They picked their way along for several days, slow progress made slower by the need to keep scouts ahead and ears alert for the yells of undermen on the hunt. For all their caution the encounter, when it came, took the party by surprise. The small river that was their guide had vanished into a deep ravine, and the party had veered away into scrubby forest. Doryid, scouting ahead, was noticed by a troop of hurler possums while casting about for the best place to cross a side-gully. As he turned to signal the party he was struck about the head and shoulders by a volley of slime-fruit, accompanied by a chorus of throaty rattles. Correctly anticipating worse to follow, Doryid retreated smartly, jinking from side to side. He avoided the wasp balls and spike-seeds that came after the fruit and was soon out of range.

As Doryid came up, Venalse considered their choices.

“Yecch. That stuff stinks. We’ll have to circle around further up the hill. It’s getting dark; too late to move now. We’ll camp in that dell back there and check things out in the morning.”

The dell in question was no more than a shallow depression studded with trees but largely clear of undergrowth. The day’s walk had not been too hard. After dinner they sat or sprawled in a loose circle for some hours, quietly sharing anecdotes, reminiscences and their plans for future riches.

Doryid was trying to explain the etiquette of a Saka long-house when Venalse interrupted.

“What was that..?” This at a sharp buzz. The next arrow struck Venalse a glancing blow on the chest, failing to penetrate his coat of mail. To their credit, most of the party reacted quickly. Chrys dropped to the ground and rolled behind a log, then reached up to drag Aitonala down beside her. Venalse, Doryid and Kosohona likewise leapt for cover, while Rakt snatched up his shield, dropped to one knee and began to span his crossbow with quick jerks.

“Shield yourself” he hissed at Grymwer, who had rolled to his knees and grasped for his halberd.“Oh, oh yes”. Grymwer spoke twisted Words. Several more arrows arced out of the dark, met solid air and dropped to the ground. The forest erupted in excited howls.

Chrys cursed. Undermen were said to see much better than humans in the dark. The party could not stay here, with only faint starlight and the glow of a rising moon to see by, their enemies invisible in the brush. Beside her Aitonala uttered a frustrated grunt.

“If I could just see one of them, I could put a dart into the prick.”

Chrys groped around for a rock, pressed it into Aitonala’s hand and murmured “Throw this as soon I cast. Into the bushes but not too far.” She felt for the ether, adjusted tempo, rhythm and intonation to the swirling patterns and said Words. As the rock began to glow Aitonala lobbed it in a high curve to their front. Suddenly visible figures darted away with startled cries; one fell as Rakt snapped off a quarrel, and another staggered as a javelin took it in the leg. Yells and hoots erupted from the forest, together with more arrows and a heavy spear that buried itself in the ground a hand-span from Aitonala’s hip.

“Venalse”, Chrys called, “we can’t stay here all night.”

“I’m thinking the same. There was a rock jumble up on the ridge, about half an hour back. Best place I can think of.”

“Give me a minute and I’ll cover you as you fall back. Don’t forget your packs. Grymwer, Rakt, I need you both here.”

Chrys waited impatiently as Rakt and Grymwer manoeuvred their way across. As Rakt dropped into cover, she rolled over beside Grymwer.

“Cover me with your spell-shield”, and she again felt for the ether. The world went from the blacks, greys and silver glints of dusk to a uniform pale grey, but sprang into sharp definition. She nocked an arrow, locked her thumb on the string and rose to a kneeling position. There – a figure half-concealed behind a shrub, arm raised as it drew a bow. She loosed and whipped another arrow to the string even as her victim fell thrashing.

“Venalse, Kosohona, Doryid, move!” Chrys sent shafts into the bushes wherever she saw movement as the three ran back. Venalse came last, two arrows lodged in his raised shield and a third dangling from his pack.

“Grymwer, can you cast Night-Eyes on Doryid? Then he can cover us.”

What followed was a slow, nightmarish scramble from position to position, loosing arrows at shapes glimpsed between trees, trying to track their enemies by their cries, watchful that no-one fell behind or strayed too far from the group, but careful not to provide a large target by bunching up too closely. Mail, or even the thick leather worn by Kosohona and Doryid, would turn arrows from the weak bows, still more so as Chrys’ and Doryid’s archery kept them at a distance. Still, it felt to Chrys far too like a hunt, with the party as prey. That triggered a thought. Were their pursuers the hunters or merely the dogs, set on to drive them to exhaustion?

The moon was well up when they reached the foot of the ridge, throwing a dazzle of sharp edged shadows across a rock-strewn stretch of rough grass. Venalse looked up at the jumble of boulders that was their immediate goal.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“What if some of them are already up there? We’d be pinned in the open.”

