One might think that with the prospect of countless years before them, Elves would greatly fear death. After all, they would be losing a particular form of Forever. Yet it is not true: they do not fear their own demise any more or less than other Races, for, like them, they also seek out the challenges of living . . . to do otherwise would be like unto death itself.
Even so, Elvenkind has learned that to strive for dominion—power over others—is a false goal. This they came to realize in their “Time of Madness,” when they fought bitter wars with one another, struggling for command, struggling for rule. Yet one among them in the long view realized such bitter fights were all for naught, for once such transient goals are achieved they turn to ashes in one’s mouth. And so this enlightened one set aside those ambitions and spoke to others of what he had envisioned—a better way of living. And he said to them, “Let it begin with me.”
And so it did.
And thus did Elves one by one gradually throw off their madness to finally become sane.
Yet that does not mean Elvenkind refuses to engage in battle, for some things must be settled by force of arms, especially when there are those who try to control others’ lives.
Hence, as a Race, they fought in the Great War of the Ban, when Gyphon and his minions threatened the existence of all—all the worlds, all the Planes . . . all.
Likewise, Elves champion lesser causes: some with force of arms, some with gentle persuasion, some with diplomacy, some with education, some by example.
In the time of the Usurper, to restore the rightful High King was certainly a lesser cause, for it involved just Humankind, and not all of Humankind at that. Even so, as always, individual Elves could choose to aid or not.
Riessa and her band had chosen to aid.
And on this particular night, in this particular place, Spaunen were involved. . . .
• • •
REYER PUT SPURS TO HIS HORSE, his steed leaping forward in response. Likewise did Conal and Riessa follow, as did the remaining escort—Elves, Humans, and Warrows alike—all except Driu and Gretta, who remained back, along with their personal guard—Jame and Jace Brownleaf—the twin Thornwalkers, nocking arrows to bowstrings and seething at not being with the others.
Racing alongside Reyer, Conal called out, “Take care, my boy, I will guard your left.”
With but a nod did Reyer reply, and sword in hand he charged ahead, hoping that Alric and Durgan and the others in the vanguard were faring well in the battle. He did not note that Riessa and the Dylvana, who appeared to be randomly galloping toward the conflict, were actually running in a protective ring about him, more to the fore than aft.
And in the vivid light of the bright risen moon, ahead they could see a swirl of men and Rûcks and Hlôks afoot in mêlée, and the King’s vanguard on horses charging through—lances piercing, sabers hewing, hooves trampling.
Rûcks with twisted bows loosed arrows, the black shafts and their dark-slathered points finding victim after victim. Other Rûcks hammered with wicked iron cudgels at men and mounts alike, felling them with broken limbs, and the agonized screams of the horses were liken unto those of terrified women. Rûcks swung scimitars and Hlôks hewed tulwars deep into human flesh, and men afoot slashed daggers and long-knives and broadswords at the foe.
Slain and wounded lay in deep moon-shadows, while fighters stumbled over corpses and injured alike, and hooves crushed bone underhoof.
Horses ran loose, their eyes rolling in panic, some galloping away. It was as if the Spawn had come upon these men leading their animals, and had attacked them ere any could mount.
And into this swirl of combat, Reyer and the others charged, with the out-galloped Warrows on ponies coming last.
“Target their archers,” shouted Captain Windlow, even as he felled a Rûck.
And Perry and Digby, along with Billy Buckbell and Arlo Loosestrife and the captain flew arrow after arrow into the bow-shooting Rûcks, and one after another the Foul Folk fell to the shafts of the buccen.
And Reyer’s blade hewed and chopped and slashed, and blood flew and Rûcks and a Hlôk died screaming.
On Reyer’s left, Conal fended off strike after strike, his own saber now slathered with grume.
Alric on the far side of the mêlée now hewed with saber as well, his lance broken in twain. The blade end of the long wooden shaft had pierced deep through two very dead Rûcks who had had the misfortune of standing nigh one another when Alric skewered the first through and through and his charge had carried him into the second one ere the lance snapped with both on the shaft.
