In Sylvan Shadows

by R. A. Salvatore

  It gathered strength and urgency, called for him to let it loose. And he did so, uttering the last syllable with all the determination he could throw into his voice.

  He paused a moment. The night bird went silent—all the forest was quiet.

  Cadderly clenched his fist, victorious. He went back to the ancient book, feeling better about the role he might play in the coming battles.

  His enthusiasm was stolen soon after, though, when Danica approached his fire. The young woman’s lips moved in greeting, but no words came from her mouth. She looked around, confused. Cadderly knew what was wrong, and he dropped his face into his hands.

  His sigh, too, could not be heard, nor could the crackle of the fire, he realized. Grabbing a stick, he wrote, “It will pass,” in the dirt and motioned for Danica to sit beside him.

  “What happened?” Danica asked a few moments later, when the noise of the flames had returned.

  “I have once again proved my uselessness,” Cadderly replied. He kicked his pack, containing The Tome of Universal Harmony. “I am no priest of Deneir. I am no priest at all. Even the simplest spells roll awkwardly from my lips, only then to fall upon targets I do not desire. I tried to silence a bird and quieted myself instead. We should be glad that the wizard did not appear at the last battle. We all would have died if she had, though no one would have heard our final screams.”

  Despite Cadderly’s grave tone, despite everything around her and the pain in her injured arm, Danica laughed aloud at that thought.

  “I’m afraid to call for even the simplest healing spells,” Cadderly continued, “knowing that they would probably deepen a wound, not close it.”

  Danica wanted to comfort him, to tell him that he was the most intelligent man she had ever met and the highest regarded young priest in the Edificant Library. But she found no sympathy for his problems, not with the weight of doom hanging heavily in Shilmista’s ancient boughs.

  “Self pity does not become you,” she remarked dryly.

  “Self truth,” Cadderly corrected.

  “So it may be,” argued Danica, “but an irrelevant one now.”

  “All my life—” Cadderly began.

  “Has not been wasted,” Danica interrupted before the young scholar could sink lower into despair. “All your life? You have just begun to live.”

  “I had thought to live it as a Glyphscribe, a priest of Deneir,” Cadderly lamented, “but that doesn’t seem to be my course.”

  “You cannot know that,” Danica scolded.

  “Agreed,” came a voice. They looked up and were surprised to see Kierkan Rufo approaching the fire.

  Danica had nearly forgotten about the man, and seeing him again brought back many unpleasant thoughts. Cadderly obviously sensed her anger, and he put a hand on her shoulder, surely fearing that she would spring at Rufo and throttle him.

  “Some of the highest-ranking Glyphscribes are inept at spellcasting,” Rufo went on, taking a seat on a log opposite the low fire and pointedly avoiding Danica’s cold stare. “Your friend, the headmistress, for example. Even the simplest spells often fail when uttered by Headmistress Pertelope.”

  Rufo’s angular features seemed sharper in the flickering shadows, and Danica detected a tremor in his voice.

  “How can that be true?” Cadderly asked. “Pertelope is a leader among the order. How could she have attained such heights as Headmistress of the Edificant Library if she cannot perform the simplest spells?”

  “Because she is a scholar, as are you,” Rufo replied, “and in Deneir’s favor, do not doubt, even if that favor does not manifest itself in the form of spells. Headmistress Pertelope is no pretender to her title.”

  “How do you know this?” Danica asked, and she had many other questions she wanted to ask of Rufo, particularly concerning his interactions with Dorigen.

  “I heard Avery talking once,” Rufo replied, trying to sound casual, though his monotone voice quivered with every word. “And I have been attentive since.” He leaned back on his bony elbows, again trying futilely to appear calm.

  Passing moments did little to dissipate the tension. Still, Cadderly seemed relieved to hear Rufo’s claims about Pertelope.

  Rufo stood stiffly. “I’m glad you’ve returned,” he said, his voice somewhat strained. From his pack he produced Cadderly’s silken cape and wide-brimmed hat, the latter a bit crumpled. “I’m … glad,” Rufo said again. He half-bowed and started away, nearly tripping over the log as he went.

