Hweilan looked wistfully past them. They'd been so close. The embankment and nearest trees were only a few dozen feet beyond the riders.
"Menduarthis?" said one of the riders, as he slid off the back of his mount and approached them. He held a spear in one hand, and he didn't even have to duck to make it under the antlers. He was nearly the same height as Menduarthis, but leaner, his features sharper, and his ears ended in an upward curve. Definitely an elf. He stopped a few paces away and said something to Menduarthis in his own tongue.
Menduarthis answered in kind, then said, "I am taking this one to the Thorns."
The elf glanced at Hweilan and scowled. "Why do you speak the vulgar tongue?"
"She goes to the Thorns." Menduarthis gave Hweilan a sly smile over his shoulder. "I wish to remind her of it."
"Why?"
"Pain tastes sweeter if it is seasoned with fear."
The elf's scowl deepened as his eyes lit on her bow, and his fist tightened around the haft of his spear. "You are taking her to the Thorns, but she goes armed?"
"It is my bow," said Menduarthis. "She bears it because I command her to carry it."
"You have no bow like this."
Menduarthis shrugged. "Recent spoils."
"Indeed?" The elf lowered his spear and used its point to peel the heavy fur cloak back from Hweilan. Several of the other elves, still on their mounts, tensed. One of the bowmen reached for an arrow. "Word flies on the wings that Roakh lies murdered in his roost. And here is this one, covered with blood. Recent spoils, you say. Spoils from where? Where exactly, Menduarthis?"
"You accuse me?"
The elf pulled his spear back and planted its butt in the snow. "Accuse? No. But… you never liked Roakh. That much is known. He lies dead, with you nowhere to be found. Until now. And I find you with a captive covered with blood. You can explain this?"
"I can," said Menduarthis. "But not to you… Tirron, is it? I don't answer to you."
"You may not answer to me, Hound. But I answer to Kunin Gatar, and she orders any who find you to bring you to her at once. So you will come with us. Both of you. Nicely"-five spears lowered in their direction, Hweilan heard creaking wood as the bowmen drew feathers to cheeks, and Tirron smiled-"or otherwise."
Menduarthis bristled, his back straightening, and he gave Tirron his best withering stare. "Your orders are old. Kunin Gatar herself ordered me to take this one away. I am taking her to the Thorns. I would demand your aid, but I tire of your insolence. Send us on our way, and I might forget to tell the queen that this happened."
A few of the riders exchanged nervous glances, and Hweilan thought she caught a hint of doubt in Tirron's gaze.
But then the elf looked at her again. She had neglected to close her cloak, and her blood-spattered clothes were still on display for all to see.
"I think not," said Tirron. "Something is amiss here. We will take the matter to the queen."
The heaviness in Hweilan's mind seemed to drop and shatter, shards stabbing her awareness. Not blinding her, but making her incredibly aware.
Death comes!
Every shade of light and shadow suddenly seemed clear and sharp as new steel. Every sound-the heavy breathing of the elves' mounts, the crunch of the snow under their hooves, and something… something else. Something coming closer. Its footsteps pounding her skull like a hammer.
Scent filled her head. Sweat from her body. The reek of Roakh's blood in her clothes. The musky scent of the huge elklike creatures, and the stink of their breath wafting over her. The wind-through-frosty-pines smell of the elves. And a slow rot, stirred to an agonizing mockery of life by the fire within. Closer… closer…
She felt every fiber of her clothes against her skin. The greasy coat of halbdol on her face. The bite of the cold night air in her throat. The shaking of the ice beneath her feet as some foul dread approached.
And so it was that Hweilan was the first to see it.
A tall, broad figure walked out of the shadow of the wood. Not rushing, but not hesitating either. Hweilan cried out and pointed.
At the same time, the elves' mounts began to snort, toss their heads, and fight the reins of their riders.
One of the riders shouted. "Tir ened! Tir ened!"
The figure stepped off the bank, landed on the snow-covered ice below, and continued its advance.
The elves' mounts scattered, forsaking Hweilan and Menduarthis for the moment to assess the newcomer. Tirron, lithe as a deer himself, leaped back onto his mount and turned it to face the newcomer, spear lowered. The huge elklike creatures snorted and fought their reins, and even in the dark Hweilan could see the whites of their eyes, wide and frightened.
"Ri ened!" Tirron shouted. "Deth! Deth!" Tirrons mount pranced sideways, spraying snow in every direction as it fought its master's control. "Liikut! Liikut! Stop!"
If the figure understood him, it gave no sign, neither slowing nor speeding up, just coming at that same implacable pace.
Tirron's mount had gone well to one side now, and as the snow settled, Hweilan saw the figure's face.
Soran. Or at least the cold mockery of his face. The same grim, square-jawed countenance that looked as if a smile might break it. The deep set eyes. The close-cropped hair. But it was an image only. A likeness. Devoid of all life.
Tirron shouted, "Hled et!"
Two arrows hissed through the air. One struck Soran in the chest and bounced away. The other buried itself up to the fletching in his stomach.
He didn't even flinch.
His eyes were fixed on Hweilan. She could feel the gaze burning her, like noonday summer sun. Pace unfaltering, he reached over one shoulder and drew a massive sword from its scabbard.
Two of the elves kicked their mounts into a charge, the great antlers lowered as they closed on Soran. He spared them a glance but did not slow his pace.
The first of the creatures veered at the last moment, and the elf threw his spear. Soran stopped long enough to smash the spear out of the air with his sword, then managed another two steps before the second creature was on him, raking with its sharp antlers.
Soran stopped. One hand brought the sword down on the creature's neck, while the other grabbed the antler. Hweilan heard a crack of breaking bone, a short scream cut off, the smash of bodies colliding, then all was lost in a cloud of snow.
Soran emerged from the settling snow, the broken body of the huge elk lying beside the motionless body of its rider. She could smell the fresh blood wafting off him.
He was less than twenty feet away now, and Hweilan could see his face clearly, even behind the mask of blood and snow. Another arrow struck him, then two more. He didn't even flinch.
"Hweilan?" Menduarthis said, and Hweilan heard fear in his voice.
"Run!" she said.
A spear struck the Soran-thing, hurled with enough force that it threw him off his stride as it pierced him, tearing flesh and shattering ribs.
Menduarthis and Hweilan ran downstream, away from the horror. Her senses were still sharp as a razor, and she heard every hoof breaking through snow, every cry of the elf warriors behind them. She heard a snap and risked a glance over her shoulder.
The Soran-thing still had the broken haft of a spear protruding from his side, but he had either hacked or broken off the spear's length. Seeing his quarry fleeing, he broke into a run. Even wielding the massive sword and bearing wounds that would have killed any man, he came at them incredibly fast. Another of the elves' mounts plowed into him.
"Hweilan, move!" Menduarthis shouted.
She turned and ran, fast as she could.
Menduarthis waved his hand, and a gust of wind struck the snow before them, clearing a wide path. Another wave, and the great cloud of snow swept over and behind them, hiding the battle. She could hear elves and their mounts screaming.