Ben jerked back, his leg twitching. 'Dammit!'
'What was it?' Yron, tense all over again, looked immediately behind them.
'Nothing, I . . . Ow!' Ben slapped the water with a hand. 'Something bit me.'
Yron went cold all over. They were twenty-five yards from the bank. It could prove a very long way. Something bumped into his boot. He felt another impact on his leather. He knew this behaviour. This was the vanguard of an invasion. The army would not be far behind and they were unstoppable. Piranha.
'Swim, Ben!' he shouted, thrashing his legs to action, driving them across the river. 'Pump those legs and don't you fucking stop! Swim!'
He knew it gave out distress signals but they had no option. The fish had scented blood from somewhere and he and Ben were the targets. As he swept his legs through the water, bringing the log around to steer them straight for the bank, he saw the mudbank was empty. The crocodiles were already in the water, heading downstream. Their thrashing had been like a call to feeding time and none wanted to miss out. They had a start of a hundred and fifty yards or so. It was going to be very close.
Ben was under concerted attack. His heaving legs made purchase difficult but piranha were quick and their jaws awesomely strong. He cried out again and again as they bit clean through cloth and into his flesh, every bite pumping more blood into the water, attracting more of the voracious killers.
From their left, the crocodiles closed in, strong tails powering them through the water faster than any man could hope to swim. The bank was nearing, moment by moment. Yron felt a sharp bite on his ankle through the leather of his boot. He thrashed his legs harder.
Ben moaned.
'Keep going, son, almost there,' urged Yron. 'You can do it. Don't you give up on me, lad.'
'No . . . intention,' gasped Ben, but he was weakening quickly.
'So much more to teach you, Ben. Don't let go now, don't let go.'
Yron's legs struck the bottom. Reacting instantly, he plunged his feet to the bed of the river and stood upright, dragging Ben with him. He forced his way through the stomach-deep water, feeling the press of the fish around him, their incessant probing, feeling the brush of teeth and the tearing of cloth.
With Ben practically under one arm and barely able to stand, he scrambled up the mud at the edge of the river and pushed Ben ahead of him, the boy stumbling through the shallows and falling forward onto the grass. His right leg was a bloody mess, his trousers shredded; one of his boots hung by its laces and his jerkin was ripped and torn around the waist.
'Don't stop, Ben.' He heaved in a breath. 'Not safe.'
Ben tried to get to his feet, made it to a crawling position and dragged himself up the slope of the bank. Behind Yron the water boiled. A crocodile erupted from the river, hammering at them with extraordinary speed. Yron slipped on the bank, fell onto his backside and pushed himself backwards, his back against Ben's floundering body.
The crocodile came on, head still, running at its intended prey. Behind it, others fought each other in the shallows but it ignored them. Its jaws snapped once, missing Yron's foot by a hair. The captain lashed out with his boot, catching it across the snout. It hesitated then came on. He kicked again, another good contact. The crocodile stopped and hissed.
'Ben, go!' he yelled. 'Go!'
Below him, the huge reptile shook its head from side to side, gave Yron one last malevolent look and retreated into the water. He looked down on it from the top of the bank, stood and dragged Ben further into the forest and under cover. He laid the boy down and stared at his wounds.
'Damn you, boy,' he said, though his tone carried no anger. 'You were cut, weren't you?'
Ben nodded feebly then slumped back to lie prostrate. He was a mess. Ignoring the scratches and bites on his own body, Yron assessed his charge. Blood poured from Ben's ravaged right leg, and oozed from more other places than he could count. Flesh had been ripped from bones, which showed through where the piranhas had got to work. Back home the leg would have been amputated; here it had to be patched up.
One thing was clear. If Yron didn't bathe and dress the wounds with the right herbs, the boy was going to die.
Auum led his Tai along the banks of the River Shorth, his frustration growing. These men he'd ignored near the temple had proved to be difficult prey, and within his frustration there was a sense of grudging respect. A respect, though, that didn't lessen the outrage at the crime for which the strangers would pay.
They had followed the easy trail north and then east to the banks of the river. Footsteps had dragged down to the shore and there the trail had gone cold. It was clear they had gone downriver but how far was currently not known. Duele had found a disturbed pile of driftwood just upstream and it was then that Auum had to confess his surprise. The tributary was quick, with rocks not far under the surface. Even with driftwood to cling to, the chances of injury were very high, and where the flow eased, the predators massed.
