Rockingham pulled his shoulders up and hunched against a sudden wet gust. “Not this black night.”
“I heard him.”
“You heard thunder.”
Nee’lahn nudged her stallion forward, leading the mare with her. Her senses were keen. It was not thunder she had heard. “Kral!” she called again, the wind ripping the name from her lips.
As if in answer, a light bloomed in the wood far ahead. Her first thought was that they had circled back around and that the misty light came from the old man’s cottage. No, they were too deep in the wood, too far from the cottage. She sat straighter on the horse and peered forward, trying to pierce the veil of rain. The light, a soft azure glow, appeared to be bobbing up and down. Was someone hailing them? Maybe Kral?
She reached a hand to the trunk of a tree and allowed her eyes to drift partially closed, searching through the rough bark and down to the heart of the tree, to its very roots that entwined with the other trees of the dark wood. She hummed a song of the nyphai low in her throat, a song of inquiry. Who lay ahead, friend or foe? But her only response was a rumble of irritation. How dull the roots of these trees, like men snoring in dream, compared to the symphony that once played in her own forest home. Only a single feathery answer returned—elv’in.
Startled, she let her fingers drift from the woody bark. Just an old nightmare, she thought. These trees here were lost in the past. The elv’in had been gone from these shores for a thousand ages. They had disappeared long ago, sailing their wind ships beyond the Great Western Ocean to a faraway land, from which they had never returned.
Still, even this mention of the ancient elv’in stirred a worry in her chest; it was such a cursed name to find among these storm-drenched limbs.
Her curiosity inched her stallion in the direction of the light. The trunks of trees, moving between her and the light, winked the glow into and out of existence like some cryptic signal. Finally, an especially fierce gale blew down from the peaks, and a wall of rain swept over them. The light blotted out. Nee’lahn stopped her horse and waited, unsure where exactly the light had last stood.
As she held her breath, her eyes searching, Rockingham slipped his gray mare beside her chestnut stallion. “I don’t like this. We should go. No telling what manner of beast might be loose this night.”
She raised a warning hand. “Hush!” Her ears strained. She thought she had heard the snapping of a twig nearby.
“Wha—?” Rockingham’s question was strangled to silence by a large hand clamped over his mouth.
Nee’lahn flinched in her saddle as she saw the huge shape swell up and pull Rockingham from his perch. A knife flashed into her hand from a sheath on her wrist. Whoever had grabbed Rockingham was on the far side of the horse, hidden from view.
From the corner of her eye, she saw the glow reappear on her right, farther in the forest. She ignored it, her attention focused on the commotion behind the mare. A face suddenly appeared over the withers of the horse. The rocky planes and thick beard of the face were familiar. “Kral?” she asked in a hushed voice.
“Down,” he whispered at her, a hand motioning her to dismount.
Nee’lahn slipped from the horse’s back. She darted to Kral and Rockingham. The garrison man was rubbing at his neck, his eyes narrowed with anger.
“Tether the horses,” the large man whispered in her ear.”
Why?”
He pointed toward the light. “The horses draw attention. You two were making enough noise to attract a deaf cliff-cat. On foot, the storm should hide our scent and cover our footfalls.”
“Who’s over there?”
“I’m … not sure.” Kral quickly swung his face away. “But on this foul night, we should heed caution.”
Nee’lahn’s brow crinkled. The mountain man was acting oddly, but his words were sound.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Rockingham said, planting his feet.
“You’re right,” Kral said. He grabbed both the man’s wrists in one hand and bound them with rope. “You’re staying here with the horses.” Kral tossed an end of the rope over a high branch of a winter oak and caught it again. He pulled it taut, dragging Rockingham’s arms so far up that he danced on the tips of his toes. Kral tied the rope around the bole of the tree.
Rockingham began to protest, but a gag stuffed into his mouth silenced his words.
“Is that really necessary?” Nee’lahn asked, surprised at the savagery in Kral’s behavior. “He hasn’t caused us any trouble.”
“What about the skal’tum?” Kral said. “How did they know where to find us?”
She remained silent, unsure.
