Mortal Consequences (22 page)

“Back!” Sunbright hollered. “Down the slope!”

Barefoot and nimble, the thief hopped backward in giant leaps like a hare’s, knife out, ready to kill. Sunbright jigged and jogged, shuffling to keep his feet without tripping. They retreated, for a quick glance showed the elves weren’t the only ones dying. The barbarians were attacked from three sides by dozens of black-wrapped, screaming elves.

Sunbright lurched, grabbed a tree for support, and skipped after Knucklebones to regain the ring of barbarians.

But inside he was stunned and heartsick. For he recognized these elves, their armor and weapons, their clothes, even the cut of their faces. He knew who they were.

Cormanthyran Elves of the High Forest.

Greenwillow’s people!

The next attack came by night.

Barbarians were stripped to essentials. Sunbright wore only his shirt and wide belt and moosehide boots, and he’d even cut the iron rings off them. Harvester’s scabbard was pulled tight to his back, for he carried the sword naked in his hand. Magichunger, Kindbloom, Blackblossom, Archloft, and a few others did the same.

The hunting party had returned to the forest in hopes of learning something—anything—about the enemy. The attack of three days before, where dozens of green-and black-clad elves had burst through the woods had ended almost before the barbarians could grab weapons. The elves had hit and run, killing two in the process before disappearing into the blue-black spruces. Whether that had been a warning, a testing of mettle, or a berserker raid, the humans didn’t know. The only thing they knew was to retreat miles into the prairie and await the advice of the hunter scouts.

The hunters never returned. Six lost to the forest. Captured? Alive? Dead? Sacrificed? They had no hint. Another war party went out yesterday at dawn, saw nothing, but collected three arrows in their hides. Kingfeather was killed, and angry barbarians retreated farther into the prairie.

Now a group of volunteers went forth, by night, to seek the missing, or the elves’ camp, or a whiff of campfire smoke, a trail, blazes on trees—any knowledge that might show how many they fought and how to fight back.

With superior night vision, Knucklebones the part-elf led the way up a shallow slope, from black tree bole to bole. Her pointed ears almost swivelled like a cat’s to catch sound. She could barely hear the warriors tread silently behind.

Still, they were ambushed, for this forest belonged to the elves.

The first hint of danger was an arrow that punched Magichunger’s thigh. Sunbright heard the sizzle of its flight, the smack as it struck flesh, and the thump as it slammed the earth beyond. Yet all he heard from Magichunger was a sharp gasp before the war chief hissed, “We’re attacked! Take cover!”

Veteran of a hundred battles, Sunbright was already diving headlong, rolling as he hit the leafy loam, then twisting in a different direction lest he roll into someone’s sights. The shaman thought again that, for all Magichunger threw his weight around to give orders, he took them too, and maintained the silence he’d demanded of everyone else. Yet their enemy were elves, the shaman knew, with ears sharp as foxes. Even brushing a leaf could bring a rush.

And they came, not screeching this time, but silent as owls swooping on mice.

Sunbright felt a faint thrum through the forest floor, rolled on his hams, and swung. Harvester slammed the trunk of a tree, cutting to heartwood. The wild swing never touched the elf, but it made him balk and lose the element of surprise. Snapping to a halt before the barrier of sharp steel, the dark figure ducked and stabbed with a long, slim blade at Sunbright’s calf. The thrust missed, but only because, scrambling to gain his feet, the shaman slipped in hide-soled boots and flopped on his rump. A shadow and faint gleam on a blade was all he saw. He kicked at the gleam, hoping to break or bend the blade, but the fine steel only bowed under his kick, and, hastily withdrawn, sprang back straight.

Another stab would come next, he knew, a quick follow-up while he scrabbled to his feet. So he did the unexpected and attacked. Yanking hard on Harvester’s pommel, he tugged himself up, wrenched the blade sideways to rip it loose of the maple, and threw himself after the momentum of the heavy blade. Harvester’s razor edge cut a half-circle along crusty bark, then the heavy hooked nose thumped a boiled leather cuirass. The surprised elven warrior leaped backward at the touch like a skittish horse, but not before Sunbright kicked again. The elf’s razor sword sliced the barbarian’s boot tip, and passed between his toes with a bite like a vampire’s kiss, but the sword cartwheeled into the dark forest. Sunbright shoved blindly, felt his own blade scratch leather—then the elf was gone. Fled, most likely, and weaponless.

