Silverthorn

by Raymond Feist

  “But I think I can succeed at this. You raise too many questions to ignore. I will convene a meeting as soon as possible and return for you once I have pleaded your case. Only a madman would fail to heed your warning, even should it prove to be something not of this world that plagues your land. At worst you gain a parole to use the library and depart; at best, perhaps a reinstatement. You will have to justify your past actions.”

  “I can and will, Hocho.”

  Hochopepa left the bench and stood before his old friend. “It may be we can yet have peace between our nations, Milamber. Should the old wound somehow be healed, we could benefit both worlds. I, for one, would love to visit this academy you build and meet this seer who predicts the future and this child who speaks with the mind.”

  “I have many things I would share, Hocho. The making of controllable rifts is but a tenth part of it. But all that later. Go now.”

  Pug began to guide Hochopepa to the door, but something in Meecham’s pose caught his eyes. It was too stiff and awkward. Dominic had been closely following the magicians’ conversation and had not seemed to notice any change in the franklin. Pug studied Meecham a second, then shouted, “A spell!”

  Pug moved toward the window and touched Meecham. The tall man was unable to move. Past him Pug could see men running toward the building. Before Pug could react and incant a spell of protection, the door exploded inward with a thunderous sound, knocking everyone inside to the floor and stunning them momentarily.

  Senses reeling, Pug tried to regain his feet, but his ears rang from the sound and his vision blurred. As he staggered upright, an object was hurled in through the door. It was a ball-like object the size of a man’s fist. Pug again tried to establish a spell of protection around the room, but the sphere emitted a blinding orange light. Pug’s eyes felt seared and he closed them, breaking the pattern of his spell. He began again, but the object made a high-pitched whine, which seemed to somehow drain away his strength. He heard someone hit the floor and couldn’t tell if Hochopepa or Dominic had tried to rise and failed or if Meecham had toppled. Pug fought against the magic of the sphere with all his considerable might, but he was off balance and confused. He staggered to the door, trying to get away from the object, for once free of its debilitating effects he could easily save his friends. But its own spell was too quick and strong. At the threshold of the shop he collapsed. He fell to his knees, blinking against the double vision the sphere or explosion had inflicted upon him. He could make out men approaching the building from across the plaza. They wore the armor of the Warlord’s Imperial Whites, his personal honor guard. Sinking downward into darkness, Pug could see that the one who led them wore a black robe. Pug could hear the magician’s voice, as if coming from a vast distance through the ringing in his ears, saying, “Bind them.”

  SIXTEEN

  MORAELIN

  Mist blew through the canyon.

  Arutha signaled a halt; Jimmy peered downward through the blowing moisture. A waterfall thundered beside the trail that was their route toward Moraelin. Now they were properly in the Great Northern Mountains, in that area between the elven forests and the Northlands. Moraelin lay higher in the mountains, in a rocky, barren place just below the crest. They waited while Martin scouted the pass ahead. Since leaving their elven guides they had become a military mission in enemy-held lands. They could trust Arutha’s talisman to hide them from Murmandamus’s scrying magic, but that he knew they would soon come to Moraelin was beyond question. It was never to be a question of if they would encounter his minions, but simply when.

  Martin returned, signaling that the way ahead was clear, then he put up his hand for a halt again. He dashed past the others, heading back down the trail. As he passed Baru and Roald, he motioned for them to follow. They jumped down from their mounts, and Laurie and Jimmy took the reins. Arutha looked back, wondering what Martin had seen, while Jimmy kept eyes ahead.

  Martin and the others returned, another figure walking easily with them. Arutha relaxed when he saw it was the elf Galain.

  The oppressive nature of their journey was such that when they spoke, it was in hushed tones, lest echoes in the hills betray them. Arutha greeted the elf. “We thought you not coming.”

  Galain replied, “The Warleader sent me after you with this intelligence but a few hours after you departed. After he was found, the gwali Apalla said two things of importance. First, a beast of some ferocious nature unclear from the gwali’s description inhabits the area near the lake. Tomas pleads caution. Second, there is another entrance to Moraelin. He felt it of sufficient import to dispatch me after.” Galain smiled. “Besides, I thought it might also prove useful to see if you were being followed.”

