by P. A. Wilson
He ran through the doorway, knife held ready to strike. The girl placed her sack on the ground and turned to face him.
A silver blade slashed at his eyes, he leaned back instinctively, feeling a braid fall as the girl’s arm followed through. He swung his own knife as he leaned toward her again, but she danced away.
“You are going to make this interesting. Good. Tell me, is the stone in that sack?”
She was too good a fighter to be distracted by the question. She flicked the blade in her hand, beckoning him forward. It was an old trick, and Vitenkar knew he was at a great advantage. His reach was so much longer than hers, all he needed to do was get the slightest edge and —
His thought was cut off as Willowvine attacked so quickly that she came under his guard, sliced at his ribs and was behind him before he could take advantage of the moment. He spun around, taking a rapid glance to make sure he didn’t trip over the dead body of her partner. The lack of corpse registered at the same moment that the pain from a second slash at his face. She’d run past him again.
This wasn’t a warrior’s fight. He was stupid for thinking an elf would fight honorably. The cuts were a nuisance, but he couldn’t take too many more. Changing his tactics, Vitenkar stormed toward the girl. Her speed would not save her against his size. If needed, he would crush her.
She skipped to the side to avoid him, but he’d anticipated the move and shifted his weight to follow her. Now she stood still. He was within inches of slicing her open.
Pain tore through his skull. He felt his knees buckle and then everything went black.
* * *
Springheart looked down at the unconscious scree. “He didn’t even look for me. I thought scree knew how to fight.” He dropped his weapon and pressed his hand on his wound. It may be healed on the outside, but he could feel the muscles tearing with each breath. “I’m not sure how much damage I did to him.”
Willowvine took his arm and helped him to the fallen beam where he sat leaning against the wall.
“Rest for a minute. I think we need to move you to a less obvious place, so I don’t worry someone will get killed when my back is turned.”
He released his arm from her grip. “I’m fine. Go find Leafcreek.”
She chuckled. “I wasn’t thinking about you. I was worried that someone would come to see what the noise was about and get killed for surprising you.”
“I don’t have a repeat performance in me.” He pulled away from the wall. “We don’t have time to find a place to hide me. I’ll be here when you get back.” He waved his hands as if sweeping her out.
Springheart watched Willowvine retrieve the sack. Straightening, she said, “Unless the resting place for this stone is across the island, we have time to make you safe. If it’s that far away, then it’s already too late.”
Springheart sighed. It would be a relief when this was done and they could find another topic to argue about. “Willowvine, the elves are important to this world. Remember the knowledge we gained at the gate between worlds. As the first people of Cartref, we are tied to it. If the elves die out, the world may follow.”
She firmed her lips against the argument he knew was bubbling inside. With a shake of her head she drew a length of rope from her sack. “I’ll tie him up, and then I’ll go.”
Desperate for her to leave, Springheart reached for the rope. “I can restrain him. Go.”
Tossing the rope to him, she spun and dashed out the door.
* * *
If she had to go, then Willowvine swore the task would be completed as quickly as possible. The way everything got messed up, the elves were not going to be saved. She feared that it would be Springheart who died, not Vitenkar or Maynard, even though both of them deserved death.
If the elves are so important, you would think the fates would conspire to help rather than hinder.
The moon had barely risen a degree higher in the time it took to beat Vitenkar. She smiled at the memory of how easy it had been to play his advantages against him.
There was no point in trying to sneak into the village. It took too much time and she could move fast enough to get there without notice, unless someone came out to the street right now. Her plan entailed circling the few buildings looking for sign of an elven house. If that wasn’t successful, she’d start looking in windows.
There was no interruption in her dash to the shadow of the closest building. The village was a cluster of houses that faced the inn, like a caravan circling against foul weather. One of the small buildings had a healer mark on the door, another was clearly a shop. The rest were homes, fairly large, and similar enough to deny her the shortcut of identifying Leafcreek’s home by the design.
She couldn’t help glancing at the moon every few minutes as if time moved differently here, or perhaps her own sense of time was distorted. The moon was still on the rise, but the minutes were passing.
As she approached the inn, conversation came to her from open door. Two wide windows spilled light into the night. Willowvine approached the nearest, coming from the side to avoid announcing her presence. Inside, Maynard was tipping a mug of ale to get the last drops. He stood next to an eldmen and goblin. Others sat at tables in the rear, too far from the light for Willowvine to make them out. She would need to get Maynard out of there so she could enter.
As if she’d been granted a wish, Maynard placed his empty mug on the bar and tossed a coin beside it. Willowvine ducked into the shadows as he strolled out to the street. She watched him look around before turning to head toward the abandoned building.
“Waste of time,” he muttered. “I’ll get answers from Springheart, and then Vitenkar can search all he wants for the stone. I’ll have sold it to the old elf.”
* * *
Maynard leapt the wall behind the building. His time at the inn hadn’t been a total waste. One goblin, well into his cups, happily shared a story of looting the building before it was abandoned. The wall at the back hid a gap large enough for someone to enter without being seen. Apparently, the gap had grown bigger as the building deteriorated, but there was nothing to loot so no one had used it.
