In Sylvan Shadows

by R. A. Salvatore

  “That’s better,” Ivan said, an inevitable tenderness emerging in his normally gruff voice as he looked at Danica.

  “Now, where is Elbereth?” Danica asked.

  Ivan poked his thick thumb back over his shoulder. “If Elbereth is an elf, I’d say he’s in a foul mood, that one,” he explained.

  Danica started for the collapsed tent, and Cadderly, too, but Ivan stomped a boot on the young scholar’s foot, holding him in place.

  “I still ain’t heard a word of thanks from yer mouth,” the dwarf growled.

  Cadderly’s expression was warmly sincere. He bent over quickly and kissed Ivan’s other cheek, sending the dwarf in a sputtering tirade across the compound. “Durned fool boy!” Ivan growled, wiping at the wet mark. “Durned fool!”

  Cadderly enjoyed a much-needed smile at the spectacle, but the young man’s relief was short-lived. Danica pulled him under the tent and led him to Tiennek’s body. She lifted the hide roof to make sure that Cadderly had a good view of the corpse.

  “Slain at my hands,” Danica announced, no pride evident in her voice. “I killed him, do you understand? I did as I had to do, as the barbarian forced me to do.”

  Cadderly shuddered but didn’t get Danica’s point, if there was any.

  “Just as you did with the Talonite priest,” she said, putting it more bluntly.

  “Why do you bring Barjin into this?” Cadderly demanded, horrified. That too-familiar image of the dead priest’s eyes came at him from the depths of his subconscious.

  “I never bring Barjin into it,” Danica corrected him. “You do.” She went on quickly, cutting short Cadderly’s forthcoming protest. “You bring Barjin with you wherever you go,” she explained, “a ghost that haunts your every thought.”

  Cadderly’s expression reflected his confusion.

  “As with the wounded orogs back in the foothills,” Danica said, her tone softening. “Leave dead Barjin behind. I beg you. His death was brought about by his own actions. You did only as you had to do.”

  “You don’t regret that you killed this man?” Cadderly asked, almost accusingly.

  “I regret that it had to happen,” Danica snapped, “but I know that if I were given the chance to do it again, Tiennek would be dead exactly as he is now. Can you say differently about Barjin?”

  Cadderly thought back to the events in the Edificant Library’s catacombs. They seemed as if they had happened just that morning and had occurred a hundred years before, all at the same time. Cadderly had no answer to Danica’s disturbing question, and she didn’t wait for any, remembering that Elbereth, bound and probably humiliated, awaited his rescue. Cadderly followed at Danica’s heels, his eyes locked on dead Tiennek until the drooping roof put the barbarian out of sight.

  Elbereth didn’t blink through the long moments it took Danica and Cadderly to free him. He would not show weakness openly, would not reveal the humiliation in his helplessness and capture. Only anger shone in the elf’s silver eyes and showed in the set of his angular jaw. When he was free, he rushed from the collapsed tent, tearing through the skins with fury.

  Ivan and Pikel stood beside the flap to Dorigen’s tent. Ivan fingered Danica’s crystal-bladed daggers, admiring the golden tiger hilt of one and the silver dragon hilt of the other. Pikel held a thick purple robe while trying futilely to get Cadderly’s spindle-disks to spin back up into his chubby palm. At the dwarves’ feet lay Cadderly’s pack and walking stick.

  It wasn’t hard for Cadderly and Danica to guess where Elbereth was heading.

  “My sword!” the elf prince shouted at the dwarf.

  Elbereth threw his slender hand out Ivan’s way. When Ivan didn’t immediately react, Elbereth grabbed the sword right from Ivan’s belt.

  “Skinny thing anyway,” Ivan remarked to Pikel. “Probably break the first time I hit something with it.”

  In the blink of an eye, Elbereth had his sword tip against Ivan’s thick throat.

  “And ye’re welcome,” came the dwarf’s reply.

  “Uh-oh,” remarked Pikel.

  “Ye keep playing like that, and ye’re going to get hurt,” Ivan added, locking stares with the silver-eyed elf.

  It went on for a long, uncomfortable while, a battle of wills that teetered on the brink of violence.

