The mage looked up at them with eyes suddenly malignant, and Tanis fought back second thoughts. He’d always been cautious—too cautious, his companions sometimes told him. This time he would push ahead without continual second-guessing, he vowed.
With some effort, the ancient wizard plucked two objects from a small, charred, watertight pouch that hung from his belt; he held them up. The first was a tattered piece of cloth that Tanis could see had once been bright and colorful, full of shades of red, yellow, and purple. The second object was a simple wooden writing instrument. The wizard handed Tanis the quill but kept the fragment of fabric.
“The cloth is all I have left from her,” the mage said sadly. “It is the last remaining shred of a scarf she once made for me. Take it and give it to her as a token of my love.”
“And the quill?” asked Tanis.
“Take it with you, also, and leave it in the past. It was for this that the sligs were after me. This plan is the safest way of keeping it out of their reach.”
Sligs, known for their sharp teeth, ugliness, and generally antisocial attitudes, were rare near Solace. “Why would these sligs want your quill?” questioned Tanis. “It looks ordinary.”
“The quill foretells danger,” the mage replied. “Whoever possesses it will never be caught by surprise. You can see how valuable it would be to an army of such creatures intent upon conquest.” Kishpa’s lips tightened in resolve. “They must not have it, Tanthalas!”
Tanis was about to ask another question when Clotnik interceded. “Kishpa is weak. We must hurry.”
The mage stroked the faded piece of cloth and handed it reluctantly to Tanis. The half-elf carefully concealed the cloth and the quill inside his tunic.
The wizard nodded his thanks and then closed his eyes.
But suddenly, just before he began his spell-casting, the relic of a being that once was full of life lifted his raw, bleeding hands, seemingly oblivious to pain, and pointed at the half-elf. “There is one more thing you must know,” Kishpa whispered. “Someone will try to stop you from freeing my Brandella.”
“Who?” asked Tanis, leaning lower to hear better.
“Me.”
As Tanis recovered from his surprise, the mage intoned words that Tanis had never heard before. The otherworldly sounds were musical, not so much language as an intricate series of notes. Kishpa repeated them again, then a third time. Tanis glanced at Clotnik.
“It’s not working,” the half-elf said softly.
Clotnik glared. “Shhh!”
But then the mage closed his hands into two fists, shook them, and then opened them again. Dead skin dropped from his fingers in ribbons, but the mage didn’t appear to notice. He closed his fists a second time. Shook them. Opened them. Closed them a third time. Shook them … and then Tanis disappeared.
PART II
5
The Dark Pit
Tanis was still looking down, but instead of seeing Kishpa lying on the ground, he saw the black leather boots of a soldier, toes pointed in his direction Tanis immediately lifted his eyes, catching a glint of sunlight on the blade of a broadsword swooping straight down toward his head!
Elves revere life. Before a battle, elven troops and leaders gather to ask forgiveness for the lives they will take in the coming dispute. But this time, there was no time to move, think, or feel. Suddenly, another sword came from out of nowhere to block the downward sweep of the first. There was a loud clang as steel struck steel, and a voice shouted, “Draw your blade!”
Tanis didn’t need to be told twice. Instinct from a lifetime of battle experience took over. He threw his right shoulder into his attacker, knocking him down, then pulled his own silver-inlaid broadsword from its scabbard. He intended to protect himself while getting away from whatever madness he had been plunged into. Standing at the ready, he quickly realized that he was in the midst of a small group of elven and human soldiers engaged in deadly hand-to-hand combat in an opening in a forest.
The half-elf had but one problem. He didn’t know which side he was on.
A human soldier, his long, brown hair greasy, settled the issue when he lunged at the half-elf, his sword’s point aimed at Tanis’s heart. Tanis parried deftly. The human countered by swinging his sword in a wide arc, trying to slash the half-elf’s left arm. Tanis sidestepped the flashing blade, kicking the human in the stomach. The soldier clutched his belly and doubled over in pain, his groans mingling with the cries of other humans and elves in the glade.
