Greendaughter (Book 6) (21 page)

“We hold our mates and children as dear as you do yours,” Sharl said. “Anything we can do to protect them will be done, I promise you.”

“If what you say is true,” Val said, extending his hand, “my mate and I will be honored to fight at your side.”

Sharl raised both eyebrows, then smiled his charming sideways smile as he clasped Valann’s hand. “A fair beginning,” he said.

Chapter Fourteen

Chyrie wakened to a tug on her thoughts, wincing as dull cramps seized her belly. Remembering that she had left Jeena’s potion on the table with the wine, she started to sit up, when the cramping became a sharp stabbing pain. Her gasp brought Val instantly awake, and before she could even speak Jeena was at her side.

“What is it, little one?” Jeena asked, already sorting through her bag of herbs. “Is it the old pain?”

“This is sharper,” Chyrie gasped as she felt the stabbing again. “I feel as if I would tear open.”

Jeena dropped the bag and laid both hands over Chyrie’s belly, her face tight with concentration. At last she shook her head.

“My children?” Chyrie whispered, her eyes wide, dreading Jeena’s answer.

“Nothing is awry with your younglings,” Jeena said quickly. “It is what they are doing to you that is not well. The two of them together are growing too quickly for your body. One of them, the male, is already quite large.”

“What can be done?” Valann felt the tautness of Chyrie’s belly. “She is already swollen as big as most of the women who are ready to bear.”

“There is nothing else for it,” Jeena said, shaking her head again. “It will take clever healing to allow her womb to expand farther, and it may need to be done again before she bears.”

“Is there nothing else to be done?” Valann protested. “That will doubtless speed her unborn children further each time it is done.”

“I see no alternative,” Jeena said, examining Chyrie again. “She is too far in her pregnancy to be potioned to lose the younglings, even if she would consent to such—”

“Which I would not,” Chyrie said firmly, gritting her teeth as pain ripped through her again.

“—and not far enough in her pregnancy that the young ones would survive if cut from her body,” Jeena continued, giving Chyrie an absent nod. “There is nothing else to be done.”

Val glanced reluctantly at Chyrie, who nodded permission.

“Do what you must,” Chyrie told Jeena. “But please do it quickly. Dusk is calling me, and for him to call at such an hour must mean dire tidings indeed.”

“I will show you what to do,” Jeena told Valann. “This is subtler work than you have done.”

This time, despite Jeena’s skill, Chyrie barely choked down a cry of pain. For a horrible moment she thought she would surely burst asunder, and her unborn children thrashed vigorously, worsening the pain, but at last they quieted and some of the terrible tightness in her womb eased.

“She could bear at any time now,” Jeena said worriedly. “I like it not. The male is very large indeed now.”

“Help me to the window,” Chyrie murmured to Valann when she could trust her voice again. Valann quickly lifted her and carried her to the window, and Jeena spread a fur on the stone sill for her to sit on.

(There you are,)
Dusk thought relievedly as soon as she touched the brighthawk
. (I feared some harm had come to you. You must tell the human lord to stand in readiness. There is a force of humans passing the forest with great speed and determination. They have been passing for hours upon hours now, but at first they were far to the east and we did not see them. I myself was alerted by a beast-speaker in Fir Grove, and they are far to the south. A part of their number is attacking the north edge of the forest even as we speak, but others are passing by unheeding. They are numerous as the stars in the sky. Why would they pass us by unless they are bound for the city?)

(I will tell Lord Sharl,)
Chyrie thought quickly.
(But how fare the elves to the north?)

(I will show you, if you can bear being bounced from beast to beast as a stone skips across the water,)
Dusk thought
. (I have worked with the other beast-speakers, and they will help to move our thoughts from beast to beast across the forest. Join your thoughts firmly to mine, and this time I will be your wings.)

Chyrie nerved her resolution and obeyed, strengthening her link to Dusk and simultaneously relinquishing her hold on the brighthawk. Abruptly her awareness of the brighthawk spun away; with a dizzying rush, it seemed she touched a dozen minds, seeing briefly out of the eyes of Dusk’s owl, a night-hunting weasel, a ringtail, a night warbler—finally she settled into yet another owl, this one soaring over a horrible scene below.

