By the time the council had reconvened the next morning, Alwynn felt as if his point had been but a minor inconvenience, now overshadowed by a far more dynamic prospect: the Seven Elf Lords.
“While I appreciate the concerns that some have brought to light”—Danhelm paused in regard to Alwynn—“I would propose to this assembly that layadine, and its providential existence, has served its purpose: to gain us this one victory and in turn speed momentum in our favor, and nothing more.” The notion had somehow gained great favor among most of those present. “Are we to rely on such a tactic in the future, as some have come in the habit of relying upon? Or are we to look to new windows of opportunity, ones that far outweigh flowers and powders?”
“Say it!” some of the Elves demanded. “Out with it!”
“Brothers of the council”—Danhelm’s voice rose—“I say it is time we retrieve the Seven Elf Lords from Whitehall and make good our siege of Vesper Crag!”
The council chamber erupted with cheers and clapping. It was the very notion they had all been holding to themselves. And, truth be told, Alwynn, too, hoped to put an end to the still-looming threat of the Spider King. But what Alwynn also knew was that the Seven were entrusted to a man far wiser than any of the councilmen at this table. Grimwarden would return the Seven to their people—not a council—when he thought they were ready, and not a moment before. Anything less would be reckless at best . . . suicide, if Alwynn’s suspicions were well founded. Alwynn felt powerless—and even more, he felt betrayed that his own compatriots would turn against the very man they installed to advise them on all things military: Grimwarden. Oh, it was a noble cause, to be sure. Who among them did not dream of freedom? Did not long for the days of walking freely beneath the light of the sun once again? But just because a prophecy foretells something, doesn’t mean a particular generation will live to see it.
Move too fast, gentlemen, Alwynn thought to himself, and I fear you will not find the Seven as you so desire them. And then not even a thousand years of layadine could help you crush your enemy.
Grimwarden sat beneath his favorite oak and took a large bite from a fresh ketelo fruit. The papery reddish skin of the oblong fruit dissolved on his tongue, and he enjoyed its distinctive tart taste. He stretched his heavy limbs, relishing the cool shade that the leaves provided him against the afternoon heat. It was a pleasure he had long forgone, knowing he must suffer with the rest of his people in their underground plight. But being here in Whitehall these many months, this spot, . . . this practice, had become his one respite. And he allowed himself the pleasure. He tossed the core into a thicket and closed his eyes, feeling the soft breeze blow across his face and rustle the leaves above. Grimwarden sprang to his feet and summoned his blade. “Speak!” he commanded. “While you can.”
“Commander Grimwarden, is . . .” Grimwarden recognized that voice. “. . . is that—ugh! ” Someone was clearly struggling in the undergrowth. “Who goes there?” Grimwarden replied, now lowering his sword. Whoever this was, he was none too skilled in stealthy movement.
“Is it safe?”
“Safe?” Grimwarden chuckled. “I daresay you scared off any creatures for many a league. In any case, show yourself. Or do you need help to escape the bracken?”
“Nay,” said the stranger. “I can manage—whoa-ah-whoa!” Nearly tumbling out of a thick briar bush—thorns still pulling on braided hair and knit cloth—emerged High Cleric Alwynn.
“Alwynn, my friend!” Grimwarden sheathed his sword and walked swiftly to meet the man. “What in Allyra brings you all this way?”
Alwynn was still busy trying to wrest himself of the woods. At last he smoothed his cloak and pressed his shoulders back. The two Elves crossed wrists over their chests and bowed. “Grim urgency brings me,” said Alwynn.
There was no mistaking Alwynn’s tone. Grimwarden stood back. “Go on.”
“The Spider King invaded Nightwish.”
“WHAT?” Grimwarden rocked as if struck. Suddenly all his private misgivings about taking the lords and leaving Nightwish surfaced anew. “When?”
“Four days ago. A full invasion. Through the catacombs.”
“So they finally discovered us.”
“Yes. Our enemy sent a larger force than that which toppled Berinfell, but we repelled them.”
