In Sylvan Shadows

by R. A. Salvatore

  The barbarian was upon Cadderly in an instant, fiercely tugging his arms behind his back and retying his hands so tightly that the cords cut into his wrists. The young scholar was hoisted into the air and carried away.

  Cadderly struggled to sit up when the barbarian dropped him back in his tent. Tiennek offered one more leer Danica’s way before he departed.

  “What happened to you?” Danica asked when the barbarian was gone. She shuffled over to Cadderly, resting her head against his.

  Cadderly, still overwhelmed and with too many questions whirling about in his thoughts, did not answer.

  Danica sent a concerned look Elbereth’s way.

  “Alas, for my studies,” the woman lamented.

  Cadderly looked at her in disbelief.

  “Physical suspension,” Danica explained. “If I could achieve that state, slow my heart so that its beating could not be detected.…”

  Cadderly’s incredulous stare did not diminish.

  “But I cannot,” Danica said, lowering her eyes. “That feat is beyond me.”

  Her declaration rang ominously for the prisoners, a general sound of doom. Cadderly, too, allowed his head to bow.

  “I shall kill that wizard,” Cadderly heard the elf vow.

  “And I, her giant lackey,” Danica added, a ring of determination returning to her voice. That thought did little to comfort Cadderly, though, given his new insight concerning Tiennek.

  “He is of the White Worm,” Cadderly said, turning to Danica.

  She shrugged. The words meant nothing to her.

  “A barbarian tribe of the North,” Cadderly explained. “Savage, living—surviving—in brutal conditions. And Tiennek—that is his name—is of Kura-winther, their elite warriors, unless I am mistaken.”

  Danica looked at him curiously, and he realized that his words still meant little to her.

  “Fear him,” Cadderly said grimly. “Do not underestimate his prowess. Kura-winther …” he said again, closing his eyes to recall all he had read of the White Worm Tribe. “To get the marking upon his forehead, Tiennek would have had to kill a polar worm, a remorhaz, single-handedly. He is an elite warrior of a tribe of warriors.” Cadderly’s expression, sincerely terrified, unnerved Danica more than any words ever could.

  “Fear him,” Cadderly said again.

  “There’s the camp,” Ivan whispered to Pikel, “though I’m not fond of fighting orc-types in a dark, foresty kinda night.”

  Pikel wagged his head in agreement. Dwarves were more accustomed to the blackness of a deep cave, a much different situation than the starlit forest.

  “We could get after them just afore the dawn,” Ivan offered, talking as much to himself as to his brother. “Yeah, that’d do fine. But there’s too many. We can’t just go walking into them. We’re needing a plan.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  Ivan glared at his doubting brother, but his expression lightened considerably when a thought came to him. He pulled his deer-antler helm from his head, fished a small hammer from one impossibly deep pocket, and began chipping away at the lacquer holding one of the antlers firmly in place.

  Pikel wagged his head fearfully and tried not to watch.

  Ivan had done well in making the helmet, and it was a long time before he had the lacquer cleared enough to unscrew the antler, and even then, he had to fight with the firm hold of his own setting. He got it free, finally, and handed it to Pikel, putting the now-lopsided helmet back in place on his hairy head.

  “When we go, ye hold it up atop ye and keep close by me,” Ivan instructed.

  Pikel prudently waited for Ivan to take up a more distant spying position before uttering “Uh-oh” again.

  Somewhere unseen in the shadows of the trees behind him, Hammadeen tittered.

  THIRTEEN

  OOOOO, SAID THE DEER

  It was a dreamless sleep, where sheer exhaustion overruled the tumult of Cadderly’s emotions. That deep slumber made it all the more shocking to the young scholar when Danica’s cry shattered his serenity.

  Cadderly jerked to a sitting position and made out a hulking form bending over Danica. He knew at once that it was Tiennek who’d come calling, and he prayed that the barbarian hadn’t been in the tent very long.

  Cadderly started toward his love, but found his wrists roughly grabbed and jerked painfully high behind him.

  “If she fights, break the priest’s arms,” Tiennek said, and Danica, with one look Cadderly’s way, stopped her struggling.

