Mercadian Masques

Chapter 8

The trouble began in camp that night, and among the caterans.

Without fire, with only trail rations and canteens, the exhausted Mercadian Fifth Regiment sat in camp. They sheltered in a clearing with a natural root hollow, where the jhovalls could be corralled. The six-legged tigers slept in warm comfort in a feline pile, their saddles and packs removed and their coats brushed.

The soldiers and caterans were much less comfortable. They had washed during their river crossing, but their clothes had never fully dried. More layers of cloth only deepened the chill. Throughout the day, the forest's murk had been unnerving. Nighttime was worse. Only the cold gleam of the trees illuminated the dark. A fire would have been welcome, but Gerrard would not allow it for fear of "offending the forest." Instead, he offended his fighters. They grumbled angrily as they cleaned their weapons.

Soon around the camp appeared a circle of eyes-small, grim, glowering eyes. Minions of the Rushwood. It was more than the caterans could bear.

Their master, four-armed Xcric, had a crossbow. He cranked it quietly back, fitted a quarrel, and took bets from his comrades. "My orders from Gerrard were to command my troops not to fight unless attacked. I've done so. But Gerrard never forbade me to fight."

With a shuddering twang, the bolt launched free. It tore through undergrowth.

In the forest beyond, a set of eyes slammed shut. There came the agonized thrashing of something massive amid weeds. The beast's shrieks were piteous. Among vast, impassive trees, the cries echoed. They summoned the forest's myriad defenders.

Gerrard and his command crew came running. "What happened? What's going on?"

Xcric spoke proudly in the murk. "I got him right between the eyes."

"I ordered you not to fight unless-"

"He attacked me-looked at me wrong," Xcric replied.

"You bastard," Gerrard spat, raking his sword from its scabbard. "You've just declared war." Turning toward the camp, he shouted, "To arms! To arms! Light perimeter fires!"

In the anxious moments afterward, deadfalls were piled and sprinkled with rye spirits. Fires leaped up in an uneven ring around the camp. Orange light limned warriors as they rushed past abandoned packs. Jhovalls lolled awake and disentangled themselves from their sleeping kin.

Gerrard and his comrades meanwhile stared out into the darkness.

Tahngarth clutched a sword eagerly. "At least we have fires now. Our clothes will dry."

Sisay shook her head. "I'd rather have them wet with river water than wet with blood. What do you think is out there?"

"We'll find out soon enough," Takara said. She gestured beyond the fires, where flames glimmered in angry eyes. "They are converging."

From all sides, the beasts came. Hunched backs and stooped shoulders, twisted horns in shaggy brows, vast claws raking away undergrowth, footpads pounding ground…

"Lumbering satyrs and horned trolls," Sisay whispered in awe. "They're bigger than the books made them out. These are feral creatures-solitary. They must have been brought together by the mind of the forest."

Gerrard's face was grim as he watched the advance. The satyrs and trolls had nearly reached the outer fires. "If these are the forest's first defenses, what other monsters will follow?"

Xcric tugged on Gerrard's sleeve. "My crossbowmen are ready. Do we fire?"

"There's no sense in defending this camp. It'll be our grave. The beasts won't stop coming until we're dead or driven out. If we must fight, we fight forward," Gerrard said. "Clear a corridor. Open fire." Even as the first quarrels raced away, he shouted, "Troops! Mount up! Fight from Jhovall-back!" He turned, heading for the corral. "Ride behind me, toward the center of the wood-"

These shouts were drowned out by another roar-the death throes of scores of beasts. Cateran quarrels sank in throats and eyes and brows. Many trolls and satyrs went down in that first volley. Many more charged. With bolts sticking from mounded backs and between grappling claws, they came on.

Gerrard and his comrades reached the Jhovall corral. There was no time for saddles or packs. Gerrard yanked harness and bit from a nearby vine. He slipped the reins over the cat's head and clambered up. Caught between firelight and silver tree glow, he whirled and met the attackers.

As quickly as that, the satyrs and trolls arrived. They flung themselves over root networks and down into the corral. Two tons of muscle and claw and horn-they landed, breaking soldiers' heads and Jhovalls' backs. Roars of rage mixed with shrieks of pain.

In moments, five cats and ten warriors lay dead.

A huge monster dropped into the space beside Gerrard. His Jhovall hissed and turned. Gerrard's sword sang in the darkness. It arced through screaming air to impact a great scaly skull. Steel bit through skin and muscle, lodging only on bone.

The satyr gathered its massive legs and lunged.

Roaring, Gerrard turned his blade. The sword pivoted across the beast's jaw and slid within the collarbone. Gerrard held tight to the reins. The satyr came on, impaling itself on his sword. Blood poured forth in a steaming torrent.

