A Darkness at Sethanon (48 page)

Amos spurred his
mount forward. “Then there’s nothing else for it. Into
the forest, lads.”

They rode as
quietly as they could through woodlands dark and foreboding. Distant
calls echoed from Murmandamus’s army, camped for the night on
the plains to the north. By moving throughout the night, Arutha
judged they would be well ahead of Murmandamus’s army by sunup.
By midday they would be out of the forest, back upon the plain, able
to pick up speed. Then if they could reach Cutter’s Gap and
Brian, Lord Highcastle, there was a chance of slowing Murmandamus all
the way down the High Wold and through the Dimwood.

Jimmy spurred
his horse forward and overtook Galain. “I’ve got this
funny itch.”

Softly the elf
said, “I feel it, too. I also sense something familiar about
these woods. I can’t put a name to it.” Then with elvish
humour he added, “But then, I’m only a youngster, barely
forty years of age.”

Returning the
dryness, Jimmy said, “An infant.”

Guy, who rode
next to Arutha, said, “We might just get to Highcastle.”
He was quiet for a while, then at last said, “Arutha, returning
to the Kingdom poses some problems for me.”

Arutha nodded in
understanding, though the gesture was lost in the dark. “I’ll
speak with Lyam. I assume once at Highcastle I’ll have your
parole. Until we sort this mess out, you’ll be under my
protection.”

Guy said, “I’m
not worried over my fate. Look, I’ve what’s left of a
small nation streaming down into Yabon. I just . . . just want to
ensure they’re well cared for.” His voice revealed a deep
sense of despair. “I vowed to rebuild Armengar. We both know
that will never be.”

Arutha said,
“We’ll work out something to bring your people into the
Kingdom, Guy.” He studied the form that rode slowly beside him
in the darkness. “But what of yourself?”

“I have no
concern for myself. But . . . look, consider interceding with Lyam on
Armand’s behalf . .. if he got out. He’s a fine general
and able leader. If I had taken the crown, he would have been the
next Duke of Bas-Tyra. With no son of my own, I couldn’t
imagine a better choice. You’ll need his sort, Arutha, if we’re
to weather all that’s coming. His only fault is an overblown
sense of personal loyalty and honour.”

Arutha promised
to consider the request and they lapsed into silence. They continued
riding until well after midnight, when Arutha and Guy agreed upon a
halt. Guy approached Galain while they rested the horses and said,
“We’re now farther into these woods than any Armengarian
has travelled and returned.”

Galain said,
“I’ll keep alert.” He studied Guy’s face. “I
have heard of you, Guy du Bas-Tyra. At last recounting, you were
something of an object of distrust,” he said with elven
understatement. “It seems the situation has changed.” He
nodded toward Arutha.

Guy smiled a
grim smile. “For the moment. Fate and circumstance occasionally
forge unexpected alliances.”

The elf grinned.
“That is true. You have an elf-like appreciation. I would like
to hear the tale someday.”

Guy nodded. Amos
approached and said, “I thought I heard something that way.”
Guy looked where he indicated. Then both discovered Galain gone.

Arutha came
over. “I heard it also, as did Galain. He’ll return
soon.”

Guy hunkered
down, resting while alert. “Let’s hope he’s able.”

Jimmy and
Locklear tended the horses in silence. Jimmy studied his friend. In
the gloom he could only see a little of the boy’s expression,
but he knew that Locklear still hadn’t recovered from
Bronwynn’s death. Then Jimmy was visited by a strange sense of
guilt. He hadn’t thought of Krinsta since the retreat from the
wall. Jimmy tried to shrug aside the irritation. Hadn’t they
been lovers from desire and entered freely into the relationship? Had
any promises been made? Yes and no, but Jimmy felt nettled at his own
lack of concern. He didn’t wish any harm to Krinsta but he
didn’t see much sense in worrying about her. She was as able to
take care of herself as any woman Jimmy had met, a soldier by
training since childhood. No, what troubled Jimmy was the absence of
concern. He vaguely sensed something was lacking. He became
irritated. He’d had enough concern with others in his life,
with Anita’s injury and Arutha’s mock death. Becoming
involved with other people was a bloody inconvenience. Finally he
felt his irritation grow to anger.

