by T.A. Barron
The voice in the shadows growled, “Then we are not really ready yet, are we, my Harlech?”
Nervously, the warrior rubbed the long scar on his jaw. “N-no, Master.”
“And my boat?”
“That’s ready, aye.” He pointed at the shore of the lake near the spot where the dam met this side of the canyon. “Checked it over meself.”
“Its color?”
“Pure lily white, Master. Just like ye said.”
There was a rustle, and the hooded sorcerer stepped out of the shadows. “A white vessel,” he rasped, grinding the tip of the staff into the red rocks underfoot. “Mmmyesss, just as Merlin himself once used. Very good, my Harlech, very good.”
The slab of a face relaxed slightly, and he asked, “So what’s yer plan fer the slaves? After the dam’s all finished, I mean.”
In the darkness of the hood, a pair of eyes flashed menacingly. “Need I tell you everything? Kill them. All of them— from the biggest horse to the smallest light flyer.”
Harlech’s head bobbed eagerly. “Aye, Master.”
The sorcerer turned and started to walk down to the road that led to the lake, then paused. “While you’re at it, do something especially painful to that old elf. He annoys me, Harlech, with all that moaning and constant bleeding of his. I kept him alive in case I needed him to make his granddaughter obey, but he is no more use to me now.”
A new gust of wind whirled across the rim, carrying dirt from the quarries and splinters of branches and bark from the clear-cut trees across the canyon. But this time the sorcerer didn’t seem to notice. Grasping the staff in one pale hand, he lifted the other toward the flickering star overhead, and uttered a single word.
“Now.”
With that, he strode confidently toward the lake and the white boat that awaited him.
• • •
On the canyon’s other rim, near the far end of the dam, an odd assortment of spies peered out from a jumble of unused logs. But for the sturdy fingers grasping branches, the brown curls fluttering in the wind, and the shining eyes in the shadows, the companions couldn’t be seen, even by the circling ghoulacas. For Tamwyn, Elli, Nuic, Henni, and Brionna held themselves as still as the stones of the dam itself.
Tamwyn crouched as close as possible to the dirt ramp that led to the top of the dam, hidden by a spray of branches and needles on a burly pine that had lived more than four hundred years before being felled. His dark eyes watched the slaves trying to move stones and scaffolding across the dam, while burly men lashed their whips. From Tamwyn’s tunic pocket, Batty Lad also watched, his upright ears pink with rage.
“Terrible,” muttered Elli, who was kneeling beneath the shattered roots of a hemlock. She scanned the array of crude saws, axes, and other tools that lay scattered on the ground by the ramp—as well as the body of a dead foal, its back sliced by whips, next to the canyon rim. “And those poor creatures! None of them deserved this.”
“And none of them are human,” added Nuic from his perch on her shoulder. His colors were all reds and browns, like the dried blood on the horse’s back. “Have you noticed? The only humans here are holding whips.”
“But why?” Elli scraped the last flake of bark off a branch and threw it at the ground.
“Hmmmpff. You of all people should know.” Nuic paced up her shoulder so that his round form touched her ear. “Creatures almost never enslave their own kind. And even when they do, they pretend the slaves are different somehow. And inferior—so they can be forced to work.”
“And some slave masters,” said Brionna bitterly from behind an elm trunk, “just like to be cruel.” She looked all across the dam for any sign of her grandfather, without success.
Henni, beside her, merely shook his head. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t approve, but that he just didn’t understand how one people could enslave another. Where was the fun in that?
Keeping to the shadows of the logs, Tamwyn crept over to the others. “All right,” he whispered. “Here’s the plan.” He glanced uncertainly at Elli. “It’s not much, but it’s the best I can do.”
He cleared his throat. “Three things we’ve got to do: free those slaves, stop the sorcerer from making his crystal, and get back the staff.”
“And one more thing.” Brionna fingered her bowstring. “I’ve got to find him.”
Elli, kneeling beside the elf, touched her shoulder. “I’ll be there to help you.” She tapped the water gourd on her hip. “With this.”
Grim as Brionna’s face was, it softened ever so slightly. As she returned Elli’s gaze, there was a touch of hope in her eyes.