He’d survived a bout, Sunbright thought, but couldn’t even tell if his enemy were male or female. Night-blind humans shouldn’t venture here, he cursed, but Magichunger had insisted they try. The gods knew they couldn’t advance into the forest by day without being peppered with arrows like porcupine quills.

He heard a squeak like a rabbit’s, hauled Harvester in a wide circle, belatedly recognized it, and swung high. His blade just missed cropping Knucklebones’s hair. A star-bladed dagger thumped on turf as an elf retreated, winked away like a bubble. Knucklebones, watching over her lover, had sliced the elf’s hand and saved Sunbright’s back.

Their war chief reaped more punishment as an arrow again smacked flesh. Magichunger cursed in the darkness. Forgetting their orders, Archloft hollered as he chopped at a shadow with his cleaver. Sunbright heard the blade scuff in soil. An arrow aimed at the shout skimmed Archloft’s back so he dropped flat. To the left, a blade spanked off another, then a human cried out. Sunbright couldn’t tell who. He couldn’t tell anything. “It’s madness to come here!” he hissed.

“Down!”

Knucklebones grabbed his horsetail, jerked him to his knees like a balky reindeer. She slapped a hand on his broad back and vaulted him while slashing the air. Then she was gone like the full-blooded elves. It took an elf to kill an elf, he reflected bitterly.

Staying low, he hastily wiped Harvester on leaves, and thrust it into the back scabbard, dinging his own neck. Crawling like a demented tortoise, he recognized Magichunger by smell, groped to find him lying on his side. Certain the war chief still lived, Sunbright hauled the broad-chested man close. Sunbright butted his head into Magichunger’s belly to wedge the war chief atop his shoulders. Harvester’s tall pommel helped keep Magichunger in place. Slipping on leaves, the shaman strained to his knees, then feet. Magichunger swayed dangerously.

“Knuckle’!” he whispered. “Knuck—oh!”

The thief appeared under his chin, startling him. “Nightchild’s dead,” she whispered.

“Dead! No!” It was Archloft, Nightchild’s blanket partner. “We need his body.”

A bad omen, thought the shaman, for one so named to die out in the dark. “Leave him,” he said, “or we’re all bodies. Knuckle’, lead us out!”

“Here!” she directed, but he couldn’t see which way. She grabbed his arm and tugged, skipped to the others, and pointed them in the right direction. “I’ll steer if you go wrong. Hurry!”

A one-eyed thief leading the blind, Sunbright thought inanely. His first step throbbed where his toes had been sliced. He spit out the pain and tramped, noisy as a wounded moose. He figured he’d probably stop a dozen arrows before he took five paces, but no barbs slammed into him, so he plodded on, lurching side to side as he jogged, for Magichunger was thick through the body. Knucklebones was a sparrow by comparison.

Tree trunks flicked by like pillars of smoke. Then cooler air blew in Sunbright’s face, and he knew they’d reached the grassy slope. Darkness before his eyes was less intense. Prairie night. They were almost safe, for he doubted elves would leave the woods for open spaces for long. Perhaps, emboldened by darkness, they’d circle far ahead and lay a trap …

He jolted as Magichunger stirred, growled, and groaned, “What’s—Who’s—”

“Hush! I’ve got you!”

“Who? Sunbright? You’re not—ugh!—strong enough to carry me!”

“You dream then.” To gauge if the victim had lost too much blood, Sunbright gasped, “Still with us?”

“Uh! Yes! But you make a … damned poor … sled!”

The shaman hissed, “We’ll drive buffalo ahead next time! You’re beefy as one!”

“You just want… to cover your own back … with me as shield!”

“Don’t be stupid,” Sunbright growled. For some reason the quip irritated the shaman. “The tribe needs you.”

“Don’t see … why. I’m not… having much luck.”

“Luck? You mean you’re not learning something? No, we learned plenty.”

“What—ahh!” Magichunger stifled a groan of pain. “What did we learn? First it’s damned orcs, then it’s elves. My son’ll be war chief, and his son, and so forever at this rate—aggh!”

“Rest,” Sunbright ordered. “We’ll talk later.”

Magichunger grew limp, which made him easier to carry, but Sunbright knew the war chief might die. The shaman sucked wind and jogged downhill, finally struck level earth, smelled tall grass, and heard it swish against his boots. The cleft between his toes throbbed, and blood squished in his boot, making it slippery.

“Need help?”

The whisper startled him. And fuddled him. Knucklebones had skipped alongside without his knowing.

Dropping to one knee, Sunbright wrestled Magichunger off his shoulder. Low down, the smell of grass made him feel safe. “Give me light!” he said.

