“What is all this?” asked Caleb. “You’re usually not this concerned with . . . contingencies.”
Miranda looked at her younger son. She could see a hint of her husband around his mouth, and the way in which he cocked his head to one side when thoughtful. Otherwise, he resembled his mother, from the high forehead and narrow chin to the way he moved, and his tall slender build. Like many parents she was occasionally and unexpectedly struck by how much she loved her children. “Two things, actually,” she said. “Had that madman Varen’s plan worked, I would probably still be strapped to a Dasati table being examined by their Deathpriests or I’d be dead and dissected. Many bad things besides my discomfort and ultimate demise would have occurred, the least of which was you being the only member of this family still here.”
“We knew that,” said Caleb, putting his hand on his mother’s shoulder. “There’s something more. What is it?”
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“This,” she said, handing him the parchment she had received from the Emperor.
“Tsurani,” said Caleb. “Father’s hand.”
“Another of those damned notes!” Miranda wasn’t irritated by the fact that notes kept appearing mysteriously from some future date—warning of threats, instructing them on actions to take—she was annoyed that they were always cryptic, and it was never clear as to how, exactly, to deal with the information provided. Moreover, she was truly annoyed that her husband had taken years to tell her about them, and had told Nakor before her!
Caleb read the note. There were three lines of text above his father’s signature:
Listen to Miranda.
Give this to her.
Prepare to evacuate.
Milamber.
“ Prepare to evacuate?” asked Caleb. “He’s telling the Emperor to prepare to evacuate . . . what? The Palace? The Holy City?”
Frustrated, Miranda shook her head. She knew in the pit of her stomach that she stood a very real chance of never seeing her husband again, and with equal certainty she knew what the note meant. “No,” she said, emotion making her voice hoarse. “He means, prepare to evacuate the world. He’s telling the Emperor the Tsurani will have to leave Kelewan.”
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Chapter 5
captives
Kaspar lay doubled over in pain.
An elf stood over him ready to strike him again if Kaspar resisted the order to move. Servan reached down to assist the General to his feet and Kaspar’s look showed he had no intention of forgetting this elf any time soon.
He had tried to prolong the first break during the long march and for his trouble had received the butt end of a staff in the stomach.
The elf who had first spoken to them now approached Kaspar and his men. “We have no time to waste.
You humans are slow. We must hurry: we still have a steep climb to Baranor.”
“Baranor?” asked Kaspar.
“Our home,” said the elf. “We need to be there before sundown and for that reason you cannot tarry.”
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Nursing his sore side, Kaspar threw one more dark look at the elf who had struck him and said, “Your friend made that abundantly clear.”
The elf who had struck him stood glaring at Kaspar, his blue eyes fixed on the former duke.
Speaking without looking back at Kaspar, the leader of the elves said, “Sinda thinks you should all have been killed at the water’s edge. It would make things simpler.”
Jommy muttered, “Sorry for the inconvenience,” as he helped one of the wounded soldiers back to his feet.
“No inconvenience,” the leader said. “We can still kill you if we must. But I have instructions that you’re to be brought to Baranor to be questioned.”
“Instructions from whom?” asked Kaspar, still nursing his side where the staff butt had struck.
“Our leader.”
Kaspar said nothing, but from his expression, Jommy could tell that the General was maybe thinking of a way to escape, though Jommy thought that an impossibility, even if they had twice the number of men. Jommy had come to the conclusion that the half dozen or so elves with the long wooden staves were magicians or sorcerers, or whatever they called elf magic-users.
He looked behind him and saw Jim Dasher glancing around.
Jommy didn’t have to read minds to know what was on the thief’s: he was noting hiding places and escape routes. Jommy didn’t think much of the notion of fleeing—though if anyone could elude these elves in their own forest, it might be Jim; Jommy was still wondering how he had apparently arrived out of nowhere to kill that magician on the beach.
Still, if he reached the beach it would be another week before a longboat was sent to resupply Kaspar’s forces, and if he tried to work his way around to the hidden cove to the north where Kaspar’s ships lay at anchor, it would take more than a week on foot. Then there was the almost impossible swim out to where Kaspar’s ships were at anchor, through rough waters and rocks, not to mention sharks and other predators. Jommy wondered if the enterprising thief was thinking of such a mad 7 5
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plan. And if he got there after the resupply boat found the camp empty, he might reach the anchorage in time to watch the ships sailing away, for that would be their orders: if anything happens to Kaspar’s forces, leave at once.
The captives trudged up the hillside, those able-bodied helping the wounded. As the shadows lengthened, the elves seemed to be showing hints of a rising sense of urgency. Jommy whispered to Kaspar, “General, do the elves look a little edgy to you?”
Kaspar nodded. “For the better part of an hour now, I’d say. I don’t know how much farther we have to travel, but it’s a certainty they want to be there before nightfall.”
Soon Jommy’s observation was borne out. The elves insisted that the prisoners pick up the pace, and were unforgiving to the plight of the wounded. As the sun dipped behind the western mountains pairs of able-bodied men were forced to carry those unable to keep up.
