The River Ghasts of Lid and Other Stories

Ancient and Dangerous - 2

The first thing he did was bury the stuff Senna had left behind: her leather armour, her curved sword, her rune carving equipment. It wouldn't be hard to find if someone came close, but he hoped that it was a big enough forest that he could get away with it. He did keep her bed mat, though, and he smiled as he slung it with his equipment.

Then, he went down to the stream, and washed his hands, and went to see to Jonit's wound.

It was actually better than he feared. It didn't seem to be infected, which was a small miracle; and it had stopped bleeding.

'You might actually survive this, corporal,' he said, as he bound the man's arm with a fresh bandage.

Jonit himself had also revived somewhat. He was thirsty and hungry, and so Pigeon divided the last of the food between them, taking the smallest portion for himself. He fed the wolves the rest of the dried meat.

When they had eaten, he scooped handfuls of mud from the stream bank, and smeared it across his cheeks and armour, on the brass fittings of the saddles, anywhere else he could think of that might help them blend in.

He looked at his handiwork reflected in the stream. There, he thought. The elves think we are savages, and this won't change their minds. The wolves didn't think much either; he must smell of the river. Well, that's no bad thing either.

'Can you go a bit quicker, Jonit?'

'Yes, I think so.'

So, they set off.

They weren't going at the speed Senna had, but they weren't hanging around, either. Soon enough they came to a second monolith, also on their left. That was good because it implied they hadn't crossed the invisible border. They heard the noise of horses on the road to their right, but no cries or calls. Soon, they came to the third and then the fourth monolith, and then it started to get dark.

Although it was still early evening it was already too gloomy to see far. They could easily blunder off their course towards the border or the road. Besides which, Jonit was clearly suffering. So, they camped down for a second night under the trees. I bloody hate this forest, he thought. I wonder how far Senna is ahead of us.

An hour or so later, they heard the sound of soldiers crashing through the brush, making no attempt to hide themselves. Jonit was asleep, curled up under his cloak, fairly well hidden. The wolves both perked up their ears, and he motioned them down. They crouched, keeping themselves as low as they could in the brush.

He could see torches, coming up from the road, soldiers fanned out in a line. Damnit, he thought. They have figured out how far we have come and they are searching systematically.

Looking for the biggest stone he could find to hand he got up as high as he could; and then he hurled the rock, up towards the stone border. It flew through the air silently, and landed with a crash into something up ahead, causing a flock of birds to suddenly come bursting up, hooting with surprise.

The reaction was immediate. He heard commands shouted, and the line of torches headed in a run towards the noise. He hunkered down, and could see elven soldiers pass by them on both sides.

He was shaking Jonit awake, when they heard the first screams.

Jonit opened his eyes in terror, but Pigeon shushed him. They gathered whatever things they had to hand, and started slinking away from the noise, the wolves following.

Pigeon had a fairly good idea which way the road was, but in the darkness he was worried about getting lost. So when the first wisp of light appeared, he was grateful. He turned to Jonit.

'What's that?'

But Jonit had stopped in terror, was whispering something: a counterspell, an oath, a prayer, Pigeon has no idea what. Another wisp appeared, and another, all around them, pale white fire drifting through the silent forest. The wolves snarled and crouched low, ready to spring. He pulled out his sword, grateful that he still had it, but aware it might well be useless.

It was silent. He could see no torch light, no sign that the elves had ever been there.

He glanced at Jonit and was surprised to see that he was crying silently, the tears sparkling in the pale light.

'Pull yourself together, soldier...' he hissed, and then, suddenly, he was on his back.

The roots themselves had writhed up, wrenched his feet forward, throwing him to the forest floor. He could feel them flex around his legs, squeezing him. He had managed to keep hold of his sword, and he hacked at them but it was useless: the wood was thick and tough and he was worried about cutting himself. He could feel more roots snake up around his ribs, over his shoulder. He tore and ripped, plucking them away but more came, quicker than he could cope with; then one finally secured itself around his neck and began to squeeze, and it was harder and harder to breath and he could hear the pounding of his heart in his ears.

I hope the wolves are OK, he thought, and then everything went black.