They moved on at speed, never more than five yards apart in a line that gave them a view across the river and deep into the forest eastwards.
'Thoughts,' he asked of them.
'The ClawBound has sensed nothing of them north to Shorth's Teeth rapids,' said Duele. 'I suggest they are back on land upstream of the rapids, possibly on the opposite bank.'
'They moved quickly to the river yesterday,' said Evunn. 'They have direction and they are unharmed. They may have reversed, leaving a false trail.'
It had to be considered, but Auum dismissed it. 'Not that good,' he said. 'But quick, yes. I suspect one of them knows of us.'
'So he would take great risk to escape,' said Duele.
'Speed is nothing without guile. We will always be faster,' countered Evunn.
'To a stranger, distance is safety. They chase the goal of escape,' said Auum. 'We should alert the ClawBound west of the river. These strangers must not escape.'
A roar lifted above the buzz of the forest. It was echoed at greater distance. The Tai stopped, waited. It was communication. A series of calls circled out, some elven, some animal. Growls, whistles, wails, grunts and barks. Auum understood none of it. Despite the closeness of their alliance, the ClawBound never revealed any of their secrets. The TaiGethen would know what was relevant soon enough.
The discordant messaging went on, silencing the forest denizens. This was noise at odds, noise that meant trouble and the determination to find a cure. None of Tual's creatures would interfere. Most would be scared by what they heard; an instinctive memory cowed them where they stood, caused them to land on the nearest perch or hold themselves still in the water or high in the canopy.
The moment it died away, the forest buzzed once more and a ClawBound pair emerged from the shadows to Auum's left. The panther trotted in and stood in Auum's path, its eyes glistening, asking him to stop.
'Tai,' said Auum and they came to him.
The ClawBound elf, very tall, his face impassive beneath his paint, bowed his head and spoke, the voice unused to speech.
'We have one group. Two trails are new. The fourth is west. The fifth group has crossed the Shorth. They are hurt. We will follow.'
He turned to go. Auum's question stopped him.
'Where are they running to?'
'Verendii Tual,' said the ClawBound. 'Many strangers wait. We watch.'
He turned and walked away into the forest, the panther sniffing the Tai's scent on the air before growling low and trotting after him.
'Verendii Tual,' said Auum. 'We haven't much time. The ClawBound will not lose them as I did. We'll wait for them at the estuary.'
His Tai knew better than to question him and they followed him away from the tributary, which would soon carve away west to join the Shorth, the combined river flowing on to its mouth at Verendii Tual, the staggering high-cliffed inlet that bit deep into the forest.
All the groups were tracked and one would be down by dawn tomorrow. The net was closing.
Chapter 25.
Just before dawn, Erys had woken experiencing a dread fear. Barely a day and a half out from the temple and the calming influence of Captain Yron and, while the group weren't lost, their minds were full of the terrors of the forest and their thinking wasn't straight. He'd tried to bring them back to themselves time and again in their ill-disciplined march towards the coast. He'd reminded them that Yron had trusted them to escape and had bought them time by sacrificing his own life.
And it had worked, brought them all back to what they had sworn to do. For an hour, maybe. Time was so difficult to judge. And then the bickering had started again. The backbiting and the fights about who was to lead. Erys had kept out of it. Let the egos of the other three battle it out. He gave up trying to reason with them and consoled himself by reflecting that it was he who carried the vital cargo. When it came to it, only he had to survive. Everyone else was expendable. He hoped they all went to hell.
It had been the previous dawn that they realised they were being followed. Tracked. There was nothing they could point to. No evidence. But it was there all the same, the indefinable feeling that they were being watched. Perhaps it was a change in the quality of a shadow; perhaps a branch cracked at a quiet moment in the din that was the forest day, or maybe the call of a bird didn't ring true. Whatever it was, it had destroyed any semblance of order and the day had been little more than a blind rush north.
Heedless of where they had run, they had suffered cut, bruise and sprain. Only Erys, who had seen their charge for what it was, had kept a reasonable pace, kept up with them easily and so avoided injury. The Gods only knew how they had escaped broken bones or snakebite. And worse than it all had been the unearthly chorus of growls, barks, grunts and calls that had echoed from all around them, dimming the rest of the forest din for what seemed like an age. None of them had spoken of it, too scared at what it represented to give voice.
