With that, the man leaped at him. Kevin scrambled to his feet, looking frantically about for another weapon. Out of the corner of his eye, the bardling saw the bandit’s knife flash again, this time aimed at his unprotected neck. He twisted about, just barely managing to catch the man’s wrist in time.
But I... can’t ... hold him ... he’s just ...too strong ...
The bandit continued to grin. Slowly he began bending the bardling’s wrists back and back ... Kevin gasped as renewed pain shot through his bruised hand, and lost his grip. The knife began its plunge—
But then the bandit froze as a dark-skinned hand closed on his neck. The man’s eyes widened, gaping in sudden blind horror. As Kevin stared in sheer disbelief, he saw the man’s hair fade from black to gray to white. The leathery skin sagged, wrinkled. The bandit let the bardling go so suddenly Kevin fell, dragging himself frantically away as what had been a living man a moment before crumbled to ancient dust.
Naitachal stood revealed, eyes still blazing red from the force of his spell. But in those eerie eyes, Kevin saw such bitter despair that for a moment the bardling could do nothing but stare in helpless fascination. Then, with a quick flip of his wrist, me Dark Elf pulled up the hood of his black cloak, hiding his face.
Only then did Kevin realize what was happening around them. That last horrific sorcery had been coo much for what was left of the bandit gang. Yelling in terror, they fled back down the gorge. Lydia started to knee her horse after them, then reined the animal in again.
“Nah,” she muttered. “Not worth it. Everyone all right?”
Tich’ki fluttered to a landing behind Lydia. Cleaning her spear with a scrap of cloth from a bandit’s tunic, she grinned fiercely. “No problems here.”
“I am unhurt.” Eliathanis was disheveled, golden hair wild, cloak gashed and elven mail darkly stained, but his voice was as calmly formal as ever.
“And I,” added Naitachal softly. “What of you, Kevin?”
The bardling snatched up his fallen lute, examining it carefully, then let out a sigh of relief. “It’s only scratched a little.”
“Yes, bardling, but what of you? I saw how carefully you moved your hand.”
Reaction set in, as abruptly as though the words had been a spell. Kevin clutched the lute to him. trying to hide his sudden trembling, realizing only now how narrowly he’d escaped permanently damaging his fingers. Powers, oh Powers, Master Aidan had been right to warn him. He’d come so close to ending his Bardic career before it had started ....
“It’s nothing,” the bardling said gruffly. ‘Just a bruise.” He retrieved what was left of his sword, glancing ruefully at the fragments, then slipping them back into their scabbard. “C-come on, let’s get out of here before the bandits recover.”
“They’re not going to recover so quickly!” Tich’ki jeered, pointing with her spear at crumpled bodies. “But the boy’s right. Let’s go.”
“Wait,” Eliathanis said softly, approaching the Dark Elf. Naitachal stiffened, murmuring something in the elvish tongue that was plainly a wary question, but the White Elf shook his head. “No. Let the humans understand this as well. Naitachal, I have always believed that the Nithathil, the Dark Elves, hated life, that they cared nothing for any but themselves.”
“Well?”
“You had no need to risk yourself guarding my back. Yet you did. You had no need to risk yourself saving the bardling. Yet you did.”
“What are you laying to say, Eliathanis?”
“Just that I...” The fair skin reddened. “I may have been too hasty in judging you.”
He held out a hand. The Dark Elf hesitated for a long moment, then raised his own hand. As they pressed palm to palm in the elvish version of a handshake, Tich’ki snickered.
“Touching,” she said. “Now. can we please get going?”
A lilting call in the elvish language coaxed the strayed horses back to them. As they rode off, Kevin resolutely refused to look at the dissipating mound of dust that had been a living man.
To the bardling’s relief, the gorge widened again after a short time of uneasy riding, the stone walls dropping off into a tangle of greenery. Dazed by shock and exhaustion, he sank into a weary stupor, clinging blindly to the saddle, barely aware of the world around him.
“Hey, Kevin! Kevin!”
Lydia was calling him. The bardling roused himself, realizing with a start that night had stolen up on them. They were stopped in the middle of a small meadow, their horses grabbing greedily at the lush weeds and grass. “We’re stopping for the night?”
“I think that’s a good idea, boy, don’t you?”
Oh, he did, indeed.
Lydia, experienced traveler and adventurer that she was, carried a pouch of healing herbs with which she treated everyone’s cuts and bruises, including the bardling’s sore hand.
“Now let’s try to get some sleep,” she ordered after they’d finished a brief meal of cold rabbit and stale bread. “It’s been one hell of a tiring day!”
But for all his weariness, Kevin couldn’t sleep. He kept seeing death, and blood, and a man dying on the point of his sword, another man withering to dust .... At last he moved away from the others to sit wrapped in darkness without and within.
After a time a shadow stirred: Naitachal, moving silently to join him.
“What’s wrong, Kevin?” the Dark Elf asked softly.
“Nothing. I just can’t sleep.”
