The Complete Legends of the Riftwar Trilogy

by Raymond E. Feist

  Crawling through the tall brown foliage, he approached the trail that ran parallel to the river. He could remember a time, centuries ago, when he would walk openly on this trail, ambling along on warm summer evenings and hunting in the autumn, the trees ablaze with colour.

  That had been centuries ago, and of the elves who had shared those moments, nearly all had gone to the Blessed Isles, dead in the bitter strife with the moredhel. Mortality was something he tried not to dwell on, but even so he suddenly felt old, and wondered if it was somehow a foreboding, a warning.

  He thought of Kavala. The settling of an ancient debt had been achieved at last. Although he knew that the death of another was something in which to take no joy, still there had been a terrible moment of satisfaction when he had seen Kavala come out of the mists, unaware that death was closing in at last.

  Now was not the time to dwell on that, to let such thoughts divert him from the dangers at hand. Alert to every nuance of sound and scent he lifted his head, looking towards the far bank of the river. The water was high and the rushes were bobbing and swaying as the icy current scoured the river bank.

  A stag, standing at the edge of the far bank, raised his muzzle, sniffing the air. He looked Tinuva’s way, then returned to drinking. Several does ambled out from the treeline on the far side to drink as well.

  Good, nothing was waiting on the other side.

  Dennis crawled past him for the last few feet, reaching the trail. It had once been a broad road, but was now weed-choked and abandoned. The coating of ice on the path was solid, showing no prints except for those of several deer that had come down for their morning drink. Dennis stood up cautiously, Tinuva by his side.

  ‘In summer you could cross here and barely get your knees wet,’ Tinuva said, shaking his head, watching as ice floes eddied past, swirling and tumbling in the current.

  ‘You mean this is where we are to cross?’ Asayaga asked and Tinuva could sense the trepidation in his voice.

  ‘It’s either here or we try and fight our way across the bridge,’ Dennis snapped, pointing back downstream.

  ‘We haven’t looked there yet,’ Asayaga replied. ‘You drag us off a clear open trail, run us through a freezing stream for more than a mile, and we wind up here.’

  ‘The bridge will be guarded,’ Tinuva replied patiently. ‘In the old times there was an entire moredhel village there; fishing was abundant, as was hunting in this region. Clan Raven once ruled this region; they were always cautious of enemies, from the south and the north. They erected barriers at both ends of the bridge, and constructed a blockhouse. Those who pursue us are Clan Raven, so we must assume the moredhel are back at the bridge, and they are up there in strength.’

  ‘Then we attack and sweep them aside,’ Asayaga announced. ‘We did it last night.’

  ‘That was evening, in the fog, and we had surprise on our side,’ Dennis snarled. He gestured to the swirling clouds overhead. Coming out of the pass they had dropped below the storm, so there was no longer a concealing fog. ‘There is no guarantee that someone didn’t get out when we took the pass. They might have been warned. Even if it’s open ground for bowshot’s distance all around the bridge.’ He fell silent, then added, ‘And if Tinuva is correct, it won’t be a small company waiting for us, but a full war camp.’ He looked at Asayaga. ‘I know you Tsurani to be fearless, but even you wouldn’t charge sixty warriors across an open field at a fortification of three hundred warriors who are waiting for you.’

  ‘Then follow the trail up the river,’ Asayaga argued.

  ‘Why don’t you want to cross here?’ Dennis asked.

  The Tsurani bristled. ‘That water is freezing. You might be cold-blooded, but my men are not. It will kill them.’

  ‘Then stay here,’ Dennis retorted. ‘Follow that trail up the river. It will give out above the falls half a day’s march from here. Then jump off the damn falls for all I care, but my men are crossing here.’

  ‘We threw them off our track only for a little while,’ Tinuva interjected, ‘but they will be back on it soon enough. Wait here and we are pinned. But if we get across here they’ll have to back-track for at least ten miles or more to get over the bridge and by then we will be gone.’

  ‘Madness,’ Asayaga sighed.

  Dennis grinned. ‘Afraid, Tsurani?’

  Asayaga turned, and his hand fell to the hilt of his sword.

