by Mel Odom
Wick stood there. His senses reeled. This didn’t happen. I imagined all of this.
“I’d rather you kept quiet about this conversation when we get back to the others,” Craugh said.
No one would believe me anyway. Wick nodded, not trusting himself to speak, not daring to say one word that might change the whole tone of the conversation.
Craugh frowned, but only a little. “Close your mouth. You’re going to attract flies.”
Wick nodded and closed his mouth. He bit his tongue but didn’t yelp in pain, didn’t even flinch.
Peering back at the road, Craugh said, “I think we can return. It looks as though they finally replaced that wheel.” He looked at Wick again. “Where we’re headed, what we’re going to find, I don’t truly know. I want you to know you can speak freely with your counsel.” He paused. “I can’t guarantee that it will be well received at all times, but I will listen.”
Nodding again, Wick refrained from speaking.
Craugh started to walk away.
Wick couldn’t let it pass. As soon as the urge to speak hit him and he knew he couldn’t hold it back, he was terrified. The wizard’s name was past his lips before he could stop it. “Craugh.”
The wizard turned toward him and gazed at him expectantly. “Yes?” For just a moment, there appeared a flash of vulnerability Wick had never before seen in the wizard. Then it was gone, and Wick thought perhaps he might have been mistaken.
“I’ve never known anyone like you,” Wick whispered. “I’ve never had a … friend like you.”
“You have lots of friends.” Craugh nodded toward the Band of Thieves. “Them. The crew of One-Eyed Peggie. I know Captain Farok puts a lot of store by you. You seem to make friends wherever you go.”
“That’s because people aren’t afraid of me,” Wick said, then wondered if he’d been too honest. “I mean, the thought that I might turn them into toads never crosses their minds.”
Craugh frowned. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t.”
“The thing I’m trying to say is, I don’t fit any better in this world than you do,” Wick went on. “We’re, both of us, trying to make our own way, and that way isn’t very clear. I’m a dweller Librarian who, for whatever reason, can’t seem to simply want to stay at the Vault of All Known Knowledge and take care of books. And you—” He stopped. “Well, you’re a wizard. But you can’t simply be a wizard and tend to your own selfish interests, conquer towns, and terrorize people the way other wizards do. Just as with this investigation into what truly happened at the Battle of Fell’s Keep. Both of us have contrary natures.”
“Well,” Craugh said, “I’ve been more selfish than you could even know.” He took a deep breath. “Maybe one of these days I’ll tell you all about it.”
“I’d be glad to listen.”
“Don’t be too sure. There is much you still don’t know.” Craugh hesitated, then reached out and placed a hand on Wick’s shoulder. “You’re a good friend, Wick. There is innocence in you that I will never let anyone take from you as long as I live.”
“Thank you,” Wick whispered, not knowing what else to say. Craugh left him standing there, heading back to rejoin the caravan, already grumbling because it had taken so long. But for a long time, Wick could still feel the unbelieveable gentleness of the wizard’s hand as it had rested on his shoulder.
13
Laceleaves Glen
Hallekk and the group from One-Eyed Peggie caught up with them that evening. Again, they’d taken a camp by themselves.
“Cap’n Farok expects us to continue on with ye,” Hallekk told Craugh. “Told me I wasn’t to come back without ye.” He cut his glance toward Wick. “Nor without Wick.”
“I’ll have to thank Captain Farok upon our return,” Craugh replied.
Wick marveled at the wizard’s confidence. Here they were, in one of the worst stretches of wilderness there was, and Craugh acted like they were out for a lark. At that moment, an owl flew by low overhead. Several of the caravan drivers and guards warded themselves, spat and cursed, taking the arrival of the bird as an ill omen.
