by Terry Brooks
“Had to try,” he gasped as she knelt before him.
He opened his hand, and the Elfstones glittered through the darkness like drops of blood.
She supported him with an arm wrapped about his waist when they set out again, leaving the cavern and its dead behind. Little was said as they departed; even the normally gregarious Tesla Dart had gone silent. Lada, who must have gone into hiding at some point, scurried out to meet them at the tunnel entrance before rushing ahead once more to scout the way.
“You shouldn’t have taken such a chance,” Oriantha whispered.
“I knew it would work,” he whispered back.
And he had, he realized now. He had known. But he had not reckoned entirely on the consequences. A feeling of having been dismantled and then reassembled in a different way still reverberated through him, refusing to pass. The magic of the Elfstones had done something inside him; he could feel it but not define it. At some unspecified point in the future, he would know. He did not particularly look forward to that moment, but there was nothing he could do about it now.
Up from the darkness they trudged, wending their way through caverns and tunnels, climbing the endless succession of steps to the platform where they had started, emerging once more into a daylight gray and murky beneath overcast skies. The Forbidding, rediscovered. They crawled out of the pit like burrowing animals into the light, blinking in confusion, making a hurried search for additional enemies, but none were in evidence. Apparently all those who had come after them had gone into the pit.
Oriantha lowered Redden to the ground, bracing him with her hands on his shoulders. “Can you walk on your own from here?”
He nodded. Speech had pretty much deserted him, and he wasn’t rushing to retrieve it. The whipsaw feeling from using two forms of magic in combination still roiled inside, leaving him sick and disoriented. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t even want to think.
“Let’s be off,” Oriantha said, taking note of his reticence. Instead of pressing him, she simply walked him toward the stairs that led upward to the pit’s ragged lip. “I want to be out of this place and back in the Four Lands before another sunset.”
She was carrying the metal box containing all of the Elfstones save the crimson ones Redden had used earlier, which he had shoved deep into his pocket afterward. The shape-shifter must have seen him do this but had said nothing about returning them to the box. Apparently, she had decided that there was no hurry. Or perhaps she had thought it better just to let the matter be.
Redden shuffled ahead once they reached the valley floor, eyes lowered to the path, watching for crevasses and drops, not wanting to fall into a bottomless pit after just climbing out of one. He clutched at himself as he walked, and the feeling of his own arms about his mid-section seemed to help him manage the tumult inside. Walking was easier, too, if he kept his eyes downcast instead of trying to look beyond the next few steps. Peering up at the sky was impossible.
Ahead, while Lada chattered back and forth with Tesla Dart, the valley floor gave way to its walls and the air warmed.
Unable to help himself, he began crying anew.
Staying close by, Oriantha monitored his progress but kept her distance and made no effort to speak to him.
When they had climbed out of the valley and moved farther away from the pit, his crying stopped. It was all right now, he told himself. It was enough that they were all still alive.
But even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t true.
29
The army of the Straken Lord arrived shortly after sunrise on the fourth day after setting out on its lengthy journey from the ruins of Arishaig. The Elves could see it coming from miles away as it slowly materialized out of the morning haze that spread across the broad sweep of the plains all the way south to the horizon. Because the Jarka Ruus were of varying sizes and shapes and did not march in formation or with any particular regard for order, but instead simply lurched forward in the manner of a massive herd in migration, it appeared to those watching as if the earth was undulating.
The first of them reached the pass through the skies, winged creatures flying ahead to announce the coming of the others. Predatory birds the size of small horses, giant bats leaking poison from their talons, and Harpies with bird bodies and witch faces, all hove into view and began to circle the defenders, crying out in shrieks and screeches, great black shapes swooping low enough that their faces could be clearly seen.
The Elves were entrenched at the mouth of the pass leading into the Valley of Rhenn—the only way through to Arborlon from the east for an army the size of the Straken Lord’s. Sian Aresh had mobilized the defenders within hours after Seersha had disabled Phaedon Elessedil, temporarily taking control of the defense of the city and its people and restoring some semblance of purpose and order. Holding the Rhenn was critical to the city’s survival, but Sian Aresh had determined early on that the most defensible positions were the passes at either end of the valley rather than the valley itself. Once that was decided, it became much easier to choose the nature of the defenses that would be employed. Building traps and snares or digging concealed pits or setting trip wires felt pointless against an enemy of this magnitude. The battle would be fought on the run, with shifting formations and quick attacks and retreats. Entrenchments beyond the passes themselves would likely fail to contain the creatures of the Forbidding, who were of multiple shapes and possessed of varied skills and abilities. Bolt-holes and concealments would be useful, but building barriers across the mouth of the pass at the eastern end of the valley to slow a massed attack, and erecting a barricade across the even narrower west pass, would be a more practical use of the time available.
In the end, their defenses ran all the way from the east pass, where the bulk of the Elven army had been gathered to defend against the initial assault, and down through the valley itself to the second pass, in which the opening through a pair of huge rock pillars had been closed off by a massive barricade. An army attempting to reach the city from this direction would have to breach the obstacles of the first pass, run a gauntlet of defenders entrenched behind concealments on the slopes of the valley walls, and then breach the barricade stretched across the even more forbidding and inaccessible second pass.