  “Were we?”

  Galain nodded. “Two moredhel scouts cut your trail less than a mile north of our forests. They were marking your way, and one surely would have run ahead to warn when you got close to Moraelin. I would have joined you earlier, but I needed to be certain neither could escape to give warning. Now there is no such risk.” Martin nodded, knowing the elf would have killed them both suddenly and without chance for alarm. “There are no signs of others.”

  Martin asked, “Do you return?”

  “Tomas gave me discretion. It is not of much use to go back at this point. I may as well travel with you. I may not pass over the Tracks of the Hopeless, but until that portal is reached, another bow may prove useful.”

  “Welcome,” said Arutha.

  Martin mounted and, without words, Galain ran on ahead to scout the way. They moved swiftly upward, the falls chilling them despite the early summer warmth. At these heights hail and occasionally snow were not uncommon except in the hottest months of summer, still weeks away. The nights had been damp, though not as bitter as had been feared, for they made cold camp. The elves had given them trail rations, dried meat and hard cakes of nut flour and dried fruit—nourishing but cheerless fare.

  The trail led along the face of the cliffs, until it came out in a high meadow, overlooking the valley. A silver, sparkling lake lapped its shores gently in the late afternoon light, the only sound being the singing of birds and the rustling of the wind in the trees. Jimmy looked about. “How can…how can the day be so nice when we move toward nothing but trouble?”

  Roald said, “One thing about soldiering: if you’re going to risk dying, there’s no sense doing it wet, cold, and hungry unless absolutely necessary. Enjoy the sunshine, lad. It’s a gift.”

  They watered their horses. After a welcome rest, they continued onward. The path Calin had spoken about, north of the lake, was easily found but steep and difficult to negotiate.

  As sunset approached, Galain returned with news of a promising cave in which they might safely build a small fire. “It is curved, twice, and the air moves upward through fissures that will carry smoke away. Martin, if we leave now, we might have time to hunt game near the lake’s edge.”

  Arutha said, “Don’t be overly long in the hunt. Signal your approach with that raven’s honk you do so well, or you’ll be greeted by some sword points.”

  Martin nodded once, giving the reins of his horse to Jimmy. He said, “Two hours after sunset at the latest,” and he and Galain were heading back down the trail toward the lake.

  Roald and Baru took point, and after a five-minute ride found the cave Galain had mentioned. It was flat, wide, and free of other occupants. Jimmy explored back and found it narrow after a hundred feet, so that unexpected visitors would have to come through the mouth. Laurie and Baru gathered wood and the first fire in days was built, though it was a small one. Jimmy and Arutha settled in with the others, waiting for Martin and Galain.

  Martin and Galain lay in wait. They had constructed a natural-looking blind, using brush gathered from other parts of the woods. They were certain they could observe any animal coming down to the lake’s edge without being seen. They had lain downwind from the lake, neither speaking, for half an hour when the sound of hooves upon the rocks sounded fro
m below the cliff.

  Both nocked arrows, but otherwise remained silent. Into the meadow from the trail below rode a dozen horsemen, dressed in black. Each wore the strange dragon helm seen at Sarth, and their heads moved constantly, as if they looked for something—or someone. Then behind them came Murad, his cheek still showing the additional cut Arutha had given him on the road to Sarth.

  The Black Slayers reined in and watered their mounts, staying in the saddle. Murad seemed relaxed but alert. For a silent ten minutes they let the horses drink.

  When they were finished watering the horses, they moved out, turning up the trail after Arutha’s band. When they were out of sight, Martin said, “They must have come in between Yabon and Stone Mountain to have avoided your forests. Tathar is correct in his assumption that they will move to Moraelin to wait for us.”

  Galain said, “Few things in life disturb me, Martin, but those Black Slayers are one.”

  “You’re just now coming to that conclusion?”

