by Jean Rabe
“Her true nature?”
“I felt betrayed. She wasn’t who she claimed, what she claimed. She hadn’t been honest with me. I thought I knew her, but I didn’t know her at all. I felt that she’d tricked me, made a mockery of my feelings. I was no longer willing to trust her or to accept her. I refused to acknowledge my feelings for her. Then, I disappeared. Disappeared? Ha!”
“That’s when you were imprisoned?”
“Yes, by the Silvanesti. Spending years alone in that cell made me think about my life, my very haughty life. My own people gave me over to the Silvanesti. First, I focused on Tanis being not good enough for my sister. Thank the gods, the two were finally married. Then, I fixated on Verminaard. He killed my people, and I vowed vengeance, no matter what. Next, I was obsessed with Silvara. I loved her deeply, then rejected her just as passionately. I later realized I should have given her a chance, our love a chance. When I finally escaped from the prison, I began to travel all of Ansalon in search of her. Ultimately, I was betrayed again by elves and wound up in the prison where you and I met.”
“Maybe you could still find her”
“Maybe,” Gilthanas said, so softly that Feril had to strain to hear him. “How petty I was. And how entirely unworthy of her. Race has nothing to do with love, Feril.”
The Kagonesti studied his face for a few moments, and considered asking him more about Silvara. Gilthanas stared straight ahead. Feril looked down. “Dhamon and I never had enough time together,” she said quietly.
Gilthanas remained silent for a while. The thin woman and the red-haired youth led the small entourage through Witdel. The city was for the most part impoverished. At one time it had been prosperous, but it had gone through hard times, starting with the Chaos War. Most of the buildings were made of wood, and they were weathered from neglect and the ravages of the sea – paint was peeling, doors hung a little off-center. Business signs were crude, some with paint chipping so badly that they couldn’t be read.
However, a few establishments seemed to be faring better. A small boardinghouse two blocks from the docks was in better shape than most. Flowers bloomed in baskets hanging from the porch, and the trim around the windows looked newly painted. Nearby, a store that catered to fishermen and hunters was in the process of being renovated and expanded.
The thin woman glanced at her reflection in the window of a cobbler’s shop, frowning at her disheveled appearance. She didn’t walk very fast, exhausted from her ordeal as a prisoner of the Knights of Takhisis, but her stride was a determined one. “You can’t free them all, can you?” she asked Palin. “I mean, the Knights of Takhisis are probably taking prisoners in other cities, too. And you can’t save all of them.”
Palin didn’t answer, didn’t think she really expected one.
“Even saving one person is important,” Gilthanas interjected. “Nobody should be a slave to the knights.”
The Qualinesti knew what it was like to be held captive. Gilthanas had been a prisoner for more than ten years at the hands of the Silvanesti. Second in line for the throne, his confinement had been a matter of political expedience. It was a short time in the life of an elf, but hardly a pleasant experience. And then he’d fallen afoul of a band of Knights of Takhisis and was again taken captive. He was grateful to Palin, Rig, Blister, and Feril for being rescued.
On both occasions of his imprisonment, Gilthanas had thought about a lot of things – and one female in particular. She was not of his race, and Gilthanas had therefore denied his feelings for her. However, confinement provided a lot of time for thinking, and during those long hours and long years the elf had come to the conclusion that love transcended race.
Decades ago, he had been supposed to meet his love near the Tomb of Huma on Southern Ergoth, and he felt certain that breaking that appointment had been the greatest mistake of his life.
At the edge of town, Palin asked their guides to stop. “Down this road?”
The thin woman nodded. “A couple of miles. Their camp is in a clearing that the road cuts through. It didn’t take us long to walk from there to the docks – even though it was dark. Just follow us.”
“I think we can find their camp from this point,” Palin said.
The woman started to protest, then gave hi when the red-haired youth tugged on her arm. “We’ll wait for you here,” she said.
Feril glided past Palin and knelt at the edge of the small dirt road that lead southeast from the city.
“The knights travel up and down this road.” She pointed to broken twigs and crushed fern leaves, running her fingers along the outlines of several boot prints.