The night had been unbearably tense, but despite the determination of everyone to stay awake because they didn't trust each other, Erys had slumped into an exhausted sleep. But now he was awake and his heart was thundering in his chest. He tried to quiet his breathing, lay completely silent in his hammock and listened. He turned his head slowly from side to side and in the thin light he could see one of the soldiers lying asleep. From where he was, Erys couldn't see the other two. He couldn't hear anything out of the ordinary.
But something had woken him. He was sure it hadn't been a dream. Erys shuffled out of his hammock, slipping on the wet ground under his feet. A quick look round and he shuddered. There was no one on duty. An eerie quality lay over the camp. Walking quickly towards the nearest of his colleagues, Erys genuinely didn't know if any of them was still alive, such was his feeling of impending dread.
He shook the soldier's shoulder and was rewarded with a grunt. He shook it again.
'Wake up,' he hissed. 'Can't you feel it?'
'What?' muttered the soldier, a surly young individual called Awin.
'Just get ready. We've got to go now,' said Erys.
He hurried across the camp and woke the other pair, whose hammocks were strung close together. Once he'd got them moving, he ran back to his own bed and began to unstring it, his eyes flicking into the forest as the watery light grew in strength. He stuffed the hammock into his pack, checked the wrapped parchments were secure and slung the bag over his shoulder.
Straightening, he met Awin's eyes.
'What's got into you?' asked the soldier. 'There's nothing anywhere near. I-'
He stopped and looked past Erys's shoulder. The mage swung round and saw it too. A shadow flitting across his vision, fast and low. Erys backed off.
'Get behind me,' said Awin, drawing his sword from his scabbard. 'Trouble, you two, look lively. To your left. Get a shield up, Erys.'
The other two scrambled to shrug on leather armour and grab swords but Erys didn't even begin to form the shape for a HardShield. He could see more figures moving. Upright this time. Like darker patches of shade and moving impossibly fast in the dense, overhanging, choking growth. He kept on backing away, his ears roaring with the clamour of his fear, praying that none of the shades were behind him. He'd have turned to look but he didn't really want to know.
Awin was crouched low, snapping out what he could see as he scanned the dark depths. The others were circling round slowly, swords and daggers drawn, armour untied and flapping. Erys saw the shadows move. He heard a growl. Something black, sleek, low and full of muscle flowed from the forest. It slammed into one of the soldiers whose name escaped him in the muddle of his mind. The scream was inhuman.
Awin and the other soldier ran in opposite directions, the latter stopping suddenly as the forest moved in front of him. Steel glinted and his head snapped back, blood misting into the dawn. Awin saw him go down and ran back.
'The shield, Erys, now!'
Erys desperately tried to clamp onto some concentration. He knew what he had to do. The shape was simple but its edges kept getting away from him and he had to lose himself before he could save himself. The shape formed. He dragged it together, blotting out Awin's panicked shouts and the sounds of the sleek shadow ripping the life from a man he'd heard laughing the night before. He cast as Awin turned a despairing face to him. CloakedWalk.
He stepped back and knew by Awin's expression that he'd disappeared.
'Bastard!' yelled the soldier. 'Coward!'
He was almost crying; he knew his death was imminent. Erys edged further away. Awin turned at more sounds, a whimper escaping his lips. The black cat was gone, returned to the shadows. And from the forest they came.
Three of them, moving smoothly into the campsite. Tall, lean and with faces painted black, green and brown. Two carried short slim blades, the third had a hand in a pouch at his belt. Erys tried to contain his breathing and the urge to run. He heard movement and the black cat, the size of a war dog, stopped beside him. It sniffed the air, knowing something was amiss but seeing nothing with its keen eyes. It moved on, a low growl in its throat. And after it came another elf. White and black halved face, the stark contrast in the dark was terrifying, like the half-face was floating, ghostly. He too looked square at the delicately retreating Erys but didn't stop.
Poor Awin was surrounded. He straightened now and dropped his sword. He held up his hands.
'Please,' he begged. 'I surrender.'
But they said nothing, just carried on advancing. Two came to his sides and grabbed an arm each. The third stepped up, pushed Awin's chin up with one hand and drove his blade through the man's neck with the other. The cat roared, the black and white elf exulted.
It was all Erys could do to stop himself crying out. He put his hands behind him, feeling his way. They found the trunk of a tree. Erys carried on, edging himself around it. His foot came down on a twig which snapped with a report like thunder in his ears. Elves and animal looked towards him. Awin's body dropped to the ground and he died ignored.
