Among the Fallen

by NS Dolkart

  “That is a very clever ward,” she said. “Now that I’ve seen something of the elves, I have to admit that we academics spent far too much time trying to learn about them and far too little time trying to protect ourselves and the world from them. We never liked to give hedge witches credit, but if Mur’s Island hasn’t seen an elven raid in so many generations, their ‘aunties’ have done far more for them than the academics did for our own people.”

  “Can we use Gava’s ward to keep them away now?”

  “No, not here. It is far too late to keep them from detecting us, and for once they don’t seem to be looking for children. My impression is that the queen of the elves means to set up a breeding program.”

  Phaedra tried not to think about that.

  For now, the greatest danger came from the possibility that the elves might soon realize how illusory Psander’s defenses were. If a fairy scout discovered the extent of the deception, they were all doomed.

  So when a scout did breach the outer wards and Hunter volunteered to capture it, Phaedra didn’t have the luxury to object. Instead she waited on the battlements with Psander and the entire village, hoping. Hunter was just visible, standing right before the tree line with his staff.

  “He’ll do it,” Atella said, a little further down the row. “He’ll win.”

  They were able to see the whole fight from their vantage point. They gasped when Hunter’s weapon snapped, and broke into cheers when he disarmed his opponent. But when Hunter cut off the elf’s head, Psander snorted disgustedly.

  “I’d have preferred it if he’d captured one alive,” she said.

  “He did,” Phaedra told her. “We’re not even sure elves can be killed.”

  Sure enough, it soon became obvious that Hunter and the elf’s head were carrying on a conversation. “Amazing!” Psander exclaimed, sounding more genuinely surprised than Phaedra had ever heard her. “I wonder.”

  Psander was not a talkative woman, but she couldn’t help speculating, while Hunter brought the head back to the fortress, about how and why elves might survive their beheadings.

  “Do you suppose their souls remain in their heads because this world has no underworld?” she asked. “If that were the case, one would expect us also to survive beheadings here. That seems unlikely, but we have yet to fully disprove the possibility. Alternatively, could it be that the elves’ souls are sturdy enough that they don’t even need a functioning body to cling to? What does it mean that the body has stopped moving, while the head still speaks?”

  Phaedra asked, “Will you be able to learn the answers from this one? Is there some way to make sure the head won’t lie to you?”

  “Maybe,” Psander said. “If so, it will take some experimentation. There are known potions for truth telling, but I possess the ingredients for none of them, and what’s more, I am uncertain of whether such a potion would have any efficacy without a stomach to digest it. I will have to learn my answers through interrogation and experimentation.”

  They greeted Hunter at the base of the tower, where the elf’s head met them with rageful obscenities, sharp teeth gnashing. Psander shoved a rag in its mouth. “You will be less useful to me if I have to cut your tongue out,” she told the elf, “but I will do it if I must. I’m sure the tongue of an elf would make for a fine ingredient if it turns out I have one lying around.”

  The elf looked hatefully at her, but he stopped trying to speak. “Should we bring the body in too?” Hunter asked.

  “Absolutely. I have a long table in my study – Phaedra, show him the way. I’ll bring the gentleman’s head myself.”

  With the help of a few village men, they retrieved the elf’s body before some scavenging beast could devour it and brought it up the stairs to Psander’s study. The wizard’s study was a large room near the top of the tower, past the heavy door that had once stymied the Tarphaean islanders in their attempt to interrupt one of Psander’s experiments. Psander had cleared the raised stone slab that stood in the middle of the room, so they laid the body down there beneath its head. They wanted to stay to watch Psander work and perhaps to ask about the various bottles, vials, and tools that lined the walls, but as soon as the body was positioned on the table, Psander said, “Everybody out.”

  Phaedra was about to reluctantly file out with the others when Psander said, “Not you, Phaedra. You can stay. I’m too accustomed to working alone – I forgot about you.”

  “Oh,” Phaedra said, sighing with relief. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Now hand me that bottle over there. Yes, the grain liquor. And that dish, too. Let’s see if we can’t set some ground rules for our friend.”

