“No,” Kormak said. “She’s not one of Weaver’s people. She helped save me.”
Bertram gave him a bleak smile. “Guess it’s a bit too late for her to save me,” he said. He closed his eyes. When Kormak checked his heart had stopped.
“They are using the changelings to infiltrate the villages along the Settlements,” Kormak said.
“I heard,” Gilean said. “Your friend Grogan is one of them.”
“He’s not my friend now,” Kormak said. “He’s not anybody’s friend except the Shadow’s.”
“They’re taking the prisoners back to the Stump of Mayasha,” she said. “They’re building an army, turning them to the Shadow.”
Kormak thought about the number of people in the Settlements. There were thousands and if they were all turned, they would provide a formidable force if allied with the elves and the Spiders, possibly one strong enough to resist a Burning.
“We’d best try to warn the other villagers, at least get them to clear out. If they flee, there will be fewer recruits for this army of darkness.”
“I can’t fault your logic,” she said. “Let us go.”
CHAPTER TEN
FROM UP AHEAD came the sound of drumming. They had moved on through the night, hoping to bypass the invasion force but all they had managed to do was keep up with it. Kormak again felt weary and the elves were moving fast. Silas Springs was already surrounded. The woods around the village seethed with elves and spiders.
Kormak and Gilean picked their way slowly through the undergrowth, cautiously avoiding sentries. Ghostwing had gone to rest during the daylight and Kormak was sorry, for they missed his scouting abilities. Eventually they found a position where they could get a clear view of what was going on, staring down from a small rise across the cleared area around the village.
He lay flat on his belly in the undergrowth and tried to grasp what was happening.
Obviously something had gone wrong with the elves’ plan of infiltration and surprise attack. Men stood alert on the walls of the palisade, bows in hand waiting for an attack.
In the daylight the invaders held back, content to beat on their drums and blow their horns and wear on the nerves of the villagers. Occasionally one of the huge armoured battle-spiders was allowed to loom into view, a terrifying sight calculated to lower the morale of the defenders. A few arrows arced dispiritedly towards it from the walls. They glanced off chitinous hide before the spider retreated back under the shelter of the trees.
Dead bodies littered the ground, mostly elves. A few were impaled on the spikes that jutted outwards at an angle from the ditch around the wall. Silas Springs looked like an altogether better defended place than Green Oak.
“Looks like the locals did not fall for Weaver’s tricks,” Kormak murmured.
“Maybe,” Gilean said.
“Maybe?”
“I suspect Weaver split her forces to attack more than one place last night, hoping to double her gains. They would have tried to slip over the walls. Judging from the bodies, the locals were ready for something like that.”
Kormak considered her words. “Bertram sent out the war-arrow before we left. Somebody paid attention.”
“Much good that it’s going to do them,” said Gilean. “I would say that reinforcements came up from Green Oaks during the night. Weaver has enough people now to sweep over this place come darkness.”
Kormak agreed. With the spiders, the extra elves from Green Oaks and the corrupted humans, the elves were in a much stronger position. He doubted that Silas Springs would last very long when Weaver threw her full strength against it.
“There’s nothing we can do here,” Gilean said. “Those people are doomed.” She laid a hand on his shoulder to tell him to be still.
A spider scuttled by on the branches above them. It did not seem to have noticed that they were there, but it was hard to be certain. Kormak froze as he heard elves moving in the trees behind them.
Had they been seen? Were they going to have to fight? Would it be wise to sprint towards the village if worst came to worst. He doubted the last. The villagers might, just might, open their postern gate for him but they would not do it for Gilean.
The elves were settling into place around them. They were taking up a position here for the same reason he and Gilean had. There were spiders in the branches overhead. The drums kept beating. He heard the strange trumpeting roar of the battle-spiders in the distance.
She put her lips close to his ear. “We cannot move from here. They will spot us.”
He nodded his understanding. “We wait until nightfall and the attack begins and we try and get away in the confusion.”