Breathless with anticipation, Bulokk and Quarrel received their ancestors’ weapons. Both of them had held them before, but Wick knew what it meant to them to hold them again now, even if they were surrounded on all sides by the threat of the Forest of Fangs and Shadows. They both thanked Wick and hugged him fiercely, embarrassing him near to death. For hours afterward, stories were told about the weapons and the heroes that had carried them. Laughter and tears followed the stories. And Wick knew that Bulokk and Quarrel were nervous about their new duties. Living up to legends was hard.
Lago was hard pressed even with his resources to feed the big group, but he negotiated a few more purchases (at what he complained were a brigand’s prices!) and soon had pots and pans bubbling. Several of the other caravan groups looked on in envy.
“Tomorrow,” Craugh said, “we’ll separate from the caravan. We’ll strike out for Laceleaves Glen along the elven trade trail.”
“If we do that,” Brandt said, “the elves will know we’re coming.”
“When ye’re a-dealin’ with elves,” Hallekk said, “especially if you’re on their home ground, it’s better that they know ye’re a-comin’. Try a-sneakin’ up on them, ye’ll end up with more feathers than a winter turkey by the time they open up on ye with their bows.”
Wick sat to one side of the group and listened to the stories, catching up on the adventures Hallekk and the others had had (there’d been a squabble with goblinkin along the way that had slowed them a little, but ended up with a lot of goblinkin left out for the carrion eaters), and listening to Cobner and Sonne relate their own adventures while in town waiting for Craugh’s arrival or for the weapons to be removed from Kulik Broghan.
“There’s quite a stir in town, too,” Hallekk said. “Word’s gotten out that some of Kulik Broghan’s pretties has up an’ got theirselves stolen. He’s pitchin’ a proper fit about it. Turnin’ the town over lookin’ for ’em.”
“Good,” Brandt said, “then he’s not looking for them in this direction.”
“Somethin’s goin’ on, though,” Hallekk said.
“Why?” Cobner asked.
“Because for all the noise Kulik Broghan is makin’ lookin’ for them missin’ weapons, I didn’t see enough of his men doin’ it.”
“What do you mean?” Brandt asked.
“Way I heard it in Torgarlk Town,” Hallekk said, “Kulik Broghan’s had him a standin’ army garrisoned there for some time. Lots of bad things have happened there when them men got bored.”
“That’s true,” Sonne said. “We counted several warriors that Kulik Broghan had on his payroll.”
“So then,” Brandt mused, black eyes filled with fire, “where are the rest of his men?”
No one had an answer, and no one slept any better that night even with the extra guards posted.
Just before midday, Brandt went forward to talk to the caravan master and tell him they were taking their leave. Shortly after that, they were on the barely worn footpath that Craugh said led to Laceleaves Glen, where Sokadir had once ruled as prince.
“Why ain’t there a better path?” Bulokk grumbled as he fought through the brush. “Seems like if elves used this trail to trade along, they’d take better care of it.”
“Woodlands elves don’t walk on the ground unless they have to,” Wick said. He pointed up at the interlocking branches of the tall trees. “They prefer traveling through the trees.”
“I see horses’ hooves here.” Bulokk pointed.
“Probably from traders going to the elven sprawl,” Wick said. “When you’re in the forest, you won’t often find elves on the ground. The Old Ones gave them the air, the high places in the tall trees, just as they gave the dwarves the earth and the humans the seas.”
“I never met no elves while I was on the Cinder Clouds Islands.”
“Elves are,” Wick said, “very much their own peop
le with their own way of doing things.”
For two days, they traveled through the forest. Although they ran short of fresh meat, Brandt and Hallekk didn’t allow the men to take game. They were on elven lands now.
Several of the dwarven pirates started to get nervous, including Hallekk, because none of them were used to being far from the sea. But Craugh insisted they were getting closer to Laceleaves Glen, which no one else had been to.
According to the spell he had on Boneslicer and Seaspray, they were also getting closer to Deathwhisper. They reached Laceleaves Glen first. Actually, elven warriors from Laceleaves Glen reached them first.
The afternoon of the third day, Hamual stopped in his position of scout and held both hands up. Slowly, he turned around and said, “We’re not alone. Stand still.”
