“I ask you to release him.”
“Why should Cu-Sith do such a thing? Cu-Sith has already marked him and may do with him as he pleases.”
“It would displease Loec were you to kill him now,” said Naieth.
The wardancer leapt from the table and landed lightly before the gold-robed Naieth, circling her with a wary look in his eyes. Leofric sat up, hyperventilating at the thought of Cu-Sith’s promised castration. The Red Wolf’s spear spun in a glittering circle as he leaned close to Naieth and looked straight in her eyes.
“Loec speaks to you as he does Cu-Sith?”
“Yes,” agreed Naieth, “and this is not his will.”
“No? Cu-Sith will ask him!” yelled the wardancer, leaping in a backwards somersault to land astride Leofric once more, placing his blade at his throat.
“Loec! Does this base human deserve to live?” he yelled into the air.
The wind that had built when the wardancers had performed the Dragon Dance gusted once more, a flurry of blackened leaves taking to the air in a miniature spirailing whirlwind. Cu-Sith laughed and bent down until his face was inches from Leofric’s.
“You are lucky, human,” hissed the wardancer, dragging Leofric to his feet. “Loec says you get to keep your manhood today.”
Leofric was barely able to stand, his legs unsteady beneath him. Cu-Sith hurled him from the table and vaulted away, shouting, “Loec smiles upon you, human Don’t waste that fortune!”
He felt hands at his shoulders and looked up to see a pale-faced Kyarno above him. The elf hauled him to his feet and dragged him away from the wardancers who followed their leader, bounding and leaping towards the fire.
“Even for a human, that was stupid,” said Kyarno, watching as the wardancers gathered around the fire to drink.
Leofric did not reply, his heart was hammering in his chest and his limbs were shaking in fear. He reached out and grabbed the nearest goblet, desperate for a drink to calm his shredded nerves.
He lifted the goblet to his lips and drank gulping mouthful after gulping mouthful of its contents. The sweet, honeyed scent of the elven wine flooded his senses and the warm nectar of its taste was beyond anything he had ever drunk before.
Leofric put down the empty goblet, only now realising what he had just done.
“Oh no…” he heard Kyarno say before his world exploded in golden light.
Light and colour filled his senses and he gasped as the sky changed hue as though the branches of the trees had caught fire. Brilliant lights and colours filled the air, rising in clouds of vermilion, azure and jade smoke. The fire in the centre blazed a vivid blue and Leofric could see the threads of golden life that saturated every living thing in Coeth-Mara.
His normal sight began to fade until he saw nothing mundane, neither flesh nor fabric of his perception of reality. He laughed as he saw the golden haloes of life everywhere, touching and connecting everything in the hall, the colours of movement and emotion writ large in the auras of those around him.
“I can see…” slurred Leofric as he slid from his chair, his mind overloading with sensation. As he toppled to the ground the colours spiralled and spun, blending together in a blur of vital essence. He could see the answers to everything — they were encapsulated in the hues, if only he could find the words to express them.
“Isha’s tears,” hissed Kyarno, pulling him to his feet. Leofric smiled dreamily as the elven wine coursed through his newly refined and elevated senses. He giggled drunkenly, waving his hands before him and laughing at the colours that rippled around them as they moved. He saw no flesh or bone, just the pulsing yellow light of his life as it thundered around his body.
“What is wrong with him?” asked a woman’s voice. Naieth’s, thought Leofric.
“He drank some wine when I wasn’t looking,” replied Kyarno.
“Elven wine is not for humans!” snapped Naieth. “We’ll be lucky if he ever comes back! Take him outside and get him some air. Keep talking to him, give him a connection to this world.”
Leofric wanted to speak, but felt that the words would choke him, clamping his hands across his mouth as Kyarno dragged him through the hall. Sparks and swirls of light followed him and Leofric gagged as a vertiginous nausea seized him. His legs buckled and but for Kyarno’s support he would have fallen.
Sudden cold hit him and he gasped, feeling his stomach clench agonisingly. Embers of fire fell around him, spinning in a sickening web of gold.