  Tiennek heaved the young woman over his shoulder and started out, flanked by two orogs. The third beast, giving one final, painful tug on Cadderly’s arms, soon moved to follow. Cadderly stood up behind the orog, but the beast spun and smacked him to the floor.

  The world became a blur of pain and irresolvable confusion. Cadderly noticed Elbereth, still seated at the back of the tent, struggling fiercely but futilely. The elf’s wrists were bound so tightly around his knees that he could not even begin to stand.

  Growling, on the very edge of control, Cadderly started up, but the orog kicked him in the ribs and sent him crashing down again. He looked around, at his feathered ring, a cask on the side of the room, Elbereth, but had no recourse. Danica was gone, and in peril, and Cadderly had no way to fight back.

  “No!” he snarled, drawing another kick from the orog. “No! No!” Like a man gone mad, Cadderly repeated the word, ignoring the outraged orog’s kicks.

  “No! No! No!” But for all Cadderly’s stubbornness and anger, his words rang hollow, a puny retaliation.

  Danica didn’t bother struggling atop Tiennek’s huge shoulder. She would bide her time, wait for an opportunity when she would have the bronze-skinned man alone—at least she hoped she would have Tiennek alone.

  Tiennek’s obvious intentions revolted her, but the thought that orogs would be present was too much for her to bear.

  Tiennek’s tent was the third largest in the encampment, centered at the back side of the camp and doubling as a warehouse for the enemy troupe. The blond-haired barbarian, to Danica’s profound relief, told his flanking orogs to remain on guard outside then pushed his way past stacked barrels and boxes to a pile of blankets and furs in the center of the room. An oil lamp burned low in one corner, and the smell of meat was strong in the air.

  Tiennek lowered Danica to her feet, more gently than the young woman expected. He stared into her almond eyes and stroked her strawberry blond hair.

  Play along, Danica told herself, against every instinct in her body.

  “Untie me,” she whispered to her huge captor. “It will be better for both of us.”

  Tiennek’s huge hand slid over Danica’s smooth cheek, barely touching her, but sending shivers through her in spite of her revulsion.

  “Untie me,” she whispered again.

  Tiennek laughed at her. His gentle touch became an iron grasp on her face, nearly snapping her jaw apart. Danica jerked back from him, got free for an instant, but was then pulled back, and the barbarian tugged at a clump of her thick hair.

  “You think me a foo—” He stopped abruptly as Danica’s knee slammed into his groin. She’d had to hop off the ground to even reach her target.

  Tiennek grimaced for just a moment then flung Danica backward. She managed to keep her balance and snapped a kick into the man’s rock-hard belly as he stalked her.

  Tiennek, his face locked in a murderous stare, didn’t seemed to notice the kick, but Danica could tell from his slight limp that her first attack had done some damage.

  Danica went for his knee, but she had to stop and dodge instead as Tiennek launched a heavy punch for her face. She was able to duck aside, awkwardly, but the agile barbarian’s second hand came in more quickly, clipping her on the cheek.

  The tent spun, and Danica was down to her knees. Tiennek had her and could do as he pleased with her, she knew. There was nothing she could do against such a mighty warrior with her hands bound behind her back. Danica tugged at her cords, ignoring the burn
of rough rope on her wrists, and savagely fought to free herself.

  Many moments passed, and Danica could feel warm blood on her hands. Why hadn’t Tiennek continued his assault?

  Danica dared to look over her shoulder, to see the giant limping away. That initial knee strike she had launched against him had apparently changed his lewd intentions, for the time being, at least.

  The barbarian called a huge orog into the tent and gave it orders to watch Danica, but not to touch her unless she tried to escape. If she did, Tiennek explained, looking pointedly at Danica as he spoke, the orog could do whatever it wanted with her.

  Tiennek eyed Danica slyly. “Give me your weapons,” he commanded the orog. The creature balked and put a hand defensively over its sword.

  “Give them!” Tiennek growled. “That one will take them from you and kill you with them, do not doubt.” The orog continued to snarl, but it handed over its sword and the long dagger from its boot.

