The Realms of the Elves a-11

by Коллектив Авторов

  They ran together through the summer night, slowing only a little when the moon finally faded altogether. He noticed that Nilsa managed better in the darkness than a full-blooded human would have-one small gift of her unfortunate elf ancestor, whoever he or she had been. Perhaps it also meant that she'd tire less easily, too.

  Nilsa caught him looking back at her. Between strides she asked, "Can you stop them, elf?"

  "If they are as strong as you say, then they are too many for us."

  "Then what will you do?"

  "This attack will turn the flank of our army at Ashaben-ford. I have to get word to Lord Gaerth and warn him."

  Daried returned his attention to the trail at his feet. The last thing he needed was to turn an ankle on an unseen root.

  "Will he be able to fight them off?" Nilsa asked.

  "He could, but it would be a mistake. We can't risk getting trapped between the Sembian army east of the Ashaba and these mercenaries coming up from the south." He trotted on a few steps, gathering his breath. "Gaerth will abandon the Ashaba defenses and pull back before we are trapped and destroyed along the river."

  Nilsa kept up in silence for a time before she spoke again. "That wont do much to help the folk in Glen or Ashabenford."

  "There is no help for it," he told her. "Enemies on this side of the Ashaba makes the defense of Ashabenford pointless. There is nothing to be served by allowing our warriors to be destroyed here."

  "While your elf warriors are abandoning the dale, mercenary bands will ravage my home!" Nilsa snapped. She stumbled in the darkness and swore to herself. Daried turned back and offered her a hand, but the girl waved him off angrily.

  "I do not know what you think I can do," Daried said. "I have scarcely twenty warriors under my command. We do not suffice to stop a warband of hundreds. As matters stand, flight is our only option."

  "We can muster close to a hundred bows in our own defense. If you aid us, we might be able to drive off the attack."

  Farmers and merchants, fighting against hardened sellswords three times their number? Daried shook his head. There was no sense in it. If he had fifty or sixty skilled elf warriors, he could whittle down their strength with a strategy of ambush-and-retreat, keeping ahead of the slow-footed humans and avoiding a stand-up fight. But the folk of Glen would get themselves slaughtered if they tried any such thing-especially since the Chonda-thans evidently had at least one capable wizard leading their troops. It would be a slaughter.

  They reached the old elven crossing about an hour before daybreak, and paused to splash cold water over their faces and brows. Daried's legs burned with fatigue and his wounds ached abominably, but he knew his own endurance. He'd be exhausted when he reached the town, but he would reach it.

  Nilsa's hair was plastered to her head by sweat and the morning damp, and she looked pale in the gray glimmers of daybreak. She was careful not to sit down while they rested, walking in slow circles by the riverbank as she studied the old river-crossing. The river's song filled the air, murmuring of gravel and worn stone.

  "I don't suppose you have any magic to make this place unusable, do you?" she asked Daried.

  He shook his head. "I have no illusions suitable for concealing it, and much of my battle magic is exhausted. Given a few hours of work with my hands, I could do something. But I do not think we have the time." He glanced up at the gray streaks brightening the sky in the east. "I expect the Chondathans are already marching. They know they've been found out. That means speed is their best weapon now."

  "Lathander preserve us, you're right," Nilsa muttered. She turned away from the coming dawn, and hugged her arms to her chest. "Could I have been any more stupid? The whole warband will be on our heels. I thought I was going to kill my father's murderers, but all IVe done is lead the rest of them back to Glen."

  Daried grimaced. In truth, he had no answers for her. He had little gift for meaningless words of comfort, and he simply couldn't lie about what he saw coming for the tiny village of Glen and its folk in the next few days. He'd seen the marauder's handiwork at the home of Nilsa's father and the homesteads along their bloodstained trail. Still, he tried.

  "They were marching against Glen anyway, Nilsa," he said. "If you hadn't pursued the marauders, you would not have discovered the danger that approaches your village. And you would not have been close at hand to rescue me from the consequences of my own foolishness."

  She looked over her shoulder at him. "My father's death is only the beginning, isn't it?"

