Passing a rickety wooden pier that jutted into the thrashing surf, Tanis suddenly stopped. Without quite knowing why, he turned and stared at the old wooden structure. He thought he’d heard something odd, a sound that somehow didn’t belong. At the same instant, a flock of birds skittered off the pier and into the wind, flying on a strong sea breeze.
His elvensight revealed nothing out of the ordinary. Tanis relaxed. It must have been the birds, he reasoned.
He started walking again, debating what he would say if he found Brandella and Kishpa together. How would the half-elf explain his presence? Perhaps he could say, “The whole village is looking for you, Kishpa. Please hurry. The elders are making new plans for the defense of the village. You must be there!” Once the mage was gone, Tanis reasoned, he could get Brandella alone and tell her why he had come for her. And then, he thought sourly, she’d think I’m a dimwitted fool.
Like a child, he kicked at the sand. Then he stopped. There was that sound again. He turned and looked back at the pier, staring intently into the dark shadows beneath the wooden structure, holding his breath, listening. What he heard had sounded like a muffled cry. Or maybe it was the flapping of wings—except this time there were no birds to be seen. And wasn’t that a faint red glow he saw under the pier? Perhaps his elvensight, which caught the aura of living things even in little light, had focused on a shore animal.
His pulse quickened. It wasn’t the birds he’d heard before at all. The birds flew away when they were startled by a sound, the same sound he’d heard. And now he heard it again. It was a cry.
As swiftly as his legs could carry him through the soft sand, Tanis dashed toward the pier. He could hear nothing over the sound of his own deep breaths and pounding legs, but the memory of that cry kept him running.
No light shone beneath the warped and rotting wooden boards of the pier. Tanis couldn’t see details of who was there, but his elvensight revealed something large, shaped like a man. And surely, with the light of Lunitari behind Tanis, whoever or whatever was there could plainly see him.
In the darkness, a tall, powerfully built man with a barrel chest crouched over the bruised body of a terrified woman. He held a long, thin-bladed knife in one hand and an ornate, heavy shield in the other. The human jammed his knee into the woman’s throat to keep her from crying out as he watched the intruder approach. He could tell by the interloper’s forthright stride that they would do battle. He smiled at the thought.
The human had killed twelve elves after he’d scaled the barricade. He had thought that his fellow soldiers were going to overrun the village, but for some reason, few troops had followed him. Trapped inside the elven stronghold, he had killed seven more villagers since nightfall, weaving in and out of back alleys, using the shadows for cover. But elven patrols were getting closer all the time. He needed a hostage to keep them at bay until his fellow soldiers attacked again on the morrow.
Providence provided one.
She had been walking alone along the beach when he saw her. He’d leaped out from his cover, grabbed her around the mouth and throat, and dragged her, kicking and thrashing, back into the darkness beneath the rotting old pier.
Barely able to breathe, the woman lay near unconsciousness, no longer struggling. As he heard someone approaching, the human paid her no mind, lifting out of his crouch and edging toward an outer wooden pillar. He didn’t need a hostage to protect him from a single elf. Hiding, the human waited.
As Tanis reached the pier, he slowed, not out of fear, but out of caution. He didn’t want to walk into a trap. Before he went any farther, he called out, “Is anyone there? Are you all right?”
No answer.
That troubled him.
Someone was there. Someone had cried out. Of this, Tanis was certain.
Wisely, the half-elf stepped just inside the blackness under the pier and then dropped silently to the sand, no longer silhouetted against the moonlight.
Tanis strained to hear any telltale sounds. All he heard were waves breaking against the front of the pier and the water roiling against the pillars that stretched out into the sea. He heard no voices, saw no movement. The only smell was that of the sea and shoreline.
The human was startled. Where had the interloper gone? He’d disappeared. The human, unused to fear, didn’t panic now. He realized that his enemy was smart. It would be a good battle, he thought, one to savor in tales told over the crackling coals of a fire.
Tanis inched his way deeper into the darkness.