“Come, the sun’s rising,” he said. “I’m returning to the cottage and ridding the valley of those beasts, as I did with the other.” He nodded toward the light. “But first I will know who else moves through these woods on a stormy night.”
Nee’lahn thought of mentioning what she had heard from the tree voices, but Kral’s actions made her uneasy, reluctant to open her worries to him. Besides, what was the need of speaking of the elv’in kind? They were creatures of old stories.
“It would be best if you stayed with the horses, too,” Kral said.
“No.” The word escaped her mouth before she could stop it, but she didn’t take it back. “I’m coming with you.”
Kral hesitated as if to protest, then merely shrugged and turned away. Nee’lahn followed his wide back as he slipped away. For such a huge man, he seemed to float across the forest floor. Silent and sure, he sped toward the distant light, ax clenched in one fist. Nee’lahn, a creature of the forest herself, still had to press hard to keep pace with the man. The storm, with its sudden buffeting winds and wet embrace, hindered her, while the rain sluicing through the bower overhead ran off Kral’s body as if off rock.
Not a word was uttered as they continued, but inside Nee’lahn a thousand concerns fought. Even after his battle with the skal’tum in the town, Kral had come away from the fight winded but unfazed, with his calm resilience intact. Now, though, his words had a bite to them, and his actions were as sharp as the edge of his ax. Even his shoulders seemed tight and bound in iron.
If Kral had not been so strange, she would have perhaps stayed with Rockingham and the horses and might have been able to keep Rockingham from being trussed up like a beast. But the way Kral’s brows brooded over his sunken red eyes scared her—not for herself, but for others he might encounter. Not all things this night needed to be met with blade and muscle.
Nee’lahn came abreast of the mountain man and watched the light glowing past the last scattering of tree trunks. Whoever cast this light into the storm deserved to attract more than just blind fury. She edged ahead of Kral, determined to see first if Kral’s ax might be needed. She sped ahead of the giant, her lithe feet dancing across the fallen leaves and twigs in silence. The ways of the forest paths were part of her nature. Behind her, she heard a whisper of ire from Kral.
The slightest smile edged her lips until she reached the last of the trees and saw who and what brought light into this dark wood. No! Instinct took hold of her heart as her dagger again appeared at her fingertips, snatched from her wrist sheath. She flew into the circle of light.
The tall, slender man, twice Nee’lahn’s height but half her weight and dressed in only a thin white shift tucked into billowing green trousers, twisted a long thin neck to face her. He stood in a ring of mushrooms with one arm raised high, bearing aloft the source of the glow. A bird, perched on his raised wrist, glowed a bright azure from its feathers. Startled, it beat its wings twice, and the light waxed brighter with its motion. A moon’falcon!
The falcon opened its beak and screeched.
“No, Nee’lahn!” Kral called behind her as she raced forward with her dagger held high.
She ignored him, a scream of rage escaping her lips. The elv’in must die!
ER’RIL PUSHED THE child behind him and unsheathed his sword. He faced the dark hallway. Hissing black
shapes slid toward them. Bol stood with the girl and held his lantern up. Its light cast the trio in an island of illumination. With the precipice at their heels, retreat meant only another form of death.
“I don’t understand,” Bol muttered behind him. “The few times I’ve encountered signs of the rock’goblins, I merely had to run away. They’ve never pursued me.”
“Maybe they’ve grown bolder,” Er’ril said. He saw a few of the shapes slip toward the edge of the light. The lantern’s glow seemed to hold them back, like some magickal shield.
One of the shadowy figures broke away from the others and dragged forward. It stood just outside the light, clinging yet to the blackness. A glimpse of red eyes and a baring of needled fangs reflected the traces of the lantern’s glow. Er’ril found the tiny hairs on the nape of his neck raising at the sight. The creature’s shape echoed night terrors of his own childhood when blankets were pulled tight to chin as the house creaked at midnight.
“They won’t hold much longer,” Er’ril said. “Do you have any weapon, Bol?”
“No, only the light.” The old man stepped forward, flashing the lantern ahead.