  “Surprised to see us, do you think?” Danica remarked when Rufo was beyond hearing distance. “Certainly our friend was a bit nervous.”

  “Kierkan Rufo has always been nervous,” Cadderly replied, his voice sounding relaxed for the first time since he had discovered the failure of his spell of silence.

  “You think it’s a coincidence, then,” Danica muttered. “And is it a coincidence that Dorigen knew of him?”

  “She may have learned of Rufo from the same source that told her of us,” Cadderly reasoned. “The imp?”

  “Indeed,” the young woman agreed, and her wry tone shifted the connotation of Cadderly’s own words to sound like an accusation against their companion. “Indeed.…”

  Cadderly awakened to the sound of battle shortly past dawn. He fumbled about his pack for his spindle-disks, grabbed his walking stick, and rushed away. The fight was over before he ever got close, though. The elves successfully beat back yet another enemy probe.

  Despite the success, though, neither Danica, Elbereth, nor the dwarves seemed pleased when Cadderly came upon them.

  “I-I’m sorry,” the young scholar apologized, stuttering. “I was asleep. No one told me …”

  “Fear not,” Elbereth replied. “You would have had little role in the fight. Our archers turned the enemy back before very many of them even got across the river.”

  “And them that did wished they’d turned back!” added Ivan, seeming none the worse for his wounded leg. He pointedly held out his bloodied axe for Cadderly to see. Pikel, meanwhile, was busily pulling a clump of goblin hair from a thin crack in his club.

  Cadderly didn’t miss the appreciative stare Elbereth cast the dwarves’ way, though the elf obviously tried to mask the look.

  “Go and gather your strength now,” Elbereth said to Danica, then he looked around to indicate that his words were meant for all of them. “I must attend council with my father. Our scouts will return this morning with more complete estimates of the enemy’s strength.” The elf bowed and was gone.

  Ivan and Pikel were asleep almost immediately after they returned to Cadderly’s small camp. The dwarves had been up all night, showing some of the more receptive elves how to construct a proper barricade, complete with cunning traps.

  Danica, too, stretched out to rest, and Cadderly, after a quick meal of tasty biscuits, dived back into the book of Dellanil Quil’quien. His translating had gone slowly through the wee hours, and he thought he had discerned the meaning of just a single rune. A hundred more arcane symbols remained a mystery to him.

  Elbereth came to see them later that morning, accompanied by Tintagel and Shayleigh. The prince’s grim expression revealed much about what the returning scouts had reported.

  “Our enemy is more disciplined and organized than we had believed,” Elbereth admitted.

  “And the enemy wizard returned this morning,” added Shayleigh. “She sent a line of fire from her hand, shrouding an unfortunate scout. He is alive, but our healers do not expect him to survive the day.”

  Cadderly reflexively glanced over to his pack, to The Tome of Universal Harmony. What healing secrets might he discover there? he wondered. Could he find the strength to help the wounded elf?

  He looked away, ashamed, admitting that he could not. He was no Glyphscribe. He had established that fact the night before.

  “What of allies?” Danica asked. “Has the Edificant Library responded to our call?”

  “There has been no word of outside help,” Elberet
h replied. “It is believed that the library could not muster sufficient force anyway, even if they could arrive in time.”

  “Where does that leave us?” Cadderly asked.

  “Galladel speaks of leaving Shilmista,” Elbereth said past the welling lump in his slender throat. “He talks often of Evermeet, and says that our day in Faerûn has passed.”

  “And what do you say?” Danica asked, her question sounding almost like an accusation.

  “It is not time to go,” the proud elf answered. “I will not leave Shilmista to the goblins, but …”

  “But our hopes here are fast fading,” Shayleigh finished for him. Cadderly couldn’t miss the edge of sadness in her violet eyes, a somber look that had stolen her vigor and heart for the fight. “We cannot defeat so large an enemy. Many goblins will die, it is true, but our numbers will continue to dwindle until we are no more.”

  To his own surprise, Cadderly broke the ensuing silence. “I have begun the translation of Dellanil’s book,” he said. “We will find our answers there.”