“How do you know a Knight of Takhisis made that print?” Ulin asked.
“All of these prints are deep and relatively uniform, like they could’ve been made by people in armor – soldiers – except for these prints, which were probably made by the prisoners they took to the docks.” Feril glanced at Palin. “I’m going to scout ahead.”
The Kagonesti moved a few dozen yards beyond the sorcerers. She was in her element, focusing her acute senses on the plants and the ground, looking for traces of the knights. She dropped to her hands and knees when she heard voices ahead, quietly crawling forward until she came upon a campsite in a clearing. Hiding behind a large bush, she parted its leaves and watched a knight dragging an elk into the clearing, a single arrow protruding from the creature’s chest. He tugged the elk near a fire that another knight was building and began to skin and gut it
Behind the pair, two more knights guarded a group of people who were tied together with lengths of rope, bound at their wrists and ankles. Feril could see ten knights altogether, and she counted forty-three prisoners. She watched for several more minutes, then hurried back to the sorcerers and relayed the information.
Ulin shook his head. “I don’t like the odds.”
“Rig would say we have them outnumbered,” Feril added.
“It’s not that I don’t think we can take them,” the younger Majere quickly returned, “I just think the odds are high that some of the prisoners could get hurt in the process. Still, I’ve an idea.”
*
A lone Knight of Takhisis staggered into the camp, the front of his tabard coated with blood from a gaping chest wound, his face streaked with dirt. He was weaponless and shieldless, and his helmet hung from his hand. At once the other knights were alert, all of them jumping to their feet As one, they drew their swords and looked past the wounded man. The knight who’d been skinning the elk stepped toward his injured brother, ready to steady him. But the knight stepped back, refusing the aid. He flung his arm toward the road that led back to Witdel.
“Hurry!” he panted, “the ship.” He dropped to his knees and held his chest. “It’s been attacked, the prisoners freed. You must hurry. The attackers are coming here. They’ve weapons and —” He gasped for air and pitched forward, his face inches from the fire, his helmet rolling away.
The knight-officer motioned for his men to form ranks. “We’ll meet them on the trail!” he snapped. “Move!” He gestured for two of his men to stay with the prisoners, then led the way back toward Witdel at a hurried march.
“Is he dead?” one of the remaining knights asked after the rest of his brethren had thundered away. He cast a curious and sympathetic glance at the fallen knight. “Know who he is?”
“Never seen him before. Must have come from the ship in Witdel,” the other replied. He took one step closer to the knight, glancing over his shoulder at the prisoners. “He breathes – but barely, and with all that blood he’s as good as dead. We’ll be burying him before dawn.”
“Maybe we can do something for him.”
“You heard the officer,” the second knight said, “he told us to watch the prisoners.”
The wounded knight raised his head slightly, staring at the flames only a few inches away. He could feel the warmth on his skin. The smell of the partially gutted elk nearby was practically overpowering. The fire writhed as he gazed at
it, becoming more animated. Its tendrils swayed, not teased by the wind, but by the fallen knight’s mind. His mental commands urged it to dance higher and to consume the wood as if it were a ravenous beast.
“Hey! What’s going on?” one of the knights hollered.
All traces of the blood and wound had vanished. The knight stood, shedding his black armor. He was a tall man with shoulder-length brown hair, and was clad in a simple tunic. The man slowly rose to his feet and reached for the staff at his side that had been magically disguised as the knight’s helmet.
“Sorcery!” the other shouted. “Stay with the prisoners. We’ve been tricked!” He drew his blade and charged Ulin, who was stepping back from the fire.
Ulin gestured toward the knight, sending a spark to the man’s tabard. The knight paused only a moment to swat at the flame, and in that time, Ulin had scrambled back farther and willed the campfire to erupt into a great ball of fire that quickly overpowered the two knights.
The prisoners gasped, recoiling as much as their bonds allowed. The flames licked dangerously close to them, but Ulin called the fire back, mentally urged it to fold in upon itself until all that remained were glowing embers.