  “We have no time for this,” Cadderly said, going to inspect his pack. The Tome of Universal Harmony was there, to his relief, as was his light tube. All his belongings remained, in fact, with the notable exception of his crossbow.

  Danica’s approach was more straightforward. She casually pushed Elbereth’s sword aside and stepped between the elf and the dwarf, alternately shaming each of them with her uncompromising glare.

  “Haven’t we enough enemies?” the woman scolded. “An army of monsters surrounds us, and you two think to do battle with each other?”

  “I have never seen much difference between an orc and a dwarf,” Elbereth spat.

  “Oo,” answered a wounded Pikel.

  “Ye view yer betters in a similar light, then,” Ivan fought back.

  “Oo,” said Pikel, regarding Ivan with admiration.

  Elbereth drew in his breath. Danica could see his grip tighten on his sword.

  “They saved us,” Danica reminded Elbereth. “Without Ivan and Pikel, we would remain Dorigen’s prisoners—or we would be dead.”

  Elbereth scowled at the notion. “You would have defeated the barbarian in any case,” he argued, “then we would have been free.”

  “How many orogs and orcs would have come to Tiennek’s cries if the dwarves had not held them in battle outside our tent?” Cadderly interjected.

  Elbereth’s scowl did not diminish, but he did slide his sword into its sheath. “When this is over.…” he warned Ivan.

  “When this is over, ye’re not likely to be around,” Ivan huffed back, and the smugness of his tone suggested that he knew something the others did not.

  He let them wait a while before offering an explanation.

  “How many kinfolk ye got, elf?” he asked. “How many to fight against the army that’s come to yer wood?”

  “Two more now,” Cadderly replied.

  “If ye’re talking of me and me brother, then ye’re talking nonsense,” Ivan said. “I’m not about to die for the likes of some elves.”

  “It’s not just for the elves, Ivan,” Cadderly explained. He looked around at all of them to get their attention. “This battle—this war—goes beyond Shilmista.”

  “How can you know that?” Danica asked.

  “Dorigen serves Talona,” Cadderly replied. “We suspected that from the gloves Elbereth took from the bugbears before we ever came here. Now the connection is undeniable.” He looked at Pikel. “Do you remember the imp that stung you?”

  “Oo,” answered the dwarf, rubbing his shoulder.

  “That very imp was with Dorigen in her tent,” Cadderly explained. “She and Barjin have come from the same source, and if they have attacked the library and now the forest, then …”

  “Then all of us are in danger,” Danica finished for him, “and the headmasters’ worst fears shall be realized.”

  “So, you and your brother will fight,” Cadderly said to Ivan. “If not for the elves, then for everyone else from Carradoon to the library and the rest of the Southern Heartlands.”

  Ivan’s dark eyes narrowed, but he said nothing to refute the young scholar’s logic.

  “This would seem the place to begin,” Cadderly went on, determined to forge an alliance. “We cannot allow our enemies a hold in Shilmista, and the Bouldershoulder brothers’ help would go far in accomplishing our tasks.”

  “All right, elf,” Ivan said after looking to Pikel for confirmation. “We’ll help ye out, ungrateful though ye’re sure to be.”

  “Do you believe I would accept—” Elbereth started, but Danica’s glare stopped him short.

  “Fight well, then,” Elbereth said instead. “But do not doubt, dwarf, that when this is ended
, you and I will speak again about our meeting in that tent.”

  “Ye won’t be here,” Ivan said again.

  “Why do you keep saying that?” Cadderly asked.

  “Because I seen the enemy, lad,” Ivan answered, “hundreds of ’em, I tell ye. Ye think the elves’ll beat that number?”

  Elbereth shook his head and turned away.

  “There,” Ivan said, pointing to a tree where he had spotted the elusive Hammadeen. “If ye don’t believe me, then ask the faerie-thing!”

  Elbereth did just that, and when he returned from his private conversation with Hammadeen, his face was pale.

  “We cannot stay here, in any event” Danica said, trying to shake the elf from his concerned state. “Do we go after the wizard?”

  “No,” Elbereth replied absently, his eyes looking to the distant south. “They have fought at the Hill of the Stars. I must go to my People.”

