by Eve Forward
“Well, I’ve played this dream so far,” he said, wondering who he was talking to in this dream world. The last of the Barigan whiskey was bubbling out of his system through his sweat, and he felt strangely clear-headed for one dreaming, despite his confusion as to where he was.
“But I’m a minstrel. I haven’t practiced the longbow in years. I’m going to even the odds.”
He stepped down from the shooting post and started to walk closer to the target. He intended to get as close as he needed, then fire the arrow, but it seemed the forces of his strange dream didn’t hold with cheating.
The target shimmered, and transformed into a huge scaly creature with great fangs and hairy limbs like a bear; it charged at him with a roaring howl, great claws striking sparks from the floor, Robin’s instant instinct was to flee. The familiar thickening of the air, so common in dreams of being pursued, flooded in around him. Death stared him in the face.
Even though he knew he couldn’t outrun the monster, his limbs ached to try. He fought his equine instincts and stood his ground, drawing the longbow, forcing himself to think calmly, to aim. Fletchings tickling his cheek, the beast so close he could see its burning eyes and smell the terrifying reek of its carnivore breath. His arms trembled with the effort of pulling the heavy bow. One shot, one shot only ... There, where the leg met the chest... he fired as the beast leaped into the air with a triumphant snarl.
The beast somersaulted and tumbled crashing toward him. He dodged as it rolled past him from the force of its charge, coming to a halt on the smooth floor in a pool of dark blood. Robin stared in astonishment at the silver arrow sticking from its throat. An instant later, the body shimmered and vanished, and in its place lay a large sparkling gray stone.
“Fenwick!” cursed Valerie, as she scrambled up on her gelding. “How could he have gotten here so fast?”
“Never mind!” shouted Sam. “We’ve got to move! Come on, Kaylana!”
The Druid stood firm. “We must get the Emerald Segment from the Test!” she replied firmly. “It is no use running now to have the world be destroyed around us soon after!”
Just then, a brilliant flash of green light made them turn.
Robin had picked up the stone, a wedge of crystal.
Light flashed from it, and he found himself suddenly back in the glade, the shapes of the villains visible at the edge of the clearing, as they turned in surprise toward him. The shock of sudden air and the rushing adrenaline that flooded him from his near-escape took over.
Thud.
“He made it!” exclaimed Arcie in blank amazement, as they ran forward to where the centaur lay unconscious on the moss. Sam scooped up the chunk of brilliant emerald crystal that had fallen from the minstrel’s hand and concealed it in the largest pocket of his black tunic.
Kaylana quickly began to revive the unfortunate centaur, slapping his face gently and waving acrid-smelling herbs under his nose. Blackmail and Valerie, already on their mounts, fidgeted impatiently to be off. The horns sounded again, closer. Robin staggered to his feet, saying, “Kaylana, you know, I had the strangest dream...” in a puzzled tone. The Druid vaulted onto her piebald gelding and cried, “No time, minstrel! We must ride!”
The renegades spurred their horses and galloped from the clearing, Kaylana leading the way, not from cowardice, but trusting her knowledge of woodlore to lead the others through the tangled night maze of forest at the fastest pace possible. Robin, still shaking his head dizzily, followed last, beginning to question his dream...
“Where be we heading for?” shouted Arcie, crouched low on his pony to avoid the lashing branches.
“Keep to the northwest!” called Valerie. “If memory serves me, we may be able to reach the Saltangum!”
“Cross the Saltangum?!” whinnied Robin. “Why?”
“Would you rather have your underbelly torn open by Feyhounds?” snapped Sam. Robin fell silent. Of course, he knew the gallant woodsman Fenwick and his men would not harm him, but his duty to Mizzamir was to follow these villains, follow and report. And if they were going to run, then he must run also.
It was like a nightmare, Sam thought. The whipping of sharp branches across the face and shoulders, the labored breathing of Damazcus. Occasionally there would be the brief horror of running into a spiderweb with one’s face.