“It’s all right,” he told them. “Everything’s going to be all right My friends and I will take you to the city.” He stepped toward them and noted that most were leery. He tried another tact to relax them a little. “My father’s Palin Majere. He’s nearby, dealing with the other knights.” Those words seemed to do the trick, and he began untying the prisoners.
*
Feril lay on her stomach among the ferns off to the side of the road. The Kagonesti breathed deep, taking the heady scent of the loam into her lungs. Her fingers stretched forward, touching the leaves – so delicate, yet strong. She closed her eyes and vividly pictured the ferns.
“Join with me,” she softly called, her words sounding like the wind blowing gently across the fronds. “Feel with me.” The Kagonesti fluttered her fingers and moved her head from side to side. The ferns followed her movement, and she felt the energy that flowed in their stems, surged from their roots. She felt the nourishing sun on her back-She seemed to drink in the energy. “Join with me,” she repeated.
A sound intruded on her private world – it was Gilthanas. “The knights are coming,” he said. She heard the shush of leaves being brushed aside. Palin was kneeling down beside her. Feril heard other sounds then, frantic and hurried ones – leather boots running over the earth. She redirected all her attention to the fern.
“Join with me,” she breathed. And suddenly, her vision pulled back and she saw the bush near the fern, the veil-like leaves of the willow birch that stood a few feet away. She saw the tall grasses, the moss, the wild roses that grew in profusion.
The sound of boot steps came closer, and the plants began to move, swaying in time with the Kagonesti’s fluttering fingers. The vines from the oak overhead, the willow birch veil, the ferns, and more, all swaying, stretching, grasping. The oak groaned and dipped a branch, whipping like a noose around the neck of the lead knight. The willow birch’s veil enveloped two more, holding them as tightly as though it were a spiderweb trapping helpless insects.
Feril clenched her fists and the tall grasses lashed out at the Knights of Takhisis*s ankles, tripping those not held fast by the trees. The roses lashed their thorny stems around the knights’ calves, and the fern leaves encircled the wrists of the knights who fell to the forest floor.
The Kagonesti felt pain intrude on her private world, the sensation of the knights fighting against the plants, trying to rip the grass from its earthy bosom. She felt what the plants felt.
But Palin was moving through the ferns now, casting an enchantment of his own. Feril kept her senses focused on the plants and was only dimly aware of the sparks of fire that flew from the sorcerer’s fingertips. Then she felt a warmth on her back and limbs, the perception of blood. Gilthanas was swinging Rig’s sword, the knights’ blood splattering the plants. The Kagonesti directed the willow birch to wrap more of its tender lengths around the knights to bind their arms.
The plants responded, moving faster now, drawing strength from Feril. The wild roses recoiled, dragging a knight into their thorny embrace. As he fought against the plant and struggled to rip off the stems, Gilthanas darted in and slew him quickly. Another knight was nearly free, squirming out of his mail shirt to elude the oak. But Palin stopped him with more sparks that struck his chest, penetrated, and made him go limp.
“Move with me” Feril was talking louder now, easing herself off the ground as she continued to direct the plants. The forest all around her was more alive than ever, moving and grasping, branches and stems lashing out like cobras, vines working like lassos. She pointed to a small patch of wild raspberries growing by the road, and in response, the coiling, reed-thin stems entwined around calves and ankles, pulling the remaining knights down. There, the moss waited, releasing an intoxicating, dizzying scent. Join with us, the moss urged the knights, relaxing them, lulling them into a restful state, which made them easy to dispatch.
Palin and Gilthanas had been forced to slay half of the men. Feril sluggishly detached her senses from the plants and staggered onto the trail. She took several deep breaths and steadied herself. The enchantment had enervated her. Four of the knights were tied with vines against the largest trees. Gilthanas was removing their boots, slicing the footwear in half with his cutlass and tossing it into the underbrush. Palin was gathering the men’s swords. “They’ll be barefoot and weaponless,” Palin informed her. “So if they work themselves free, they’ll pose little threat. You all right?”
She nodded and smiled. “Fine. Just tired. Let’s see how your son fared.”
