by Perrin, Don
Hirinthas gave a short nod and then went to sit beside his cousin.
Vermala suddenly gasped and lurched over sideways, the brown potion he’d drunk spewing from the side of his mouth. The wounded elf began to convulse. The healer elf inserted a stick in Vermala’s mouth, so that he wouldn’t bite his tongue, and tried to hold the elf down. The tremors were too violent. Theros knelt in front of Vermala. As gently as he could, he held the elf’s shoulders pinned to the ground.
After half a minute, the elf lay still. At first, Theros thought he was dead, but then Vermala’s eyes opened. He glanced around, looking first at Theros and then over to the healer.
“What happened? Is he going to be all right?” Theros asked, shaken.
“His fever is broken, the toxic spirits have been purged from his body. He will begin to heal.” The healer started to pack up his herbs and potions.
“Looks to me like the cure’s near as bad as the injury,” Theros stated.
The healer was wrapping more bandages around the wound. “In the old days, our people had healers who could ease pain with a song, heal torn flesh by touching it, even restore life to the dead, if you believe the stories. And then came the Cataclysm and the gods left us. Now we must fall back on our wits. And even then, very often, my skill is not enough.”
The healer looked over at Theros. “You did what was necessary for Vermala. You kept him warm, kept him awake.”
“I’ve seen wounds like his before,” said Theros gruffly. “Too many times. Too many.” He shook his head.
The healer helped Vermala to drink some water. “He is out of danger. He can be moved. He should be carried back to Quivernost.”
Vermala motioned for the healer to come closer, so that he could speak. In whispered tones, he conversed with the healer. Then the wounded elf reclined, closing his eyes. He sighed and fell asleep.
The healer sat back on his heels, gazing thoughtfully at Theros, who had the impression the conversation had been about him.
“If he was thanking me,” said Theros, embarrassed and wishing these elves weren’t so damned polite, “just tell him not to give it a second thought.”
The healer tucked a blanket securely around Vermala’s shoulders. “He asked me to thank you. He then thanked me for my services, and passed on to me the burden of your safe passage through the forest. I am now charged, along with Hirinthas, with your safekeeping.”
Rising to his feet, the elf made a formal bow. “My name is Berenthinis. I am the healer for the village of Quivernost.”
Theros bowed clumsily. Something the elf had said disturbed him. “I’m having a little trouble understanding. Did you say that you are the healer for the village? Do you mean that there’s only one and you’re it?”
The elf nodded. “That is true. The task of attending to the sick is considered an onerous one among my people. It reminds them constantly that the gods have left them. They know it must be done, but there are few willing to do it.”
“And you’d abandon your people in order to escort me? What if someone needs you? What if a child falls ill? What if someone’s injured?”
Berenthinis raised an eyebrow. “That is not your concern, Master Ironfeld. I have accepted the charge. I am honor bound.”
Theros scratched his beard. Blasted elves! No common sense. Plus, Theros was getting tired of the fact that these elves apparently considered him a babe in the woods, likely to come to harm without their careful guidance.
“Look, healer.” Theros had completely forgotten the elf’s name. They all sounded alike to him anyway. “I’m responsible for my own well-being. I appreciate that you have given me safe passage, but you’re needed back with your people. I’m here to help you, not be a burden to you. I am going to take Vermala’s responsibility. You are released from your obligation.”
The healer studied Theros a moment, then bowed again. “As you wish,” was all he said.
Well, at least he hadn’t argued. Theros guessed that it wasn’t difficult for the elf to give up the responsibility. It was a rare elf indeed who would relish the job of keeping a human alive, no matter how grateful they were to him.
Theros and Hirinthas constructed a stretcher with two pine branches loosely held together with leather straps. They laid pine boughs over the straps, providing a bed for the wounded elf.
Hirinthas whistled like a bird. Within minutes, the elves guarding the perimeter had returned. They had been so silent, Theros had forgotten they were out there. Two were assigned to carry Vermala. Theros untied the prisoners and allowed them to put their boots back on. The elves bound the prisoners’ hands behind their backs with strips of leather. They formed into a column, with Hirinthas at the head, and Theros taking up the position of rear guard.
