by Jean Rabe
The visit in Heartspring was not unpleasant, but it had the feel of a ritual, with Gair presenting the dried fish to the village leader, a crusty old man with a voice as gravelly as any dwarf's. Iryl visited with a man who raised sheep, and Camilla could tell from the delicate elf's expression that she had secured more blankets.
Gair stopped at each home, taking time to ease the fever of an elderly farmer, mend the arm of a young child who slipped on the lake, offer reassurances to a pregnant woman. There was tea at one home, hot biscuits at another, kind words exchanged at all of them. Camilla silently watched, amazed at Gair's mystical talent—and troubled by it.
It was late afternoon before Gair had finished his rounds, turning down invitation upon invitation for dinner and promising that someone would return next week.
"Home, m'lady?" Gair said, extending his arm to Camilla.
"The settlement is your home, not mine," she replied. She volunteered to carry some of Iryl's blankets, keeping her arms occupied.
The entourage made better time on the return trip, following the trail they'd blazed in the morning. The knight noted that they would be at the settlement by sunset, in time for the evening meal and in time for her to patrol the grounds with Willum again before turning in. The wind had picked up considerably, blowing the topmost powdery layer of snow across their path and nipping at their fingers. The sky had quickly turned gray again.
"I'm looking forward to spring," Gair said simply. "I think—"
"Down!" Iryl dropped, hands and legs flying out, bundled body hitting the snow with a muffled whuff.
"What is it?" This came from one of the knights who'd been toting blankets. The other was fast to follow Iryl's example, landing atop his pile of blankets and driving them into the snow.
"Get down!" Iryl repeated.
Gair reflexively crouched, pushing Camilla into a drift just as a spear whizzed past from the north, slicing through the air where the commander had been standing a heartbeat before. Another spear came from the south, striking the sluggish knight's armor with enough of an impact to rattle him. He pitched forward, blankets flying like big, spooked birds.
Gair pressed himself into a drift, then rolled to face to the north, his fingers splayed across the snow. He was stretching out, magically, with his senses. He cursed himself for paying so much attention to Camilla that he hadn't noticed anyone lying in wait. He knew Iryl's natural senses, not so distracted, had warned her heartbeats ago that something was wrong. He reached inside himself and coaxed his mystical power to grow and flow outward.
My son, take care. Gair's father had opened the door. There are barbarians on both sides of the trail. Que-Nal. A deadly ambush.
"I think I saw something move!" Iryl called. "Too far away to make anything out. Can't tell how many!"
Gair swallowed hard. "Que-Nal," he said softly.
"Why didn't I say something about their involvement before now?"
Your words would not have prevented this.
The elf saw an unending blanket of white, cut through here and there by scraggly bushes. In the distance stood some evergreens, but the spear-throwers would not be that far away. Hiding behind one of the drifts, then.
"How many of them?" he asked as his senses flowed over the snow like running water.
Seven, the elder Graymist replied. To the north. Hidden by deep drifts.
"We're halfway between Heartspring and the settlement, too far from either to be seen," Iryl said, her voice low and panicked. "A perfect spot for an ambush. Why? Who would do this? We've nothing of value!"
"Except blankets," Camilla muttered.
Gair glanced over his shoulder to make sure Camilla was all right. She was extricating herself from the drift he had pushed her into and was now crouched in the narrow path they'd been making, edging her head up and looking to the south.
The elf returned his concentration to his spell and felt a tingling warmth in his fingertips, though his exposed skin was cherry-red from the cold. Directing the warmth away from him, his senses grew even more acute. He smelled the faint scent of pine, carried from the distant row of evergreens, smelled rotting wood where a bush had died and the snow was decaying the dead branches, smelled the snow, which had a clean, almost mystical scent. And he smelled wolves, mixed with the scent of men, the scent of the latter being more prominent. Men were wearing the skin of wolves for warmth, he decided. Indeed, there were seven to the north. To the south? He directed the warmth away and behind him, where he heard the shush of steel as Camilla drew her sword, then more whispers of steel as her two knights followed suit. Next he heard a fluttering noise. Camilla released her woolen cloak so it would not hamper her.