Sam shuddered in revulsion and scrubbed his face with the edge of his cloak. And still the horns and hounds could be heard, growing ever louder. A high scream overhead made him look up; a great hawklike shape wheeling across the sky. Not the swift sculling form of Valerie’s familiar, but a huge soaring bird, like an eagle ...
V
Fenwick had called a five-minute break, in the secure shadow of the sacred Fa’halee. He had forgotten the Company was somewhat out-of-shape, despite his best efforts to keep them in fighting trim. After all, they had not had any great evil to combat for several years. The night air was cloudy with the fog of panting horses and dogs, and the smell of sweat was thick.
The sun-eagle, brittle-minded from being flown at night, skree’d out of the sky to land on Fenwick’s upheld wrist, and perched there, wings pounding, keening frantically as it tried to convey what it had seen. He had to calm the bird before he could make out coherent words in the avian language. What he heard gave him a splendid idea.
“So, they’re heading for the Saltangum?” he said to himself, stroking the eagle’s proud head. “To cross Saltangum Ford, and they think I won’t follow?” He motioned to Towser, who sat by his horse, his elegant robecoat of deep green in disarray from the ride. Towser stood up, wincing at his saddlesores, and hastened over.
“Towser, old friend, I’m sorry for this exertion. But now I have something you can use your magic for. How are the other wizards faring?”
“Zanithir fell off a half-hour ago, and bruised his arm,” reported the lead wizard ruefully, “but he’s all right. Sir ...” he paused, uncertain, then handed the young prince something. “Mella found this on the Inscription Stone when we arrived.”
Fenwick examined the token. It was a sprig of green needles, of a strangely pointed shape. “I don’t understand. What use is this?”
“Sir ... “Towser braced himself. “We were suspicious, and Marcus cast a Seeing... it... it’s the tip of the Fa’halee, sir.”
There was silence a moment. Then the ranger’s hand slowly folded around the sprig, crushing it. There was the smell of fresh sap.
“Towser,” said Fenwick, his voice cold as the slopes of night. “Towser, take your mages, and Team B of the Company. Use your magic. Teleport yourselves to the Ford. Divide into two. Take up positions distant but within sight on either side of the Ford. When we reach the Ford, I want you to be ready in case the villains should attempt to cross. I want the mages on each side to cast that lovely spell of yours, Waithain’s Wracking Waves, into the Saltangum Ford.”
“Sir...” Towser was wide-eyed. “At this time of year the Ford is filled with river debris ... logs and mud and branches. It will be like a liquid avalanche.”
“I know.” Fenwick whistled for the hunt to begin again, and swung up onto his stallion. “The Druid alone would have the power to save herself from the waves. The natural elements are under her command... and I know Mizzamir has given the centaur minstrel some means to save himself. But the villains who have desecrated the Fa’halee will be slain, and their corpses washed into the Saltangum at our feet.”
“What if they survive the flood?” Towser asked.
“They’ll wish they hadn’t.”
Though the renegades traveled as fast as they could, the Company was far more skilled at moving through the forest; they knew all the terrain, and the paths to avoid that cost the villains precious time. The air was now illuminated with the gray pre-light of dawn. Horns sounded as the trail grew steadily warmer.
“This is insane,” panted Sam, “trying to escape the greatest hunter in the Six Lands, in the middle of the night, on his own terrain, without rest...”
“The Saltangum is just ahead!” cried Kaylana.
“And with Fenwick just behind,” replied Arcie tersely, holding his cap atop his red and silver curls as the pursuit came so close they could hear the shouts of the men. Valerie risked a glance back, to see the shapes of white hounds and mounted riders come flooding out of the trees and down the hills in pursuit. As they ran into the first tangled grasses and twisted trees of the sea-marsh called Saltangum, there was a strange high whistling, and suddenly the air was raining arrows. Kaylana’s horse squealed as an arrow took it in the leg, and stumbled.
An explosion came out of the villains’ ranks, a black knight on a black warhorse that had wheeled in the mud and turned back, and now headed straight for the charging Verdant Company. With greatsword held high and helm-plumes whipping in the bitter air, his great horse steaming like a dragon, his silence held more menace than the fiercest war cry. The leading men of the Company faltered, unsure despite themselves.
