The Coming Storm (57 page)

Ailith heard it, had listened for it and watched the stars in her mind for it, the sound of massed hooves above the sounds of battle. A regular thunder, too even for anything else, even above the clamor of battle. The column was here. Now she looked, as she hadn’t dared before, for the elf-lights she knew and one in particular. They had to reach Elon. Then she saw it.

At her signal, her people formed up around her and they raced to the nearest outer gate.

“See that,” Ailith said, drawing up with Catra and pointing to the elf-light that hovered and bobbed in the distance. “Get there. I don’t care how you reach him but get there. That’s Elon of Aerilann. He can tell you how best to deploy your people. Get there. Send him my compliments.”

With a sharp nod, Catra turned to her people, “You heard the Lady Ailith, that’s our goal.”

Spinning Smoke around, Ailith gathered up her own people. “Back.”

They raced through the streets to do what they did best, harry and harass the rear, whittling them down, drawing their attention away from those in the streets above them.

There was an astonishing crash, an tremendous outcry from behind him. Elon spun Faer to see the soldiers of the garrison meet the enemy near the gate. Goblins and trolls scattered before them. He fought his way through as the goblins and trolls sought to escape being crushed between his people and the garrison as they fought their way through.

A woman shouted orders while hacking at goblins and trolls.

He forced his way to her side.

She took one look and nodded in respect.

“My Lord Elon, I’m Catra, Captain of this garrison. My Lady Ailith sends her compliments. What would you?” the woman shouted.

Ailith sends her compliments. His heart lightened. He very nearly shouted. It was good to know.

“Keep close quarters, press east and drive them out, a steady sweep,” he said.

She nodded sharply and shouted orders. Her people formed up, pushed forward.

A hail of arrows arced up over the heads of those at the fore to cut down as many of the enemy as they could.

Clear space.

With a gesture Elon called up his people, shouted orders, forming up those he could see. They pressed west gathering more as they went.

A familiar fair-haired head hove into view. Colath joined him, a host of Elves behind him. True-friend.

Their eyes met with relief and then they turned as one to fire their arrows, clearing the way ahead of those fighting.

“Ailith?” Colath asked.

He hadn’t seen her since they parted.

“The Captain of the Garrison says she sends her compliments,” Elon said, his voice ringing.

The streets of the second level were deathly silent, as was fitting, else Ailith wouldn’t have heard so faint a sound over the clatter of their horses’ hooves. In the face of so many dead, with the smell of blood – and other unpleasant smells of death – so rich and ripe upon the air, even the horses seemed to go as silently as they might.

They were questing for another place to harry the rear when she heard it.

“My fair lady of Riverford,” a voice caroled.

The sound of it was weak and thready.

Gwillim. She’d have known that voice anywhere.

Her heart wrenched at the sound.

She’d thought the man hanging so limply from the door was only another of the many dead that littered the streets but now she could see through the blood and the stars in her heart  that he wasn’t.

Not yet.

He should have been. A sword pinned him through the chest to the wood of the door. An arrow pierced his thigh. He had other injuries but those were the most grievous. The troll that had done it lay dead at his feet.

Ailith was off her horse and running to him without a second thought.

“Oh, Gwillim,” she said and her heart already grieved for him.

“No,” he said, quickly, on a scant breath as she reached for the sword. His voice was weak. “Pull that and I’m done, my dear Lady.”

She looked up into his handsome, beloved face. He’d taught her to track, taught her as much as her father had about leading people into battle.

A hand on his shoulder and her Healing confirmed his assessment.

His injuries were too severe for even Elon to have Healed them. Too many vital organs had been damaged and left unhealed for too long. Once the sword was pulled she knew he would bleed out in seconds. It was all the more amazing  he’d lived this long, the hilt of the sword that pressed so tightly against his skin all that had kept him alive this long.

“Glad I am to see you, though,” he said and coughed a fine mist of blood.

More trickled down his chin.

From behind her she heard the thrum of arrows and knew her people were buying her this time.

“And I you, Gwillim,” she said.

She looked into his much loved face.

Leaning close, she added in a whisper, “If I could weep I would.”

“Too Elven,” he said, softly. “Ah, I shoulda guessed it long ago. You have that dignity, too, my Lady. Truth be told, though, I wouldn’t want it. You smile sommat more than them.”

He was reverting to the accents of his youth.

“That’s what I’d like to see,” he added softly.

So she smiled at him. “I love you well, Gwillim, you know that.”

“That I do. Always have. Tell my lady wife that I love her, for me, and the children, too.”

Her lips tightened at that and the swelling grief nearly choked off her voice. “I will, Gwillim. I’ll tell her.”

Danalae. She would tell his wife and her friend that his last thoughts had been of her and the children. She thought of those young bright faces. Danalae, a widow and the children…

Smoke came up, extending his nose to snuffle at Gwillim’s clothes.

His fingers trembling, Gwillim managed to flutter them over the horse’s soft muzzle.