They traveled slowly, moving carefully so as not to jar the injured elf. Theros carried his pack, his axe in its holster on his back. He kept a close eye on the prisoners, wondered what he was going to do about them, about Moorgoth. The prisoners’ mouths were gagged, for which Theros was grateful. If the prisoners started talking about Theros having worked once for Moorgoth, they could make Theros’s life very difficult. He’d have a tough time explaining that to the elves.
All these years, Theros had been living with a price on his head and he’d never known it. Ignorance is bliss—or so the kender say.
They reached Quivernost just after nightfall. The healer ordered Vermala to be taken to the healer’s house. Berenthinis followed after the stretcher. Before he left, Theros stopped him, placing his hand on the elf’s shoulder.
He felt the elf flinch beneath his touch, hastily removed his hand.
“Listen, I just want you to know that I appreciate you taking on my safety as your responsibility. It was an honorable thing to do. But you have a greater responsibility to these people. I don’t have to tell you that. Still, you did me a great honor today.” Theros bowed clumsily to the elf.
Berenthinis appeared taken aback. He studied Theros. “You are a strange man, Master Ironfeld. It is rare these days to hear anyone speak of honor, much less a human.”
He returned the bow, then hurried to catch up with the stretcher-bearers.
Theros chuckled, but only to himself. “I’ve probably ruined that poor elf’s whole philosophy concerning us savage humans.”
Hirinthas was hovering at Theros’s elbow. “Come with me, Master Ironfeld. I will introduce you to the other human who will be working with you.”
Theros followed Hirinthas to a meeting hall built into a huge tree trunk. They entered a large room filled with elves, eating and drinking. It was mealtime, and the room was evidently used as the town tavern when not used for official business.
Hirinthas looked around the room. The only other human in the place sat at a table, eating bread and shrimp. Another elf sat with him, also eating. The two were not engaged in conversation and Theros had the feeling that the elf was some sort of guard. The human looked up as they approached, and his face brightened at the sight of Theros.
Rising to his feet, the man wiped bits of shrimp tails off his hands and extended his hand to Theros. “I’m Koromer Vlusaj. They’ve brought me on here as the shipwright. Pleasure to see another human! No offense, there.” He nodded to Hirinthas. “But it’s good to see your own kind.”
Theros sat down next to Koromer. The man was big, almost as big as Theros. Koromer’s face was honest and open. His skin was bronzed from outdoor work and his hair bleached blond by the sun. He had a booming laugh that shook the tree in which they sat; it invariably startled the elves. Koromer’s laugh went off like a crack of thunder.
They all sat down, Hirinthas taking his seat next to Theros and across from the elf sitting with Koromer. A serving maid brought both Hirinthas and Theros a bowl of shrimp and some bread. She returned with two glasses of a sweet elven wine and a jug of water. Theros thanked the woman, who stared at him blankly. Obviously she didn’t understand a word. She was quick to leave.
“I hear you’re an iro
nsmith.” Koromer said.
Theros nodded. “I can do ironsmithing, but I was trained as a weapons-smith. Still, I’ll be able to produce whatever you need, as long as I’ve got the forge, the tools, and the steel to do the job.”
Koromer described what tools were available. Theros considered them, decided he could use a few more. He turned to Hirinthas. “Look, when you go back to Solace, please see if you can find a—”
Hirinthas said quietly, “I’m not going back to Solace, Master Ironfeld. However, I will be glad to find someone who is, and have him perform the task.”
Koromer jerked a thumb toward the elf sitting with him. Theros understood.
He grunted. “So I’m to have my own personal watchdog, is that it?”
“It is for your own safety,” Hirinthas replied, a faint flush mantling his cheeks. Even he had the grace to feel somewhat ashamed. “My charge was to see you safely through the forests of Qualinesti. You are still here. Until you leave, I will be your guard. The same is true of Taranthas here. We will protect both you and Master Vlusaj until you leave our service.”
