But the Viking was beyond reason. He let out a bloodcurdling roar and charged, swinging the stout shaft before him. His aim was good-Natac could neither duck below nor leap over the weapon.
Instead, the warrior extended his sword in a direct parry, knowing that the weapon’s first test would be a real challenge. Holding the hilt with both hands, he winced against the impact-and indeed, the blow sent him staggering to the side, his palms stinging from the vibrations of the attack.
But Owen didn’t pursue. Instead, he gaped stupidly at the deep gouge that had scored his oaken staff. When he flexed the weapon sharply, the small piece of wood connecting the pieces creaked ominously. With a flick of his sword, Natac struck the top of the staff, and the weapon snapped in two at the cut.
Instantly the big Viking leaped forward. Instincts from a lifetime of fighting with a maquahuital almost forced Natac to hack with the blade, but he recalled the lessons he’d learned from his studies of Earth. Instead, he brought the point sharply against Owen’s leather vest. He pushed hard enough to slice through the cowskin and slightly puncture the skin beyond.
The Viking halted, eyes narrowed. “You could kill me, just like that,” he said, shaking his head in wonder.
“But I won’t do that. You made a wager, and you lost. Now, go find yourself another staff, and report back here, ready to go to work.”
11
Journeys Into a Dark Place
Narrowed forest pathway, oaken gates ajar,
Shadows lurking halfway danger near and far.
Lullaby of the Hunted
“The Metal Highway is over there… are you sure this is the way to the Greens?” Nistel asked, looking up the dauntingly steep trail. They were only a few miles from Miradel’s villa, but the gnome had obviously noticed that the sage-ambassador followed a trail leading farther into the hills.
“Not exactly,” Belynda said with a laugh. “Though in our case, it will help us to get there. You didn’t think we were going to walk all the way, did you?”
“Oh, well, no. Oh!” Blinker said with a gulp. “We’re going with m-magic?”
“Don’t worry-it won’t hurt, and will save plenty of blisters on our feet.”
The gnome looked unconvinced, but nevertheless followed her up the rugged path. The route was much as Quilene had described it when she gave Belynda directions: an overgrown pathway with a foundation of solid stone, including steps that had been carved into the hillside during some long-forgotten century.
By the time they neared the summit, both of them were huffing for breath. Nistel fell a dozen steps behind by the time the sage-ambassador stepped between two pillars of gray stone to emerge atop the hill. She found the ruin of an old stone wall, and a flagstone surface that was still smooth and flat. Belynda knew this was the right place-the pattern of monoliths rising around the edge of the circular surface, surely distinct in all Nayve, matched exactly the description Quilene had provided.
In the center of the hilltop plaza was a raised stone basin containing clear water. While Blinker nervously checked behind the monoliths, Belynda touched the water with her fingers, then moved her hand through it in a gentle, swirling motion. In seconds the water in the stone bowl was spiraling lazily, circling in the direction of her movement. Satisfied, Belynda removed her hand. The water continued to whirl as she looked around the open space.
“There!” gasped Nistel.
A halo of lights suddenly sparkled, only a few steps away. More and more spots blinked into view, colors of gold and cream and crimson. Moments later those pieces of brightness had coalesced into the form of a serene elfwoman with hair of gold and a gown of bright red silk.
“Hello, Quilene,” Belynda said. She had been confident that the spell would work, but even so, the other woman’s appearance was a relief.
“Greetings, Belynda, Nistel,” replied the sage-enchantress with a graceful dip of her head. “Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?”
“Yes. I must see these Crusaders for myself-the Senate will not dare to doubt my own word.”
“I agree,” Quilene said. “And I admire your courage. Very well-Are you ready for the journey?”
“Right now?” Nistel said with a gulp. “Can’t we have a little bite of something to eat, first… maybe wait for the Hour of Darken?”
The two sages laughed sympathetically. “Actually, the teleportation spell is easier when your stomach’s empty,” Quilene suggested. “At least, when you’re not used to it.”
