Tanis the shadow years p2-3

by Barbara Siegel

  "Surrender!" offered Tanis. "No more harm will come to you. I swear it!"

  The human ignored him. He had seen enough of this half-elf; he wanted no part of him. The soldier retreated to the prostrate dwarf woman who lay helpless in the red-hued shadows. He dropped his shield and picked her up around the waist, putting his knife to her throat.

  "Drop your sword, or she dies," he said.

  Tanis stared at this man who was his father. "You would kill a helpless woman?" he asked, his voice quiv- DRAQONLANCE PRGlubes II ering.

  The soldier laughed bitterly. "You doubt me?"

  The wild, animal look in the human's eyes told Tanis that his father was telling the truth. He would kill her.

  The woman stirred, opening her eyes. Tanis looked at her closely for the first time and gasped. It was Yeblidod, the dwarf who had tried to save his life on the seacliff with her rope of shawls.

  Tanis dropped his sword.

  "You fight well for someone half-elvish," offered the human.

  "I had hoped that you were a better man," Tanis said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I should have known better after what you did to my mother."

  But maybe his father hadn't met his mother yet. Maybe this brigand hadn't yet had his way with her, destroying her life. Suddenly, Tanis neither knew nor cared if killing this human would mean that he, himself, would never be born. If it meant that his mother would be spared the cruelty of this man's attack, perhaps it was worth his own sacrifice. Disgusted and repulsed by the man who had fathered him, Tanis could take no pride in his own blood.

  As the human backed away from Tanis, moving out from beneath the pier and dragging Yeblidod with him, the fishermen who had been caring for their boats marched across the beach. The human saw them and ducked back behind a pillar, forgetting Tanis for an instant.

  The half-elf charged his father. Yeblidod saw him coming and bit the thumb on the hand holding the knife at her throat. The human yelped and let her go. As she slumped to the ground, Tanis plowed into the soldier's midsection with his head, bashing him into the wooden pillar. The impact knocked the knife from the soldier's hand, but the man was more startled than hurt. He struck Tanis on the back of the head with his balled fists, once, twice, three times, until the half-elf faltered and fell to his knees. The human kicked him in the head, and Tanis fell backward, rolling over twice.

  Desperately, the soldier tried to find his knife in the sand. But Tanis had fallen close to his broadsword, and he reached for it.

  The human saw the half-elf pick up the glowing red sword. He ran.

  Tanis would have chased after him until they reached the edge of the world, but Yeblidod cried out, "Help me!"

  Without even thinking, Tanis stopped to aid the bruised and battered woman. He swore under his breath as he watched his father disappear into the night.

  13

  Brandella

  Yeblibob's face was cut from a cuffing to the temple, and blood ran down her cheek, dripping off her chin. Bruised around the throat, she had difficulty breathing.

  Tanis looked at the pain in the beaten woman's eyes and thought of his mother. How much worse it must have been for herl A churning in the pit of his stomach made him grab two handfuls of sand and squeeze them, waiting for the pain to subside. But it didn't. Sweat beaded his face, and he slowly began pounding the ground with his fists, over and over again, harder and harder. He had met his father and was appalled. How much of that human animal was inside him? Worse, he'd had it within his power to rid the world of the beast, and he had failed.

  Tanis could take no more.

  With a wail of pain that startled a frightened whimper out of Yeblidod, Tanis abruptly sheathed his glowing broadsword. Then, under the cloak of darkness, he stormed to his feet, lifting the bruised woman in his arms. "I will take you to safety now," he said through clenched teeth, fighting back his tears. "And then I will see to it that the man who did this to you dies." He looked down at her and in a hoarse whisper, added, "I swear it on my mother's life."

  She nodded, sighed, and closed her eyes.

  She was as light as a child in his arms as he ran across the beach, the lightweight cotton of her long skirt whispering in the sea breeze. He took her to the wooden shack of Reehsha, the closest place he knew of. No light burned, but he pounded at the door anyway.

  "Go away!" someone called out in an angry voice.

  "I will not!" Tanis shouted with a fury that he hadn't known he possessed. "Open this door. A woman needs help. Open it now!"

  The door opened tentatively, and Tanis kicked it the rest of the way, pushing into the dark room.