“Come on, Leofric,” urged Kyarno. “Remember who you are. You are a knight of Bretonnia. Stay with that!”
Leofric barely heard the voice, feeling as though he was falling into a dark pit without bottom, spinning and tumbling end over end into a swirling maelstrom of vibrant colours.
The voice grew fainter and fainter, echoing within his skull as though coming from along a faraway corridor. Something within his crude flesh came loose and with a start, Leofric’s sight spun from his body out into the forest.
He saw trees as columns of fire, their leaves as bright spots against the dark of the night. Sap ran in molten rivers through the trees, flowing into the ground and spreading through the forest in an interconnected web that linked all things.
Everything was connected by life and the realisation was so profound and clear that he was amazed no one had seen it before.
All life was one and everything was a circle.
All he had to do was hold on to that realisation and everything would be all right. He heard a voice again, but ignored it, revelling in his newfound freedom as he soared through Athel Loren, his spirit no longer shackled to his flesh.
Was this what it was like to be divine? Journeying through realms hidden from the sight of mortals, able to see and hear the beating heart of the world as it seethed with all its myriad fecundities. Everywhere was life…
No… not everywhere, he saw.
In the depths of the forest, Leofric saw pain. Hot, searing and deathly. His spirit form flashed through the golden fires of the trees towards it, eager to soothe the pain he felt.
An elf, his life-light weak and flickering, stumbled from tree to tree, desperation flaring from him in bright red waves as he fought a losing battle to outdistance three pursuers. Leofric could see the goodness of his failing heart and the thought of this noble elf dying at the hands of these villains pierced Leofric’s heart with sorrow.
Caelas Shadowfoot fell against a tree trunk, blood pouring from the sucking wound in his chest, and knew that he could not run any further. He had run as fast as he was able to bring them to this place, but now the game was over. He turned to face his hunters as they emerged from the trees, their bowstrings pulled taut and gleaming arrowheads aimed at his head.
“You have great skill, old man,” said one.
“It took you long enough to catch me,” hissed Caelas, drawing his knife.
“You think to fight us?” said another. “Don’t. It will be less painful for you.”
“I’ll fight you if I have to,” wheezed Caelas.
“No need,” said the third, sadly. “You will be dead in minutes anyway.”
Caelas pushed himself painfully from the tree, intending to gut one of these Laithu swine before they finished him. They lowered their bows, but as the first stepped towards him, Caelas felt the fury of the forest rise up around him. Something powerful rippled through the forest and even as he felt it, the hunters realised the trap he had led them into.
Branches and roots ripped from the snow as the dark fey of this haunted glade arose, smashing the nearest of his pursuers to splintered bone and pulverised meal. Thorned barbs slashed from the undergrowth, whipping the second to the ground where heaving, groaning roots crushed his trapped body. The third waywatcher turned and fled into the forest, but cracking branches and screams told Caelas that he didn’t get far.
The rippling branches and grasping thorns turned towards him and Caelas knew he had to get out of this glade before they killed him too, but a wave of
dizziness swamped him and his vision began to grey at the edges. He dropped to the ground as the last of his strength left him, seeing a shimmering, ghostly image hovering in the air above him.
He felt its compassion and knew that he had been offered one final chance. Caelas tried to form words of warning, but blood burst from his mouth and he top pled to the snow as his life faded.
With his last breath he fought to speak, tears of frustration freezing on his cheeks at his inability to communicate, but the spirit being nodded and he knew that it understood.
Caelas Shadowfoot died knowing he had fulfilled his duty to his kinband.
Leofric’s spirit watched the elf’s life-light fade, immense sadness smothering his soul as the brave warrior before him died. The blood of the elves the forest had slain was like molten gold against the snow and Leofric felt the wrench of reality strike him with great hammerblows.
Without warning, the scene before him sped away as he rushed back through the forest, the irresistible pull of flesh wrenching him back to his body. He screamed as his spirit form plunged into his frame of meat and bone, rolling onto his side and vomiting explosively onto the snow.