  Elbereth shook his head. “You have little time,” he explained, “and we do not expect as much as you from the ancient work. The magic of the forest is not as it used to be—in that regard, I fear, my father is correct.”

  “When will he decide our course?” Danica asked.

  “Later this day,” replied the elf prince, “though I believe the meeting is just a formality, for the decision has already been made.”

  There was no more to be said, but so much more to be done, and the three elves took their leave. Danica fell back to her blanket, squirming about in a futile attempt to find some sleep, and Cadderly went back to the ancient book.

  He studied on, frustrated by two simple runes that appeared on nearly every page. If those two could take so much of his time, how then could he hope to complete the work in a single day?

  He moved the book aside and stretched out, exhausted and defeated, filled with loathing for his own inadequacies. Cadderly the Priest? Apparently not. Cadderly the Fighter? Hardly. Cadderly the Scholar?

  Perhaps, but that talent suddenly seemed so very useless in the real and violent world. Cadderly could recount the adventures of a thousand ancient heroes, tell of long-dead wars, and inscribe a wizard’s lost spellbook after having seen it only once. But he couldn’t turn the black tide from beautiful Shilmista, and none of his other talents really seemed to matter anymore.

  Sleep did finally take him, mercifully, and in that sleep came a dream that Cadderly could not have expected.

  He saw Shilmista under the light of an ancient sky, under starlight of violet and blue and crisp yellow rays, filtering softly through the thick leafy canopy. There danced the elves, ten times the number of Shilmista’s present host, led in song by the greatest of the elves’ kings.

  The words were strange to Cadderly, though he fluently spoke the Elvish dialect common to his day. Stranger still came the reaction of the forest around the elves, for the trees themselves reverberated with Dellanil’s song, answering the elf king. Only a slight breeze wafted through the ancient vision of Shilmista, yet the great limbs bent and swayed, synchronous to the graceful movements of the sylvan folk.

  Then the vision was gone and Cadderly sat up, awakened by Ivan and Pikel’s thunderous snores. The young scholar shook his head and lay back, hoping to recapture that lost moment. His dreams were fading fast, only a blur, but he remembered the serenity, and the magic, acutely.

  His eyes popped open wide and he scrambled for the black-bound book. Those unknown runes greeted him once again, but Cadderly threw aside his notes and logical, practiced techniques. Instead, the young scholar used his emotional revelations, felt as Dellanil had felt in his dreamy vision, and sent his soul dancing as the elves and the trees had danced, their song sounding within him.

  “Get out!” Kierkan Rufo growled, banging his arm against a tree trunk. “I did as you demanded, now leave me alone!”

  Rufo glanced around, nervous, fearing that he had spoken too loudly. The elves were everywhere, it seemed, and Rufo had no doubt that any one of them would gladly put an arrow into him if they ever discovered the source of his dilemma.

  He was alone in the forest, physically at least, and had been since his departure from Cadderly and Danica the previous night. Rufo could find no sleep—the imp’s voice in his head would not allow that. Already the man appeared haggard, haunted, for he could not be rid of Druzil’s telepathic intrusions.

  What have you to lose? purred the imp’s raspy voice. All the world will be your gain.

  “I don’t know what they’re planning, nor would I reveal it to you if I did,” Rufo insisted.

  Oh, but you would, came Druzil’s confident reply. And you shall indeed.

  “Never!”

  You have once betrayed your friends, Kierkan Rufo, Druzil reminded him. How merciful would the elf prince be if he learned of your weakness?

  Rufo’s breath came in short gasps. He understood that Druzil’s question was a direct threat.

  But think not of such unpleasantness, Druzil continued. Aid us now. We will prove victorious—that is obvious—and you will be well rewarded when the battle is won. Scorn us, and you will pay.

  Rufo didn’t realize his own movements, was oblivious to the sharp pain. He looked down in shock to his hand, holding a clump of his matted black hair.