  Dennis said nothing but Tinuva could see his barely-suppressed desire to have it out.

  ‘Asayaga. Would you let it be said that Kingdom troops dared something that the Tsurani could not do as well? I know you are made of sterner stuff,’ said the elf.

  Asayaga looked over at him, obviously not sure if the elvish scout was taunting him as well.

  ‘I speak to you with respect for your prowess,’ Tinuva went on. ‘The crossing will be hard but it can be done. We run a rope across to hold on to. All men strip naked, bundle up their clothing and weapons, securing them to staves which they hold out of the water as they cross. The first across build a fire to warm the rest. Dennis and I shall go first, bearing the rope.’

  Asayaga seemed to hesitate.

  ‘It is the only way, Tsurani,’ said Dennis in a calm tone, having suddenly lost the desire to taunt his enemy. Slowly, he repeated, ‘It is the only way.’

  At last Asayaga nodded reluctantly. ‘I shall tell my men.’

  He stood up and started back up the river bank to the edge of the forest where the two forces waited.

  ‘Tsurani?’ Dennis shouted.

  Asayaga turned.

  ‘Let me guess. You can’t swim. Is that it?’

  Asayaga turned away with an angry snarl and Dennis smiled. ‘Perhaps we could drown them all,’ Dennis whispered, even as he started to pull off his cloak, trousers, boots and tunic.

  ‘We will still need them on the far side,’ Tinuva replied. ‘Sixty additional swords will be the difference between life and death in the days to come. We still have to outrun the moredhel and then circle around to an open pass. I doubt if we can achieve that without a fight.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘Worry about that later.’

  Tinuva stripped down, drawing his short sword to hack a sapling and trim it into a staff to which he tied his bundle of clothing.

  Sergeant Barry came down, looking a bit absurd in his nakedness, already shivering from the cold. He carried a heavy coil of rope, the thirty-foot lengths carried by every fifth man in Dennis’s unit having been knotted together.

  ‘I hope it’s long enough. Got the end tied to that tree up there,’ Barry said, as he tossed one end to Dennis, who tied it around his waist.

  Tinuva looked over at Dennis. It was one of the few times Tinuva had seen him naked and once again he was astonished at just how many scars a human could acquire in such a short life. A nasty white slash traced across his chest and just below the left collarbone was a knot of pink flesh from the arrow he had taken in an ambush the summer before. Both arms were cross-hatched with lines and his left calf was twisted and gnarled from a blow that had nearly taken off his leg three summers past.

  Without comment, Dennis waded into the river, staff over his shoulder, and Tinuva could hear his sharp intake of breath. Tinuva followed, closing his thoughts, silently chanting the ‘Isluna’, the meditation to block pain, to disconnect the flesh from the mind.

  Nevertheless he could feel his heart constrict and thump over as the icy chill swirled around him. Within seconds he was up to his waist, angling his steps against the fast-moving current, pushing aside a chunk of ice that eddied around him. He leaned against the staff, bracing himself as he nearly lost his footing in a hole, the water going up to his chest.

  Dennis was beside him, cursing with every step, damning the weather, the gods who sent it, the Tsurani, and the moredhel.

  They reached mid-stream and Tinuva could sense that the river was beginning to rob him of his strength, as if it was a malevolent spirit that had sunk its fangs i
nto his soul. He stumbled and nearly went under but Dennis reached out, grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back up.

  ‘Come on,’ Dennis gasped, teeth chattering.

  The river finally shallowed out, and the steam rose from their bodies as they floundered up to the reed-covered bank. Stumbling, they gained the far shore. Dennis untied the rope from his waist and, pulling hard, managed to secure it to a stunted tree on the river bank.

  Looking back, Tinuva saw dozens of men standing along the river, all of them naked. In spite of his pain he had to chuckle at the sight.

  Dennis, himself still naked, threw his pack down and tore it open, reaching into his haversack for flint, steel and tinder. Tinuva tore up an armful of reeds and piled them high, busting open the dry, fluffy seedpods. Dennis quickly had a smouldering wisp of flame which he blew to life as Tinuva carefully fed in the fluff from the seedpods, then began to break up the hollow reeds, laying them on top of the tiny wisp of flame. Dennis ran to the nearest pine tree, broke off several dead branches and brought them back and soon the fire sparked to life. Finally, with the fire alight, they struggled clumsily to get their clothes back on.