He cursed the curiosity that had caused him to stop here to attempt to observe the situation. It was going to cost them hours of vital time. At least he was going to have a chance to get some rest before they had to flee once more. He put his head down, but for a long time sleep simply would not come. There was too much unsettling movement in the bushes around them.
The braying of an elvish horn woke him. He had been dozing fitfully, lost in dreams where he dangled for a huge web while a score of huge spiders stalked towards him from every direction.
When he opened his eyes he could make out activity among the trees across the clearing. The light was dying. The walls of Silas Springs were more crowded. Within the village bonfires had been lit to provide illumination, and maybe to scare the battle-spiders if they entered. It looked like every man, woman and boy who could hold a spear was up there on the walls. Some of them shouted feeble defiance at the horde of elves. Most only watched with blank faces, probably too terrified to even open their mouths.
Someone was emerging from the forest. Kormak could see it was Grogan accompanied by Jaethro and some of the rest of the foresters. They marched under a soiled white flag of truce and stopped when they were close enough to be heard clearly.
“Roberto, Jana,” Grogan said. “You know me.”
“Speak your piece, Grogan. What are you doing here?” shouted someone from the wall.
“I’ve come to offer you your lives,” Grogan said. His voice was measured, calm and persuasive.
“I doubt you are in a position to do that,” said a woman. She was big and red-faced with a voice like a foghorn. “Since when did you speak for the elves?”
“Since they captured me over the river, Jana,” said Grogan reasonably. “They spared my life so that I could negotiate a deal with the people of the Settlements.”
“And what would that deal be?”
“They want their land back,” Grogan said. “That’s all.”
“That’s all?” The woman’s voice was mocking. “All we need do is give up everything our grandfathers sweated over.”
“They’re going to take it back anyway,” Grogan said. “And some of the elves here knew this land before our grandfathers walked it.”
“If they wanted to negotiate this, why did they make the surprise attack last night? Why slip over the wall and try and cut the sentries throats? If we had not quadrupled the number of watchers after Bertram sent the war-arrow, they might have succeeded.”
“That was just a few young hotheads, keen for blood. Weaver is here now. She has the situation under control. Open the gates, march away, she’ll let you pass as long as you promise to leave as fast as you can.”
“I’ll bet,” said the woman. “All we need do is open the gates and come marching out. Maybe she’d like us to cut our own throats as well and save her the bother.”
“Hush, Jana,” said one of the men on the wall. “Hear Grogan out. Let’s at least listen to what he has to say.”
Kormak could hear the barely suppressed terror in the man’s voice. The speaker was keen to believe anything Grogan said. He wanted to seize any chance that he might live. It was quite clear that if the elves attacked now, they were all going to die.
“Listen to Roberto, people,” Grogan said. “You’re being given a chance for life, don’t throw it away.”
“He’s not lying,” Kormak muttered. “Weaver wants them alive.”
“He’s persuasive,” Gilean said. “And your people are weakening. If we let him speak much longer, he’ll convince them. Weaver gets more recruits and at no cost to her force.”
Kormak considered the options. They did not have many. Those people down there were doomed anyway. If they opened the gates, they would soon be taken by the Shadow. It was better if their deaths meant something.
“Give me your bow,” Kormak said. She shook her head. “I am a better shot,” she said. She stood up slowly so as not to draw too much attention. “Be ready to run,” she said softly and took aim.
Kormak caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. An elf was looking in their direction. He eyed her suspiciously and levelled his spear. Kormak threw himself forward, sword clearing scabbard. The elf cast his spear just before Gilean could shoot. Kormak slashed at it with his blade slicing it in two but part of it glanced off Gilean’s shoulder. Her arrow left the bow. A glance showed Kormak that it had still hit Grogan knocking him over. He was not sure if the shot was fatal though.
He slashed the elf with his blade, bellowed, “It’s a trick, be wary!” and turned at bay. As if a signal had been given, the army of elves raced forward, giant spiders in the lead. A wave of spears and arrows arced towards the palisades, the villagers returned fire. The battle of Silas Springs had begun. Kormak knew it could only end one way.
