Thorns in Shadow

by Sanan Kolva

  “What in the names of all our fallen are you doing here with Tathrens, you witless idiot stargazer?!” His fist rose to swing at Lyan.

  Kithr caught the other elf by the wrist. “Try to hit Lyan and you’ll lose that hand,” he warned in a tone as cold as ice.

  Lyan stepped back. “I am here… we are here because we were sent here.” The other seemed to know Lyan, but Lyan didn’t recognize him.

  “Sent? With Tathrens? Bah!” The elf jerked away from Kithr. “The only Tathrens sent here are those sent to die. Who would send you?”

  “Don’t bother arguing, Lyan,” Kithr said before Lyan could do more than feel anger rise at the dismissal. “He won’t listen. Let’s go. Whatever the Guardians thought, there’s nothing for us here. Especially not with this lot.”

  “You won’t leave this forest alive,” the other elf snapped.

  Without batting an eye, Kithr drew his bow, arrow aimed at the other’s heart. “Watch us.”

  “Archers, aim for the stargazer,” the other retorted, eye locked with Kithr’s. From the trees, bows creaked.

  Lyan slammed the butt of Equinox against the ground. “That is enough!”

  Branches trembled, and elves voiced alarmed surprise as they dropped to the ground. With a sharp twang, every strung bowstring snapped. Kithr cursed his stinging fingers. Lyan steadied himself on the Spear, weariness washing over him as if he’d just run a race. He drew a deep breath, let it out, and forced himself not to shout.

  “Do I have your attention now?”

  All eyes focused on Lyan, and few were friendly. The elf before him answered. “It seems you do, stargazer.”

  “We were sent here—all of us, even the Tathrens—by the Guardians of the Spear, the demigods who guard and protect Equinox and its shrine. They said we would arrive where we needed to be. Their magic sent us here, and we did not come to fight you.”

  Angry murmurs rippled through the forest. “You allowed Tathrens on sacred ground, stargazer? We fight them for Solstice while you invite them to the other Spear?”

  “Lyan didn’t let them enter,” Kithr cut in. “The Guardians did. So if you have a problem with that, Milosh, take it up with the demigods who’ve spent centuries at their duties.”

  Milosh. I recognize that name. He’s from our village—one who never returned. But if this is him… I don’t recognize him at all.

  Milosh sneered at Kithr. “And what are you doing in the company of this filth, Kithr? You never hesitated to slaughter them before. You were as eager as any to claim their heads as your prizes. Have you become a coward?”

  Kithr’s fingers curled as if he would wring Milosh’s neck. Lyan spoke first, before Kithr’s rage could burst free. “The war is over, Milosh.”

  Milosh spun on Lyan. “Over? Tell that to the Tathrens who hold half our men in their dungeons. Tell that to the Captain and the rest of our warriors as Tathrens torture them. Tell them the war is over! Pull your head from the clouds and see how the world is.”

  “I do see the world, and I do know of torture and pain, Milosh,” Lyan responded in a low voice. He drew a deep breath. “The war is over, and we are not part of your vendetta. We have no part in your battle.”

  “You’re here. That makes you part of it,” Milosh said. He gestured, and elves appeared from the shadows—gaunt, scarred elves. Only a few had restrung their bows, but all carried other weapons. “You will come with us.”

  Lyan glanced at Kithr, who answered with a short nod. Lyan swung back on Shadowstar. “As you wish. But we’re not giving up our weapons.”

  Milosh’s eyes narrow. “You claim no part in the war.”

  “That doesn’t mean I’m stupid enough to enter a hostile camp with no means of defending myself,” Lyan retorted. “Lead the way.”

  Shadowstar eyed the warriors surrounding them, but Lyan patted the stallion’s neck and urged him to follow. Some elves vanished back into the forest, but most remained on the edge of sight, making their presence and their displeasure known.

  Cailean moved beside Lyan and spoke quietly. “Lyan, where are we going?”

  “To their camp, I think,” Lyan answered as softly. “Don’t tell them who you are—not even family name. Have your men avoid using titles, for your safety.”

  “I understand.” Cailean nodded.

  No, you don’t. These elves aren’t like Kithr. They’re worse. They will kill you without a moment’s hesitation, and if they know you carry Solstice… They must never even suspect that.