And the Dylvana, graceful as dancers in a ballet of motion, glided their horses among the Spaunen and felled them as if reaping wheat.
Yet one Rûck and then another took aim at Reyer, but ere either loosed black arrows, two shafts pierced each of their hearts, and the Rûcks fell slain even as Digby and Perry nocked arrows to protect their King.
And in that moment the Foul Folk broke and fled into the moon-shadows, with Alric and three Elves in pursuit.
Astride his barely controlled half-mad steed, the animal driven so by the reek of death and the tang of blood and the screams of downed herd mates, Armsmaster Conal called out amid the aftermath, “Are any of you wounded? Any take hurt?”
As his mount skittered this way and that, Conal looked about, waiting for a reply.
None said aught.
“Well and good, then,” he said. He turned to Durgan and said, “The downed horses: I would have you put them out of their misery.”
Durgan paled, but nodded. “Aye.”
Next, Conal turned to Riessa. “Dara, would you have some of yours round up those loose-running steeds?”
“I will do it myself,” said Riessa, and she signaled to two other Dylvana.
“Take care,” said Conal, “more Rûcks are about, those that fled.”
As the three Dylvana rode away, Conal dismounted and soothed his horse and said, “Captain Windlow, while Reyer and I check the fallen, would you fetch Driu and Gretta. Mayhap they can help these men, any who are wounded.”
Windlow turned to Digby and Perry and said, “Stay with the King, lads. Keep him safe.” Then the captain headed toward the road.
Both Conal and Reyer turned their steeds over to a Dylvana to take them from the carnage, and Perry and Digby gave over their ponies to Billy and Arlo to do the same.
And Reyer and Conal, with Perry and Digby following, strode among the downed combatants. Now and again they passed by Durgan at his grisly task, the young man weeping as he slit throats. The armsmaster and King found none of their own lying dead, but they did count some forty-two slain Foul Folk—three of them Hlôks, the rest Rûcks—thirteen of them pierced by Thornwalker arrows.
But as to the men first attacked by the Spawn, only three survived—two of them badly injured. Seventeen others lay slain. The one man who had come through unscathed seemed to have a military bearing, and he looked coldly at the two who lay wounded. He turned and said something to Conal, but it swiftly became clear that he spoke no Common. Instead his language was rather harsh, guttural. Conal, by what little he had heard of these kinds of tongues in the past, knew that this man probably came from one of the nations in the northeastern part of the High King’s realm—perhaps Garia or Khal or even Naud.
Driu, who by this time had come with Gretta to the field, said, “I will talk with him as soon as we are free of these cursed Battle Downs, with its roiled flux.”
Conal nodded, for he knew that she simply had to cast one of her Seer’s spells to speak any tongue whatsoever.
He turned to the standing survivor and said, “You and your injured will come with us to Challerain Keep.”
The man looked at one of his wounded, and that man groaned out, “Challerain Keep, Povêljnik. Mi jahati med jih.”
At the word ‘Povêljnik,’” Con
al took Reyer aside and said, “’Ware, Reyer. I recognized that term. ’Tis a military rank. This man is a Garian commander.”
Trailing after, both Digby and Perry overheard Conal’s warning.
• • •
ALRIC, ALONG WITH THREE Dylvana—Ralen, Aliser, and Ianne—rode back into camp. As they dismounted and unsaddled their horses, Alric said to Conal, “Well, Da, we got three more, but I think four, mayhap five escaped. We just couldn’t run them to earth. Oh, but we did find where these men had been camped.” Alric turned and pointed. “Just yon, on the far side of that hill. From the looks of it, they had been here for two, three days.”
In that moment, Gretta came running and embraced Alric. “Oh, my child, my child. Don’t ever go running off like that aga—”
“Gretta!” snapped Conal. “He is a blooded warrior now, as is Reyer. They are of age.”
“Mother,” said Alric, pushing away, his voice cold. “Would you have a Harlingar shirk his duty?”
