Galain stood over the boy and helped him to his feet. Stunned, Jimmy looked about. Hunting horns sounded in the forest and the air was filled with arrows. The moredhel retreated before the attacking elves.
Martin and Arutha dropped their weapons, slumping in exhaustion. Roald and Laurie collapsed where they stood. Calin ran toward them, directing his elven warriors in pursuit.
Arutha looked up, relief bringing tears unbidden to his eyes. In a hoarse voice he said, “Is it over?”
Calin said, “It is, Arutha. For a while. They’ll be back, but by then we will all be safely within the boundary of our forests. Unless they plan invasion, the moredhel will not cross that border. Our magic is still too strong there.”
An elf leaned over the body of Baru. “Calin! This one still lives!”
Martin lay back on the rocks, panting. “That Hadati is tough.”
Arutha waved away Galain’s hand as he stood, his legs feeling like water. “How far?”
“Less than a mile. We need only to cross a small stream, and we are in our forests.”
Slowly the survivors of the attack felt a lifting of their hopelessness, for they knew their chances now were excellent. With the elven escort, it would be unlikely the moredhel would muster enough strength to overwhelm them, even should they mount another attack. And with Murad dead, it was likely their leadership would crumble. From the behavior of many of the Dark Brothers it was clear he had been of major importance to them. His death would surely weaken Murmandamus’s plans for some time.
Jimmy hugged himself, wondering at the chill he felt, for suddenly he was returned to the moment he stood in the cave at Moraelin. He felt the strange dislocation in time, and knew where he had experienced that chill before—twice before, in the palace and in the cellar of the House of Willows. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and knew with dread certainty that some magic was being visited upon them. He leaped away from the rock and looked about the glade. Pointing, he shouted, “Then wed better start now! Look!”
The body of a Black Slayer began to move.
Martin said, “Can we cut their hearts out?”
“Too late,” cried Laurie. “They’re armored, and we should have acted at once.”
A dozen Black Slayers were slowly rising and turning to face Arutha’s party, weapons in hand. With tentative steps they began to advance upon the Prince. Calin shouted orders and elves grabbed up the near-exhausted and wounded men. Two carried Baru between them, and they started to run.
The dead warriors staggered after, their wounds still bleeding, and as they moved, their movements smoothed out, as if some agency was perfecting its control over them.
With increasing speed the undead followed. Elven bowmen ran, halted, turned, and fired, to no effect. The shafts struck the dead moredhel and would rock them, knocking a few to the ground, but they would only rise again.
Jimmy looked back, and somehow the view of these creatures running through the bright morning light in the lovely forests was far more horrible than anything he had seen at the palace or in the sewers of Krondor. Their movements were surprisingly smooth as they ran after, weapons at the ready.
Those elves carrying the injured and fatigued humans kept running while Calin ordered others to slow the moredhel. Elven warriors drew swords and engaged the undead creatures; after a few parries, they would retreat. The rear guard slowed the Black Slayers, but they could not be halted.
The elves worked themselves into a pattern. They would turn, fight, retreat a little, fight again, then flee. But the inability to visit harm on their foes served only to delay these, not to end their threat. Panting, fatigued elves labored to halt an inexorable flood. After several minutes the humans were being half carried, half dragged across a small stream.
Calin said, “We enter our forests. Here we will stand.”
The elves drew swords and waited. Arutha, Martin, Laurie, and Roald readied weapons and waited. The first moredhel entered the water, sword in hand, splashing toward them. He reached the shore as an elf made ready to strike, but the moment the undead creature placed his foot upon the shore, it seemed to sense something behind the elves. The elf struck it to no effect, but the dead Black Slayer staggered back, raising its hands, as if seeking protection.