*
Ulin had freed nearly all of the prisoners by the time Feril, Palin, and Gilthanas entered the clearing. Gilthanas was carrying the knights’ weapons, and he quickly distributed them to some of the former captives. Ulin snatched up his staff and nodded to Palin, who was inspecting the charred remains of two knights.
“Let’s move out,” Gilthanas urged, pointing toward the trail that would lead back to Witdel. “We should be on our way in case there’s more of them”
“Something’s wrong “Feril said. The Kagonesti turned about, scanning the trees that ringed the campsite, sniffing and listening intently. “There’s —”
“More knights? Reinforcements?” came a sultry voice. A stocky woman clad in a black robe stepped into the clearing. At her side were Knights of Takhisis, their weapons drawn. More knights ringed the campsite, nearly two dozen of them. Four had bows drawn and pointed at the prisoners. The stocky sorceress gestured at Gilthanas and Ulin, who flourished weapons. “Make a move to fight, and the men will loose their arrows.”
“Put down your weapons,” another knight said. This one was clearly in charge, the insignia of a subcommander visible on his shoulder.
Her eyes narrowed as she spotted Palin, and the sorceress nodded to get her commander’s attention. “Subcommander Gistere,” the robed woman said. “We have a very important person in our midst – Palin Majere.”
Gistere’s face remained impassive, but his gaze locked onto Palin’s. “Put the swords down. And you, put down the staff.” The last order was directed at Ulin. “Keep your hands where I can see them.” The officer scrutinized them. “Your weapons!” he barked.
Ulin dropped his staff, and the prisoners behind him reluctantly dropped the weapons they’d been given. Palin slowly raised his hands out to his sides, watching the knights. He knew there were more behind him, and his mind whirled with the spells he might cast. He couldn’t catch all of them in an enchantment – not without also injuring the prisoners and his companions.
Feril’s lips curled back as she dropped her arms to her sides. “How did you know we were here?” she asked, her tone venomous. “And how did you sneak up on us?”
The Knight of the Thorn took a step toward her. “There are enchantments that can make a talon move as
quietly as a dying breeze, my dear wild elf,” she hissed. “It’s a spell that can stifle the clink of armor. We were to meet the men guarding these prisoners. Fortunately I sensed something was wrong. Tell me, did you slay them all?”
“Enough!” Subcommander Gistere spat at the sorceress. “We haven’t the time for this. You – I said to drop your weapon.” He was pointing at Gilthanas, who stood with his legs slightly spread, Rig’s cutlass unsheathed and at his side. “My men will fire on the prisoners – do you understand? I’ll order them to slay the unarmed women and men. Their blood will be on your spirit. I’ll give you no more warnings.”
“Don’t do it!” a new voice intruded.
Feril’s eyes grew wide as a man stepped into the clearing. He was naked except for a Knights of Takhisis tabard that was draped over him, no doubt taken from one of the knights they’d captured on the road. And he had moved so quietly because he had no boots or armor. He looked like a wildman, a mass of tangled hair and a beard.
Dhamon? Feril mouthed. Her heart beat faster.
“Dhamon?” Palin asked in disbelief.
“Another fool to join you,” Subcommander Gistere sneered. “And a fool who will die very quickly if he doesn’t put down the weapon.” The subcommander motioned to one of his archers, who trained an arrow on Dhamon’s chest.
Gilthanas looked uncertainly between Dhamon Grimwulf and the Knight of Takhisis. Dhamon kept a firm grip on the glaive and protectively stepped between Feril and the knights. A second archer drew a bead on the wildman. “Dhamon,” she breathed as he passed by.
“The Knights of Takhisis used to be noble,” Dhamon said. “Years past they wouldn’t have threatened unarmed people, used weapons of distance on foes who hadn’t the same advantage. Only fair fights.” He looked directly at Gistere and raised an eyebrow when he spotted the red scale on his lily emblem. “But that was before they chose to bow to the overlords, to serve dragons instead of men. You should order them all slain,” he said, waving his free hand at the prisoners for emphasis. “Killing them outright would be a far better fate than what’s likely in store for them.”