  Though sounds returned to the forest, its hostility only deeperned. Kithr spoke to Milosh as they rode. “Who’s in charge? Not you, I hope.”

  “Captain Nylas leads us,” Milosh snapped. “Just as he did before you abandoned the war.”

  “Nylas?” Lyan repeated, sitting straighter in the saddle. “My cousin is here?”

  “No. The Captain was captured. By Tathrens.” Milosh glared at Lyan.

  Lyan looked at the trees again. Nylas is skilled with plants. Is this his doing? Is this how he’s used his magic?

  How long has it been since anyone spoke of him? He’s my cousin, and even I hardly thought about him.

  Milosh led them to a towering, thorny bramble wall. The twisting, wicked branches reluctantly peeled back, forming an entrance and granting them access to the elven camp. Trees formed living shelters, and openings had been carved into the rock wall that formed one edge of the camp. A few elves stood guard on the bramble wall, and they watched the newcomers with open hostility. Others hung tanned hides to dry. Lyan’s gaze swept the camp, and he sat straighter in surprise. A group of youths sat on the ground, sorting feathers for arrows. At the sound of hooves, all five looked over sharply, expressions wary and as guarded as the warriors. Three boys and two girls, Lyan guessed their ages ranged from seven to fourteen. Their ears were less pointed than elven children, but more so than human ones. All were as thin as the warriors around them. The oldest girl met Lyan’s eyes as if challenging him to say something about the blotchy purple birthmark running down the right side of her face. Then, oddly, she smiled at him.

  Kithr turned to Milosh. “Kids?”

  Milosh shrugged. “Some whores don’t care what shape your ears are if you have coin. The mothers of half-breeds dump the infants at the forest’s edge. If they’re strong enough to survive until we find them, we take them in. Most haven’t seen a live stranger before.”

  “I have,” said the girl with the birthmark, standing and walking to them. “The Captain took me hunting.”

  Milosh grunted. “True. Those you saw weren’t alive for long even so.” He nodded to the girl. “That’s Patch. She’s got the forest skills. Some guess she’s Captain Nylas’s.”

  Patch studied them. She was tall and thin, her golden brown hair cut short. “Why are humans here?”

  “Tathrens,” Milosh spat.

  “No. Not that one, at least.” Patch pointed at Yion. “Why are they here?”

  “Because Lyan the Stargazer claims neither he nor they have part in our war. The Captain should judge that himself,” Milosh responded.

  “But the Captain is gone.” Patch continued to study Yion like an exotic creature. No one else spoke. The other elves and the children all watched, awaiting the conversation’s outcome. “And we can’t keep them here.”

  “We could just kill them,” Milosh said. Lyan listened. He heard the words, but more than that, he heard how Milosh spoke to this girl as if her decision mattered. As if, in the absence of Nylas, a half-Tathren child who might be Nylas’s daughter held authority.

  Patch shook her head in answer. “We don’t kill our own people. If they claim to not be part of the fight, and not to be our enemies, then they should prove it.” She tilted her head and looked at Lyan, then smiled. “If they free the Captain, they cannot be our enemies.”

  A murmur ran through the elves, some agreeing, some disagreeing. Lyan glanced at Kithr, but his friend’s face was an expressionless mask. Lyan’s eyes moved to Cailean a
nd his men, relieved that none of them understood Elven. If Aikan had followed the conversation, Lyan knew the older man’s temper would have shown itself, and here, surrounded by the very elves who had fought the war, the response would be deadly.

  Milosh spoke in Tathren. “Get off your horses and follow.”

  Lyan dismounted, taking Equinox. “Shadowstar, watch over the other horses.” Gaunt, hungry elven eyes warned him of the fate of any unprotected animal. He couldn’t say why he trusted Shadowstar’s ability to protect the rest of the animals, but Lyan was confident the stallion could.

  Shadowstar snorted in answer, nosing Lyan’s red hair. The stallion waited until all the riders dismounted, then herded the mounts together. Lyan saw Shadowstar take a warning snap at an elf reaching for a saddlebag on the packhorses. The elf glowered, but backed away.