I can direct you out of here, the elder Graymist said. Alone, you would have a chance to escape. The barbarians would concentrate on the knights.
"Out of the question," Gair hissed.
Save yourself
The elf blocked out his father's insistent urgings, not bothering to shut the door, since the effort to do so might disrupt his other enchantment. His senses continued flowing farther to the south, where he discovered more men, wearing the skins of wolves and beavers. His acute hearing picked up their hushed conversation, but it was of a language he could not comprehend. The group was about thirty feet from the trail, well hidden behind snowdrifts and crawling closer. From the west, one large figure was approaching.
"Camilla," Gair whispered. "There are six to the south, seven to the north and one coming from the west."
"How… how do you know that?"
"Magic."
Camilla growled softly in her throat. "Badly outnumbered," the knight said, "and they've got us pinned down."
"Maybe we can crawl back to the settlement," Iryl suggested. "It's not dignified, but—"
"We stay put. They'll have to come closer if they want us," Camilla said. "Everyone stay alert."
"Unless they intend to freeze us out," one of the knights whispered.
The wind continued to chase the snow across their path, blowing stronger now. Gair squinted and cupped a hand over his eyes to keep the snow from getting in them. He noticed a white mound moving a little closer, and he dropped his hand to his belt, tugging free a knife. His other hand reached for the pommel of his long sword. His fingers were so painfully cold. Still, he kept his concentration on the spell so he could follow the barbarians' movements.
"What do you want?" Gair called out to them. "We've no coins with us!"
"The elves!" a strong voice from the north called. "The knights can go on their way."
Listen to me, Son. I can find you a path out of here.
Gair gritted his teeth.
"What is this all about?" Gair challenged. "We've done nothing to you!"
"You defy the gods!" This a softer voice from the south. "You and all in your settlement, all of you must die!" A spear followed the words.
"I can see them!" Iryl chirped. "By the blessed memory of Habbakuk, they're Que-Nal!"
Gair swung his gaze to the south. There were six barbarians, standing on a stretch of hard-packed snow, white and gray wolfskins and dark brown beaver furs covering their tall forms. The one in the lead carried a shield made of deerskin. There were symbols painted on it similar to those the elf had seen on the trees near the burial ground.
The shield-bearer spoke. "Silver knights! Our fight is not with you."
"Then leave us be!" Camilla called out.
"We will fight you if we have to," the shield-bearer continued, "unless you surrender the elves from the settlement, and unless you promise to leave the cursed settlement forever. We offer you life."
Son, there is still a chance I can direct you out of here! Listen to me!
To the north, Gair heard the sounds of more snow crunching, watched seven wolf-clad forms rise from behind a drift. Thirteen Que-Nal altogether, plus whoever the large figure was, were advancing from the west. The barbarians readied spears.
Listen to me!
The elf closed his eye
s, tilted his head until his chin touched the snow. He released the enchantment he'd been holding and focused on another, and on the snow beneath him, reaching out with his thoughts to the north to sense the snow beneath the seven warriors' feet.
"Peace," Gair whispered. "Peace, warriors. I have peace in my heart. Find the peace in your hearts, too." It was a mystic spell similar to the one he'd used on the boars. He sensed their rapid pulses and tried to slow them, chattering comforting words as a mother would to calm an upset child. He directed all of his energy into trying to convince the men to be calm and to drop their spears. "There is no reason to threaten us," he murmured. "We do not threaten you. Find peace inside your hearts."
The elf discerned that four of the seven relaxed. Their fingers quivered, and they dropped their spears. Their breathing slowed. "Peace," they murmured, almost in unison.
Their fellows snapped at them and shouted that sorcery was at work. Gair continued to concentrate, and the quartet remained at ease, did nothing to regain their weapons. "Peace," the elf repeated. The word was echoed by the four barbarians. "Friends."
