by T.A. Barron
21 • Honor
The wind of Malóch gusted, bearing the scent of dung fires, iron weapons, and approaching battle. Meanwhile, the free peoples’ army launched into a heated debate—several of them, in fact—over whether and how to respond to the gobsken army’s request for a parley. Many suspected a trap, but others felt strongly that the request shouldn’t be denied. The tumultuous debates soon led to angry quarrels and scuffles, and would have turned into complete chaos if three natural leaders hadn’t emerged.
Kerwin, an eagleman whose feathers shone with the same brown color as the surrounding plains, was the first to bring the unruly allies to order. He succeeded only by swooping just overhead, wings spread wide, screeching his eagle’s cry of warning. When, at last, the crowd fell silent, Kerwin vowed that he would use his talons to tear apart anyone who wouldn’t speak civilly and in turn. This threat, combined with his reputation as a warrior of very great power (and very little patience), did the trick. Kerwin, hovering above the group, began to call on people to speak, one at a time. And so humans, elves, eaglefolk, giants, maryths, and even faeries spoke their minds—every kind of people except the flamelons, who remained apart from the rest. For to the flamelons, the notion of a parley was a sign of great weakness, too repulsive even to consider.
In time, a second leader emerged: Lleu, the Drumadian priest widely known as the trusted confidant of High Priestess Coerria. Speaking calmly and clearly, with the silver-winged Catha on his shoulder, Lleu argued that it would be a mistake not to send representatives to the parley. Even if this were some sort of trap, canny representatives needn’t fall into it. There was even a chance that they could learn something valuable. And finally, Lleu reminded everyone, there was still a possibility—no matter how small—that this parley could lead to peace. That, in some way no one could predict, this meeting might actually avoid needless bloodshed.
“Then let us attack them right after the parley,” declared Brionna, who was the next person to speak. She shook her longbow in the air. “And let us stun them with our sheer ferocity as warriors.”
She waited, as the many cheers and shouts subsided. “As much as I, too, would much prefer peace, I have abandoned any hope for it. This army we face today has only one goal: to defeat us utterly, so that Avalon can be ruled by the servants of Rhita Gawr—and by Rhita Gawr himself.”
Her tone terribly grave, she continued. “And so, good people, let us do one thing more. When this parley ends, give your all to saving our world. Yes, even your last breath! For if we are truly willing to die here today, we might yet prevail, and destroy the army of Rhita Gawr. But even if we do not prevail, we will die in defense of Avalon. And Avalon deserves no less.”
“Those are words of great honor,” boomed Kerwin, as he circled over Brionna’s head.
With that, the matter was settled. Moments later, three people had been chosen to represent the defenders of Avalon at the parley: Kerwin, Lleu, and Brionna. And so those three marched into the Plains of Isenwy, led by the eagleman—now in his human form, in keeping with the traditional rules of parley. None of them spoke. The only sound they heard, besides the buffeting wind, was the squelch of their feet in the mud.
As soon as they started walking toward the army of gobsken, the representatives of their foes did the same. There were three of them, as well. And in the lead swaggered Harlech himself, bearing the white flag affixed to a spear. But while he carried the emblem of a peaceful parley, his expression looked as hard as the metal of his broadsword. On his wide leather belt hung that sword, along with a hatchet, two daggers, and a spiked club. Something else dangled from the cord around his neck—something shaped like a claw, which glowed eerily.
Yet as Brionna approached him, she noticed none of those things. She was thinking only about another weapon, the iron-tipped whip of a slave master. Rage surged through her, making her temples pound, as she recalled how Harlech had used that whip on her defenseless grandfather, as well as herself, during their captivity. It took every bit of her self-control to resist breaking the first law of parley by shooting him on the spot. Even now, her fingers tapped fitfully against the wood of her longbow.
Close behind Harlech strode another man, someone both Brionna and Lleu had come to despise. Morrigon hobbled along briskly, a bow and quiver slung over his back. His scraggly white hair trembled in the wind that gusted over the mud flats. Yet even though he looked as brittle as a dead tree, the elf maiden and the priest knew that he was surprisingly spry. And that his will remained sturdy, like his loyalty to Belamir.