  Tinuva looked back to the river. The first men, all of them from Dennis’s command were nearly across, spluttering and cursing, led by Sergeant Barry.

  ‘Gregory just came in with the rearguard,’ Barry blurted out. ‘They’re on to our trail.’

  ‘Damn. How much time do we have?’ Dennis gasped, teeth still chattering.

  ‘An hour at most, half an hour more likely.’

  ‘What’s going on with those damn Tsurani?’ Dennis snapped while wrestling with his boots.

  Through chattering teeth, Sergeant Barry said, ‘They’re arguing back and forth. That damn squinty-looking one – their second-in-command – he’s apparently against crossing. Honestly, I think the little bastards are afraid and won’t admit it.’

  ‘Fine, let them stay.’

  ‘If too many of our men cross first,’ Tinuva interjected, ‘it might cause a problem.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘We get all our men across, they might fear to start over, figuring we might ambush them when they’re in the middle of the river. Or, when we only have a few left over there, they turn on them.’

  ‘Damn it all,’ Dennis sighed. He reached out to help pull one of his men up the embankment.

  ‘Get everyone coming in to start feeding the fire. Don’t worry about the smoke, getting warm is more important,’ Tinuva offered. ‘Remember, we saw that stag and the does. They ran back into the woods. A good hunter might take one of them. The men need warm food as well.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Dennis asked.

  ‘Back.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think they might trust me.’

  ‘What the hell for?’ Dennis asked. ‘If we shake them loose here, fine with me.’

  ‘They might kill the last of our men still over there, and Gregory is one of them.’

  ‘You’re a fool to try and cross again,’ Dennis replied, thinking of the icy river.

  Tinuva did not bother to reply. Pulling off his cloak, the only article of clothing he had managed to put back on, he plunged back into the swollen river, hanging on to the rope, pulling himself hand over hand, passing more of Dennis’s men holding onto the rope on the downstream side. Twice, helping hands kept him up as he felt the strength in his muscles sucked out by the frigid water. At last he gained the far side of the river, glad for the helping hand extended by Gregory. He could barely walk, his legs completely numb.

  ‘Why in the name of the gods did you come back?’ Gregory asked.

  ‘Someone had to. What is going on over here?’ Tinuva whispered, his breath forming a white cloud in the air.

  Gregory pulled off his own cloak and wrapped it around Tinuva’s shoulders. ‘There are mounted riders behind us. Men.’

  ‘The moredhel?’

  ‘Not yet. I guess they’re still taking care of things at the pass.’

  Tinuva said nothing.

  ‘Something is brewing with the Tsurani,’ Gregory whispered. ‘We don’t have time for this.’

  Tinuva nodded, glad for the cloak Gregory wrapped around him.

  As he approached the knot of Tsurani, he could sense the tension. Some had stripped down, but others were obviously hesitant. Asayaga drew back from his men.

  ‘What is the problem?’ Tinuva whispered.

  Asayaga hesitated, head lowered, obviously ashamed.

  ‘It’s the fact that most of your men can’t swim, isn’t it?’

  Asayaga nodded. ‘My world. Those who live on the coast learn. The rest …’ His voice trailed off for a moment. ‘I have the power of command, but many think it suicide and demand the right to turn and fight.’

  ‘You know there will be a fight between us if this continues.’ Tinuva nodded to the thirty or so men of Dennis’s command still to cross. They were eyeing the Tsurani with suspicion and several were whispering.

  ‘Perhaps we should settle our differences now,’ Asayaga said.

  ‘And Gregory has undoubtedly told you that the moredhel’s human renegades are closing in.’

  ‘Are they?’

  ‘I have no reason to lie to you. If anything I should be telling you that no one is coming and leave you here,’ said Gregory in a calm, even tone.

  ‘Then why tell me the truth?’

  ‘Because for any of us to survive we still must travel together for now,’ said the elf. ‘We need you in order to live as much as you need us.’ He locked gaze with Asayaga and calmly added, ‘You know this is true.’