His stomach heaved as he expelled the last of the elven wine, his senses feeling dull and deadened without the freedom of the spirit. The acrid taste of vomit burned his throat and he heard Kyarno say, “Maybe that will teach you not to drink our wine.”
He struggled to stand, his body feeling leaden and clumsy after his flight through the forest.
“No…” he gasped. “No, no, no…”
“No, what?” asked Kyarno. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“They’re coming,” cried Leofric. “They’re coming to kill you all.”
“What? Who are?”
“Warriors of the Laithu kinband,” said Leofric stumbling like a drunk as he fought for balance. “He found them.”
“Who did? What are you talking about?” asked Kyarno. “Shadowfoot he was called,” wept Leofric. “Caelas Shadowfoot. He found them and died to bring warning to Coeth-Mara.”
“Shadowfoot?” demanded Kyarno. “You saw Caelas Shadowfoot?”
“Yes… They’re coming!” pleaded Leofric. “You have to warn them!”
Kyarno dropped Leofric and ran for Lord Aldaeld’s hall.
“This is what happens when you bring humans into Athel Loren,” said Lord Valas, shaking his head and sip ping his wine. “Your halls have become the refuge of outlaws, vagabonds and animals, Aldaeld.”
Lord Aldaeld struggled to keep his temper in the face of this latest insult. Throughout the feast, the tension had been almost unbearable as Valas kept up a steady stream of jibes and veiled threats. Watching Kyarno drag the human from Coeth-Mara was but the latest barb for Valas to prick him with.
But as Valas was his guest, Aldaeld could do little but grit his teeth.
“These are strange times, Valas,” replied Aldaeld. “There is much that displeases me about the human’s presence, but he has a crude form of courage and fought beside the Hound of Winter against the creatures of Chaos.”
“Pah!” sneered Valas. “Is the Hound of Winter now so old that he needs the aid of a human to triumph? Truly this is a sad day for the Asrai.”
Aldaeld glanced over his shoulder towards Cairbre but his champion made no indication that he had heard the jibe.
“The Hound of Winter’s fangs are as deadly as ever, Valas.”
“We shall see,” muttered Valas. “But it matters little anymore.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that it is time for you to make good to me the dishonour done to my kinband, Aldaeld,” said Valas.
Aldaeld kept his tone even as he said, “Valas, there is no need for us to be enemies. Your steeds were taken, that is true, but I have punished Kyarno for his recklessness.”
“There is a blood debt between us, Aldaeld, and only in blood will it be settled.”
“I don’t understand,” said Aldaeld warily. “What blood is there between us?”
“The blood of my son, Laneir,” hissed Valas. “As he gave chase to the reaver who thieved our steeds his course took him through the wild glades of the forest and the dark fey arose and claimed his life.”
Aldaeld felt his blood chill at Valas’ words, his instinct for danger screaming that something was very, very wrong.
He struggled to keep his expression neutral as he said, “I did not know that, Valas. My heart is saddened at your loss and whatever is in my power to grant is yours.”
“Really, Lord Aldaeld? Are your powers now so great as the Lady Ariel’s as to be able to bring the dead back to life?”
“No, of course not, but—”
“Can you bring my son back, Aldaeld?” asked Valas with cold fury, reaching inside his furred cloak. “Can you restore my son to me?”
Aldaeld heard the sound of frantic shouting from the entrance to the hall and tore his gaze from the anguished Lord Valas.
He saw Kyarno fighting his way through the crowds of his people, shouting and yelling at the top of his voice.
Lord Aldaeld turned back to Valas in horror as he heard what Kyarno was shouting and the Hound of Winter gave a cry of warning.
“Only in blood will it be settled!” shouted Valas as he surged from his seat and plunged a curved dagger into Lord Aldaeld’s heart.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Kyarno saw Valas Laithu lunge from his seat and thrust a curved blade between Lord Aldaeld’s ribs. He screamed in warning, but could only watch helplessly as bright blood burst from the wound and the lord of the Eadaoin kinband slumped in his throne. The Blades of Midnight stabbed for the throat of Aldaeld’s attacker, but a copper-headed spear leapt to Valas Laithu’s hand and the blow was intercepted.