  Phaedra did as she was told, and Psander was soon pouring a clear liquid into the dish. The elf’s eyes followed her movements, showing only contempt.

  “I hope to learn a lot from you over the coming days,” Psander told the elf, “but I want to be very clear about what I expect from our conversation, and that is first and foremost civility. You may lie to me all you please without consequence – I expect plenty of lies. But if you open your mouth to curse me or my people, if you say a word of denigration or abuse, here is what I will do. I will lift you up by the hair, and I will place you in this dish. Do you want to know what that feels like?”

  She did not wait for a response – the elf’s mouth was still stuffed with that rag, after all. His eyes betrayed no fear, no doubt, no curiosity as she followed through on her threat, placing the head chin-deep in the alcohol.

  It must have been agony, because Phaedra suddenly felt his presence in her head as he lost control and let out a long psychic wail. She covered her ears instinctively, though it had no effect – the scream went ringing on and on in her skull until she finally gathered her wits and banished him from her mind.

  She dropped her hands again and looked back to the table. The elf was making a muffled sound through the rag in his mouth, and tears were dripping from his eyes as he squeezed them shut against the pain. Psander had turned from the elf and was looking on Phaedra with disappointment. After all their training with mental defense, she still hadn’t been prepared. She would do better in future, she promised herself. Now Phaedra knew what an elf’s presence felt like, she would notice it even when it was subtler.

  With a grimace, Psander lifted the elf’s head once more and placed it back on the table. She waited calmly while the elf slowly recovered, then pulled the rag out of his mouth and said, “Do I make myself clear?”

  “Ohhhhhhhh,” the elf moaned, still weeping. “Clear, yes.”

  “Good. I’m going to start with some very simple questions. What is your name?”

  “Olimande.”

  “And your orders here were?”

  The elf stared up at her defiantly.

  “I’ll answer that one, then,” Psander said. “Your orders were to test my defenses, to learn how they worked and how they can be avoided or dispelled. Have you satisfied yourself on that account?”

  Olimande’s head wobbled on its remaining portion of neck, and Phaedra was fairly sure he was trying to shake it. “Hunter got to you first,” she said. “And after that, you weren’t paying attention.”

  “The raids will not end,” the elf said. “We will find a weakness, and then our queen will destroy you. She will eat your heart herself, wizard.”

  “That is always a danger,” Psander admitted magnanimously, “but I am beginning to doubt it, frankly. After all, I am about to learn a good deal more about her than she knows about me.”

  “I will tell you nothing.”

  “You’ve already told me that your queen means to eat my heart. So now I must ask, why? Is there something special about my heart, of all organs, that is more precious to her? I have eaten heart, though not a human heart, obviously, and it was neither tender nor especially enjoyable. If she hopes to eat my heart, therefore, I imagine that it must be for symbolic reasons and thereby magical ones as well.”

  “You understand nothing,” O
limande sneered.

  “Nonsense,” Psander replied. “You have every incentive to turn me away from the truth. When you call me a fool, that is when I can be most confident of your lies.”

  The elf had nothing to say to that. Psander really was on the right track, then. If the fairy queen wanted to eat Psander’s heart, that meant there was a special power in the act.

  “Perhaps I ought to try eating your heart,” the wizard mused. “Would it give me an advantage of some kind?”

  “There is no advantage you can gain over us,” Olimande said. “Sooner or later, we will devour you.”

  Psander raised an eyebrow. “Why this fixation on eating us? I recognize the symbolic power of doing so, but you have yet to connect it to a specific purpose, which suggests that it is not part of a given spell but a ritual of some inherent value to you. Is eating a human’s heart a method for permanently absorbing their magic, or perhaps their soul? If it’s a matter of absorbing people’s souls, then your own souls must not be kept in the heart at all, but in the head somewhere. Otherwise, it would be your body that was moving without your head, rather than the other way around. Could your own souls be stored in your brains, rather than your hearts?”

  The elf closed his eyes. “I have said already, I will tell you nothing. You will learn no more from speaking with me.”

