Siran saluted quickly and ran off, followed closely by Hoil. Birch followed Maran down another corridor.
They moved swiftly, and twice more they were forced to stop and defend themselves against enemy elves. They took one pair by surprise as the intruders were trying to sneak up on them. The two were invisible and had no way of knowing Maran and Birch could see them. They were left wide-eyed and staring into pools of their own blood as Maran led Birch through a secret passage to avoid a long detour.
As they moved deeper into the palace, the number of lit torches decreased steadily until they were finally left in complete darkness. Maran focused briefly and held his hand out, but it contained nothing Birch could see at first. Then suddenly a glowing black ball appeared in the elf’s hand. There was a slight change in the lighting, but Birch had never lost the ability to see in the first place. His flame-tinged night-vision had provided ample light for him in the black hallways, but now he trusted that Maran could see equally as well with the strange light he had conjured.
Finally they stopped running and slowly approached a corridor with two elves standing on the far side with their backs turned. On the ground at their feet were six elves wearing guards’ uniforms, all of them clearly dead.
Maran motioned for Birch to stay back a moment, and he slipped forward silently. He approached the guards swiftly but without sound and drove a knife into each elf’s neck. They dropped to the ground, adding to the pile.
Maran waved one hand in front of the door, then knocked briskly.
“Your highness, open the door,” Maran said urgently. “I serve your father, and I have with me Birch, the paladin with whom you dined this evening.”
No response came through the door. Maran dropped the Mist of Shadows and allowed himself to become visible to the unaided eye.
“Bend your sight under the door, your highness, and see for yourself.”
A moment later the door opened and the young prince was visible inside. His face was wary, and he crouched with a twin-bladed halven held expertly in his hands.
“Wise choice, young one,” Maran said with a humorless smile. “Now excuse me a moment.”
With Birch’s help, they dragged all the bodies inside and shut the door again. Maran took one of the discarded halvens from a dead guard and swung it a few times to test the balance.
“Who are you?” Rill asked guardedly.
“I am… your uncle,” Maran said with only the briefest of pauses. “I am your father’s brother, exiled shortly before your birth because of my own use of Shadowweaving. I was trained by the same elf who trains you, which is how I knew you have the same abilities I possess.”
“I’ve heard mention of you, when they thought I was not present,” Rill said seriously, and finally his face lost its suspicion. “My father and mother spoke of you with nothing but love, even when no other would utter your name. I’ve always felt something of a kindred spirit with you, uncle, because of my own abilities.”
Birch knew this must have hurt Maran, hearing it from his own son and not being able to acknowledge him, but the elven thief bore it with the same impassivity he normally wore.
“What’s going on in the rest of the palace?” Rill asked.
Birch gave the young elf credit. He was cool and composed, and he was concerned about the larger picture, not just the attacks on his own person. Maran filled in his son on the events they’d witnessed so far and what they surmised had happened.
“Well, we can’t stay here,” Rill said adamantly. “It seems they know where to find me, so I must be somewhere else. You and I can use the Mist of Shadows to hide us all, uncle, but we must assume they have skilled Weavers who can penetrate the invisibility. Using a shadow light to make our enemies visible would only make it easier on them.”
“Don’t worry about that, young prince,” Birch said. “Your uncle and I can see the intruders even while they’re invisible, and if you will trust me a moment, I can make it so you can as well.”
Rill glanced at Maran then nodded, and Birch gripped his head and locked eyes with him. The young prince cried out and shielded his eyes with one hand, then stared about him.
“I don’t see any differently,” he said.
“Those who are invisible will appear with a faint crimson aura around their bodies,” Birch explained. “Aside from that, you shouldn’t notice any change in your vision.”
Rill nodded in calm acceptance. Birch’s estimation of the young prince went up even further.
“Then we’re ready to go,” Maran said, “and I know just the place to hide.”
- 2 -
Hoil entered the throne room a heartbeat behind Siran and stared in dismay at the scene unfolding before him. A dozen elven guards stood in a tight circle around the king, who leaned uncertainly against the edge of his glowing throne. Three red-tinged elves stood with him, their expressions concerned but resolute. One elf in particular caught Hoil’s eye. His determination was a palpable force evident in every nuance of his body. His face was hidden by a balaclava, and he was dressed entirely in black.
The circle of loyal guards was surrounded by nearly three times their number of enemies, all of them vying for a position to attack the weaker defenses. Around the edges of this group prowled a half dozen red-tinged elves, each looking for his own chance to join the fray.
Siran rushed into the room, his weapon held high. He bellowed no war cry and gave no warning, but lit into the enemy from behind with a silent rush of cold, deadly grace. One elf fell to the ground severed almost in half at the waist, and in the same swing Siran lopped another elf’s leg from his body. The weapon blurred as he spun, and two more elves fell to his furious assault. Then they became aware of his presence and turned to face him, but it seemed to make little difference. Siran slipped through their ranks with lethal grace, avoiding their attacks with ease while delivering shattering blows in turn. None stood before him for more than a few seconds, and with his help the tide of the battle was quickly turned.