Kyarno’s sword was in his hand as the hall of Coeth-Mara erupted in yells of outrage and anger at this terrible, treacherous attack. He saw Morvhen run towards her father and followed her, shouting, “To arms! To arms! We are betrayed!”
Warriors of the Laithu kinband threw off their fur cloaks and drew their weapons, but the Eadaoin kinband was not as helpless as they had expected. Arrows flashed through the air and elves of Valas Laithu fell, their throats pierced by deadly accurate shafts. Swords and spears were readied as elves clashed, leaping across the tables of the hall to do battle with one another.
Kyarno leapt a fallen warrior, sprinting towards the raised dais where Lord Valas expertly parried Cairbre’s blows with a long, spiral-patterned spear. The Hound of Winter attacked with all the grim, brutal ferocity he was famed for, but nothing could penetrate Valas’ defences.
Morvhen knelt beside her father with Naieth, fighting without success to stem the bleeding from the grievous wound in his chest.
Morvhen looked up through her tears and shouted, “Kyarno! Look out!”
He risked a glance to his left, throwing himself flat as he saw Sirda Laithu loose an arrow towards him. He hit the ground and rolled, putting the fire between himself and Sirda.
The air was thick with arrows and cries of pain, Kyarno edged around the fire as the clash of steel on steel rang from the walls of Coeth-Mara. Denied complete surprise, the Laithu kinband knew they had a fight on their hands. A shape moved through the flickering flames and he dropped as another arrow flew through the fire, thudding into a root-formed table a handspan from his head, its goose-feathered fletching aflame.
“Nowhere to run, outlaw!” shouted Sirda as he circled the fire, looking to deliver the killing shot. Kyarno circled with him, keeping the fire between them.
“I told you there was blood between us, outlaw! Your death for my brother’s!”
“Your brother is dead?” shouted back Kyarno. “What has that to do with me?”
“Laneir died chasing you from our stable glades!”
“I didn’t kill him,” cried Kyarno. “I swear by all the gods I did not!”
“It doesn’t matter, you’re going to die anyway,” said Sirda.
H
e could not go on like this. Unless he could close the gap — or get Sirda to close it — there could only be one outcome between a swordsman and a bowman.
“Your brother was a treacherous cur!” shouted Kyarno. “Just like you, Sirda.”
He heard Sirda give a strangled cry of rage and hurled himself backwards as another arrow struck the table between his legs. He rolled over the table in a clatter of plates and goblets as Sirda leapt around the fire and drew another arrow.
A spinning platter struck Sirda square in the face and the elf tumbled to the floor, dropping his bow and clutching his head. Kyarno vaulted the table, and sprang towards the fallen Sirda with his sword raised.
His foe rose quickly to his feet, his swords flashing in his hands as he shook his head free of the impact of Kyarno’s makeshift missile.
Kyarno’s sword struck for Sirda’s heart, but the twin swords of the Laithu swordsman swept up and blocked the blow. A streaking riposte tore a gash along Kyarno’s left arm and he dodged away from a low cut intended to gut him. Sirda followed up his counterattack with a blistering series of cuts and thrusts, Kyarno just barely managing to block them.
He parried a blisteringly quick lunge and had a moment of sick realisation that Sirda was a far better swordsman than he.
Sirda saw the awful knowledge in his eyes and grinned.
“You are going to die, outlaw,” he promised.
“We’ll see,” said Kyarno as the battle raged around them.
Cairbre sent another lethal blow arcing towards Valas Laithu’s head, the white blade slashing in to behead the traitorous vermin that had attacked his lord and killed three of his warriors. Once again the copper spearhead caught his blow and turned it aside at the last moment, The haft spun and jabbed at his head, and Cairbre barely evaded the blow.
Beside him, Tarean Stormcrow attacked with his golden sword, his blows parried by the magical spear.
“You cannot defeat me,” said Valas Laithu. “So why try? Your lord is dead, but neither of you need to die. You can serve me.”