“You’re still thinking of the battle, aren’t you?”
“No—Yes—” The bardling broke off with a choked little gasp. “Naitachal, t-this isn’t going to mean much to you, I mean you’re a Dark Elf and a necromancer, you’re used to death and all that, but I... killed a man today.”
“So you did.”
Kevin stiffened at the casual reply. “That really doesn’t mean anything to you, does it?”
“Oh, it does.” It was the barest whisper. “ I cannot remember the first time I was forced to take a life. But 1 have never totally forgotten the horror of it”
“You c-can’t remember? How could you not remember—”
“Kevin, I don’t know how much you know of my people. Humans tell some truly bizarre stories about the Nithathil, those you call the Dark Elves. But one thing they say of us is quite true: we are indeed raised without love, without anything that might weaken us. I was singled out early in my childhood as one who held sorcerous promise. That means only one thing to the Nithathil. For all the years of my life I have studied dark magic, the magic of death. Necromancy, as you call it. But ... ah. Powers, I am so very weary of it!”
Kevin glanced at the Dark Elfin surprise. “Then I was right, wasn’t I? You were every bit as horrified as I was when that bandit died from—from age.”
“When I killed him, you mean? That life-draining spell is called Archahai Necrawch, Spectre Touch in your language.” Naitachal shuddered, ever so faintly. “It is a very dark thing, indeed. But there wasn’t much time to act, not with that knife about to slay you, and I couldn’t think of any other way to save you.”
“You had a ... sword.”
“A Death Sword, Kevin, a temporary thing drawn from sorcery’s heart. You heard its joy in taking life, did you not? That soft and empty laughter? I couldn’t run the risk of even scratching you with it.”
Hearing the bitter self-loathing in the Dark Elf’s voice, the bardling cried, “I don’t understand! If you don’t want to work death-spells, why do it? Why not try something else?”
“There is nothing else, not for one of my kind. Not yet, at any rate,” the Dark Elf added softly. “I meant it when I told you 1 intended to prove my people had nothing to do with the stealing of Count Volmar’s niece—Love or hate, they are my people. But I have no intention of ever returning to them.”
“What will you do?”
“Aye, bardling! I don’t know, not yet.” Naitachal paused. “You don’t know how I envy you.”
“Me?”
“You k
now what you want from life. You have the joy that is your music, and with it, the promise of bright, happy, living magic.”
“I don’t understand! Surely your people have music, too? I mean, they’re elves, and I thought all elves—”
“We are not like the other elven races. We alone have no music.”
“No music! B-but that’s terrible!”
“Oh, it is. Listening to your songs, bardling, has been untold delight for me.” The Dark Elf gave a soft, rueful laugh. “Ay me. Here I try to help you, and end up telling you my problems instead 1”
Kevin blinked, all at once realizing that somewhere during this strange conversation, the specter of the bandit he’d killed had ceased to haunt him. “You haw helped.”
“Misery loving company, eh?” Whatever else he might be, Naitachal was still Dark Elf enough to be ashamed of showing weakness. “Ah, enough of this!” he said abruptly, getting to his feet. “The night is late, boy. Go get some sleep.”
But then Naitachal paused, teeth flashing in a sudden grin. “And if you tell anyone about this conversation,” he said, a touch too lightly, “I shall deny it all!”
Chapter VIII
Something damp was hitting his face. For a sleepy moment, Kevin thought he was bade in the castle, with the squires playing one of their pranks on him. He opened his eyes with a cry of:
“Will you stop—”
“The rain?” Lydia cut in wryly. “Don’t think any of us can manage that”
Kevin sat up in dismay, clutching his cloak about him. It wasn’t much of a rain, more of a light but persistent drizzle. “But it’s going to wash away the tracks!”
“Probably. Let’s get going, boy. I want to get as far as we can before that happens.”
Gathering up his damp belongings, the bardling muttered, “It never rains in the songs.” At least the day wasn’t cold, but the ride was still going to be an unpleasant one.
He hadn’t guessed just how unpleasant As though the previous day had never happened, the two elves began bristling towards each other once more. And Naitachal showed not the slightest sign of the lonely, music-hungry soul of the night before.
I give up! Kevin thought. I just give up!
Of course the weather had a good deal to do with deteriorating tempers. Kevin knew that. Not that such wisdom helped him any. Discovering that even a relatively lightweight mail shirt became incredibly uncomfortable when wet, the bardling had to keep a tight rein on anything he said, particularly when Tich’ki made some waspish remark.
She can’t help it, he forced himself to accept. The fairy, after all, had to be the most uncomfortable of them all, constantly fluttering her wings in a vain attempt to keep them dry—No wonder she was snapping at elf and human indiscriminately! Too waterlogged for flight, she must fed frighteningly helpless.
Lydia, meanwhile, fairly radiated angry frustration, bent nearly double over her horse, muttering under her breath as she hunted for the rapidly fading trail.
