Word of Traitors: Legacy of Dhakaan - Book 2 (31 page)

“Hold position!” Dagii roared. “Archers, give cover!”

From high up in the ruins of Tii’ator clanhold, arrows spat down on the ground between Dagii and the elves. One took an elf warrior, pinning veil to throat. Another struck a shoulder, but most only forced the elves to check their advance. A few arrows hissed up from the base of the hill—the Valaes Tairn had archers in concealment as well—but they fell short. The ranks of hobgoblins opened like a parting curtain and Dagii plunged through. He disappeared, but his voice rose. “Archers, loose!”

Arrows fell again, this time carefully aimed. The elf who had taken an arrow in his shoulder took a second in his chest. Other elves danced back, some struck, others simply avoiding the deadly rain. They were on all sides of the camp though, and the archers in the ruins were forced to divide their efforts. Ekhaas saw one of the hobgoblins silhouetted for a moment against the starry sky; the heavy bow he carried seemed too thick to bend, yet bend it he did, and another elf died.

“Form up—double fortress!”

The thin lines of the Darguul perimeter dissolved and reformed into two solid rectangles of soldiers parallel to each other with camp and campfires between them. Ekhaas caught another glimpse of Dagii. He’d claimed a helmet and a shield. Three other hobgoblins clustered around him for a moment: Keraal with his chain and the two
lhurusk
. Keraal and one of the
lhurusk
were nodding, but the other one seemed inclined to argue. His hand thrust toward the second formation of soldiers.

Dagii’s fist, still wrapped around the hilt of his sword, punched out and cracked him in the jaw. The struck hobgoblin staggered, then ducked his head and joined the distant column. Dagii sent the other
lhurusk
with him, then he and Keraal melted into the first formation.

“Archers, hold!”

The arrows stopped. For a moment, the night was still, the Valenar waiting for the Darguuls to move, the Darguuls waiting for the Valenar.

Then a scimitar flashed up, whirling around the head of its wielder as she let out a high, musical war cry—and abruptly the night was filled with war cries. The elves ran at the defenders, not as disciplined
dar
might, but singly, each elf fighting alone. They darted and cut and dodged, their red garb like dancing flames in the night.

“Hold position!” Dagii commanded. “Hold!”

The wave of elves broke and receded for a moment, and Ekhaas saw that for all its apparent ferocity, that attack had been a show. She couldn’t see the faces of the veiled elves, but their posture was stiff and their weapons trembling. They were disappointed, she guessed. The mock attack had been intended to break the enemy formation and draw them out. The Darguuls had resisted.

An elf voice screamed. The wave crashed forward again.

This time, the scimitars flashed out in earnest. “Forward ranks, attack! Archers, loose!” roared Dagii.

Spears thrust at the elves. A few found flesh, but the elves were clearly used to this tactic and many slid or ducked to come up inside the reach of the first rank—only to encounter spears jabbed forward by the second rank underneath the arms of their comrades.
At the same time, the first rank of Darguuls dropped their now useless spears and drew swords. Arrows rained down on those elves who hung back or tried to pull away, making retreat almost as dangerous as staying close.

And yet a band of elves had leaped into the gap between the two rectangles of
dar
, leaping bedrolls and campfires. They didn’t, however, attack the defenders, and Ekhaas knew immediately what they were up to. They were going for the gaping charred doors of Tii’ator. They would try to take the ruined clanhold and seize the high ground from the hobgoblin archers.

She started to rise, to shout a warning, but Chetiin grabbed her hand and pulled her back down. “Dagii knows!” he rasped—just as the warlord of the Mur Talaan shouted out, “Rear ranks, close!”

The rear ranks of each rectangle spun around and slammed together like the jaws of a vise. The running elves found themselves trapped. Scimitars turned against heavy
dar
swords as they tried to fight their way clear.

Chetiin drew breath through his teeth. “The elves will call for their archers soon. Marrow, with me.” He turned black eyes on Ekhaas. “Stay hidden! The elves will be looking for a spellcaster now. Hopefully they’ll think you’re fighting among the ranks in the camp.”