It was difficult to sort out the rapidly moving bodies; it seemed to Chyrie that a fleshy river of humanity flowed inexorably around the forest’s edge, the pounding of their feet causing a rumbling that rivaled the thunder. They ran as silently as an army of that size could, making no cry, speaking no word to each other.

Chyrie had had but the briefest glimpses of her assailants at the altars, and had had little enough inclination or opportunity to examine the corpses later; these barbarians, however, shocked her to inner stillness.

Like the elves, these humans wore leather, not the woven-fiber cloth the humans of Allanmere took such pride in. The leather these humans wore, however, were crudely cured furs clumsily stitched together to form garments of a sort. Many of the barbarians wore grisly ornaments—strings of teeth and bones, dried or fresh fingers or ears, and cords of strung human scalps, some still relatively fresh. Both the humans themselves and the clothes they wore were caked with filth and blood from previous battles.

There was nothing primitive, however, about their weapons. Flashes of lightning flickered on steel swords of amazing length and breadth, steel-tipped spears, and huge broad-headed axes. Others carried huge studded clubs, maces, or mauls. A few carried heavy, stout bows that awed even Chyrie—who could possibly draw such a monster? None wore armor or carried shields such as Chyrie had seen on the guards and soldiers, but many wore helms of a sort, crowned with the skulls of hideous-looking beasts.

Some bore wounds from previous battles, untended and often festering, but if their wounds pained them they made no sign. As Chyrie watched, one of the barbarians, his arm nearly severed, faltered and finally fell; the others ran on, ignoring him as they ignored the owl circling above them.

The scene shifted again, and now Chyrie looked down through the sharp eyes of a pale gray treefox, and this scene was by far more appalling than the last.

Elven warriors scrambled from one tree to the next to fire their arrows or hurl spears. Several, recognizable as predominantly Dawn’s Edges and Silvertips, but also a few other clans, lay dead on the ground. In a few places the elves fought the barbarians hand to hand, but for the most part the elves kept their distance as best they could, relying on their quickness, superior night vision, and the shelter of the trees against the savage strength and fearless determination of their attackers. It was apparent, however, even for the short time Chyrie watched, that the barbarians were driving the elves inexorably backward into the forest.

Dusk and Chyrie jumped dizzily again, and this time, for the first time, Chyrie looked out through Dusk’s own eyes. He was in Rowan’s speaking hut, gazing down at a map similar to the one that had been sent to Sharl.

(These areas are presently under attack,)
Dusk thought, indicating the Dawn’s Edge, Silvertip, and Little Creek lands
. (Already the Dawn’s Edges are being driven back from their lands. Soon they will have no choice but to abandon them altogether.)

(What of Wilding?)
Chyrie asked quickly.
(They are only a little southeast of Dawn’s Edge and Silvertip. How do they fare?)

(I cannot say,)
Dusk told her soberly
. (We have no beast-speaker in their lands, no contact with their Gifted One. Their refusal to accept our aid was final.)

(But only a portion of the army is attacking the forest,)
Chyrie thought confusedly.
(Why do they not all attack, or pass us by altogether?)

(My supposition is that they wish to pass through the forest, rather than around it,)
Dusk thought,
(but are not so determined that they will commit their forces, knowing that there is a clear path to the city around the forest’s edge. They do not follow any logical pattern of attack that I can imagine. Occasionally they still try to burn the forest, which is foolish if they wish to pass through or either hunt or gather food. It is inevitable, however, that they will win through in time if the attacks continue. We can pick them off with spear or arrow from the trees, but they come faster than we can kill them, and unlike our arrows and spears, their numbers seem endless. Once they come near enough to use their swords, their strength makes them formidable opponents. We will attempt to take captives for questioning, but even if we can understand their language, their ferocity is such that taking any alive will be very difficult. We can only hope that the main force passes us by soon.)

(I will warn Sharl immediately,)
Chyrie thought
. (If they are as far south as Fir Grove, Sharl’s watchers will soon see them, and there are not many hours to prepare. I will be waiting for further tidings from you.)

“What is it?” Val asked when Chyrie’s eyes cleared, but the tautness of his expression showed that he already knew. The other elves in their room had gathered quietly around, waiting fearfully.