There were other words swirling amid the blowing snow—unintelligible words from the barbarians to the south, who were moving closer, words of concern and disbelief from Iryl Songbrook, orders from Camilla. There was a crunch of snow as the Solamnic knights stood to meet the challenge.
Listen to reason, Gair. Save yourself. It is not yet your time to die.
Gair used the last of his mental strength to reach out to the other three barbarians to the north. "We are no threat," he repeated emphatically. "Let me be your ally, not your enemy."
"No threat," two finally parroted. They dropped their spears. "Allies."
Iryl gasped. "Camilla, Gair's spellbound… ."
"No!" bellowed the last of the Que-Nal warriors. Gair touched the man's mind and was instantly repulsed. His will was strong, and he was angry. That ire was a shield that kept the elf's soothing words at bay. The barbarian cursed to his companions, who continued to stand docilely. Then the barbarian bolted toward Gair.
The elf struggled to get to his feet, but his coat tangled in his legs and cost him precious seconds. Behind him, the knights advanced to the south to meet the charge of the six approaching barbarians.
"Take the woman knight first!" one of them roared.
"I don't want to kill you," Camilla hissed through clenched teeth. To Iryl, she said, "Keep yourself down and watch for more."
Gair managed to make it to his feet just as the angry Que-Nal warrior was upon him. The elf held his sword parallel in front of him, using it to fend off the barbarian's attack. The Que-Nal was young, perhaps only fourteen or fifteen. The scattering of blood-soaked beads in his hair clacked together as he dropped to a crouch, thrusting up with his spear.
"They don't sink into the snow!" Gair reported, studying the odd, wide boots his attacker wore. It distributed the youth's weight and kept him on the surface. The elf easily parried each jab, while at the same time, he kept a corner of his mind focused on the six submissive warriors to the north. He needed to keep them calm so they would not join the fray.
"No!" It was Camilla's voice, and Gair risked a glance behind him.
One of her Solamnic knights was staggering, hands clutched in front of him. He fell onto his back, a spear protruding from his throat, and beneath the weight of his plate mail, he was quickly swallowed by the snow.
Still parrying the young warrior's frantic attacks, Gair noticed that Iryl had retrieved a miscast spear. She held it in front of her, evidencing that she knew how to use it, and kept her eyes glued to the west, where a shadow on the horizon suggested the large figure was closing.
Camilla and the remaining knight were back to back, thigh-deep in snow. The two knights were exchanging blows with the six attackers who had ringed them and were at a disadvantage because of their lower position. Still Camilla managed a lucky blow, her sword cleaving deep into the leg of one of the barbarians. He fell, howling, and the Solamnic commander brought her sword down hard, finishing him off.
"This is senseless!" Iryl spat. The lithe elf had discarded her voluminous cloak and was heading toward the knights, plodding through the snow and waving the spear back and forth in front of her. "The Que-Nal are peaceful. My friends, stop this!"
A young warrior broke away from the knights and charged Iryl. "Friends! Only the weak Que-Nal befriend outsiders," he proclaimed with a sneer. "Only they ignore the trespassers at the stair. Not Shadowwalker's clan!"
"Shadowwalker!" Iryl declared. "By the blessed memory of Habbakuk!"
She used her spear to knock away his first thrust, whirled in the snow, and fell prone as his second attack passed over her head. She rolled to the right as he moved in and jabbed downward. Covered with snow, she managed to get to her feet and continued to parry the warrior's attacks.
To the north, Gair tried to reason with his foe. "I have no desire to kill you!" he said.
The youth laughed. "Zebyr Jotun does not trouble my mind with such concerns." He drove forward, pressing the elf back and jamming his spear down, trying to impale the elf.
Gair moved at the last possible moment, hurling his knife at the youth and striking him in the stomach. The young warrior continued to cackle, tugging the bloodless knife free. His furs were so thick, it was as if he were wearing armor and the blade was too small to find its way through. Knife in one hand now and spear in the other, he advanced on Gair again.
"You give me no choice!" the elf shouted. Softer, to himself, he added, "I can't afford to dally with you when Camilla is in danger."