  Then the bronze-skinned man was gone, and the orog cautiously stalked over to stand beside Danica, its breathing coming in short, hopeful gasps. “Make a break, pretty one,” it whispered under its stinking breath, thinking that his guard duty might turn out to include a bit of unexpected fun.

  “Could you help me to my feet?” Danica asked after some time. She suspected that Tiennek would return before dawn, before his mistress realized what had happened, and knew that sunrise was not too far away.

  The orog reached down and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her roughly to a standing position. “Ye likes that better?” it growled, again putting its stinking breath in Danica’s face.

  Danica nodded and told herself that she must act then, or never. She hoped she had loosened her bindings enough, prayed that she had, for the consequences of failure were too wretched for her to even imagine.

  The young woman called upon all her discipline in that critical moment, mustering her courage. She dropped toward the floor, feigned that she was falling. The orog instinctively started down to catch her, but Danica’s legs coiled under her and she sprang past the surprised beast. She bent her knees up to her chest and whipped her bound hands down under her feet. Even as she descended, she launched her first attack, snapping one leg out straight to drive her foot under the orog’s chin.

  The creature gasped and fell back. Danica was standing again, still bound, but with her hands were in front of her. The orog, stunned but barely hurt, whooped and charged back in. Danica slowed it considerably with a straight kick to the chest and another to the knee. She clenched her hands together and smacked the monster across the face, twice. Growling with every movement, her motions became a blur—kicking, kneeing, punching—and the orog could only hold its arms across its face and try to cover up.

  The vicious attack abruptly ceased and the orog moved, just as Danica had expected, to the offensive. The creature lunged awkwardly for her, but caught only air as Danica took a quick step back. Before the overbalanced monster could recover, Danica attacked. She dived right over the orog’s shoulder, turning a somersault as she went and hooking her bindings around the monster’s thick neck.

  The orog bent backward under the brutal pull; a man’s neck would have snapped under the great strain. Danica realized quickly that she couldn’t hope to hold on long enough to choke such a thick-skinned, hard-muscled monster. Already the orog had begun to recover and had grabbed at Danica’s wrists, tugging and loosening the choking cords from around its neck.

  Danica saw her chance slipping away. She scanned the orog, but found no weapons. She scanned the room, but nothing presented itself as a club or knife. Then a desperate plan came to her. She reversed her grip, going along with the orog’s pull and turning to face the creature as it tugged. Predictably, the orog swung around.

  Danica caught its lumbering swing and yanked it along then dropped and twisted, flipping the orog over her. Danica dived with it, guiding its descent, plopping it head-down in an open water barrel. The monster disappeared up to its waist and Danica jumped atop it, threw one leg between its flailing legs and hung on for all her life.

  The creature was much stronger than she, but Danica called upon powers that the orog couldn’t begin to understand. She locked her legs inside the rim of the barrel and clamped her hands vicelike on its rim for further support. The orog’s hands came up over the lip and it pulled mightily, but Danica held her position, using her stiffened legs as a wedge to prevent her from being dislodged.

  The monster’s thrashing battered and bruised her, but she reminded herself that it would not last long.

  Still, it seemed like a day passed to the weary, beaten woman as the orog fought wildly, trying to get its head up above the water. A knee bloodied her nose, a foot scraped across the side of her head so wickedly that Danica had to wonder if her ear had been torn off.

  Then it stopped.

  Almost surprised, Danica held her seat for many moments longer, just to make sure. When she realized that Tiennek might soon return, and she crawled off the barrel. Soaking wet, tears in her eyes, and blood running freely from her nose, she discerned which side of the tent would provide the best exit and rushed over, biting at her bindings as she went.

  The orc rubbed its bleary eyes and looked to the east, hoping the dawn would come quickly and end its tedious watch. South of the creature’s position, in its watch direction, was a field of tall grass, sparsely dotted by occasional trees.