  “You humans are given to overreaction upon occasion.” Galain looked to where the riders had gone.

  Martin said, “They will overtake Arutha and the others shortly. If this Murad can track, then they will find the cave.”

  Galain stood. “Let us hope that Hadati knows his trail craft. If not, at least we will be attacking from the rear.”

  Martin smiled a grim smile. “That will certainly be of comfort to those in the cave. Thirteen against five, and only one way in or out.”

  Without further comment, they shouldered their bows and began to lope up the trail behind the moredhel.

  —

  “Riders come,” said Baru. Jimmy was instantly covering the fire with dirt, carried in against the need. That way the fire would die quickly without smoke. Then Laurie touched Jimmy on the arm and motioned that he should come to the rear of the cave to help quiet the horses. Roald, Baru, and Arutha moved forward to where they could, they hoped, see out of the cave mouth without being seen.

  The evening looked murky dark after the bright fire, but soon their eyes adjusted and they could see the riders passing by the cave. The rearmost pulled up a moment before the others answered some silent command and halted. He looked about, as if sensing something nearby. Arutha fingered his talisman, hoping the moredhel was simply cautious and not feeling his presence.

  A cloud passed from before the little moon, the only one up this early, and the vista before the cave became slightly more illuminated. Baru stiffened at sight of Murad, for the hillman could now clearly see the moredhel. He had begun to draw his sword when Arutha’s hand gripped his wrist. The Prince hissed in the hillman’s ear, “Not yet!”

  Baru’s body trembled as he struggled against his desire to avenge his family’s death and complete his Bloodquest. He burned to attack the moredhel without regard for his own safety, but there were his companions to consider.

  Then Roald gripped the back of the Hadati’s neck and put his cheek against Baru’s, so he could speak into his ear almost without sound. “If the twelve in black cut you down before you reach Murad, what honor do you to your village’s memory?”

  Baru’s sword slipped noiselessly back into its sheath.

  Silently they watched as Murad surveyed the surroundings. His eyes fell on the mouth of the cave. He peered at the entrance, and for a moment Arutha could feel the scar-faced moredhel’s eyes upon him. Then they were moving again…then they were gone.

  Arutha crept forward until he hung out of the cave, watching for signs the riders were returning. Suddenly a voice behind said, “I thought a cave bear might have run you all out of there.”

  Arutha spun, his heart racing and his sword coming out of its scabbard, to find Martin and Galain standing behind. He put up his weapon and said, “I could have run you through.”

  The others appeared and Galain said, “They should have investigated, but they seemed determined to be somewhere in a hurry. So we might do well to follow. I’ll keep them under watch and mark the trail.”

  Arutha said, “What if another bank of Dark Brothers comes along? Won’t they find your trail markings?”

  “Only Martin will recognize my trail markings. No mountain moredhel can track like an elf.” He shouldered his bow and began to run after the riders.

  As he vanished into the night’s gloom, Laurie said, “What if the Dark Brothers are forest dwellers?”

  Galain’s voice came back out of the dark: “I’ll have almost as much to worry about as you will.”

  After Galain was out of earshot, Martin said, “I wish he were only joking.”

  —

  Galain ran back down the trail, motioning toward a stand of trees off to the left of the road. They hurried to the trees and dismounted. They led the mounts down into a draw, as deep into the woods as possible. Galain whispered, “A patrol comes.” He, Martin, and Arutha hurried back to the edge of the trees where they could spy anyone on the trail.

  A few minutes passed with agonizing slowness; then a dozen riders came down the mountain road, a mixed band of moredhel and men. The moredhel were wearing cloaks and were clearly forest dwellers from the south. They rode past without pause, and when they were out of sight, Martin said, “Renegades now flock to Murmandamus’s banner.” He almost spit as he said, “There are few I’d gladly kill, but humans who would serve the moredhel for gold are among them.”

  As they returned to the others, Galain said to Arutha, “There is a camp athwart the road a mile above here. They are clever, for it is a difficult passage around the camp, and we would need to leave your horses here. It is that or ride through the camp.”

