The Elven (49 page)

Farodin climbed up onto one of the flyers that led at a steep angle to the wall. Inch by inch, he crept forward until he reached the wall. He crouched there. A good distance below, one of the horizontal braces jutted from the wall. It must have been four, perhaps five paces down. Farodin swore. He would have to jump. And the odds of finding a foothold on the icy stone were not good.

For a long time, he stared down. He felt the cold creeping into his limbs. The second he had stopped concentrating on his warming spell, it had vanished. His fingers were growing numb. He could not put it off any longer.

Farodin landed on the brace, but his soles found no grip. He half fell, half pushed, somersaulted, and landed with his legs straddling the lower brace. The blow to his crotch brought tears to his eyes.

Groaning, he removed his belt and slung it once around the stone. Then he pulled off his shirt and knotted one sleeve to the belt. The chill wind cut at his back as if with knives. The leadlight window was now below him and to one side.

Farodin formed a large knot in the end of the second sleeve and prayed that the stitching in the shirt was strong. Then he launched himself from the brace. With a jerk, the shirt pulled tight under his weight. The leather belt crunched on the raw stone. Like a pendulum, the elf built up momentum, but the gusting wind repeatedly destroyed his rhythm. He and the window were now almost on the same level. His stiff fingers were gradually losing their grip. One more swing . . . then he let go.

The window shattered against his boots. Glass cut his arms. He slammed hard onto the floor and rolled clear of the glass. Warm blood seeped from a cut on his forehead.

Breathing hard, he just lay there. He’d made it. At first, he wanted to do no more than simply stare at the ceiling overhead. He was alive. And it seemed no one had heard the window break over the howling storm outside.

It took some time before Farodin became aware of the deep drone resounding through the tower. A gong rang. The fire.

Wisps of smoke drifted past the barinstone on the ceiling. The smoke quickly thickened. Dazed, Farodin sat up. His eyes watered.

He tore a strip of cloth from his breeches and pressed it to his mouth and nose. The smoke would make his escape easier. If it didn’t kill him.

Elodrin’s Song

W
e can’t wait much longer. The tide will soon be so high that we won’t make it out of the cave. We’ll be trapped for hours.”

Mandred, trembling, pulled a blanket closer around his shoulders. The bluster of the rising tide echoed from the walls of the grotto. The jarl felt wretched. He was at the mercy of the elves. They had swum right through the fjord with him. Landal, a gaunt, blond elf, had taken hold of Mandred’s beard and pulled him along as he swam. It was Landal’s magic that had protected Mandred from dying in the icy water, but he still felt more dead than alive. The cold had penetrated deep into his bones. He lay wrapped in several blankets in the bottom of the boat and could barely move.

“Get the boat out of the grotto,” Elodrin commanded. He moved to the stern and took hold of the tiller. “We’ll wait out in the fjord. At least we’re not sitting in a trap out there.”

The rest of the elves hauled at the oars. Pulling against the strong current at the cave mouth took all of their combined strength. The water was so high that the curved stempost of the boat repeatedly hit the roof of the cave. It already looked like they were too late to escape when the little sailboat suddenly surged forward. They were free.

With great skill, Elodrin steered through the reefs and shallows until they finally made it into deeper water. Exhausted, the elves crouched along the sides of the boat and did what they could to recover from the struggle with the sea. Only Elodrin, at the stern, was standing. He gazed uneasily into the heavy fog.

“A powerful spell is being cast,” he said softly. “I sense magic everywhere. We cannot stay here.”

“We wait for Farodin,” said Mandred, resolute.

“That would not be wise.” The old elf pointed ahead, where the Nightcrags had to be beyond the fog. “Farodin came here to die.”

“No, you don’t know him. He’s dedicated his life to the search for the woman he loves. He won’t die here.”

Elodrin smiled tiredly. “Do you know the souls of elves so well, mortal?”

Arrogant bastard
, thought Mandred. “If you give up on him, then put me ashore, and I’ll search for him.”

“What do you want to do? Crawl back to the Nightcrags?”

“At least I won’t be abandoning a friend.”

“What use is it to Farodin if you die, too?” Elodrin asked.

“You will never understand it, elf. It is a matter of honor not to give up on your friends. However bad the situation. I know that Farodin would do the same for me.”

The old elf nodded. “Yes. He’s changed a lot. I could tell. Perhaps . . . quiet now, mortal. I need quiet.”

Elodrin released the tiller and crouched in the stern. Softly, he began to hum a soothing melody. The soft rocking of the boat and his exhaustion made Mandred sleepy. His head tipped to the side.
Don’t fall asleep
was the last thought in his head.

The jarl jolted upright, awake again. The elves were once again at the oars, and the fog had dissipated.

They must have left the fjord. In a rage, Mandred glared up at Elodrin. “You damned coward! You used some sleep spell on me so you could get away!” He felt for his axe. It was gone. Every movement caused burning pain to shoot through his leg.