Knowing what he was looking for, Wick peered through the wisps of fog that still clung to the forest that day and looked up into the trees. He didn’t know how many elves were up there, but there were a lot of them.
“How did they get up there so quiet like?” Bulokk asked. He fingered the haft of the battle-axe and unconsciously shifted his feet into a ready position.
“They were waiting on us,” Wick answered. “They spotted us coming and knew we’d cross under them.”
“Don’t make any sudden moves,” Hallekk advised. “We’re trespassin’ on their lands.”
“This is a trade route,” Bulokk countered.
“Aye,” Hallekk agreed, “but they know we ain’t no traders. Comin’ up here empty-handed an’ armed to the teeth like we done. They figure we’re the next thing to an invasion force.”
“Against an elven sprawl?” Alysta spat and hissed.
“They also might have sensed the magic in those weapons you carry,” Craugh said. “Their power is naked. My own is masked from elven senses.”
Wick knew that elves recognized magic much more quickly than any other race, second only to trained wizards.
Slowly, Craugh lifted his hands and walked apart from the group. He spoke loudly. “I’m Craugh. I’ve come among your people before.”
“Perhaps you have, graybeard,” an elf called down, “but that doesn’t tell me why you’re here now.”
“I’ve come seeking Sokadir.”
“Sokadir is rootless,” the elf replied. “You were told that before, Craugh.”
“I can find him this time.”
Several of the elves hanging in the trees clucked their tongues. “When an elf doesn’t want to be found, no one may find him.”
“Then there will be no harm in my looking, will there?”
After a brief discussion in an elven tongue that Wick recognized (most of it inflammatory and derogatory and directed at Craugh, and some of it good-natured cajoling toward the elven captain to let the group pass and look for Sokadir because none of them were elven and couldn’t possibly find Sokadir), one of them dropped from the treetops.
The elf plummeted like a shot sparrow for a moment, then caught hold of four or five branches on the way down (it all happened too fast for Wick to see), and finally came to a stop on a branch only a few feet from Craugh and a little higher.
Handsome and arrogant, the elf lounged on the branch on bent knees and regarded the wizard. “I am Alomas,” he declared, “captain of Prince Larrosh’s Royal Guard.” He was a little over five feet in height, smooth-faced and slender. His pointed ears stood out against his blue-black hair. Eyes as dark green as holly leaves held a hint of mischief. He wore a chain mail shirt, short breeches tapered so they wouldn’t catch on brush or branches as he passed through the forest, and carried a bow slung over his shoulder as well as a short sword in a reverse sheath on his back so it hung upside down. Leaf-bladed throwing knives hung in a brace over his chest.
“Greetings, Alomas,” Craugh said.
“Greetings, graybeard. You’ve come a long way for nothing.”
“Perhaps.” Green sparks whirled from Craugh’s staff. “But that remains to be seen.”
“I have seen you before.”
“As I told you.”
“You’ve looked for Sokadir before.”
“I have,” Craugh admitted.
The elf smiled. “You’ve never found Sokadir before.”
“This time,” Craugh said with grim conviction, “shall be different.”
“We’ll see, graybeard.” Alomas held his hand aloft.
A falcon dropped from a branch high overhead and came to rest on the leather bracer the elf wore on his right wrist.
“A message, Goodheart,” Alomas said. “Quickly.”
The bird dipped its head quickly, then leaped into the air, flapped its wings and arrowed unerringly through the forest.
“Now,” Alomas said, “we wait. Make yourselves comfortable.”
Wick sat beside a tree trunk and hid his journal from view as he worked on it. He used charcoal and broad strokes to lay out the scene, capturing the elves resting easily in the trees as if they were avian. Their animal companions—falcons, songbirds, squirrels, wolves, and other woodland creatures, including two brown bears—occupied themselves nearby.