The human didn’t move. He knew the game well. The first one to show himself would likely be the one to die.
Despite the sound of the sea, it was as if the darkness under the pier was deathly quiet. It was its own world of silent treachery and stealth.
Tanis, his face pressed into the cold sand, began berating himself for having strayed from his duty. Finding Brandella had been the task at hand. He had no reason to be under this pier, searching for the gods knew what. Soon, he began thinking, he should give this up; he was losing valuable time. What he did here would make no difference to the world, or even to Kishpa.
He had almost convinced himself to get up and take his leave when he heard the faint sound of someone breathing off to his right. He had called out before, and the person had not answered. That might mean that an enemy hid here in the dark.
The half-elf moved closer, his hand on the grip of his broadsword. From the sound of the breathing, Tanis gauged that he was just a few feet away from his foe. His enemy had given himself away, and he would die for that mistake.
In one fluid motion, Tanis rolled to his feet, pulled his broadsword from its scabbard, and swung its deadly blade in the direction of the sound.
12
The Confrontation
As soon as Tanis unsheathed his sword, the blade gave off its shimmering red glow, casting a dim, otherworldly light on the underbelly of the pier. Only then did Tanis see his terrible mistake. The sharp edge of his broadsword was swooping down on the neck of an unmoving, defenseless dwarf.
Tanis’s blade was in full motion; he couldn’t stop it. All he could do was throw his body to the left, away from the woman, and hope that he somehow missed.
The blade whooshed through the damp night air and came down hard, burying itself deep in the sand just above the woman’s head.
The human heard the sound of the broadsword coming free of its scabbard and readied himself for the kill. The red glow of the sword surprised him, but the light it threw off made his attack that much simpler. He saw his enemy clearly and dove at him with his knife pointing directly at the middle of Tanis’s back. But the human did not expect his enemy to spin away from him at the last possible moment.
Tanis felt the impact of a glancing blow to the shoulder when the human hurtled past. The half-elf rolled over and came to his feet in one easy motion, his glowing sword held high. The human recovered just as quickly, squaring off with his knife and shield. The creaky pier stood an arm’s length above them.
The two men locked eyes. The human saw a half-elf who looked physically formidable, yet confused and unsure of himself: an easy kill.
Tanis saw himself.
They had the same eyes, the same mouth, the same shaped face. The man had the badly broken nose and long black hair that Clotnik had described. The only thing missing from the juggler’s description of his father was the slash wound on his right leg.
This was the man Tanis so much wanted to discover, to meet, to learn about, but now that he had come face to face with him, Tanis didn’t know what to do. Perhaps a gesture, he thought. What if he showed the man he meant no harm?
Tanis lowered his sword, hoping that his father would be struck by their resemblance and do the same.
The human saw his chance. He lunged forward with his knife hand to slit the throat of the half-elf.
A cry, not of surprise or fear but of infinite sadness, escaped Tanis’s lips as he stumbled back out of the way, instinctively raising his encha
nted sword to block the blade. With knife locked against sword, the two men’s faces were mere inches apart, and Tanis could stand it no more. “Look at me!” he shouted at the distorted image of his own reflection. “Can’t you see? I’m—”
“—the next to die!” the human swore as he slung one leg behind Tanis’s feet and shoved.
Tanis tripped and fell heavily onto his back. His head hit the ground hard, stunning him momentarily. The human had the advantage, and he pressed it. Leaping on top of Tanis, he rammed his shield into the half-elf’s face—to hurt him and to blind him to his next move, Tanis knew, a move that would involve slitting the half-elf’s belly open with one long rip of his knife.
His father was bigger, heavier, and stronger than Tanis. But such experts as Kitiara, Sturm, and Flint had taught the half-elf to defend himself in ways no ordinary soldier would know. Just as the human’s knife twisted down toward his stomach, Tanis executed a flip and roll that sent his father tumbling sideways. The knife missed its mark.
