Auum and Rebraal saw to the structure of the camp defence, positioning elves on riverbank and crag heights as well as front and rear. The mages were scattered through the camp in groups against the risk of spell attack and the ClawBound rested or scouted as they pleased.
Satisfied, the pair walked to the centre of the camp where The Raven sat, their horses picketed nearby. Their fire, like all the others, was soon to be doused but while they could, they enjoyed its light and warmth under the cool, cloudless sky.
Auum still wasn't sure about them. For humans perhaps they were exceptional and it was true that their actions during the days of the Elfsorrow made them friends to all elves. But he couldn't help but blame them for the problems they encountered in Xetesk. They were too driven by their emotions, and in combat, Auum did not believe that was the way to win. Even so, he was forced to concede the truth of history. They still fought, and won, sixteen years after they had started.
Auum accepted the mug of tea Hirad handed him and walked over to where Sian'erei tended Evunn. The elf lay next to Erienne, who still had not regained consciousness. Once more, Denser was protecting them from the power of her mind while Cleress slept to rest and regain her strength.
'Tual has smiled on him,' said Auum. Evunn looked so much better. His face was relaxed and the colour back in his lips and cheeks.
Sian looked up. 'He has,' she said. 'The Lysternan mage has healed his mind. There is no damage that I can sense now. The mana aura is complete around him. When he wakes, he should be recovered, though we were warned that his memory of recent events might be incomplete.'
'He will be happy Tual has blessed him with another day,' said Auum. 'And the One mage?'
They both looked down at Erienne. Thraun sat beside her, Denser nearby, already looking tired from his spell casting.
'I do not know,' said Sian. 'Her mind is a confusion to me. They say she improves but I cannot see any signs. But she is warm and breathing. Her body is strong and her friends are always with her. All we have for her is hope.'
Auum nodded. 'Thank you, Sian'erei. The Tai are in your debt.'
She flushed and smiled.
Auum turned and took a seat next to Rebraal. The Raven had banked their saddles on top of leather wraps, creating something passably comfortable to lean on.
'Let's talk,' said Auum to Rebraal. 'I want to understand these assassins and the winged creatures more. We must also consider our route for tomorrow. Translate for me.'
'Of course,' said Rebraal. 'Hirad, Unknown, may I interrupt?'
'Why not?' said Hirad. 'How are we doing?'
'Well, the camp is as secure as we can make it. The Xeteskians have stopped for the night. We have hunters out in the field. They will strike if the risk is warranted. ClawBound too may wish to exact retribution. Auum, and I for that matter, need to know more about what we might face tonight.'
'Denser, you know about this stuff,' said Hirad.
'It's not complex,' said Denser. Auum looked hard at him. The strain of the last few days was not being kind to him. There were deep shadows under his eyes and there was a cut in his voice. He needed Erienne to awaken. 'I doubt we will come under familiar attack. They are vulnerable to spell attack and we have a hundred and thirty-odd mages here. But if they do attack, remember that you can't hurt them with swords. And if their mages are with them, killing one will damage the other. It gives you options. But if I were Xetesk, I'd be sending familiars over shorter distances and attacking Lysternans or Dordovans without mage cover. Stands to reason.'
'They are not natural creatures,' said Auum.
'No, they're demons. Be careful of them. They are strong and to be feared.'
'Not by the elves,' said Auum. 'However ugly or strong, they are not a match for us. Tual protects us.'
Denser half smiled. 'I noticed. Now, assassins are altogether different. They will travel Cloaked, silent and in pairs. Always in pairs. We need to worry about these men. They are powerful casters, ruthless knife- and poison-killers and they leave no trail.' He nodded at Auum. 'They are the closest thing we have to the TaiGethen. They won't kill indiscriminately, it isn't their way. Indeed, they may not attack at all tonight, preferring to watch. If I know Dystran, they will be tasked to recover the Aryn Hiil, kill The Raven, barring Erienne, and also kill any elf they identify as key. That means you two for a start.'
Auum nodded. 'The ClawBound must be informed,' he said through Rebraal. 'And then every elf in the camp. The breeze on your cheek could be the passing of an enemy. This won't wait.'
He rose and, having spoken quickly to Rebraal, he trotted out of the firelight.
