Элейн Каннингем - Elfsong

“Harpies attacking from the north!” the elf shouted. “Men, to me!”

The men bolted toward the garden. Vartain had already appropriated the sap Balindar had collected and was rolling it into small cylinders. Elaith snatched Mange’s dagger, scraped off a bit of sap and pressed some into each of his ears. He passed the dagger to Balindar, the group’s best fighter. There would not be enough for everyone.

As it happened, time ran out before the sap did. When the first note of the harpies’ song reached the men, four of them simply froze. Four living statues faced Vartain with entreating hands, threatening snarls, and terror-filled eyes. Then, despite his ear protection, Elaith caught the unearthly song and could spare the men no more thought.

The broken stone wall was as good a line of defense as any. Elaith plucked his bow from its place on his shoulder, gesturing for his men to arm themselves as well. He drew six arrows from his quiver—he’d be lucky to get off that many—and then dropped to one knee. The elf nocked the first arrow and waited for the creatures to come within range.

Despite his many adventures and his fearsome reputation as a fighter, Elaith felt uneasy as he watched the approach of the avian horrors. There was a bitter, metallic taste in his mouth. With a touch of surprise, he identified it as fear. The outcome of this battle was by no means certain, and the elf was flooded with momentary panic at the thought of dying before he found the treasure he’d sought for so long. He patted the ancient sword at his hip, as if to remind himself what was at stake in this battle.

Swiftly the harpies approached, and the sight of them sent a shudder through the row of waiting archers. A dozen of them, Elaith noted, against the ten men left unaffected by the spell. The odds were by no means favorable, and the men eyed their foes with naked dread.

The monsters’ wings and lower bodies were those of enormous vultures, and the talons on their feet flexed in cruel anticipation. From the waist up, the creatures resembled gray-skinned women with youthful bodies and the faces of hideous hags. Thick, gray hair writhed in tangled ropes around each harpy’s face, and their fang-filled mouths strained and contorted as they sang their enticing, wordless song.

As soon as the lead harpy came into range, Elaith loosed his arrow. The silver-tipped shaft streaked toward the monster, piercing it through the shoulder and tearing into its wing. Feathers flew, and the creature shrieked as it spiraled to the ground. The wounded harpy landed hard but was on its feet immediately, one wiry arm dripping blood and the other brandishing a bone club. Foul odor roiled off the creature as it rushed with a birdlike, hopping gait toward Elaith. Again the elf shot, and this time the arrow buried itself below the harpy’s breast. The beast collapsed with a hiss, flopping about for several moments before conceding to death.

The sight of the fallen harpy drove the other monsters into a frenzy, for they realized that most of their prey was immune to the musical charm. They waved clenched fists and tore at their wild hair, and the tempo of their deadly song began to quicken. Down they came, singing all the while, their talons spread wide as they swooped toward the fighters. The men got off a single volley of arrows before the harpies closed in. Ignoring the men who’d already succumbed to their song, the harpies fell upon those still fighting.

Like an owl closing on a rabbit, one of the monsters dove toward a half-orc mercenary. The half-orc ducked, but not before the harpy’s wicked talons raked his back, scoring it deeply across the shoulders. Almost immediately a second harpy plummeted into the wounded mercenary, and the impact sent them both tumbling to the ground. The half-ore’s massive hands instinctively closed around his assailant, an instant before the poison from the first harpy’s talons took effect. The captured harpy writhed and shrieked as it struggled to break free, but it was securely pinned under the mercenary. Trapped and furious, the harpy bared its fangs and ripped open the half-orc’s throat.

Roaring an oath to his god of vengeance, a Northman sell-sword thrust his blade through his dead comrade and into the harpy’s chest. The creature’s struggles slowed, and black blood oozed from the corners of its hideous mouth. Satisfied that he’d finished the harpy, the Northman leaned down to tug his sword free. The dying harpy spat in his face.

The Northman stumbled back, screaming with pain and clawing at his blinded eyes with both hands. Within seconds, he, too, was immobilized.

Meanwhile, another harpy swooped down at the riddlemaster. Vartain dropped to the ground and rolled aside with surprising agility. The harpy missed its target and landed a few feet away. Wings arched, it lurched toward Vartain with outstretched, grasping hands.

The riddlemaster put a hollow wooden pipe to his lips and blew. A dart flew toward the harpy’s face. The beast let out a shrilling cry and pawed at its cheek, leaving its feathered belly unprotected. Elaith stepped in and delivered a vicious backhanded slash with his sword. The harpy crashed to the ground with a spray of gore and feathers.

Two of the creatures came in low to circle the elf, each wielding a stout club fashioned from an ogre’s leg bone. Fighting with sword and dirk, Elaith held the pair of harpies off. The harpies’ wheeling flight kept them out of reach of a killing strike, but Elaith slipped past their guard again and again. The monsters were each bleeding from a dozen hits.

Others of his band were not so fortunate. To the far side of the battlefield, three creatures hunched over a disemboweled body, cackling and arguing over the entrails. The man’s outflung hands spasmed repeatedly, indicating that he was—if but for a short time—still alive. Nearby, Balindar faced off in a hideous duel with a large harpy, bristling with arrows but still full of fight and fury and wielding a bone club as handily as a swordsman uses a rapier.

When his two opponents finally lay dead, Elaith snatched up his bow and sighted one of the three harpies still circling the battlefield. His first arrow flew directly into a harpy’s open mouth, ending its song and sending it plummeting to the ground. The next shot was not as clean; he brought his target down, but the harpy landed close to the forest edge. It was wounded but still singing. Elaith snatched an arrow from the quiver of one of the enspelled men, and prepared for a shot that would finish off the harpy. He nocked the arrow and sighted down his target. So odd was the scene playing out at the forest’s edge that for an instant Elaith lowered his bow and stared.

Another fighter had joined their battle. A ragged hermit harried the wounded harpy, poking at it with a stout piece of wood as if he were playing with a chained and snarling puppy. To all appearances, the hermit seemed to be enjoying the battle; his shoulders shook, and his high-pitched giggle rang through the shrill harpy song and Elaith’s protective barrier of peppergum sap. The hermit’s rags flapped around emaciated limbs as he danced about, and a wild tangle of dirt-colored hair fell to the middle of his back. Glad for assistance of any kind, Elaith turned his attention back to the problem at hand. His final arrow took the last flying harpy through the heart.

Only one harpy still sang; the one fencing with Balindar. Eager to end the unearthly song, Elaith hurled his dirk toward Balindar’s opponent. The weapon spun end over end, catching the harpy in the back, directly between the wings. The shock of impact threw its arms wide, and the creature’s song exploded into a final shriek. Balindar grinned and finished the beast with a quick thrust He and Elaith closed in on the three feasting harpies, swords leading.