An elven soldier, seeing the human down and defenseless, stepped in front of Tanis and brought his saber down hard across the back of his enemy’s exposed neck. A life ended.
Tanis wanted to look at the faces of the soldiers and search for his father. But with the air heavy with the stench of blood and sweat, with death at every turn, he didn’t have the luxury of studying the features of all these potential killers. Better to get away, he decided. Before he could manage it, though, another human attacked, slamming his shield into Tanis’s back. The half-elf went down face first. Leaping onto Tanis’s prostrate body, the soldier threw away his shield and pinned the half-elf under his greater weight. From the corner of his eye, Tanis saw a huge, slablike hand scoop up a heavy rock. The half-elf fought for survival, wrapping his arm around one of the human’s legs and then heaving with all his might.
The rock went flying out of the soldier’s hands as he fell over onto his back and spun halfway around. Tanis didn’t kill this one, either. Instead, he swiftly rolled in the other direction, grabbed the human’s shield, and used it and his sword to hold back the surging skirmish line of enemy soldiers.
But not for long.
“More humans!” cried an elven voice in warning. Tanis instinctively knew exactly where to look. He felt the ground shaking, and he knew it was cavalry. The horsemen could only be coming from the open field to the east. In the strong light of late morning, they thundered across the meadow and swooped down on the small elven defense force with cries of vengeance. Lances impaled the elves, and swords cut them to pieces.
It was a rout. Tanis managed to knock one rider off his horse and break the lance of another, but there were too many.
“Retreat!” cried an elven leader. Then, more to the point, he yelled, “Run!”
Tanis fled, pursued by two humans on horseback. It was a hopeless race, and Tanis knew it. He needed protection fast. Off to his left, he saw a tree stump. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. He veered, the horsemen gaining on him with every step.
He reached the stump and circled behind it just moments before the pair of horsemen closed in on him. Delaying the inevitable, Tanis swung his sword and hacked off the point of one lance before ducking below the point of the second spear, which whooshed past his ear.
The horsemen galloped by him, kicking up a cloud of dust that blinded and choked Tanis. He tried to breathe, to clear his eyes, knowing that he had to be ready for the horsemen when they turned to make another pass at him.
He heard the horses rear and neigh, and then came their pounding hooves, drawing closer yet remaining unseen somewhere beyond the slowly settling cloud of dust. He heard the screams of other elves, unseen beyond the cloud, as they suffered death blows from the humans. Tanis steeled himself, hoping he would see the horsemen before it was too late. Then, just a short distance away, he saw the horses. The riders leaned forward to get a better look at their victim as they charged in for the kill.…
That’s when the two hands reached up out of what proved to be a hollow tree trunk and grabbed Tanis from behind, pulling him down into the darkness.
Tanis lay stunned on the damp ground, his face caught in a dim shaft of light from the killing field up above. He felt something—A sword? No, too blunt. A stick?—poking him in the side. He stirred.
“Life is wonderful. Without it, you’d be dead,” a voice whispered. A laugh followed from the darkness.
“Who are you?” Tanis asked, dazed from the fall.
The voi
ce was harsh, gravelly, and deep, despite its current hush. “I’m called many things, very few of them complimentary, but my name is Little Shoulders Scowarr. And I’m not sure that’s so complimentary, either.”
“You’re a human?” Tanis said, searching the ground for his sword.
“Your sword is just a little to the right of your hand. Be careful of the blade,” Scowarr said. “Your eyes will get used to the darkness soon.”
The voice may have come from a human, but its owner had rescued him from the other humans. And enemies tend not to help their foes find a lost weapon, Tanis conceded. He grasped the sword and eased it into his scabbard. He could just make out a figure in the shadows.
The voice rose to a tenor now but remained whispery. “Come with me, but keep your head down. This is a very narrow tunnel.”
The half-elf followed the shadow into the gloom until there was no shadow, only a voice: “Before those soldiers showed up, the village was so healthy they had to kill one of its citizens just to start a cemetery.”