  The bladesinger studied the girl. In the growing half-light he could see the elf traces in her features more clearly. Her eyes were as green as spring, and yet she had a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Whatever else she was, she was hardly unfortunate in her heritage. In her face an elf's timelessness met a human's youth, a human's passion, and was transformed into something new again. He could read the despair, the exhaustion, the grief in her features, and yet fire and determination still nickered in her eyes. She was the daughter of heroes, after all. And a daughter of the People, too.

  He met her eyes evenly. "It will be hard on you and your people, Nilsa. But nothing is written yet. This is what we have won with our foolish chase-a few hours to make our choices. Perhaps we will choose more wisely today than we did yesterday."

  The girl shivered in the cool damp air. She glanced to the north, perhaps imagining the long miles still ahead of them. Then she looked down at her feet and said, "Daried, I am sorry you weren't able to get your family's sword back. My grandfather shouldn't have taken it. I don't think he meant to hurt you or your folk, but that doesn't make it right."

  He shrugged awkwardly. "I should have held my temper in check," he said. "Besides, I am not sure that I have lost my chance to get the Morvaeril moonblade back. I think I am not done yet with Lord Sarthos. Our paths will cross soon enough."

  Nilsa gave him a sharp look. "You are going to help us fight the sellswords?"

  Daried nodded. "Yes… I owe you that much for saving my life in the marauders' camp." He shouldered his pack again, and gestured at the river-crossing. "Come, we have a hard day's travel ahead of us still."

  An hour before sunset, Daried and Nilsa parted ways at the smoking ruin of her father's farm. The girl hurried back to the town to carry warning of the Sembian column marching up from the south, while Daried sped back to his warriors' encampment by the banks of the Ashaba.

  He stumbled into camp covered with road dust, his legs hollow and weak, his wounds throbbing and blazing like lines of fire drawn across his limbs and body. Distantly he noted the high clear call of welcome from the sentry, and the rustle of activity as elves emerged from shelters or came running from work in the woods nearby to hail his return. "It seems I've been missed," he muttered to no one in particular. Grimacing in pain, he allowed himself to fall to the ground by the shelter he used as his own. He seized a waterskin close at hand and drank long and deep, then upended the rest of its contents over his head.

  "By Corellon's sword, Daried, what happened to you?" The mage Teriandyln appeared and knelt by his side. His face was sharp with anxiety. "Where have you been?"

  "Summon Andariel," Daried said. "I must have him carry a message to Lord Gaerth right away."

  Teriandyln frowned, but he motioned to a warrior standing nearby. The fellow nodded and hurried off to find the young moon elf. Daried forestalled the wizard's questions with a raised hand, fighting against his exhaustion and organizing his thoughts. "Have our scouts found any sign of the Sembians in the area?"

  "No, we have seen no signs that the Sembians are nearby. Another demon appeared yesterday, though. We spent the day tracking the monster." The wizard paused, then added, "Your sword was missed, Daried. Rollael and Feldyrr were badly wounded fighting the hellspawn."

  "I am sorry for that," Daried said. He looked away. "I should not have been so quick to set aside my responsibilities here. But it may have been for the best that I did."

  The moon elf
Andariel ran up to the shelter and sketched a hasty bow. "You sent for me, Lord Selsherryn?"

  "I did. You must ride to Ashabenford at once, and take this message to Vesilde Gaerth-or whomever you find in command, if Gaerth is not there. Tell him that a strong force of Chondathan mercenaries is marching north through the forest. They've found an old trail through Cormanthor that opens into the western verge of the dale. It seems that there is an old elven crossing of the Ashaba there that we did not know about."

  The warriors around him exchanged grim looks at that. They understood the peril that threatened the elf army in Ashabenford.

  "They are at least three hundred strong," Daried continued, "but there may be more following. As of moonset last night, they were about five miles south of the river, and twenty miles west of Glen. I think they will reach us here around sunset tomorrow, and Ashabenford late in the day after.

  "It is my intention to oppose their march for as long as possible, and help the Glen-folk to defend their town."

