In Sylvan Shadows

by R. A. Salvatore

  Better news came from the flanks, where resistance had been minimal. Orogs and orcs, running in the foothills of the Snowflake Mountains, had passed Shilmista’s halfway point, and a tribe of goblins out on the plains to the west had nearly entered the southwestern pass around the forest, where they would set up camp and discourage any reinforcements from the city of Riatavin.

  But Ragnor knew he didn’t have the numbers to surround the forest, and if the elves continued to hold him off at the present rate, they would surely find allies before the ogrillon claimed Shilmista for Castle Trinity. And what of the coming winter? Even cocky Ragnor didn’t believe he could hold the goblinoid rabble at his side when the first snows fell. Time worked against him, and the elves intended to fight him every step of the way.

  If the ogrillon had any doubts of the elves’ intent, he had the proof right before him. Looking out across a steep valley and a rushing river, Ragnor watched the latest skirmish. A mixed group of goblins, orcs, and a few ogres had been surprised by a band of elves. Ragnor’s troops had been crossing a field, approaching a thick grove, when a hail of arrows had sent them scrambling for cover. From so far back, the ogrillon had no idea how many enemies his forces faced, but he suspected that the elves were few. Few, but undeniably effective, for the orcs and goblins had not come out of hiding, and those few brave or stupid ogres who had rushed the tree line had gone crashing down with a score of arrows in each of their bodies.

  “Have you sent the giant and a band of bugbears?” the ogrillon snapped at his closest lieutenant, a weak but cunning goblin.

  “Yesses, my general,” the goblin replied, cowering, and with good reason. Ragnor’s first few “closest advisors” numbered among the dead, though none of them had gotten anywhere near an elf.

  Ragnor glared at the goblin and it cowered even lower, nearly rubbing its belly on the turf. Fortunately for the pitiful creature, the ogrillon had other business on his mind. Ragnor looked back out to the distant battle scene, trying to figure how long it would take his giant to get across the river and within boulder-throwing range.

  Another anguished cry split the morning air as yet another monstrous soldier caught an elven arrow. Ragnor reflexively swung his hand out to the side, catching his advisor with a backhand slap that sent the goblin tumbling away.

  “That should inspire loyalty,” came a woman’s voice from behind.

  The ogrillon spun to see the wizard Dorigen. A bat-winged imp sat on her shoulder, and a burly human stood at her flank.

  “What are you doing here, wizard?” the ogrillon spat. “This is not your place, nor the place of your favored boy!” He eyed Tiennek dangerously and Dorigen feared she might already have to intervene between the two.

  “Well met to you as well,” the wizard replied. She hadn’t expected a warm reception from Ragnor; he was smart enough to understand that Aballister had sent her to spy on his progress, as well as his ambitions.

  Ragnor took a threatening step Tiennek’s way, and Dorigen wondered if she had anything in her magical repertoire that could stop the monstrous general if she had to. She fingered her onyx ring, considering the time it would take for her to loose its fiery fury, and the potential for that fury to stop the brutish ogrillon.

  “I’m here because I was told to be here,” she said. “You’ve been out of Castle Trinity for many days, Ragnor, but you seem to still be stumbling about the woods with few clear gains to show for our considerable expense.” Ragnor backed off a bit and Dorigen hid her smile, amazed at how easily she had put the powerful beast on the defensive. Her conclusions had been no more than an educated guess—she had no way of knowing how Ragnor’s battle plan was progressing—but the ogrillon’s reaction had confirmed that she wasn’t far off the mark.

  “We’re … concerned,” Dorigen continued, mellow and nonthreatening. “The summer is nearly past, and Aballister wants to take Carradoon before the first snow.”

  “So he sent you,” huffed Ragnor, “thinking that you might help poor Ragnor?”

  “Perhaps,” Dorigen purred.

  “You need the help,” Druzil added then dropped back under his bat wings to escape the ogrillon’s glare.

  “I need no weakling wizards in my camp,” Ragnor growled. “Be gone, and take Aballister’s bat and your boy with you.” He turned back to the valley and the river, and tried to look busy.