  Milosh led them through one of the openings in the rock wall and down a maze of passages dug underground. Massive roots formed supports and braces. Lyan shivered as glowing elven lamps replaced the daylight. Earth surrounded him, too close and confining. Looking around, Lyan saw evidence that the elves lived in these tunnels. The air smelled of infrequent bathing and years of accumulated odors of living and dying. Clothes hung from pegs on the walls. Blankets lay spread on the floors; some rooms even held beds. In other rooms, Lyan saw stores of dried plants, followed by a collection of traps. He peered at the traps, and glimpsed movement.

  “Rats?” he whispered to Kithr.

  Kithr glanced toward a trap, then answered simply, “Food.”

  Milosh ushered them into one of the few rooms with a door. Scowling, he spoke in Tathren. “You will stay here until we decide what to do with you.”

  Milosh slammed the door shut as he left, and a bar thumped in place after him.

  Wooden crates littered the room. Cailean looked at them and sighed. “So this is what became of my missing wine shipment.” He tested the stability of a crate, then sat. “What’s the situation? I expect it could be worse, given that we’re still alive, armed, and not restrained.”

  “Lyan made the argument that neither you nor he is part of the war. He made it effectively enough that they’re considering it. Which is worthy of note, since they live by killing your people,” Kithr said.

  “Tathrens captured their captain and some of their men,” Lyan added. “The girl, Patch, suggested we prove our good faith by rescuing the prisoners.” He braced for reactions.

  “What?!” demanded Aikan, shaking with anger. “Prove our ‘good faith’ by attacking our people? Why would we want to free any bloodthirsty murderers? So they can continue attacking us?”

  “Do you know what Tathrens do to captive elves, Aikan?” Lyan asked quietly. “I do. Vynzent taught me. Where do you think he learned?”

  A long moment of silence answered him. Aikan looked away, silently acknowledging the reminder of Lyan’s capture by Ewart’s bastard son. In the days he’d held Lyan, Vynzent had tortured Lyan in an effort to discover the location of the Shrine of Equinox. Lyan shivered at the memory of searing metal against his skin.

  “The ‘why’ is simple enough.” Kithr leaned against the wall. “You should want to free them because it’s how you will leave here alive and without a fight. Not only that, let the elves loose, and Ewart’s men will have to deal with them. Can’t focus so much on chasing us down if they’re liable to be ambushed by elven warriors.”

  “You think they’ll follow a child’s suggestion?” Torqual scoffed.

  Kithr scowled. “Watch what you say about her. She has power, and she’s earned her place. Bear in mind, this might be your only chance to show her Tathrens as something other than enemies before she and the other children become the next generation of this war.”

  More blood, more death, more trophies no elf of Eilidh Wood should prize. Lyan sank down to the floor, back against the wall as weariness caught him. “Kithr, how long do you think they’ll keep us here?”

  “Hard to say. Long enough to try to search our gear for anything they can use, at least.”

  Lyan smiled. “That’ll take a while. Shadowstar’s watching over the other horses.” He rested Equinox on his shoulder and let his head rest against the Spear as his eyes drifted shut. “Wake me when they come back.”

  “We’re surrounded, in this camp of elves, and you’re going to sleep?” Aikan demanded.

  “Let him be,” Cailean said.

  Lyan neither heard nor cared about further conversation. He slept.

  o0o

  Someone shook Lyan’s shoulder. He started awake and opened his eyes. Kithr stood over him, and for a moment, in the shadows, Lyan lingered in a dream where Kithr presented grisly war prizes as if Lyan would accept them.

  “Lyan. Nylas’s men are ready to talk.”

  Lyan rubbed his eyes. Kithr’s hands were empty, no heads hanging in his grasp, no blood staining his clothes. Cailean and his men stood unharmed, watching Milosh and the three other elves who had taken posts just inside the open door.

  Stiff muscles protested as Lyan stood, clutching Equinox and trying to ignore the gnawing hunger that woke when he moved. “Have you decided?”

  “Normally, there would be nothing to decide: we would kill the Tathrens,” Milosh answered in Tathren. “But as you insist on complicating matters, stargazer, we have to offer some alternative. If you free Captain Nylas and our comrades from the keep of a Tathren called Ewart Col’Renn, we will allow you passage through this forest.” He paused, eyes narrowing. “To ensure you do this, one of you will remain with us until the Captain returns.”