Gerrard wrenched his blade free and backed his spitting mount. The satyr plunged ponderously into the space where they had been. His Jhovall reared and shrieked.

It barreled into the rump of Sisay's beast, which stood like a rampant lion. Her Jhovall's claws raked the face of another satyr.

"Win free!" Gerrard shouted. "Then grab a torch and follow my lead!"

He barged past Sisay's mount, heading toward a nearby bonfire. Gerrard leaned down and snatched up a burning brand. No sooner had he righted himself than the bonfire erupted before him. Coals and sparks leaped up in a killing hail. Gerrard reined his mount back. Something vast had plunged into the midst of the blaze, driven there by a shrieking Jhovall.

Tahngarth rode that Jhovall. His sword was sanguine, and his horns too. Though he spoke to Gerrard, his eyes were fixed on the fire. "There is no honor in this fight."

Gerrard saw why. In the bonfire, a horned troll thrashed. Fire flashed away its thick pelt, sending up acrid white smoke. Next moment, skin burst and peeled and blackened. The muscles beneath contracted moments more, until they, too, sizzled to stillness. Lids burned away from rolling eyes, which became as white and opaque as boiled eggs.

"No honor," Gerrard agreed, chopping the head from another satyr. The decapitated corpse went down sloppily before him. Holding high his torch, Gerrard drove his mount up over the enormous body. "No honor but to fight for Orim and Weatherlight. Follow me!"

Aback snarling six-legged cats, Tahngarth and Sisay fought in Gerrard's wake.

Ahead, Takara clung to the back of her dead Jhovall, which draped across the horns of a troll. The massive monster had impaled her steed and lifted it into the air. Takara lashed at it with her sword but couldn't reach the troll's bent back. It bounded toward another bonfire, ready to fling Jhovall and rider both into the flames.

"Get up!" Gerrard commanded his mount, digging heels into its sides.

The tiger-creature flung itself behind the troll. Huge feline claws sank into troll flesh, but they only propelled the beast faster toward the flames.

"Climb on!" Gerrard shouted to Takara, holding out his hand.

She sheathed her sword and rolled down the back of her dead mount, grasping Gerrard's hand. He swung her into place behind him. Gerrard reined hard. His mount reared.

Fires roared up ahead. The troll and the dead Jhovall plunged into the flames. More putrid white smoke belched up.

"Thanks," Takara panted.

"Let's get out of this deathtrap."

With Takara sitting behind him and Tahngarth, Sisay, and the Fifth Regiment following, Gerrard sent his mount bounding across the battlefield. Many of Gerrard's regiment were dead already, slain as they ran for their mounts. Their bodies lay savaged among forgotten packs. Not a few satyrs and trolls lay amid them. Some of the fighters who had slain them fought on. They seemed mere children waggling sticks at hulking bears.

One woman, who had killed two trolls, battled a third now, her strength flagging.

Gerrard's mount lunged beside the troll, and he clove the thing's brain between the horns. "Pick her up!" he shouted to Sisay, pointing to the weary soldier.

No sooner had Gerrard's Jhovall leaped out of the space than Sisay's leaped into it. She grabbed the soldier's arm and dragged her onto the Jhovall's back. Tahngarth likewise rescued another beleaguered guard. Soon, every soldier that lived rode a Jhovall across the camp.

On the opposite end of the killing field, the caterans had been busy. They were not content merely to slay the beasts. They harvested trophies-sawing at horns and claws, hewing teeth, lopping off fingers, flaying skin and fur. Where a creature was cut open, the caterans thrust an arm in the gore- sign of a successful kill. When both-or all four-arms were red, the caterans painted their chests and foreheads and legs in the stuff. They fought like fiends, these caterans. Few if any of them had fallen, but the ground was thick with dead trolls and satyrs.

Gerrard's steed bounded past that abattoir and onward, into the murk. He held high his burning brand and charged on between silvery boles. With a glance back, he saw that most of his force remained-perhaps fifty Jhovalls followed in his wake, bearing one or two soldiers each. The six-legged cats were faster and more agile than these lumbering, shuffling monsters. Soon, the Fifth Regiment would be beyond their reach.

"That was a near thing," Takara panted into his ear.

"Yes," Gerrard agreed in the rushing wind. "Do you think Orim has… survived?" "I hope so," Gerrard replied. "We drive on until we reach the center of the forest, and Weatherlight."

"At least we're safe for the moment." Takara said. She had spoken too soon.