The sudden movement of the light caught the bolder goblin by surprise. It stood exposed in the bright light, no taller than a goat. Its skin, which had appeared black in the shadows, was now revealed to be a scaly white, like the underbelly of a dead fish. A filthy oil sheened its surface. Huge red eyes stared, unblinking, at them. Then it hunched back from them with a sharp hiss, exposing the fangs of an asp. A tail, with a single black horn brandished on its tip, whipped from behind the goblin to coil and writhe in threat.
Er’ril grimaced, not at the sight of the single beast cringing in the lantern’s glow, but at what else the spreading light revealed. The hall before them was crammed with hunching, squirming forms. Even the walls and roof were festooned with goblins hanging from claws dug into the crumbling blocks of stone.
The single goblin nearest them darted back into the shadows. The bulk of its fellow creatures also shied from the encroaching light, but not in full retreat.
“What do you make of them?” Er’ril asked Bol. “My sword cannot singly force a pass through their mass. What of wit’ch magick?” Er’ril forced himself not to stare at the little girl cowering behind Bol.
“No, Elena is dry. And like her male counterparts, it takes sunlight to renew her power. She cannot help us.”
“Then can these rock’goblins be reasoned with?”
“I know not. They are a skittish lot, having only rare contacts with others.”
“And what happened to those others?”
“Their skulls and bones were found, well cleaned.”
Er’ril stared as the goblins began a slow creep back toward them. He motioned Elena toward one wall and had Bol stand guard before her. Er’ril needed room to maneuver. He raised the tip of his sword.
He watched for any sign that the beasts had gained enough confidence to attack. But they continued to hover at the edge of the lantern’s light, as if waiting for a sign of their own. The goblins seemed determined to keep the intruders from leaving, but unsure what to do with them otherwise.
“What … are they doing?” Elena asked from behind her uncle. Her voice was surprisingly steady. Maybe she was too naive to properly appreciate their predicament.
“I’m not sure, honey,” Bol said, “but we’d better be quiet.”
With their words, a commotion seemed to be stirring among the mass of goblins. It started far down the hall and commenced toward them—a furious hissing and a squabbling of clicking tongues.
Er’ril tensed, his sword arm rock steady, his eyes narrowed with concentration.
Suddenly another goblin burst from among the mass to reveal itself in the lantern light. Like the goblin before, this one stared up at him with huge red eyes, its tail thrusting toward Er’ril cautiously. But in its tiny hands was clasped an object that flashed in the lantern light. The goblin slunk forward, its hands raised toward him as if offering a gift. Er’ril backed a pace and pointed the tip of his sword at the creature.
The other goblins filling the hallway had silenced their hissing and stood stone still. The goblin standing before Er’ril peeled its long fingers open to reveal a single sculpted lump of metal, so large it took both of its tiny white palms to support it.
Er’ril gasped. The metal glinted like gold in the lamplight. He knew this object and its shape and knew it was not gold that shone in the light, but iron forged from the blood of a thousand mages. He had hidden it among the ruins of the ancient school over a century ago for safekeeping against rogues and thieves during his traveling.
It was the ward of A’loa Glen.
Stunned by the unexpected revelation, Er’ril allowed his guard down and moved too slowly. The goblin with the prize darted forward, not at Er’ril, but past him. Before Er’ril could react, the goblin snaked behind him and flew to the lip of the yawning precipice. The creature paused a moment, peering over its shoulder at him.
“No!” Er’ril dropped his sword and lunged a hand at the beast. The ward must not be lost! Again he was too slow. The goblin leaped into the precipice and tumbled into the black maw, still clutching the key to the lost city.
Er’ril dashed to the edge, falling to his knees, and searched the chasm. Nothing but blackness stared back at him. “Bring the light!” Er’ril commanded.
“Look, they’re leaving,” Bol said.
Er’ril allowed himself a quick glance. The mass of rock’goblins were slinking back from them, disappearing into the gloom of the dark halls: one less threat. Swinging his attention back to the precipice, Er’ril repeated, “Your lantern! Shine it here!”
“Why? Let’s get out of here. We’ll backtrack to the surface,” Bol said as he stepped to the chasm with the lantern.
“Lower it into the pit.”
