Bleda chopped through a raised hand, severing fingers, and then swung his sword into the meat between neck and shoulder. Another blow from Bleda crunched into the man’s skull and he toppled lifeless to the ground.
A twist of Bleda’s knees, guiding his mount between trees as another foe leaped at him, a woman with a short-sword in her fist. Their blades clashed, the woman’s hand grasping at Bleda’s surcoat as she tried to heave herself up his horse’s side. Bleda hacked into her arm, above the elbow, and she fell backwards, blood jetting. A command and twitch of Bleda’s reins and his horse was rearing, hooves lashing out, punching the woman in the chest and face and she was crashing to the ground.
There was a moment’s lull as Bleda looked around, trying to make sense of the chaos surrounding him. He had ridden deep into the forest, a wild, heedless charge at first, cutting down all those that were running before him. His line of warriors was broken by trees and melee combat as many of those they had chased into the darkness had turned and resumed their fighting. Bleda blinked, straining his eyes, the gloom restricting his vision to less than thirty or forty paces. He was not even sure what direction would lead him back to the road.
A horse swept past him, Ellac upon its back, a sword in his one hand, a buckler of iron strapped to his other. He was hacking at enemy either side of him, a spear-wielding man closest to Bleda.
Bleda urged his horse forwards. The spear-man heard his approach, twisting and stabbing his spear up, into the chest of Bleda’s horse. The animal screamed, stumbled, Bleda feeling it shudder beneath him, biting as its forelegs collapsed, taking a chunk of flesh from the enemy’s cheek even as it died.
Bleda fell from the saddle, threw himself away before the horse could roll and pin his leg. He staggered to his feet, saw the spear-man coming at him, blood gushing from the bite on his face, the weapon stabbing for his gut. Bleda stumbled backwards, slashing wildly at the spear, caught it a glancing blow, deflecting it a little so that the spearhead stabbed into Bleda’s side, the plates of his lamellar coat holding, turning the strike harmlessly away.
And then the man’s head was gone, a severed stump erupting blood. The body fell to its knees and toppled to the ground.
Tuld was peering down at him from atop his horse.
“My thanks,” Bleda grunted.
Ellac joined them, his sword red to the hilt.
They had been left behind in the melee, distant shadows and muffled cries, the three of them seemingly alone in the twilight world of Forn.
Then something changed in the forest around them.
It seemed to get darker, as if night were falling, and yet Bleda knew it could not even be highsun yet. A darkness swelled in the gloom, like a black thundercloud rolling across the ground, deeper within the forest, enveloping the last shadows of those Bleda could see fighting.
Screams, high and shrieking.
They spoke to Bleda of terror, rather than pain.
“I do not like this,” Ellac muttered, his sword pointing at the darkness. His horse danced, ears back.
And then a figure appeared from the gloom, exploding out of the dark cloud that filled the forest before them. A man, no weapons, grey and gaunt, clothing tattered and hanging in strips. Its eyes were shadowed wells, lips thin and blue-black, teeth razored and glinting.
Bleda felt the urge to turn and run.
The man-thing saw them, changed its course and ran at them.
Tuld’s horse reared, Tuld falling backwards from his saddle, the horse lashing out with its hooves at this new creature. Bleda heard the distinct sound of bones splintering as hooves connected with the newcomer’s chest and shoulder. It flew backwards, rolled. Was still. And then it began to climb to its feet, one arm hanging limp. There was a series of juddering snaps as bones and joints struggled to support its weight, yet still it managed to regain its footing. It looked at them, and lips drew back in a parody of a smile.
It ran at them again.
Tuld’s horse bolted, the Sirak warrior stumbling to his feet, Bleda moving to help him.
Tuld swung his sword, perfectly timed to connect with his attacker’s neck, but somehow it swayed, Tuld’s strike whistling harmlessly over its head, and then it was on him, slamming into Tuld with no thoughts of defence.
They rolled, Bleda running to reach them, Tuld’s blade rising and falling, chopping and cutting into the creature’s arm and back. And all the while it was biting Tuld, jaws unnaturally wide, crunching down onto whatever part of Tuld presented itself. His arm, his shoulder, hand, the side of his head.