It was the first time Wick had seen so many elves in one group outside of Greydawn Moors. There the elves lived in sprawls as well, beautiful tree houses that had been lived in for generations (which was a long time considering the elven life spans), but this was different. In Mossglisten Forest, Wick didn’t ever once think that maybe the elves would kill him.
Here, he knew, there was every chance. It was unsettling, which made him more nervous, and the only way he could ease that was by working, which required a certain amount of clandestine behavior on his part. Thankfully, he was a dweller amidst nearly forty armed humans and dwarves who showed scars from blood they’d shed during violent encounters.
Craugh kept to himself, actually chatting amiably with Alomas as they waited for word. It wasn’t long in coming. After a few more minutes, Goodheart came flying back and cried out for the elven captain’s attention.
Alomas lifted his arm and Goodheart landed there. They talked for a moment, then the elven captain turned to Craugh. He smiled. “You’re in good fortune. Prince Larrosh must be feeling generous these days.”
They reached the sprawl at the onset of twilight, coming up over a ridge that kept the whole valley below hidden until the last moment. The sight took Wick’s breath away. Even all the books he’d read on elves hadn’t prepared him for what lay before him.
Laceleaves Glen was large for an elven community, which were normally small. More than a hundred tree houses occupied the tall, straight trees at the bottom of the canyon. Rope ladders connected several of them and knitted a hub of suspension bridges that provided communal walkways nearly a hundred feet in the air. A small stream cut through the heart of the sprawl, providing fresh water.
The elves knew they had visitors coming. Several males stood in combat armor and occupied defensive towers on the outskirts of the sprawl as well as key positions within it. Limbs and branches wound around the tree houses and blended them into the trees, but all of them had blue-white lanterns hung to stave off the night.
Lummin juice, Wick realized, knowing the elves had to raise glimmerworms to provide the fire-free lighting. The gentle, blue-white glow made the little Librarian homesick. The Vault of All Known Knowledge and all of Greydawn Moors used lummin juice to light their homes. Mettarin Lamplighter, Wick’s father, replenished the street lamps so the town and Yondering Docks were lit at night, too. There was nothing like that familiar light.
Alomas led the way down the ridge, following a rarely used trail that zigzagged along the uneven contours. The rest of the captain’s elven guards ran through the trees, sounding like a large flock of birds moving through the leaves and branches.
Wick felt the unease that swept through the elves. Once they had defined the area of their homes and lands, they hated anything new or different that entered those areas. If they wanted to see something foreign, they wanted to travel
away from their homes to see it. A low buzz of conversation followed the group as they walked to the center of the sprawl.
Above, the elven palace sat, stretching from a center tree to seven outlying trees to make a massive structure. Unable to disguise the presence of the palace, the elves instead chose to emphasize it. The wood glowed a beautiful deep, rich red, as if it had just been polished. Intricate elven art decorated the sides. Beautiful lanterns created from shells, flowers, and rocks hung around it.
A beautiful elven male with silver hair put up with jeweled combs that glinted in the lamplight looked down at the arrivals. His gold link armor looked like it held inner fires. The crimson insignia of a bear’s silhouette decorated the armor’s chest plate.
“Craugh,” the elf called down, “you’re back among us one more time.”
“Prince Larrosh,” Craugh greeted.
“I see you haven’t given up your quest to find my brother.”
“Not yet. I find I’ve gotten stubborn in my later years.”
Larrosh laughed. “‘Later years?’ You’re well past anything a human should live without some kind of pact with evil.”
Wick thought that perhaps only he saw the pang of hurt that flashed through Craugh’s green eyes.
“Maybe I’ve been blessed by the Old Ones,” Craugh replied.
“Or cursed,” the elven prince agreed. “I have to wonder at the sins you’ve committed in your long life, Craugh.”
This time, Craugh’s smile was forced. “And I thought this was going to be a pleasant visit.”
“It will be. I just love to antagonize you. As I remember from our war years together, you never had much of a sense of humor. I guess some things never change.”