“Truly?” Grimwarden thought quickly. “Travin?”
“Yes, yes,” said Alwynn. “He was valiant. But, Grimwarden, the Spider King did not lead this force. I believe he was testing us.”
“Did we pass?”
“We defeated them utterly,” replied Alwynn. “Only a handful of casualties.”
“Only a handful? I don’t under—”
“They used almost all of the layadine, by Manaelkin’s order.”
“Fools!” Grimwarden slammed his fist into his palm. “How often have I advised the council of sparing, strategic use of our layadine stores? Bah, the council leader has won us a great battle. Pray he has not forfeited the war.”
“I have, and I will,” said Alwynn. “But do not say that it was not strategic use of the layadine. Winning such a decisive victory has earned Manaelkin great authority, authority to follow through with his original plans.”
“He demands we return the Seven Lords to Nightwish?”
“Worse,” said Alwynn. “He comes to take them back, by force if necessary.”
“Manaelkin was always calculating, but now I fear he has gone entirely mad! How much time do we have?”
“I left as soon as the council concluded. His plans were to gather his detachment of flet soldiers and depart just hours later.”
“Then he is near?” Grimwarden gazed into the woods over Alwynn’s shoulders. “I’ll need to sound the warning bell. Who knows where the Seven have scattered on their afternoon off. I—”
“You have more time than that,” said Alwynn. “Two days, or a little more.”
“You put two days between you?” Grimwarden looked on Alwynn with new wonder. “Forgive me for the implications of my question, but how could someone of your age and modest woodcraft gain that kind of time on able-bodied soldiers?”
“I flew,” said Alwynn. Seeing the bewilderment in his friend’s face, he explained, “I sought aid from the Old Ones. They lent me one of their scarlet raptors. Wind-swift, they are.”
“Scarlet raptors,” Grimwarden muttered.
“Yes, the Old Ones maintain a secret eyrie in the Bristlethorn Hills, more than a hundred of the rare birds.”
“Do they?” Grimwarden asked, almost to himself. “Do they indeed? I will remember that. You see, this is not the first time I’ve heard of Elves riding the raptors. One lives here in Whitehall, or did. We haven’t seen it for weeks now.”
After a pensive silence Alwynn asked, “What will you do?”
“Get the lords as far away from here as possible. And then confront Manaelkin myself.” Grimwarden found himself absently fondling the pommel of his sword. Then he looked up to Alwynn. “And you?” The question was a good one as Alwynn was clearly a council member; by now his absence was duly noted, with more than one of his brethren having their prejudices confirmed, and when they realized he had gone to Grimwarden, there would be no question as to where his sympathies lay.
Alwynn gave a funny smirk. “Well, if you’re going to pick a fight, you might as well have a crotchety old politician in your corner.”
20
Puddle Jumping
“REMEMBER”—NELLY whispered, her back against the cold stone of a dead end—“keep a contact point at all times.”
Nelly edged two barrels out away from the wall. “I’ve got the barrels. Five count on the crates . . . make them six feet out for a launch point.”
“Agreed.”
“I hear them.” Nelly crouched behind the barrels. Backlit from the other end of the passage, at least seven large warriors approached. The Gwar leading them was absolutely massive. He carried a wide shield, but Nelly couldn’t see his weapon. If she w
aited longer, she would lose any small advantage. Her back once more against the wall, she put one foot on each barrel and drew her knees back to her chin. She kicked the barrels launching them forward with a thunderous force. They careened down the passage toward the approaching warriors.
Five seconds later, Regis slid the crates into position, and the two Elves lunged up on them and sprang toward the enemy.
SLAM! THUD!
The towering warrior in front had leaped over the rolling barrel and swung his shield like a bat. He smacked Nelly out of the air, and she landed in a heap by one of the crates.
Graceful and lithe as she was, Regis could not do any harm to the smaller Gwar. He rotated his body outside of her fist strike and blocked her knee upstroke with his own well-muscled leg. Then he spun Regis inside his iron arms and held a dagger blade to her throat. “Peace, Elf,” he whispered urgently. “I am one of your kindred.”
