Guttural snarls filled the air and the company fell into a protective circle. They drew their blades in preparation for the feral onslaught they knew was sure to follow. Red eyes broke the darkness around them and the air quivered with a low growl that grew more intense as the seconds passed. Slavering breaths took the place of the gentle wind.
A stunted, yellow-skinned creature with long stringy arms shuffled into the moonlight. Others followed in a slow shamble, as if testing the waters of a cold lake. Their clawed hands drug along the ground, and the loathsome creatures wore little or no clothing. The air grew rancid with their stink.
“Yrch!” Katalas spat the word. “We’re too late.”
The yrch growled and inched closer, snapping their jaws full of jagged teeth at their prey. A baleful howl resounded in the darkness beyond the clearing and the yrch answered with murmured rasping deep in their throats.
The fiends backed away as a hulking creature lumbered into the clearing to stand atop Cedsul’s grave. The colossal yrch raised its arms and bellowed in challenge.
Onahim’s lethargy was swept away as he watched his friend suffer this final indignity. His hands twisted violently on the handle of his axe and his arms trembled in rage. He would not abide this beast, this thing, to desecrate Cedsul’s rest a moment longer.
He raise his axe high and rushed the giant. “For Cedsul!” he bellowed as he charged.
The clearing erupted as the smaller yrch rushed in to tear at their prey. Doulos sent sparks of lightning through several of the beasts, turning them into smoldering lumps of flesh on the forest floor. Still in desperate need of rest, he retreated to the center of the circle and sunk to his knees.
Onahim fought the giant, heedless of the danger, but he remained tired from their escape and his reflexes were slow. The huge yrch slashed at the dwarf before he could bring his axe up to block, sending him crashing headlong into a nearby tree. The titan made to pounce on the dwarf but was driven back as four arrows sprouted from his chest. Dumfounded, the yrch fell backwards, dead before it hit the ground.
The company still struggled to hold out against the overwhelming numbers. They were fighting a fight they had no hope of winning. Then dozens of shafts whistled from the darkness to strike the yrch with unerring fatality. Confused, the yrch turned to find every advantage gone. Their chieftain was dead and the numbers turned against them.
Elves poured from the trees, loosing arrows in rapid succession. The yrch were brought down until only one remained. It panicked and launched itself at Tenna, only to be knocked insensate as it hit an invisible wall in midair.
Spent, Doulos lowered his hand and slumped to the forest floor.
34
The Isle of Nesos
Crossing the threshold of the island turned Tander’s world inside out. Vertigo took him and the world spun. The trees seemed to rise up in an attempt to snatch them from the sky. Darkness became light so bright he flung his arms over eyes to try and hide from the sudden brilliance. The sound of rushing water filled his ears and his head pounded, throbbing to the beat of his heart. He was so overwhelmed by sensation he thought that his heart might burst. All he could do was fall flat against the dragon’s back and lay still.
“We’ll reach Asimi’s aerie soon,” Chrysafi’s voice whispered in the tempest. “Rest until our arrival.”
Unheeding, Tander sank toward oblivion. His last thought was one of peace and contentment.
Wind swirling through his hair coaxed him from sleep as Chrysafi flapped hard. The dragon brought them to a gentle landing on a ledge jutting from the face of a mountain. Tander rubbed the sleep from his eyes, feeling strangely refreshed.
Silver moonlight shone down on the crags. The mountains of Nesos were shorter than those of Sidero’s home but profoundly more jagged and inhospitable. Innumerable crevasses and fissures lay hidden in the shadows below, and Tander knew the scene would look no less imposing by the light of day.
Tander released himself from the harness and gathered up his belongings before jumping to the rocky floor. Chrysafi’s bones began to pop, but rather than assuming his elven shape, the dragon only shrank a bit, then wriggled out of the harness to let it fall to the ground.
Tander moved toward an open cave mouth he spied in the mountain side.
“Do not move, human,” a voice hissed.
