Chris Pierson - Dezra's Quest

The sound of the axe falling rang out across the vale, echoing among the trees. Trephas cried out in anguish. "No," he moaned, tearing at his mane. "Merciful Chislev, we're too late! The Forestmaster-"

"Look out!" Dezra snapped, her sword lashing out. She struck a branch that would have broken the centaur's back, shearing it in two. "Damn it, will you keep moving?"

But Trephas shook his head. "What difference can it make?" he whimpered. "She's dead, the Forestmaster is dead, and all this has come to nothing… ."

Then, as loud as the first, a second crash sounded above the thunder and wind.

"Maybe not," Borlos said in the stunned silence that followed. "Unless she has two horns, that is."

Suddenly, Trephas came to himself again, his despair cast aside. "Quickly!" he bade, starting forward once more. "Mayhap we can still reach her before Chrethon finishes."

The forest, however, wasn't so accommodating. They were near the daemon tree now-the muttering of its leaves was very loud, and the clamor Soulsplitter made as it struck the unicorn's horn again made their ears ring-but the forest continued to thicken, its trees forming a wall. Branches swung and roots coiled, seeking to push them back.

They tried to cut through with their swords, but the oaks wouldn't yield. Frustrated, they followed the wall, searching for a way through. The axe smashed down again, and again. Trephas wept in frustration, swinging his blade blindly to keep the clutching trees away.

The axe fell three more times before they finally found a gap in the wall. It was narrow, and to either side the trees groped and grabbed, showering leaves and acorns. Trephas and the others hurried toward it, hacking with their blades to clear a path. Beyond, Soulsplitter came down another time. The hiss of Grimbough's leaves rose even louder.

Trephas cut away a last, fumbling bough, then stood before the gap, his flanks heaving with exertion. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward, toward the shadows beyond the trees-then fell back again with a shout as those very shadows came alive.

They boiled out of the darkness-five of them, their bodies black and shaggy, with the horns, legs and cloven hooves of goats. They made no sound, raising wicked, curving knives that glinted in the levin-light.

"Satyrs!" Trephas shouted, swinging his shortsword at the shadowy creatures. The blade bit into a goat-man's chest, and the weapon snapped as the abomination collapsed.

A moment later, Borlos shrieked in pain, a satyr's knife laying open the back of his hand. His cudgel dropped from his fingers. He stumbled back and sprawled on the ground as the goat-man slashed again. Its dagger whistled through the air.

Caramon slew a second goat-man with a blow so mighty that his sword cleaved halfway through its body. Steel splintered with a horrible shriek, leaving him with a foot of jagged metal where his weapon's blade had been. He held onto the ruined sword, swinging it at the satyr who'd attacked Borlos. Beside him, Dezra spun her blade, pushing back a third goat-man who faced her. Her eyes narrowed as she saw the single horn on his shaggy head, recognizing it as the creature who'd stolen Soulsplitter from Lysandon.

Another satyr lunged at Trephas, drawing a line of blood across the spot where his human and horse halves met. The centaur's war harness snagged the blade, pulling it out of the goat-man's hand. The satyr fell back, its black eyes widening, and Trephas reared, kicking it with both forehooves and flattening it to the ground. It bleated wretchedly, struggling to rise.

Trephas never gave it the chance. Bending down, he grabbed one of the branches he and the others had cut from the trees. Without hesitating, he brought the bough down on the satyr. He struck again and again, until the goat-man stopped moving and the branch splintered. Dropping the limb, he started toward the gap in the trees.

Then he stopped, looking back. Dezra and Caramon fought furiously against the two remaining satyrs. Borlos was on his knees, fumbling for a weapon. Trephas hesitated, torn, then took a step toward the humans.

"What do you think you're doing?" Dezra snapped, parrying Hurach's knife with her sword. She waved toward the gap with her free hand. "Go on! Don't wait for us!"

Trephas hesitated a moment longer, then, behind him, Soulsplitter crashed again. Wheeling, he charged through the gap. He plucked his lance from his harness, howling a furious war cry as he plunged into the darkness.

"Reorx's beard," Dezra swore. "I thought he'd never leave!"

Caramon barked a rough laugh, blocking his opponent's darting knife. The blade scraped across his shield, and he shoved forward, throwing the satyr off-balance. Twisting, he drove the shredded stump of his sword through the goat-man's throat. He released the weapon, and it exploded a second time, this time leaving nothing but tangled metal.

Dezra cried out in pain then, and she fell, Hurach's knife stuck in her thigh. She landed on a fallen branch, winding herself, and lay on her side, writhing in pain. The satyr yanked his blade out of her leg, then leapt, aiming a downward thrust at her breast.

Seeing the upraised knife, Caramon ran, his massive legs straining. A red sun of rage kindled in his head and he let out a furious bellow, thrusting aside pain and weariness and age as he threw himself at the goat-man.

He struck Hurach shield-first, with the force of a rock-slide. The satyr flew back, his dagger flying from his grasp, then crashed down in a heap. Caramon landed on top of him, his face a mask of rage, and hammered his meaty fist into Hurach's face.

"Stay away from my daughter!" he thundered.

Yelling furiously, he pummeled the satyr again and again. Stubbornly, Hurach refused to black out; instead, he gathered his strength and tried to push Caramon off. Through the haze of rage, Caramon cast about for a weapon. But he had nothing. His sword was gone, his shield too cumbersome. Even the satyr's knife was out of reach. Finally, he yanked his dragon-winged helm off his head and slammed it against Hurach's nose.

With a crunch of bone and gristle, the satyr's face became a bloody ruin. Roaring like a maniac, Caramon struck him a second time, then a third. Finally, on the fourth blow, the tip of one of the helmet's bronze wings pierced the satyr's temple. Hurach bucked wildly, throwing Caramon off, then went limp.

The helmet, lodged in Hurach's skull, shivered a moment, then blew apart in a storm of jagged metal.

Caramon sat still, staring at the shards of his helm. After a moment, he became aware of movement beside him, and felt Dezra's hand on his shoulder. He looked up dazedly.

"I loved that helmet," he said. "I wore it for fifty years."

"I know," she said.

She crouched down in front of him, offering her hand. He let her pull him to his feet.

"You're hurt," he said, glancing at her wounded leg.

She shook her head. "It isn't bad. Hurts like the Abyss, but I can walk. Now come on-we've got to help Trephas."

She turned away, to help Borlos up. Caramon stared at Hurach's corpse a moment longer, then stooped and picked up a bloody piece of metal: one of his helmet's wings. He turned it over in his hand, then rose with a sigh, tucking it into his belt. Grabbing a stout, heavy branch for a weapon, he joined the others, then went with them through the gap in the trees, toward the heart of the grove.

Chrethon's arms burned with fatigue as he brought Soulsplitter down on the Forestmaster's horn for the tenth time. There was a shallow notch in the Forestmaster's horn now, with tiny cracks radiating from it. The unicorn squeezed her eyes shut, her nostrils flaring with each gasping breath.

"Again!" boomed Grimbough.

Again! echoed its leaves.

Chrethon slumped. He wanted to rest, to ease his aching muscles, but the daemon tree wouldn't let him. Compelled by Grimbough's voice, he gripped the axe in both hands, aiming his next blow. He raised Soulsplitter high-