Bol bent with a sigh and leaned his lantern over the edge. The light spilled into the darkness to illuminate a narrow cliff only a few spans down. Crude hewn stairs led from this ledge deeper into the chasm. Just at the edge of the lantern’s glow, a goblin could be seen jumping down the steps. It was soon beyond the reach of the light.
“We need to catch that little toad.” Er’ril pulled to his feet and picked up his abandoned sword.
“Why? Let him go, Er’ril. We need to get Elena to safety.”
Er’ril slammed his sword into its scabbard. “If we’re to have any chance of reaching A’loa Glen and the Blood Diary, we need what the goblin carries. It’s the key to unlocking the path to the lost city. Without it, the ancient spells woven around A’loa Glen are impregnable. I must retrieve the ward.”
Bol’s brow crinkled as Er’ril’s words sank home. “How did they find it? And why show it to us and run away?”
“We were herded here.” Er’ril pointed to the now empty hallway. “By exposing the ward, they no longer need to push us. They expect that it will now pull us.”
Elena had wandered to stare into the precipice. “Pull us where?” Er’ril stepped beside her. “Down there.”
KRAL LUNGED AFTER Nee’lahn. What had ignited such fury in the usually quiet woman? Rain lashed in swirls through the small clearing among the trees. The lone occupant, a man as tall as Kral but thin as a wind-whipped sapling, glanced toward Nee’lahn with the mildest pursing of his lips, as if only slightly curious why this woman was racing toward him with an upraised dagger. His hair, tied into a long braid that draped down his back, was cast in shades of silver, but surely not from advancing age since the smoothness of his face suggested otherwise. His blue eyes, though, which settled only briefly on Kral, suggested time had worn away both youthful fears and wonder. The eyes seemed bored.
The only light in this stormy glade swelled in waves from a bird, a falcon aglow with a deep azure light. Perched on the tall man’s bony wrist, the bird’s response was more vocal than that of its bearer. It screeched through a sharp beak at Nee’lahn, mimicking the tiny woman’s own declaration
of rage.
A gust of rain stung Kral’s eyes. He blinked. In that fraction of a heartbeat, the bird vanished from the stranger’s wrist. In a streak of light, not unlike the bolts striking between clouds, the bird dove to Nee’lahn and knocked the dagger from her hand. Before Nee’lahn’s shocked feet could even stumble to a stop, the falcon had returned to its perch.
Nee’lahn stood panting, her fine hair plastered in welts across her face. “This is not your land!” she yelled above the thunder. “Your kind do not belong here.”
By now, Kral had reached her and placed a hand upon her shoulder. Unsure who this man was but trusting Nee’lahn’s instinct, he stood by to support his companion. He felt her quiver under his palm, as if her emotions boiled within her, threatening to explode. “Who is this man? Do you know him?”
Nee’lahn’s quaking calmed as he spoke. “No, not him. But I do know his people—the elv’in!” The last word was spat at the stranger.
The stranger remained silent, unconcerned, as if he did not speak their language. Kral tensed as the elv’in man suddenly moved, but he only reached a long finger to ruffle the feathers of his falcon. This seemed to calm the bird, and it settled deeper on its perch, less taut.
“I have not heard of his clan,” Kral said, his words for some reason whispered.
“You could not. Even before the race of man appeared on these shores, the elv’in were myth, long vanished across the mists of the Great Western Ocean.
“Then how do you know them?”
“The trees have long memories. Our most ancient roots were young when the elv’in still walked under the boughs of the Western Reaches. The most hallowed trees still sang the stories: songs of war … and betrayal.”
“But they sing no longer,” the stranger said, speaking for the first time, his voice like the chiming of bells. His eyes, though, were still on his falcon, his head bent slightly in study.
“Because of you!” Nee’lahn began to shake again.
He shrugged.
“You betrayed us.” Tears appeared on her lids.
“No, you destroyed yourselves.” For the first time, a spark of anger glinted in the blue eyes of the stranger, a sudden storm in a summer’s sky. He swung to face them both fully, high cheekbones sharp on his white face.
Wit'ch Fire: Book One of The Banned and the Banished Page 24