  SEVENTEEN

  A DESPERATE ATTEMPT

  Our sincere pardon,” Danica whispered when she and Cadderly entered the small glade beyond a thick grove of pines that blocked the outside world. The elf leaders—Galladel and Elbereth, Shayleigh, Tintagel, and several others that Danica and Cadderly didn’t know—had gathered there. Their faces were grim, and though Galladel said nothing about the interruption, both friends could see that the elf king was not pleased by their intrusion.

  “I have translated the work,” Cadderly announced, holding up the book of Dellanil Quil’quien for all to see.

  “Where did you get that?” Galladel demanded.

  “He found it at Daoine Dun,” Elbereth explained, “and has it now with my permission.” Galladel glowered at his son, but Elbereth turned to Cadderly. “You have not had time to read the entire tome,” the elf prince remarked. “How could you possibly have translated it?”

  “I have not,” Cadderly replied guardedly. “I mean …” He paused to search for the correct way to explain what he had accomplished, and also to calm himself under Galladel’s imposing stare.

  “I have deciphered the meanings of the connotations, of the ancient runes,” Cadderly continued. “The symbols pose no more difficulties. Together we can read through the work and see what secrets it might provide.”

  Some of the elves, Elbereth and Shayleigh in particular, seemed intrigued. Elbereth rose and approached Cadderly, his silver eyes sparkling with a hint of renewed hope.

  “What value do you expect to find within those pages?” Galladel asked sharply, his angry tone stopping his son in midstride.

  An expression of confusion crossed Cadderly’s face, for the young scholar certainly hadn’t expected that reaction.

  “You bring us false hope,” the elf king went on, his anger unrelenting.

  “There’s more,” Cadderly argued. “In this work, I have read a most remarkable account of how King Dellanil Quil’quien awakened the trees of Shilmista, and of how those trees crushed an invading force of goblins.”

  With the parallels to their present dilemma so obvious, Cadderly didn’t see how that news could be met with anything other than joy. But Galladel seemed less impressed than ever.

  “You tell us nothing we do not already know,” the elf king snapped. “Do you think that none among us has read the book of Dellanil?”

  “I thought the runes ancient and lost to understanding,” Cadderly replied. Danica put her hand on his shoulder.

  “Lost now,” Galladel replied, “but I, too, have read the work, centuries ago when those runes were not so uncommon. I could deciphe
r them still, if I had the mind and the time to do so.”

  “You did not think to awaken the trees?” Elbereth asked his father in disbelief.

  Galladel’s glare bored into his impertinent son. “You speak of that act as though it were some simple cantrip.”

  “It’s not a spell,” Cadderly put in, “but a summons, a calling to awaken the powers of the forest.”

  “Powers that are no more,” Galladel added.

  “How can you—?” Elbereth began, but Galladel cut him short.

  “This is not the first war that has come to Shilmista since I began my reign,” the elf king explained. He seemed old and vulnerable, his face pale and hollow. “And I read the account of Dellanil’s battle, as you have,” he offered to Cadderly with some apparent sympathy. “Like you, I was filled with hope on that long ago occasion and filled with belief in the magic of Shilmista.

  “But the trees did not come to my call,” the elf king continued, drawing nods of recognition from two other aged elves sitting by his side. “Not a single one. Many elves died repelling the invaders, more than should have, I fear, since their king was too busy to join in their fight.”

  It seemed to Cadderly as if the aged elf’s shoulders sagged even lower as he recalled that tragic time.

  “That is a summons for another age,” Galladel said, his voice resolute once more, “an age when the trees were the sentient sentinels of Shilmista Forest.”

  “But are they not still?” Shayleigh dared to interject. “Hammadeen bade us to hear their warning song.”

  “Hammadeen is a dryad,” Galladel explained, “much more attuned to the flora than any elf ever could be. She can hear the song of any plant, anywhere in the world. Do not allow her cryptic bidding to bring you false hope.”

  “We have few options,” Elbereth reminded his father.

  “The summons will not work,” Galladel insisted, his tone showing clearly that he considered the conversation at an end. “You do have our thanks, scholar Cadderly,” he said, somewhat condescendingly. “Your efforts have not gone unnoticed.”