“It has been long since I’ve traveled this far,” Belynda admitted. “You’ve found a place to send us?”
“Yes… there’s a small pool in a grotto near the shore of the Snakesea. It will work quite well as a focus for the two of you.”
“Good.” Unlike the powerful enchantress-who could teleport either from or to a focal point of water-Belynda and her companion would require a swirl of water to anchor each end of the spell. Quilene had agreed to go ahead and locate such a terminus while Belynda had escorted the company to Natac.
“You will arrive in a very small, sheltered valley,” the enchantress was explaining. “There is a small trail, quite steep, leading up the side-you’ll have to climb about a hundred feet up to the forest floor. From there the path is obvious, running to the left and right. Take the right fork, and within a few hours you’ll arrive at the first village, a place called Tallowglen.”
“Tallowglen… we’ll start our search there,” said Belynda with a sense of finality.
Quilene pointed to the water in the stone bowl. “Start stirring, both of you. Be very gentle and steady in your movements.”
Blinker’s small, chubby hands splashed in the water across the bowl from Belynda’s graceful fingers. The gnome and the sage-ambassador began to trace movement through the water, and slowly the liquid commenced a graceful whirling. Quilene paced through a series of measured steps, walking around the basin, and past the two travelers, opposite the direction of the water’s swirl. The enchantress made three circuits around them while Belynda pushed the water into a faster and faster spin.
Abruptly Quilene stopped pacing, raising her arms as if she would encircle Belynda, Nistel, and the basin. She closed her eyes and tilted her head skyward, while from her throat came a deep, thrumming noise. The sound built in volume and pitch until it seemed to Belynda that a wind was howling through the nearby trees.
The ground seemed to tilt underfoot and, unconsciously, the sage-ambassador grasped the edge of the basin for support. She saw Blinker’s goggle-eyed face staring wildly as he, too, clutched the rim of the stone bowl. Colors brightened around them, a brilliance greater than sunlight, a glowing rainbow wrapping them in an embrace of silky hues.
The humming grew louder, a supernatural sound that went far beyond any noise emerging from Quilene’s throat. The ground lurched again, but Belynda was confident now that she wouldn’t lose her balance. Nistel’s eyes were squeezed shut and his mouth was shaping soundless cries of fear.
Belynda felt a sensation of weightlessness, but had no fear of falling. Instead, she might have been floating, soaring and gliding through time and space. She laughed, a slight and girlish giggle that startled her and caused Blinker to moan in dire fear. Her next sensation was of water that suddenly felt cooler against her skin. The whirling rainbow slowly faded, and she saw that they were in a new place-a grotto, as Quiline had described. The sage-enchantress was nowhere to be seen. Instead, steep, rocky walls draped with trailing greenery rose on three sides. A gap in the surrounding cliff walls revealed a stretch of sunlit sea in the other direction.
The basin of water was here a natural depression atop a rock. Belynda and Nistel now had their hands in this cool liquid, which seemed to bubble up from some sort of spring. Belynda exhaled and stepped back, feeling wide-awake, her body tingling with energy.
“Th-that wasn’t so bad,” Nistel said, after opening one eye and looking cautiously around. “I guess we came quite a way, didn’t we?”
&
nbsp; “Through the Ringhills and across the Snakesea,” Belynda confirmed. Looking around, she spotted a precipitous route up the steep side of the grotto. Overhead, the limbs of great trees reached into view, indicating that dense forest lay beyond. “And there’s the trail up the hill.”
Atop the cliff they found the two paths, and started down the right fork. The village of Tallowglen, and all the Greens, lay beyond.
F or many days the company of elves practiced drills with the bows and staves. Darryn Forgemaster brought hundreds of arrowheads, and-though the archers still used wooden tips for practice-many missiles were outfitted with the lethal steel blades. Owen and Fionn, meanwhile, took turns demonstrating the uses of the quarterstaff in battle, until most of the elves had become very proficient in the use of that weapon. The Celt and the Viking treated Natac with grudging respect, and had thus far accepted his leadership of the makeshift force. He, on the other hand, had been unfailingly polite to his fellow warriors, showing awareness of their knowledge, allowing them to decide how best to teach their skills to the elves.
