Sebastian Darke: Prince of Explorers (3 page)

He staggered back to his feet and saw that Cornelius was running across the clearing towards the enemy, his sword raised. He was roaring in anger at his attackers. Max had lowered his head and was advancing too, his great horns poised to strike at whoever came within reach; the great piles of equipment on his back jigged and clattered as he went.

'I knew it was too ruddy quiet!' Sebastian heard him say as he raced after Cornelius.

'Hey, wait for me!' shouted Sebastian. He started after his friends – they clearly hadn't realized he wasn't still with them – but then blundered into Samuel, who was staggering back towards him, his eyes wide and staring, his arms held out in front of him as though begging for mercy. He grabbed hold of Sebastian and hung onto him tightly, his weight bearing the slim elfling down onto his knees, making him drop his sword.

'What are you doing?' gasped Sebastian – but in the next instant his question was answered. He saw a long wooden shaft sticking out of Samuel's side.

'Pull it out,' gasped the big man. 'It hurts. Pull it out!'

Sebastian stared at Samuel for a moment. There was such fear written on the man's normally placid features – he couldn't leave him. He took hold of the arrow in one hand, but before he could exert pressure on it, a second arrow thudded into Samuel's broad back, finishing him off. His pleading eyes glazed over and the strength flowed out of his arms. He tipped sideways and hit the ground, staring up at Sebastian as if in silent accusation.

Sebastian shook his head. This couldn't be happening! He told himself that perhaps he was asleep and dreaming . . . but then he saw a smear of bright crimson on his hand and knew that this was no nightmare: it was really happening and, for the moment at least, he had no idea where his friends were.

He was getting back to his feet when one of the attackers ran at him, a great hairy brute encased in crude armour and waving a huge two-handed sword. There was no time to think. Sebastian snatched at his own sword where it lay on the ground. His scrabbling fingers closed on the hilt and he brought the blade up as the creature closed the distance between them. The sword shuddered as it punched its way through metal and into the flesh beneath. The beast went flailing over him in a sprawl of arms and legs, then struck the ground heavily and tumbled over and over, until at last he came to a halt and was still.

Sebastian remembered to draw breath. He got to his feet and turned to look in the direction that Cornelius and Max had taken. They were up there somewhere – he could hear them crashing through the undergrowth, Max bellowing for all he was worth. It might not be too late to catch up. He took a step forward and then the arrow hit him in the chest.

It was like being struck with a wooden club. The impact made him reel back several steps and the air was driven abruptly from his lungs. Liquid fire seemed to trickle from his breastbone to his groin, and when he tried to take another step, it was as if the muscles in his legs had gone. He sank to his knees, gasping for breath. A short distance away he could see Samuel's dead face staring sightlessly up to the canopy of leaves high above them.

And then he saw them coming. Two more of the creatures, their pale faces arranged into masks of grinning triumph, shambling along on their short bow legs, their long arms holding crudely fashioned, heavy swords. Sebastian looked around helplessly. There was no sign of Cornelius or Max. He was on his own. He tried to lift his own sword but it took a terrible effort to even raise it to chest height and he was

horribly aware that his strength was failing as the blood trickled out of him.

The nearest of the beasts slowed to a walk, baring his yellow, misshapen teeth. He lifted his sword in both hands, ready for the death blow. Sebastian steeled himself for the impact of the blade against his neck. But then there was a loud hiss: another arrow seemed to bloom like a strange flower out of the creature's chest and his face contorted in agony. He fell backwards onto the ground and lay there, writhing and gasping for breath.

The second creature was still shambling forward, but now he was no longer staring at Sebastian but at something or someone behind him. The beast raised his sword and then a lithe figure leaped past Sebastian to meet the attack – a tall, dark-haired warrior dressed in animal skins. The two swords clashed together, striking sparks, and the creature grunted, disengaged his blade and tried to swing again. But the newcomer was too fast for him, ducking under the blow and driving a smaller, lighter blade straight up into the beast's throat, dropping him in his tracks.

Now more of the newcomers came into view from behind Sebastian and raced past the first warrior, into the jungle where Cornelius and Max had gone. As they ran past the fallen beast, one of them finished him off with an almost casual flick of his blade.

The first warrior made no attempt to follow the others but turned to look at Sebastian. He heard his own voice give what seemed like a distant gasp of astonishment. The warrior was a young woman. She was gazing down at Sebastian, her dark brown eyes like those of some wild creature. She crouched down in front of him, opened her mouth and said something that might have been a question, but Sebastian could hear nothing above the slow rhythmic thudding of his own heart.

