miniature sickle with a two-fingered grip at one end, the razor-sharp double-edged crescent whispered as it flew, small enough to find gaps in the hanging vines.
The warrior might have heard it but he didn’t see it coming, looking straight at its trajectory as it struck him in the forehead just above his eyebrows. He screamed and fell back. Rebraal tore on, flitting through gaps in the lush flora, circling the survivors with Mercuun appearing again in his vision to complete the pincer.
He could see a pair of mages, one crouched, one standing, staring blankly up into the canopy, searching for the platforms. One had prepared a spell, one had cast, his face creased in concentration. Presumably a HardShield to beat away more arrows.
Rebraal stormed in, the standing mage seeing him only when he was within five yards. He leapt the crouched mage and struck his companion with both feet in the chest, the man going down before he had a chance to cast. Rebraal landed astride him, stabbed down into his heart, turned and lashed his sword into the throat of the other, who had turned to stare at their assailant. Another arrow punched through the foliage and a man gurgled and fell close to Rebraal’s right side. He heard the clash of steel, the thud of a sword on leather armour and a cry of pain, quickly cut off.
‘That’s all of them,’ came a voice from a platform.
He checked for signs of life at his feet then moved away into the bush to retrieve his crescent. The warrior was still breathing but blood and brain oozed from the wound. Rebraal skewered his heart with his blade then placed a foot on the man’s skull, leaning down to lever the crescent clear. He wiped it on his victim’s shirt before returning it to the pouch, which he snapped shut.
He felt Mercuun at his shoulder.
‘What shall we do with them?’
Rebraal looked into his friend’s dark-skinned face, saw the brow above the angled oval eyes furrowed and his leaf-shaped, gently pointed ears pricking as he tried to come to terms with what had just happened.
‘Get Skiriin and take them away from the path they made, over to the clearing north. Keep anything useful, shred their clothes and leave the bodies. The forest will take care of them.’
‘Rebraal?’ There was an edge to Mercuun’s voice.
‘Yes, Meru?’
‘Who were they and how did they know where to find us?’ Rebraal ran a hand through his long black hair. ‘Two very good questions,’ he said. ‘They’re from Balaia certainly, but beyond that who can tell? I’m going to track back along their route in the morning, see if I can find anything. Meantime we have to keep vigilant.’
‘They won’t be the last, will they?’ said Mercuun.
‘No,’ said Rebraal. ‘If I had my guess I’d say they were picking the path here. They were travelling too light for anything else. There will be more to come, and they might not be far away. We may not have much time.’
Rebraal looked deep into Mercuun’s face and saw the worry that he felt himself. It was bad enough that these men from the northern continent had managed to gain information no man should. But they had also evaded those that fed disinformation and the TaiGethen who killed those who persisted. It was an immense rainforest but the outer circle and town dwellers of his kind had kept the uninvited from Aryndeneth for more than four hundred years.
He clicked his tongue, a decision made. ‘Meru, I want you to get the word around. Start at sunrise. We can’t wait for the relief. Every available Al-Arynaar must get here as quickly as they can. And the outer circles must press into the north. I want word as far north as Tolt-Anoor, west to Ysundeneth and east to Heri-Benaar. Take supplies for two days, start the message rolling and get back here.’
Mercuun nodded.
Rebraal walked back towards the temple and took in its camouflaged majesty, a sight of which he would never tire. He knelt on the apron and offered a prayer to Yniss, the God of harmony, to protect them all. When he was done, he leant his hands on his thighs and listened again to the forest.
It at least was resting easy once again.
Hirad Coldheart shifted his back where he leant against Sha-Kaan’s broad neck, feeling the scales chafing him through his wool shirt. He got a taste of the dragon’s strong sour oil