The backbone of the Elven defense, of course, was a fleet of warships several dozen strong, all manned and equipped for battle and waiting to engage. Except for flits passing overhead in reconnaissance, the balance of the airfleet was grounded just behind the second pass in an airfield set close to the valley proper. When the battle came, the warships would have the best chance of turning the tide by attacking from the relative safety of the skies.
Over the years, a number of attempts had been made to take the valley, but all had failed. No one could imagine it would be different now, not with the added strength of the warships and their weapons.
But then, no one would have thought that Arishaig could be taken, either.
The Straken Lord’s winged scouts, sweeping down through the valley in quick bursts, seemingly heedless of the missiles whizzing past them as they went, took full measure of the Elven defenders and their defenses. They flew as if oblivious to the flits that darted at them, easily avoiding their efforts to bring them down. They defecated on the defensive positions as they passed—a taunting that brought howls of rage and dismay from those hidden in the brush and trees and rocks.
“Can you put a stop to that?” Sian Aresh snapped at Seersha from within their concealment near the head of the pass.
The Druid shook her head. “I could, but that’s what they are hoping for. They want to know if you have the use of magic. If you have anyone standing with you who has the same powers Khyber Elessedil did” She gave him a look. “It would be best if we let them wonder for a while.”
Eventually, the flying creatures lost interest and flew away. Not one had even been injured.
The day dragged on after that in a desultory, anticipatory slog, tension heightening steadily
as the enemy army drew closer, as it widened and deepened like a tidal wave and increasingly assumed definition. It was one thing to be brave in the face of something nebulous and distant. It was another entirely to maintain that position when you could see the sorts of things that were coming for you—creatures with twisted limbs and crooked backs, teeth and claws that could rend you in a single swipe, and faces so gnarled and misshapen they resembled your worst nightmares fully realized.
It took the army all day to reach the mouth of the pass, and there it massed, widening out to either side of the mountain walls north and south for miles, and eastward until its end could not be seen. Dust filled the air and drifted over the Elves, clogging their breathing and obscuring their vision. The stench of enemy bodies spread in a sickening wave and left some defenders gagging and retching. There seemed to be no leaders, only beasts herded to this place like animals, brought to a halt and unable to do more than mill about.
Sunset was almost upon the Elves—their tempers frayed to the point of breaking—when the dragon flew out of the encroaching dusk. It came in a rush, its huge plated body rust and crimson beneath layers of shadow, its wings spread wide as it glided on the wind. Astride its neck, armored head-to-foot, was a creature no Elf had ever seen before. It was as black as moonless night, heavily muscled and ridged with spikes that poked through gaps in the armor that had been cut apart to afford them space and then chained back together with links. A huge scepter was clasped in one hand, its jagged head glowing a wicked green.
The Straken Lord raised his arms as he passed over the dark swell of his army, and a million throats roared out his name. He might have been the sum of all things from the greeting he was given, and he acknowledged it as if it were his due. He let the dragon take him past his army and into the mouth of the pass, still high enough that no missile could reach him and big enough that no flit dared approach. He was showing himself to his intended victims—a clear indication he would be the last thing they ever saw in this life.
Just before wheeling away and flying back into the night, bearing its black rider with it, the dragon opened its huge maw and exhaled sudden gouts of fire.
“I don’t like that,” Sian Aresh observed.
“No wonder Arishaig was at risk,” Seersha replied.
“This changes my thinking about the value of our airships. That dragon is much more maneuverable than anything we have. Do you think there are any more?”
Seersha shook her head. “I’m sure we’ll find out.”
They waited patiently to see if there would be any others, but the Straken Lord did not return, and the creatures of his army began to settle down on the open flats, curling up in the manner of animals and dropping off to sleep. If there were guards or a sentry line, the Druid couldn’t find them. No precautions seemed to have been taken against a surprise attack. For a moment, Seersha considered the advisability of mounting one—of not waiting for the inevitable, but of striking first. She almost said something to Aresh.
But there were a million creatures out there—many times the number of Elves that might be thrown against them—and in the end she abandoned the idea. Better they hold their ground and let the enemy come to them.
Especially the dragon. No point in going hunting for something like that.
Seersha and Sian Aresh moved over to a promontory on the left cliff wall at the entrance to the valley, just apart from the guards assigned to protect them. The two were now joined by common cause and shared events. Together they had conspired to set aside Phaedon Elessedil as King, rendering him helpless enough that he was now kept under constant watch. He still couldn’t talk, couldn’t make himself understood, and was wrapped in a cloak of apparent madness that had everyone speculating about what had happened to him. Only Seersha and Aresh knew for certain, and neither was saying anything. It was sufficient that he could no longer interfere. He would remain in his present condition for at least another day, by Seersha’s reckoning, and by then the battle would be joined and its course likely decided. That was the best they could hope for.
