Silence - eARC (31 page)

“Not of—” Dylan began harshly.

“No, I’m not insane. I claim sanctuary of Elfhame Fairgrove and Keighvin Silverhair.” Her hands twitched a little, but she didn’t raise her bow. “Last I heard, which was only a fortnight ago, you were still allies.”

Wanda looked up from Seth, and immediately broke in. “She helped us. Seth got hurt, and I ran out of stuff for my water gun. He wouldn’t get back up, and…she dragged us both over here when I got his shirt off. He’s gotta wake up…” She didn’t cry, but she couldn’t look at anyone but Seth after that.

“Dylan, if she’s helping us…” Staci reached out, lightly touching Dylan’s arm. He didn’t quite recoil from her touch, but it was clearly unwelcome, right then. He looked from Staci, to Wanda, and back to Morrigan. After what seemed like an eternity, he slowly lowered his sword.

“If they live, then so do you. Otherwise, you’ll share whatever fate becomes of them. Understood,
twp slebog
? You know me, which means you know I’ll keep my promises.” He thrust his chin towards Wanda and Seth. “Protect them, and you’ll have sanctuary.”

“Then give us protection for a moment,” Morrigan demanded. “If you really want this human boy to live.”

“Make it quick. We have a job to do.”

Morrigan didn’t reply; instead, she put down the bow and arrows, and knelt next to Seth, avoiding Wanda’s chainmail. She put one hand over Wanda’s, hissing a little, and whispered something Staci couldn’t quite make out.

Then there was a whining sound that ramped up in pitch, and a crystal pendant that had been around Morrigan’s neck exploded. Wanda and Staci both jumped and yelped, but it seemed that Morrigan had been expecting something of the sort. She stood up, bow and arrow at the ready again. “It’s a good thing I like you, humans,” she said. “That talisman cost me the better part of a week to make. If it weren’t for all the blasted iron all over the place, that spell would have been more powerful.”

Staci glanced down at Seth. He was still unconscious, and when Wanda pulled up the wad of fabric she’d been pressing against his chest, there was still a wound there. But it wasn’t bleeding anymore, and looked half-healed.

“I hope that’s surety for you, Dylan ap Griffud,” Morrigan said, putting the arrow back on the string and taking a ready stance. “The boy won’t die of that, at least.”

“There’s still more night to go, Morrigan. And I don’t have any more of it to waste on you, for now. Keep them breathing.” Reluctantly, Dylan turned and started towards the back of the house. Staci lingered a moment, facing the—former?—Blackthorne cousin.

“Please…make sure nothing happens to them.”

“Many things I have done, but I am no murderer of children,” Morrigan replied. Then she softened a moment. “All that besides, you and Wanda have been better friends to me than my own kin. A change of coat is in order, methinks. The Silverhair is not so harsh in judgment as some others…and not so quick to abandon his allies when they are no longer immediately useful.” She glanced from Dylan to Staci, then back down again. Staci thought there was something—a warning?—in Morrigan’s expression when she said that last. “Go now. I’ll keep these two safe. Do the same for yourself.”

Staci started to move away, then saw Seth’s chainmail shirt discarded a little way away, along with a smear of blood on the carpet. Next to it was one of the leather bags they’d used to hold the jacks. She sprinted over to grab it, then spread out the jacks on the carpet between the alcove that held her friends and the rest of the room. Morrigan flashed her a thumb’s-up, as Staci threw the pouch aside and dashed after Dylan, who was heading for the dining room and the patio entrance—and from there, the outside and the maze.

There was a flurry of activity outside. There were easily a dozen Blackthorne cousins, along with servants, running all over the place, most looking like they were confused or terrified or both. Almost none of them paid any mind to Staci and Dylan; any that ventured too close were greeted with Dylan’s sword, either the menace of it or an actual slash. A lot of them were staggering rather than running, not as bad as the three inside that Dylan had killed, but looking very confused. Was this the result of the caffeine-saturated stuff from the water guns?

Staci spun around as she heard a crash to their left, followed by more shouting. This wasn’t the same panicked sort that she had been hearing since they got close enough to the mansion. This was
fierce.
Dylan had noticed the sound as well, and was moving purposely towards it, clearing the way for her. Through the gaps in the rushing bodies, she saw that there were two figures, their backs against the swimming pool, being harried by several others. They were fighting back ferociously.

