Swords Over Fireshore (5 page)

“What do you think?”

A rope fell out of the sky toward him. He flinched, remembering the nets, then recovered and caught hold of it. A loop had been tied in its end; he set his foot into that and gripped the rope with both hands.

The clash of swords drew his glance as he was lifted—the alben and Taharan, fighting—then he lost sight of them as the rope spun him round. He glimpsed the other ælven returning along the passage, wiping his bloodied knife, then hands caught at Luruthin's arms and shoulders and hauled him onto the roof.

He rolled aside and sat up. At once he was caught in a fierce embrace. Eliani's smell filled his senses and her voice whispered hoarsely in his ear.

“Forgive me! I would not have left you—”

“No.” His throat tightened. “There was no choice.”

“Your pardon.”

Vanorin stood above them. Eliani looked up at the captain, then released her hold on Luruthin, to his relief. Her sudden embrace had set his heart racing with fear. Even from her, his beloved kin and former love....

At Vanorin's gesture, Eliani stood and moved back from the broken windows. Luruthin joined her. Sounds of commotion came from below, though he heard no more swordplay.

Two guardians were on hands and knees by the window nearest the end of the passage. One of them answered a call from below by throwing down the rope once more. They both hauled on it, and a moment later Othanin appeared, looking bedraggled and confused. The guardians pulled him onto the roof, and Eliani went to help him up.

The sword was handed back up. Luruthin stepped toward the guardians.

“The other sword—the alben's. Bring that, too.”

Sunahran, one of the Southfælders, looked at him in surprise. Luruthin explained.

“They do not have many swords. Every one we take from them is an advantage.”

Sunahran's brows rose, then he turned to call down into the corridor. The second sword appeared, then the two guardians were hauled up with the rope. Sunahran came to Luruthin, offering the alben's sword.

He accepted it; a plain sword, well made, but lacking the virtues of a mountain-forged blade. Luruthin inhaled sharply, realizing where his own sword must be—in the hands of the alben leader. A tremor of wrath went through him, but he mastered it. It was good to have a blade in hand, at least.

Vanorin consulted briefly with the two who had been below, then led the party across the rooftops. He and two others went first, then Eliani with Luruthin and Othanin, the rest coming behind.

They moved as swiftly as they dared, keeping their steps silent. Even so, before they had passed the large, high roof of the audience chamber, a shout was raised below.

Vanorin cast a glance back, then sped his steps, abandoning caution. Terror coursed through Luruthin's veins as he followed.

He would not be taken again. He would die first, on the stranger's blade in his hands if need be.

Eliani kept an anxious eye on Luruthin and Othanin as they followed Vanorin to the rear of the Hall, down onto the wall, and into the street. The party sped down the avenue, away from Darkwood Hall, crossing streets without hesitation. Caution would not serve them now.

They started across a particularly broad street. Recognizing it, Eliani slowed.

“Hai! This is it!”

She turned south along the city's main street, and could see the darkwood gates ahead as she ran. Vanorin and the others followed. She glanced back to assure herself that Luruthin and Othanin were still there.

A shout from ahead drew her notice. Something flew past her, singing as it brushed her face. The next moment Vanorin slammed into her, pushing her into an avenue and against the wall of a house.

She grunted and drew breath to protest, then met the captain's terrified gaze. A stinging started in her cheek. She put her fingers to it, touching blood.

Eliani?

I am all right. A scratch.

Turisan said no more, but she could feel his worry. She wanted to embrace him, accept his comfort, but it was Vanorin's arms around her, not Turisan's.

She struggled free of Vanorin's grasp, and sent Turisan the signal to wait. She could not afford to be distracted just now.

The others gathered, sheltering beside the house. Cærshari, one of the Southfælders, crept forward to glance around the front corner, then ducked back as two arrows sang past. She returned to the party, speaking in a low voice.

“The windows are open in every house between here and the gates.”

Vanorin grimaced. “And full of archers, apparently.”

Eliani swallowed, her heart still thundering at the nearness of her escape. “So we go around.”

She pushed away from the house. Vanorin stepped ahead of her, glaring. She yielded to him. Glancing at Luruthin and Othanin—both pale but determined—she followed Vanorin to the next street, and along it toward the outer wall.

They soon reached a vast darkwood yard near the front of the city. The street they were on ran along the east side of it. Stacks of darkwood boards lay beneath high shed roofs, and several vast, twining, uncut trunks of darkwood lay in the midst of the yard.

Vanorin made the others wait while he took a few steps down the unsheltered street. Eliani held her breath, keeping her eyes on a long crafthall at the far side of the yard. That hall was the only structure between them and the main street, and if she were a conquering alben she would have put archers into it as well.

If archers were there, however, their attention was not on the wood yard. Vanorin stepped behind a stack of cut wood and gestured for the others to join him.

They hurried across the exposed space and clustered together behind the wood. Othanin picked up an arm-length scrap of darkwood and slapped it into his free hand, a passable club.

Vanorin turned to Eliani, gesturing to a line of sheds, some empty, most sheltering stacks of wood. “We can keep out of sight most of the way to the wall. If we do not see the others when we reach it, we go over.”

Eliani gave a reluctant nod. She did not wish to leave the three that had gone to the stables to fend for themselves. She wanted them back, with the horses if possible. She wished to leave none of her folk in Ghlanhras.

Following Vanorin, the party darted from shelter to shelter along the width of the darkwood yards. No sign of movement came from the crafthall.

The last stack of cut wood was only shoulder high to Eliani; she and the others crouched behind it. An open space of perhaps two rods lay between them and the outer wall. Vanorin crossed it swiftly and flattened himself against the wall.