Hoil meanwhile joined the attack by moving against the invisible elves. The first two fell before they realized Hoil could see them, and a third died paying too much attention to Siran’s assault and not enough to the broad-shouldered human who slipped up behind him and nearly cut his head from his shoulders with one slice from his knife.
Then the other three red-tinged elves attacked Hoil and he was forced to defend himself against ready enemies who were at least as skilled as he. One slipped and died with Hoil’s knife in his chest, but the other two were more careful and Hoil couldn’t beat past one’s defenses without the other attacking from the opposite direction. Out of the corner of his eye, Hoil saw a ray of shadowy light arc forth from the direction of the throne to strike one of the elves he was facing. The light struck the elf in the chest and he immediately collapsed, leaving Hoil free to deal with his remaining opponent.
When that elf lay dying at his feet, Hoil turned and saw that the man who’d saved him was one of the three Do standing with the king. Not the fiercely resolute one, however. He still stood by his monarch with the look of a man who would die before leaving the king’s side. The Do who had saved Hoil returned his nod of thanks, but said nothing.
“Your majesty,” Siran said, and Hoil realized all the enemies in the hall were now dead.
“El’Siran, my most faithful defender,” the king said, his voice trembling only slightly in the wake of the carnage around him. “I should have known you would come to my rescue.”
“We are not safe yet, your majesty,” Siran said, brushing aside the compliment. “You must flee to a more secure location.”
“Now I can’t allow that,” a voice said.
An elf wrapped in gold-trim, purple robes stepped from a side doorway and looked haughtily at them all. Hoil recognized him as the same man who’d stayed silent and in the background during his previous audience with the king.
“Decein,” the king rasped. “You’re behind this?”
“In a wor
d, yes,” the elf admitted, exhibiting no trace of shame or chagrin. “Your majesty’s ability to rule has been waning for some time now, and I feel it is only my duty to see that the most effective leader sits on the throne of our nation.”
“You?” the king laughed incredulously, then coughed spasmodically. “You wouldn’t know how to lead a class of school children from one tree to the next. The only reason the Diet’Si chose you to lead them is because you paid for their favor. You’re deluding yourself, Decein.”
The violet-robed elf’s mouth twisted contemptuously. “For once, your majesty is thinking clearly. You are correct in saying I would not make the best leader.” He paused meaningfully. “But your grandson would.”
“Rill?”
“Of course. You don’t really think I handled this all myself, did you?” Decein said condescendingly, then laughed. “It seems your grandson is quite the ambitious little scamp. Of course, he’ll need proper guidance, which is where I come in.”
The resolute elf beside the throne leaned close to the king and whispered in his ear. His brilliant green eyes were intense, but the elf’s lips were hidden by the black balaclava, so Hoil had no idea what he was telling the king. The king’s face had gone bloodlessly pale at Decein’s accusations, but his pallor recovered swiftly as the invisible elf spoke to him.
“So you would guide my grandson, would you?” the king said scathingly. “I don’t for a minute believe your accusations, and if you think my grandson is weak enough to listen to anything you’d have to say to him, you’re an even bigger fool than I thought, Decein.”
Decein just laughed at this, then abruptly his eyes went wide. He blinked a few times, then turned his head to stare behind him. Then he fell forward, a knife buried to the hilt in the back of his neck.
Hoil saw a red-tinged elf step forth from the shadows, and suddenly the whole room lit on fire as red-tinged figures seemed to spring from the very walls to fill the room. A few were not surrounded by the crimson aura marked by Birch’s strange power, but Hoil stopped estimating their numbers when he reached fifty, and more arrived with every moment.
“Protect the king!” Siran cried.
Hoil rushed to join the others around the king, and within seconds they were surrounded by the growing horde of shadowy elves. Hoil tried to position himself wherever the press of red-tinged elves was most noticeable, because he and Siran were the only two who could unfailingly tell where the invisible elves were. Two of the three Do elves standing with the king joined them in the fight, taking after Hoil and concentrating on the other invisible Do elves attacking them. They wielded swords and shadowy magic with equal frequency, taking a bloody toll on their enemies.
A flicker of shadowy light caught Hoil’s gaze, and he watched in terror as a ray of light arced toward him from an enemy Do on the outskirts of those attacking them. At the last second, the light warped and bent toward one of the loyal Do, who gathered it in one hand, only to release it again toward the elf who had first cast the light. The Shadowweaver received his own spell with lethal effect and crumpled lifelessly to the ground.
Siran was a terrible sight to behold, mauling and slaughtering enemies with effortless dispatch. Once he disappeared into the press of attacking elves, and Hoil heard a sudden surge of screaming yells from the midst of their enemies. A full minute later, Siran carved a path for himself and rejoined his comrades. Now, however, the elves facing him were more reluctant to attack, and most hesitated or tried to move away to attack anywhere Siran did not present an implacable force of death.
Despite their valiant defense, however, their numbers dwindled and some elves slipped through the cracks to attack the king. These all died swiftly at the hands of the king’s personal defender, the resolute Do at his side. For a moment, Hoil had some small hope they would withstand the might of their attackers. Then the two elves on his right fell almost at the same instant, and that side of their defense crumpled like so much paper. Hoil shifted in an attempt to compensate and fill the hole himself, but they surged past him and knocked him to the floor.