He turned and disappeared without another sound into the shadows. Marrow padded along with him, cold vengeance in her eyes. Ekhaas looked after them for an instant, then up at the struggling elves and
dar
, and made her decision. She wasn’t going to stay out of the fight like a coward.

She rose to her knees, watching the battle and at the same time listening to the darkness. After a long moment, she heard a muffled thump, like a falling body, from the direction Chetiin had gone. At least one of the unseen elf archers was no longer a danger. She crept forward in the long grass, then stood, singing as she moved. Magic danced along her skin. She felt it as a tingling, a kind of scraping as if her flesh were being gently drawn apart; then, like a soap bubble, the feeling burst. The song flicked away from her and took on another form.

Three more Ekhaases rose out of the grass alongside her. Thin echoes of song tied them to her—what she did, they imitated. She
strode up the slope of the hill, closer to the battle. Elves who had managed to escape the close fighting and retreat for the moment cried out as they saw her. Or rather, as they saw them.

The warriors acted just as she’d hoped they would, in the heat of battle seeing four figures, lightly-armed scouts perhaps, instead of just one surrounded by magical illusions. Three of the elves broke off and came gliding toward her, eager for an easy kill to dishearten their opponents. Ekhaas smiled and eased sideways a little so the Valaes Tairn were across the hill from her rather than uphill with Darguuls at their back—

One of the elves brought up a bright throwing knife, hurling it with a snap of his arm.

She threw herself aside, a move that was both too slow and completely unnecessary. The knife flashed in the air and plunged through one of her illusory duplicates. Ekhaas felt as much as she saw her double wink out of existence.

Even if the knife hadn’t struck it, she’d given herself away. Not even the most coordinated troops would dive for cover with the same movement. She spoke a little Elven, more than enough to understand one of the elf warriors as he pieced together what had just happened. “Spellcaster!” he shouted. “She’s a spellcaster!”

No time now to draw them closer to her. Ekhaas cursed, rolled back to her feet—the elves were charging, bounding across the hill—and sang again. Not an illusion this time. Not a diversion. Not a stunning burst of sound. The song that rippled from her lips was dark and deep, a haunting song that played across hearts like footsteps in an empty room or the distant cry of carrion birds. The strides of the elves faltered. Above their veils, their eyes grew wide. One began to tremble, his scimitar falling from his hand.

They turned and fled, gripped in the terror inspired by her song. They weren’t the only ones—two more, caught by the edge of the magic, fled with them. Another two, perhaps sensing a shift in the tide of battle, went too.

Seven of the Valaes Tairn taken out of the fight. Perhaps not dead, but as good as until they stopped running. Her side of the hill was nearly empty of living elves. Only a handful were still on their feet. The fighting had shifted to the other side of the hill, beyond
the remains of the Darguul camp, and even that sounded like it was growing less frantic.

The same commanding elf warrior whose whirling scimitar had signaled the Valenar attack seemed to realize the same thing. She thrust away from the hobgoblin she had been fighting, raised her scimitar again, and this time Ekhaas heard distinctly the orders she cried. “Arrows! Feather me these dogs!”

But no arrows fell out of the darkness except those loosed from the ruined clanhold. The elf’s veil had been dragged aside in the fighting and Ekhaas saw her fine-featured face twist in rage. Her scimitar fell as the hobgoblin she’d thrust away came at her again and he went down with his shoulder half cut from his body. Ekhaas ran forward, but the elf was turning away, hand reaching into a pouch to produce a ceramic flask very much like the one the elf in the trees had carried.

With a swift motion, she hurled it into a campfire burning at the back of a knot of hobgoblins.

The fire erupted into a column of gold-white flame that blasted all those nearby, defenders and attackers alike, off their feet. The Darguul defenders took the worst of it though: their backs smoldered and two hobgoblins lay where they fell, unmoving.

The elf commander turned again, a second flask in her hand, and took aim at another fire. “Stop her!” Ekhaas shouted.