“They’ll see from the forest!” the thief objected.

“I need light, damn it! Crouch over it! No, better, light up his leg here! Give me your hand!”

Grabbing her small, cool hand, he directed it onto Magichunger’s hot, wet leg. The rogue striped cold light from her fingertips. At the same time, she hunkered over the small glow to shield it from eyes in the forest.

After hours in the dark, the firefly light made Sunbright squint. He sucked his little finger, stuck it in an oozing hole, wiggled, felt it protrude past flesh out the other side. Quickly he bandaged the wound and tied it off. “Lucky?” he muttered. “Or maybe not. Magichunger would not faint from such a trifling … Oh, Moander’s mirth!”

Exploring, his hands found a second arrow jutting from Magichunger’s kidney. Then a third arrow standing from the point of his shoulder. “Shroud of Selune!” Sunbright exclaimed. “I owe Magichunger an apology. He’s tough as a shark’s tooth. More light, please—Who comes?”

Knucklebones had already seen the shape, but the dark figure didn’t move like an attacker.

“Blackblossom!” the barbarian woman whispered, not joking for once. “Need help?”

“No,” Sunbright answered. “Stay out of the light! Get back to the tribe. We’ll follow.” The woman didn’t waste words, but faded away.

Knucklebones plied minute strips of light to help Sunbright bandage the wound. The shaman decided to cut out the kidney arrow lest the barbs work deeper into vitals with every jostle. The thief eased her dark blade alongside the arrowhead, sliced damaged and swelling muscle, and withdrew the barb. Blood welled black until Sunbright plugged and wrapped it. The shoulder arrow he left embedded, but he found the shaft too tough to break.

“What is this wood?”

“Let me,” Knucklebones whispered. By feel, the part-elf shaved hard splinters.

“If he lives, Magichunger will give orders from bed.” With gallows humor, he added, “If he dies, we’ll need a new war chief. You, perhaps.”

“Not I. Did you—” The elf stopped short as she wiggled the arrow, then shaved more. No wood could resist an elven blade for long.

“Did I what?” Sunbright asked.

“Did you—kill anyone?”

A strange question in an odd tone, the shaman thought. “No,” he told her. “Did you?”

“No. I don’t—I don’t want to kill anyone. Them.”

“Elves, you mean?”

She nodded, forgetting he couldn’t see the motion in the dark, then said, “Yes.”

“Because they’re elves?” Sunbright asked. He watched for anyone lurking or advancing. But wavy grass made a darker line against a dark sky, and nothing broke the line.

“More than that,” she said, leaning on the arrow, then cursing under her breath. “They look like me.”

“They do?” he asked, then the snap of the shaft ended the questions. “Douse this magic light.”

“I can’t,” Knucklebones said, sounding oddly hurt. “Don’t you know I can’t dispel it? It fades on its own.”

“Oh,” he said awkwardly. “No, I never knew that.”

There was much he didn’t know about this part-elven thief from the future. Why didn’t he? He’d known Greenwillow to her core, or thought he had. Then he was busy wrestling Magichunger onto his shoulders like a dead ox. Glancing around, he set off at a quick march.

“No! This way!” came the thief’s whisper.

Flustered, Sunbright staggered after her voice. Normally he knew the compass with his eyes closed. He was rattled to mess up now. Rattled by Knucklebones’s queer reticence about fighting, and killing, and not knowing magic, and much else that only a woman could know.

But one thing he knew: he didn’t want to kill elves either. Not Greenwillow’s kin.

Disgusted with his own maundering, he concentrated on lugging Magichunger to safety.

A glow silhouetted a grassy hummock to mark the main camp, though the barbarians were scattered along a five-mile line out in the prairie. Sunbright staggered toward the fire with his burden, Knucklebones dogging his heels. They didn’t expect to be welcomed as heroes, but were unprepared for ugly wrath.

People spilled from the firelight to grab Magichunger, immediately shouting.

“Archloft says you left Nightchild’s body to the wolves!” growled Mightylaugh.

“The Rengarth always bring out their dead!” shrilled Forestvictory. “Always!”

“You must go back for him!” yelled another.

“And who made Sunbright war chief if Magichunger falls? A shaman is never war chief! It’s not allowed!” called a fourth.

Yet their shouts died as Rightdove pointed to the blue-white gleam on Magichunger’s leg. “Witchlight!” Rightdove gasped. “Did you do this, Sunbright?”

“It smacks of magic!” said Forestvictory.