  “Mmm,” Psander said. “Then I shall have to begin experimenting. Phaedra, there is a saw on the far wall, second shelf. Hand it to me, will you?”

  40

  Criton

  Criton had sent scouts to watch the city of Ardis, so they were ready when the assault came. They had moved their livestock to the other side of the mountain, supervised by a few hand-picked youths, and had themselves hiked up to secure their dominance of the high ground. They waited for the Ardismen to come creeping up the mountain in the hope of surprising their quarry, whom they believed were still asleep. Then Criton’s men came down on their assailants with a roar, routing them before the two sides could even come to blows.

  More Ardismen fell to them that night than at any other battle. They had to wait until morning to properly assess the devastation, but when they did, the results were astounding. Only six of Criton’s men had lost their lives. On the Ardismen’s side, it was nearly four hundred.

  “Enough hesitating,” Belkos said to him when the count had been made. “It’s time to march on Ardis. If they know what’s good for them, they’ll surrender.”

  “Let’s bury our dead,” Criton said. “We can discuss our next move after that.”

  If that was the best he had, he must be getting truly desperate. His people were growing suspicious. He had told himself for long enough that he was being prudent, cautious, when in fact he was simply reluctant to commit to the destruction of Ardis. And why shouldn’t he be reluctant? He knew what the rest of the Dragon Touched didn’t: that Narky was in there.

  They had left Narky on the road to Ardis, where his God had separated him from his friends and sent him into the city of their enemies. There had always been the question before of whether he had survived – the Dragon Touched had kept no prisoners, and Criton knew nothing of what had been happening inside the city. But he hadn’t failed to notice that many of the dead Ardismen from this last raid wore raven charms.

  How cruel would it be if Narky had survived his inevitable struggle with the worshippers of Magor, only to be caught in the slaughter of a Dragon Touched victory? It was one thing to kill Ardismen – they had shown the Dragon Touched no mercy a generation ago, and Hessina and Belkos insisted that they deserved no mercy in return. But it was another thing to condemn his friend.

  Criton had so few friends now. Narky had left; Phaedra and Hunter had left; even Bandu had left, and taken Criton’s daughter and another man’s wife with her. Belkos was his friend, of course, as well as his cousin, but somehow it was not the same. Delika didn’t count either – she saw him as a sort of father, not a friend. Only the other islanders knew him for who he was. Only they knew Criton, and only Criton had friends – no one could be friends with the Black Dragon.

  But there was no way he could say all this to Hessina or Kilion or Belkos or anyone. So what if Narky was in Ardis? Why should Criton’s people care? He wasn’t the only person in the city who didn’t deserve to die. To condemn a city was to condemn its peaceful dissidents too, and its innocent children. Criton still had memories of Bestillos spearing the little princes of Anardis. The Dragon Touched would do the same in Ardis, when they breached its walls – to pretend otherwise was naïve. Hessina had told him as much. That was what victory looked like.

  Had Criton become a hard enough man that he could welcome such horror? Why should Narky’s presence have been the only obstacle left, the only signpost to remind him of the nature of the path he was on?

  It was too late now anyway. After this victory, the Dragon Touched and their allies expected to take Ardis. They had fought this war for that purpose alone, and Criton did not think he could dissuade them. So when the Dragon Touched had buried their dead, Criton told his people that it was time to march on the city. At this point he thought they might have done so even if he’d told them to march the other way, but at least this way his cousin smiled at him instead of frowning.

  Narky met them on the road late that afternoon, flanked by a few guards under a banner of peace. He was dressed in black robes, and looked very official. Official, and nervous.

  Criton was relieved to see him. He wondered if he could keep him as a “prisoner” so as to save him from the pillage of Ardis. It was worth considering. In the meantime, he had the meeting tent erected and called for the council of elders to gather there and hear what Narky had to say.

  When everyone was in attendance, Narky began his speech. “I’m here on behalf of Magerion, King of Ardis, who wants to broker a peace between our peoples.”