“It’s just that— Fifteen is not—”
“Strong Harl rode to combat when he was fourteen,” said Alric. “Would you have me do less?”
Gretta burst into tears. Alric’s mien softened and he embraced her and whispered, “Mother, be strong, as all Vanadurin women are.”
Her voice muffled by Alric’s chest, Gretta said, “You’re right. You’re right. I will worry, as all Jordian women do, yet I will endure.” Then she pushed back from Alric while yet holding on to him and then pulled him close and kissed him on the cheek.
To one side, Conal nodded and said to no one in particular, “I believe Gretta has finally come of age.”
Reyer leaned over to Conal and whispered, “I don’t think she heard you, and it’s better she did not,” then he laughed aloud.
“You’re right, my boy,” Conal replied, and he joined Reyer in his laughter.
• • •
“THERE WAS NAUGHT WE COULD DO,” said Driu.
“’Twas Ruch poison,” said Riessa. “From arrows. We had no gwynthyme to counteract it.”
“Then only the povêljnik—the commander—survived,” said Conal. “Riessa, set ward on Reyer’s tent. I trust not this Garian.”
Reyer shook his head and said, “No, Da. I think I have a better plan.”
• • •
IN THE WEE HOURS after mid of night, at the back of Reyer’s tent, a keen blade slipped under the edge and quietly sliced upward through the silken fabric. Moments later a face peered in at the King lying lax. The figure moved forward.
From the darkest shadows, “Now!” hissed Perry.
Th-thock! Two arrows took the povêljnik through the eyes. He fell dead half in, half out of the tent.
Reyer, yet accoutered in his mail, rolled out from under the covers, his sword in one hand, his dagger in the other. “Nicely done, Perry, Diggs. I say, nicely done.”
Perry spat on the slain would-be assassin and growled, “Arkov’s viper.”
Digby looked at the dead Garian and sighed and said, “And here we saved him from the Rûcks and such. You’d think him a bit more grateful for all that.”
Of a sudden the three burst out in laughter, and Conal, Riessa, Alric, Gretta, Durgan, and Captain Windlow found them howling like loons.
38
Enigma
Most things move at a slow measured pace throughout Mithgar: days seep by, as do weeks, months, years. The seasons turn slowly. Crops are planted, sprout, grow, ripen, and are at last harvested. Mortals are born, take years to mature, and age throughout their lifetimes, some much longer than others, ere they finally pass away. And in many places time itself is measured by the movement of the sun, the cycles of the moon, the wheeling of stars, the onset of the dry season, the rainy season, the flooding of the river, and other such indications, gradual or annual; while, in places more advanced, time is gauged by marks on a burning candle or other such incremental measures.
Even though the pace is slow and perhaps but barely noticed, still there are those in Mithgar who puzzle over the very basic elements of time, pondering its nature, wondering if it is a flow streaming o’er the world, or if the world itself moves forward through the essence of time. Too, some wonder if time and fate are continuous, spilling from the future through the present and into the past, washing over all on the way to the Sea of Oblivion, and, if so, are future events predetermined, or can one truly guide one’s own fate? Lastly, one wonders if what one has done affects what one will do. Do the events of the past shape those of the future? And since the events of the past seemingly occur before those of the future, then is not the future mutable? In which case one would think the past—even though it is gone beyond recall—is merely prologue for that which is to come.
Mayhap a Seer can set to rest some of these musings, yet, to date, none have.
But if one assumes time itself moves forward, rather like a meandering river, it seems to drift slowly until, in moments of immediate crisis, critical events squeeze together to form a constricted channel of urgency, like a high, narrow gorge through which the river plunges headlong. And whether or no the critical events are dire, perilous, or merely overwhelming, in those places for those involved, they say time runs at a breakneck pace.
It is only afterward that any survivors can pause, when the River of Time returns to its slow meandering.
Such as it did in the very dark hours one night in the Battle Downs. . . .