Tanis was only half listening. “Is this village called Ankatavaka?” he asked.
He felt, rather than heard, his companion come to a dead stop before him. The voice sank deep again, with a new, irritated rasp. “That’s a joke, boy. Where’s your sense of humor?”
Under the current circumstance, the half-elf thought, a sense of humor paled next to traits necessary for survival. “Please … is it Ankatavaka?” he persisted.
“Yes,” the voice said, obviously annoyed, “and while I’m still willing to talk to you, I guess I should tell you to stay to your left when the tunnel divides.” The human resumed walking.
A few moments later, Tanis fought to keep from getting pinned between the narrowing tunnel walls. “I’m not sure I can squeeze through,” he called out.
The voice seemed to have lost its irritation. “Keep going. If I could, I would happily give you my little shoulders, nickname and all. It’s just this sort of activity that they’re great for.”
Who cares? Tanis wondered. Actually, the voice was beginning to sound more like a kender than a human; Tas wandered conversationally, too, but the owner of this voice had displayed an unkenderlike tendency toward irritability. Tanis resolved to humor his rescuer. “Does this cave widen eventually?” he asked.
“The other advantage,” the voice prattled on hollowly, “is that I make a rather thin target. As you can see, I like to look on the bright side. If only there were some light. By the way, what is your name?”
“Tanis Half-Elven.”
“Well, Tanis—may I call you that, or do you prefer the entire title?”
Tanis puffed with the effort of inching along a passageway designed more for a dwarf or kender than someone of human blood. “Anyone who saves my life can call me anything he wants. And if you don’t mind my asking, why did you save my life?”
The voice, ranging up into the alto register now as its owner became winded, reverted to an earlier question.
“First of all, Tanis, the tunnel widens again soon and then cuts to the right before there’s a sudden drop. You’ll fit through just fine. And …” Tanis heard several deep breaths, and the voice dipped back to baritone. “And as for why I pulled you down here into this miserable dark pit, the answer is simple. I need protection. And now you owe me your life.”
Tanis grimaced in the darkness. Certainly the old mage, breathing out his life on some lakeshore a century in the future, did not have the time left for Tanis to let himself get diverted from the quest for Brandella. And Tanis definitely had priorities of his own. In his mind, however, he could hear Sturm Brightblade quoting the Solamnic oath, “My honor is my life,” and he suspected that his former companion would find the time to help Scowarr, regardless of the consequences.
Scowarr paused—for dramatic effect, Tanis was beginning to realize—then said, “You know, some people pay their debts when they’re due, some pay them when they’re overdue, and some never do.”
“That’s clever,” Tanis conceded.
“But you didn’t laugh,” Scowarr complained.
“I smiled. You just couldn’t see me because it’s so dark.”
“Not good enough. Anyway,” the man persisted, “the question is, Are you going to pay me back?”
Tanis made one last effort to escape from the responsibility that now pressed about him like the tunnel’s narrow walls. “I didn’t ask you to save my life,” he pointed out.
The voice balanced annoyance with an equally irritating note of reasonableness. “True, but I’m asking you to save mine. And it comes out the same in the end. Let’s not quibble, Tanis. Can I count on you?” Tanis could almost hear his companion hold his breath for the answer.
Tanis had to be honest—or as honest as he could be. If he tried to explain the whole story, the human never would believe him. “I’m here to find two people,” he said. “I must find them as fast as I can, and then, after I find them, I must leave immediately. I have no choice in this. If I can protect you in the meantime, I will. You have my word.”
The gravelly tone dropped from the voice. “Good,” Scowarr said. “And you can have my whole sentence.”
Tanis groaned.
6
The Rising Tide
“Some people farm. Some tan hides. There are tinkers, smiths, teachers, clerics, soldiers. Everybody does something. Me,” said Scowarr, “I tell jokes.”
“To earn your daily bread?” asked Tanis doubtfully as he inspected his broadsword for damage.