  "Light a candle!" Tanis ordered.

  A brief moment later, a dim light flared in the room. Frantic to find a place to lay Yeblidod down, he turned and spotted a ramshackle bed under the window but was dismayed to find that someone was already in it.

  Kishpa lay unconscious on the pallet. Red robes outlined the thinness of the mage's body. His chest barely moved with his shallow breathing.

  "Move him!" Tanis ordered, whirling around to face a haggard-looking old elf who, nonetheless, possessed sinewy muscles in his arms and legs.

  "He's sick," said the old one. "I will not move him." "If you don't move him, I'll kick him out of that bed. I swear it," the half-elf warned. Yeblidod, no doubt awakened by the stridence in his tone, moved fretfully in his arms.

  The candlelight exacerbated the fisherman's spent look. "You don't understand," the old man protested. "That's-"

  "Kishpa," Tanis finished, lowering his voice as Yeblidod stirred again. "Yes, I know. He'll be all right. I know it. He'll live to a ripe old age. Don't worry about him. But this woman needs care right now."

  The old man was reluctant to "move Kishpa until he recognized the woman in the half-elf's arms. "Yeblidod? Tell me what happened," he commanded, moving close. Tanis caught a faint whiff of fish.

  Tanis was rapidly losing what little control he had left. "Never mind that now. Just make room for her."

  Reehsha did as he was told, easing the mage off the bed and onto an animal skin rug. Kishpa stirred but did not awaken.

  "Bring me hot water and bandages," said Tanis. "And a blanket."

  The old man did as he was ordered. Tanis was awkward and clumsy as he tried to tend to Yeblidod's cuts and bruises. Then a husky feminine voice sounded from the doorway behind him.

  "What happened? Who's hurt?" the new voice demanded.

  Tanis turned and beheld the image of a woman like none he had ever seen. Her pale skin fairly glowed against her dark, curly tresses, and every delicate feature of her face looked as if it had been painted in perfect fleshtones by a master. Her figure was accentuated by a thin, black, woven top, cinched tight around her narrow waist with a cord, setting off long, shapely legs. She wore brown leather shoes with silver buckles, and a woven skirt the color of new leaves.

  There was no doubt in Tanis's mind that he was looking at Brandella. And in her own right, she could have sparked the shock that coursed through him now. But the resemblance to another woman, the echo of an earlier love, sent a pang through the half-elf like a fiery bolt from a longbow. Brandella's black hair was long, practically waist-length; Kitiara's short, black curls had framed her face. But the brown eyes could have been those of sisters. Brandella was a softer, more feminine version of Kitiara. Kit had been his-as much as any man could dare to claim the tempestuous swordswoman-only short days before. And now she was traveling, the gods knew where, with Sturm Bright- blade.

  Kitiara would have laughed at Tanis's current pain, he knew. "What, Tanthalas? Not… not regrets?" she would have sneered, flashing him her crooked smile and probing the wounds caused by their parting. Yet there would've been an undertone of passion that would have' left him breathless.

  He couldn't imagine this woman, Brandella, sneering at anyone. He realized he was staring and forced his gaze to the woman's companion. Behind Brandella stood the dwarf, Mertwig. When the dwarf saw who lay on the pallet, he b
olted across the room, crying, "Yebbiel Yeb- bie!"

  Yeblidod raised her arms weakly to her husband as Tanis stepped out of the way. The dwarf wept at her bedside as she patted his head. "I'm all right," she reassured him in a thin whisper, a raspy imitation of her formerly warm alto. "Some rest, a little soup, and I'll be just fine."

  "What happened? Who did this to you?" Mertwig asked, weak chin wobbly in his craggy face. He wiped his eyes with the tail of his dark brown shirt.

  "A human. But he," she said, indicating Tanis, who stood quietly in a dark corner, "he fought him and drove him away."

  Mertwig nodded at Tanis in gratitude, clearly unable to say what was in his heart. The half-elf understood; the dwarf Hint was much the same way.

  Hurt though she was, Yeblidod appeared mostly frightened and shaken by her ordeal. Brandella shooed Mertwig away and looked after the matronly dwarf.