“Keep him, Ailith. Danalae won’t mind, she knows it’s right,” he said. “Now, do me a favor milady and pull that sword. It pains me. Bright flower of Riverford, jewel of the Kingdom, my sweet Lady Ailith. I’ve served none better or greater.”

Her heart aching, she said, “Nor have I been served by any better, Gwillim my friend.”

A man couldn’t have done it, the sword had been thrust through him so hard but she had the strength of Elves and of Dwarves and she wouldn’t hurt him more than necessary if she could help it.

One pull, clean and quick.

She caught him as he fell. He tumbled into her arms. She felt the life run out of him like water from a broken pitcher as she held him. His eyes never left hers and he even smiled a little, with relief and with love.

Laying him down gently, Ailith straightened his limbs and put a fold of his cloak over his face to cover it. She marked the spot where he lay in her mind.

Taking a breath, with the sounds of battle still in her ears, she mounted Smoke once again.

She looked at Gwillim.

“He was a Hunter,” she said to the others, against the agony of grief, “the leader of Hunters at Riverford. One of us and a good man. We’re not done here. What we do now, we do for him. Let’s go.”

They fought their way through another gate and found the battle again. It seemed as if it would never end. She slashed with her swords, they ran a strafing run down a mass of trolls, raking them with arrows.

Pushing, pushing, even while her eyes searched for elf-lights, for Elon and Colath, for Jareth and Jalila.

Ailith found Catra and her people again, instead, driving trolls and goblins before them.

The garrison was somewhat diminished, as were her own people. A deep gash on her hand pained her, as did the bite from a boggin on her calf. There was a scratch on her forehead from an arrow that had just missed her, when she’d twisted her head just in time to avoid taking it in the eye.

Catra, too, bore the wounds of battle.

“They’re on the run,” Catra said.

It was the truth, they were. The survivors streamed through the battered gates and shattered holes in walls. They were running. The flight had begun as the trolls and the goblins turned and fled before the hail of arrows and sharp steel.

At the sight of the enemy fleeing Elon didn’t let down his guard, there was still too much risk of a chance arrow coming his way.  He kept looking, though, for the top of a head, for familiar sun-touched wavy chestnut hair. It was all he would see of her through the mass of men in front of him.

Stretching up in the saddle, Colath, too, sought for her.

Ailith saw a tall figure astride a black horse. A familiar stern face with dark hair and dark eyes beneath winged brows. Elon. His grave dark eyes searched. She lifted her sword up, waved it so he could see her above the press. Their eyes met and his eyes lightened. Beside him was Colath. Relief and joy flooded her. Alive.

Nor were they alone.

Behind her came the garrison.

Elon’s gaze found hers and something eased in him, as it did in Colath. He sent Faer surging through the clusters of men that hunted down the last stragglers of trolls and goblins, with Colath at his side.

With a nod at them all, Catra said, “We’ll clean up here, since we came late to the battle.”

“My thanks to you, Catra,” Ailith said, but all she could see was Elon, and Colath beside him.

They were alive.

Catra’s eyes went over the shattered town, the smoke that still rose from the second ring. Her mouth thinned.

“That mealy mouthed… Time was wasted, minutes only perhaps or more. How many lives? We should have come faster.”

“You came. It’s enough, Catra. They’ll have food and drink for you when you return.”

All Ailith wanted was Elon and Colath, Jareth and Jalila.

With a nod, Catra said, “There are folk waiting for you.”

“There are,” Ailith said.

Catra offered an arm. Ailith clasped it back hard and gratefully.

“Thank you,” Ailith said, her heart in her voice.

With a nod, Catra rode off.

Sometime in all this the sun had risen and golden light spread over the valley like the promise of hope.

Elon closed, reached an arm to her as did Colath.

Her eyes locked on Elon’s grim dark ones Ailith saw them warm. Sheathing her swords, she reached for them in turn, one on each side as her eyes met Colath’s lighter ones. Arms clasped, hard, the warmth from them penetrated cloth. Her eyes went from Elon’s dark ones to Colath’s lighter as their hands tightened. For a brief stretch of time it was enough.

A dark stain and a hole in the fabric of Elon’s shirt caught her eye and her breath. It was what she’d felt, earlier.

Following her eyes, Elon shook his head and said, “It’s nothing, it heals.”

He looked her over as well. There was a cut on her arm, what looked like a boggin bite on her calf, another cut over her brow. Nothing he’d felt through the bond, nothing like the arrow earlier, so, not serious.

With a small smile, she echoed him, “It’s nothing, it heals.”

It was enough for Elon to see that smile, weak though it was.

Colath had a sword cut on his upper arm and another on his calf but nothing that wouldn’t heal of its own, either.

Around them the sounds of battle receded.

“Catra said she will finish it, since they came late,” Ailith said. She looked away for a moment, fighting grief. “Gwillim’s dead.”

 “Ailith,” Elon said, “I sorrow for the loss. He was a good and brave man.”

Colath nodded. “There was none like him.”

He smiled a little Ailith laughed, remembering Gwillim’s flowery greetings.

Elon’s hand tightened.