“I ain’t seen moves like that for a long time,” said the larger one. “That’s Vexbane. Good thing I’m pretty fair at Vexbane my own self.”
Nelly sat up groggily and tried to shake the cobwebs out of her mind. She thought sure she’d heard that voice before. Wait! There’s only one Elf I know who likes to use that odd human dialect. “Merrick?” she called out. “Merrick Evershield?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “But I prefer Charlie.”
The large warrior strode over to Nelly and offered his thick hand. Speechless and gawking like a child at a parade, Nelly took his hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. “I don’t believe it,” she said. “Charlie?” She brushed her fingers along the dark skin of his cheek and stared into his violet eyes. “We thought we’d lost you. When you didn’t come through the portal . . . we thought . . . ah, Charlie, it’s so good to see you, even dressed as a Gwar!” She threw a clumsy hug around his neck.
“Wisp got me good,” he said, patting her awkwardly on the back. “Stabbed me in the gut and left me for dead. Fortunately for me, some of our folk were still on that side. Like Orli here.”
The smaller Elf holding Regis said, “Yes, my group of Sentinels came a little late to the party in Scotland. A snowstorm in Austria, you understand.”
“Um, can you let me go now?” asked Regis, squirming.
“My apologies, darling,” said Orli. He released her and sheathed his dagger.
Mr. Charlie took a step backward and said, “You know, I was beginning to wonder if somethin’ happened to Grimwarden in Allyra. Figured for sure he’d have found the portal by now.”
Nelly shook her head. “By now? We only just learned there was an open portal,” she said. “But, Charlie, how did you know we’d be here?”
“Didn’t. Been watching this portal. Figured we’d find a way back through it or someone would come over with orders for us, unless—”
“We made it back, Charlie—with all the lords.”
“Why are you here then?”
“We are trying to get to Autumn and Johnny’s house in upstate New York.”
“Where is here, anyway?” asked Regis.
“Canada,” said Orli. “Northern Quebec actually.”
“That explains the cold.”
“Why do you need to get back to the Briarmans’ place?” asked Charlie.
“Before they knew who and what they were, Johnny and Autumn found a map, hid it in their room. A map of Vesper Crag.”
“Vesper Crag?” Charlie echoed. “Well, if that don’t beat all. The Spider King’s probably none too happy about that.”
“Still,” said Orli, “what good’s a map of Vesper Crag? It’s not very likely that we’ll be invad—”
“We’re planning an invasion,” said Regis. “You’ve been away for a long time. The lords are training under Grimwarden and Goldarrow. We have amassed an army three times the size of anything we had in the past. And we’ve developed new weapons as well.”
“Truly?” replied Orli. The other Elven warriors behind them buzzed with excitement.
“Yes. But we haven’t much time to locate the map and return to Allyra.”
“If memory serves,” said Nelly, quietly, “Quebec is just over the St. Lawrence River from northern New York, right?”
“If by ‘just over’ you mean seven hundred miles, then yes,” said Charlie. “We’re deep in the wilderness up here.”
“We’ve got to get that map,” said Regis.
“There I can help,” said Charlie. “We’ve got a little seaplane stashed away in a cove on a lake . . . two-mile hike east of here.”
“Gassed up and ready to go,” said Orli, nodding to Nelly.
“Take us there,” said Nelly.
“That might not be so easy,” said Charlie. “Muster is nearly over.”
“Muster?”
“Asp Bloodthorne, the Drefid commander here, assembles the strength of his army every day at dusk. Once he releases them from the muster . . . well, this place’ll be flooded with ten thousand Gwar.”
“Ten thousand?” Nelly gasped.
“And that does not count the legions on patrol or on training missions,” said Orli.
“Just what are they doing here?” asked Nelly.
“I think you can guess,” said Charlie. “But there is much more we can share. It’ll have to wait. The horns haven’t sounded, but it won’t be long.”
“Lead the way,” said Nelly.
They went back the way Nelly and Regis had come.