It took her a moment before she realized it was Jake and Riley. They were standing side by side, both staying in the low fighting stances that Dylan had showed them. Jake was hacking and slashing with his sword, dancing in and out as he sliced at the nearest dark elves. Any that he struck fell back, only to be replaced by more, though the replacements were less and less bold with every encounter they had with his sword. Riley, on the other hand, was something else entirely to behold. She was constantly moving, her lips pulled back in a snarl, occasionally screaming at the dark elves. She switched between using her water gun and throwing knives, first blasting a dark elf with the super-caffeine mix, then throwing a blade at the now-staggered Blackthorne. Most of her knives were landing home, though a few hit at the wrong angle and did little more than a surface burn where they hit. Staci’s heart skipped when a single, stockily built Blackthorne bulled through the ranks of his cousins, raising a war axe high above his head and bringing it down at Riley. She threw up her water gun at the last instant, catching the axe blade; a pressurized blast of the mixture sprayed outwards from the impact point, mostly splattering the dark elf bruiser. Before he could even react to that, Riley had dropped the cracked remains of her water gun and reached into the pouch at her side. With another scream, she chucked a handful of the iron caltrops directly at the dark elf’s face; more than a few of them stuck there, sending the elf screaming to the ground, unable to even clutch his face in pain. Before any of the others could press the advantage, she had her backup water pistol up and out of her belt, spraying away.

“We’ve got to help them! They’re—”

“Doing what they’re supposed to do. They’re distracting most of the trouble, so that we can get to the Gate. Think of
Return of the Jedi
; they’re the fleet, we’re the strike team. Sooner we do our job, sooner they’re safe. If we get bogged down here, we’re
all
dead. Let’s move.”

She felt utterly torn. She knew he was right. It was the plan. It was what they had talked about, practiced for. But that still didn’t help her feeling helpless, watching her friends fighting for their lives and having to leave them. Even if it was ultimately to help them, she still felt a wrongness about leaving. They were her friends, and she had made a promise, to herself at least, that they would be safe!

In the end, she found herself following Dylan. He was the voice of experience. Even though he was in some zone of his own, he still made sense; they had to get this over with. The sooner the better, for everyone; especially for her friends. Jake and Riley were doing all right at the moment, but that could change any second. The same went for Wanda and Seth, hiding in the house; even with Morrigan protecting them, there could only be so much that one formerly dark elf could do against several attackers.

He cut—sometimes literally—a path for them to the entrance of the hedge maze. They had to make their way through the injured, the dead and the dying to get to the Gate, and she was dreading that moment when they reached the maze more than anything. Memories bombarded her, memories of that night she had fled through it, terrified. Seeing the Fae drinking blood from the fountain, the night she had gone through the Gate and been chased by the Hunter’s hounds. She pushed all of that down to a deep and dark place inside of her; she could cry and shake and be scared later. She had to control all her emotions, she had to be brave and calm, if she wanted any chance to save her friends.

Staci almost ran into Dylan, he had stopped so suddenly. She immediately saw why he had stopped. Five Blackthornes stood in front of them, weapons drawn and ready…and they were blocking the entrance to the hedge maze. Dylan was good—better than good, he was
phenomenal
—but even with her trying to help, the odds were against them. She didn’t have reliable magic while she was wearing her chainmail shirt and carrying the sword and daggers, and it would affect Dylan’s magic, too. Sword for sword…they were outmatched. She sensed that Dylan knew this…but just didn’t care.
He’s going to take them all out…or die trying.
She felt equal parts admiration and horror for him.