Hirad watched him go then raised his eyebrows in Rebraal's direction.
'He wants to get the message out. They are also going to mark the camp accessways with leaves and brush. It might help but the wind works against us. We will have to be vigilant.'
'We've got another idea,' said Hirad. 'We think that the assassins' first target will be us. Judging by the pace of the main Xeteskian force, they think they can take you on at the College so they'll let you go. If we aren't with you, you'll be free to move faster and in darkness if it suits you. We can outrun the assassins, the familiars and the mage defenders. We'll take the spare horses as well. We'll be leaving before dawn. Hopefully, we'll be seen, if you see what I mean.'
'Is that . . . ?' Rebraal paused and frowned. 'That's a risk. A big one. You are much safer with us.'
'But we're putting you at greater risk,' said The Unknown. 'Think about it. It makes sense. We can act as decoys, we can look after ourselves. We aren't helping you here and we don't like that. We'd be happier on our own.'
'Doing things The Raven's way, is that it?' asked Rebraal.
Hirad smiled. 'Now you're getting it.'
'What about Erienne?' he asked.
'She comes with us,' said Denser.
'She's one of their main targets,' added Darrick. The pale general was lying against his saddle already half asleep, the day's ride having worn him down.
'I don't know,' said Rebraal. 'Splitting our forces, isn't it? And you aren't just hunted by Xetesk.'
'Oh, I think Lystern and Dordover have other things on their minds,' said The Unknown.
'I'll speak to Auum,' said Rebraal. 'I don't think he'll like it.'
'It isn't like you have a choice,' said Hirad. 'We're going to sleep on it and if we like the idea when we wake, we're going.'
Rebraal sucked his lip, his cheeks reddening slightly. 'Right,' he said and pushed himself to his feet. 'Right. Well listen, don't leave without saying something.'
The Al-Arynaar looked crushed. Hirad couldn't let him leave like that.
'Hey, Rebraal, we'd love you to come with us. Gods know, we could do with your skills. But your place is here, with your people. Ours isn't. Anyway, it's for two days. We'll see you in Julatsa.'
'You'd better. The ClawBound will shadow you.' The elf left their fire.
Out in the camp, flames were being dampened. Hirad and The Unknown followed the lead, kicking dirt over their already guttering fire.
'Denser, get some rest,' said The Unknown. 'I'll wake you when I wake Hirad for watch. Darrick, you're sleeping and no argument, you look terrible.'
'Who's arguing?'
'Good answer,' said The Unknown. 'Listen, we know what could be out there. We know how good the elves are but we've encountered assassins before. Let's not lapse, all right?'
He stood tall, sampling the night air, his thoughts clouded by the wrong. Her emotions of anger and loss were in his mind too, and thrashing through his veins. He yearned for the canopy above him, the heat of the day, the cacophony of night. The comfort of the rain.
But he was here doing Tual's work. The TaiGethen had asked many of the ClawBound to stay and so they had. He looked to the right and locked eyes with his Claw. She was standing stock still, feeling his emotional tide as he was hers. Around them, the scents of the alien land came to them on a soft breeze, dry and cool.
He took in the landscape, its hues standing out in stark tones of grey. The tall grassed plains that ran away to the south-west and the bulk of the enemy, the hills rising north and the undulating land close to the elven camp. The sounds of the river, though it was quite distant now, were as clear as the rustling of the low brush and damaged trees in front of him.
They moved on south, sorting the scents. Cooked meat, a fresh kill, wood smoke and ash, horses, grass. But overlaying it all was the stench of man. His hand was everywhere, tainting all that he had. Humans knew so little about their land, how to keep it, how to work in harmony with the riches their Gods had given them. There was no comfort in the land, it felt aggressive somehow to the ClawBound. Ill at ease.
Ahead of him, a broken fence led on to the overgrown fields of an abandoned farm. He hurdled the timbers easily, seeing also through his Claw's eyes the tangled vegetation at ground level and understanding the scents that she encountered there. A wisp of leather, the strong smells of damp earth and rotting vegetables.
Nothing moved in the ruins of the farmhouse. It had no roof and all of its wooden walls were holed and splintered, one collapsed entirely. Beyond it, and quite suddenly, a new scent was on the air, coming to them on the prevailing breeze. They halted again, she flat against the earth, he crouching by a broken wall. It was an unusual taste, masked such that although it was undeniably human, it was frayed somehow, hard to pinpoint.
