Tanis the shadow years p2-3

by Barbara Siegel

  The half-elf didn't answer. In a silent fury, he picked himself up, dusted himself off, and then reached up and grabbed the glass ball out of Clotnik's hand. "Don't you ever juggle with that ball again! Not ever!"

  Clotnik tried to take the ball back. Tanis wouldn't give it to him. "Why is it so important to you?" questioned the dwarf. "Why should you care7"

  "Because I know what that glass ball cost your father."

  "It's pretty, but it's old. It can't be worth that much," protested Clotnik.

  "It was worth his life," said Tanis.

  The dwarf didn't move. He just stared at the beautifully detailed glass ball in Tanis's hand. The orb's delicate swirls carried memories of blue summer skies and green forests.

  "It was the last gift he bought your mother," the half-elf explained, softening. "He wanted her to have it even though he could not afford the cost."

  'Then he did steal?" Clotnik demanded coldly.

  Tanis paused. What good would the truth do Clotnik? For his part, Tanis wished he had been told that his father had been a good and generous man instead of being left to search out the bitter truth. In the end, it wasn't the truth that mattered, anyway, but what you believed to be true. The half-elf was the only one who knew for certain that Mertwig had once made a terrible error in judgment. That secret, he decided, would die with him.

  "Your father," said Tanis, "was someone to admire and respect." Thinking fast, he explained, "Mertwig paid for that glass ball with his life because he and your mother were attacked by goblins who tried to steal it. He wouldn't let them take it. And he died fighting them, saving my life in the bargain. So, my friend, please don't juggle this glass ball anymore. Keep it safe, and when you look upon it, think of the love your father had for your mother."

  Tanis offered the trinket to Clotnik, who took it reverently in hand. "On the soul of my father, you have my word," said the dwarf.

  *****

  The raid on the human settlement had gone well, Zarjephwu thought. Not a single human survived, and only one slig had been killed. The bold midday raid netted the remaining fifteen sligs a small herd of bullboggs and several horses, enough animals for each slig to have an extra mount.

  They rode their animals hard, not caring if the beasts dropped dead along the way. When that happened, a slig would jump on another steed and keep on riding. By nightfall, they had caught the trail of the woman and her rescuers. Sometime during the following day, they would catch them.

  That night, in their camp, the band praised Zarjephwu for his clever strategy and wise leadership. He wondered how many of them suspected that the idea of heading northwest to raid the humans had been Ghuchaz's. Not that it mattered. After what he had done to the young slig, he was safe from challenge. And once he had the enchanted quill, none of them would ever succeed if they dared to try.

  Zarjephwu, lying on the hard ground, felt the pain of his burns. As he drifted off to sleep, his jaw opened and sharp teeth glistened in the light of the three-quarter moon. He remembered the man-or was it a half-elf? — who had kicked him into the cookfire and run off with the woman. His reptilian face settled into a smile. Sligs despised elves. He would see that one again tomorrow.

  42

  Ruins of Ankatavaka

  The smell of salt air саmе wafting to Tanis on a gentle sea breeze. He knew they were getting close to the Straits of Algoni. And Ankatavaka. Unconsciously, the half-elf leaned forward on his bullbogg, straining to see some sign of the village beyond the wood in which they rode. He wondered if this was the same forest in which the human soldiers had gathered before making their charge upon the elven barricades. His father had been among those men.

  Tanis pushed the memory out of his mind. He didn't want to remember his father. Rubbing the bullbogg's sweaty neck, Tanis led them, plodding, through the trees, finding only the barest semblance of a trail; what had been there before had long since been reclaimed by nature.

  "When were you here last?" Tanis called back to Clotnik, who had fallen behind.

  The dwarf muttered an oath; Tanis heard him swat back a branch that had blocked his path. "It's been at least sixty years. The floods came thirty-eight years ago. Maybe you remember that winter when it rained almost every day7"

  "Of course. I was with my friend-Flint." Tanis laughed. "We were making our way across a desert in Taladas when the rains started. Almost overnight, the desert was flooded. We had to save ourselves by grabbing hold of a drowned skrit. Have you ever spent three days holding on to the back of a dead, six-foot beetle?"