• • •
CONAL AND DURGAN HAULED the corpse of the Garian commander out from Reyer’s tent.
Riessa fetched a horse from nearby. At Reyer’s questioning gaze, “’Twas his,” the Dylvana said, tilting her head toward the dead would-be assassin. “Saddled and provisioned and ready to flee once the deed was done.”
“We watched close at hand,” said Alric, “though I could but barely stop myself from cutting him down like the cur he was. Yet Driu said, ‘Nay,’ and so I was forced to do naught.”
Windlow barked a laugh and said, “You jittered about like a trembling goat. ’Twas only my firm hand that kept you back.”
Cocking an eye, Alric looked down at the Thornwalker captain. “Jittering goat?”
“Or some such,” replied Windlow.
“More like a hawk getting ready to swoop,” said Alric, grinning.
“Well,” said Windlow. “Maybe.” Then he laughed again, Alric joining him.
Then Alric sobered and clapped Reyer on the shoulder and said, “I really wanted to be in there with you.”
“As did we all,” said Conal.
“Well, you couldn’t get an entire army in the tent,” said Digby. “It would have tipped our hand. Besides, Perry and I were enough.”
Driu nodded, but said naught.
Conal and Durgan lifted the carcass up and slung it bellydown over the saddle.
“What do you intend to do with him, Da?” asked Reyer.
“I think I’ll haul him out among the slain Rûcks and such and leave him for the crows.”
“Not with our arrows you won’t,” said Perry, and he stepped to the opposite side of the horse and—with a liquid sucking sound—jerked his and Digby’s shafts out from the Garian’s skull.
“Eew,” said Gretta.
“Now you can throw him anywhere you please.” Perry handed one of the arrows to Digby, who looked at it askance.
“I’ll do it, Da,” said Durgan, taking the reins.
“Strip him and search him for any papers he might have,” said Conal. He turned to the others and said, “’Twould be nice to have proof of Arkov’s perfidy toward the true High King.”
A faint smile twitched the corner of Riessa’s mouth. “The proof of his perfidy occurred on the day he broke down Caer Pendwyr’s door.”
Conal nodded and said, “Nevertheless . . .” Then he added, “We’ll strip and search each one when the
day comes.”
“And then leave them all for the crows?” asked Alric.
Gretta sighed, but otherwise remained silent.
“Indeed,” said Conal.
“What about the Foul Folk?” asked Perry. “What’ll we do with them?”
“Come dawn,” said Digby, “Adon’s light will deal with those deaders. But I suppose we can look through whatever’s left.”
“Ah, you’re right, Diggs,” said Perry. “I forgot about the Ban.”
Riessa looked at the wheel of stars and said, “There are not many candlemarks left ere the coming of day, and I think the company too stirred to gather much sleep ere then. I suggest we all have a meal and make ready to leave soon after sunup; perhaps we should stop midafternoon to then make camp and recover the rest we lack.”
All eyes turned to Reyer. He covered his surprise, for it seemed that he was to make the decision. “Well and good,” he said, and so it was settled.
• • •
THE SUN ROSE, and the Withering Death turned three Hlôks and forty-two Rûcks to husks, three of them away from the others, where Alric and Ralen, Aliser, and Ianne had run them down. The Warrows recovered their arrows, even as the remains gradually collapsed to dust in swirling wind.
Of the Garians, all now lay on the battlefield, where Perry had described them as “dead snakes in the grass, waiting for the crows.” Driu looked over at the stripped corpse of the commander. “Perhaps this is why, back at Rood, I asked for Digby and Alton to be among the Thornwalkers.”
“Call me Perry,” said Alton. “I never did like my given name.”
“All right, then: Perry it is. Even so, I knew that I needed you and Digby, but I didn’t know why.”
“An unforeseen Seer’s gift?” asked Riessa, smiling.
“Mayhap,” said Driu, grinning back at the Dylvana.
“—Oh, I get it,” said Digby.
Perry looked at Diggs. “Get what?”
“Unforeseen Seer,” said Digby.
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