Natac wished for a means to outfit his warriors with better weapons, but for now no ready opportunities presented themselves. Darryn was working on several swords, but that work took time-and in any event, even given several intervals or a full year he wouldn’t be able to make enough blades to outfit even half of the company.
During the same period the elves built many straw houses to serve as their quarters. These were placed around the large, flat field that served as a drilling and parade ground. Juliay, Nachol, and several other druids also joined the band, though not to serve as warriors. Instead, they contributed their magical talents to the healing of wounds and the management of the weather during the long days of drill.
Another druid, one Baystril, arrived one day on horseback. He brought a dozen of the nimble ponies that Natac had observed in the valleys around Miradel’s villa. Within a few hours, Natac, Tam, Deltan, several other elves, and a couple of druids had learned the basics of riding. The Tlaxcalan delighted in the speed and power of the horse, and on subsequent days he rode about the camp as much as he walked. Owen and Fionn, however, preferred to work on foot-which was a good thing, since none of the ponies of Nayve could have easily born the weight of either brawny human.
After a full tenday of working, Natac decided to commence the next part of the elves’ preparation.
“The best way to condition yourselves for war is to march, to rapidly cover long distances at good speeds,” he announced when the elves gathered for their morning instructions. “Today we begin such a march. It will be several tendays before we return to our valley.”
“Tendays?” yelped Owen mournfully. He looked longingly at the keg of ale he had just rolled up to his lodge. “Maybe I should stay back here and guard the camp?”
Natac only laughed. “I have in mind that you’ll be leading the way. Didn’t you tell me that you Vikings are famous raiders? I don’t see how you can do much raiding if you don’t know how to march at a good clip.”
“We liked to travel in our longships,” the Norseman countered. “Never did have much use for a lot of walking.”
“Well, it’s time you learned to appreciate it,” replied the Tlaxcalan. “Because that’s how we’re going to be getting around.”
Although he, too, looked glum at the prospect of a long hike, Fionn didn’t make any objection. Nor, of course, did any of the elves-as with everything else, they seemed to accept the wisdom of whatever Natac asked them to do.
Tamarwind Trak led the way. His own staff was marked with a plume of red cloth emblazoned with yellow feathers, and he held it upright at the start of the column. Natac thought it added a splendidly martial touch to their procession.
The Tlaxcalan strode along beside the elven scout for a while, directing the company along the path he had selected for the start of this march. In subsequent days, of course, they would venture into parts of Nayve that he had never before seen-indeed, Natac was looking forward to the chance to explore some more of his new world.
For most of the morning they followed a shallow valley, moving away from the lake and gradually climbing toward the heights of the Ringhills. The higher elevations loomed before them, some of the hills looking like mountain peaks. Snowfields dotted the upper slopes, and lofty crags rose into massive gateposts framing either side of their route.
Deltan Columbine played his flugel, dancing in step while the elves shouted, chanted, and sang in accompaniment. As they crossed a low pass Natac stopped marching, stepping off to the side in order to watch the column march past. The elves were invariably cheerful and happy, waving to their human instructor, or exclaiming to each other over the scenes unfolding around them. To judge from their mood, they might have been on a picnic, but Natac was pleased with this evidence of high morale.
Owen and Fionn trudged at the rear of the file, staff and club, respectively, slung listlessly over brawny shoulders.
“Cheer up, men-let the elves set you an example!” Natac encouraged them. He got only sour grunts in reply, but was content enough with that. Almost whistling himself, he fell into step behind them, and looked around at the new wonders of Nayve unfolding before him.
“F erngarden seems like a nice enough place,” Belynda admitted as she and Nistel stood on the porch of a comfortable inn, preparing to make their morning departure. Around them the little village was coming to life, ovens heating at the baker’s, a few cows lowing as they waited for their Lighten Hour milking. Daylight filtered through the trees, though even the clearings were still obscured by mist and fog.