  The other elves did not manage to conceal their surprise at that, either. They knew that he had had no plan to skirmish against such a large force or to let the elf company be tied down in the defense of a nameless human village. If he were not so tired, Daried would have found their guarded glances more than a little amusing. As it was, he pretended that he simply didn't notice. He looked up at Andariel, and said, "Repeat what I have just told you."

  Andariel repeated his message, almost word for word. Daried judged it good enough. With a weary nod, he clasped Andariel's shoulder. "You are our swiftest rider. Ride quickly, but ride safe. It is more important for the message to get to Gaerth than it is for you to astonish us with your speed."

  "I will not fail you, Lord Selsherryn," the serious young moon elf replied. He bowed again and hurried off.

  "That's taken care of," Daried sighed. Wearily he pulled his dusty gauntlets from his hands, and began to unbuckle his fine golden mail. After three days of constant wear the armor, light and well-fitted as it was, felt like a lead shroud.

  Teriandyln seated himself on the ground nearby. "I don't recall that you had any intention of fighting such a strong force," he said, speaking to Daried alone. "Are you sure this is wise, my friend?"

  "We need to give Lord Gaerth time to slip away from Ashabenford. Every hour we delay the Sembians' mercenaries gives our warriors a better chance to withdraw without a fight. And we will provide the folk who live in the eastern portion of this dale with a chance to escape the armies converging here."

  "If you are right, they are ten times our number, Daried. Perhaps twenty times."

  "We do not have to face them alone. The Glen-folk can muster a hundred bows in their own defense."

  The wizard looked at Daried thoughtfully. "You did not give much account to that when we first took up our watch here."

  "I hadn't seen any of them shoot then. Now I have." Daried laid his armor on the ground, and stretched himself out on the blankets, loosening his tunic. He could already feel Reverie stealing over him, but he resisted long enough to add, "Make sure you set watchers along the track leading southwest out of Glen. That's the road the mercenaries will follow. We need to find the mercenaries and shadow them until they get here."

  "It will be as you say," Teriandyln answered. "Get some rest, Daried. We will rouse you when we need you."

  The bladesinger nodded once, and sank into silence.

  Late the following afternoon, scouts sighted the mercenary warband marching on Glen. They had moved faster than Daried expected, but many of the mercenaries were mounted. A few of the Chondathans rode big warhorses draped in leather barding, while most of the other riders made do with a saddle and blanket. The men who weren't riding simply walked alongside the column, with dust caking their faces and sweat staining their dirty leather jerkins.

  They must have brought most of the horses with them, Daried decided. It seemed unlikely that the marauders could have appropriated so many horses from the farmsteads dotting the countryside south of Glen. And that meant they faced even more enemies than he'd feared- Nilsa would certainly have noticed any horses corralled near the camp she had found. Given that, Daried couldn't avoid concluding that some of them at least were mercenaries they had not yet encountered.

  "I did not expect so many riders," Teriandyln said softly.

  "Nor did I," Daried admitted.

  He brushed the hair out of his eyes. It was another hot day. Insects hummed and chirped in the still air. They stood in the apple orchards of Andar's manor, warm and fragrant in the late afternoon sun. The blossoms had fallen long ago, and small, tart golden fruit clustered in the branches. In a tenday or so they'd be ready to pick, but Daried wondered if anyone would be left to tend to that work by the time the apples ripened.

  The Chondathans approached slowly, following the dusty cart track through broad grainfields that shone golden in the sun. A few hundred yards farther, and their road would lead them past the orchard where Daried and his warriors waited.

  The sharp-featured mage frowned. "The cavalry ruin your battle plan, Daried. Perhaps it would be wiser to just let them pass. Most of the Glen-folk have taken shelter across the Ashaba in Cormanthor. These marauders will find nothing but an empty village."

  The bladesinger studied the approaching warriors, taking their measure for a long moment. Then he shook his head. "No, we will continue. I suspect that many of those fellows won't handle their horses well in a fight."

  "Do not underestimate them, my friend."

  "Trust me, Teriandyln, I am through with making that mistake. I would have liked fewer riders or more bows, but this is the fight we have, and we will do our best." Daried did not take his eyes away from the approaching band. "Pass word to our warriors to aim first at any man riding a barded horse-those will be the men who have skill in fighting on horseback."