Five against two at the entrance to the maze. Both sides seemed to tense, about to spring forward and attack, when both were interrupted by something unexpected. There was a sound in the distance, something carrying over the din of the fighting and assorted chaos on the grounds…and it was growing louder. Something like a growl, guttural and primal, but also…mechanical? Staci realized what it was at the last moment. Everyone’s gaze, even the fighters near the swimming pool, was drawn towards the second story of the mansion. There was a light coming from one of the balcony doors. For a split second it became brilliantly bright, a solid rectangle of light. A futuristic motorcycle—all chrome, brushed aluminum, and metallic light blue coloring made it look like some sort of scifi missile on wheels—burst through the balcony door, then the stone railing in a shower of glass and rubble before sailing into the night air. Staci, transfixed, watched as the motorcycle…suddenly wasn’t a motorcycle any longer, but a gigantic warhorse, still possessing the same coloring, and now wearing the spiked armor and bridle that she remembered from the first time she had seen the elvensteed. Metalhead touched down just before the line of Blackthornes, kicking up great clods of dirt before he bowled into the dark elves. They barely had time to throw their hands up before they were trampled underfoot or turned into rag dolls after being dashed against the elvensteed’s shoulder armor. The clamor immediately resumed now that the spectacle was over. Staci was aware that her jaw had dropped, and closed her mouth quick enough to make her teeth click. Metalhead pawed the dirt for a moment, snorting.

Staci swallowed hard. “Uh, good boy. Good boy, Metalhead.” She took a step forward, petting Metalhead’s muzzle. Metalhead bent his head and accepted the caress graciously, before backing a few steps and rearing up on his hind hooves. He pawed the air, then dropped to all four feet again and snorted, tossing his head in the direction of the now-open entrance to the maze. Then he was off, charging forward into another crowd of dark elves, the ones converging on the last place Staci had seen Riley and Jake.

She hesitated, but Dylan waved her on to the maze. “He’s going to go help your friends. Don’t worry about him; this is
fun
for him.” A rush of relief hit her; at least
someone
was going to help her friends! She turned and followed Dylan into the maze.

Staci and Dylan had memorized the layout of the maze prior to getting to the mansion, at least enough so that they could get to the Gate quickly; every second counted, after all. Seth had asked during their planning sessions, “Why not just cut through it?” According to Dylan, it wasn’t that easy. Apparently, like everything to do with elves, the maze wasn’t just rows of hedges; magic infused into the maze from the Gate kept it from simply being slashed through. He stayed in front, his shield and sword swinging with his arms as they ran. They were almost done with this entire awful ordeal. They just had to get to the Gate, so that she and Dylan could shut it down. She wanted to cry with relief. She was so caught up in concentrating on
getting to the Gate
, that she had run ahead enough that she was abreast of Dylan. She turned her head to look at him, and it probably saved her life. A chilling whisper of wind that was all wrong for the direction they were running brushed through her hair and against her face; Dylan cried out, and she saw that a gigantic spear was actually sticking
through
his manifested shield. They both skidded to a halt; for Staci, it was more like skidding, stumbling, and almost falling flat on her face. Somehow she managed to stay on her feet. They both turned to the direction the spear had come from: a deep shadow in a dead end of the maze.

And then, the assailant stepped out into the light.

He was tall, at least eight feet tall, and muscled like a weightlifter. He was dressed in crude clothing made of rough leather hides and furs; a sort of sleeveless tunic that revealed arms crossed with scars and corded with muscle, and some sort of pants wrapped with narrow leather straps to hold them tightly to his legs, and crude leather boots. One hand held a spear with a small shield no bigger than a dinner plate strapped to the back of his hand. The other held a club. His face was hidden in the shadows of a hood. He moved his head back and forth, and she got a glimpse of his face. Just a flash, but the expression on it chilled her to the bone. He looked like a blood-crazed Viking.

She recognized him with a start, though she had only ever seen him at a distance. It was the thing that had been talking with Sean, the night she had gone into the maze. The creature she had mentally tagged as a “Hunter.”

“Okay, we’re totally running, right?” she said, keeping her eyes on the Hunter.

“No. That’s what things like him enjoy; chasing prey.” Dylan was also keeping his eyes on the Hunter. “Instead, we’ll do
this
—”

Without any other warning, Dylan charged the Hunter, sword in front and cutting at the monster’s massive wrists. For his trouble, he had a spear thrust at his chest; due to his forward momentum, he was barely able to knock it to the side and side-step the follow-up blow from the club. He whirled his left arm over his head; his shield dissipated, sending the spear that had been stuck in it flying away—specifically out of reach of the Hunter—before another shield manifested in its place. The two opponents had taken each other’s measure. The Hunter was hungry, clearly savoring the dance to come before the final blow. Dylan was cold and calculating, circling his opponent and waiting for his moment to exploit any weakness. Both of them seemed to have forgotten about Staci.