“So here’s the plan,” continued Tamwyn. “You two wait for my, uh, distraction . . . then make a dash onto the dam. Free as many slaves as you can. We’ll create some confusion to help you. But watch those men with the whips. They’ll probably have other weapons, too.”
“No,” corrected Brionna. “There are twelve men in all. But except for a few who carry daggers, all they have are whips. The sorcerer doesn’t want them too powerful, I think.” Deep furrows filled her brow. “Only Harlech carries weapons.”
“Harlech?”
“The sorcerer’s second in command. Big as an oak stump, he is, and . . .” Her voice trailed off momentarily. “Very brutal.”
Tamwyn nodded grimly. “How many arrows do you have left?”
Brionna didn’t even check her quiver. “Enough.”
“Say now, what about me?” Henni thumped his small chest expectantly.
Tamwyn pointed to the far side of the lake. “You see that boat down there, just below the dam? That’s for White Hands, I’m sure of it. The Lady of the Lake said that Merlin took a white boat out to deep water to draw élano to the staff. So your job, Henni, is to sink that boat.”
A wide grin spread across his face. “Now that sounds like fun.”
“Have your slingshot ready just in case.”
Henni chuckled. “But of course, clumsy man.”
Elli nudged Tamwyn’s shoulder. “What’s this distraction of yours?”
He sighed. “Well, my first thought was to make a trick fire—like the one I did with those wood shavings back in Stoneroot.”
“Right,” she replied with a wicked glint in her eye. “The time I almost killed you.”
Tamwyn shook his head of long black hair. “One of the times, you mean.” Then the humor vanished from his face. “But that only worked because it was small. When I tried it later on, when those ghoulacas attacked us in the forest, I couldn’t keep it going.”
“You’ve learned some things since then,” offered Elli.
He shook his head. “Not enough. It takes a real wizard to do that kind of trick right.”
“You mean that kind of illusion,” snarled Nuic, now an irritated shade of yellowish green. “Until you realize that illusions are just as real as you are, Tamwyn, they’ll always be just infantile tricks.”
“Say what you like,” he retorted, “but I can’t count on that to work. No, the best distraction I can do is to run along the canyon rim screaming and shouting. That’ll bring the ghoulacas away from the dam.”
“And right onto your head!” Elli grimaced. “That’s just plain suicide.”
Henni stroked his chin. “Could be exciting for a while, though.”
“A very short while!” Elli was adamant. “You’ve got to think of something else.”
From Tamwyn’s pocket, a small voice chattered, “Pleeease, manny man, woojaja think up somethings else?”
He shrugged. “What else? We’re running out of time, and . . . I don’t have a better idea.”
“Wait,” demanded Elli, shoving some curls off her forehead. “Maybe you could speak to those birds! Scare them off! The way you did the dragon, remember?”
He scrunched his nose in doubt. “That was just one creature, not twenty! And besides, I already knew the dragon’s language. This idea—”
“Just might work.” Elli squeezed his arm. “And ke
ep you alive, too.”
The sprite on her shoulder grunted. “For another minute or two, anyway.”
Tamwyn peered up at the savage birds, listening closely to their shrieks. “Well . . . it might work.”
She gave a vigorous nod. “Try it, then. And then after you’ve sent them away, you can go after the staff.”
“One thing at a time, all right?” he said gruffly, pushing her hand away.
But the truth was, he had already been thinking about the staff. She’s right, I should go after it. Who else can possibly take it back? But how could he tell her that he was more afraid of the staff than the sorcerer? Afraid of what might happen if he even touched it?
“Look,” said Brionna, pointing to the opposite rim. A gray-cloaked figure with a staff was walking briskly down to the water’s edge. “The sorcerer. He’s going to the boat!”
Tamwyn pushed his doubts aside, looked skyward, and tried to concentrate. On bloodred talons and dagger-sharp beaks. On transparent wings riding the wind. On inbred anger. Hatred. The overwhelming urge to kill.
He watched the blurred streaks of the ghoulacas, concentrating all his thoughts on them. Fly away! he called urgently. Fly away. Stay here and you will die!