  “Then all goes well?” Dorigen asked, using the most innocent tones she could muster, cocking her head coyly.

  When Ragnor didn’t react, Dorigen got more direct after selecting the components for a defensive spell from one of her deep pockets, in case the ogrillon seriously objected.

  “You’re stopped, Ragnor,” she declared. “Admit it, before you fall like Barjin did.”

  The ogrillon spun on her, but she did not relent.

  Did you have to make that reference? Druzil asked telepathically, for the imp most certainly didn’t like the way Ragnor was looking at him.

  “And have you come to bring that about?” Ragnor spat.

  “I have come as an agent of Talona, to aid an ally,” Dorigen insisted. “Even one too foolish to accept the help he needs.”

  Dorigen looked past the ogrillon to the distant valley and the battle that was not going Ragnor’s way. She waved her hand and chanted, and a block of shimmering, flickering blue light appeared before her.

  Ragnor took a tentative step backward. Dorigen handed Druzil over to Tiennek, took one step forward into the light, and was gone.

  After barely a heartbeat to consider his new position, Druzil dived into the portal behind her.

  Ragnor spun about and saw a similar field of blue flickering beyond the river. It diminished as soon as Dorigen stepped through, Druzil again on her shoulder.

  “I don’t like elves,” Druzil whispered as he faded into invisibility. “Nasty creatures!”

  Dorigen paid him no heed, except to offer a scowl to let him know that she had wanted him to remain with Tiennek. Dorigen had no time to worry about the bothersome imp, though. She studied the battle, trying to get a perspective on what was happening around her. She saw orcs and goblins far ahead of her, crouched behind fallen logs, small ridges—anything they could find to shelter them from the tree line. Other monsters lay dead or dying, some of the ogres covered with arrows. Dorigen followed Druzil’s lead and became invisible, not trusting the range of fine elven bows.

  Even with the masking spell, Dorigen dared not approach the trees. Elves, being magically inclined, had a natural sense for such magic. Dorigen considered her options for a moment then fumbled about in the many pockets of her robes.

  “Damn!” she growled. Then, with sudden insight, she reached up, felt for Druzil, and tore a bit of fur from the joint at the base of the imp’s wing. The movement, offensive in nature, forced the wizard back to visibility.

  “What are you doing?” Druzil demanded, shifting about and digging his claws into Dorigen’s shoulder. He, too, became visible, only to fade away a moment later.

  “Sit still!” Dorigen commanded.

  She felt the tuft for a moment, hoping it would suffice. The spell called for bat fur, but the wizard couldn’t seem to find any among her components at the moment, and she had no time to go hunting bats. Dorigen found some natural cover behind a tree and prepared herself.

  For several moments, for this spell was not a quick and easy one to cast, the wizard went through the designated motions, chanting softly. Another goblin died in that time, but Dorigen considered it a minor loss in light of the coming gains.

  Then it was done and an eyeball hovered in the air a few feet ahead of Dorigen. It became translucent almost immediately, and following Dorigen’s mental commands, floated off toward the tree line.

  Dorigen closed her own eyes and saw through the detached orb. It made the trees and flitted about, looking this way and that, floating the length of the elves’ line. Dorigen kept it moving swiftly, but even so, several elves stiffened and looked around nervously as it
passed.

  Dorigen soon came to the conclusion that all of the elves—not a substantial number—were above the ground in the trees. The greatest factor working against the orcs and goblins was their own fear. A bold charge would dislodge the few elves from their tenuous positions.

  “I must begin the charge,” the wizard whispered.

  She chose as her target a large elm in the center of the elves’ line. The detached eyeball floated in so that the wizard could make a count of her intended victims. One maiden, golden haired and with striking violet eyes, turned, following the floating orb’s path.

  Dorigen released her thoughts from the eyeball, pulled a different component from her robe, and began another spell.

  “Down! Down!” she heard the distant elf maiden cry. “Wizard! They have a wizard! Get down!”