The old elf had bound his eyes again. He tilted his head in Mandred’s direction and smiled. “The fact that you wake up now shows how strong the bonds of friendship are.”

“You will take me back to the fjord immediately, you miserable, shit-eating—”

“Nardinel, Landal, help him up. His jabbering is interfering with my spell.”

The two elves pulled in their oars and came to Mandred. They, too, were blindfolded again. Mandred moaned in pain as they took hold of him under his arms and lifted him to his feet.

“I don’t know how you did it,” Nardinel hissed into his ear, “but your pigheadedness has infected Elodrin as well. The trolls’ shamans are clearing the fog from the fjord. We are in plain sight. Yet still we are sailing toward the harbor of the Nightcrags.”

Supporting himself on the elves, Mandred could see over the side of the boat. The snow had stopped. The sky was clear and star filled. About half a mile away, the trolls’ tower rose over the fjord. Flaming torches were moving all along the cliffs and along the beach. The foot of the tower was swathed in a dull, reddish light. Thick smoke billowed from the windows.

The long harbor pier was teeming with trolls. It looked as if ships were hurriedly being manned.

“Do you see him?” asked Elodrin from the stern. “He must be in the water just in front of us. I can sense his presence. It’s so strong. The seeking spell is taking almost no energy now.”

Mandred looked out over the low swell. A swimmer stirring up the water would have been impossible to miss. But there was nothing.

“Are you sure he’s here?” he asked in a low voice.

Elodrin pointed out to the left of the stempost. “There. Look that way.”

Mandred squinted his eyes. The light of flaming torches reflected on the smooth water. Suddenly, a ball of fire climbed steeply into the sky from the Nightcrags. It described a wide arc across the sky, then fell almost vertically toward them. The shot, a spear with a fire basket beneath a stone tip, missed them by a wide margin.

It disappeared into the swell, only to be followed immediately by two new fireballs. From the harbor, harsh bellowing could be heard. Mandred saw one of the large black ships casting off.

The jarl’s eyes roamed over the water desperately. Finally, he saw something, something pale. Golden hair, moving in time with the gentle swell. “There. More to starboard. Farodin!”

His companion did not react. He was floating with his face down.

“Quick! An oar!”

Mandred jabbed at Farodin with the oar, but the elf made no attempt to take hold of it.

“Landal, get him out,” Elodrin ordered.

The elf let go of Mandred, jumped into the water, and felt his way out along the oar until he reached Farodin. He turned him over, took him by the hair, and made it back to the boat with two powerful strokes.

Nardinel let go of Mandred to help Landal, and he was forced to hold on to the side of the boat. He could put no weight on his broken leg. But slowly, his strength was returning.

The two elves were hauled aboard. Farodin did not move. His eyes were wide open, sightless, staring at the stars. His upper body was naked and blue with cold, and he was covered with cuts and bruises.

With a hiss, one of the fireballs hit the water close to the boat.

Elodrin ordered Mandred to take Landal’s place at the oar on the rearmost thwart. They turned the little boat, everyone rowing hard. A fireball flew overhead, very close now.

Landal treated Farodin’s wounds. He ran his hands over the elf’s body and pulled splinters from his back. He did it all without removing the blindfold. Every movement betrayed great skill. When he was finished, he wrapped Farodin in a blanket. Suddenly, he paused and raised his head, as if he had noticed Mandred’s attention. Landal gestured soothingly. “You don’t need to worry. He will recover.”

“But he was floating with his face in the water. Like a . . . like . . .” Mandred could not say the word.

“It was the cold that saved him,” the gaunt elf explained. “In cold water, everything becomes slower. The beat of the heart, the flow of the blood. Even death. I’m not trying to deceive you, mortal. He is not well. He is exhausted to the verge of death and came away from there with almost a dozen serious wounds. But he will recover.”

A signal horn sounded. Mandred looked back apprehensively. One of the mighty ships was on course for the harbor mouth. Oars were pushed out through the hull and churned the dark sea. Even from half a mile away, it was clear that the troll ship was making more headway than they were. Dull drumbeats boomed across the water. The oars of the troll ship were soon moving to the same rhythm.

Mandred and the elves rowed with all their strength. But as hard as they pulled, the trolls were catching up. The moment the pursuit began, it was clear how it had to end. Mandred was bathed in sweat. Every movement sent a pulsing pain through his leg.

For half an hour or more, the chase went on. The Nightcrags were no longer in sight. High cliffs and the ice front of a glacier flanked the fjord.

Mandred sat with his back to the bow and could see clearly what was going on aboard the troll ship. The forecastle, which rose from the main deck like a turret, was lit by flaming torches. Dozens of trolls were crowded there. Braziers of glowing coals had been set out beside arrows in huge bundles. As if that were not enough, a quarter mile farther back came a second troll ship.