Eliani peered around the front corner of the wood, looking toward the gate. She saw what she hoped for; three guardians, with horses behind them, in the street beyond the gate. They were some distance from it, though, and they appeared to be pinned. Arrows flew toward them from the front of the crafthall, falling short or striking the wall.

Eliani grimaced and looked across at Vanorin. He nodded; he had seen. He looked about to speak, then flinched as an arrow struck the wall beside him.

Eliani ducked back, heart pounding. She beckoned to Vanorin, but arrows continued to come at him. He would be hit before long.

Anger drove her to pull at a board from the stack beside her. It was heavy; it tumbled to the ground, nearly striking her foot. With the help of Taharan she lifted it, then turned it upright.

The board was half again her height, and slightly less than her width. She turned to Taharan. “Take it to Vanorin.”

Taharan nodded and took the board from her hands, holding it as a shield as he carried it across the open space to the wall. It was poor shelter for both him and Vanorin, but better than none. Sunahran pulled down a second board and carried it across; side by side, the two boards formed an adequate makeshift wall.

Vanorin called to Eliani across the open space. “We go over the wall.”

“No! The horses!”

“We cannot get to them.”

Stubbornness set in. She could hear her father chiding; knew Turisan would scold. She did not care. She reached to pull down another board.

“We form a shield wall and move to the gates. We can open them.”

Othanin came forward to assist her. “It takes three to raise the bar. It is solid darkwood.”

“Then three will raise it while the rest hold the shields.”

Vanorin frowned. “My lady—”

Luruthin stepped up beside her. “We can do this.” He held out his sword to her.

“If you will carry this, I will carry a shield.”

Eliani cast him a grateful glance as she took the blade, her throat tightening. Luruthin had already shielded her once. Now he supported her again. How she loved him!

Vanorin offered no more argument, though his lips were a thin line of disapproval. The guardians each took a darkwood board in hand.

Eliani scuttled across the open space behind two boards carried by Sunahran and Birani. Five boards across filled the space that ran along the city wall, three others formed a shield wall at angles with the first, and the whole party moved toward the gates.

Their progress was slow. Arrows began to batter against the darkwood shields like hail in a tempest. Now and then one came through a momentary gap, but the party reached the gate without injury.

The shield-bearers shifted into a single line between the gate and the now-constant rattle of arrows. Eliani laid her two swords at her feet and stepped forward to help Vanorin and Othanin lift the bar.

It was massive, and the three of them strained to raise it clear of the brackets. Behind her she heard a small, sharp cry from one of the guardians.

Dread spilled down her spine. If the shield wall failed now—

She strained, digging in her feet to lift with her shoulders. The bar rose up another handspan, enough to clear the brackets. Together she and the two males stepped back, dropping the bar at their feet. It narrowly missed the swords.

Eliani picked up the blades, shoulder muscles already complaining. Othanin was pulling the left gate open. When the gap was a shoulder's breadth, Vanorin turned to Eliani.

“Go!”

She slipped through the gate and out into the clear, gulping deep breaths of freedom, filled with sudden relief. The road stretched southward before her, leading home.

Othanin joined her, then Luruthin. She moved away from the gate to the side of the road, against the forest.

A loud clap sounded, then two more guardians came through the gate. It was opening wider, now; swinging away. Two darkwood boards lay fallen inside the gate.

Eliani watched as the rest of the shield-bearers shuffled backward through the gate, then dropped their boards along the side that remained closed and hastened to where she stood. Felahran pulled off a glove as he joined the party, revealing a bloodied finger.

Eliani stepped to him. “You are hurt! Let me see it.”

“Just a nick.”

He showed her his hand. An arrow had sliced through the glove across one knuckle. Eliani took his hand between hers and heat flared at once in her palms, the healing that she still scarce understood. She had little chance to focus on it; a thundering of hooves drew her gaze to the gate.

The horses screamed in terror and pain as they came through the gate, arrows striking the animals and the guardians who rode and led them. Six horses and two riders cleared the gate, but the last rider's horse reared just inside, stumbled on the darkwood boards, and fell.

“Jhathali!”

“Taharan, no!”

Vanorin grabbed at the guardian's arm but failed to catch him. Eliani watched in horror as Taharan ran back through the gate, unprotected.

“Taharan!”

Birani's voice was wild with anguish. Eliani caught the guardian and held her, terrified of losing yet another of her party.

Taharan dropped to his knees beside the fallen horse and rider. Arrows hammered into him, jerking his body with each blow until he fell across the horse and moved no more.

Tears sprang to Eliani's eyes and she gasped with grief. The screams of the last two horses rose from within the wall.

The horses that had escaped had run well down the road before the two riders were able to halt them. Vanorin gave orders in a stern, low voice, moving the party southward to join the horses. They halted still within sight of the gate, which remained open.

Everyone moved to tend the animals and the riders, all of whom had been struck by arrows. Eliani could not help glancing toward the gate now and then, though she knew the alben would not venture out in daylight to close it.

She pulled arrows and bandaged wounds, work she had done often as a guardian, oddly soothing in its familiarity. None of the wounds was serious, though one horse was badly lamed.

As she used her healing gift to ease the riders' pain, she listened to the others around her. Their voices murmured in quiet grief. Someone was sobbing; a female.

Looking up, Eliani saw Birani curled against the base of a tree. Felahran knelt beside the guardian, but she pushed him away.

The healing warmth faded from Eliani's hands. She gave Mihlaran a reassuring smile, then stood and walked over to Birani.