  The dawn’s light was not nearly in full, and the orc heard a distant rustle before it noticed the antlers moving steadily through the grass. At first, the creature lifted its spear, thinking a fine venison dinner had walked right up for the slaughter. Then the orc blinked and rubbed its eyes again, wondering how any deer with such a large rack could be small enough to be concealed by grass no more than three feet high.

  The antlers came gliding on, still a fair distance away. They neared the trunk of a twisted apple tree, then the orc blinked again as the antlers passed by the barrier, one on either side.

  “Molargro,” the orc called to its orog watch chief.

  The large and ugly orog, warming his gnarly toes by the campfire, cast the sentry an indifferent look then turned away.

  “Molargro!” the orc called again.

  The orog reluctantly rose and came over, not even bothering to put on his worn and tattered boots.

  “Deer,” the orc explained when the orog arrived, pointing to the approaching antlers, not so distant anymore.

  “Deer?” Molargro questioned, scratching his huge head. “Bah, ye’re a stupid one,” the orog said a moment later. “What kinda deer says, ‘Ooooo’?”

  Both the orog and the orc crinkled their faces in confusion. They glanced back toward the approaching antlers and asked in unison, “Ooooo?”

  They got their answer a heartbeat later, at the end of Ivan’s great axe and Pikel’s tree-trunk club.

  Crawling along the brush on the camp’s perimeter, Danica had nearly reached the prisoners’ tent when the cries of alarm rang out. At first she assumed that Tiennek had found the dead orog, but then she heard, “Oo oi!” above the commotion, followed by a heavy thud and the grunt of a wounded ogre.

  “How?” Danica wondered, but, having no time to figure things out at that moment, she stood and ran the rest of the way, carefully slipping in under the loosely tied skins of the tent sides. She stopped halfway in and scrambled to the side, behind some piled crates, as Tiennek and an orc rushed in through the tent flap.

  “Take the human to Dorigen!” the barbarian commanded, indicating Cadderly. Tiennek drew Elbereth’s finely crafted sword from his belt and grinned wickedly. “I will deal with the elf.”

  Danica’s first reaction, as Cadderly was whisked away, was to slip back out, encircle the tent, and go to his aid. She had to resist those urges, though, for Tiennek’s intentions concerning Elbereth were painfully obvious. The barbarian took a long stride toward the elf, but then, in the blink of an eye, Danica was between them.

  “Flee!�
� she heard Elbereth say at her back. “I accept my doom. Do not die for me.”

  Tiennek’s shock disappeared in the heartbeat it took him to conjure his mocking smile. “The orog is dead?” he asked, showing little concern. He nodded as though he was not the least bit surprised.

  Danica’s visage didn’t soften, nor did she move from her defensive crouch. Tiennek brought the sword her way.

  “A great loss, I fear,” he said. “My dear lady, I could have shown you pleasures you cannot imagine.”

  “I am not your lady!” Danica growled, and she kicked him in the chest, driving him back a step.

  “A great loss,” the barbarian said again, a bit breathless but otherwise appearing unshaken. He pulled a small net from his belt, holding it wrapped around his free hand.

  Danica circled cautiously, understanding the potentially disastrous consequences of getting a kicking leg entangled in that net. She looked for openings, weaknesses, but saw none. The giant barbarian held the elf’s slender sword as though it had been designed for him; his balance remained perfect as he executed the circles to keep in step with the young woman.

  Danica rushed forward and started to kick then dropped to the floor and swept both legs across Tiennek’s ankles. The barbarian got one foot clear of the move, but stumbled as Danica’s flying feet clipped his other foot. He caught his balance quickly and leaned back in, meaning to hack at the prone woman while waving the net to keep her kicks away.

  Danica was not so foolish as to continue her offensive move, though. She was back up and balanced before Tiennek took his first chop.

  “I am the stronger,” the barbarian teased. “Better armed and at least equally skilled. You cannot hope to survive.”

  Danica had trouble convincing herself that the big man was not speaking the truth. She’d hit him with several solid shots, but he’d barely flinched. She saw his obvious comfort in handling a sword and had already felt his iron grip.

  He came straight at her then, in a vicious flurry, thrusting and chopping, weaving the net deftly around his flying blade.