He moved up to
Locklear and grabbed his friend roughly, swinging him about. “Stop
it!” he hissed.

Locklear’s
eyes widened in surprise. “Stop what?”

“This
bloody damn - silence. Bronwynn’s dead and it wasn’t your
fault.”

Locklear’s
expression remained unchanged, but slowly moisture gathered in his
eyes, then tears began to run down his face. Pulling his shoulder out
from under Jimmy’s hand with a shrug, he quietly said, “The
horses.” He moved away, his face still streaked with tears.

Jimmy sighed. He
didn’t know what had possessed him to act that way, but
suddenly he felt stupid and thoughtless. And he wondered how Krinsta
was faring, if she was still alive. He turned to the horses and
struggled to push away strong emotions.

Galain returned
at a silent run. “A light of some sort, far into the woods. I
ventured close, but heard movement. They were stealthy, almost
passing unnoticed, but I did hear signs of their coming this way.”

Guy moved toward
his horse, as did the others. Galain mounted, and when the others
were ready, he pointed. He whispered, “We must move to the edge
of the forest, as far from the light as we can without being seen by
Murmandamus’s scouts.”

He spurred his
horse and began to ride forward. He had moved about a dozen paces
when a figure dropped out of the trees from above, knocking him from
the saddle.

More attackers
leaped down from the trees and all the riders were dragged from their
horses. Arutha hit the ground and rolled, coming to his feet with his
sword in hand. He regarded his opponent, looking into an elf-like
face set in a mask of hatred. Then he saw the bowmen behind, drawing
a bead upon him, and with a strange sense of finality, he thought, is
this how it will end at the last? The prophecy was wrong.

Then the one
sitting atop Galain pulled him up by the tunic, his other hand drawn
back with a knife ready to kill him. He faltered, exclaiming,
“Eledhel!” followed by a sentence in a language unknown
to Arutha.

Suddenly the
attackers ran forward, but no attempt was made to kill Arutha’s
party. Hands restrained them while Galain’s attacker helped him
to his feet. They spoke rapidly in the other language, and Galain
motioned to Arutha, then the rest. The others, dressed in grey hooded
cloaks, nodded and pointed toward the east.

Galain said, “We
must go with them.”

In soft tones
Arutha said, “Do they think us renegades, and you one of them?”

The normal elven
mask was dropped and Galain revealed confusion in the gloom. “I
don’t know what wonder we have stumbled into, Arutha, but these
aren’t moredhel. They’re elves.” He glanced about
the clearing. “And I’ve never seen any of them before in
my life.”

They were
brought before an old elf, who sat upon a wooden seat, elevated by a
platform. The clearing was seventy or so feet wide, and on all sides
elves squatted or stood. The surrounding area was their home, a
village of huts and small buildings of wood, but totally lacking the
beauty and grace found in Elvandar. Arutha glanced about. The elves
stood arrayed in unexpected garb. Grey cloaks, much like those worn
by the moredhel, were common, and the warriors wore an assortment of
leather armour and furs. Odd decorative jewellery of copper and
brass, set with unpolished stones, or necklaces of animal teeth hung
about many of the warrior’s necks. The weapons were rude but
efficient-looking, lacking the fine craftsmanship common to those
elven weapons Arutha had seen before. That these were elves was
certain, but they possessed a barbaric aspect that caused Arutha no
small discomfort. The Prince listened as the leader of those who had
captured them spoke to the elf upon the seat.

“
Aron
Earanorn
,” whispered Galain to Arutha. “That means
King Redtree. They call that one their king.”

The King
motioned for the prisoners to be brought forward and spoke to Galain.
Arutha said, “What did he say?”

The King said,
“What I said was that had your friend not been recognized,
you’d all most likely be dead now.”

Arutha said,
“You speak the King’s Tongue.”

The old elf
nodded. “As well as Armengarian. We speak the tongues of men,
though we have nothing to do with men. We have learned it over the
years from those we have captured.”

Guy seemed
angered. “It has been you who have been killing my people!”

“And who
are you?” asked the King.

“I am Guy
du Bas-Tyra, Protector of Armengar.”