“I can check without too much risk. They won’t notice me unless they look hard, so keep them stirred up,” Aitonala said. “I’ll whistle twice if it’s clear.” She drew herself up, closed her eyes briefly, twisted her arms and hands in an improbable manner and then tied a grey ribbon about her head. That done she walked out into the open and up the slope. When Chrys glanced away and then looked back, Aitonala was not to be seen. Only a slight ruffle in the grass betrayed her progress.

Grymwer peered cautiously around a tree. “All well for her to say. This jacket won’t stop arrows and I’m shut out of the ether for the rest of the night.” He reached out with his halberd to poke an adjacent sapling, and several arrows whistled through the leaves. Rakt was lying prone, his shield propped to his front, crossbow spanned. He sent a bolt back, causing a wail of pain.

“Stirred up it is,” Doryid said. He sent an arrow more or less at random into the bushes with a shout, then hissed in pain as a returning arrow struck through his calf. He sank to the ground cursing, then reached into himself and drew the ether through rapid fingers. His face cleared, he grasped the shaft, broke off the head and pulled it out. Cloth torn from his shirt made a makeshift bandage and he regained his feet.

“That will let me get to the rocks.”

A minute later Venalse cocked his head as first one then a second whistle came from above.

“Time to go. Rakt and I will cover Kosohona and Doryid. Chrys, can you cover Grymwer?” She nodded. “Then you two go first. You can keep them busy from the top.”

Chrys called up the Invisible Defence, Grymwer took her belt and they started up the hill, Chrys moving with her front turned, as far as possible, to the trees below. They had not gone far before the Defence had to turn arrows, but the threat of Chrys’ poised bow kept the undermen from breaking cover. It was a short, if slow, climb. Grymwer slipped into a narrow passage between the rocks,

Chrys moved to one side, waved and the others shortly broke from the trees in as fast a walk as the ground permitted. Chrys sent a shaft at likely movements, hoping to at least spoil aim, and the four gained the rocks without being hit. As they drew close, Chrys could see that although Doryid was moving briskly, his left leg was soaked in blood, and his hand was pressed to a wound on his hip.

“Sneaky bastard jumped me,” he grunted, brushed past into shelter, hit his shoulder on an outcrop and collapsed.

Their refuge was no more than ten paces across, a tiny natural fort where time and weather had split apart larger stones, leaving narrow uneven passages between them. Doryid was dragged into the middle, where Kosohona set about treating his injuries. The others each took station at an entrance and prepared to wait the night out.

After a while Kosohona came up behind Chrys.

“How’s Doryid?”

“The bleeding is under control. Otherwise out like the dead, so I can’t get Healing into him. The spell he used to keep him on his feet will also keep him under for at least a day.”

“What happened to him?”

“Underman must have crawled up close through the undergrowth. It jumped out and stabbed him a couple of times. Got away before he could do anything, and then it was more important to get up here.”

“Ouch. At least up here we can see them coming.”

They listened to the yips and howls from below for a time, then Kosohona went back to check on Doryid.

* * * *

Chrys had never welcomed a dawn more. The cries from the forest had died down in the night, but they had had to remain watchful. They could spell each other, but there was no place to rest. The light found them weary, worried and, in Doryid’s case, still comatose. A short discussion over a cold breakfast concluded that the sensible thing was to retreat for now.

“But how do we move Doryid?” asked Rakt “Do Venalse and Grymwer and I take turns with him on our shoulders?”

“As to that, I have an idea,” Kosohona replied. “Those trousers of his – the Spare Legs – they move if there’s pressure from the inside. So we can put a hand down his pants...”

“Eww.”

“.. and he’ll walk.”

“Won’t he kind of flop from the waist?”

“Maybe. We can hold him up. Worth a try.”

“Somebody will have to carry his pack, and my halberd if I’m steering him,” put in Grymwer.

“Why do you drag that thing around anyway? It’s no magician’s weapon.”

“Maybe not, but it was my grandmother’s.”

There was no room to experiment inside the jumble, but getting Doryid walking just outside made a fine distraction while Aitonala checked the ground to the south. It proved – just - practicable to keep Doryid’s legs moving and, with his arm over one’s shoulders, limit movement of his upper body. When Aitonala gave the all clear, they set off in as fast a hobble as they could manage.

There was no way the party could outrun or evade the undermen if they pursued but they covered as much distance as they could, going on until they were all staggering with fatigue. Venalse called a rest late in the afternoon, then cast about for somewhere to rest and prepare against the night. Their refuge was a shallow cave under a small cliff, not ideal but the best available. They laid Doryid down at the back, moaned for a time and then set about improving their chances of surviving the night. Grymwer’s halberd came in handy for chopping thorn bushes, which were then piled up into a barricade a little below the cave. A few fallen logs and far too many rocks were lugged into position to make a small wall. Water bottles were filled, and Chrys provided a hot meal. Nobody asked what had provided the meat.