The first net flew past him toward the pursuing elves. It had come out of a bush – he was sure of it. Had it been meant for him, or them? Hunter did not wait to find out. He turned his mount and rode hard toward whoever was hiding there in the undergrowth. He squinted against the sun. Was it just him, or was the bush itself moving? Its twigs and branches seemed to dissolve before his eyes, leaving… could that be Bandu?
No, he realized at the last moment. It was an elf. He recovered as quickly as he could and swung his sword, but the elf was too fast. He – or was it a she? – ducked his blade and with a single motion sliced off one of the horse’s hind legs. Hunter’s stomach plunged as his mount collapsed under him. Without any stirrups to entangle his feet, he managed to fall from the horse without any of his limbs getting caught underneath. He rose just barely in time to block the elf’s first blow, but the force knocked his sword from his hand. He dropped to the ground as the elf raised the sickle, and then was sprayed with blood when one of his Illweather pursuers rode by, decapitating his aggressor.
Hunter crouched, shielding his head with his hands. What was going on here? Afraid to stand and come within mounted sickle range, he crawled forward on hands and knees to retrieve his sword, looking around and trying to determine what all this meant.
The new elves, the bush elves, were outnumbered and unmounted, but they had caught some eight or nine Illweathers in their nets and were more than holding their own. They were taking advantage of the afternoon sun to dismount and dismember every rider they could find. The trapped elves made even more noise than the ones engaged in battle: they whooped, jeered and shouted advice at their fellows, who seemed to ignore them completely. As far as Hunter could see, none of the islanders had yet been captured in the sky-nets. Perhaps these new elves expected to deal with the humans after the battle was over.
Hunter crawled a little farther forward, still squinting at the scene behind him. To his relief, all of his friends seemed to be alive so far. The horses had not fared as well. One of the ones that pulled the chariot was already dead, with the other uncomprehendingly attempting to drag both corpse and chariot all by itself. Criton’s horse too had been slaughtered, but Criton had been able to fly up into a tree before his attacker could catch him. Narky was still riding an uninjured mount, but to Hunter’s surprise, he soon wheeled it around to help Phaedra. Maybe Hunter’s words had had an influence on him after all.
“Run!” Narky yelled at the children, dismounting beside the chariot. “Run! Get out of here! Make for the Gateway!”
They did as he said, running away on their little legs while Narky helped Phaedra onto his horse. “Go,” Hunter heard him say. “The rest of us will meet you there. At least, I sure as hell hope we do.”
Hunter did not know how many bush elves had started this fight, but now there were only six. The Illweathers were faring little better, however. All but five of them were either captured or dead, though as Hunter watched, one of them rode down and butchered a bush elf to even the score. But Hunter’s eyes were on the two captains.
The Illweather captain’s horse was among the fallen, and she was facing off with her counterpart, their blades flashing. They moved almost too quickly for Hunter to understand, slashing and blocking and parrying and evading. Hunter realized suddenly how lucky he was that the only elf he had had to fight on his own had been a groom. These two were so fast that their movements were a blur.
Then in an instant it was over. The captain of the bush elves made a beautiful cut at the Illweather captain, but instead of parrying the blade, she parried his arm. The bush captain’s arm flew off his body, and a second later, so did his grinning head.
“A rare win, captain,” laughed the head, as it rolled back toward the islanders. “Next time, the pleasure will be mine.”
Hunter jumped to his feet and ran. There was nothing he could hope to accomplish in a fight against speed like theirs. Narky had come to the same conclusion, and was already a few paces ahead of him. Criton flew above, doing his best to stay out of reach. They fled as fast as they could, hoping that the remaining ambushers would buy them just a few minutes before the Illweathers could give chase. Hunter ran, and did not stop for breath.
It did not take long to catch up with the children, small as they were. Hunter snatched up little Breaker as he ran, speeding through the undergrowth with the boy slung over his shoulder. Then, finally, the ruins of Gateway came into sight.
The stones were shrouded in a thick mist, spinning and swirling just as they had done a week and a half earlier when the islanders had fallen through into this world. It was a welcome sight, this time around.
“Bandu!” cried Criton, coming down for a landing. “Bandu, are you still here?”
“I am here!” her voice answered, from somewhere within the mists. “But they catch me in a net now. Where the Goodweathers are?”
“Still fighting the Illweathers,” said Narky. “Is the gate open?”
“Yes,” Bandu wailed, still concealed by the mist. “Take net and open gate is all same thing. But I am in net still here! I can’t go out to you!”
“Wait for me,” yelled Criton. “I’ll find you and get you out of there!”
Hunter put Breaker down and stretched his weary left arm. “She can’t do anything but wait,” he heard Narky mutter.
Criton vanished into the fog just as Phaedra rode out of it, soaking wet. “The gate is open!” she shouted. “I’ve just been to the other side! It’s open! Follow me!”
Hunter looked back and gulped. The other children were still running toward him, with three mounted elves already in pursuit. The Illweather captain rode in the middle, with a male elf on one side and the ethereal Raider Eleven on the other. Their sickles were dripping blood.
“There!” cried Criton triumphantly, shrouded in mist and apparently unaware of the situation, “Now stand up, and – what’s all this you’re – oh no, we don’t have time to worry about…”
“Follow Phaedra!” Hunter shouted at the children. “Narky, you too. I’ll go last…”
Tella had fallen. The poor girl had simply tripped over her own feet as she ran, tumbling to the ground and skinning her knee. Her tumble was so perfectly childlike that in any other context it might have been endearing. Instead, it spelled disaster.
“Go!” Hunter repeated, running toward the fallen girl. “Everybody, go!”
He reached Tella as she was rising unsteadily to her feet, tears in her eyes. “I’ve got you,” he said, sheathing his sword and lifting her off the ground. Then he sprinted back toward the mist, cursing silently to himself. The elf captain was so close behind them now that he doubted he would make it. In fact, he was sure he wouldn’t. What would they do to him? The riddle game probably meant nothing as a protection against their blades, but if it did, he was sure to find out soon enough.
The thundering hooves were shaking the ground beneath him, but he dared not turn his head. He poured his last, desperate energies into his sprint, even while his legs began to feel as if they were made of wood.
A net flew out of the mist ahead, hissing through the air. Hunter ducked as he ran, and it passed overhead. He heard the captain’s cry from behind him, screaming out a furious curse while Hunter’s numbing legs carried him out of the clear air and into the fog. On and on he ran with Tella clutched in his arms, until he could hear the others’ calls once more and felt the sweet rain on his face.