  "I'm pleased to say that I haven't." Clotnik batted back another branch.

  Their voices trailed off. Through the trees, Tanis saw an open field; beyond that meadow stood the crumbling walls of Ankatavaka. He pointed, about to call out, but Clotnik said, "I see it." Then, in a mournful voice, he added, "It looks so sad."

  Even from a distance, the village had an air of death. They rode on, crossing the open field. It was flat, punctuated by no landmark except a lonely tree trunk. Tanis detoured to pass the stump, remembering. When he reached it, he looked down and saw with satisfaction that it was hollow.

  The main gate loomed ahead of them. It was open, admitting anyone or anything to the streets of the village. But entering by way of the gate was unnecessary. What had once been a well-protected village was now a shambles of dilapidated walls that looked like ancient ruins.

  As they rode through the gate, a gust of wind flew in with them, blowing dust and, it seemed to Tanis, carrying them on its wings to another time. Everywhere he looked, he imagined the village as he remembered it. He could see the elves on the barricades, east, south, and north. He could hear the cheers of the villagers when Kishpa's rain spell stopped the human army on the first day of the siege. And when he looked to the south, he re- fought the battle on the top of the barricade.

  He remembered the arrow that had come out of nowhere to save his life. Gazing across the open village square, he saw the building from which that arrow had been loosed. Brandella had lived there once, long ago. He had been in her room on the second floor, but only in Kishpa's mind. He wanted to see it again.

  The two-story house listed to one side, one wall having collapsed. It looked as if the entire structure was on the verge of falling. He rode to it anyway, dismounted, and walked to the doorway.

  "Where are you going?" asked Clotnik from atop his bullbogg.

  "Inside."

  'Too dangerous," cautioned the juggler.

  "Don't worry," he replied airily. "I'll be careful." But, in fact, he bounded up a rickety staircase that had no business holding his weight. When he reached the top, he found the door to Brandella's home hanging by a single hinge. He pushed through and entered, finding the place stripped bare of furniture, one wall gone, the roof partially torn away. The vast mural that had covered her home was so faded by wind, rain, and sun that it was nearly impossible to make out any of the images-save one. In a far corner, low on the wall, he saw a surprisingly fresh drawing. It depicted a man, seen from behind, his face unshown. Inside his body there hovered the figure of a woman, her face also unshown. He reached out to touch it. When he withdrew his hand, there was paint on his fingertips. His eyes opened wide. Was it still wet7 Or had some of the color come off simply because the painting was exposed to the damp sea air? And why was this visible when all the others had faded? If memory served him, her bed had been against this wall. Maybe whoever lived here after her also kept the bed against the wall, protecting it. Or maybe it had been painted, somehow, expressly for him. For this moment. By her.

  A cracking sound caught his attention. A moment later, there was a loud crash and a cloud of dust drifted up to the second floor.

  "Tanis!" Clotnik shouted from the street. "Are you all right?"

  He went to the window. "Couldn't be better!" he sang out.

  'The building is falling apart," warned the juggler. "Get out of there-fast!"

  "I'm coming." With that, Tanis hurried to the door and mad
e for the stairs-except that several steps in the center of the staircase were gone. It had been that portion of the steps that had given way, breaking apart and crashing to the floor below. The half-elf grimaced. Getting out was not going to be easy But there was no other way.

  Going slowly, putting all of his weight on each of the stairs, was the worst thing he could do. He had to take the stairs at a run, leap over the missing section, and hope that when he landed on the lower half of the staircase, it wouldn't collapse.

  The half-elf took a deep breath, then plunged down the staircase at breakneck speed, his feet flying, taking three steps at a time. When he reached the chasm between the stairs, he jumped, soaring over the empty space and coming down on the lower section with his right foot. The stair broke.