  He waited for a short time, as the mercenaries came closer. The air was heavy and humid, as it always was in this wide green land in summer. The scent of vanished apple blossoms lingered in his memory. Evermeet had no season like it; the fair island of the west was kissed by ocean breezes throughout the year. He hadn't realized how much he had missed the lush richness of Corman-thor's summers in the decades he'd been away.

  "Now?" Teriandyln asked.

  The bladesinger drew in one deep breath. "Yes," he answered, and made a single curt gesture with his hand.

  Twenty elves hidden among the apple trees bent their white bows and loosed arrows at the hundreds of mercenaries marching north toward Glen.

  In the space of three heartbeats, chaos erupted in the mercenary ranks. Silver death sleeted into the horsemen. Men slumped from their saddles, arrows feathering throat or chest. Others roared in sudden pain and anguish, pinioned by elven shafts that did not kill in a single stroke. Horses screamed and reared, footmen scattered, and another round of arrows struck, moving farther back into the human ranks.

  Despite their surprise, the Chondathans were not easily broken. Shouting and swearing, the human mercenaries began moving while the third flight was still in the air. Footmen shrugged large diamond-shaped shields off their shoulders and hurried to kneel shoulder-to-shoulder, interlocking their shields to form a wall of wood and leather against the elven arrows. Crossbow-men closed up behind the shield wall and began to fire blindly back into the trees. Quarrels hissed and whirred through the air over Daried's head.

  Sweeping his sword from its sheath, a captain near the head of the mercenaries avoided several arrows whistling past him. "Come on, you dogs!" he roared. Shouting defiance at the unseen archers, he led a score of the riders straight into the orchard.

  Farther down the Chondathan column, large bands of cavalry swept out into the open grain fields on either side of the track and rode hard, circling wide around the covered ground.

  "Watch the flanks!" Teriandyln warned. "They're trying to trap us here."

  "I see them," Daried replied. But first they had to deal with the Chondathans storming the
orchard. He pointed at the captain and riders thundering toward the elves' hiding places. "Take that one first!"

  The mage nodded once. Deftly he retrieved a pinch of silvery dust from a pouch at his side. With a weaving motion of his hand he cast the dust into the air, then snapped out the words of a deadly spell and gestured at the approaching riders. Each mote of dust hanging in the air above his fingertips grew into a long needle of silver-white ice, and flew swifter than an arrow at the charging horsemen. The brilliant shards punched through steel breastplates and mail shirts like paper, only to explode an instant later in a white flash of deadly frost. The first impulsive rush of the Chondathan horsemen disintegrated in the lethal hail of frost-needles, man and beast alike pierced through or seared by cold so intense that flesh whitened and blood froze.

  Glistening frost and dark blood blighted the apple trees. Daried winced, but he clapped the mage on the shoulder and ordered, "Now move! They may have mages of their own."

  The two elves dashed back thirty yards, darting between the trees. Behind them a great blast of fire erupted in the orchard, just where they had been standing. A wave of sulfurous hot air flapped Daried's cloak around his shoulders and singed the hair on the back of his head. Daried went another ten yards or so, crouched behind a tree, and quickly surveyed the skirmish.

  Arrows still hissed into the ranks of the Chondathans on the road, but they were far fewer. The elf archers moved between shots, trying to avoid being spotted. And Daried could see at a glance that the riders sweeping through the fields around the orchard were drawing the fire of the archers on his flanks. In a matter of moments he and his warriors would be trapped in the grove, and that would be all for them.

  He clutched a silver medallion hanging above his heart, and whispered the words of a spell. The magic carried his words to all the elves in the grove, whether close by or a hundred yards away.

  "Fall back now!" he commanded them. "To the second line, quickly!"

  Together, the bladesinger and the wizard turned and sprinted toward the north, heading for the far side of the great orchard. Daried glimpsed more of his warriors, appearing and disappearing as they ran through the trees alongside them. He could hear the distant shouts of the humans behind him-it had not taken the Chondathans long at all to realize that their ambushers were in flight.