  Asayaga reluctantly grunted his agreement.

  Tinuva said, ‘For the moment no more of Hartraft’s troops will cross. Send half of yours over now. Then the rest can cross, alternating: one of yours, then one of Hartraft’s – that way we can keep the forces balanced on both sides of the river. But we don’t have any more time to waste.’

  Asayaga, hands planted on his hips, looked up into Tinuva’s eyes.

  ‘I have never seen one of your race so close before,’ Asayaga said. ‘Is it true you are immortal?’

  Gregory started to object to the digression, but Tinuva sensed something important was behind it. He gestured slightly with his hand and his old friend fell silent. The elf said, ‘All of us are immortal. Our spirits never perish, no matter the length of our span in the flesh in this world. Mine is just longer a span than yours. We both live on in the next world, though our afterworld is different from yours, I think.

  ‘In this world, though, I can die, the same as you, and trust my word, we shall both certainly die within the hour if you do not act now.’

  ‘You came back. Why?’

  How to explain? He could claim loyalty to his friend Gregory. That was true, but it was something beyond that. This entire war was one of madness: perhaps the Tsurani before him had slain some of his kin. And yet, he had a curiosity to see how this affair would play out and with that a sense that it was not destined to end here over this foolish squabble.

  ‘Because I want to live and the best chance for that at this moment is for us to band together. Trust me. I know the moredhel in a way you do not and never will. They will not give up on the pursuit, for in their eyes we have wronged them grievously. Their honour demands that we be hunted down and killed no matter what the cost. Tsurani, I will tell you more later, but there is no time now. Order your men to go.’

  Asayaga hesitated, then nodded. Issues of honour, no matter whose, he understood. He turned and said something in his own language which Tinuva sensed was a rueful curse. Then he pulled off his tunic and leggings, and barked out a string of commands. The others hesitated and then one of the older men, shaking his head and laughing began to strip as well. To his companions he shouted, ‘My manhood is shrunken with the cold. What is your excuse?’

  Minutes later Asayaga lead the column into the river.

  ‘Go with them,’ Gregory said, ‘I’ll
bring up the rear.’

  Tinuva nodded. Casting aside the cloak, he fell in behind Asayaga, oblivious to the curious stares of the Tsurani. Once their commander went into the river, the others began to follow, cursing and spluttering as they hit the icy water. Half-way across the man in front of Tinuva lost his grip and went under, dropping his staff. Reaching out, he grabbed the warrior and pulled him back, but his equipment had disappeared.

  A shout went up from behind and he saw two more men lose their hold on the line, one of them bobbing back up and clumsily trying to swim, while the other simply vanished.

  Reaching the shoreline again, Tinuva found he could barely move and was grateful for Barry’s help in getting up the river bank. A blanket was spread out on the ground next to the roaring fire and he collapsed, shivering, oblivious for several minutes. Sergeant Barry held a cloak up to the fire for a moment to warm it, then lay it around Tinuva’s shoulders. The contrast with the cold almost made him cry out, but the warmth was enough to revive him. He took a slow breath and willed his arms and legs to move, and at last he stood.

  Naked men pressed in around him, all of them shaking, teeth chattering. A second fire was started, some of Dennis’s men, now fully clothed, bringing up armloads of wood. The sound of axes rang in the woods. Soon there was even the scent of roasting meat. Tinuva saw that someone had found a stag and brought it down. Three men were butchering it, unceremoniously cutting hunks of meat and tossing them straight into the flames to be speared out with sharpened sticks.

  His senses returning, Tinuva struggled back into his trousers, boots and tunic, the spasms of shivering finally passing.

  Asayaga was standing by the edge of the water, still naked, reaching out and pulling each of his men in as they staggered to the shore, urging them up to the fires to dry out.

  Brother Corwin started into the river, modesty demanding that he keep his habit on, though he did cinch it up around his waist. In spite of his portly build he was still strong enough to help two of the wounded, aided by young Richard.

  Gregory was still on the far shore, fully clothed, bow out. A crow rose up from a tree on the far bank squawking loudly. Tinuva saw Gregory tense.