His Claw echoed his slight confusion, even her highly developed receptors having difficulty deciphering what she was scenting on the breeze. Ultimately, her mind cleared and she set off, angling south and west, paws making no sound, head up, constantly checking her direction. He strode behind her, watching the land and the sky, determined that they would not be surprised from the air, or by hidden creatures as their unfortunate kin had been.
They travelled on, leaving the farmhouse far behind, his Claw turning first west and then north-west. He could see the route turning inexorably towards the elven camp. A threat approached the resting elves. They would hunt it down.
The panther increased her pace and he ran too, the scent strong, its masking failing as they closed. Ahead of them, open land rose gently towards the camp. It was empty but they had been told to trust their noses and disbelieve their eyes.
They ran on, the knowledge of the threat all around them but nothing bar the scent to confirm its presence. They had no clear target and the breeze picked up immediately they hit the open ground. He slowed and stopped in the rise, his Claw circling, growling deep in her throat. They were close, he could feel it. He ignored the emptiness, turning a slow circle himself, the smell all around him but stronger in two areas. They had been told this too. These men did not travel alone.
Beneath his feet, the grass was wet and footfalls quiet upon it. He studied it, looking for the darker trails that would signify the passage of man over the ankle-high grass. And there were trails but they were so many. Animals passed this way and these men were clever, walking in the tracks of the fox or the horse.
His Claw's ears pricked and she stopped in mid stride, paw raised, her whiskers twitching. Her head swivelled round until she was staring at the space right in front of him. Her eyes could discern something his could not. He used them, seeing in the few yards between them, a ghosting over the landscape, a caressing of the grass in the tracks of an animal. Like a mist that moved so slowly it barely blew at all. But move it did.
He flexed his long strong fingers and felt each of his sharpened nails in turn against his thumb. The outline, broken by its spell and reflecting nothing but the night scene around it, was moving away from his Claw and towards him but so slowly.
Perhaps in the brightness and noise of the day, the outline would have been truly invisible but in the stark monochrome of ClawBound night sight, any blemish stood out eventually.
He waited, appearing to look away, his Claw's eyes giving him his information. The man, for it was a man, tall like him, stealthy and patient, came closer, closer.
He straightened the fingers of both hands and whipped his left shoulder round, his nails spearing flesh. His right hand followed, fingers gouging deep, nails of both hands clicking as they met within his victim. In front of him, the man flicked into vision, eyes wide with shock, mouth moving only to deliver a choking sound and a spray of blood.
He dragged his fingers from either side of the man's neck and watched him fall, gasping for air, suffocating in the open, his windpipe wrecked. The assassin's partner attacked, a noise betraying him before he too became visible. From nowhere, the Claw swatted his lower back with a taloned paw, brought him down face first and bit down on his neck, breaking it easily.
She licked her whiskers, he sensing the warmth of the blood and the unpleasant sharpness of the taste. Not like the blood of true prey. Their eyes met again. There would be more.
They ran away south and west, searching.
He soared high and his mood was higher. His master was asleep and safe within the confines of the camp. No enemies were close enough to strike and so he was free to fly and to kill, though he was minded to be careful. The enemy might be weakened but enough mages remained to threaten him if he should attack the wrong targets.
So he searched for those who carried swords and who huddled in little groups, fearful of the night and what might come from it. He chuckled to himself, his thoughts full of the taste of blood and the feel of human offal on his hands. And he dreamed that one day all his kind would be free to plunder this land as they wished, to kill whom they wished and drink the fire of the souls of any human. Barring his master, barring all such masters. These were warm and he loved them all for their gift to his strain. None more so than his own master, who looked over him and protected him always.
He swam in the air, turning a circle, spinning his body and letting himself fall fast, only to spread his wings and curve away. He laughed again, this time aloud, hoping some of those hiding below would hear him and be afraid. And there was movement below. Just a little but his eyes were so keen in the darkness.
A shape stood against a tree in amongst a small sheltered wood. He quieted himself and dropped lower to investigate. Through the branches and leaves, the man couldn't see him. He landed lightly on a bough and stared about him. On the ground by the standing man, another lay. Both were soldiers. Neither was obviously injured and that made them fortunate. But not for long. No one else was near.
