than flesh.
Mulch from untold numbers of rotting leaves carpeted the ground. That made for soft going, but slowed rather than totally hindered them. Generally, the trees were spaced sufficiently far apart to allow them to get through, although there were exceptions. Most obstructions could be steered round, but several times they had to backtrack and look for another way. Even so, they made reasonably good progress.
That came to an end when, by Dynahla’s estimate, they were about halfway. The area they were passing through was boggy, but deceptive because a covering of recently fallen leaves disguised the threat. The millipedes bearing only riders partially sank but scrabbled on. Seeing the danger, Stryke bellowed for the mounts pulling the weapon to be stopped. But it was too late. Under the weight of both the weapon and riders, the mounts floundered in the mire. The load they were pulling began to sink, and the band had to cut the millipedes free. By the time that was done, the weapon was stubbornly bogged down.
They tried hauling. But even the combined strength of the band couldn’t free the weapon’s carriage.
“We need something to lever it out with,” Haskeer said.
“We’re in a forest,” Coilla reminded him. “Take your pick.”
“That one should do it.” Stryke pointed at a nearby tree. “Get it down.”
Haskeer was first there. He swung his axe and whacked it into the trunk.
There was a distant wailing sound that stopped them all in their tracks. It was doleful. In its terrible despair it was almost beautiful. Others joined it, but they were angered, and soon the eerie chorus was one of fury.
“That sounds familiar,” Jup said.
“Yeah,” Coilla agreed. “Nyadds.”
“What are they?” Wheam asked. He looked spooked.
“Spirits of the forest. Or that’s what some called them back in Maras-Dantia. They’re forest fauns, and they’re all female. At least, nobody I know ever saw a male. They’re usually so bashful you wouldn’t know it if you walked right by them.”
“Except when you mess with their trees,” Stryke added.
“Is that so bad a crime?” Pepperdyne said.
“Each nyadd is bound in spirit to a certain tree. If it dies, the nyadd dies. When a tree’s hurt, like this one, they all feel the pain.”
“And they get very pissed off,” Coilla explained. “Jennesta’s said to be part nyadd, which should give you some idea.”
“What do we do, Stryke?” Spurral wanted to know.
“They sounded a way off, and we’ve still got to dig the wagon out. Let’s gamble on them taking a while to get here. Haskeer, the tree.”
“Seems almost cruel after what you said about the nyaads,” Spurral mildly protested.
“Got a better idea?”
“Hell, no.”
Haskeer’s axe bit into the tree. Several of the grunts joined in, and made short work felling it. Then they set to cutting the wood they needed. Soon they had a couple of stout levers, and a lengthy pair of planks to give the wheels traction.
Even with these aids it was a struggle freeing the weapon. Only once it was out and re-hitched, and the racket they had made had died down, did they realise that the wailing had stopped. The forest was silent.
Not for long. A crowd of figures emerged from the trees all around. They were tall, lean and olive-skinned, and their nakedness was partially hidden by ankle-length auburn hair. Their handsome faces were contorted with fury, revealing unusually white, and unusually sharp, teeth. They were armed; mostly with curved daggers, though some had snub swords.
A keening version of the wail went up and they raced at the band.
The nyadds had their fury. The wolverines had weapons with a longer reach. On Stryke’s order these were deployed. Nine or ten nyadds fell with arrows in their chests. It didn’t deter the others, and while the archers were reloading, the first of the attackers reached the band.
Stryke put down two with a single wide stroke. Coilla caught another with a throwing knife, and Jup leapt up to crack a skull with his staff. The dagger-wielding nyadds couldn’t get close enough to inflict much damage, but they threatened to overrun the band. More and more of them were streaming from the trees.
By a cowering Standeven, Pepperdyne lunged and ran-through an advancing nyadd. Nearby, Haskeer laid about them with his axe. Dallog’s unofficial unit were hacking in unison. But for all that it was like spearing fish in a barrel, the tide was relentless, with fresh attackers stumbling over the bodies of their fellows to get to the band.
“We’re not going to hold this for ever,” Coilla said as she slashed at a nyadd’s probing dagger.
Stryke parried a nyadd’s thrust, wrong-footed her and took off her head. Golden blood spattered his tunic. “Then we’ll go for their heart. Archers! Burnables! The trees! ”
They understood, and drew their flammable arrows. Flint sparks ignited the tar-soaked cloth and flame blossomed. The burning arrows streaked out and hit a dozen trees. Most took fire immediately.
An even greater wail went up from the nyadds. They backed off and stared in horror at the burning trees. As they watched, the orc archers loosed a second round, spreading the flame.
The nyadds weren’t simply routed; they forgot about the fight. Now many of them were showing signs of distress, and even pain. Some shook violently, some sank to their knees, some just collapsed. A cruel malady swept through them, and as the fires grew stronger their torment grew as well.
Here and there, nyadds were bursting into flames. In some cases they fell and burned, with a kind of sad resignation. In others, the fireswathed nyadds lurched and stumbled, and shrieked as they blazed. Some ran into the forest, illuminating its depths. The smell of charred flesh filled the air.
The Wolverines waded in and helped the process along with their blades. But what was happening to the trees was a more effective weapon. Shortly, only a handful of nyadds were left standing, and those not for long.
Stryke scanned the carnage. “Let’s get out of here!”
“What about this fire?” Spurral said, nodding at the burning trees. “We can’t just leave it to spread.”
“We’ve no time for fire-fighting.”
“You’d destroy an entire forest?”
“Look at it. I doubt we could put it out now if we tried.”
“And you’re not going to?”
“I wouldn’t worry too much,” Dynahla interrupted. “You’re forgetting the magical nature of the world we’re in. This place takes care of itself. Only I think we should get out while we still can. The fire’s going to surround us soon.”
They left before it did. The fire burned on at their rear, throwing its light after them so that they cast long shadows. But before long it faded, then died as the forest overwhelmed all but its memory.
The band met no more hostility, and eventually came to the forest’s end.
They emerged on the top of a gentle slope running down to a green expanse. Crossing this was a dead straight artificial waterway. They couldn’t see far enough to say where it came from or went to.
There were several barges on the water, and one very large one tied-up next to a small cottage. This was weathered red brick with an unkempt thatched roof. Figures moved around it.
Coilla cupped her eyes. “Looks like… gnomes.”
“Miserable bastards,” Haskeer said.
“That canal runs north,” Stryke realised. “And they’ve got a barge.”
Coilla nodded. “Think it’d take all of us and the weapon?”
“I reckon. But we’d have to let the millipedes go.”
“Shame.”
“Let’s see if we can parley.”
They headed down to the waterway. The panic started before they reached it. Seeing an orcs warband charging towards them, mounted on giant multi-legged insects and towing a black tube, was enough to unnerve the gnomes. It sparked an exodus. They scrambled into wagons and headed off along the towpath at speed.
“Rude buggers!” Haskeer exclaimed. “They could have given us a hearing.”