  Dorigen moved her next spell along with all the speed she could muster. She saw a slender form drop from the distant tree, then another, but she hardly cared, for her spell was done and the rest would not escape.

  A tiny ball of fire flew from Dorigen’s fingers, making great speed for the tree. Dorigen had to stand partly in the open to direct its course, but she knew the elves would be too busy to bother with her.

  The ball disappeared into the elm’s boughs. In the blink of a magical eye, the great tree became a fiery torch.

  The savage flames quickly consumed all the fuel that the elm, and the elves in its boughs, could offer. Branches crackled and tumbled down beside the charred bodies and blackened suits of fine mesh armor.

  Dorigen aimed her next spell at her own troops.

  “Do not hesitate!” she roared in a magically enhanced, thunderous voice. “Charge them! Kill them!”

  The sheer power of her command, a voice as great as a dragon’s roar, sent the orcs and goblins scrambling toward the tree line. A few died from random bow shots, but most tore right into the brush. They found only one living elf to hack, a pitifully wounded creature at the base of the ruined elm. Near death even before the goblins arrived, he offered only minor resistance. The goblins took him apart with wicked glee.

  Just as satisfying, the monsters recovered bodies—the first enemy bodies they had seen since the start of the campaign—of charred and blackened elves.

  Gratified by their whoops of joy, Dorigen turned, conjured another extradimensional door of shimmering light, and stepped through, back to the high ground beyond the river.

  “I believe they killed one wounded elf,” the wizard said, walking by the stunned ogrillon. “Foolish. He might have made a valuable prisoner. You should better control your bloodthirsty troops, General Ragnor.”

  Ragnor’s sudden burst of laughter turned her around.

  “Have I welcomed you to Shilmista?” the ogrillon offered, his tusk-adorned smile stretching from ear to ear.

  Dorigen was glad she had improved the surly monster’s mood.

  EIGHT

  QUIETLY

  The forest was eerily still. No birdcalls greeted the dawn, and no animals scurried through the thick branches overhead. Elbereth glanced back to the others every few steps, a look of dread on his face.

  “At least there aren’t any battles in the area,” Danica offered, her voice a whisper, but still seeming loud in the quiet wood.

  Elbereth moved back to join them. “The paths are clear, but I fear to ride,” he whispered back. “Even leading the horses at so slow a pace, their hoofbeats can be heard many yards away.”

  Cadderly snapped his fingers then cringed at the sharp sound. Ignoring the surprised looks from Danica and Rufo, and a scowl from Elbereth, the young scholar pulled his pack from Temmerisa, the horse he’d been leading. The bells had been removed, muffled with clothing, and packed away in saddlebags.

  “Wrap them,” Cadderly said, producing a thick woolen blanket. The others didn’t seem to understand. “The hooves,” Cadderly explained. “Rip the blanket into strips …” His voice trailed off as he locked gazes with the stern elf. Elbereth eyed him curiously—Cadderly thought he noted a flash of admiration in Elbereth’s silver eyes.

  Without another word, Elbereth pulled out his knife and took the blanket from Cadderly. In a few moments, they were moving again, the hoofbeats still audible, but muffled. When Elbereth looked back again and nodded his approval, Danica nudged Cadderly and smiled.

  They stopped for a short rest late that morning, far from the wood’s eastern edge. Still the forest was quiet; they had found no sign of anyone, friend or foe.

  “The People will fight in quick skirmishes,” Elbereth explained. “We are not numerous enough to afford the losses of a strategic battle. They will move swiftly and silently, striking at the enemy from afar and disappearing when he moves against them.”

  “Then we don’t have much chance of finding them,” said Danica. “More likely, they’ll find us.”

  “Not so,” the elf explained. “They have horses to tend, and undoubtedly—” the next words came hard for him—“wounded who will need to rest in a secure place. Shilmista was not caught defenseless, no matter how sudden the attack was. We are not many, and not allied with any great powers, but we of Shilmista have rehearsed our home’s defense since the first elf walked into this wood many centuries ago.”

  Elbereth picked up a twig and drew a rough map of the forest on the ground. “By the location of the rising smoke, the fight is up here,” he said, pointing to the northern section.