  Hessina interrupted him. “Ardis has no king. Magerion is only one general among many.”

  “Oh,” Narky said. “So I guess I’m the one who’s been away for months, pillaging the countryside? Because if I were, I wouldn’t have any idea what was going on in Ardis.”

  Criton winced. With Narky’s diplomatic skills, they’d be lucky if Hessina didn’t insist upon a public execution before they even reached the city.

  “The other generals are all dead,” Narky went on, “and so are the priests of Magor. Under Magerion, the entire city has converted to my church. Ardis worships Ravennis now.”

  “Are we supposed to care?” Belkos snarled. “Ardis is still Ardis. Its people are still our enemies. No new God can change that.”

  “Let me respectfully disagree,” Narky said, sounding in no way respectful. “It’s Magor who stood up against your God when Bestillos and the generals came to power, and Magor who tried to exterminate your people. Magor was your enemy, but Ravennis has only helped you. Criton can back me up on this – we left Tarphae together. Ravennis helped us get off the island, and Ravennis kept us together afterwards. Our Gods are allies. Magor tried to destroy you, and Magor tried to destroy Ravennis. Or were you too busy hiding to hear about what happened to Laarna?”

  If Hessina or Belkos had been in any way open to Narky’s arguments, he lost them with that last gibe. Criton was glad the elders of the plains were there to keep the two of them from tearing Narky apart.

  “We know what happened at Laarna,” Kana said. “We had heard your God was dead.”

  “My God is dead,” Narky said, “just not in the way other Gods have died. He rules the underworld, while your God rules the heavens. There’s no conflict between the two, unless you insist on starting one.”

  Belkos waved him off. “We haven’t fought and bled all this time to make peace on the eve of our victory. Ravennis may not be Magor, but He’s still taken the side of the Ardismen.”

  “Isn’t that the whole point of war, though?” Criton nearly begged. “To make peace on our terms?”

  “The point of this war,” Belkos answered, “is
to take Ardis.”

  Hessina turned back to Narky. “You say our Gods are allies? You are a fool. God Most High needs no allies. If you and your God stand in the way of ours, you will both be crushed.”

  “Maybe,” Narky said. “Or maybe God Most High will abandon you if you condemn His friend, just as He turned on the dragons for condemning Salemis. A God as powerful as yours doesn’t rely on His people to survive. He can always start again.”

  Those words struck a blow. The council fell silent, pondering Narky and his threat. Then Belkos said, “Kill this man. He may be your friend, Criton, but he’s here to spread poison and doubt. He and his God are liars and cowards – they know that their armies are useless, so they’re trying to defeat us from within. Kill him and take Ardis – God Most High will bless us.”

  “The alliance could be real,” Criton said. “Magor and Ravennis have been enemies all along.”

  “That doesn’t make his God and ours friends,” Endra pointed out.

  “Kill this man,” Belkos said again. “Put his ugly head on a spear and drive it into the heart of Ardis.”

  “Listen to me,” Narky said, beginning to sound desperate. “I’m the man who killed Bestillos while Criton was lying helpless on the ground. Ravennis gave me strength, and guided my aim. I’m one of His fingers. Ravennis did as much to rescue Salemis from his prison as God Most High did – without Him, the Dragon Touched would still be in hiding and the plainsmen would still be paying Ardis tribute. You can call Ravennis your ally, you can call Him your God’s servant, you can call Him God Most High’s son, I honestly don’t care. Whatever you want to call Him, He’s been on your side.”

  “That’s a very convenient position for you to take,” said Hessina, “now that we are at your gates. Where was this alliance two nights ago, when your army tried to surprise us as we slept?”

  Narky bowed his head. “I tried to stop that. Magerion thought that Magor’s weakness was responsible for your victories, not God Most High’s strength, so he figured by aligning himself with a stronger Ravennis, he could beat you. I told him he was wrong, and that Ravennis wouldn’t bless the attack, but… it didn’t work. I’ll take responsibility for not convincing him. I’m here because he’s learned his lesson, and is willing to make peace with you.”