Tander froze as a cadre of elves emerged from the shadows, each with an arrow pointed at his heart. He dropped the gear and raised his hands. One of the elves pointed at the Blade in Tander’s belt with their arrow then whispered something unintelligible to their leader.
“You do not belong here, human,” the elf said.
Chrysafi thrust his head in between the elves and the boy. He stared the lead elf in the eye as a low growl rumbled in his belly. “Is this the hospitality of the elves?”
“Is this the treachery of dragons?” the elf retorted, pulling his bowstring more taut. “You bring a mortal enemy into our sacred home.”
“Your words wound, Glorin, and you magnify the insult by inflicting it on an old friend. What do you hope to do with your arrow? Scratch my eye?”
Glorin’s face shifted between fury and regret. “No human has set foot in land for millennia. History will record it was you who brought the taint of evil to our shores while darkness spread across the world.”
“I bring no evil, Glorin,” Chrysafi said, “but rather the instrument of your deliverance.”
“Deliverance,” Glorin scoffed, “from a human? Humans know only violence and hate.”
“Yes,” another voice echoed from the cave, “but it seems they are not alone in their knowledge. Stand down, Glorin, lest you kill the future before it’s had a chance to begin. Our fate is wrapped up in this boy and with those who will stand beside him.”
Three new figures strode from the cave, two elves and a dwarf. They were dressed in robes of pristine white that shimmered in the moonlight, a stark contrast from the jet black garb of the archers.
Tander had seen few elves in his lifetime. They rarely visited the cities, but he had seen enough to know the leader of this group was ancient. Fair of face and silver-haired, he looked every bit the timeless elf. But it was his eyes that struck Tander as they glimmered in the moonlight, eyes older by far than those of the dragons.
With him stood the strangest little dwarf Tander had ever met, and an elf maid so beautiful she nearly caused him to forget his peril.
“Cern,” Glorin’s face was pained and he refused to relax his arrow, “his kind slaughtered us without remorse. You should be ordering me to rid the island of this pollution, not offering welcome.”
“Humans did murder our people,” Cern agreed. “They hunted us alongside their dwarven allies. Should I have you turn your arrows on Winder after you’ve murdered this human child?”
“Gads,” the little dwarf said, “I should hope not. ‘Twould be a decidedly annoying end to an otherwise spectacular day.” The elf girl’s hand flew to her mouth in a vain attempt to stifle a laugh.
Tander’s eyes went wide at Winder’s voice, far different from anything he’d heard from the dwarves back home, and he was certainly nothing like Bita. Where Bita was rough and uncouth, Winder was polished and well-mannered. Tander wondered if Winder were actually a short elf in disguise.
“Glorin,” Cern commanded, “stand down. I won’t tell you again.”
Glorin jerked his bow down and quickstepped toward Tander. He held an arrow up like a blade then threw it at the boy’s feet.
“If you bring harm to my people, human,” Glorin said, “the next arrow I give you will be through the heart.” He turned on his heel and stormed away, his men melting into the shadows behind him.
Tander picked up the shaft then walked across the ledge and presented it to Cern. “I pledge my honor and my life to never bring harm to the people of Nesos,” he said. “I will do everything in my power to prevent any evil from befalling this land.”
“Pretty words,” Winder quipp
ed. “The lad must be part elf.” The girl snickered again, earning a wink from the dwarf.
Cern accepted the arrow with a bow of his head. “I accept your pledge, Blade Bearer. We welcome you, the first human to set foot on our shores since the end of the Great War. May your soul find rest upon our shores.” The elf turned and frowned at Chrysafi. “You took great risk bringing him here unannounced, golden one. Thank Onúl I was on my way up to visit Asimi, and so averted disaster.”
“There was no risk, my friend,” Chrysafi replied. “When have you ever missed watching the full moon from her perch? I timed my arrival precisely, I’d say.”
“And a good thing too,” Winder tsked, “it’s been far too long since your scales felt my ministrations. You look a wee bit shabby.”
The girl stifled another laugh with little success. Winder grinned at Tander, a glint of raw mischief in his eyes. Tander doubted Chrysafi had ever looked shabby his entire life, and the boy got the impression the dwarf’s sarcasm was mostly for the girl’s benefit.
