She took a deep breath. ‘My father’s flying spell is powerful, and it will linger a few hours more, even though he is supporting it no longer. Nevertheless, we must move swiftly. Search for any other wounded, take them out of time and have them conveyed to the healers as quickly as possible. Find any missing horses and hounds.’ She looked for the first time at her brother, and her voice grew hard as steel. ‘And search the woods for any surviving humans. There are likely to be others hidden away, the older and weaker of them, and the women and children. I want every one of them found, do you hear me?’
‘And what shall we do with them when we have found them?’ Cordain’s voice held a new respect.
‘Kill them. Every last one. By the end of the night, before the flying spell fades, I want every last accursed human in this part of the forest dead.’
High above the forest, Dael was carried northward by his captors. The journey in the net was a nightmare: as well as immobility, the Phaerie spell had afflicted him with dizziness and an unpleasant prickling throughout his entire body that was painful in its intensity. The wind flayed his flesh with knives of ice. His cheek was pressed hard into the twisted meshes of the net, so that he had no other choice but to look down at the forest, which seemed to wheel and lurch as the net swung and swayed beneath the swift Phaerie horses. He could not be sure whether the nausea that gripped him was due to the unaccustomed motion, or to the magic that had struck him down.
Dreadful though his situation might be, it was better than staying down below to be slaughtered. The other fugitives had been so carried away by the daring of their plan that they had seemed unaware of the risks that were all too obvious to the outcast. Reabal, the successor to Dael’s father, was a man of more courage than sense, and had inflamed them with his stirring speeches. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, he had persuaded them that a handful of hungry, ill-clad humans with makeshift weapons could defeat the might of the Phaerie.
The entire insane scheme had been the result of desperation; of men with nowhere left to go turning on their oppressors like cornered rats. But they had failed to take into account that, even in the near-impossible event that they managed to kill every single one of the hunters, there would still be a multitude of others dwelling in their northern city of Eliorand. Fear gripped Dael with claws of ice and steel. What was to become of him? When the remaining Phaerie discovered the massacre of their brethren by the humans, their vengeance would be beyond imagining.
Despite their burden, Dael’s captors were travelling at a tremendous speed. Again and again, he tried to turn his head to see what lay ahead of him, and what his captors were doing above him, but to no avail. The Phaerie magic still held him in helpless thrall.
Finally his efforts paid off, though he thought he was imagining things at first. Had his head moved, maybe? Just a fraction of an inch? Or was he being deceived by false hope? But no: once again he felt movement, slightly stronger this time, and better still, his fingers gave a little twitch.
From the careless way his captors were handling him, Dael felt sure they weren’t expecting their magic to wear off so soon. They had been in such a hurry to bundle him up, and so confident of their spell, that they had never even bothered to search him for weapons. Though the temptation to move was overwhelming, especially when a painful tingling began to signal the return to life in all his limbs, Dael forced himself to remain limp and motionless. He thought of the small knife - all he’d had with him when his fellow slaves had driven him away - concealed in a pocket in his ragged pants, and dared to hope a little, though for what, he couldn’t say.
The riders seemed to be heading for a steep hill rising out of the forest, which proved to be much further away than he had first thought, for when they finally reached the tree-covered eminence, its sheer size astonished him. The riders flew over the summit, and began to slow their speed and lose height, approaching the level of the treetops. Dael was baffled. When he’d been a slave among the Magefolk, he had always been told that the Phaerie dwelt in a great city - so why did they seem to be planning to put him down in the middle of nowhere?
Over his head the conversation between his captors had been going on throughout the journey. Dael, preoccupied with his troubles, had paid little heed to the talk, but now his ears caught the words ‘slave’ and ‘captive’. Suddenly he was all attention.
‘Why bother, Jeryla?’ one of the male Phaerie was saying. ‘Leave it to the keepers of the slave pens. It’s their job.’
‘Don’t be mean, Ferimon,’ the woman replied. ‘It’ll cost me no effort, and the poor thing may as well see where he’s being taken.’
See? Dael was puzzled. What did she mean? The Phaerie must have known his eyes were open when they bundled him into their net.
‘You’re too soft on them,’ Ferimon complained. ‘When all’s said and done, they’re only animals.’
Jeryla shrugged. ‘A little kindness never hurt anybody. If you two can manage the net, it will be but the work of a moment to take care of him.’
Dael felt the net lurch and sway as, with much grumbling on Ferimon’s part, the two male Phaerie took the weight between them. The temptation to turn his head to see what was happening was overwhelming, but while Dael was fighting for self-control, the female came riding into his field of vision, her elegant bay horse pacing the air and her pale, gem-studded hair streaming in the wind. She gave him a mocking smile. ‘Now, little human, open your eyes to the truth.’ Lifting her hand, she cast a ball of rippling blue light at his head. He screamed as it splattered against him, covering his shrinking face with glittering sapphire sparks that sank into his skin with a mild burning sensation. He could feel them penetrating his skull and concentrating around his eyes, with a warmth that would almost have been welcome, were it not so uncanny.
The Phaerie woman laughed, and disappeared from his sight as she rode back to her companions. Once more the lurching began as she took her share of the burden, and the net began to turn slowly, back and forth. As the green eminence spun back into view, Dael stifled a gasp of shock. Before him, instead of the steep, tree-covered slopes of the great hill, was a beautiful, shining city of elegant buildings and many soaring towers.
So that was it. The city had been disguised by a spell. A chill ran through Dael at this further evidence of the power of the Phaerie. In attempting to combat the Wild Hunt, his fellow escapees had failed to understand the risk they were running. He had little doubt that those who’d remained in the forest were doomed - but what of those who had been captured already? Dael was certain that the vengeance of his captors would extend beyond those who had been personally involved in the attack, including himself. One thing was patently clear: if he allowed the Phaerie to take him to the city, he was as good as dead.
Already they were flying over the stretch of forest lying directly south of the city. There was no time to waste. Better to risk a fall from this height than face who knew what kind of terrible fate at the hands of the Phaerie. Surreptitiously Dael groped for his knife - and a sudden chorus of shouts and curses broke out from the Phaerie above. For a blood-freezing instant he thought they had caught him - then he realised what they were saying. It had happened. The attack was taking place right now. ‘Come on,’ he heard Ferimon shout. We’ve got to go back and help them.’
Jeryla hesitated. ‘But what about—’