Tuld was screaming.
They rolled to a stop, Tuld’s sword arm flailing, Bleda reaching them, stabbing down with his sword into the creature’s back. Bleda felt flesh part, his sword-point slipping through ribs into the vital parts of a human’s body. He twisted his blade and wrenched it free, felt ribs snap.
The creature’s jaws fastened around Tuld’s neck. A savage shake of its head, and dark blood was jetting, Tuld’s sword dropping from his fingers.
Bleda screamed his rage, hacked two-handed into the creature’s neck, cutting almost to the spine.
It rolled off of Tuld, the Sirak warrior’s blood drenching its lips and lower jaw, and it seemed almost to float back to its feet.
The drum of hooves and Ellac was there, chopping down at the creature. It swayed, lightning-fast, Ellac’s sword slicing a chunk of flesh from its shoulder instead of hacking into its head.
“Get out of here,” Ellac yelled, and Bleda wanted nothing more than to obey, to turn and run as fast as his feet could carry him.
But this thing had just killed Tuld. His oathsworn man.
Bleda raised his sword, chopped into its side, then drew his arm back and stepped into a lunge, his whole body weight behind the blow, stabbing the creature through its belly, his sword-point punching out through its back.
It looked at Bleda then, a dark malice leaking from its eyes. Then it grabbed the blade of Bleda’s sword and began to drag itself along it, towards Bleda, its jaws chomping and gnashing in some kind of paroxysm of fury or hunger.
Ellac was still hacking down at the beast, rocking it, but having no other obvious effect.
And then there was a rushing of wings, Riv appearing, her sword slicing into the creature’s neck, once, twice, three times. The head rolled away and bounced on the ground as the thing collapsed. No expected jet of blood burst from the creature’s severed stump, just a thick, pale, porridge-like substance. Bleda ripped his sword free and continued to hack at the corpse as it slumped to the ground, where it twitched and spasmed on the forest litter, fading to tremors, a shudder, and was then still.
“What in the Otherworld was that?” Riv snarled.
“I don’t know,” Bleda said, breathing heavily. “But it came from there.” He pointed with his sword at the black cloud that was rolling closer, filling the forest.
“Quickly,” Riv said. “Your mother needs you.”
“What?” Bleda hissed, a knife blade of worry twisting inside his belly.
More figures emerged from the dark, the same hollow eyes, thin lips and unpleasant-looking teeth. Five, ten, a score, more shapes shifting into focus behind them. They saw Bleda, Ellac and Riv and moved towards them, breaking into a run, frighteningly fast.
“RUN,” Ellac yelled, guiding his horse in front of Bleda. He raised his sword and buckler at the rush of creatures swarming towards them.
Riv swept Bleda up into her arms and kicked the rump of Ellac’s horse, sending it bolting.
“Get back to the road,” she yelled at Ellac as she leaped and beat her wings. “Gather all you can—Erdene needs you.” And then Bleda was being carried through the air, Riv twisting and turning, weaving through the trees and speeding towards the light that was growing somewhere ahead.
And more importantly, away from those things behind us.
They burst out into daylight, Bleda blinking.
The roadside was littered with the dead, the acolytes that Bleda had repelled. A handful of Sirak horses were grazing on the roadside, riderless. Bleda looked up and saw the skies above were worryingly clear. The aerial war between Ben-Elim and Kadoshim had drifted a long way down the road, back towards Drassil.
The sounds of battle banished any more thoughts.
To Bleda’s right he could see the backs of a host of Ferals.
“What’s going on?” Bleda said.
“I’ll show you,” Riv said, hoisting him into the air.
The road spread out beneath him. The Ferals he’d seen released from their cages were now only paces away from Erdene’s warband. The Sirak had formed into a stationary circle, arrows launching out, because their path of retreat along the road had been blocked by another wain and cage. Its gate had been opened, another swarm of Ferals rampaging along the road towards Erdene.