The two travelers had spent the night in comfortable beds, after a dinner of good meat, fresh bread, and-for Nistel-the innkeeper’s self-brewed brown ale.
“That it does,” the gnome agreed. “It’s hard to believe that anything’s wrong in this part of the Greens.”
“But we’ve got a lot more looking to do,” the sage-ambassador noted.
“How much of it do we have to see?” asked the gnome glumly. Belynda didn’t exactly stride along, but the little fellow was forced nearly into a jog just to keep up with the elfwoman’s sedate pace. He had already gone through two pairs of slippers on the journey.
“I don’t know,” Belynda admitted. “But I know what Tam and Ulf said, and I’m certain they were telling the truth. We just have to keep looking until we find some proof, something I can take back to the Senate, tell them I’ve observed with my own eyes. No one would dare challenge such testimony, at least not to my face.”
“I hope we see something, soon!”
“Here, my lady.” Weathervall, the innkeeper, joined them on the porch and offered a package wrapped in white cloth. “Here’s some bread and cheese, also a bit of chicken and some apples. But are you sure you want to go that way?” He gestured along the narrow pathway extending behind the inn. “You’ll find plenty of comfortable lodgings, if you were only to go along the main road.”
“Thank you, but no,” Belynda said. “We’ve already visited many of those places. I fear our search calls for us to go farther into the woods.”
“Well, you have a care then… and come back this way, if you want a nice clean bed again.”
Once more Belynda conveyed her gratitude, and then she and Nistel set out on the narrow path and walked a ways before crossing a rickety bridge over Ferngarden’s small stream. There were a few barns and houses on this side of the water, and then the trees of the forest rose ahead.
“Psst-lady!”
The call came from the door of a small barn at the edge of the village. Nistel hopped along behind Belynda as she stepped up to the little building. “Who’s there?”
“It’s me, like.” A stooped figure, a fellow with big ears and wide, watery eyes, gestured from the darkness.
“A goblin!” gasped the gnome, clutching Belynda’s skirt.
“That’s your name for us,” retorted the fellow. “We like to call ourselves nightcrawlers.”
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��What do you want?” asked the sage-ambassador, gently pushing the gnome away.
“To warn you-don’t be going about with your eyes shut, now. Hear me?”
“Eyes shut… of course not. But what do you mean?”
“Just beware, eh?” With that last warning the fellow disappeared, scooting through the barn and vanishing through a crack in the rear wall.
The pair of travelers were left to wonder about the mysterious warning as they made their way along the forest track. The road was barely wide enough for a single cart, though judging from the grass growing under their feet it rarely received even that much traffic. Ditches flanked the track, but these were mostly filled with brush and brambles. From what they had learned in Ferngarden, they would have to go some distance along this route before they came to another village.
“I had no idea that the Greens were so big,” Belynda admitted many hours later. Nistel, plodding down the road beside her, was too tired to reply, so he only nodded in mute agreement.
“Perhaps we can find another inn, before too many nights have passed.” she added hopefully.
The gnome shook his head. “If we can even find any place in the next tenday, I’d be surprised,” he grumbled. “The road looks so ill-traveled-like maybe it isn’t even a road, just some track into the woods.”
Belynda sighed. “At least, it seems mostly straight. I don’t think an animal trail would run in a line like this.”
Nistel looked sideways at the sage-ambassador. “What if we just turned back here? We could… that is, you could, tell everyone in Circle at Center that you saw what Tamarwind and Ulfgang saw. Like you said, they’d have to believe you.”
Belynda smiled wryly. “They’d have to believe me because I’d be telling the truth, old friend. You know that. So I can’t make up a story about something I didn’t really see.”
Nistel sighed. Before he could come up with a suitable reply, they were startled by a rustle in the woods.
Circle at center sc-1 Page 20