Both scrambled to their feet, Tanis faster than the human. With any other enemy who was obviously out to kill him, Tanis would have met deadly violence with lethal force. But this man was his father. Would Tanis cease to exist if he killed the man, or would his position in Kishpa’s memory protect him? Was it fair to spare the man who would go on to rape Tanis’s mother? Or had the heinous act already taken place? Tanis made a quick decision and, with a whip of his broadsword, slashed a deep cut in his father’s right leg. The man yelled and hobbled backward, his leg spurting blood.
“Surrender!” offered Tanis. “No more harm will come to you. I swear it!”
The human ignored him. He had seen enough of this half-elf; he wanted no part of him. The soldier retreated to the prostrate dwarf woman who lay helpless in the red-hued shadows. He dropped his shield and picked her up around the waist, putting his knife to her throat.
“Drop your sword, or she dies,” he said.
Tanis stared at this man who was his father. “You would kill a helpless woman?” he asked, his voice quivering.
The soldier laughed bitterly. “You doubt me?”
The wild, animal look in the human’s eyes told Tanis that his father was telling the truth. He would kill her.
The woman stirred, opening her eyes. Tanis looked at her closely for the first time and gasped. It was Yeblidod, the dwarf who had tried to save his life on the seacliff with her rope of shawls.
Tanis dropped his sword.
“You fight well for someone half-elvish,” offered the human.
“I had hoped that you were a better man,” Tanis said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I should have known better after what you did to my mother.”
But maybe his father hadn’t met his mother yet. Maybe this brigand hadn’t yet had his way with her, destroying her life. Suddenly, Tanis neither knew nor cared if killing this human would mean that he, himself, would never be born. If it meant that his mother would be spared the cruelty of this man’s attack, perhaps it was worth his own sacrifice. Disgusted and repulsed by the man who had fathered him, Tanis could take no pride in his own blood.
As the human backed away from Tanis, moving out from beneath the pier and dragging Yeblidod with him, the fishermen who had been caring for their boats marched across the beach. The human saw them and ducked back behind a pillar, forgetting Tanis for an instant.
The half-elf charged his father. Yeblidod saw him coming and bit the thumb on the hand holding the knife at her throat. The human yelped and let her go. As she slumped to the ground, Tanis plowed into the soldier’s midsection with his head, bashing him into the wooden pillar.
The impact knocked the knife from the soldier’s hand, but the man was more startled than hurt. He struck Tanis on the back of the head with his balled fists, once, twice, three times, until the half-elf faltered and fell to his knees. The human kicked him in the head, and Tanis fell backward, rolling over twice.
Desperately, the soldier tried to find his knife in the sand. But Tanis had fallen close to his broadsword, and he reached for it.
The human saw the half-elf pick up the glowing red sword. He ran.
Tanis would have chased after him until they reached the edge of the world, but Yeblidod cried out, “Help me!”
Without even thinking, Tanis stopped to aid the bruised and battered woman. He swore under his breath as he watched his father disappear into the night.
13
Brandella
Yeblidod’s face was cut from a cuffing to the temple, and blood ran down her cheek, dripping off her chin. Bruised around the throat, she had difficulty breathing.
Tanis looked at the pain in the beaten woman’s eyes and thought of his mother. How much worse it must have been for her! A churning in the pit of his stomach made him grab two handfuls of sand and squeeze them, waiting for the pain to subside. But it didn’t. Sweat beaded his face, and he slowly began pounding the ground with his fists, over and over again, harder and harder. He had met his father and was appalled. How much of that human animal was inside him? Worse, he’d had it within his power to rid the world of the beast, and he had failed.
Tanis could take no more.
With a wail of pain that startled a frightened whimper out of Yeblidod, Tanis abruptly sheathed his glowing broadsword. Then, under the cloak of darkness, he stormed to his feet, lifting the bruised woman in his arms. “I will take you to safety now,” he said through clenched teeth, fighting back his tears. “And then I will see to it that the man who did this to you dies.” He looked down at her and in a hoarse whisper, added, “I swear it on my mother’s life.”