Theros could guess what the elf’s statement really meant: And we will protect our people from contact with you humans.
Koromer and Theros exchanged glances. It wasn’t worth arguing with the elf over the matter. He had his orders. And Theros had to admit that the thought of having a guard was somewhat comforting. The elves were at war, and there was no reason that he should become a casualty. He’d just have to view Hirinthas as a bodyguard, not a prison guard.
Theros turned back to Koromer, and together they began to map out a strategy to build the first elven fleet.
Chapter 29
“She’s not pretty, but she’ll do.” Theros said.
“Aye, that she will,” said Koromer, regarding their work with pride.
They looked out over the pier at the last of the evacuation ships. Her elven name was Spiriniltan’thimis. Koromer, who had difficulty with the language, did not even try to pronounce it. He just called it “Spirit.”
Theros stood with the shipwright and their two ever-present elf bodyguards. They had spent the last eleven months producing the ships for the evacuation of Qualinesti. This one would join her sisters, now sailing the run between Quivernost, on the shores of the Qualinesti Nation, and Qualimori, on the southern end of Southern Ergoth. A crew of elves were busy aloft, finishing the rigging of the ship.
“She’ll make her first run in three days. She’s a fine ship. But I’ve got to admit you’re right, Theros. She sure isn’t pretty.” Koromer had designed the ship to be long and flat, with only two main sail masts, the same as the three previous ships. “But she’ll do the job.”
The run to Qualimori took only three days across open ocean. The ship was not designed to stay at sea for months or even weeks. This design permitted the maximum load capacity. She could carry eight hundred elves, with minimal provisions, or five hundred with a full cargo load.
Hirinthas could not share in the compliments. The squat, rolling vessel obviously offended his sensibilities. He said something to his fellow elf in their native tongue. Theros understood, although he pretended he didn’t. He’d managed to pick up quite a bit of the elven language during his stay among them, but he was careful not to flaunt his knowledge. He couldn’t ever learn to pronounce the words the way the elves did, and they always winced when they heard him butcher their beautiful language.
“Like the others, it is obviously a human-designed ship,” Hirinthas said.
Had this been an elven ship, it would have been as sleek as a flying fish and just as useless. This was one of the reasons, Theros guessed, that Gilthanas had hired humans to build the ships. They did not have time to manufacture beautiful ships—just functional ships.
Theros had set up his forge in a building near the pier. He made all of the nails, pulleys, chains and metal braces. Koromer specified each piece with a diagram, and the two discussed the size and feel and weight of the piece. Theros then built one for testing. Once Koromer approved, Theros began to produce them in the quantities needed.
Eventually, they had built a fleet of four ships. Gilthanas calculated that it would take four of these ships, each running day and night, to evacuate the main population of the Qualinesti Nation in time. Already, fifteen thousand elves had made the crossing to Qualimori. They had started as soon as the first ship was operational and kept going. Now, with three ships in operation, they were ferrying over two thousand elves across every week. With this fourth ship, they could take nearly three thousand.
The first ship had been the hardest to build. They worked from a preliminary design that Koromer had developed. Changes were made daily to the working design as they found problems or ideas that just didn’t work. Theros and Koromer almost came to blows over a rudder fitting that Koromer had Theros build, then rebuild, then build again, all because of changes in design. The final version worked, and they settled their differences. Now, after four successful launches, they counted on each other as friends.
And one morning, Theros woke up and realized that, for the first time in his life, he was happy. After years of living in a stinking, crowded city, he enjoyed being back near the sea again, hearing the endless song of the waves and the cries of the birds, breathing in the clean, fresh sea air. He worked hard during the day and spent his nights eating and drinking and talking with Koromer.
Now, seeing the final ship nearly launched, Theros went aboard to inspect her. He found her to be seaworthy and left the finishing of the work and the cleaning up to the elven crew. He turned his thoughts and steps toward a well-earned dinner. The sun had already started to set by the time he arrived at the meeting hall.