  “It would be a better course,” Cadderly agreed. “Dorigen is too dangerous. She has spies …” He stopped to consider Danica, who was mouthing their missing companion’s name and pounding a fist into her hand. Cadderly didn’t indicate his agreement, though. He refused to believe that Kierkan Rufo, for all his faults, willingly would have given information to the wizard.

  But Cadderly had to admit that, lately, he simply didn’t know what to believe.

  Dorigen approached Ragnor’s camp tentatively, not certain how the volatile ogrillon would act since the battle had taken such an unexpected twist. She had been absent, away hunting Cadderly and his friends, when Ragnor had launched his attack on the elven camp. Even without her help, though, the ogrillon had routed the elves and driven them miles southward.

  Dorigen cursed her own stupidity. She had supplied Ragnor with the elves’ position. She should have foreseen that the cocky brute would move against them, particularly if she wouldn’t be around to share in the victory.

  Dorigen found herself in an awkward position, for while the ogrillon’s moves had met with success, Dorigen’s had met with disaster. But she went to see Ragnor anyway. Her magical energies were all but exhausted and she needed Ragnor even if he did not need her.

  “Where are my soldiers?” was the first thing the burly ogrillon barked at her when she entered his tent. Ragnor looked around slyly to his elite bugbear guard, realizing that it was the first time he had seen Dorigen without her barbarian escort. “And where is that slab of flesh you keep at your side?” he asked.

  “We have powerful enemies,” Dorigen answered and countered all at once, raising her voice loud enough to silence the bugbear chuckles. “You should not be so smug in your temporary victory.”

  “Temporary?” the ogrillon roared, and Dorigen wondered if perhaps she had pushed the ogrillon too far. She half expected Ragnor to rush over and tear her apart.

  “Two score of the elves fell,” the ogrillon went on. “Six I killed myself!” Ragnor displayed a gruesome necklace featuring twelve elf ears.

  “At what cost?” Dorigen asked.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Ragnor replied, and Dorigen knew by the way Ragnor winced that the elven camp had not been easily overrun. “The elves are few, but my troops are many,” the ogrillon went on. “I will not fear even a few thousand dead when Shilmista falls under my shadow.”

  “My shadow?” Dorigen asked slyly. For the first time since she’d entered the tent, she saw a hint of trepidation in the ogrillon’s gaze.

  “You were away on private matters,” Ragnor argued, somewhat subdued. “The time had come to attack, and I did. I struck with every soldier I could muster. I led the attack myself and carry the scars of battle.”

  Dorigen bowed her head respectfully to calm the volatile beast. Ragnor had told her much more than he had intended. He mentioned that she was away, but she hadn’t told him that she would be far from camp. For some reason, Ragnor had chosen that time to attack, without Dorigen to help him. With the ogrillon so adamant in his statement that Shilmista would fall under his control, and not to Castle Trinity, Dorigen worried just how far Ragnor’s newfound independence would take him.

  She had no desire to be anywhere near the ogrillon when he decided he didn’t need Castle Trinity.

  “I go to my rest,” she said, bowing again. “Accept my congratulations on your great victory, mighty General.”

  Ragnor couldn’t hide his thrill at hearing those words. Figuring that was a good note on which to depart, Dorigen left the tent, thinking it strange that a merciless brute such as Ragnor could be so easy a mark for flattery.

  “He got scared,” Druzil remarked from his perch on Dorigen’s shoulder soon after the wizard had departed the tent. The imp materialized. “He feared that you would control the battle and that he would not be needed.”

  “Let us hope he still believes that I can be of some use to him,” Dorigen replied. “He will not be pleased to learn how many of his soldiers I have lost.”

  “Do not mention them,” Druzil suggested. “I don’t believe Ragnor can count anyway.”

  Dorigen turned her head sharply to face the imp. “You will never underestimate the ogrillon again,” she growled. “Any mistakes could bring a swift end to our lives.”

  Druzil snarled and grumbled but did not argue. “What are your plans?” he asked after a long enough while for Dorigen to cool down.

  Dorigen stopped her march to consider the question. “I will see where I may be of use,” she answered.

  “Have you given up on Aballister’s son?” The imp sounded surprised.

  “Never!” Dorigen snapped. “This Cadderly of Carradoon is a dangerous one, as are his friends. When this fight is over, whatever path Ragnor chooses, young Cadderly will prove valuable.” Her eyes narrowed as though she had reminded herself of something important.

