Onelle looked up to find the sun but there was only the green and black of the canopy. Full of life and death. She knew she should be able to see flames from the camp still, but turning around in her hiding place, she could see nothing in any direction. A haze of smoke drifted around her. It didn’t help.
The screaming began then. Faint at first but growing louder and closer very quickly. Six Ynissul came past her. Two hanging on to each other. Another four trying to push them along more quickly. They kept looking over their shoulders. They needed to look ahead, Onelle wanted to shout but didn’t.
A human stepped into their path. He swung a sword and carved into the front pair at the waist. Blood slapped into broad leaves. The elves tumbled sideways together. The other four stopped, split and ran. A man came up from behind and swept his blade through the back of one. A second fetched up against a tree and begged for mercy. The blade was driven straight through her unprotected heart.
Onelle put a hand to her mouth to stop herself crying out. She was shaking. The tears were streaming down her face. She didn’t want to see what happened to the other two but someone had to be able to report it.
The surviving Ynissul had both stopped running and were backing away, holding out their hands but saying nothing. Three swordsmen moved towards them. Smiling. How she would have liked to smear those smiles from their ugly faces and turn them into blood. She took her hand from her mouth and made it into a claw. Her nails were good and sharp. Perhaps she should.
A shadow whipped by her right-hand side. A man began to turn. Twin blades took him in the neck and across the midriff. A keening sound grew. A jaqrui lodged in the face of another man, biting deep into the bridge of his nose and slicing into both eyes. The third was felled by a flurry of punches and kicks too fast to follow. None was shouting his agony for long.
Onelle found herself terrified all over again. The violence of man had been brutal but the speed of the TaiGethen was truly shocking. She wanted to stand and show herself but something stopped her from moving. A feeling, nothing more. She watched the TaiGethen check the elven bodies and comfort the survivors before pointing them on their way.
One turned and walked directly towards her, stopping a few paces away and crouching. Onelle didn’t recognise her. She held out a hand. Onelle shook her head.
‘It’s safe now,’ she said. ‘You can come out.’
‘It isn’t. Please,’ said Onelle.
A terrible aching cold howled through the space in front of her. Frost deepened on leaf and branch, blackening everything it touched. The storm of ice and wind raged past her, forcing her to clutch herself tight and close her eyes. And as quickly as it had come, it blew out, leaving her nauseous but alive. Though when she opened her eyes, of the TaiGethen, fallen men and elf, there was nothing left at all.
A cloaked human crunched onto the ice-rimed ground and looked about him, his expression one of satisfaction, of revenge complete. Onelle had no idea what possessed her then. She stood from her cover and walked in front of him. She was still chilled to the bone, though the frost was beginning to melt from the leaves around her, leaving them blackened and dead.
The man stopped and backed off a pace before smiling when he saw her for the lone lost iad she was. He chuckled and muttered under his breath. Onelle hated everything about the man. Hated the eyes that looked on her as nothing more than an animal. Hated the smell of him, and hated what he carried within him. She could sense it. Energy forged to evil.
Onelle ran across the gap. She was quick. Very quick. She cocked her arm and lashed her fingers across his throat. She felt her nails catch, dig in and rip at his flesh. She should have recoiled but it didn’t feel revolting. It felt right. Deep they went, the tips of her fingers snagging sinew and her nails catching on his windpipe. She dug in her thumb and closed her hand. Blood was pouring over her wrist and forearm. The mage gurgled, his face gone from contempt to shock.
‘Do not dare kill my people,’ said Onelle.
She jerked her hand back hard. Takaar was a heartbeat too late. The mage pushed out his hands. The ula in his sights was plucked from the ground and crushed against a tree, his head making a horrible cracking sound as it struck. The body slumped. Takaar hurdled a low branch, kept his left leg straight and caught the mage in the side of the head.
The casting failed and the ula fell to the ground. Takaar landed and spun. Auum had run to his left. Warriors were on them. Beside him the mage still moved. His body was jerking and his eyelids fluttered. Takaar dropped to his knees and jabbed straight-fingered into his throat. Death for him would be full of desperate fear.
Takaar leaned to one side and vomited bile. Castings were still falling all over this region of the forest, making his head spin and his stomach turn over. He squeezed his eyes shut, searching for a way to contain his reactions. He stared down at the mage, who still clung on to life, choking and making feeble grabs at his throat.
‘What you have,’ whispered Takaar, ‘I can take from you.’
Everyone and everything had this energy to a greater or lesser extent. It was an element as common as air. But this body before him had more. Like he was able to hold it, focus it in to something far more dense than any ordinary man, elf or beast.
‘What you have learned, I will learn,’ said Takaar.
This to be your grand new project, is it?
‘Don’t start on me.’
I’d work on living right now if you really must.
‘Takaar! Roll!’
Takaar twisted left. A blade bit the ground where he had been kneeling. Marack leapt over him, landed and round-housed the human soldier in the side of the head. Off balance, Katyett’s blades saw him to the wrath of Shorth.
Marack turned and held out a hand. Takaar took it and stood.
‘We’re clear here,’ said Auum. ‘We’ve got them running back towards the Ultan.’
‘Keep them turned,’ said Takaar. ‘Katyett. Don’t let them regroup.’
‘Normally I’d agree with you, but right now we have more pressing concerns. Pelyn! Pelyn, I need you.’
An Al-Arynaar came into view from their left. Takaar recognised him but couldn’t place him.
‘Methian,’ said Katyett. ‘You’ll do just as well.’
Methian. That was it. Pelyn’s confidant. No wonder he didn’t look at Takaar with any warmth.
‘She’s close,’ said Methian. ‘She’ll have heard you.’
‘We have to round the survivors up. Get them away from here. Olbeck Rise would be ideal. Think you can square it with the Apposans?’
‘I reckon,’ said Methian.
‘How many did we lose, do you think?’ asked Merrat.
‘Hundreds,’ said Methian. ‘Hundreds. No exaggeration.’
‘TaiGethen will track for you. Follow the stream. We’ll secure the route and send them on as we find them.’
‘Katyett?’
Pelyn appeared from the undergrowth along with two other Al-Arynaar. Brothers. Deserters but perhaps forgiven by now. She glanced at Takaar, bit her lip and focused on Katyett instead.
‘Are you clear?’
Pelyn nodded. ‘The last we chased are either dead or running for the Ultan bridge.’
‘Good,’ said Katyett. ‘We’re clearing towards Olbeck Rise. Methian will fill you in.’
Pelyn shook her head.
‘No. We can’t just gather ourselves and leave. It’s night in a few hours.’
Katyett was looking at her blankly. ‘I’m not with you.’
‘And the TaiGethen surrender at dawn or the humans will start slaughtering innocents, remember? Hanging them out on the edge of the city.’