Farodin still had not come around. Given the fury with which the trolls pursued him, his daring plan had probably been a success, thought Mandred.

A sharp order rang over the water. The bowmen on the troll ship raised their weapons, and the next moment, a hail of arrows rained down close behind the elves’ boat.

“How short are they?” Elodrin asked calmly.

“Ten or fifteen paces.”

“What are the shores like now?”

The elf’s composure made Mandred furious. Twenty times or more, Elodrin had asked the same question. Who cared a damn about the shores? They could not land there. If they tried to escape overland, the trolls would be on them even faster. A second rain of arrows pelted into the water. This time, they fell less than ten steps short.

“The shore,” Elodrin exhorted.

“Cliffs. Still cliffs,” Mandred replied in annoyance. “The glacier is maybe sixty paces behind us.”

“Landal, please take the helm.”

The gaunt elf took over in the stern, and Elodrin sat down next to Mandred. Elodrin’s face was haggard. The last few hours had cost him his last reserves of strength. He removed the blindfold and laid it before him on the floor of the boat. He kept his eyes tightly shut.

Arrows spattered into the water. With dull thuds, several shots buried themselves into the stern.

The next salvo would turn the open boat into a death ship, thought Mandred in despair.

“For a human, you are truly remarkable, Mandred,” said Elodrin pleasantly. “It was extremely impolite of me to punish you with silence during our captivity. I would like to apologize for that.”

Mandred leaned forward and backward in time with the motion of the oars. The old man was insane. They were fighting tooth and nail for every inch they could win from the trolls, and he came out with something like that.

“I forgive you,” he wheezed sullenly.

Elodrin seemed not to be listening to him anymore. Like a man praying for divine assistance, he had raised his arms to the heavens. His mouth was open wide, and his entire body tensed as if he were screaming in the throes of death, though not a sound escaped him.

Arrows slammed into the boat. Nardinel was knocked from her thwart. A dark, feathered shaft jutted from her chest. Another arrow had embedded itself in the wood a hand’s breadth from Mandred.

The jarl hauled at the oars with even more determination than before, but the other oarsmen had lost the rhythm. The boat drifted to starboard. And that saved them. The next shower of arrows just missed.

A colossal splash sounded, as if a giant had slapped the flat of his hand onto the surface of the water. A block of ice bigger than a hay wagon had broken from the front of the glacier and was drifting out over the dark waters. Their little boat was lifted by a wave and pushed forward a short way.

On board the troll ship, orders were barked. This time, Mandred could see the archers igniting their arrows in the braziers.

Like a swarm of shooting stars, the flaming arrows flew toward the boat. Mandred instinctively ducked, although he knew that doing so was senseless. All around, arrows slammed into the wood of the boat. One of the elves cried out. Elodrin fell. An arrow protruded from his wide-open mouth. Two more had hit him in the chest.

The blanket in which Farodin was wrapped had caught fire. Mandred tore it aside and threw it overboard. As he did so, he saw the archers reloading their bows.

A sound like nothing Mandred had ever heard before boomed from the cliff of ice that formed the front of the glacier. It reminded him of the sound of a tree as it leaned and fell to one side when the woodsmen knocked out the supporting wedges, only this noise was infinitely louder.

An enormous section of the glacier broke free and crashed into the fjord, churning the water to foam. More and more ice broke from the front of the glacier. The troll ship pitched helplessly in the waves. Blocks of ice smashed in the side of the ship like thin parchment. A tidal wave rolled down the fjord. The stern of the elves’ boat was tossed high.

Landal braced with all his strength against the tiller. Water surged over the railing. They were driven forward in the midst of white foam atop the crest of the wave, surfing it as fast as a rider on an elven pony at a flat gallop. Mandred hardly dared to breathe. Luth stood by them, though, and they escaped unscathed.

The troll ships were caught by the ice barrier in the fjord. There was no way past, no way to continue the pursuit.

On board the elves’ boat, Landal assumed command. He decided not to commit Elodrin’s body to the waves. Instead, they wrapped him in blankets and laid him between the thwarts. Injured Nardinel began to sing a song for the dead while the other elves erected the small mast and sail. The power of the wind could help to propel the boat, but until they left the fjord, they still had to pull at the oars.

When they reached the open sea, Landal chose a southeast heading. Mandred had collapsed in silent exhaustion. He didn’t care what the elves did. His leg was agony for him, and he was wretchedly cold. Farodin lay in deep oblivion beside the body of Elodrin. Mandred’s companion was breathing steadily, but no attempt to wake him succeeded.

Landal said that Farodin had withdrawn into a healing slumber, but Mandred had his doubts. There was something remote about the haggard elf. He seemed to possess uncommonly powerful magic. He was able to follow an Albenpath effortlessly across the open sea. On the third day of their journey, he found a major Albenstar and opened a gate. It looked completely different from the ones his companions managed to conjure. It rose above the waves like a glittering rainbow.