He took off, flew high and away, banking gently around to find his target. He meant to come in from the side. The man was looking ahead still, back to the tree. The demon licked his lips and dived. The wind across his body was chill but invigorating, his arms were stretched in front of him, ready to grip the skull. Entering the wood, he slowed a little, needing control for the quick kill. He could smell the man now, the anxiety bled from his pores, his sweat stinking, his clothes damp and reeking.
Too easy. He was silent, his target had no notion of his approach. He wanted to see the terror. At the last, he chattered his delight and the man began to turn.
Sudden green light erupted to his left and heat, terrible heat, seared into his flank and the side of his head. He screeched and tumbled away, unable to stop himself striking the ground, one wing ruined, his whole body burning with the mana fire.
'No, no, no,' he wailed as he rolled in the mulch on the ground, the spell eating into his flesh, unquenchable, draining his life from him.
His thoughts flew to his master. He could feel his pain across the miles, the crushing in his mind, the howling agony and the loss that was to come. He rolled over and two men stood above him, watching him die. One had a greying beard, his expression stern and cruel. The other, younger man he recognised too. He led the cavalrymen of Lystern.
'I'm sorry, master,' he muttered, knowing it would make no difference to his pain.
He could feel himself slipping away and a tear squeezed from his eye. The bearded man spat on to his scorched body and he was too weak even to threaten revenge.
'Very good, Izack,' said the bearded man. 'Let's get to the next sector.'
The cavalryman nodded and the two turned away. The demon's vision faded and greyed. He felt the pull and was gone.
Denser couldn't sleep. He knew he needed the rest, the spell cocooning Erienne's mind was so draining with the One fighting to break it every moment. He poured mana into the structure to keep it strong and saw that mana picked apart by the enemy in his wife's mind.
It was a battle he was helpless to aid. He lay down beside her, stroked her face.
'Please wake, my love,' he whispered. 'Give me something to tell me you're fighting.'
He tuned in to the mana spectrum and tasted the turmoil surrounding Erienne. He could sense the power of the One through his shield and the Dordovan mana that resisted it. The force surrounding her was immense. He could see the raw fuel of magic being dragged into her mind, into the One entity. The damage it had to be doing . . . he could hardly bear to watch.
There was no way to cap the well. Erienne and Cleress had to do that. And so they did when Cleress was awake and with her. But the ageing Al-Drechar was alone and when she was forced to rest, all her work was undone. He snapped out of the spectrum and swallowed hard.
'You can do it, Erienne. You have to. We can't lose you,' he said. 'I can't lose you.'
Helpless. Weaponless. Impotent.
'Please,' he said, hearing his voice strain with the desperation and feeling the tears begin to come. 'Please.'
He felt strong hands lift him and arms crush him close.
'Let it go, Denser,' said The Unknown. 'Or you will never rest and she needs you rested.'
'But it won't help her,' he managed, choking back a sob. 'I can't help her.'
'You are helping her. If the power could escape untamed, you know the One would draw in yet more to feed it. You help her, you help us all.'
Denser nodded. Perhaps it made sense but it was so difficult to see. He drew in a shuddering breath and pushed away from The Unknown, wiping his eyes.
'I'm sorry,' he said. 'Sorry.'
'Why be sorry?' said The Unknown. 'We all yearn to help the ones we love and when we can't, what's left but tears?'
Chapter 34.
However many times he had told them, in live exercise, in training rooms and now, in the reality of action, both in the early hours when he had toured the guard positions and the evening before when they had stopped for the night, they hadn't taken heed. Not when it really mattered. And men would die in their sleep because of it.
Chandyr had no time to don his armour, merely grabbed his sword and ran from his tent. He'd been awake, just composing himself to get out and organise the cook fires. He'd wanted to be away at dawn. The first impact had been enough and he'd left his tent before the second and third had hit. There had been no prior warning and that was what made him seethe.
'Get out to the margins!' he yelled, hurdling a fire pit and racing out to where the green Lysternan mana fires were burning tents and helpless soldiers. 'Get the cavalry mounted. What did I bloody tell you!'