  Tanis bounced off the wall on his right. His momentum carried him down the staircase while he scrambled to keep his balance. Neither Tanis nor the stairs stayed upright. Tanis hit the last few steps hard and rolled out the doorway, into the street. The staircase crashed behind him, a cloud of dust following him out into the air. Clotnik jumped down from his bullbogg and ran to Tanis, who waved him off. "I'm all right," said the half- elf. "I just need to catch my breath."

  The dwarf's face reflected vying emotions: worry, fear, annoyance. His voice snapped like dry wood. "Just because this is a ghost village is no reason for you to end up dead. Be careful I"

  "I'll do my best," promised Tanis, gasping for air. While Tanis huffed and puffed, the dwarf wandered away alone to rediscover his own memories; after all, he had grown up in Ankatavaka. Clotnik had gone only as far as the center of the village square, however, when he stopped, looked up, and smiled.

  A short while later, Tanis approached on foot, asking, "What are you looking at7"

  'This statue," the dwarf answered with nostalgia. "I remember when it was dedicated. I had just come back by ship and had learned that my father was dead. Everything in my life had changed. I didn't even know whd this person was," he said, pointing up at the weathered stone sculpture.

  Tanis glanced up, and his face filled with a look of wonder. It was Scowarrl He stood there, a sword jutting from one hand, his head wrapped in bandages that were on the verge of coming undone. Underneath, on the base, the inscription read: "Let us not forget the Great Scowarr. He came as a stranger. He left as a hero."

  43

  The Metal Box

  While Tanis was telling the dwanf about Scowarr, a movement down the street caught the dwarf's eye. 'There's someone there," said Clotnik. Tanis hadn't seen the figure. "It looked like an old man who ducked out of the way when he saw us," Clotnik explained. "I'm going after him. If some of the elves stayed on after the others left, I might find someone who remembers my father." Tanis hoped not, but he held his tongue. "Go ahead," he said. "I have something to do here, anyway." Correctly interpreting Clotnik's look, the half-elf promised, "Nothing dangerous."

  Clotnik hurried down the street, heading toward the beach. The once-tidy cobblestones lay in disarray, with gaps that now bobbed with weeds. Tanis watched the dwarf until Clotnik rounded a corner and was gone. The half-elf was grateful to be alone. He didn't want Clotnik around to see his disappointment if he couldn't find the message Brandella had buried for him. Nor did he want the dwarf reading over his shoulder if he did find the letter.

  Brandella had said the note was buried at the foot of the barricade where he had slain the giant spider. Judging the distance from the main gate and the street from which Mertwig had arrived to save him, Tanis easily reconstructed the spot. A bright orange wildflower grew there, vivid contrast to the pale green weeds that dotted the littered area. Tanis dug it up by its roots, considered tossing it aside, then-not quite knowing why-spent several minutes replanting it a short distance away.

  Then he began in earnest. He took out his sword and dug it deep into the earth to soften the hard clay. Kneeling, he began digging with his hands, scooping out the dirt and tossing it next to him.

  It was hot, hard work. The ground was unyielding, and there was no telling how deep the box might be after nearly a hundred years-especially if flood waters had deposited layers of mud over the land. And then, of course, there was always the chance that the box wasn't there at all. Tanis shook his head, refusing to consider that possibility, and kept digging. He pushed deeper and deeper, until he had dug a hole a hand's span deep. Then twice that. Still, he dug… hoping… dreaming… wishing that his own experience in Kishpa's memory were as real as the mage's. After all, reasoned Tanis, didn't Clotnik say that Brandella disappeared at about the same time the half-elf took her away? And would Scowarr have been a hero had Tanis not been there beside him? Wasn't it possible that he, Tanis, had actually been there in the past, living and breathing, if only for a short while, somehow bridging the gap between memory and reality? "You're fooling yourself, Half-EIven," he chided.

  Yet he continued to dig.

  Zarjephwu crept among the ruins of the village walls. The sligs had left their steeds in the wood and cautiously covered the ground between the forest and the village, not knowing if their prey was keeping watch. Zar- jephwu's command had spread out behind him, using tumbled walls and piles of weathered debris as cover.

