Now.'

Erys frowned and pa.s.sed a hand over his head, breathing out heavily. 'Is this your idea of a hilarious joke?'

'No,' said Yron sharply, dragging the covers from Erys. 'Now get up. And you'd better be able to cast.'

'I'll see what I can do. Never tried it after so much wine.' He sighed and heaved himself from the bed, heading for the wash bowl. He poured a jug of water over his head. 'So what's it all about, Captain?'

Yron told him, and by the time he had dressed Erys looked both awake and stone cold sober.

'You are with me, aren't you?' asked Yron as he walked to Erys's door.

'I can't be a party to genocide, unwitting or not,' said Erys.

'I thought not. Now, Dystran will have taken the thumb to his chambers.'

'You'd better hope not. Have you any idea how many Protectors guard him up there?' Erys jerked a thumb upwards.

'Don't worry about it,' said Yron.

'Don't worry about it? Are you crazy? It only takes one, unless you've got an even better axe arm than I think you have.'

'Just show me the way.'

Erys closed his eyes for a heartbeat and led the way from his chambers into the silence of the Tower. The two men walked back past the banqueting and audience chambers, down the darkened corridors that made up the wide base of the Tower and back towards the main doors.

Before they got there, Erys directed them down a left turn, through a curtained entrance and around another sharp bend and into a small oval chamber. The walls were lined with benches and hung with portraits of Lords of the Mount long dead. Directly ahead of them, in front of an intricately carved heavy wooden door, stood a pair of Protectors, silent and unmoving.

'You'd better be right about this,' said Erys.

'Have faith, boy,' said Yron.

He walked forward, feeling none of the confidence he hoped he was exuding, and stood before the Protectors. For one hideous moment he felt their hostile eyes sizing him up and thought he'd got it all horribly wrong.

'You will not harm him,' said one, and the pair turned away, their backs forming a pa.s.sage to the now unguarded door.

Yron turned the handle and opened the door inwards, its travel silent on oiled hinges. He beckoned the open-mouthed Erys on and began to climb the spiral stair in front of him. It was carved from a pillar of marble and set on the western side of the Tower's central shaft. Above, six levels ending in Dystran's private chambers. Below, entrance to the catacombs and labs and the pa.s.sages that criss-crossed under the college.

'How did you organise that?' said Erys.

'I didn't,' said Yron. 'I'll explain later.'

Taking every step gently, his boots ghosting the surface, Yron climbed, refusing to let himself think about where he was or what he was doing. His heart thudded in his chest, his palms were damp and his breathing was shallow and rushed. His limbs were shaking and his muscles felt weak. He forced himself to go on, one step at a time.

They pa.s.sed level after level. At each one, a Protector stood on a tapestry-hung landing in front of a door to a set of offices, personal audience chambers or guest rooms. Each masked man stood silent, watching them pa.s.s and making no move to interfere.

'This is suicide,' whispered Erys.

'And if we don't, it's genocide,' said Yron, pleased at his clever response.

Finally, they stood at Dystran's door and it all came home to him. He, Captain Yron, was about to enter the most private chambers of the Lord of the Mount of Xetesk, Balaia's single most powerful man, and steal a prized treasure. He shuddered the length of his body as the pair of Protectors moved a pace aside to allow him entry.

'Just the thumb,' he whispered. 'Nothing else.'

Centre stage of the big open room was Dystran's curtained bed. To the left, a screened-off washing area, to the right, wardrobe and dressing areas, and at the foot of the bed, the prize. Yron saw it immediately and held out an arm.

'Stay there,' he said, voice barely audible. 'Keep the door open.'

Erys nodded and Yron stepped delicately into the room, his boots soundless on the thick rugs that covered the stone floor. On a table flanked by tall candle stands, on a silk-covered dish, rested the thumb of Yniss.

Sweat ran into Yron's eyes and he wiped it away, smearing his palm against his cloak. He leaned over the table and reached out a quivering hand. He swallowed hard and picked up the fragment, finding its touch cool and comfortable. He took in a grateful breath and slipped it into his pocket. He turned to smile at Erys but the look on the mage's face froze him where he stood.

He was looking to Yron's right. The captain twisted his head as far as he could and peered out of the corner of his eye. The curtains around the bed were moving. A long slender leg appeared, followed by the rest of a naked woman. For two glorious paces, she moved directly towards the screened-off area and then, as if feeling their eyes upon her, she stopped and turned gracefully towards them.

'Oh s.h.i.t,' breathed Yron, and he moved, fast.

She was going to scream. Reflexively, she covered herself with her hands and arms, drew in breath and opened her mouth wide. Yron's punch took her square on the jaw and she staggered back, falling dazed to thump against the floor, head bouncing on the rugs. She yelped once and lay still.

A groggy voice sounded from inside the curtains and they moved again. Dystran's head appeared. He took in the woman sprawled on the ground and Yron standing over her and very close to him.

'Oh, no,' said Yron.

'What the fu-'

Yron's fist swung again, swiping into the side of Dystran's head. The Lord of the Mount grunted and sprawled but remained conscious.

'Erys, get in here. He needs to sleep very deeply.'

Dystran dragged the curtains aside.

'Guards!' he barked, before Yron got a hand over his mouth.

Erys was casting as he came, Protectors only a couple of paces behind him. A touch from the mage and Dystran stopped struggling and slumped. Yron laid him down gently and faced the two masked warriors, both of whom had axes ready.

'He's not hurt. Just sleeping. Please.'

'Your time is short,' said one. 'Run.'

'See me go,' said Yron. 'Erys.'

Yron sprinted from the chamber, Erys a beat behind him, and clattered down the stairs.

'Erys, which way at the base?'

'Dystran'll have a pulse out. The college will be waking,' said Erys.

'Don't tell me how bad it is; tell me how we get out.'

'Straight through the front of the Tower and head right to the long rooms. Let's go for the west gate.'

Yron nodded. It made sense. They could lose themselves in the artisans' quarter of the city more easily than anywhere else. He leaped the last step, slid by the Protectors in the oval room and kept on going, rounding the bend, tearing the curtain aside and racing towards the front door of the Tower.

As he headed across the marble entrance hall to the door, it opened and a pair of mages strode in. Yron ran straight at them while they dithered, shouldering one aside hard, sending him crashing into a wall. There was a crack behind him as Erys straight-armed the other.

They burst into the night, seeing torches and lanterns waving all over the college grounds as their holders ran towards the Tower. Going right, they raced round the base of the Tower, Erys dragging Yron right again and down the side of the first long room. Erys now leading, they turned behind a lecture theatre, along the side of the refectory and into the press of narrow pa.s.sageways around the barracks and stables. Beneath a stone stairway to a hayloft, they stopped to catch their breath.

All around them, sounds of pursuit echoed in the dark. Harsh voices organised search parties and doors banged open near them, feet clattering down stairs and across cobbles.