  “You can still contact Kierkan Rufo?” she asked.

  Druzil chuckled, the rough laugh sounding almost like a cough in his raspy little voice. “Contact?” he echoed. “Intrude upon would be a better description. Kierkan Rufo wears the amulet. His mind is mine to explore.”

  “Then hear his thoughts,” Dorigen instructed. “If Cadderly returns to the elven camp, I wish to know.”

  Druzil muttered as usual and faded away, but Dorigen, too engrossed by the intrigue unfolding around her, paid his complaints little heed.

  “Afore ye set yer sights on going back to the hill,” Ivan said gruffly, “me brother and me has got something ye should see.”

  Elbereth eyed the dwarf with curiosity, wondering what cruel surprise Ivan had in store for him. But when they at last arrived at the dwarves’ small camp, just a mile or so out of their way, Elbereth cast a surprised look Ivan’s way. Buried under a cairn of piled rocks lay a partially burned elf body, which Elbereth knew at once was Ralmarith’s, his friend who had been slain in the enemy wizard’s initial attack.

  “How did you come by this?” the elf demanded, his voice a mix of suspicion and relief.

  “Took it from the goblins,” Ivan said, taking care to keep all hints of sympathy out of his gruff voice. “We figured that even an elf deserved a better resting place than a goblin’s belly.”

  Elbereth turned back to Ralmarith’s body and said no more. Danica moved and knelt beside him, putting an arm over his slender shoulders.

  “Them two’re a bit friendly, eh?” Ivan said to Cadderly, and the young scholar had to bite his lip to hold back his thoughts—indeed, to force them from his mind. He had to trust in Danica, and in their love, he knew, for their situation was too dangerous to allow for any rifts between he and Elbereth.

  Danica nodded Ivan and Pikel’s way more than once, trying to prompt the elf to offer some thanks. Elbereth did not respond, though. He just whispered his farewells to his friend and carefully repacked the cairn, leaving Ralmarith’s body to the forest the slain elf so loved.

  Shilmista was strangely quiet as the five companions made their stealthy way toward Daoine Dun. They stopped once for a short break, with Elbereth heading off
to scout the area and see if he might find Hammadeen or some other woodland being to gather some information.

  “You must forgive Elbereth,” Cadderly said to Ivan, taking the opportunity to try to play peacemaker.

  “What’s an Elbereth?” Ivan asked snootily, not looking up from his work resetting the antler in his helmet. The dwarf grimaced and tightened the screw as much as he could, since he had no lacquer to reinforce the fit.

  “He is the Prince of Shilmista,” Cadderly went on, wincing at, but otherwise ignoring, the dwarf’s unyielding stubbornness. “And Shilmista might prove the cornerstone to support our struggles.”

  “I’m not for giving much hope to our struggles,” Ivan replied grimly. “Yer handful of elves won’t do much against the army that’s walked in.”

  “If you really believed that, you would not have agreed to come along,” Cadderly reasoned, thinking he had found a chip in the dwarf’s iron facade.

  The incredulous grin Ivan gave stole that thought away. “I’m not for missing a chance to bash a few orc brains,” the dwarf retorted. “And yerself and the girl needed me and me brother.”

  Cadderly couldn’t compete with Ivan’s seemingly endless surliness, so he walked away, shaking his head at Danica and Pikel as he passed them. A few moments later, Elbereth came back to the camp and announced that the path to the hill was clear.

  Daoine Dun was not as Cadderly remembered it. The once beautiful Hill of the Stars lay blasted and blackened, its thick grasses trampled under the charge of monstrous feet and its lush trees broken or burned. Even worse was the stench. Flocks of carrion birds flew off at the companions’ approach. The dead—a fair number of elves among them—had been left out to rot.

  Even Ivan had no comment in the face of Elbereth’s shock. Indeed, Ivan called Pikel to the side, and together they began to dig a common grave.

  The elf prince wandered back and forth across the battlefield, checking the bodies of his kinfolk to see if he could determine which elves had fallen. Most had been mutilated, though, and the stoic elf just shook his head sadly at Danica and Cadderly as they followed him through his silent vigil.