“Here!” yelled Orli as he passed a wickedly curved short sword to Nelly and one to Regis. “You might need these.”
The nine Elves hurtled down the passage, looking for the next branch. But not ten yards from them, an endless line of marching Gwar crossed their path.
“Down here!” beckoned Charlie as he diverted into a narrow opening on their left.
Praying they hadn’t been seen, the Elves followed. It was an access way, not meant for much travel. In fact, some industrious Gwar had decided to use it for storage.
Nelly tripped over a crate and would have sprawled if it weren’t for Orli’s swift assistance. The ribbon of passage curled this way and that, up and down, and finally there was a light at the end.
Charlie went through first, but stopped as the others barreled through behind him. They’d entered a chamber teeming with no less than forty Gwar, a kind of mess hall.
Charlie nodded and motioned to the other Elves to follow. There was another door in the back right of the chamber. If they could just get through without— “Wait!” commanded the Gwar leader. “I don’t think I’ve seen your tribe mark. Come round, let your heads breathe so I can see your mark. Maybe I’ll put you in for a commendation.”
Charlie stood very still. Inside his helmet, he shut his eyes tight. He’d hoped to avoid confrontation, hoped to avoid notice. But now there were few options. “Looks like it’s time to kick the hornet’s nest,” he muttered.
“What’s that you say?” asked the Gwar.
Charlie ignored the question, turned, and approached the Gwar. The other Elves were ready to follow Charlie’s lead. He stood now directly in front of the Gwar. He began to remove his helmet. “A commendation?” Charlie asked. “Do you think?”
“Perhaps,” said the Gwar, watching with keen interest. “You captured spies . . . and you know how Asp feels about ELVES.”
Charlie whipped off his helmet and slammed it into the Gwar’s forehead. Charlie had his shield up in a flash, raised it horizontally, and beheaded the enemy in one swift motion. Then with a roar, he lowered his shield and barreled into a group of Gwar, knocking them down like bowling pins.
Orli sprang into action next. He removed an odd Y-shaped blade from his belt and flung it at a Gwar near the back of the chamber.
Outnumbered four to one, the Elves quickly evened the odds. The battle was over in minutes. Dead Gwar littered the chamber. Two Elves had perished as well.
“We have to go,” Charlie said.
“Must we leave our friends here, among the Gwar?” ask
ed Orli.
Charlie’s posture sagged. “We have no choice. They will slow our escape.”
The seven remaining Elves raced through the door at the back of the chamber. Their path of escape was full of twists and turns, sudden blocks, and hasty detours. But they avoided conflict and seemed to be making progress, when Charlie stopped them and said, “I thought that last turn was wrong. Orli, I think we’ve gone underground by a level or two.”
“Yes, yes, I think you’re right. We don’t want to be down here.”
“Why?” asked Regis.
“They breed the spiders down here . . . and do worse things.” Orli pointed to a dim, wavering light some sixty yards ahead. “Come, Charlie, I have spent more time in this place. Follow me.” Swiftly, they escaped the mountain and fled into the night.
21
Conflict of Interest
“CHANGE OF plans,” Grimwarden started off. He paced in the formal dining hall as the Seven sat around the board, along with Goldarrow, Claris, Mumthers, and Alwynn. The team had just finished dinner, and Grimwarden asked them all to remain, even insisting that Mumthers be seated—a habit she never entertained. “As you can imagine, Alwynn’s presence is unexpected, and far more than a simple inspection of our progress. It would seem that unforeseen events have initiated a move among part of the council of elders to take you”—he indicated the lords—“from Whitehall prematurely, and by force if necessary.”
“You mean they want us to march with them on Vesper Crag?” Autumn asked, remembering the tumultuous council meeting so many months before.
“Why not wait a little longer?” questioned Tommy.
“The Spider King attacked Nightwish Caverns,” Alwynn interjected. An audible gasp went up around the table. “However, the Elves of Allyra have won a formidable victory, albeit costly.”
“Costly in lives?” asked Kiri Lee.
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