Far down the banks of the Saltangum to either side, two groups of wizards watched through spyglasses ...
Blackmail tore into the ranks of the Company like a scythe. The lightly armored men had no defense other than to run. Those who did not, ended their lives quickly, and in several pieces. Weapons clanged off his armor without effect. Fenwick’s command held firm; he quickly directed his men around and past the knight to continue pursuit, while he and his officers approached the knight.
“Knight he may be, and his armor may be magical,”
Fenwick muttered under his breath, pain in his heart to see the bodies of several of his men, “but I have magic the equal of his.” So saying, he reached around into the special scabbard on his back and withdrew the sword Truelight, slayer of darkness. He spurred his mount to catch up to the knight, the sword glimmering magical light. So great was its power that, while the knight was busy fighting, his great black warhorse saw the shining blade and spooked, running away from the combat.
The knight allowed his horse to run. Apparently seeing the rest of the Company wash around him and continue their pursuit, he sped after them, and after his companions.
For such a huge animal, the warhorse moved surprisingly fast. Fenwick had to content himself with swiftly drawing his bow and firing an arrow into the unprotected knee-joint of the animal. The horse barely faltered, and kept running, plowing through the forces of the Company and the finest horses of Trois, outdistancing them, and catching up to the fleeing villains.
The black knight’s attack had bought the villains some time. The marsh of the Saltangum was treacherous, and pools of the legendary quick-mud sucked at their horses’ hooves. They had to slow themselves to avoid the deeper of these, that could engulf a man in minutes, leaving no trace.
Blackmail, galloping over the crest of a sand dune, apparently didn’t realize this until too late. His horse swerved to try to avoid a pool, but its injured leg tweaked under the stress and it stumbled, throwing its rider into the mud. The knight’s armor, his invincible defense, was now about to be his silent doom as the thick, greedy quick-mud pulled him down.
The other villains, too concerned with running away, didn’t notice, except for Sam. He saw the knight fall, and stopped his horse, steeling his nerves against the sounds of approaching pursuit, and turned back, to try to help.
Thus it was that he was witness to a strange occurrence.
As soon as Blackmail fell, his horse stopped, turning, limping on its leg, and whinnied anxiously. Blackmail made shooing motions at it, as he groped in the mud for his sword. But the stallion instead came up to the edge of the pool, stepping into the shallows to reach closer, then tossed its head in a very deliberate way. The thick black scalloped-leather reins flew over its head and landed next to the knight, who saw them but ignored them as he tried to keep himself from sinking. He made the shooing motion at the horse again. With a snort the horse jerked back its head and whipped back the reins, then tossed them again. This time they landed over the knight’s head and shoulders, and, as he lifted his arms free of the mud to remove them, shaking his head emphatically, the stallion jerked again, and got the reins beneath his arms.
Then the huge beast set its four legs firmly in the mud and pulled, bent awkwardly in the slope of the pool, blood spattering from its injured leg.
The horse pulled and backed, and with a drawn-out squelching sound, the knight was pulled free. As he scrambled up the bank he saw his mount’s injury and gave the horse a shove in the direction the others had gone, while he turned to face the charging Company, barely a hundred yards away. The horse buckled its legs, and slammed itself into the side of the knight. As he stumbled, it shoved its broad shoulders underneath him, and, staggering slightly, stood up, the knight falling into the saddle from his own weight. Then, before he could dismount again, the stallion ran after the others, stumbling and limping. Sam wheeled his horse around and ran as the knight followed, the Company hard at his heels.
Again came the rain of arrows, as Kaylana led them to the Ford, and plunged in without hesitating.
With this second archery attack Robin decided he had had enough. He ducked around behind a grass covered sand dune and hunkered down, hiding, as the sounds of pursuit swept past.
