Clayton Emery: Whispering woods

But the barbarians stalled their attack, withdrew from striking range, as more earth colors rippled just behind them, cutting them off from their comrades. From the size of the shimmers, Gull hoped for something formidable, some potent force, though he thought Greensleeves's cupboard empty.

Squalling, a handful of goblins burst into being.

Only three of the gray-green goomers carried their char-hardened spears. The rest came empty-handed, except for one with a drumstick fresh from the cooking spit.

The goblins blinked around dazedly. Then all screamed together as they spotted the barbarians.

Three spears flew in the air like jackstraws. Goblins ran every which way, welcome as a porcupine in a hammock.

A warrior knocked a goblin aside, only to trip over him as he clutched the man's ankle. Another jumped into a barbarian's arms, latching onto the woman's head so she couldn't see. A goblin scrambled past Kem, scampered over the rocks and, by the noise, plunged straight into the cougar-badger fight. Another ran smack into the monolith, stunning himself; then on fingernails alone, scaled halfway up the monolith. Watching over its shoulder, a fool ran clear off the cliff edge, still milling his legs. Gull saw a black-streaked goblin, Egg Sucker the thief, flit by and slither under Greensleeves's skirt to hide.

The woodcutter booted another goblin into the legs of the male barbarian, so both went tumbling. The woman erred in watching her lover fall, and Gull swatted her alongside the head. As the male reared, rising and stabbing, Gull split his skull as if chopping wood.

"Damn you!" he shouted, so angry he was almost hysterical. "Stay down!"

Beside him, Kem used the woman's white hair to swipe blood from his blade. "You should stick to tending horses, woodchopper! This is man's work!"

Morven snorted, "You boys'll never grow to be men!"

Gull clawed sweat off his face. A short distance away, Liko had found his feet, but a half dozen barbarians menaced him with swords and he shuffled backward, awkward still with his single heavy arm. Faintly, Gull heard a halloo from the centaurs. Damn it, they were needed here! Beside him, Greensleeves cooed. What was she gabbling up? More useless goblins? Couldn't she conjure any fighters?

Then he had no time to think, for the third wave of barbarians began their charge. How many had they killed or felled? A dozen? Leaving what? More than twoscore? Gull huffed as he hoisted his axe once more, waited for the rush to overtake him. And perhaps drown him.

Yet a tall male barbarian, charging, grunted as an arrow struck his chest. He crashed on his face and the black shaft split his back. A woman warrior raised her shield, but an arrow punched through it like paper and lodged in her heart. Another barbarian died from an arrow in his throat. Then the rear ranks, the chanters, began to fall under the black rain.

The woodcutter risked a glance backward for the source of the arrows. What people did Greensleeves know that shot deadly black arrows?

He got his answer.

Not people.

Lining the rock heap, from teetery cliff edge to monolith, were two ranks of folk Gull had only imagined existed.

Male and female, they were five and a half feet high, slim and knotty-muscled, pale as corpses. Black hair rippled and twisted in the breeze. They wore only short green tunics like snakeskin for clothing, but were decorated with red arcane tattoos, feathers, foxtails, woven arm bracers. One and all, they carried carved and twisted bows taller than themselves, and quivers of long black-fletched arrows.

"Elves," breathed the woodcutter. "Real… live… elves…"

The elves perched easily on the rocks with sandaled feet, easy as eagles, and nocked more arrows. Just above Kem's head, a woman with a red-plumed helmet and embroidered eye patch barked a command, and the nocked bows raised as one. The archers needed to aim around and past the clockwork beast, but that did not hamper them.

Another bark, and arrows flew like a flock of birds taking wing.

Why would they help us? Gull wondered. Humans are enemies to elves-yet Greensleeves must have met them in the past.

His sister was an elf-friend? Elves lived in the depths of the Whispering Woods?

The flight of arrows struck blue skin. Ranks decimated, the tusked barbarians took flight themselves, dashing around the monolith for cover. Their attack was over.

Morven whooped, Kem looked disappointed, and Gull only sighed, glad to rest.

Then goblins died.

Greensleeves didn't control the elves. For the sake of friendship, Gull guessed, they had driven the barbarians away from her and her party. But that accomplished, they followed natural instincts.

Goblins were cousins to orcs, someone had said, the deadliest enemies of elves. So the elves killed goblins as a farmer would kill rats in a grain bin.

Black arrows sought Egg Sucker's companions. A goblin pinned by brambles was lanced three times. One clinging to the face of the monolith was swatted off like a fly. Screams issuing from behind the rock jumble told another died.

Gull sucked wind, tried to sort the madness and think, but a shrill howling split the air. Prodded by the spears of Towser's three loyal bodyguards, more goblins attacked down the body-littered alley between monolith and bramble wall. They were the balloonists, either crashed or landed, forced to attack by Towser's compulsion and three swords.

But their attack balked when they spied the elves and the dead. Then they died. Arrows whistled amongst them, spitting screaming mouths, splitting guts, lancing two at once so they died thrashing together. The balloonists turned and ran, around and over the bodyguards. The elves called to one another in fluting song, and Gull believed they made bets on striking fleeing targets. They were beautiful to look at, Gull thought, but cold as snakes and murderous to suffer.

There were no living enemies in sight.

Stiggur whooped atop the clockwork beast, which had not stirred even as war raged around its feet. Liko peered over the bramble wall at something below. The elves warbled to one another, and the red-plumed captain sang at Greensleeves. Morven squeezed a bleeding thumb, Kem nursed a chipped knee.

Gull noted Greensleeves still carried a bulge under her skirts.

Shifting his bloody axe, he snagged Egg Sucker by one skinny leg. Dangling, the goblin thief squawked, beat bony fists on Gull's shin. A mistake. Elven ears pricked, fingers flew to bowstrings. Seeing his danger, Egg Sucker whimpered.

Then, before the goblin was shot full of feathers, Gull flipped him over the cliff. He was tough: he'd probably survive the tumble. Better than being spitted like a turkey.

"Lord of Atlantis!" muttered Morven. "I'm dry! Wish I had some of that coconut beer we was brewing!" Kem hawked and spit, but he was dry too. A professional, he pulled a whetstone and honed his sword.

Gull nodded abstractedly. He felt he could sleep standing up. He struggled to assess their position. What now?

Towser was still out there, the real danger. What else might he throw at them? The blue djinn? The rock hydra again? Gull had seen so many wonders and horrors since that fateful day in White Ridge, he couldn't recall them all, or who'd conjured what. Anything might pop up.

Should they continue to battle here? Or take the fight to the wizard? Or retreat over country? The forest he'd seen earlier was no more than a half mile inland. Could they count on the elves? Were Helki and Holleb all right? What was happening he didn't know about…?

As if in answer, the bright ocean sunset was eclipsed. A rumble stirred the air. Clouds coalesced from inland, thickening faster than clouds should.

Then he recalled one conjuring from White Ridge as a pattering sounded around him.