When Morrigon came close enough to recognize them, however, his step suddenly faltered. The old man’s jaw fell open. But his shock quickly turned to wrath. He glared at Brionna, his bloodshot eye darkened by malice.
Beside him marched a woman wearing the greenish brown robe of a Drumadian priestess. At the sight of Llynia, Catha snapped her beak and whistled angrily. But Llynia the Seer, as Belamir had dubbed her, paid no attention. She merely strode ahead, carrying herself with a distinct air of superiority. But the haughty look on her face didn’t seem to fit with the triangular mark on her chin, which gave the impression of a shoddy green beard.
They met halfway between the two armies, near a pair of mud-covered boulders. For a long moment, as they stood on the damp ground, no one spoke. The air fairly crackled with animosity as the two groups eyed each other.
Finally, Kerwin broke the silence. Bare-chested in the manner of all eaglemen in human form, he trained his gaze on Harlech and declared, “You need not die if you surrender now.”
“Surrender? Us?” The warrior burst into raucous laughter, jamming the base of his spear into the mud. “Yer the ones who’d best surrender, wingboy.”
Kerwin’s eyes, as deep brown as his skin, narrowed at the insult. Still, true to the rules of parley, he held his temper, though the effort made him tremble. Watching him, Brionna thought of another eagleman who possessed a strong sense of honor—as well as a dangerous temper.
Scree, she thought, where are you? We could use your help right now.
Morrigon, still glaring at her, sneered, “So ye escaped, elf-girl? I’m real glad. Now I’ll have the pleasure o’ killin’ ye meself.”
Before Brionna could respond, Llynia commanded, “Hush, Morrigon. No one will do any killing until we have exhausted all the possibilities of peace.”
“Just as you did with us back there at your temple?” asked Lleu sarcastically. His dark eyebrows lifted. “Or as your people did when they attacked the Society’s compound?”
The priestess stiffened, but her voice remained level. “I had nothing whatsoever to do with that attack. I was once the Chosen One, if you remember.”
“It’s you who should remember, Llynia! All your years at the Society of the Whole, and you have forgotten its most basic principles.”
With a dismissive wave of her hand, she declared, “I have forgotten nothing. Nothing!”
“Is that so?” Lleu leaned his tall frame toward her. “Then where is your loyal maryth?”
As Llynia’s face went pale, the silver falcon on Lleu’s shoulder gave a harsh whistle.
“I’ll tell you where,” continued the priest. Keeping his gaze fixed on Llynia, he stretched out his long arm, pointing at the army of Avalon’s defenders.
Despite all her efforts to stay calm, the priestess gasped. For standing silently on the rise, a few steps apart from everyone else, was a tall tree spirit, a lilac elm. Starlight gleamed on the small purple buds that dotted her many arms.
“Fairlyn,” whispered the priestess, unable to turn away from those large eyes that had watched over her lovingly for so long. Or from those slender limbs that had given her such sensuous baths, filling the air with sweet aromas.
Llynia swallowed. “I didn’t know . . .”
“And there is something else you didn’t know.” Lleu’s expression turned graver still as he leaned closer. “Your master Belamir is really’ a changeling.’“
�
�Wha—what?” Llynia sputtered, backing away.
“It’s a lie!” shouted Morrigon. “Ye know it is.”
“It’s true,” insisted Lleu.
“That’s right,” Brionna declared. “He’s fooled all of you! We saw him transform and tear apart one of his guards. This is all—”
“Utter nonsense,” Llynia retorted, having regained her composure. Indignantly, she demanded, “How dare you say such a scandalous thing about Olo Belamir? Why, he is the most peaceful person I know! He supported fully the idea that we should offer you a last chance for peace. Under the new order, of course.”
“Is that why you called this parley?” the elf demanded heatedly. “So you could offer us your version of peace—which is our version of annihilation?”
“No, no,” insisted Llynia. “We called this parley in the true hope that many lives could be spared! From your side as well as ours. And the new order that Olo Belamir and I envision is one where all creatures can live compatibly. Yes, under humanity’s wise dominion.”
“Wise dominion?” snapped Brionna. “Is that what you call this army of yours? More like a plague! An alliance of murdering gobsken, gnomes, and—” She fixed a frosty gaze on Harlech. “Slave masters.”