The elf darted in, swinging hard to the right and splitting the youth's spear. Without pause, he lunged in and swept the blade again, cutting through the thick skins and finding flesh beneath them. The young warrior struggled back a step, gasping in surprise and pain.
Nearby, Camilla crouched in the snow, making herself a smaller target. Then a heartbeat later she rose, and feinting to her right, sliced forcefully under the barbarian's shield. The blade bit through his fur and deep into his stomach. The startled Que-Nal grunted and fell back, his hand pressing against the growing line of red staining his pelt, then dropping the decorated shield.
"Kill the woman knight!" This was a new voice, and all eyes swiveled to the south to spot an ancient man yards away, his long hair as white as the snow and blowing wildly about a deeply lined face. "Kill all of them!" He raised his hands, thumbs touching, fingers spread wide.
"Shadowwalker!" Iryl moaned. She was still locked in a fight with a Que-Nal warrior.
Another blow, and Gair dropped his foe.
The remaining four Que-Nal continued to jab at Camilla and her knight. Blood stained the snow around the latter, and his slow movements showed he was seriously wounded.
Gair! The elder Graymist intruded again. You and your friends cannot win this battle. Not now. Hide!
"Never!" Gair cursed as he plowed through the snow to the south, slowed only by his indecisiveness of whether to help Iryl or the two knights.
The four around Camilla and her knight increased the tempo of their attacks, thrusting with the tips of their spears, then bringing the other ends around as if their weapons were quarterstaffs.
Far behind them, the old man was humming, the droning sound cutting through the clamor, unnerving Gair.
He has magic, Gair's father surmised. That's why you cannot win. Run while you can, Son! We've much work to do together. Do not throw your life away for these people.
"These people are my friends," the elf growled.
Several blows glanced off Camilla's armor, but one struck the side of her head, momentarily stunning her. She sagged back against the other knight, who was faring worse. A spear had found its way between the plates in his armor just as he had managed to land a serious blow against one of the barbarians.
Another glance told Gair that Iryl was holding her own, so he darted toward the knights, feet flying over the snow and sending a shower of white in his wake.
"Orvago!" Iryl hollered. "It's Orvago!"
The shape coming from the west was the gnoll. He was running, jowls wide open as he howled.
"Orvago! Help us!" Iryl called to him. "Hurry."
As the gnoll closed the distance, Shadowwalker clapped his hands together, the sound booming like thunder. The wind gained more strength, whistling fiercely and whipping snow into the eyes of the knights and the elves. The snow seemed not to bother the Que-Nal, who continued to worry at the knights.
A grievously wounded warrior dropped his spear and threw himself on the male knight, bearing him to the ground and pitching him into Camilla in the process. Camilla struggled to stay on her feet as the other three warriors thrust their spears at her.
Gair wasn't yet close enough, and one of the Que-Nal spears found its mark. It skewered the commander from behind.
"No!" Gair cried.
Despite her injury, the Solamnic knight moved quickly. She brought her sword down on the arm of an attacker in front of her, cleaving it and sending a shower of blood everywhere. With the spear still protruding from her back, she whirled and swept her sword high, slicing through the hides of the already wounded barbarian who was atop the other knight. The youth cried out once, then fell lifeless.
"Only three left," Gair chattered to himself as he closed the distance. "We can prevail here yet."
You can't, his father hissed into his ear, and now you can't run.
The wind became even more fierce, like the blizzard of a few weeks ago. The world turned white. "Did he cause that storm, too, Father?" Gair hollered to hear himself above the wind. "Was the old man responsible?"
I do not know, the elder Graymist replied, the spirit's voice a mere whisper.
Camilla's chest was heaving from the exertion, her breath puffing away from her face like a chimney being stoked and melting the flakes that swirled in front of her. Her back burned, and she felt the blood running from her wound and soaking the padding beneath her armor. She couldn't see more than inches in front of her and concentrated on listening to the swishing sound of the Que-Nals' feet over the drifts. There was one in front of her! She rained a succession of harsh blows toward it, hearing a sharp crack when her sword cut through a spear.