That same wind in the trees was like the distant whisper of surf, creating a constant background sound that drowned out the warning of any approaching dangers, as did the unfamiliar chuckling chatter of the rushing streams. Strange beasts and birds rustled the undergrowth and cried shrilly from the treetops overhead. The hooves of the horses were muffled by soft loam that concealed hazardous holes and roots and fallen branches. The way ahead was blocked time and again by tree trunks, deadfalls, and patches of thorny, impenetrable brush, so that the band of Khazalim warriors were forced to turn aside from their chosen path. Before long, they had lost all sense of direction and were wandering blindly though a thick green maze.
The Khisu was a worried man. His troops were wearied from the grueling race across the desert, and as unnerved by this alien place as himself. From time to time, he was certain he had heard distant shouts and screams coming from other parts of the forest. Three times now he had sent messengers to locate the remainder of his forces. None of them had returned. With regrets that were growing greater by the minute, Xiang pushed grimly on, surrounded by only a handful of his men. Of the two hundred soldiers he had brought with him, these scant few were all that were visible through the rustling, screening foliage. The Khisu suppressed a shudder. Never in his life had he felt so alone; so hemmed in, yet conversely, so exposed.
By this time, the Khazalim forces had penetrated deep into the forest. All sight of the blessed open spaces of the desert had long since been left behind them. When they came at last to a broad, open clearing, Xiang relaxed a little. How good it was to see the sun again, and have open space around him! Without warning, an arrow came whirring through the trees and struck with deadly accuracy though the eye of the guard who was riding beside him.
“Down!” Before the echoes of his warning had time to die away, Xiang was off his horse and lying flat on the forest floor. For a moment all was chaos: confused and shouting men, and horses hurtling in every direction with shrill neighs of terror, trampling the hapless warriors who were trying in vain to conceal themselves from the deadly bolts that rained down from the trees. The sounds of the forest were drowned by the screams of dying men, and the loam underfoot ran red with blood.
Xiang, cringing on the ground with a mouthful of leaf mold, was beside himself with fear and fury. In all his life, no one had dared to do this to him. No one! Except that wretched woman—but that was not a thought to dwell on—especially now. An arrow came thudding into the ground, inches from his face, and shock and outrage made him gather his wits. Quickly he loosened the brooch at the neck of the sumptuous cloak that marked him as royalty and slipped out from under the dangerous garment. Praying that he would be unseen in the confusion of running horses and falling men, he rolled toward the edge of the clearing with its thick fringe of bushes. The undergrowth that he’d been cursing a moment before he blessed now as he squirmed deeper into its concealing shade.
Eliizar was pleased. The day was going well. The plans, over which he had labored through so many sleepless nights, seemed to be working perfectly, and he was infinitely grateful for Anvar’s warning. His little community, which consisted of Harihn’s surviving warriors and the household staff that the Prince had abandoned in the forest, had been well prepared and organized in the defense of their newfound home. Though Eliizar had hated to take men from the all-important tasks of building the new settlement and clearing and cultivating hidden pockets of land within the forest, today had proved that the sacrifice had not been in vain. Lookouts had informed them in ample time when the Khisu had left the desert. Once Xiang and his men had entered the thick woodland, it had been easy for the settlers to split up the invading forces, luring the scattered groups farther apart and ever deeper into the labyrinth of trees. Then the Khazalim interlopers had turned swiftly from predators to prey.
Small groups of warriors had been concealed beneath a camouflage of woven branches, so that they could spring up beneath the very feet of Xiang’s soldiers and gain the inestimable advantage of surprise. Pit traps had been dug and covered—but there were few of these, for they were expensive in labor—and, besides, Eliizar had wanted to appropriate as many of the Khazalim horses as he could for his little community. Settlers lurked up in the branches with weighted nets to drop down on the riders, and slender ropes had been strung between the trees at neck height for a riding man, and at trip height for a horse. Eliizar had handpicked the most skilled of bowmen and placed them at strategic points.
Even the women had their role to play in the defense of the forest. Eliizar, having been forcibly given the example of Nereni’s courage and fortitude, had learned his lesson. Not only had they aided the diggers by carrying away the loose, betraying soil and disguising the traps and their approaches with fallen leaves, but they had woven the ropes and nets, and the camouflage for hidden warriors. The younger and more nimble girls, made agile by months of foraging in the woods while their men were at Incondor’s Tower, were among those who waited in the treetops with their nets and ropes.
A band of older women, led by the redoubtable Nereni, lurked in concealment with blowpipes armed with stinging darts that could madden the horses so that men were unseated and thrown to the mercy of Eliizar’s waiting warriors. The secret of making these had been given to Nereni by Finch and Petrel, the two winged couriers mat Raven had sent with the little band of settlers. They were the selfsame pair of Skyfolk who had conveyed Nereni to Aerillia on that fateful day, and who by now had been so thoroughly pampered by her cooking and her care that they would do virtually anything for her. Another group of the more timid women, who had no stomach for fighting, were back at the camp, boiling water, preparing salve, and making bandages for when the wounded should come home.
Not, Eliizar fervently hoped, that there would be many of those. As it was, the numbers of his settlers were pitifully small to found a new community, but that was exactly what he intended to do. He had had enough of cruel tyrants, treacherous Princes, and magical adversaries. He wanted to live out his years in peace now—and those who had joined him felt the same. If they had to fight to establish that freedom, then so be it—and this was a battle that Eliizar intended to win.
Though they were outnumbered, the settlers had several advantages over the marauding Khazalim. They were forewarned and prepared, they were not coming to the fight at the end of a long journey, and they knew the terrain, which was inimically favorable for ambushes and traps. They were fighting for their land and their freedom—and they had one additional advantage that the Khazalim could not even imagine. The two winged couriers, though they took no part in the fighting themselves, soared above the forest, hovering above the treetops to fix the positions of the invaders and bring word of the battle to Eliizar. Thus it was that the leader of the settlers could pinpoint the location of the Khisu, recognizable in his robes of royal purple that stood out so well against the forest greenery. When the Winged Folk brought him the news of Xiang’s ambush, Eliizar stiffened. “What of the Khisu?” he demanded.
Finch shook his head. “We did not see him. We only found his cloak, abandoned in the clearing.”
Eliizar cursed. If Xiang should escape, then the forest community would sooner or later be destroyed. The Khisu would not rest until every man and woman had been annihilated. “You had better take me there at once,” he told the Skyfolk.
By the time the winged couriers landed with Eliizar, the battle in the clearing was over. Bodies strewed the pine-mast across the sweep of open space, some alive and groaning from the pain of their wounds, others lying still and twisted, never to move again. Eliizar’s archers, led by Jharav, moved among the bodies, collecting weaponry and distinguishing the living from the dead. The one-eyed swordmaster frowned. In all his planning, he had given no consideration to the fact that some of Xiang’s men would inevitably survive the battle. He supposed that those who still lived should be given the chance to join the settlers—but what of those who demurred? They certainly could not be permitted to return to their homes. Eliizar shuddered. The idea of executing his countrymen and fellow soldiers in cold blood was not a pleasant one. Well, there’d be time enough to worry about that later. For now, he would have his hands full finding Xiang.