She nodded, sighed, and closed her eyes.
She was as light as a child in his arms as he ran across the beach, the lightweight cotton of her long skirt whispering in the sea breeze. He took her to the wooden shack of Reehsha, the closest place he knew of. No light burned, but he pounded at the door anyway.
“Go away!” someone called out in an angry voice.
“I will not!” Tanis shouted with a fury that he hadn’t known he possessed. “Open this door. A woman needs help. Open it now!”
The door opened tentatively, and Tanis kicked it the rest of the way, pushing into the dark room.
“Light a candle!” Tanis ordered.
A brief moment later, a dim light flared in the room. Frantic to find a place to lay Yeblidod down, he turned and spotted a ramshackle bed under the window but was dismayed to find that someone was already in it.
Kishpa lay unconscious on the pallet. Red robes outlined the thinness of the mage’s body. His chest barely moved with his shallow breathing.
“Move him!” Tanis ordered, whirling around to face a haggard-looking old elf who, nonetheless, possessed sinewy muscles in his arms and legs.
“He’s sick,” said the old one. “I will not move him.”
“If you don’t move him, I’ll kick him out of that bed. I swear it,” the half-elf warned. Yeblidod, no doubt awakened by the stridence in his tone, moved fretfully in his arms.
The candlelight exacerbated the fisherman’s spent look. “You don’t understand,” the old man protested. “That’s—”
“Kishpa,” Tanis finished, lowering his voice as Yeblidod stirred again. “Yes, I know. He’ll be all right. I know it. He’ll live to a ripe old age. Don’t worry about him. But this woman needs care right now.”
The old man was reluctant to move Kishpa until he recognized the woman in the half-elf’s arms. “Yeblidod? Tell me what happened,” he commanded, moving close. Tanis caught a faint whiff of fish.
Tanis was rapidly losing what little control he had left. “Never mind that now. Just make room for her.”
Reehsha did as he was told, easing the mage off the bed and onto an animal skin rug. Kishpa stirred but did not awaken.
“Bring me hot water and bandages,” said Tanis. “And a blanket.”
The old man did as he was ordered. Tanis was awkward and clumsy as he tried to tend to Yeblidod�
�s cuts and bruises. Then a husky feminine voice sounded from the doorway behind him.
“What happened? Who’s hurt?” the new voice demanded.
Tanis turned and beheld the image of a woman like none he had ever seen. Her pale skin fairly glowed against her dark, curly tresses, and every delicate feature of her face looked as if it had been painted in perfect fleshtones by a master. Her figure was accentuated by a thin, black, woven top, cinched tight around her narrow waist with a cord, setting off long, shapely legs. She wore brown leather shoes with silver buckles, and a woven skirt the color of new leaves.
There was no doubt in Tanis’s mind that he was looking at Brandella. And in her own right, she could have sparked the shock that coursed through him now. But the resemblance to another woman, the echo of an earlier love, sent a pang through the half-elf like a fiery bolt from a longbow. Brandella’s black hair was long, practically waist-length; Kitiara’s short, black curls had framed her face. But the brown eyes could have been those of sisters. Brandella was a softer, more feminine version of Kitiara. Kit had been his—as much as any man could dare to claim the tempestuous swordswoman—only short days before. And now she was traveling, the gods knew where, with Sturm Brightblade.
Kitiara would have laughed at Tanis’s current pain, he knew. “What, Tanthalas? Not … not regrets?” she would have sneered, flashing him her crooked smile and probing the wounds caused by their parting. Yet there would’ve been an undertone of passion that would have left him breathless.
He couldn’t imagine this woman, Brandella, sneering at anyone. He realized he was staring and forced his gaze to the woman’s companion. Behind Brandella stood the dwarf, Mertwig. When the dwarf saw who lay on the pallet, he bolted across the room, crying, “Yebbie! Yebbie!”
Tanis the Shadow Years Page 8