  “How far to the lake is it?” asked the Prince.

  “Only a few miles. But once past the camp we rise above the tree line and there is little cover, save down among the rocks. It will be a slow passage, and better done at night. There are bound to be scouts around and many guards on the road to the bridge.”

  “What about the second entrance the gwali told of?”

  “If we understood rightly, by descending down into the Tracks of the Hopeless, you’ll find a cave or fissure that will lead through the rock up to the surface of the plateau near the lake.”

  Arutha considered. “Let us leave our mounts here….”

  Laurie said, with a faint smile, “Might as well tether the horses to the trees. If we die, we won’t need them.”

  Roald said, “My old captain used to get downright short with soldiers who harped on death before a battle.”

  “Enough!” said Arutha. He took a step away, then turned. “I’ve been worrying this over and over. I’ve come this far and I’ll continue, but…you may leave now if you wish, and I’ll not object.” He looked at Laurie and Jimmy, then Baru and Roald. He was answered by silence.

  Arutha looked from face to face, then nodded brusquely. “Very well. Tie up the horses and lighten your packs. We walk.”

  —

  The moredhel watched the trail below, well lit by large and middle moons, as little moon rose. He perched atop an outcropping of rock, nestled behind a boulder. He was positioned so he would be unobserved by any coming up the trail.

  Martin and Galain took aim at the moredhel’s back as Jimmy slipped behind the rocks. They would try to win past without being seen, but if the moredhel twitched in the wrong direction, Martin and Galain meant to see him dead before he could speak. Jimmy had gone first, as he was judged the least likely to make noise. Next came Baru, and the hillman moved through the rocks with the practiced ease of one mountain-born. Laurie and Roald moved very slowly, and Martin wondered if he could hold his target for the week it was taking them to pass. Then at last Arutha slipped past, the light breeze making enough noise to disguise the faint scuff of boot upon rock as he stepped down into a shallow depression. He scampered along until he joined with the others, out of sight of the sentry. Within seconds Martin, then Galain, followed, and the elf went past to again take point.

  Baru signaled he would go after, and Arutha motion
ed agreement. In a moment Laurie and Roald followed. Just before he turned to follow, Jimmy put his face before Martin and Arutha’s and whispered, “When we get back, the first thing I’m going to do is scream my bloody head off.”

  With a playful swat, Martin sent him along. Arutha looked at Martin and silently mouthed the words, “Me too.” Then the Prince was going down the wash. Martin took a last backwards glance, then followed.

  —

  Silently they lay in a depression near the road, a small ridge of rock hiding them from the passing moredhel horsemen. Reluctant even to breathe, they remained motionless as the riders seemed to pause in their slow passage. For a long, torturous moment, Arutha and his companions feared discovery. Just as every nerve seemed to scream for action, as every muscle demanded motion, the riders continued along their patrol. With a sigh of relief close to a sob, Arutha rolled over and discovered the trail empty. With a nod to Galain, Arutha ordered a resumption of the trek. The elf was off along the defile, and the others slowly rose and followed.

  —

  The night wind blew bitter along the face of the mountains. Arutha sat back against the rocks, looking where Martin pointed. Galain hugged the opposite wall of the crevice they crouched in. They had taken a rise over a crest to the east of the trail, seeming to take them away from their destination, but a necessary detour to avoid increasing moredhel activity. Now they looked down upon a broad canyon, in the middle of which a high plateau rose upward. In the center of the plateau a small lake could be seen. To their left they could see the trail returning as it ran past the edge of the canyon, then disappeared over the crest of the mountains farther up, clearly shown in the light of all three moons.

  Where the trail came closest to the edge of the canyon, twin towers of stone had been erected. Another pair stood opposite on the plateau. Between them a narrow suspension bridge swayed in the wind. On top of all four towers torches burned, their flames dancing madly in the wind. Movement along the bridge and atop the towers told them the entire area around the plateau was heavily guarded. Arutha leaned back against the rocks. “Moraelin.”