  Lyan’s breath caught a moment. He saw the glitters in the eyes of the elves as they looked at the humans, and knew whoever stayed faced a far more certain danger than those who left on this rescue. Cailean and his men exchanged uneasy glances.

  I could stay. Cailean and his men will be safer away from here. I’d be… down here, but… I can manage, if I must.

  Lyan opened his mouth. “I—”

  Kithr cut him off. “You, Lyan, will go with them. Milosh and his lot insult us by claiming our word has no value and we have no honor? Fine. Then I’ll stay.”

  Milosh and the other elves gaped at Kithr in open disbelief. Kithr crossed his arms and glared at them. Milosh found his voice. “You will stay, Kithr? In place of… these?”

  “I will stay,” Kithr said coldly. “And if you’re too stupid to understand why, there’s no point in explaining.”

  “You’re a fool if you think they have any reason to return for you.”

  Kithr’s eyes narrowed, but Cailean spoke. “I no more intend to abandon one of my companions than you do to leave your captain imprisoned.”

  Milosh barked a sharp laugh. “Do you know anything, Tathren? Anything at all about your ‘companion’ and what he’s done in the war?”

  “I know enough,” Cailean answered, voice flat. “And I know both sides inflicted tortures enough. Kithr is one of us, and we will return for him.”

  Milosh spat on the dirt floor. “Fine. Let’s see if a stargazer and a handful of Tathrens can succeed without their only warrior.”

  “Do you think I’ll leave Lyan here with you?” Kithr said. “He’s endured enough of your insults. I will not subject him to more. Now get out. We’ll come up when we’re ready to go.”

  Lyan saw an angry tic in Milosh’s forehead. The elf spun on his heels and stormed out with his companions, slamming the door.

  “Kithr, are you sure?” Lyan began.

  “I’m sure it’s better than you staying here,” Kithr answered, voice flat. “And you stand a better chance of keeping the prisoners from killing your Tathrens once they’re free than I do. Remember, Lyan: the elves you rescue will not hesitate to attack, regardless of whether or not those Tathrens help free them. If you have to choose between saving them and saving your Tathrens, pick your Tathrens.”

  Lyan started, staring at Kithr. “What?”

  Kithr switched to Elven. “Look around, Lyan. You see what these winte
rborn have become. You know it. They are Lost.”

  Lyan drew a sharp breath, chills running icy fingers down his spine. He cast an uneasy glance at the door, as if Milosh would burst in demanding retribution for the insult. Only elves who turned so far from the ways of Eilidh Wood that the forest itself refused them were called Lost. Unless they found their way back, Lost elves went insane, eventually becoming little more than savage, murderous animals. “Kithr—”

  “They are,” Kithr said harshly. “These should hardly be called elves. They are Lost to Eilidh Wood. Keep your Tathrens. At least they have honor.” He paused, gaze hard and serious. “One more thing, Lyan. Don’t trust Nylas. He was a cold-hearted bastard the last time I saw him, even before the war ended. I don’t care that he’s your blood kin. Do not trust him. Do you understand?”

  Lyan lowered his eyes. “I don’t like it, Kithr. But I understand.”

  “Good. Don’t like it. You shouldn’t like it. When you start to like it, you’re on your way to becoming one of them. Don’t like it. Just do it.”

  Chapter Three

  Ahebban, Watcher on the Walls

  Lay your hand upon our work

  May your eyes be ever on these halls

  That never may magic one stone move

  “Lord Cailean, this is madness! We cannot seriously be planning to free elves!” Aikan burst.

  “From Ewart’s keep,” Cailean said. “From my enemy’s stronghold. If that is not the last place he would expect to find me, it’s close. The Guardians sent us here for some reason; there must be opportunity here.”

  Shiolto, Dalrian, and Torqual listened to the argument. They looked between the two men as if expecting someone to throw a punch and start a brawl.

  “And how will we enter?” Aikan countered. “Will they open the gate at your asking?”

  “They should,” Cailean growled. “Ewart’s rebellion or not, I’m still their lord. They won’t, but they should.”

  Kithr leaned back against the wall. “Your mercenary found his way into your keep, didn’t he?”

  “By the guidance of my god,” Yion answered. “I will pray for his further leading, but I cannot say whether or not he will grant it.”