“I shall allow you to rectify my shabby appearance this very night, Master Winder,” Chrysafi bowed his head. “Never let it be said I refused the service of my mate’s most trusted squire.”
Winder gave the dragon an exaggerated bow. “’Twould be my honor.”
“Allow me to make introduction, please,” Cern said.
“Ah,” Winder stepped back, “perhaps that would be best.”
Cern swept a hand toward the dwarf. “Master Winder is somewhat unique among our order. Few dwarves have ever ascended so high in our ranks, and none so high as Winder. He serves as my chief advisor, and squire to Chrysafi’s mate, Asimi.”
Winder clasped his hands in front of himself and gave a little bow. It was only then that Tander finally figured out what was so different about the diminutive cleric.
He was hairless.
There was no braided beard, and no hair at all atop his head. Diminutive and thin, the only trait he seemed to share with his kin was the facial tattoo adorning his dark skin.
“Don’t let the bald pate fool you, young man,” Winder read his mind. “I’m every inch a dwarf.” For some reason Tander didn’t understand, the elven girl laughed again.
“The giggling one is my daughter, Derae. She will not speak, for she has taken a vow of silence and contemplation and will not speak until Onúl births a new star in the southern sky, despite Winder’s best effort.” Derae clasped her hands and bowed, her long golden hair flowing down to touch the ground.
“Why a vow of silence?” asked Tander.
“To better contemplate the glory of Onúl and the wonders of His creation,” Cern said.
“Or to better to keep us from hearing her incessant chatter,” Winder whispered to Tander just loud enough for Derae to hear. “I’ve never gotten more study and meditation done in all my days.”
“Winder!” Derae blurted before slapping her hands over her mouth and flushing red. Cern raised an eyebrow, but the dwarf only chuckled.
“As for me, young man, I am Cern, High Cleric of Onúl upon Awia.” The pronouncement set Tander back on his heels, causing Cern to hold up a gentle hand. “Be at ease, Tander. I’m no more holy than any other. As Winder might say, it only means I was the only one foolish enough to take the job.”
Derae’s laughter broke the night air like the clear peal of a bell. She quickly caught herself and blushed, covering her face with embarrassment. The old elf gave Tander a conspiratorial wink and leaned forward to whisper, “Laughter is another of Onúl’s wonders.”
35
The Barrhas Wood
Terror and exhaustion marked the company’s flight through the forest. Katalas led the weary band of fugitives along a sinuous route, moving in response to reports from rangers he’d sent ahead to scout their path. They came close to discovery several times, but managed to silently thread between the camps of slavering yrch, though they were forced to restrain Onahim on more than one occasion when he sought to bound out of the shadows and strike the abominable creatures.
No one in the company knew Katalas, but they had no choice but to trust his lead. There were times when Tenna felt they were being watched, and told the ranger of her suspicions. At first, she thought to hold her tongue. How could human intuition sense what a veteran elf could not? But when she decided to voice her concern, Katalas listened respectfully and responded by sending his rangers to investigate. His respect for her innate perception grew as his men found they were indeed being tracked.
The yrch Doulos insisted they bring along was a detriment to their speed and stealth. It struggled against its bonds, trying to tear its muzzle free as they ran. Zalas felt the need to keep his knife drawn and visible to encourage its cooperation.
Katalas questioned the mage’s intention to bring the beast along. He argued against the measure, believing the move too risky, and pointless besides. Yrch had never been successfully interrogated.
“I have a way,” Doulos had insisted. “It will be worth the risk.”
Onahim seemed to crash through the underbrush in loud, lumbering motions. The humans were models of stealth by comparison, but still too loud for Katalas’s liking. Only Tenna seemed to move with any kind of grace, leading him to wonder if the ability were due to being a lighter boned female, or if she had developed the skill elsewhere.