The big man studied her coldly. Another gust of wind blew past, rattling his weapons and spraying him with flecks of mud. But he didn’t move at all.
At last, he snarled, “Why, if it ain’t the she-elf from the dam.” He chortled savagely. “Ye’ll be fun to kill, dearie. Jest like yer old friend wid the white beard.”
“My grandfather!” Suddenly all her resolve shattered. As quick as a heartbeat, Brionna drew an arrow from her quiver, nocked it, and aimed straight at Harlech’s chest. Blinking the mist from her eyes, she declared, “You will pay for what you did to him.”
Harlech merely stood there, rigid. He let go of the spear, allowing it to splat down on the mud. “Ye wouldn’t kill me here an’ now, would ye? Wid no chance at all to defend meself?”
“That’s just how Granda was, before you killed him.”
“Wait, Brionna.” The strong hand of Kerwin wrapped around her bowstring. “Your rage is justified. And this man deserves no mercy for what he has done.” He worked his muscular shoulders, as if lifting powerful wings. “But you remain bound by the honor of parley. You cannot kill him now.”
Brionna hesitated, wrath surging through her veins.
“On the battlefield,” said Kerwin firmly. “That is the place to slay your foes.”
Slowly, reluctantly, she relaxed her bowstring. Kerwin nodded gravely, removing his hand. Just as she lifted the arrow to return it to the quiver, though, a bolt of red light shot out, landing squarely on the arrowhead. The stone exploded in red flames.
Brionna shrieked and jumped backward, dropping the arrow onto the damp ground. As she stared down at it, the flames died away—leaving just the burned shaft. The arrowhead itself had simply disappeared.
Aghast, she traded glances with Kerwin and Lleu, both of whom mirrored her own confusion. Then her gaze fell on Harlech. He smirked at her, while twirling the object that he wore around his neck, a claw tied to a leather cord. As it turned, the claw gleamed a malevolent shade of red.
“Did I mention me new weapon?” he sneered. “A gift from yer old friend, master Kulwych.” With a shrug, he added, “Kulwych wanted me to save it fer later, after the battle starts. But seein’ as how you attacked me, I jest couldn’t resist.”
Brionna clenched her fist. “I should have killed you when I had the chance, Harlech.”
“Right, me dear, ye should’ve.” His expression hardened. “So now yer goin’ to die yourself.”
“No,” protested Lleu, waving his arms urgently. “Whatever is that evil weapon of yours, you can’t use it now.”
The warrior grunted. He released the claw, so that it fell back against his chest. “Yer smarter than ye know, priest. Garr, I wish this thing didn’t need so much time between blasts!”
He seemed to relax—then suddenly whipped out his broadsword. Pointing its glittering blade at Brionna, he crowed, “But nothin’ can stop me from usin’ a different weapon.”
“I can.” Kerwin stepped boldly between Harlech and Brionna. His face showed all the battle-hardened severity that had made him famous among his people; his eagle eyes glowed clear and bright. “Since apparently this parley has failed, let us declare it over. I suggest we return to our separate camps.”
Harlech heaved a sigh of disappointment. “All right, no more fun. All we can do now is go back to our camps, like ye said.” He hesitated, then spoke stiffly, as if his words had been rehearsed. “Too bad this parley ended so soon. I was hopin’ to delay ye till our new recruits arrive.”
Brionna’s jaw tightened. She didn’t like the way he’d said that, not at all. Was all this just a ruse to lure her side into attacking sooner? Or was there really some new ally of the gobsken on the way? Someone like Kulwych or a powerful dragon—or even Rhita Gawr himself?
“Anyways,” continued Harlech, “afore we go, there’s jest one more thing I want to do.”
“What?” demanded the eagleman who faced him squarely.
“This.”
Harlech thrust his blade straight into Kerwin’s heart. The eagleman gaped in shock, while his assailant merely grinned. “There’s another man o’ yer kind I’d much rather kill. But like I said afore, I jest couldn’t resist.”
Struggling mightily, Kerwin tried to pull free, but could only fall to his knees. With a shudder that racked his whole body, he crumpled to the ground. He made a desperate keening sound, like a dying bird of prey. Then his bright eyes closed forever.