  "Where is Canpho?" asked the old fisherman in a low rumble.

  "I couldn't find the healer, Reehsha," Brandella answered softly, without looking up from her seat on a low, three-legged stool next to the rickety bed. 'There are many who are sick and dying. He could be anywhere." She cast a distracted look at Kishpa, lying without movement on a fur pallet on the floor.'

  "But Canpho would come if he knew it was Kishpa," insisted the frustrated fisherman. His gestures made wild shadows on the bare walls of the candlelit shack. 'They would find him for you and send him."

  "We couldn't risk it," Brandella said plaintively. "If everyone knew that Kishpa was ill and unable to cast his magic to defend the village, there would be panic. As it is, many are worried that our mage is nowhere to be found. If they hadn't discovered a distraction, Ankatavaka would be awash in fear."

  "A distraction?" Tanis asked.

  Brandella nodded without glancing his way. "A funny little human they have dubbed a hero," she explained, wiping Yeblidod's forehead gently with a moistened fragment of one of her shawls. Brandella glanced over her shoulder at the old fisherman. "I'm afraid that we alone must fear for the village. And I with guilt," she added, her eyes suddenly filling with tears, "because it was my fault that he has come to this state."

  The old elf stepped forward, quickly flaring to anger. "You're at fault? How?"

  She turned back to her nursing of Yeblidod, ignoring Reehsha's implicit threat. "I asked too much of him," she tried to say evenly, though Tanis could clearly see the hurt in her eyes. "The humans were about to break through the south wall," she said. "There were only a handful of defenders left, and I begged him to use his magic to save them because they had been so valiant. He told me that it was too soon for him to use his magic again, but I insisted."

  Brandella faltered, then took a deep breath and steadied herself by covering Yeblidod with a blanket, her ministrations completed. The dwarven woman, soothed by her friend's calming hands, slipped quickly into sleep.

  Tears glittered on the weaver's thick lashes. "He cast his spell," she continued. "I don't know what it was or even if it worked, but he collapsed right after that. He hasn't regained consciousness." It was a statement, not a question. A tear trickled down her face. She didn't wipe it away.

  "He warned you!" bellowed the old fisherman. "If he dies, it's on your head! And if he dies, by the gods, IH have your head, too! I'll feed it to the fish!" Reehsha stomped about the room, clearly forgetting the two invalids lying a short distance away.

  "Enough!" Tanis shouted. In the same instant, he drew his broadsword, its ominous red glow filling the small shack. He now knew full well the source of his blade's power. It had been Kishpa who had enchanted the sword, saving his life and, quite possibly, the village of Ankatavaka. "I told you," the half-elf growled. "Kishpa will survive. Be a good friend to your mage, and swallow your oaths."

  Mertwig, shaking with the strain of the evening, shouted, "Don't kill him!" Brandella tried to shush him, glancing repeatedly at the motionless Yeblidod and Kishpa.

  "A warrior wizard!" Reehsha exclaimed. "I have never seen one!"

  "I am no wizard," said Tanis harshly, lowering his sword so that its point tilted toward the old elf's face and lowering his voice to please Brandella. "I am just a friend to Kishpa and a servant of his lady."

  "You lie!" Reehsha shot back, undeterred by the blade's proximity to his nose. "You must be a warrior wizard. You have a magic broadsword, and you have now twice foretold the future. How do you know that Kishpa will live?"

  Before Tanis could answer, Brandella grabbed his hand and squeezed it. "Is it true? Will Kishpa be all right?" she begged softly, dark brown eyes aflame with hope.

  Although well aware that he would be hard-pressed to explain how he knew it, Tanis couldn't deny her the peace she so desperately needed. "Yes," he said. "He will live."

  A sob escaped Brandella's throat. Then she looked at Tanis again, more closely, and a sudden, strange flash of recognition leaped in her eyes. She gasped.

  "I… I don't know how… how soon Kishpa will revive," Tanis offered, embarrassed by her reaction to him. He swallowed and took control of himself, adding, "I don't know if he will be able to help Ankatavaka when the sun rises and the humans renew their attack. I know only that he will have a long life."

  "Then you are a mage," Reehsha intoned, self- satisfied. "You could help Ankatavaka!"