A new burst of shrieks suddenly rent the air. The ghoulacas flew faster, talons slashing the air. They seemed confused, or even frightened. But they were not leaving the dam!
Tamwyn glanced across the canyon. The sorcerer had stopped abruptly. He was scanning the sky, sensing something.
Fly away, urged Tamwyn. To the nearest portal. It’s your only chance to escape!
More confusion. The birds shrieked wildly.
Go! Go now. Before you all die!
Suddenly several ghoulacas broke away and streaked toward the forest of Woodroot. Their screeches, carried by the wind, echoed across the white lake and the swath of clearcut trees. Now more wheeled in flight. More deadly beaks and talons followed. Soon the sky above the dam was almost free of them.
“It’s working!” cried Elli, almost jumping out of her hiding place among the logs.
“Hmmmpff,” muttered Nuic. “Beginner’s luck.”
Tamwyn shot him a wink. “Just a trick, that’s all.” He tugged on the sleeve of Elli’s Drumadian robe. “This is our chance. Let’s go!”
Together, they stood and started running up the dirt ramp to the top of the dam. A stallion, chained in the lead of one group of slaves, saw them coming. The great horse whinnied, reared up on his hind legs, and kicked furiously, ripping the chain apart. Wolves, dogs, donkeys, deer, and a tethered falcon nearby halted their work, trying to learn what was happening. More of them saw the rescuers and raised their voices in howls, brays, screeches, and roars.
Surprised, the men cursed and cracked their whips, but the slaves’ resistance only grew. A brawny bear snapped the links on his chains and charged at two men. A wolf-mother bit through the leashes on her cubs, then pounced on Harlech himself, just as he stepped onto the dam with Granda’s limp body over his shoulder. Soon the whole dam boiled in chaos as dwarves wielded their hammers, horses their hooves, and goats their heads—all in the cause of rebellion.
That was when the cloaked figure on the far bank cast aside his staff and raised both hands above his head. Into the rising wind, he started shouting wrathful words.
39 • Strange Meetings
Tamwyn dashed across the top of the dam and plunged into the fray. Close behind came Elli, who carried Nuic in one arm like a bright red ball, and Brionna, whose bow was already nocked with an obsidian-tipped arrow. Henni swiftly disappeared in the melee of rioting deer, horses, donkeys, wolves, and goats—but not before he struck a slave master right in the eye with a pebble from his slingshot.
Seeing that some slaves were tangling themselves in the chains that bound their necks and legs, Tamwyn grabbed a heavy stone hammer that had been dropped by a red-bearded dwarf. He started moving among the rioting animals, smashing chain links until they burst apart, freezing dozens of them. The hammer rang triumphantly as he swung blow after blow. At the same time, a group of light flyers flew out of the quarry pit where they’d been forced to illuminate dark places. They gathered around him, like a glowing circle of sparks, bravely zooming into the faces of any men who tried to interfere.
One slave he worked hard to liberate was a black mare whose left hind leg had been so badly sliced by Harlech’s sword blade that she could only hobble around painfully. But that didn’t stop her, once freed, from kicking over the wooden post that tied down dozens of birds. Suddenly, their tethers released, crows and owls and cranes rose into the sky, their wings flapping with a joyous din.
Elli and Brionna, meanwhile, untied ropes, pulled off collars, and herded creatures off the top of the dam to the canyon rim. In all the confusion, they soon were separated. Elli knelt beside a goat who was bleeding from the neck, hoping to revive it with her healing water. She didn’t see, though, the dagger-wielding man who came rushing at her from behind.
Brionna did. One arrow whizzed through the air—and the man fell dead, only a few paces short of Elli. Even as Brionna felt a wave of relief, she also felt a sickening twist of her stomach: But for the ghoulaca who had attacked her, and the rare meal of meat, this was the first time she had ever killed another creature.
She drew an unsteady breath, then started to rejoin Elli— when a storm of angry screeches filled the sky. She looked up, her heart frozen. For she knew that sound all too well.
“Ghoulacas!”
Called back by the sorcerer, the deadly birds sped toward the rioting slaves. Plunging at the dam, they shrieked wildly, talons and beaks ripping the air. Below, slaves and masters alike halted their battle. A hush fell over the scene; even the wailing wind held its breath.