Llynia, standing so close that Kerwin’s hand had brushed her shin, went deathly pale.
“Murderer!” shrieked Brionna. She swiftly grabbed another arrow and raised her bow.
But Harlech was ready for her. Swinging his blade through the air, he struck her bow and sliced the wood in two. The longbow collapsed and dropped to the mud at her feet.
Harlech’s grin widened. “Well now, looks like this parley really is over. An’ like me l’il she-elf has no more weapons.”
He lifted his sword and lunged at her. Before he could strike, however, Catha flew right at his face. The brave falcon screeched wildly, scratching at his eyes with her talons. Harlech stumbled, falling backward into Morrigon. The two of them slipped in the mud and landed with a splat.
“Come!” cried Lleu. He grabbed Brionna’s arm, pulling her back toward their army. “We must run! Before Harlech’s claw regains its power.”
The priest gave a sharp whistle. “Catha, you must come, too. Fly with us!”
With a piercing screech, the hawk obeyed. She paused only long enough to peck Harlech’s brow, drawing blood, as he struggled to rise. Then she winged toward Lleu and Brionna. When she reached them, they were running hard, their feet pounding in the mud. She screeched again—but it couldn’t be heard. For a deafening roar suddenly filled the air.
Their entire army, having witnessed Harlech’s treachery, charged into battle, shouting and cursing and brandishing weapons. No one could doubt that the great battle for Avalon had begun. Just as no one could doubt that Kerwin, the courageous eagleman, was only the first to die today in this desolate place.
22 • One Problem
Elli trudged down the stone steps of Borvo Lugna, the deepest mine in Shadowroot. Six gobsken marched ahead of her, and almost as many behind, the wavering light of their torches creating bizarre shadows on the walls. Yet she paid no heed. Still numb from the loss of old Grikkolo, she wasn’t looking, wasn’t listening. She felt only the unyielding rock under her feet, the weight of Nuic against her arm, and the greater weight of hopelessness in her heart.
She had lost any chance that she might have had to defeat Kulwych and destroy his corrupted crystal. She had run out of ways to help Avalon—just as she had run out of time. And to make matters worse, going underground reminded her of her years as a slave to the gn
omes, years she had tried very hard to forget.
“Move along, ye filthy spies,” barked the gobsken behind her. He jabbed Elli’s back with the point of his sword. “Ol’ scarface will be awful pleased to see ye.”
“An’ surprised, too,” added another guard. “So surprised he might pop out his only eyeball.”
Several gobsken wheezed with laughter at the joke.
Down, down, down they marched, deeper into the mine. The air grew warmer and staler by the minute, and it reeked of something like rotten eggs. Even in the utter darkness of the lands above, Elli could always find good air to breathe. Here, though, she felt an increasing urge to gag. And she was beginning to feel dizzy.
She missed a step and stumbled, crashing into the gobsken in front of her. He whirled around and pushed his face so close to hers that she could see the gleaming drops of sweat on his gray-green skin. Wrapping his three-fingered hand around her throat, he squeezed and shook her angrily.
“Watch out, scum! Or I’ll roast yer head wid me torch an’ eat it fer supper.”
Another gobsken clubbed him hard on the back. “If ye do, Kulwych’ll do the same to yer ugly head.”
With a grunt, the gobsken released Elli, shoving her backward. She fell onto the steps, coughing uncontrollably. It was all she could do to hold on to Nuic, whose colors had shifted to enraged scarlet.
“Move,” commanded the gobsken behind her.
He kicked her and prodded her with his blade, forcing her to stand. She rose, swaying unsteadily. And she couldn’t stop coughing, though her lungs ached and her throat stung. Tears filled her eyes.
Yet somehow she kept going, descending deeper into the mine. Snap out of it, she told herself sternly. You’re no good to anyone like this.
Just as her coughing finally subsided, they came to a landing. Someone shoved her into a rough-hewn tunnel, and the group started marching along this level passageway. Although her leg muscles were grateful for the change, this tunnel smelled even more putrid than the stairwell. She clutched Nuic, forcing herself to breathe slowly and stay alert.