No matter how alert Springheart was, or how much he had recovered, he would never expect an attack to come from the wall behind him. Even if the elves knew about the hole, it was still preferable to marching in the front door and falling into a trap.
Behind the wall the space was barely enough to allow him to stand. There was no room for him to bend and search for the gap. He ran the toes of his boots along the bottom of the stones, gently searching for where the opening might be. Two feet to his left, Maynard’s boot encountered air.
He explored the space in the same way. There was barely enough room for him to slide through. He didn’t want to enter blindly, allowing his feet to go through and using the rough stones to control his fall, but it was the only way.
He had no time to worry about whether it was a good idea or not. It was his only way in and if he didn’t have the stone to sell soon he would not be able to repair the damage to the guild’s reputation. No matter what tale he created, the blame would splatter over him. He closed his eyes for a moment to imagine the gratitude of the elves, the guild, and the world. Maynard Slack’s name would be remembered. That thought was enough to silence the doubts.
In the back, the building was buried four feet or so into the dirt, so when he landed, it was behind a fallen beam on the ground floor. The noise of his arrival had him reaching for his blade anticipating an attack. None came.
In what had been the entranceway, Maynard saw Vitenkar lying on his belly, arms and legs trussed.
Springheart was looking at Maynard, a smile on his face. Everything about the elf read weakness. He was more pale than usual. His arm wrapped around his side where his tunic was stained with blood. It may have stopped flowing, but he’d lost enough to keep him from attacking. There was no reason for him to smile. He should be shaking with fear, but elves were all arrogant fools.
&nb
sp; It would take moments to end both of these impediments. Then he would find the girl, and the stone would be his.
* * *
Vitenkar was biding his time. The elf was weak. He would fall asleep soon, or simply pass out from lack of blood. It would be a moment’s work to release the bonds, kill the elf, and then he could find the stone.
The noise of debris falling turned his attention from plotting. Was it a bird, or small animal disturbing the rubble? It took the elf’s attention away and gave him a chance to act unobserved. Vitenkar worked the ropes on his hands against the bones threaded through his belt as he followed Springheart’s gaze.
Maynard Slack.
Covered in dirt and grit, the man stood in the back of the building. “A rescue,” he croaked through his dry throat. “Kill the elf.”
Maynard took a few steps forward. “In good time,” he said. “The elf is half dead. I need to attend to something else first.”
As the man stepped forward, Vitenkar saw a flicker of movement in the darkness behind. This was too good. The girl was here. Maynard had not noticed, but he could easily take both of the elves and then they would be victorious.
“Behind you,” he said trying to make the dry croak carry.
Maynard’s smile grew wider and his hand flicked a blade through the air. It was poorly aimed if he intended Springheart to be the target. But the man must have not understood the threat that the girl represented.
As he tried once more to warn Maynard, Vitenkar felt a pain bite at his throat. He inhaled and something bubbled.
The pain tore wider.
He fought the urge to cough, and then hot blood soaked his shirt and the world started to fade.
Chapter 45
Willowvine watched the scree die. Maynard didn’t know she was there, and that gave her an advantage, but she couldn’t take her eyes away from the pool of blood. A sound broke her focus, Maynard had shouted as he advanced on Springheart, another knife in his hand.
Springheart wasn’t strong enough to survive an attack. Willowvine dropped the stone on the ground, a padding of dirt and rotten wood cushioning the fall.
“No! I have what you want!” Her challenge caught Maynard’s attention. He turned away from his target and sped toward her.
She waited until he was almost on her before leaping to catch the beam she’d sat on earlier. Maynard stumbled past, scrambling to stop before he fell into the hole. When he looked up at her, she saw fire in his eyes, a cold fire. No passion, but greed and desperation shone from inside him.
Willowvine knew that Springheart was watching.
She trusted him to stay out of the way unless he could deliver the final blow. She swung off the beam to land just out of arm’s reach of Maynard. Keeping her eyes on his face, looking for the signal that he was getting ready to throw a knife, she reached behind for her own small blade.
Maynard stepped toward her changing his grip to a fighting position, he wanted this to be close and personal. She could use that.
He was within stabbing reach of her now, swinging his hand to slice at her face. She ran in toward the attack rather than swerve away.
The surprise of her move made Maynard stumble forward, allowing her to dodge behind and slice at his thigh. She wanted to cripple him, but her knife was too short to slice deep enough. Willowvine settled for twisting the blade to cause more pain and damage.
The wound slowed Maynard, but there was some madness driving him. He reached for her braid. Willowvine swung it away with a toss of her head. He was not going to get hold of her. The cut on his leg would eventually slow him down enough to allow them to bind him, but they didn’t have time for eventually.
She ran around him and sliced at his arm, then dodged Springheart who held a length of wood in both hands.
As Maynard blindly followed Willowvine, Springheart swung at his head. The sound of the wood connecting with skull echoed in her ears. Maynard collapsed mid stride, landing across Vitenkar’s body.