“They will wait for the moon to rise and attack then,” the Captain of the Home Guard said quietly.
“I don’t think so,” Seersha said in response. “They will wait for dawn. The sun will be at their backs and in our faces. The Straken Lord knows something of tactics. That was clear at Arishaig.”
“We have a bet then. In my view, he won’t have the patience to wait until morning. He will act before then.”
Seersha shook her head in disagreement. “He sees himself as invincible. He chose to attack the Federation first because he believed it to be the strongest force he would face. He’s been scouting the Four Lands since the Forbidding started to crumble, sending out spies through gaps in the wall. This is a sustained invasion, and he intends to see it through. We were told this was his intention unless …”
She trailed off. There was no point in talking about Tael Riverine’s demand for the return of Grianne Ohmsford. Not unless it actually happened, which seemed unlikely. She found herself wondering if Railing and his companions had discovered the fate of the former Ard Rhys or if the search had fallen apart by now. She had never really believed it would come to anything, but she had never entirely discounted it, either. It was a time of strange happenings, and nothing was so impossible that it could be discounted out of hand.
Aresh waited for her to finish and, when she didn’t, said, “I don’t know how we can hold out against so many.”
“We can’t without help. But the Dwarves will come. Crace Coram will bring them. And maybe the Border Legion will join us.”
The Captain of the Home Guard nodded. “I cannot believe it has come to this.”
“Nor I.”
“I wish we had time to ferret out whoever killed the King. Because it certainly wasn’t Ellich.”
Seersha nodded. “More likely his son.”
They were silent for a time, scanning the darkening horizon, peering down the slopes of the cliffs to where Elven Hunters with torches were lighting watch fires that had been built earlier. Pockets of brightness blazed eastward across the length of the cliffs on either side of the pass, providing a shadowy view of the sleeping enemy army and of any creatures that might try to approach under cover of darkness. The fires would burn all night, their wood replenished as it turned to ash, the sentries on duty guarding against surprise attacks.
“What do you think has happened to Aphenglow and her sister?” Sian Aresh asked after a time.
Seersha shrugged. In the firelight, her dark tattoos reflected the brightness of the flames. “It will take them as long as it takes, but Aphen won’t fail.”
“If she finds what she’s looking for. Or if something doesn’t interfere with her search.”
The Druid gave him a look. “She won’t let anything interfere. She’ll find a way back to us.”
Aresh shook his head. “She’s really our only chance. And Arlingfant, of course. The only chance for the whole of the Four Lands.”
“Then we have to give them the time they need. You and me and all those gathered in this valley.” Seersha stepped away. “I think I will try to get some sleep.”
“And me. At least until they attack. I still think it will be tonight.”
The scarred face wrinkled with her smile. “Then we have a bet.”
She went off to find a place to bed down. Aresh remained where he was, wrapping himself in his blanket, sitting upright and bracing himself in a depression on the hillside where he could look out over the enemy hordes.
Both did the best they could to fall asleep, but neither had much success.
Seersha won the bet. The Straken Lord did not attack during the night. He attacked at dawn.
It was a clear, bright day, and the sun rose in a brilliant yellow glow out of the eastern skies, the light blinding the defenders on the slopes of the Valley of Rhenn, exactly as the Straken Lord must have hoped. By then the entire demonkind army was awake and organized, restle
ss to the point of making feints against the defenses—quick rushes at the entrance to the pass that seemed less well defended.
But it quickly became apparent to Seersha that Tael Riverine had other plans. Separating his army under cover of darkness into a series of commands, he had positioned them all across the vast sweep of the Streleheim, north and south for as far as the eye could see. When Elven flits flew out to have a closer look, bands of Harpies brought two of them down and the rest quickly turned around. Thus, when the attack finally came, it caught the unsuspecting Elves by surprise in more ways than one.
Instead of a head-on assault against the entrance to the pass, the enemy came at them from the flanks. Led by their lighter, more agile climbers, they scaled the forested slopes in simultaneous strikes intended to break through and get behind the defenders massed at the pass. Attacking not in large groups but in small clusters, they used the rocks and trees for cover as they swept up the cliffs in record time, barely slowing as they came, swarming over the front ranks of the Elven defensive positions and killing everyone not quick enough to fall back.
It was a variation on the tactics the Straken Lord had used at Arishaig, and it was equally successful here. In minutes, the wings of the Elven army had collapsed and gone into retreat, and the Jarka Ruus were atop the rim of the Valley of Rhenn on both sides of the eastern pass.
Sian Aresh acted quickly to counter this advantage, sending warships from the fleet to drive off the attackers. His orders were clear: Use fire launchers to burn them out of whatever concealments they tried to find and chase them back down the slopes to the plains. And don’t let up until the rim of the valley is retaken.
A trio of warships moved into position on either side of the valley and launched a sustained attack. Because the Elves did not have the use of flash rips—having adhered to the rules established by Grianne Ohmsford following the end of the war on the Prekkendorran—fire launchers were the strongest weapon they possessed.