  Soon Zarjephwu saw Tanis hard at work, trying to dig something out of the ground. He signaled his warriors to keep their heads down and wait while he studied the half- elf. When Tanis raised his head to wipe the sweat from his brow, the slig leader knew the man in the village square was the one he sought, the one who had kicked him into the fire. The half-elf looked worn and battle- scarred, but a light shone in his face, a light that the warrior slig interpreted as the euphoria of nearing a yearned-for goal. Zarjephwu gave the grimace that passed as a smile with sligs. He figured he knew just what Tanis sought.

  The slig unconsciously rubbed his burnt, hard-scaled skin. Half of his back and one of his arms was discolored from his roll in the flames. Zarjephwu had spent the better part of two days thinking about what he would do to the person who had caused him this pain. He'd lingered lovingly over the goriest details.

  It was clear to the slig leader that the half-elf was looking for something. And if it was buried so deeply underground, then it had to be something very valuable-like the enchanted quill. Zarjephwu grinned, choosing to wait and let the half-elf do all the work before the slig snatched the prize.

  Consumed by the task at hand, Tanis was unaware of the eyes that watched him from the ruins. The hole he had dug was nearly an arm's length deep, and he was finally ready to give up. There was nothing to be found. All he had to show for his clawing at the hard, rock- strewn dirt were bloody fingers and aching arms. In disgust, he threw his sword into the hole.

  A strange sound greeted his ears: The blade clanged against something metallic!

  Tanis instantly dove down on his stomach, sticking his head and shoulders into the hole. He pulled his sword up and tossed it behind him, scrabbling at yet another layer of dirt. There were more stones, more roots, and more crusted clay. And something entirely different.

  It felt like the lid of a box.

  Zarjephwu had wedged himself partly underneath a large slab of stone that once had anchored Ankatavaka's main gate; lying under a rock where it was cool and damp came naturally to the lizardlike slig. With deceptively sleepy eyes, he watched and waited. He was beginning to worry that he'd seen no sign of anyone else. Where was the woman? Where was the half-elf's accomplice in her rescue? Had they gone to the shore and sailed away? If that was so, reasoned the slig, then what was the half-elf digging up?

  When Tanis suddenly leaped into the hole, Zarjephwu sensed that his wait had finally ended. He gave a signal as he rose to his feet. Fourteen other sligs immediately appeared as if by magic, rising from their hiding places. Silently, they advanced upon Tanis.

  *****

  Tanis's heart was pounding harder than when he'd fought the giant spider on this same spot. He frantically worked his fingers in every direction, probing the edges of his find. />
  It was a small, square box, still brightly painted in reds and blues in the same distinctly feminine style as the paintings in Brandella's room, but dotted with specks of rust. His soul soared with hope. Hurriedly digging around all four sides of it, Tanis freed the box from its resting place of nearly one hundred years.

  With the box finally in his hands, Tanis pulled himself out of the hole with a triumphant cry.

  Had he looked toward the outer edges of the village, he would have seen the sligs coming toward him. But when he came out of the hole, his back was to them and he had no eyes for anything except his prize.

  The sligs were spread out over a wide area, the nearest, Zarjephwu, a mere thirty feet away and closing in fast.

  Tanis tried to open the box; it was rusted shut. He pulled his knife from his belt to try to pry it open.

  Twenty feet away, the sligs began to come together as a pack. They moved with a deadly stealth, their spears, bardiches, and battle-axes already in their sharp-nailed fingers.

  The knife seemed to help. Tanis managed to wedge it under a corner of the lid and edge it upward. The top was bending a bit, coming off, but slowly.

  The sligs crept just fifteen feet away. Zarjephwu signaled to the others that he wanted to take the half-elf prisoner. The torture would be exquisite.

  Then Tanis heard something… inside the box. It was impossible that an animal could have been in it; the box had been sealed thoroughly. Nonetheless, he held it a little farther away from his body as he popped the top off. Inside, he saw two things: the quill he'd given Brandella and a folded piece of ancient parchment. In large letters across the parchment, written in Common, was the emphatic warning, Sligs Behind You!

  44

  To the Death