The company’s advantages grew as the sun rose. Though elves could move through the forest equally well in darkness or light, the same could not be said of their charges. Yrch were encumbered by light, their eyes more attuned to underground darkness. The sunlight was more than most of the beasts could bear, even beneath the shade of the forest canopy. Katalas used this deficiency to their advantage, keeping the group on the move until well after sunset. Only then did he allow the group to halt, setting his rangers to form a defensive perimeter around their camp.
Katalas and his men could have made the run across the Barrhas Wood in a single night, but their charges could not match such a pace, especially the stubby-legged dwarf. Their flight would extend another three days, and that only after he pushed them mercilessly through the daylight hours and allowing the shortest possible time for sleep, rousing them in the dim light of pre-dawn.
Yrch filled the forest in greater numbers as they neared their destination. Katalas was forced to lead them south in an effort to find one of the secret doors into the Celadine warrens.
Weary from running and wrung out from the near-constant terror, they came to the forest’s edge at the end of the fourth day. The loamy ground gave way to uneven soil as the woods pushed up into the foothills. Tenna almost collapsed at the idea of running any longer, but she gritted her teeth and pushed herself onward.
Katalas led them through a narrow defile down into a gully just wide enough for them to advance single file. Gnarled bushes grabbed at their clothes. Thick weeds clutched at their feet. The captive yrch strained harder against his bonds, knowing his chances for escape were about to end. Though gagged, it began a guttural hum, low and droning that echoed through the gully. One of the rangers was forced to poke it with a sharp arrow before the beast would stop.
The gully opened into a space wide enough for the group to stand in a circle. They were against the hard granite of the mountainside with nowhere left to run. Katalas probed the scrub-covered face of the rock, his fingers searching in every cranny. He seemed to grow flustered, as if what he was looking for was missing. Tenna watched carefully as the elf’s hands flit from one fissure to another, his demeanor growing more taut the longer he hunted.
He dropped his hands and stepped back. He motioned two rangers to his side, whispering terse commands that sent them scrambling up the crag to disappear into the sparse trees above. Katalas watched until they were gone and then returned to his search. Though his body language was calm, his eyes reflected his growing fear.
A loud snap echoed through the gully, and the company looked up to see one of the rangers falling from above. He hit the ground with a heavy
thud, dead before he slammed into the rocky ground. His life’s blood spilled out from dozens of savage claw marks.
“Yrch!” the other scout yelled from above. He scrabbled back down, his clothes in tatters, and a jagged slash running from his ear to his jaw. Blood was gushing onto his neck and shoulders.
“Keep looking for the doorway,” Doulos told Katalas. “We’ll take care of this!” Katalas nodded and redoubled his efforts.
Onahim smashed the butt of his axe into the captive yrch’s temple, knocking it unconscious so it couldn’t flee in the growing confusion. Nearly a score of the sallow beasts dropped into the tiny ravine. Doulos took down the first two with a hard swing of his staff, striking one in the forehead and another in the jaw, causing both to collapse in a jumble.
The elves preferred knives to bow and arrow in the close quarters, standing in a circle shoulder to shoulder with the humans to turn the fiends away as they charged forward. Onahim straddled the body of the insensate yrch, lopping off the heads of any of the brutes that came too close. Yrch went down in rapid succession until they found themselves outnumbered, and started to back away.
“We can’t let them escape,” one of the elves said. “They know the location of this entrance.”
Doulos shook his head. “Knowing how to find it and having the skill to open it are different matters entirely. This portal is lost in any case, other yrch are sure to have followed.”
A sharp crack filled the lull of battle and an immense segment of the stone wall pulled back into the rock face with a grinding rattle, receding into an alcove a few yards into the exposed tunnel. The surrounding yrch burst into a howling frenzy as Katalas waved for the company to move inside.
Two of the elves took the lead, bending low to enter the tunnel. Doulos pushed Tenna and her father on ahead, then turned to help Onahim drag their stunned captive along. The dwarf waved him off and pulled the yrch along with his single good arm with ease. His short stature let him walk inside without stooping.
The Foundlings (The Swords of Xigara) Page 17