  “Then we need not muffle the horses,” Rufo put in, “and we might ride instead of walk.” The man’s suggestion met with only tentative acceptance.

  “We are near the center of the wood.” Elbereth went on, leaving Rufo’s thoughts hanging unanswered for the moment. “The first defensive camp would have been here, just south of a defensible region known as the Dells.” Again the elf seemed to fight past a lump in his throat. “I would presume that camp has been deserted by now.”

  “And the next?” Cadderly asked. He thought Elbereth might need a moment to recover.

  “Here,” the elf said, indicating an area not too far from their present position. He looked up to find a break in the trees then pointed out a fair-sized hill poking out of the green canopy several miles to the north.

  “Daoine Dun, Hill of the Stars,” the elf prince explained. “Its sides are thick with pine and blocked by tangled duskwood to the north and west. There are many caves, easily concealed, and some large enough to stable horses.”

  “How long to get there?” Danica asked.

  “Faster if we ride,” said Rufo.

  “Before we decide to ride,” Cadderly cut in, drawing Elbereth’s attention before the elf had time to answer Rufo, “explain to me why the wood is so quiet?”

  “It hangs thick with dread,” Danica agreed.

  Elbereth nodded. “I think it better that we walk. Even so, we can make Daoine Dun soon after sunset. I will go first, far in front.”

  “And I’ll keep to the side of the trail,” offered Danica, “concealed in the brush.” She looked at Cadderly. “You can lead two mounts.”

  Cadderly’s nod set them off again, plodding slowly, as quietly as possible, through the forest. Rufo, pausing to rub his feet every so often, was obviously not happy to be walking again, but he didn’t complain with anything more than the occasional sour look sent Cadderly’s way.

  When the sun began its western descent in earnest, Danica whispered for Cadderly and Rufo to hold the horses still. Both were amazed at how close the woman actually was to them, for though the brush beside the path was thick and tangled, they hadn’t heard a sound of her passing in quite some time.

  Elbereth came rushing back, motioning for the two men to lead the horses off the path.

  “Goblins,” the elf explained when they were all under thick cover. “Many of them, spread out east and west. Their eyes are on Daoine Dun, but they have archers posted along the way.”

  “Can we go around them?” Cadderly asked.

  “I do not know,” the elf answered. “Thei
r line is long, I believe, and to pass beyond them we will have to go far from the road, among tangles that our mounts may not be able to cross.”

  Danica shook her head. “If their line is long,” she reasoned, “then likely it’s not too deep. We could charge right through them.”

  “And the archers?” Rufo reminded her.

  “How many are along the road?” Danica asked Elbereth.

  “I saw two,” the elf replied, “but I believe there were others, at least a few, hidden in the brush.”

  “I can get them,” the woman promised.

  Elbereth started to protest, but Cadderly grabbed his elbow. The young scholar’s nod took the bite from the elf’s argument.

  Danica drew a rough sketch of the road in the dirt. “You take a position here,” she explained. She gave Elbereth a wink. “Be ready with your bow!” she offered, pointedly including the elf in her plans.

  She remained cryptic, though, completing the plans by stating, “When you hear the jay, charge on.” With no reply forthcoming, and not wanting to waste a moment, Danica started off along the edge of the trail.

  “I will catch you as I pass,” Cadderly promised her back.

  Elbereth and Cadderly took up positions near a bend in the road that allowed them to watch the distant goblins, while Rufo stayed back with the three horses, ready to spring ahead at the elf’s call. Elbereth, keen-eyed and attuned to the forest, pointed out Danica’s progress as the young woman made her silent way through the bushes on the right side of the road. Barely visible even though she had just set out, Danica soon disappeared all together, not a single shaking twig to mark her movement.

  There came a sudden rustle beside the goblins. Elbereth leveled his bow, but Cadderly put a hand on the elf’s arm, reminding him to keep patient. Apparently the movement had been more obvious to Cadderly and Elbereth than to the two goblin sentries on the road, for the monsters did not even turn toward it.