The thin-framed human, whose otherwise youthful face was deeply etched with laugh lines around the eyes and mouth, did not answer. Instead, he picked at the small, smokeless campfire that burned in their seacliff wall cave.
Tanis thought he had embarrassed his new friend into silence. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.
“I’m the one who’s sorry,” Scowarr replied mournfully. “Of all the jackanapes I could have saved today, I had to pick one who doesn’t laugh at my jokes, who doesn’t smile at my cleverisms, who hasn’t even heard of me!”
“Shhh! There’s no telling who else is in these tunnels,” said Tanis, pointing toward the last hole through which they’d crawled. Scowarr had led Tanis through a honeycomb of tunnels, depositing them in a cave that lay just north of Ankatavaka, facing west. The noon sun beat down on the sea, but the cave remained damp and chilly.
The human glanced nervously over his shoulder, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes for a moment. “Don’t scare me like that,” he said. “I was sick once and went to a healer. I told him that I was afraid to die. He said, ‘Don’t worry. That’s the last thing you’ll do.’ ”
Tanis smiled.
“That’s it?” Scowarr demanded. “One of my best jokes, and all you can do is lift one-half of one lip?”
Tanis hastened to conciliate the man. “I guess my thoughts are elsewhere. Sorry.”
“ ‘Sorry,’ ” Scowarr mimicked. He pouted and sat, wordless, until the moments stretched uncomfortably long. Finally, he spoke. “I was dragged from my home because of my fame as a funny man and forced to tell my jokes to this idiot army of humans.” He spat out the word “humans” with sarcasm.
“But you’re a …” Tanis began, then, thinking better of it, leaned closer to inspect his sword as though he’d just found a nick in the blade.
Scowarr continued heedlessly. “ ‘Entertain them,’ the officer told me. ‘Make them laugh; they’re far from home, and their morale is low. You always make people laugh, Little Shoulders. That’s what your neighbors say. Make my men laugh. Make them laugh, or I’ll change your name to Broken Shoulders. Or worse.’ ”
“That’s why you’re here?” Tanis interjected.
Scowarr nodded. “And I’ve begun to think that my neighbors were trying to get rid of me.”
Tanis wasn’t sure if that was a joke or not. Luckily, Scowarr didn’t explode when the half-elf neglected to laugh.
“We were just a few miles from here,” Scowarr we
nt on. “It was yesterday. There must have been three hundred soldiers sitting on a hillside while their commander waited for orders.
“ ‘Make them laugh,’ he said. ‘Now.’
“ ‘But it’s the middle of the afternoon,’ I told him. ‘It’s hot. They’re tired. They’re in a bad mood. This isn’t a good time.’
“ ‘They’re hot, they’re tired, and in a foul mood,’ their commander said. ‘And that’s just why they need a good laugh to keep their spirits up.’
“ ‘It’s not the right time,’ I complained again. So he put a knife to my throat … and I told my jokes.”
Tanis leaned forward, suffering for the poor, frail soul who sat across the fire from him. “What happened?” he asked, knowing that Scowarr needed to tell it.
Scowarr looked out the cave entrance at the Straits of Algoni. The waves danced in the distance, but Tanis knew the funny man wasn’t seeing the beauty of the natural world. He was back in time, suffering humiliation in front of hundreds of soldiers.
“They laughed,” Scowarr conceded. “They laughed a lot. I was overjoyed. Such a big audience.” His voice began to rise again, and he poked once more at the fire. “Such gales of laughter; it was enough to make you feel like a god. Except they weren’t laughing with me, Tanis. After I’d told maybe eight or ten jokes, one of them—one of my own kind!—shot an arrow at me.”
Tanis sat up, shocked, against the dank cave wall, and Scowarr hastened to add, “Oh, he didn’t intend to hit me with it. And he didn’t. But he inspired dozens, then scores, of them to do the same. Can you imagine it?” Scowarr’s face glowed hotly with the memory of his fear and shame. “They didn’t like my jokes, so they decided to kill me. They thought that was funny!”
Tanis the Shadow Years Page 4