It didn’t help uncertain tempers to realize that they were almost out of supplies for people and horses both. Granted, the animals would probably be able to find enough forage to keep them going, but it wasn’t going to be much fun hunting for game in this weather.
At least, Kevin thought, struggling for any sign of good humor, the drizzle did seem to be letting up. Who knew? Maybe the sun would even deign to put in an appearance and dry everybody off.
But even as the first feeble rays did at last break through the clouds, Lydia threw up her hands in disgust “That does it”
“I take it the rain washed away the cracks?” Naitachal asked.
“Hell, no! They aren’t washed away, they simply disappear, just like that! As though horse and rider, up and vanished into the air.” Lydia let out her breath in an angry hiss. “I’ve had trails go cold on me before, but I’ve never had one just—stop!”
“Wonderful,” Tich’ki said flatly. “Now what?”
What, indeed? After a moment, Kevin began, “I think—”
“We’re going to have to go on to Westerin,” Lydia said, just as if he wasn’t there.
Eliathanis shook his head. “There’s no evidence they rode that way.”
“There’s no evidence they didn’t! Besides, the horses need grain, and a hot meal and a bath wouldn’t hurt any of us, either.”
“Ah, I think—” Kevin began again, but Naitachal cut in:
“Lydia has a point. We would be more likely to learn something important in a city than out here in the middle of open country.”
“That’s a human city!” Eliathanis snapped. “How willingly do you think they’re going to admit a Dark Elf?”
Naitachal shrugged. “About as willingly as they would a White Elfin these uncertain days. But our cloaks are hooded, after all. No one need know our races, as long as we’re careful.”
“Huh! No one’s going to bother a fairy!” Tich’ki boasted.
“No one’s going to bother with a fairy!” Lydia corrected with a grin. “Not a little thing like you!”
“Little, is it?” Tich’ki pinched Lydia so hard the woman jumped. “Little, is it?”
“Well, you ore little—Aie, stop that! I apologize!”
“Hey. remember me?” the bardling asked. “I’ve got some say in this, too, and I—”
“This is nonsense.” Eliathanis shook his head again, stubbornly. “I think we should continue to search out here.”
“Search what?” Lydia exploded. “I tell you, there isn’t the slightest due. There isn’t even the slightest trace of a clue! In the city, it’ll be a different matter. Give ‘em enough money, and we’ll be able to bribe nearly anyone to tell us whatever we need to know.”
The White Elf straightened, staring at her as though she’d uttered an obscenity. “Humans lie,” he said shortly.” How much truth do you think you will get out of anyone who can be bought?”
“He’s scared,” Tich’ki taunted. “Poor elf is scared the humans will throw things at him. Dirty his pretty face.”
Eliathanis took a furious swipe at her, but the fairy, fluttering heavily because of her still-damp wings, soil managed to evade him, mocking him with, “Temper, temper!”
“Stop that, Tich’ki!” Lydia caught one small foot and pulled the fairy back down behind her on the horse. “I say we go to Westerin.”
“And I,” Naitachal voted.
“Me, too.” Tich’ki grinned sharply. “I lake human dues. So many folks careless with their belongings. So many ... opportunities.”
“Huh,” Lydia muttered. “Just don’t get us thrown into prison.”
“Have I ever?”
“Yes!”
The fairy ruffled her wings. “Thought you’d forgotten all about that—It wasn’t my fault the gems fell into your pouch!”
“Oh no. The pouch just happened to come open at just the right time,”
“Well ... it might have had a little help ...”
“And it’s not going to have any more help! If I find your fingers anywhere near that pouch, Tich’ki, I swear I’ll cut ‘cm off!”
“Spoilsport.”
“I sure hope so! What about you, Eliathanis? Are you with us or not?”
After a reluctant moment, the White Elf nodded. “Not that it will do any good.”
“Hey!” Kevin shouted with all his breath, and the others stared at him as though seeing him for the first time—”Remember me? I get some say in this, too!”
“All right, Kevin,” Lydia said, a little too cheerfully. As though she’s humoring a child! Kevin fumed. “What do you say?”
What could he say? No matter what Count Volmar had said, Kevin knew he certainly wasn’t the leader of this group! “I say,” the bardling grumbled, “we go to Westerin.”
Kevin reined in his horse without even being aware he’d done it, staring in sheer wonder.
“Westerin,” he breathed.
Oh, he had been taught his geography as a child. He knew that the walled city lay a
t the junction of two trading routes, on a wide, fertile plain fed by a tranquil river. But hearing about it and actually seeing it were two very different things! Westerin was a beautifully picturesque sight beneath the dramatically cloudy sky, the thick, crenellated wall that girded it broken at regular intervals by pointed towers topped in bronze that gleamed like gold in the shifting rays of sunlight.
The city was also much larger than the bardling had ever imagined—no, no, he thought, it wasn’t merely large, it was enormous!
Particularly, Kevin added wryly to himself, compared to quiet little Bracklin.
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