Something massive moved ahead-many somethings. As tall as five men, they lurked in the interstices between boles. Their bodies were black silhouettes against the silver gloamingliving shadows. They darted, positioning themselves in the path of the Jhovalls. Here and there, true glimpses came of these vaguely human titans. In place of skin, leaves stood across their bulk. Mosses clumped in untidy mats of hair. Vines twined in veinwork. Fists of stone and stick bore huge clubs. Most horrible of all, though, were the creatures' eyes, glowing with the silver fire of the trees all around.

"Rushwood elementals!" Sisay shouted. "They are formed out of the leaves and boughs of the forest!" Takara whispered sardonically, "What now?" "What else?" Gerrard replied, feeling his fear turn to anger, and his anger to hatred. "We fight." "That's what I like to hear."

"Hang on!" Gerrard kicked the flanks of his Jhovall. The tiger-creature snarled and leaped toward one of the looming shadows. Overhead, a club dropped with an awful roar. Gerrard drove the cat upward. The Jhovall leaped. Claws sank into the moldy mass of the elemental's thigh. A vague roar came. The massive club descended toward Jhovall and riders.

"Get up!" Gerrard shouted at his mount. The Jhovall bounded again.

The club struck. A shriek came, inhuman anguish. The elemental staggered. Its thigh-stones and sticks-had shattered beneath the blow of the club.

Rising still, the Jhovall sank its claws in the monster's arm and hurled itself higher.

"Good work," Takara shouted.

But the elemental was not maimed for long. It pressed its club against the shattered thigh. The wood fused with its leg, solidifying it.

"Not good enough," Gerrard hissed.

The jhovall leaped from the elemental's shoulder toward its face. Feline claws sank into the elemental's skull. Standing in the saddle, Gerrard drove his sword into one of the titan's silver-glowing eyes. Takara rammed hers into the other. Mercurial flames danced out along the blades and burned their sleeves. Gerrard and Takara shouted in unison pain.

But the agonized shriek of the elemental overtopped their cries. Silver fire guttered and failed in its eyes. They went dark. The wailing ceased. The elemental died. With terrific and terrible motion, its corpse began to slump. Boughs and humus and rocks separated. No longer joined in a titanic body, the multifarious vines and mosses tumbled free of each other.

Growling, Gerrard drove heels into his Jhovall's side. "Jump!"

The tiger-creature did, flinging itself across the wheeling heights. It bounded from the head of a dying elemental toward the shoulders of a living one. Trees flashed past in a dizzy spectacle. The Jhovall extended its forepaws to grasp the next titan.

The elemental turned. Its club whirled about and struck the six-legged tiger in midair.

A whuff of breath exploded from the cat. With it came the snap of ribs. Blood boiled out of the creature's face. Broken, the Jhovall spun through the air.

Gerrard and Takara clung miserably to its inert bulk. Trees whirled.

They struck one. The dead cat caught the brunt of the blow, but Takara was flung away. She fell toward the forest floor, landing atop a root-cluster and sprawling brokenly.

Gerrard meanwhile smacked up against rough bark. Something shattered in his chest, but he clung to the dead cat. It sloughed off the side of the tree and plunged beneath him. Cursing, Gerrard clawed atop the falling Jhovall. It struck ground.

The impact was horrible. It drove the breath from Gerrard. He crumpled off the Jhovall's corpse and flailed on the ground. He rolled across his torch. The wet fabric of his riding cloak-it was a flask of rye spirits that had shattered in his chest pocket-flared with sudden fire.

Gerrard staggered up and shucked the burning jacket. He flung it furiously away. The cloak wrapped itself around the elemental's leg.

Flame leaped to wood and dry moss. Fire spread up the looming titan. It shrieked, pounding the blaze. Flames roared onto its hands and arms. In moments, the elemental was engulfed-a living column of fire. It thrashed horribly among the boles, shying away from the trees lest it set them ablaze. Its screams were terrifying.

Gerrard could only grin grimly. He drew a hissing breath through gritted teeth and shouted, "Burn them! Burn every last one! Burn them!"

Even as the elemental fell to the ground, writhing in death throes, more fires awoke among the others.

A slim hand touched Gerrard's shoulder. "That was well done."

He turned, astonished. "Takara! How did you survive that fall? Your spine was broken."

"No. Hatred is my spine," she said, smiling a bloody smile. "As long as I keep it at the core of my being, I survive."

"Yes," Gerrard said, staring at her. "I've begun to see the definite benefits." There were four elementals burning now, their wails like music in the night. Gerrard cupped hands about his mouth and shouted through the chorus of moans. "Caterans to the fore! Clear a corridor! Kill anything that stands between us and Weatherlight.'"