Tamwyn, who had just freed a pair of deer, was caught by surprise. He stood on the end of the dam nearest the sorcerer’s tower, peering skyward. Instantly, he focused his thoughts again on the birds. Go back. Back, I say! If you don’t, you’ll . . .
He stopped himself. The ghoulacas weren’t heeding him—or even hearing his voice. Some magic more powerful than his own was blocking his words!
Spinning around, he saw the sorcerer standing on the redrock bank above the lake. The staff lay on the ground beside him. Both his arms were raised and he was chanting to the returning birds. Though his face was hidden by his hooded cloak, there was no mistaking his rage. His voice shook with anger and his words rang of death.
With the ghoulacas’ return, Harlech was the first to start fighting again. Brandishing his broadsword in one hand and his spiked club in the other, he waded right into a knot of slaves midway across the dam. With one swing, he cut off the head of a great brown bear who was wrestling with a slave master. Two emaciated wolves and a young ox fell dead before he’d taken more than a few steps. His own angry roar rose above the shrieks of ghoulacas and the anguished cries of the slaves.
Brionna, seeing him, nocked a new arrow. She’d glimpsed Harlech only moments before, with Granda’s limp body slung over his shoulder. Then she’d lost them both in the melee—until now. What had happened to Granda? Was he still alive? Even her sharp elf’s eyes couldn’t find him. But she had found the brute who had beaten him to the very edge of death. Grimly, she aimed straight at his chest.
Just before she released the arrow, something struck her hard in the back. A frightened colt, entangled in his shackles, stumbled right into her. Brionna went sprawling across the stones, while her arrow sailed into the air, whistling, before it plummeted into the white lake. Her bow flew out of her hand, skittering into a crowd of hooves, paws, and feet.
As ghoulacas drove down on the dam and whips cracked the air, the slaves panicked. One group of horses stampeded, crushing many smaller animals under their hooves and dragging others along by tethers and chains. Several dwarves and one stag tried to flee by jumping into the lake, but ghoulacas still pursued them, slashing viciously at any signs of life. Soon pools of red formed on the water’s surface
, before they melted into the dimly glowing white waves that lapped the canyon walls.
The slaves’ rebellion became a rout. Everywhere on the dam lay dead and dying creatures. Some, facing the wrath of ghoulacas, chose instead to leap—not into the lake but the other way, into the rocky canyon far below. Many slaves continued to fight—and fight hard—but most of them already knew that any chance for freedom had been lost.
Tamwyn was one of those who persisted. Wielding his hammer like a hefty sword, he knocked one slave master unconscious, and threw another over the side of the dam into the lake. He found himself standing over the white water, panting hard—when suddenly he caught sight of the sorcerer.
The lone figure was climbing down the last stretch of rocks to the water’s edge, one hand grasping his hood and the other holding Merlin’s staff. His dark cloak ruffled in the wind like a blackened sail, while spirals of dirt blew all around him. In just a minute or two he’d reach the white boat—which was still afloat!
Tamwyn grimaced. Either Henni had forgotten about sinking the boat—just the sort of thing a hoolah would do—or he simply had never made it across the dam. But the result was the same. Tamwyn was the only one who could stop the sorcerer now.
He glanced skyward. Beyond the blur of ghoulacas’ wings, beyond all the raking red talons, he saw a single star. It glittered only weakly now, fading as swiftly as his chances.
He wiped a cut on his brow that was dripping blood into his eye. Maybe I can still beat him to the boat! Just hope I don’t have to touch the staff. . . .
He started to run—when all of a sudden he heard raucous cries above his head. He didn’t even have time to look up before the ghoulacas descended. Three killer birds landed on him at once, slashing and biting mercilessly.
Tamwyn swung his hammer hard and slammed one ghoulaca, though he couldn’t tell just where. With a bone-cracking thud, the bird fell to the stones at his feet, but continued to rip at him with bloodstained talons. He kept swinging wildly, though he couldn’t see his attackers well enough to fight effectively. All he could do was flail about and try to stay alive.