The King nodded.
“One-eye, we have heard of you. We kill any who invade our
forest, whether men, goblins, trolls, or even our dark kin. We have
only enemies without the Tauredder. But this” - he pointed at
Galain - “is something new to us.” He studied the elf. “I
would know you and your line.”

“I am
Galain, son of one who was brother to one who ruled,” he said,
not using the names of the dead in elven fashion. “My father
was descended from he who drove the moredhel from our homes. I am
cousin to Prince Calin and nephew to Queen Aglaranna.”

The old elf’s
eyes narrowed as he studied Galain. “You speak of princes, yet
my son was slain by the trolls seventy winters ago. You speak of
queens, yet my son’s mother died in the battle for Neldarlod,
when our dark brothers last sought to destroy us. You speak of things
I do not understand.”

Galain said, “As
do you, King Earanorn. I do not know where lies this Neldarlod you
spoke of, nor have I heard of our people living north of the great
mountains. I speak of those of our kin who live in our home, in
Elvandar.”

Several elves
said, “Barmalindar!”

Arutha said,
“What is that word?”

Galain said, “It
means “golden home - place - land”; it’s a place of
wonder. They think of it as a fable.”

The King said,
“Elvandar! Barmalindar! You speak of legends. Our ancient home
was destroyed in the Days of the Mad Gods’ Rage.”

Galain was
silent for a long while, as if deeply considering something. Finally
he turned to Arutha and Guy. “I am going to ask that you be
taken from here. I must speak of things, things which I lack the
wisdom to know if it is proper to share with you. I must speak of
those who have gone to the Blessed Isle, and speak of the shame of
our race. I hope you understand.” To the King he said, “I
would speak of these things, but they are for the eledhel only to
hear. Will you take my friends to a place of safety while I speak?”

The King nodded
and waved for a pair of guards, who escorted the five humans to
another clearing. There was no place to sit, except upon the ground,
so they hunkered down upon the damp soil. They could not hear Galain
speak, but they caught the faint sound of his voice on the night
wind. For hours the elves held council and Arutha drifted off into a
doze.

Suddenly Galain
was there, motioning for them to rise. “I have spoken of things
I’d thought I had forgotten, old lore taught to me by the
Spellweavers. I think they believe now, though they are deeply
shaken.”

Arutha looked at
the two guards who waited some distance away, respecting Galain’s
privacy. “Who are these elves?”

Galain said, “I
understand that when you and Martin passed through Elvandar on your
way to Moraelin, Tathar told you of the shame of our race, the
genocidal war conducted by the moredhel against the glamredhel. I
think these are the surviving descendants of the glamredhel. They
seem proper elves and are certainly not moredhel, but they have no
Spellweavers or keepers of lore. They have become more primitive,
little more than savages. They have lost many arts of our people. I
don’t know. Perhaps those who survived the last battle, when
the first Murmandamus led the moredhel, came here and found refuge.
The King spoke of their having lived for a long time in Neldarlod,
which means “Place of the Beech Trees”, so they are but
recently come to Edder Forest.”

“They’ve
been here long enough to make it impossible for the Armengarians to
hunt or lumber deeply,” said Guy. “At least three
generations.”

“I’m
speaking of elven things, an elven sense of years,” answered
Galain. “They’ve been here over two hundred years.”
He regarded the two guards. “And I don’t think they’re
entirely free of the glamredhel heritage. They’re much more
warlike and aggressive than we of Elvandar, almost as much as the
moredhel. I don’t know. This King seems unsure of what should
be done. He’s taking counsel now with his elders, and I expect
we’ll hear what they wish in a day or two.”

Arutha looked
alarmed. “In a day or two, Murmandamus will again be between us
and Cutter’s Gap. We must be away this day.”

Galain said,
“I’ll return to council. Perhaps I can explain a few
things to them about the way the world works outside this forest.”
He left them and they sat, again resigned to having nothing to do but
wait.

Nearly half the
day had passed when Galain returned. “The King will let us go.
He’ll even provide escort to the valley that leads to Cutter’s
Gap, along a clear trail, so we will reach it before Murmandamus’s
army. They’ll have to go around the forest, while we’ll
go straight through.”

Arutha said, “I
was worried we might have trouble.”

“We did.
You were going to be killed, and they were still deciding what to do
with me.”

“What
changed their minds?” said Amos.