He tried to speak but could not shape an intelligent sound. He was dying now – he was sure of it. His head seemed to fill with bright light that bleached out everything around him except the woman's face and her brown eyes, which were still staring at him in open curiosity. She reached out a hand and touched his face. Her fingers were warm and he dimly registered that they gave him a feeling of comfort. Perhaps the last he would ever know. He thought of Jenna, away on her ship somewhere, gazing out across the endless ocean and never knowing that he had fallen in this lonely spot. He would have cried if he could have stayed awake.

But the white light obliterated everything and then a darkness fell, deep, black, sweeping him into its cold embrace.

For what seemed like the longest time, he only had glimpses of life . . .

His eyes would open for an instant and he would register what was happening. But his eyelids were heavy – they came crashing down again, shutting off his vision. He could not tell how long passed between each glimpse. Every time he woke, it was with a sense of surprise.

The first time his eyes opened, he registered that he was lying on his back and could see Cornelius just a short distance away, his face lit by the glow of a lantern. The little man's baby-like features were creased into an expression of anguish and there were tears on his cheeks. Sebastian would have liked to ask him what was wrong but he could not stay awake long enough to do so.

The next time he woke, he was staring at a ceiling made from what looked like woven leaves and branches. He was aware of a deep, rhythmic drumming from somewhere nearby, and the air around him was smoky and scented with a strange musty perfume. Then he drifted back into oblivion.

More visions followed, each as brief and insubstantial as the last:

His eyes opened. A couple of dark-haired children, dressed in animal skins, were staring at him intently. He tried to say something to them but sleep was tugging at him and he could not resist. He went down into darkness . . .

His eyes opened. An old, white-bearded man was pushing his fingers into a large bloody hole in Sebastian's chest and the pain was unbelievable. As he gasped and stared, there was a sudden wrench and the fingers emerged, gripping a large stone arrowhead. The cessation of the pain was such a relief that he slipped back into unconsciousness once again.

His eyes opened. Daylight. The white-bearded man was kneeling beside him, shaking some kind of decorative rattle over his head while he chanted in a long, low monotone. 'Go away,' said Sebastian, quite clearly; and the man stopped chanting for a moment and stared down at him in surprise. Then he resumed his chanting and Sebastian slept once more.

His eyes opened. The woman – the one he had seen at the fight – was sitting beside him, and once again her hand was on his face, stroking it, following the contours of his profile with her fingertips, as though she had never seen anyone like him before. He managed to lift a hand to hold her wrist, but she pulled it away from him and he did not have the strength to hold on. He slept.

Between each vision he was aware that time had passed – but he could not say if it was hours, days or moons.

And then came the day when he awoke and was able to stay conscious for long enough to take stock of his surroundings. He saw that he was lying on a bed of straw in a large hut made of slender branches and woven vegetation. A short distance away from him, a metal pan bubbled over a fire, which accounted for the smoke in the air. Through an open doorway he could hear the sounds of people – children laughing and calling to each other, mutts barking; the general unidentified sounds of habitation. There was a thick woven blanket over him and he eased it back gingerly to look at his bare chest. The wound was livid red and seemed to be packed with a poultice of mud and leaves, but it looked as if it might be healing. Merely breathing caused him considerable discomfort, and when he coughed unexpectedly, the pain was so intense that he slipped back into unconsciousness again, fighting it all the way . . .

He woke again and knew that this time he would be able to stay awake for a while. It was dark and the hut was lit by the glow of a lantern. A small figure was slumped beside him on a seat made out of bales of straw. His head was bowed; he was obviously asleep. Sebastian made an effort and cleared his throat, though the action caused a stab of pain to lance into his chest.

Cornelius jerked awake and raised his head. He looked a lot happier than the last time Sebastian had seen him. He leaned forward and placed a hand on Sebastian's shoulder. 'How are you?' he asked.

Sebastian tried to speak but his throat was so dry, all that emerged was a croak. Cornelius picked up an animal skin and lifted it to Sebastian's mouth, allowing a stream of water to trickle down his throat. It was warm and brackish, but at that moment it was the best thing that Sebastian had ever tasted.

'Careful now,' Cornelius advised him. 'Just a little bit at first.' He eased the water away and beamed at his friend. 'It's good to have you back,' he said. 'For a while there, I was sure we were going to lose you. You were very close to death, my friend – as close as you'll ever get without slipping into the deep.'

Sebastian nodded. 'I . . . I believe you,' he murmured. 'It felt as though I was close.' He lifted his head to gaze around. 'Where exactly are we?' he asked.

'We're in the village guesthouse,' said Cornelius.

'The . . . village?'

'Yes. It belongs to a tribe who call themselves the Jilith. I don't know how much you remember about the fight . . .'

'I remember . . . those awful creatures . . . and then some people arrived . . . they saved us . . .'

'That's right. A hunting party chanced upon us when we were under attack. They came to our rescue.'

Sebastian began to remember more details. 'Karl and Samuel . . .' he said. 'Those great hairy brutes came out of the jungle . . . and killed them!'