Erys fought the urge to stop moving, to become even more silent. He saw them speaking to each other. They couldn't see him. One of them came towards him, his eyes piercing green, catching the first shafts of sunlight. Erys kept on taking his gentle steps. He wanted to turn and run but was fearful of letting them out of his sight.
The elf came on but he was shaking his head. He said something then turned and rejoined the others. Another brief conversation and the cat and the spectral elf ran off to the north. The three others bent immediately to their task, and as Erys watched and the forest slowly obscured his view, packs were torn apart and bodies were searched. Erys's last memory was of the elves systematically shredding every item of kit and clothing.
Wanting nothing more than to find a place to hide, Erys clung onto the CloakedWalk, turned and walked forward at last, hoping to find the river to follow all the way to the coast.
Yron had done everything he could. Dragging Ben-Foran into the obscurity of the forest, he'd laid him down on a clear patch of ground and used his soaking leather jerkin as a pillow of sorts. He'd lit a fire using rubbed bamboo and fashioned a rough tripod from damp wood. They both still carried the mugs they'd run from the temple with; Yron had forbidden Ben to discard his, knowing they might prove vital. He'd filled both from the river and balanced them on the tripod.
Taking off his shirt, he'd cut it into strips and put them in the water to boil. Finally, hoping no predators were attracted to Ben's bloodied body, he made a quick hunt for legumia bark, rubiac fruit and vismia stems. He found none of the latter. He could have done with its antiseptic qualities and reminded himself to keep looking, assuming Ben survived.
The youngster was conscious when he returned and incredibly was struggling to sit up.
'Lie back, boy,' said Yron. 'Best you don't look.'
'It's bloody agony,' said Ben.
'I know. I got the odd nip myself.' It was an understatement. Though the piranha had concentrated their attack on Ben's legs, the Captain had been the victim of more snaps than he could count. Most were little more than exploratory attacks but enough were full-blooded bites to cause him serious pain. He mustn't forget to treat himself. Ben would not be served by his own death.
Yron dropped the bark into the mugs and waited as it bubbled and spat.
'You'll be fine, Ben,' he said. 'You've broken nothing. It hurts like hell but I can numb the pain later. For now I have to clean it. That'll sting but you'll know it's doing the job, right?'
The commentary was as much for Yron as it was for his frightened lieutenant. Yron stared up at the sky, seeing the smoke trailing up into the canopy. The cloud had disappeared and strong light was shining down, bringing with it humidity and heat. He was aware they'd have to try and move soon. The smoke, while keeping away the flies, was a beacon for any watching TaiGethen and their silent ClawBound brethren.
When he'd waited as long as he could, Yron took the mugs from the tripod and placed them by Ben. He cut the remnants of Ben's trouser legs away, took a deep breath at what he saw and gave the stricken man a reassuring smile.
'It's not so bad,' he said.
'Liar,' replied Ben. 'Sir.'
Yron hooked a piece of cloth from a mug with a stick, let it cool a little in the air, then dropped it into his hands where he balled it up.
'Try not to cry out,' he said gently. 'I have to do this.'
He began to clean the right leg, beginning at the foot. At the first touch of the infused cloth, Ben tensed and bit down on a scream. Yron pressed on; he really had no choice.
He had no real idea how long he worked. Meticulous and tireless for hour after hour, he cleaned each wound separately, biting his lip as he looked at the torn flesh, the flaps of skin and the deep bite wounds. The right leg was torn to bits. Bone and muscle were exposed and he covered what he could with the makeshift bandages. Perhaps magic could save it but they were far from such help and Ben's survival chances were already low.
The left leg was better but his buttocks had both taken bites as had hips and lower stomach. Yron cleaned and bandaged, refilled the mugs again and again, kept the fire going and, latterly, made rubiac poultices for himself to try and combat any infection.
Finally, he dressed Ben in the remains of his trousers, helped him back into his leather armour, having used his shirt for bandages too, and sat him up. Ben-Foran was shivering in the heat as the shock of the attack began to set in. It was after midday.
'We can't stay here, Ben,' Yron said, keeping his face close to the boy's, forcing him to focus. 'We don't have to go far but we do have to go. Now I want you to prepare yourself, all right? Think strength, and know I'll be supporting you. We can still make it.'
'If you say so, sir,' said Ben. His face was pale and sheened in sweat.