Avoiding the press of their feet and striking wherever possible, Hoil twisted about until he could see behind him to where the king and his defender stood against the sudden press. The king threw up a hand and a miniature sun blossomed in the air before him, blinding those nearest and making them easy targets for his companion. After a moment’s pause, the sun flew toward another enemy, who burst into flames as the light slammed into his chest. He fell screaming to the floor and tried rolling to extinguish the flames. The king slumped back, clearly exhausted by the unaccustomed effort.
Treacherous elves fell in quick succession to the defender’s blade, but he was one against more than a dozen, and they nearly overwhelmed him by sheer press of numbers. The king scrambled back into his throne, too old and tired to do more than watch helplessly as death stalked ever closer. Hoil fought his way to his feet and started to attack the elves from behind, but he couldn’t get close enough fast enough to stop the inevitable.
Siran appeared on one side of Hoil, and the last elven guard on the other side. Absently, Hoil recognized the enormous elf who had been standing protectively by the king during their audience. The three of them were all that remained of the king’s guards, but everyone was dead save for the press that stood between them and the elven monarch. Hoil took a step further away from Siran to give the elf room to swing, and the butchery commenced as they carved their way through the attackers from behind.
They were close enough to the throne that Hoil could now see the king’s defender again. What was visible of his face through his torn balaclava was soaked in his own blood, and his clothing hung loosely on his frame with numerous gashes in the black material. But his eyes were fierce, and he fought with grim determination. He had lost whatever weapons he’d held, and now fought bare-handed against swords and knives.
The black-clad elf pointed at an enemy and a ball of shadowy light shot forth and struck the man in the chest. The elf collapsed and was crushed beneath the boots of those pressing behind him. The king’s defender scooped up a knife from the ground and threw it in the same motion with deadly accuracy, then felled a second elf with the deadly gray light he’d used before. And then the press of elves was too close, too many opponents for him to fight effectively.
He stopped one weapon on the right, gripping the bare blade with his hand and averting the attack. At the same time, on the left, he gripped another elf’s wrist, trying to force a knife out of his hand. Then suddenly another elf leapt in front of him and thrust the straight edge of a halven through his chest. The weapon slid between his ribs and poked out the back before it was withdrawn.
His eyes widened, and a gurgling choke wracked his body, but still he didn’t fall. He stumbled back from his assailants, placing himself directly before his king. Two elves approached from either side, and the king stood and pressed against his invisible defender from behind, seeking whatever protection could be gained. But the same elf who had stabbed the defender attacked again, and the mortally wounded Do was unable to defend himself or his king. The blade took him again in the chest, this time just below his ribcage. The three-foot blade pierced his body and went cleanly through to impale the king behind him.
“My life before yours,” the elf grated, the first sound he’d uttered during the entire battle.
Then both elves fell to the ground as their attacker wrenched his blade and withdrew the weapon. He turned and received Siran’s own weapon in his throat as the fierce guard reached the center of the fray. Siran spun the blade and the elf’s head ripped free even as Siran whirled and attacked another elf. The large elf on Hoil’s other side had fallen sometime during their last assault, and it fell to Hoil and Siran to finish off the remaining assassins.
With Siran’s rage fueling his already murderous assault, the attacking elves stood no chance against him and soon Siran was the only elf left alive in the room. He and Hoil were both torn and bloody from their battle, b
ut their wounds seemed trivial compared to the sight of the elven monarch laying slain before them.
“Let’s go,” Hoil said, resting one hand on Siran’s shoulder. “We must now look to the prince.”
Siran nodded bleakly, and they rushed out of the room.
Chapter 18
As the leaf falls from the tree and is absorbed into the ground and taken back by the tree, so too does an elf’s life fade with the sun, only to reawaken with the dawn of a new birth.
- The “El’Si’Li’Do’Ren”[24] (unknown)
- 1 -
Maran closed the door to the royal crypt behind them, shutting them in complete darkness. Ancient death lay thick in the air all around, and Birch’s skin crawled as he laid his sword down on a sarcophagus. His fingers itched mercilessly, driving him wild with agony and the suppressed urge to claw at his skin to reach the burning inside. The pain came faster and more intensely now than ever before. Maran lit another of his lights, made a tying-off motion with his hand, and suspended the black orb in the air, giving the two elves their needed illumination.
Birch felt the sanctity of the crypt like a balm on his soul. While this place had never been blessed and the Tricrus was nowhere in sight, he nevertheless felt a sense of peace and tranquility permeate the room, and he allowed it to ease away the burning in his hands and the trembling in his heart. Without his shield on hand, he’d been wielding his sword two-handed for better control in the cramped hallways. They’d had to defend themselves several times against Do assassins, and he was worried they might have left a trail that could be followed to their current hiding place. But at least the door was thick stone and not wood, and would be that much more difficult to breach.
The Devil's Deuce (The Barrier War) Page 23