Kaspar shouted, “What’s the danger?” but was ignored as the elves began turning all their attention toward the woods rather than watching the prisoners as closely as they had been.
Suddenly, the leader shouted a warning in their language.
Kaspar could see that the elven warriors and magicians were well drilled as they spread out to counter what appeared to be some sort of attack. Kaspar shouted to his men, “Get down!” and himself fell to the ground.
A thrumming sound filled the air and the shadows between the massive boles of the trees appeared to shift, as if darkness had achieved tangibility and could move.
“Void-darters!” the leader of the elves said to Kaspar. “Let none touch you.”
“Then give us our weapons so we may defend ourselves!”
The elf ignored the request, his eyes fixed upon the perimeter of the column. Then a shout from up ahead alerted Kaspar that the attack was under way.
Like something from a bad dream, flashes of darkness sped through the air, shadowy forms that defied the eye. Kaspar prided himself on a hunter’s vision, but he had no concept of what it was he was looking at.
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Wedge-shaped, moving more like a sea skate or ray than a bird, the figures sped through the air faster than a swift, darting one way then another with impossible changes in direction.
They were so flat that if they turned suddenly, they appeared to vanish for a moment, presenting an impossible target. Kaspar knew these creatures would be hard to hit with a sword, harder still with an arrow.
The elf warriors kept their swords at the ready but Kaspar already knew any contact between a steel blade and the flitting creatures was likely to be purely accidental. The only thing that gave Kaspar hope was that the creatures looked delicate, almost insubstantial, and he couldn’t imagine any of them surviving a sword’s blow. But how to hit them, that was the question.
Yet the
flourishing of swords seemed to cause the apparitions to hesitate. Kaspar heard the voice of Jim Dasher, from a short distance away, shouting, “Those things don’t want to touch steel! Belt buckles!”
The soldiers quickly pulled loose their belts, rolling on the ground like demented rag dolls, trying to keep low while trying to free their only weapon. Some came to their knees, or into a crouch, their belts folded ready to be swung, while others wrapped the belts around their fist, buckle on top, like a hand weapon.
The swooping flyers veered off rather than be touched, but Kaspar was an experienced enough hunter to understand they were only testing their prey. “Keep low!” he shouted. “They’re coming in . . . now!”
As if they had obeyed his command the flying creatures veered in, diving straight down at those on the trail. The elves were ready, obviously practiced in dealing with these creatures, while the humans were trained fighting men, handpicked by the Conclave for their resolve as well as their other abilities.
Kaspar spared a glance to either side and saw Jommy to his right and Servan to his left with Jim Dasher now standing slightly behind Servan’s left, each man now with at least one flank covered, and then he saw black horror flying straight at him.
At the last instant Kaspar could see that the creatures had 7 7
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tiny eyes that looked like shimmering blue gems flecked with gold. A maw like a dagger cut opened for a second showing tiny razor-sharp teeth of brilliant carmine red.
Kaspar lashed out as hard as he could, his belt buckle squarely striking the Void-darter under its “chin.” He felt the shock of contact run through his hands and arms as if he had just struck an oak with his sword. The creature flew backward, tumbling, losing its ability to fly. It struck the ground and with a flash of a metallic, grey-blue light vanished, leaving behind only an oily black smoke.
Jommy lashed out as well, striking his attacking creature slightly off center, sending it veering away to his right. Servan ducked and Jim Dasher lashed out with a fist wrapped with his belt buckle on top. He grunted with pain as the shock ran straight up his arm.
In all three cases the response was the same; the creatures fled with a ghostly wail of pain.
Kaspar again stole a glance around and saw that most of his men were unhurt. The two exceptions were on the ground, contorted as if in agony. One had a creature attached to his left leg and evil blue wisps of smoke rose from where it touched him. The other had been struck in the chest. He arched his back so severely Kaspar wondered if he’d break his own spine.
An elf slashed at the first man’s leg, the point of his sword arcing across the creature’s back. A tiny blue flame erupted and Kaspar for the first time saw that the elves’ swords were not made of steel, but something he had never seen before. The creature released its hold on the thrashing man. The second man was not as lucky: the elf who came to stand over him drove his sword point through the attached Void-darter, straight into the prisoner. Both died instantly.
Kaspar ducked as another flyer attempted to wrap itself around his head, and as the creature grazed his scalp he felt a painful, icy tingle as if something were sucking the heat from his skin. Ice burn, he thought, remembering as a child what it was like to be hunting in the mountains with his father, and touching 7 8
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a dagger’s blade that had grown so cold it peeled a layer of skin off as his father pulled it from his hand.
Abruptly, a huge enveloping energy surrounded the column, as the elven spellcasters responded. The Void-darters turned and fled and the leader of the elves shouted, “Run! They will come back with their masters!”
Ignoring the dead man on the road, Kaspar yelled, “Grab the wounded and carry them!” He picked up the man who had been struck in the leg, found him almost icy to the touch, and hoisted him across his shoulders, carrying him as he would an elk he had killed in the hunt. The man groaned weakly, but Kaspar had no intention of leaving anyone behind if he could help it. Even at the height of his madness, when under the influence of the evil magician Leso Varen, Kaspar had held to certain principles that had inspired the personal loyalty of his men, and one was fundamental: on the battlefield every soldier was his brother—no living man was willingly left behind. Kaspar admitted that he might have been a murderous bastard at one time, but he was a loyal murderous bastard.
