As they climbed out of the deep valley where Khamaz Durrafal had been built, with the early sun’s rays trying in vain to pierce the thickening tree cover, there was further evidence of the mayhem unleashed by the giant creature. Huge trees had been ripped open and smashed flat, tangled in roots, vines, and creepers—some of which were still twitching, groping like claws for the darkness, as though eager to snare any prey that came within reach. The Deathguard had to use their swords to hack their way through the worst of it, splitting tendril and bough alike, drawing back from the treacherous ooze that gushed from the wounds. There were dead and maimed jungle dwellers here, large and small alike, but no one looked upon them for long.
Ezrekuul did not lead the company along any of the river courses, saying that in their energies would be too much of the Madwood’s strength. Better, he said, to keep to the jungle itself, where the company could use fire and light to best advantage should an attack come. Thus they made their way steadily through the rest of that day away from the city and the wreckage left by Sethis.
During the darkest part of the night they paused once so that the company could eat what little food was left. As they rested, massaging their aching limbs and fighting back the strange lethargy that this place cast over them like a cloak, Ezrekuul grew more and more agitated.
“Some of companions fled,” he told Fallarond.
“Do they not trust us?”
“Trust, yes, but we are followed. Madwood wakes. Behind us the dark wave.”
“Dark wave?”
“All that moves, crawls, or writhes … gathers. Comes like tide. Will surge around us, swamp us, choking, rending.”
“How far to the edge of the jungle?” said Tallamorn.
“Not far. You must be swift.” There was a look of intense sorrow in the eyes of the strange creature. “We hold it.”
Vaddi knew what the creature was saying meant suicide for his kind, but Ezrekuul was gone before anyone could protest. Moments later the silent beings of the jungle had eased back from the company and reformed behind them. Somewhere beyond, welling up from the heart of the Madwood like poison from a running wound, came the dark wave, Ezrekuul and his companions would surely not contain it for long.
Fallarond led the company forward, urging them to ignore the sounds that were growing like the gathering of a storm. Onward through the jungle they sped, conscious now that the very roots and undergrowth about them were springing to renewed life, eager to delay them or ensnare them if they could. The company was hampered by carrying their dead, but they forged on to the boundary of the jungle, the Deathguard taking turns to carry their burdens.
At last they came to a dip beyond which they could see the edge, but time was slipping away from them. The dark wave was rustling and rushing toward them on three sides, the very trees bending forward like eager giants, branches outspread like arms to gather in their living fare. Ezrekuul and his fellows had done their best to stem this tide, but there was no sign of them now.
For a moment everything fell silent. The company froze, chests heaving with effort. Salvation was but a hundred yards away, but the fist that was the Madwood’s revenge waited only for them to move before it fell.
“Vaddi, Zemella, Nyam!” said Fallarond. “Run! We will cover you.”
“We’re not leaving you!” snapped Vaddi.
Zemella stood so close to Vaddi that their arms were almost interlocked. If I am to die now, he thought, linked thus to her, then I am content.
“Then we fought for no reason. We gain nothing!” snarled Fallarond. “You must go. You must get out and search for the horn!”
There was no time to deliberate. The jungle rose up now, a filthy, black curtain in which countless horrific faces leered at them—ghastly, twisted faces, teeth gleaming, eyes ablaze with madness, claws forming from the very substance of the dark.
The company fled, racing across the last of the undergrowth. To their horror they found the way ahead was not clear. More shapes rose up from the very last of the jungle, a solid wall of bodies, Fallarond would have rushed upon them, elf sword blazing, but a voice checked him.
“Drop down, brother of Shae Thoridor!”
“Bowmen!” shouted Nyam.
It was so, for a hundred or more elves were just past the farthest trees. They unleashed a withering hail of arrows above the heads of the company into the heart of the dark wave. Light fizzed and cracked as energies clashed. There were shrieks and screams, but not one of the company dared look back. Again and again the bowmen released their spell-tipped arrows.
Fallarond led the charge through the last trees. As the Deathguard broke through into daylight, the bowmen withdrew swiftly. Across a shallow stream they all fled, out on to the grassy hillside beyond and into the fresh morning light. They turned their eyes back to the Madwood. The entire jungle writhed and twisted, as though it floated on an undulating sea, wracked by tides and waves, pulling itself this way and that, but it could not advance beyond the stream, though the ground heaved and burst as root after root groped for the victims that had evaded it.
The sounds from the forest were awful beyond imagining, like the death throes of a leviathan. Vaddi hugged Zemella as though shielding her with his very life. He turned to find his eyes inches from hers. Hugely embarrassed, he released her.
She smiled then leaned forward to kiss him in the blink of an eye, but in that fleeting kiss he felt a supercharge of power.
“Are we free?” cried Nyam beside them, again wheezing as if his chest would burst. “I cannot go another step.”
“Yes, Nyam,” said Fallarond. “Thanks to these Tairnadal.”
“Tairnadal?” Vaddi asked.
“Elves from Aerenal’s northern steppes,” said Zemella, “though how they came here mystifies me.”
Satisfied that the Madwood had done its worst and could not pursue them out on to the clean sward of the hillside, the company, led by the Tairnadal, climbed higher into the fresh wind.
The leader of the newcomers came to greet them. “I am Aramil of the Valaes Tairn.”
“We owe you our lives,” said Fallarond. “How did you find us?”
“The horses,” said the armor-clad northerner. “You were kind not to force them to bear you into that foul place. When you set them free, they came back to us, who bred them. You chose well when you bought them. They told us what you had done and where you had gone.”
Fallarond held out his hand, and the two elf commanders clasped arms in a rare display of friendship. “It is not often that the Tairnadal and those of Shae Thoridor put aside their differences,” said Fallarond, “but we are in your debt.”
“All Aereni should be united against that foulness,” said Aramil, looking down upon the darkness of the jungle.
“Elf pride,” muttered Nyam, nudging Vaddi.
The latter grinned but decided on a discreet silence.
Aramil pointed to the crest of the hill where more of his warriors waited. These were mounted, and they had with them the steeds that had originally brought Fallarond and the company to the Madwood.
“We must return to our city,” said Fallarond, “and in haste, for we have other enemies to pursue.”
“We will not detain you,” said Aramil, “but know this. It was foolish for you to come near this jungle. It will dream of you and of ways to find you and repay you. It has strange allies in many places. Even beyond Aerenal, I suspect.”
Fallarond nodded. “I promise you, our business with the Madwood is done.”
“Then may the Undying bless you and your endeavours,” said Aramil.
With little more than a cursory wave, he turned his warriors aside and soon they were racing across the hills, back to their high steppes.