  "I told you I am no mage. But I know this mage," Tanis said cryptically, pointing at the unconscious Kishpa. "And you need not worry for his health."

  "What of Yeblidod?" begged Mertwig. "Do you also know how she will fare?"

  "She will be fine," the half-elf said, deciding there was no reason to say otherwise. "You need not worry about her."

  Mertwig and Reehsha finally appeared at a loss for words. For the first time in long moments, silence fell on the fisherman's ramshackle quarters. Reehsha's face still showed suspicion, Mertwig's face, only relief. Brandella had dried her tears and watched the half-elf intently.

  "Who are you?" the dark-eyed weaver finally asked, quietly and kindly. Her voice was steady. "You are a stranger to Ankatavaka, yet you claim to know my Kishpa. You call him friend and declare yourself my protector. Why is this? And by what magic do you possess such a sword7"

  "All good questions, Brandella." Tanis dared to gaze into her eyes. Her tears had made her appear that much more pallid, yet the half-elf realized there was a cord of steel beneath the soft demeanor that was as strong as the broadsword he now sheathed.

  "You know my name?" she asked.

  "I know it well."

  "Then use it well and tell me both what I wish to know and what I need to know."

  "My name is Tanis," he began slowly, trying to decide how much he should tell her. The candle sputtered. Mertwig resumed his vigil by his wife's side, and the fisherman slumped onto a wooden bench by the door.

  Tanis's problem, he knew, was that at some point he would have to escape the elder Kishpa's memory. He had been told that Kishpa would help him. But how? And when? Without that knowledge, he was reluctant to tell Brandella too much of the truth for fear that she would laugh at him. And he didn't know yet whether she would confide immediately in her lover-the man who would try to prevent her from leaving this time and place.

  "I come from somewhere far away," he began, not quite sure of what he was going to say. "And I possess no magic except for what has been given to me by Kishpa. It is he who brought me here. And it is he who enchanted my sword. You see, I was on the south wall of the village when your mage cast his spell.

  Brandella heard nothing else that he said. She simply stared at Tanis, remembering how he had looked from afar on the battlement. Yes, she thought, it was him… the man from the dream.

  14

  At Last, A Hero

  Scowann stood on a heavy wooden table, surrounded by a sea of happy, hero-worshiping elven faces. He had them just where he wanted them: listening… The funny man's patter was coming fast and sure tonight. He ran one hand through his short hair-the elves seemed to find the cut of his hair especially
amusing- and launched into a new joke. "I once asked an elderly elf, To what do you attribute your old age7' His answer? The fact that I was born a long time ago!' " He widened his amber eyes and nodded significantly at the crowd. The elves roared with laughter. Scowarr glanced down modestly, taking the opportunity to steal a glimpse of the elves' gift to him; they'd provided the slender human with a new set of clothes, the forest-green slacks and jerkins that Ankatavakan men preferred, to replace the filthy rags he'd worn while fighting the human soldiers.

  After a day of carnage and death, Scowarr's jokes were a welcome release, a way to forget and to ignore what would come on the fast-approaching morn.

  "And talk about the weather," he rambled on, "the only good thing about rain is that you don't have to shovel it."

  In the back row, a middle-aged elven woman, one of several women who'd chosen to stay and fight beside brothers and husbands, yelped and poked her mate; again the crowd erupted with guffaws and applause.

  Scowarr had been at it for more than two hours. He'd dredged up just about every joke he knew and more than a few that he'd made up on the spot.

  'It's a miracle," he murmured, adding mentally, Or maybe it's magic. In the back of his mind, he wondered if that young mage, Kishpa, had cast a spell making him genuinely funny or had conjured up a village full of laughing elves. The very fact that the elves were giggling at his jokes seemed even more amazing to him than their hailing him as a great warrior. Elves did not have the greatest sense of humor on Krynn-at least from a human point of view, he thought charitably. Elven folks tended to be rather sober and serious.

  But they were anything but serious tonight. Scowarr drank in their laughter until he reeled with it.

  It might have gone on like that until dawn, had not a village elder rushed into the hall, calling out, 'To the streets! Everyone! We must find Kishpa!"