The villains plunged into the Ford. The sea-channel between the lands of Trois and Kwart was at its narrowest here, a slow-rocking span the width of several rivers, made passable by a land bridge that kept the water, at its deepest point, at the height of a horse’s neck. During high tide, though, it was impassable by all but boats. The marshy ground of the Saltangum and the tides prevented bridges or settlements being built. Even now as they crossed, the tide was only just beginning to recede, and they realized their horses were going to have to swim out in the deepest part of the channel. The water was cold and muddy, brackish and full of floating logs and branches, but the shouts and arrows of the Company urged them on. Though Blackmail struggled with his stallion’s reins, trying to get the injured animal to shore.
The stallion’s bridle had no bit to enforce its rider’s commands, and the horse forged grimly on. Sam, looking back at this, saw Fenwick halt his men at the edge of the Ford. Strange, he thought. Why aren’t they following? They shouldn’t give up this easy ...
Then he heard the water.
Two muddy-green walls of water loomed in the distance on either side-flowing leaping lions, roaring with manes of white foam, that whorled up out of nowhere and came rushing down upon them as they floundered into the deepest part of the channel... Their shadows fell over Sam, vision of tumbling waves, the wrench of the current as it yanked at his mount, Damazcus’s last, terrified squeal, and then ...
The impact was so powerful it almost knocked him senseless. He was helplessly swept off his horse, his ankle twisting as it was wrenched from the stirrup. The water pushed him down through its depths, smashing him with heavy sodden logs caught up in the flood, and bounced him off the rocky bottom of the Ford, making him gasp; inhaling water. Sam choked and spun, pinned below the water by the rushing force as he felt consciousness and life begin to slip away ...
Kaylana was dashed from her horse as the water hit and her staff was torn from her grasp. The water pulled at her, clinging, drowning, and she was battered by debris, sogged, helpless ... then one of the chunks of wood that struck her felt of familiar. She grabbed it and felt her power returning. She clung to her staff, concentrating her will. An eddy of calm surrounded her, and she spun to the surface, gasping. But the water was under another’s magic, strong with the power of light, and she could not regain control of it to calm the flood and save her companions.
Someone surfaced near her, a gasp of breath that was answered by anxious cawing, as the raven tried to grasp Valerie’s cloak and hold her head above water. The sorce
ress had a gash on her pale forehead, and she seemed to have surfaced more by luck than by skill. Kaylana kicked over to her, the eddy surrounding her like a halo.
“Give me your hand!” she shouted.
The black-nailed hand flailed desperately out of the froth, and Kaylana grabbed it, pulling Valerie into the eddy, holding her head above water.
“Where is that stupid assassin?” were the sorceress’s first words, as she found she could breathe again. “I can’t cast magic enough to save us without my Darkportal!”
Kaylana looked, then lunged out with her staff. A sudden weight rewarded her as the crook on the end of her staff caught a dark shadow that had gone spinning past underwater.
“He is on the end of my staff! I will channel the energy to you!”
“Think cold. then, and help me!”
Valerie gasped a phrase of harsh, prickly words, bitter as the killing frosts of winter. Kaylana felt the evil magic flow from the Darkportal on the assassin, up through her staff, and down her arm into the sorceress. Her own magical powers, woven through her soul and through the staff, strained and trembled at the imbalance of the power they were containing, but Kaylana closed her eyes, thought of cold, balanced cold power, and concentrated on making herself a perfect, neutral channel.
Something bumped against their legs, a huge, smooth, cold, slippery something. They slid and tumbled as a large ice-floe, swirled and sculpted from the spinning waters on the bottom of the river, surfaced. Whorling columns and sweeps rose from the surface and around the edges. Draped over one of these was the huge form of Blackmail, struggling feebly. Sam, unmoving and waterlogged as a drowned rat, lay sprawled on the ice, the hood of his cloak still caught in Kaylana’s staff. Valerie rolled over, coughing and gagging as she tried to clear her lungs. A feeble splash next to them, and Kaylana lunged forward to grab a struggling Arcie out of the roaring water with her other hand. The Barigan was heaved up onto the ice, where he lay gasping. The floe rushed along the water, spinning.