“The army is coming,” Chyrie said. “The first forces of it, at least. They have already reached Fir Grove. Others are attacking the northeast clans. There are no tidings of Wilding. We must tell Sharl, that he may alert his soldiers and begin to prepare.”

Val called the servants instead and let them summon the High Lord and High Lady, and Loren as well, to meet them in the great hall, and to have food brought for them all. When the servants had gone, Val and the other elves, silent and frightened, helped Chyrie dress—her belly had now grown to an unwieldy size and she had to borrow a tunic from one of the larger Brightwaters—and he and Jeena helped her down the long halls and stairways to the hall. Sharl and Rivkah were already there, still in their night robes, and a sleepy Loren soon stumbled in as well.

Sharl listened grimly to Chyrie’s tale, then unfolded his map and had her show him the areas Dusk had indicated. Chyrie described the weapons she had seen the barbarians carrying, and their amazing numbers, and the swiftness of their pace. Sharl sent a messenger to fetch his commanders before he turned back to the map.

“They have no armor,” Sharl said slowly. “No ballista, no trebuchet, not even a siege tower or a ram—or if they do, it’s coming later with the main force. No crossbowmen. That’s good news, I suppose. But just the fact they’ve made it this far means they’ve succeeded without those things—through sheer numbers, most likely, or perhaps their mages are more powerful than I’d thought. I’ve gotten no messages from the north for a long time now. Their close-range strength will be formidable, and a good part of our troops are only half-trained farmers or herders. If they breach the wall or the gates, we’ll be in serious trouble.”

“They’ve got the few bows, and anything as stout as what Chyrie described will have a good range,” Rivkah mused. “But the battlements are complete in most places. Our first line of defense—bows, crossbows, your heavy machines, and my mages—will have to make a decisive strike, and we need to keep them at a distance as long as we can, at least long enough to take the measure of their mages and plan our defense.”

“I’ve had the moat widened and deepened,” Sharl said, “and we have a goodly number of barrels of that foul, sludgy stuff from the swamp that burns so well. We’ll pour it into the moat as soon as we take up the bridge, but even so, there isn’t enough to burn for very long. We’ll hold off lighting it until some of them actually try to cross, for maximum effect. Past the moat are pits filled with wooden spikes, and we’ll scatter caltrops there as well. Both the spikes and the caltrops have been coated with the poisons the elves have been sending. That should keep them back a little longer. But you’re right, Rivkah. Our strength is going to lie in our ranged attacks, and we’ve got to keep them off the wall as long as we can.”

He turned to Rivkah.

“I want you and Loren on the watchtower,” he said. “Valann and Chyrie with you.”

“Jeena should be with us,” Valann said quickly. “She should not be far from Chyrie.”

“I’m sorry, but I need Jeena at the wall,” Sharl said, indicating a spot on the city map. “She’ll be supervising the elven archers, and she’s the only one who can understand and relay my commanders’ orders. With the poisons the elven archers and my own are going to be using, it’s a good idea to have a healer there, too, especially among all those pregnant women. Jeena, make sure your people take plenty of food and water onto the wall with them, and I’ll count on you to know when any of them need to be pulled off their stations and see them replaced.”

“No,” Jeena said.

Sharl stared at her blankly.

“What?”

“No,” Jeena said simply. “I will not do as you say.”

Sharl scowled darkly and opened his mouth, but Rivkah laid a hand gently on his arm.

“Wait,” she said gently. “Jeena, why do you say no?”

“First, this man is not my Eldest,” Jeena said quietly. “He does not order me. And second, Valann is right. I will not leave Chyrie and my son, and I can scarcely take an infant to the wall. In any wise, I must be here at the keep to help Crystal tend any of our people who need me. Lusea also knows the human language; Loren taught it to her as he did to me. I have no doubt she will go to the wall and do as Sharl has described, if he asks her courteously and does not presume to command her.”

“There’s no place for courtesy on the battlefield,” Sharl snapped.

“Then there is no place for my people there,” Jeena said simply. “We are your guests, not your soldiers. Once we cease to be your guests, we will become your enemies. Do you understand that?”