With Takara sitting behind him and Tahngarth, Sisay, and the Fifth Regiment following, Gerrard sent his mount bounding across the battlefield. Many of Gerrard's regiment were dead already, slain as they ran for their mounts. Their bodies lay savaged among forgotten packs. Not a few satyrs and trolls lay amid them. Some of the fighters who had slain them fought on. They seemed mere children waggling sticks at hulking bears.
One woman, who had killed two trolls, battled a third now, her strength flagging.
Gerrard's mount lunged beside the troll, and he clove the thing's brain between the horns. "Pick her up!" he shouted to Sisay, pointing to the weary soldier.
No sooner had Gerrard's Jhovall leaped out of the space than Sisay's leaped into it. She grabbed the soldier's arm and dragged her onto the Jhovall's back. Tahngarth likewise rescued another beleaguered guard. Soon, every soldier that lived rode a Jhovall across the camp.
On the opposite end of the killing field, the caterans had been busy. They were not content merely to slay the beasts. They harvested trophies-sawing at horns and claws, hewing teeth, lopping off fingers, flaying skin and fur. Where a creature was cut open, the caterans thrust an arm in the gore- sign of a successful kill. When both-or all four-arms were red, the caterans painted their chests and foreheads and legs in the stuff. They fought like fiends, these caterans. Few if any of them had fallen, but the ground was thick with dead trolls and satyrs.
Gerrard's steed bounded past that abattoir and onward, into the murk. He held high his burning brand and charged on between silvery boles. With a glance back, he saw that most of his force remained-perhaps fifty Jhovalls followed in his wake, bearing one or two soldiers each. The six-legged cats were faster and more agile than these lumbering, shuffling monsters. Soon, the Fifth Regiment would be beyond their reach.
"That was a near thing," Takara panted into his ear.
"Yes," Gerrard agreed in the rushing wind. "Do you think Orim has… survived?" "I hope so," Gerrard replied. "We drive on until we reach the center of the forest, and Weatherlight."
"At least we're safe for the moment." Takara said. She had spoken too soon.
Something massive moved ahead-many somethings. As tall as five men, they lurked in the interstices between boles. Their bodies were black silhouettes against the silver gloamingliving shadows. They darted, positioning themselves in the path of the Jhovalls. Here and there, true glimpses came of these vaguely human titans. In place of skin, leaves stood across their bulk. Mosses clumped in untidy mats of hair. Vines twined in veinwork. Fists of stone and stick bore huge clubs. Most horrible of all, though, were the creatures' eyes, glowing with the silver fire of the trees all around.
"Rushwood elementals!" Sisay shouted. "They are formed out of the leaves and boughs of the forest!" Takara whispered sardonically, "What now?" "What else?" Gerrard replied, feeling his fear turn to anger, and his anger to hatred. "We fight." "That's what I like to hear."
"Hang on!" Gerrard kicked the flanks of his Jhovall. The tiger-creature snarled and leaped toward one of the looming shadows. Overhead, a club dropped with an awful roar. Gerrard drove the cat upward. The Jhovall leaped. Claws sank into the moldy mass of the elemental's thigh. A vague roar came. The massive club descended toward Jhovall and riders.
"Get up!" Gerrard shouted at his mount. The Jhovall bounded again.
The club struck. A shriek came, inhuman anguish. The elemental staggered. Its thigh-stones and sticks-had shattered beneath the blow of the club.
Rising still, the Jhovall sank its claws in the monster's arm and hurled itself higher.
"Good work," Takara shouted.
But the elemental was not maimed for long. It pressed its club against the shattered thigh. The wood fused with its leg, solidifying it.
"Not good enough," Gerrard hissed.
The jhovall leaped from the elemental's shoulder toward its face. Feline claws sank into the elemental's skull. Standing in the saddle, Gerrard drove his sword into one of the titan's silver-glowing eyes. Takara rammed hers into the other. Mercurial flames danced out along the blades and burned their sleeves. Gerrard and Takara shouted in unison pain.
But the agonized shriek of the elemental overtopped their cries. Silver fire guttered and failed in its eyes. They went dark. The wailing ceased. The elemental died. With terrific and terrible motion, its corpse began to slump. Boughs and humus and rocks separated. No longer joined in a titanic body, the multifarious vines and mosses tumbled free of each other.
Growling, Gerrard drove heels into his Jhovall's side. "Jump!"
The tiger-creature did, flinging itself across the wheeling heights. It bounded from the head of a dying elemental toward the shoulders of a living one. Trees flashed past in a dizzy spectacle. The Jhovall extended its forepaws to grasp the next titan.
The elemental turned. Its club whirled about and struck the six-legged tiger in midair.
A whuff of breath exploded from the cat. With it came the snap of ribs. Blood boiled out of the creature's face. Broken, the Jhovall spun through the air.
Gerrard and Takara clung miserably to its inert bulk. Trees whirled.
They struck one. The dead cat caught the brunt of the blow, but Takara was flung away. She fell toward the forest floor, landing atop a root-cluster and sprawling brokenly.
Gerrard meanwhile smacked up against rough bark. Something shattered in his chest, but he clung to the dead cat. It sloughed off the side of the tree and plunged beneath him. Cursing, Gerrard clawed atop the falling Jhovall. It struck ground.
The impact was horrible. It drove the breath from Gerrard. He crumpled off the Jhovall's corpse and flailed on the ground. He rolled across his torch. The wet fabric of his riding cloak-it was a flask of rye spirits that had shattered in his chest pocket-flared with sudden fire.
Gerrard staggered up and shucked the burning jacket. He flung it furiously away. The cloak wrapped itself around the elemental's leg.
Flame leaped to wood and dry moss. Fire spread up the looming titan. It shrieked, pounding the blaze. Flames roared onto its hands and arms. In moments, the elemental was engulfed-a living column of fire. It thrashed horribly among the boles, shying away from the trees lest it set them ablaze. Its screams were terrifying.
Gerrard could only grin grimly. He drew a hissing breath through gritted teeth and shouted, "Burn them! Burn every last one! Burn them!"
Even as the elemental fell to the ground, writhing in death throes, more fires awoke among the others.
A slim hand touched Gerrard's shoulder. "That was well done."
He turned, astonished. "Takara! How did you survive that fall? Your spine was broken."
"No. Hatred is my spine," she said, smiling a bloody smile. "As long as I keep it at the core of my being, I survive."
"Yes," Gerrard said, staring at her. "I've begun to see the definite benefits." There were four elementals burning now, their wails like music in the night. Gerrard cupped hands about his mouth and shouted through the chorus of moans. "Caterans to the fore! Clear a corridor! Kill anything that stands between us and Weatherlight.'"
Chapter 9
The stillness of the wood was broken by shouts.
Orim rose, dropping the herbs she had been washing in the lagoon. She ran frantically, her mouth open in wordless horror. Even as she fled across the mossy forest floor, she saw hellish figures break through the surrounding trees.
On scaly legs they bounded forward. Claws ate up the ground. Bloody arms grasped villagers. Fangs sank into sides, shoulders, and heads. More blood painted the inhuman monsters.
"Mercadians!" Orim shouted. "Bar your doors! The Mercadians have come!"