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It flinched again, and I tried to think of something else to do. The sun might drop behind the hillcrest at any moment, and this creature was not ordinary. Even its stink was a violation. Itsseidhrbattered at me once more, driving my shoulders against the tree with a jolt. My cheek stung afresh; I had never been struck so, not even in childhood.
Arn flicker-stabbed it once more, a deep gash opening on the back of that huge fist. Of course she had realized that if it unlimbered the massive whip it could easily hold a sword or two at bay, and there were still so manyorukharleft.
The whistle died in my throat, replaced by a rising shout I had never heard from my own chest or any other’s. It was like Arn’s war-cry—a day of firsts, for both of us—but more piercing, for it was loaded with invisible force given weight by my frantic horror.
It struck the monster squarely, but had little effect except to madden.
The thing howled in reply and surged forward, whip uncoiling in a fat sinuous tarry ripple thudding upon cringing ice-grass. Next it would draw back, arm becoming a tight-wound spring soon unleashed to terrible effect. Worse than the strike would be theseidhrwedded to the weapon, and I was wretchedly certain I would feel it first.
Arn did not hesitate, driving forward to stab once again, and I was so occupied I did not hear the others until they were upon us.
Allies So Few
Three things make analkuine: fire from air, water from stone… and light from darkness.
—Faeron One-hand,My Father’s Words
Agleam at the corner of the gaze, a flash of chill blue radiance, blades bright burning blue and their boots whisper-quick, the Elder crashed into theorukharparty’s flank. A great bow hummed and its arrows whistled, quivering after they struck in theseidhr-monster’s side. Two indistinct blurs—like shaggy ink splashed upon a wall—attacked the burning thing, and in their wake a black-clad figure swung grimly, the gem in his swordhilt blazing like a star.
The monster screamed again, though in pain instead of rage. My own battle-cry died, and my legs nearly failed me as well. I slumped against the tree, amid daggers of silver ice falling from quaking branches.
I did not knowtrulswere among the weaker of the Enemy’sseidhr-servants, especially against the wolves of Naras or bears of Tavaan. Nor did I know how such creatures were hunted or dispatched, but I learned that day. The thing’s sickly shagfur hide smoked with fresh weals raised by darts of flung sunlight as well as the touch of Elder steel; there was a deep reek of foul roasting.
More Elder followed, most dark-haired and many blue-eyed, two with spears a little longer than Arn’s. That pair moved with swiftgrace, holding theseidhr-thing almost immobile while Eol clove its head free, a maneuver looking quite practiced indeed. A jet of burning black bubbled from its thick stump-neck. The battle veered so swiftly it was finished before I quite understood what had happened, a great gout ofseidhrdraining away inside me and deathly chill taking its place. The small clearing, glittering with freeze and gilded with mistbreath, had been tranquilly beautiful just a short while before.
Now it was a death-carpet. Ash-pale bodies lay sprawled and slack; a horribly woundedorukharwas given a mercy-blow while it made a thin sound of great pain.
Silence fell, the crackling quiet of a battle’s end.
Efain let out a disbelieving laugh; Arn spun upon her forefoot, gazing uphill at me. I dropped my hands, the inked bands on my wrists alive with pain. My knees were soft as festival bread’s dense, thick crumb.
The two black smears were Elak the quiet and Soren, both with dust-stiffened hair turning them into old men with young faces. Elak moved immediately to Eol’s side; the Northern captain’s head bore a glaring-white bandage, his clothes were torn, and his scale-and-ring appeared not so much battered as chewed. His hair was singed as well as dusty, and so was Aeredh’s—the Elder conferred quietly with another carrying a great longbow, who I recognized as the harpist from Nithraen’s palace.
None of them paid any further attention to the deadseidhr-monster, to the ice underfoot, or to me. I could not remember the harpist’s name despite having heard it once, and oddly, at that moment my inability to do so bothered me most of all.
Arn strode uphill, arriving before me flush-cheeked, her woad glaring and her armor winking brightly. “Not like killing wolves,” she said softly. Her throat worked once, a convulsive swallowing.
“I thought us both dead, and the men too.” The truth spilled from me in a rush, and I tasted yet more iron blood in my spitless mouth. My face throbbed. “That… that thing…”
“I do not like the North.” My shieldmaid’s arm slipped over my shoulders. Her forehead touched mine, both of us sweating. It would leave a trace of blue woad upon my skin; I shut my eyes and breathedher in. The Wingéd Ones had been watching, and the immense feathery weight of their approval filled us both.
It did not help me very much, but she had recovered her usual color and much of her strength when footsteps approached, deliberately loud against ice-freighted hush. Arn whirled as if expecting moreorukhar.
Aeredh halted well outside the range of her spear, his sword sheathed and his singed, dust-laden hair a wild mass.
“Thank the Blessed,” he said, quietly. “Are you hurt? Either of you?”
I took stock of Arn. A single splash of rancidorukharblood touched the hem of her torn mantle; that was all. “None of them even touched my small one. A fine dance indeed.” The words shook, my weakness on full display.
“Easy enough to spit a blind pig,” she returned, but one corner of her generous mouth drew up. “Well done, my weirdling. And you?”
“That thing… well, it is dead now. And you, my lord Elder?” At least I could still use brittle formality, though my voice shook. Much as I sought not to, I sounded like Astrid after a nightmare—young, and somewhat unsteady. “Yours is a timely arrival indeed; I must see to the wounded.” Now that the battle was over, avolva’s work began. I was glad of the tree’s bulk behind me, and its dozingseidhrsharing a trickle of strength as well.
“I crave your pardon, my ladyalkuine.” Aeredh’s slight grimace held equal parts chagrin and weariness, despite his unlined face. “Nithraen’s gates have held firm against the Enemy before; we thought there was no need to trouble you with the news of an attack. Eol feared you would wish to join the battle, and that we cannot have. You—”
“We found a battle nonetheless.” I forced myself away from the tree, an unfamiliar heat quelling the shaking in my limbs. It was, I realized, anger—and it bolstered me wonderfully. “This is a second deceit, son of Aerith. How many more lie in store?”
Yes, it was somewhat unfair for me to behave so, but now we knew Eol was alive and I had been granted the chance to make our new status not only known but irrevocable. The sooner the better,and the more lee Arneior and I would have to exert some small control over matters.