Kaspar kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead, and after running for twenty yards could see a wooden palisade ahead through a gap in the trees. The glimpse was enough to tell him that it was a fairly substantial fortification, with the battlement a good twenty feet above the foundation. The soldier in him quickly calculated the difficulty of taking such a position, uphill, while a punishing rain of arrows fell on you as you moved up to the base of the wall . . . nothing a skilled company of engineers supported by disciplined soldiers couldn’t quickly deal with, but he suspected there was more to the fortification than met the eye. Even so, a couple of turtles with sappers inside could probably dig up the foundation of two or three poles in the wall within an hour. He glanced at the road as he ran and thought that a good-sized covered ram with supporting archers could probably breach the gate in half the time. Unless magic was involved . . .
On top of this hill, snug against a cliff face some hundred yards or more behind, stood a series of wooden buildings fash-7 9
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ioned in a manner Kaspar had never seen before, and all of them were surrounded by the massive wooden wall.
As they approached, Kaspar appreciated how hundreds of trees must have been cleared to form an open killing ground.
An earthen redoubt had been erected in front of the palisade.
The road now fell away on both sides in a manner that would funnel attackers in front of the gate into a more confined area or have them falling off to one side or the other so that they’d end up standing below the wall, in peril of murderous bowfire from above.
To his right Kaspar could see that years of fighting had de-spoiled these grounds. There was something odd about it, he thought as he struggled to get his wounded soldier to safety, but he couldn’t quite put a name to it. There was something different about this battlefield, something more than seen.
A howling erupted behind the fleeing men and Kaspar turned around completely, to see what pursued them.
Void-darters sped in from behind, but in close pursuit came beings that could only be described as demons out of some deep pit of hell. Cloaked in tatters of charcoal, inky black beings sat astride creatures that seemed to be the demented product of a fevered delirium.
The animals looked like elongated wolves, but had an almost feline motion. Like the flying entities, they were things made of shadow and darkness, but these creatures had pale milky white eyes.
The riders were roughly humanoid in shape, but their forms flowed around the edges, and from them a fog or smoke trailed behind them, leaving grey wisps that were almost instantly lost in the evening’s gloom. They howled and Kaspar saw weapons in their hands, long blades that shimmered and sparked with angry energies of the darkest red hue.
“Ban-ath protect me!” said Jim Dasher as he edged close to Kaspar.
“Run!” shouted Kaspar, for some of the men had stopped in mute horror.
Men broke in ragged formation, the elves now ignoring 8 0
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their role as captors, everyone trying for the safety of the walls.
Kaspar expected to see archers ready to cover the retreat, but instead was greeted only by the sight of a few faces above the ramparts and none of them apparently in possession of a bow.
Burdened by the man he carried, Kaspar struggled toward the keep, again finding that will which had made him a dangerous foe before becoming a valued ally to the Conclave of Shadows. “Where are your archers?” he shouted.
The elf leader turned and said, “Arrows are of no use against their masters. We must get through the gates!” He turned and fle
d, unconcerned apparently whether Kaspar and the prisoners reached safety before mayhem overtook them.
Kaspar labored to keep up, for their refuge was only a hundred yards or so ahead. The first of the elves were already there and Kaspar was horrified to see that it was his men who were falling behind. “Damn you! Help us!” he shouted.
“No one can help you!” shouted back the leader. “You must reach the gates or you will perish.”
“I’ll be damned if I’m going to be caught like a hare run down by wolves!” Kaspar turned and yelled at one of his soldiers, “Take this man!” As easily as if tossing a dressed elk to his cook, he threw the man over the soldier’s shoulders. The soldier almost collapsed under the sudden weight, but he hitched himself up and moved on as quickly as possible.
Kaspar saw that the nearest rider would be on top of him in only a few moments. He readied his belt as a weapon again, remembered with evil irony how he had stood just so a few years ago with a captive’s chains as his only weapon while nomads from the hills of Novindus had ridden down on him.
From his right came a voice. “I have an idea.”
Jim Dasher was standing at his side, holding two large rocks.
Kaspar nodded, and took one.
Jim waited until the rider was almost on top of them, then pulled back his arm and threw.
His rock sped through the air and struck the rider full in the face. It passed through as if piercing smoke, but the rider flinched, pulling up with a startled cry.
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“The wolf!” shouted Dasher. He picked up another rock and hurled it just as Kaspar unloaded his rock with as much strength as he could right at the creature’s muzzle. The wolflike mount snarled, a distant hollow sound, and the rock bounced off, causing it to falter.
Dasher hurled a rock at the creature’s foot, causing it to stumble and collapse on the trail. The rider might have been immune to Kaspar’s rock, but he seemed to abide by the same rules as any mortal rider when his mount stumbled for he flew over the creature’s haunches.
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