A cheer went up as Theros entered. Koromer was already seated at a table, holding a large mug. Theros smiled, bowed to the crowd of elves, and headed straight for Koromer.
“Hey! Where did you get that?” Theros demanded, staring into Koromer’s mug. If his eyes didn’t deceive him, Koromer was drinking ale! It had been many months since Theros had tasted ale.
Koromer pointed to a small keg sitting on the floor beside him. He took a spare mug from the table and filled it with dark, foaming ale. Theros’s mouth began to water.
“Gilthanas brought us a present! He says it’s from a place in Solace known as the Inn of the Last Home. Here, try it. It’s beyond compare!”
Theros lifted the mug and drained it in a swallow. The ale was woodsy and bitter and cut through the salt tang that always seemed to be in his mouth. He had never in his life tasted anything so delicious. Putting down the mug, he wiped his eyes, unable to speak for a short time.
Koromer, laughing, filled the mug again.
“This is really good. Did you say Gilthanas is here?”
“Yes, he’s over in the corner, talking to Hirinthas,” Koromer said.
“I’m going to talk to him. Want to come?”
Koromer shook his head emphatically. “I’m not leaving this keg until it’s empty!”
Theros laughed. Taking his foaming mug, he headed over to the corner Koromer had indicated.
Gilthanas actually did him the honor of rising to greet him. “Theros Ironfeld. It is good to see you. We owe you much, not only for your work, but for your loyalty and your patience. I know that living among our people cannot have been easy for you.”
He spoke in Qualinesti elven, obviously expecting that Theros would understand him. Theros glanced at Hirinthas. The elf was more observant than Theros had realized.
Theros made a suitable reply, also in Qualinesti, doing his best to pronounce the slippery words. As he did, he studied Gilthanas. The elf looked much thinner than when Theros had seen him last. He was haggard, gaunt and seemed tired to the point of exhaustion. Still, he held himself straight, demonstrating his royal lineage.
“Thank you,” said Theros. “It was good to work on a project that will truly benefit people. The Spiriniltan’thimis”—he stumbled over the name—“is the best of the four
ships. We were able to trim the sails differently on this one so that it is more efficient in the water. She’ll do several knots faster than the others. So, tell me about the war against this Verminaard.”
Gilthanas was grim. “I cannot say it is going well. Still, we fight on. Verminaard has pushed into the southern portion of the forest, and we cannot rout him. It has been nearly a month since we were able to mount a raid on Pax Tharkas. I don’t think we can afford the manpower to do that again. He is growing stronger and we are growing weaker. Still, the evacuation is ahead of schedule, thanks to you and Koromer. The Nation of Qualinesti and I owe you a great debt.”
Theros smiled. “I did what needed doing. I’m just glad it’s working out.”
Gilthanas nodded. “Your work here is finished, Theros Ironfeld. Now that the fourth ship is ready for sailing, I am here to fulfill my promises to you. In the morning, I will give you your well-earned steel, plus a little extra—a gift from my father, the Speaker of the Suns, to show our thanks for staying until all four ships were completed. You did not have to do that. Hirinthas and Vermala will escort you to Solace, assuming that is where you still want to go.”
Theros drank from his mug. “Truth be told, I haven’t really thought about where I’ll go next. I’ve been too busy getting these ships ready to sail. I don’t have any plans.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to offer to stay here, but he abandoned that. The elves were grateful for his services, they liked him well enough and probably trusted him by now. But they didn’t want him living among them. They didn’t want any humans living among them.
“Sure,” he said offhandedly, “I think I would like to set up shop in Solace. I hear it’s a good place to do business. People from all over go through there. I can make a fine business in weapons and armor. And if there’s an inn there that sells ale like this—well, I think I might spend the rest of my life there!”
He returned to Koromer and they held their own private party, which lasted well into the evening. He went back to his quarters late, long after Solinari had set.