She is finished. Ferals attacking from east and west, north and south blocked by the forest. And there is no escape beneath the trees, not after what I’ve just seen in there.
Even as he looked, the Ferals that had been released first were slamming into Erdene’s warband, a deafening crash as they ploughed through men and horses, the Ferals snarling, biting, clawing in a frenzy as they finally caught up with their prey.
A raucous cheering from the skies drew Bleda’s gaze into the distance. To his horror he saw that the Ben-Elim were breaking, wheeling away and trying to disengage from the Kadoshim and their half-breeds. Through the chaos he glimpsed white wings speeding westwards, those that could, Kadoshim jeering and whooping their victory.
They are abandoning us.
Cold rage at the Ben-Elim’s betrayal and a deeper fear for his mother filled him.
There will be no help from the Ben-Elim, the cowards.
The only hope is to punch through the Ferals to the west and retreat towards Drassil.
“Riv, put me down,” Bleda said, and she dropped to the earth. Bleda ran for one of the Sirak horses and vaulted into the high-fronted saddle, tugging on the reins and guiding it towards his mother.
Ellac burst from the trees, scores of Bleda’s guard at his back.
Bleda grinned to see them. He spurred his horse onto the road, Ellac and the others falling in behind him, spreading to either side, and as one they broke into a gallop towards Erdene. Towards a sea of Ferals.
Bleda took his bow from its case, reached for arrows from his quiver and then he was leaning into the high front of his saddle for balance, loosing arrow after arrow after arrow into the backs of the Ferals, Riv swooping above, her bow in her hand, loosing at large knots of Ferals. They howled and screamed, reaching, tearing at the pain in their backs. Some dropped to the ground, pierced countless times, others turned, enraged, and ran at Bleda and his remaining guard.
One Feral sped ahead of the rest, running low to the ground, almost on all fours, its distended long arms raking at the road. And then it was leaping into the air, its wide jaws a red maw, claws reaching for Bleda’s throat.
Bleda leaned in his saddle, drew and loosed, putting an arrow into the Feral’s eye, little more than the fletching left visible. It spasmed in the air, a convulsion of limbs as it died, crashing to the ground and rolling in a heap.
Bleda galloped past it.
And then they were too close for arrows, Bleda’s bow slipping back into its case, his sword hissing from its scabbard, all those along his line doing the same. They crashed into the rear of the creatures, hooves and horseflesh pounding, trampling, mangling the first line of the musclebound beasts. Bleda and his guard lay about them either side with their swords, hacking and chopping, sending great bloody gouts trailing through the air. Then they were slowing, the press and heave of bodies crushed together halting their advance. Ferals twisted to face this new foe, tearing at Bleda and his warriors. Bleda dug his heels into his horse, hacked and stabbed, but still he could not break through to his mother’s warriors. He could see them, hear his mother’s voice as she bellowed at her enemy, but there were too many.
A Feral climbed up a dying horse and leaped at Bleda; in mid-leap Riv crashed into it, sending it hurtling back to the ground, a red wound in its chest. She swooped back up, hovering above them to loose more arrows into the Ferals.
We cannot break through to my mother. And there is another mass of Ferals beyond her.
Bleda felt his hope dying, vowed to sell his life as dearly as he could. Close by, he saw Ellac reel in his saddle, claws from a Feral opening up red wounds across his face.
And then horns were blaring, from within the trees to his left. Cheren horns.
Uldin.
He saw riders appear, bursting from the treeline: Cheren warriors with their bows in their fists, hundreds of them. Uldin rode at their head, and Jin at his side. They thundered across the open space between the forest and road, and hope flickered in Bleda’s heart.
We may yet break through, with the Cheren at our side.
Bleda’s eyes met Jin’s and she smiled at him, a cold, fierce thing.
And then the Cheren ploughed into the flank of Erdene’s warband and began cutting down Sirak warriors, screaming their battle-cries as they killed.
And his mother’s words returned to him, from that day on the weapons-field in Drassil. She had leaned close and whispered in his ear.
Never trust the Cheren.