He cast a last glimpse over his shoulder and saw one of the massive spiders moving towards the gate, jets of webbing sprayed from its mouth. Elves swarmed up the lines towards the walls.
A second spider hit the gate, its massive bulk smashing against it, not quite knocking it flat. From inside the town came the sound of screaming. Pushing down the feelings of guilt about having just condemned a whole village to death, Kormak braced himself to try and fight his way clear.
All around was confusion. Some of the surrounding elves were already charging out towards the village. Others had noticed the struggle between Kormak and the spearman and were shouting warnings to their comrades.
Kormak threw himself at the nearest and chopped him down. He turned to make sure that Gilean was following and raced on. The elves followed, bellowing war-cries. Spears thudded into the dirt all around him. Kormak weaved from side to side, slowing his pace but making himself a more difficult target.
Gilean turned, stood side on, and fired off a shot. One of the pursuing elves fell. She fired again and then sprang to one side, leaving a spear quivering in the ground on which she had stood a heartbeat before.
“Run,” she shouted at Kormak. “I can catch up with you.”
In the forest, he did not doubt she could move faster and had a better chance of slipping away. He put his head down and sprinted through the trees, glancing around to take stock of his surroundings occasionally, knowing how easy it would be to get turned around and lost in the wood lands.
A half-dozen elves pursued him, giving whooping calls. They had tossed their spears now and were armed only with their knives. A few spiders ran at their heels, legs moving with eye-blurring speed. Kormak bounded over a fallen log, felt his feet skid on the mulch beneath them, and stuck out his hand to regain his balance. It slapped off a tree with palm stinging force, and he raced on. Low branches slashed at his face. Thorns tangled his clothing. He entered a clearing, lengthened his stride and raced across it. The elves continued to pursue. In the distance he could hear the sound of battle rising from the doomed village. At least he had some idea of the direction not to run in.
Sweat ran down his face, his heart pounded and his breathing was becoming ragged. He raced over a small rise, found himself in a low depression, just out of sight of the trail and threw himself against a tree. He could feel his sweat-soaked jerkin sticking to his back and the coolness of the bark transmitting itself to his skin.
Faint noises told him the elves were near. As one passed, Kormak stepped out and slashed with his blade, beheading the elf. He leapt in among the others, killing with every blow. In heartbeats, he had slain three of them and the other two were fleeing into the distance. He bent over the ones he had killed and took up one of their knives, thinking it would do no harm to have a spare weapon.
One look at the obscene runes carved into the razor-edged obsidian convinced him otherwise. He dropped the blade, turned and moved away, taking a path that would, he hoped, curve back towards the main road.
As he walked he sought to come up with a plan. He could either try and bring a warning to the other villages or he could retreat out of the Settlements altogether and bring word of what was happening here to his Order.
He might possibly be able to save some lives by warning the villages, but the longer he remained the more chance there was of him being caught or killed. He had been blessed by the Sun so far. He could not rely on that continuing. With the civil war in Taurea, it might take months for word of what was happening here to get back to the Order, and by then the stain of the Shadowblight would have spread further and Weaver’s raiders would add more victims to their forces.
He thought about what had happened back at Silas Springs. He and Gilean had most likely provoked a massacre. Better that than having hundreds more taken by the Shadow. Every villager killed now was one less foe they need face later. It did not make him feel any better— there were women and children and babies back there and he had most likely got them killed. He told himself it was necessary but the guilt still gnawed at him.
What was here could just be the stone that started an avalanche. In the ancient texts there were tales of Shadowblights that had started as tiny corrupted groves and spread until they had swallowed entire kingdoms before dying off.
What killed those Shadowblights, he wondered? Was it a sickness that ended up destroying even itself? Scholars and wizards had argued over this for millennia and were no closer to an answer. Blights were not something that rewarded study. They corrupted scholars.
He wondered whether Gilean’s shot had killed Grogan. It would be for the best, he decided. The man had gone over to the Shadow; only luck, the intervention of Mayasha and his Elder Signs had prevented the same thing happening to him.