A chain hissed out of the battle and wrapped around the elf’s raised forearm. The whipping metal spun up her wrist and hand, hitting the flask—and shattering it. Shards and golden dust rained down over half of the elf’s face. Her eyes opened wide and she shrieked in agony. Red welts streaked her skin wherever the dust touched. She dropped her scimitar and groped at her face, but Keraal still held the end of his chain. With a tremendous heave, he yanked the elf off her feet to squirm on the ground. His free hand grabbed the fallen scimitar and drove it into her back.

Shrieks and squirms ended. Once again silence fell on the night as Valaes Tairn and Darguuls stared.

Then the
dar
were shouting in victory and the last of the elves were fighting to escape. Hobgoblins moved to pursue the red-garbed forms that darted into the night but Dagii’s stern voice called them back. “Let them go! The battle is ours!”

A cheer rose. A trio of bugbears grabbed Keraal where he stood, panting for breath, over the body of the elf commander, and hoisted him onto their shoulders. Keraal stared around in surprise and his eye fell on Ekhaas. He grabbed one of the bugbears and tried to point at her, but Ekhaas just shook her head and stepped back.

Dismissing her remaining illusory duplicates with a whisper of song, she went to find Dagii.

She found him walking among the victims and the survivors of the attack. He saw her and nodded, but stopped first beside a young warrior crouched over the body of a fallen elf, flipping through the folds and pockets of her clothing. The warrior glanced up, saw who it was, and sprang to his feet, thumping his chest in a salute. Dagii looked him up and down. “Who are you?”

“Faalo of Rhukaan Taash,
thevk’rhu.”

“You killed this elf?”

Faalo straightened. “Yes. My first kill in real combat.”

“A good clean blow.” Dagii examined the wounds on the body. “Well done.” He clapped Faalo on the shoulder, a moment of contact between two comrades in victory. Faalo seemed to stand even straighter, his ears high and proud. Dagii released him and came to Ekhaas.

“I saw what you did,” he said.

“Driving off seven elves or giving you a chance to join your soldiers?” she asked him.

“I was thinking of the elves.” His gray eyes narrowed. “The diversion was not so well done. I could have made it back on my own. You put yourself at risk.”

“At more of a risk than facing seven elves?” Amber eyes met gray.

“Chetiin shouldn’t have let you do that either.”

“Chetiin went to deal with the elf archers.” She dropped her eyes and looked him over. His armor had new dents and scratches. The links of mail protecting one side of his torso were broken and his stance favored that side, though no blood seeped through the padding beneath the armor. A thin bloody scratch traced the line of
his jaw just beneath his helmet. She stepped around him, examined the stump of the arrow that still stuck out from the back of his shoulder, and snorted. “I’ll give you healing now.”

“There are warriors who need it more than me.”

“You are their leader. They look to you for command. You need to be healthy.” She pushed him over to one of the remaining campfires. “Take off your armor so I can get the arrowhead out.”

His face flushed. “Not in front of the troops!”

“Why? I’m a
duur’kala
. I’m offering you healing.”

The muscles of Dagii’s jaw tightened and his mouth pressed into a thin line. He reached up—a little awkwardly because of his side and his shoulder—and pulled off his helmet. The shadow-gray hair that had come early to him fell lank and sweaty. Ekhaas helped him remove his mail coat and the padding beneath. Ekhaas started to peel away the light linen shirt he wore beside his orange-red skin but Dagii caught her hand. “Leave it on,” he said with a little embarrassment in his voice.

“It will be ruined.”

“I have others.”

She nodded. Dagii sat down on an abandoned pack and she went around behind him. Slowed by his armor, the arrow hadn’t penetrated deep, but it had dragged bits of padding and linen with it into the wound. Ekhaas tore the hole in the shirt a little wider, then took a firm hold of the broken shaft and pulled. Crusted blood broke and fresh blood seeped out. Dagii grunted softly, but she could feel the tension in the broad muscles beneath her fingers. A leather flask had also been abandoned by the fire. She opened it, sniffed and tasted the contents, then sluiced water over the wound until it was clean. Then she pressed one hand over the hole and sang a healing song.