“Kill him,” Willowvine shouted.
Springheart looked at her. He was holding rope, ready to tie Maynard up. “No, he should face judgment.”
Running to the back of the building, she retrieved the stone. There was no point in arguing. Frustration tightened her voice as she responded, “He got out of the bonds last time, make sure he’s secure.”
It’s not that she didn’t trust Springheart, but he was weak so Willowvine checked that Maynard was secure before they left. A knot in her stomach didn’t loosen after checking, so she used another length of rope to tie him with his back to a post.
“You healed him,” she accused. “You are barely standing, and you used your life-force to heal Maynard.” This night was never going to be over.
Springheart shrugged. “I only closed the wound to stop the bleeding. I’ll be fine while you’re gone.”
With a kick at Maynard, she strode to where Springheart leaned against the wall. He was trying to look nonchalant, but she saw the pallor around his eyes, and the curve to his shoulders, he was exhausted.
“You are coming with me.” He opened his mouth argue, but she held up her hand. “No. Every time we separate, something goes wrong. The moon will be fully up soon. We don’t have time to fight off anyone else.”
She watched the argument cross his mind. When had it become like this? They used to discuss things, now it was always a disagreement. Even though it seemed like she could feel the pull of the moon as it rose, she waited for him to answer.
He chuckled. “I don’t have the strength to argue with you even if there’s no one left to attack us. Let’s go.”
Chapter 46
The inn was warm as they entered. The quiet chatter raised Springheart’s spirits almost like a healing. They hadn’t made it as far as the bar to ask about Leafcreek before an elderly elf intercepted them.
“I think you are looking for me,” he said uncharacteristically direct. “We have barely enough time. Do you have it?”
Willowvine nodded. “We should probably hand it over in a more private place.”
Leafcreek took her arm and turned her around. “No. You must place it. Come.”
He seemed to notice that Springheart was lagging behind. “Can you… No, I see you are badly weakened. I’ll heal you more when we are at the labyrinth. It’s not far.”
As much as he wanted to tell Leafcreek that he didn’t need any of the man’s limited life force, Springheart knew he couldn’t do anything more than stumble through a ceremony. “Thank you.”
Springheart allowed Willowvine to support him as they crossed the space between the inn and the small house at the far side of the village. As they passed through the door, Springheart felt at home. There was something about this dwelling that declared it to be elven. The colors were natural, the fabrics were soft, and the furniture made of wood.
Leafcreek helped him to a chair. “Let me see the wound,” he said pulling another chair to sit beside Springheart.
“We don’t have time,” Springheart said. He hated the weakness in his voice. “You and Willowvine go deal with the stone. I promise not to die while I wait.”
Leafcreek gestured for Springheart to move his clothes aside. “You are needed for the ceremony.”
“Fine.” Springheart raised his shirt not willing to waste any more of their precious time arguing. “Just enough to get the stone in place.”
“I know what to do,” Leafcreek said chuckling.
The warmth of the older elf’s energy flowed into Springheart. Too much in his opinion, but it came fast and then was cut off. He restored his clothing. “Where do we take the stone?”
* * *
Willowvine stood in Leafcreek’s back garden watching as he moved aside a small cairn built of twigs, leaves, and feathers. When the construction was removed from the earth and placed on the flagstone patio, a labyrinth shimmered into being. She turned to Springheart who was standing behind her looking healthier than he had a few minutes ago. “It’s small so I gue
ss we didn’t have to worry so much about time.”
He smiled and nudged her forward. “Don’t be sure. The ceremony might take a while.”
Leafcreek beckoned them to the first stone of the path. “We walk the labyrinth and chant until we get to the center. We replace the stone and then all is well.”
Willowvine took the stone from Leafcreek. “If it was obscured, how did someone steal it?”
Leafcreek touched her shoulder. “We have no time for questions. First the maiden,” he instructed. Turning to tug at Springheart’s arm he continued, “Then the explorer, and then the teacher, that is me.”
Willowvine waited to hear the chant, willing to delay her answer until after the ceremony. Looking out over the labyrinth, she assessed that they would be done well before the moon was fully risen. It was small, as though meant for a child. The stones were laid out in three passes to a center space. It was far enough away that she couldn’t see the details of the center in the silver light.
“We have only cast the concealment since the theft. In the ages that my family maintained the sacred maze, no one has ever been interested. Well, no one other than the elders of the elven families.” As he spoke, Leafcreek moved Willowvine along the pavers making her stand on the second stone. “When we begin the chant, Willowvine will start, moving one step. Springheart, you will step onto the first stone and begin chanting. Keep a stone between you. I will then begin the chant when I step on the stone. The differences in timing will create a harmony that seats the stone correctly.”
Willowvine itched to get started.
If he doesn’t stop fussing, we might be too late.
But then if Leafcreek felt no urgency, maybe he would answer more questions. “How did you know about the chant? Is it in an ancient form of elvish?”