Tanis the shadow years p2-3

by Barbara Siegel

  "I suppose it was," the half-elf reflected, suddenly suffering deep pangs of guilt about his feelings for Brandella.

  Clotnik stared at the ground again. "He nearly died twice during that first day," he said. 'The first time, he sat straight up and screamed at someone, "Not yet! Not yet!' Then he blinked several times as if he were lost or confused. Soon, though, he smiled again, as if it were all right. The second time, I really thought I'd lost him. It had just gotten dark. Lunitari was low in the sky, casting a dim red light on him, when he began to choke and cough up blood. His eyes opened wide as if Death had caught him by surprise. He stopped breathing. I listened for a heartbeat and couldn't hear one. He was absolutely still. I went to close his eyes, but I stopped."

  Clotnik bit his lip and glanced wonderingly at Brandella. "When I looked into his eyes," he said, "I saw you."

  She took his hand as tears flowed freely down her cheeks. "Kishpa came back to life," Clotnik told her in a whisper. His eyes glittered like emeralds. "For you."

  "Where did you bury him?" she asked in a voice racked with emotion.

  Clotnik rose and pulled her to her feet. "I'll take you to him."

  Tanis chose to stay behind. The grave was at the top of a hill beyond the glade. Clotnik left her there and returned to sit quietly next to Tanis.

  Her grief was private. Her words to Kishpa were carried away on the wind, but who was to say they were not heard?

  38

  Fathers and sons

  'Tell ме about mу father," ClotNik insisted while they awaited Brandella's return from the grave site. The dwarf and the half-elf sat on a log near the water's edge. "Is that why you found me in Solace and brought me to Kishpa?" asked the half-elf. "Was it so I would meet your father?" Clotnik squinted into the harsh afternoon light from the lowering sun. Long shadows splayed out behind them, and Tanis pondered the shadow that a father could throw over the life of his child. How well he knew it. "I told you before you entered Kishpa's memory that I wanted to go myself," the dwarf reminded him. "Kishpa wouldn't let me. He was hiding something from me, Tanis. I'm sure of it. You were there. Now you know what Kishpa knew; his memory is now your memory. What was it he did not want me to know?"

  Tanis averted his eyes from the dwarf to let his gaze fall, once again, on the lengthening shadows.

  "Was my father an evil man? Was that it?" questioned Clotnik nervously, seeing that Tanis wasn't answering.

  Tanis shook his head vehemently. "Not at all! I was only pausing to gather my thoughts," the half-elf reassured Clotnik. "He was, in fact, a rather good man. Not perfect. Better than most, I would say."

  "You're not telling me anything," scowled the juggler, slinging a sharp-edged, fire-scarred chunk of granite into the lake. It landed with a plunk, scattering sodden ashes and sending floating wood bobbing on the ripples. "I don't want generalities. Tell me what happened!"

  "A great deal happened. I don't know-"

  "Yes, you do!" shouted Clotnik, jumping to his feet in agitation. A flush rose in his rounded cheeks, matching the glow cast by the setting sun. "Was Mertwig a thief? Did he steal? Tell me! I've heard the talk from villagers. Some said he ran away before the issue could be settled. Others said he was so offended by the accusation that he left Ankatavaka in a huff. With no help from Kishpa, I learned that it was right after that time that my father died." He wrung his stubby hands, his eyes brilliant with anguish. "My mother went back to the village and met me when the ship brought me home, but I was very young then and I don't remember much. All I know was that she was always very sad after I returned. For a very long time, I thought I was the cause of her sadness."

  Clotnik stared at his hands as if he might have done something with them to spare Yeblidod her agony.

  Finally, he said, "My mother died within a year of my father's death."

  Tanis shook his head sadly. "I didn't know. I'm sorry," he offered. "I liked her very much." He remembered her warm alto, the kindness of her touch.

  "I've heard all about my mother," Clotnik said with a world-weary sigh. His voice was leaden. "I'm proud of her and think of her often. She left me that glass ball that I juggle. The one you caught in the Inn."

  Tanis held his breath. "I remember," the half-elf said softly. "Please. Sit down. I'll tell you what I can."

  Clotnik sat, his attention squarely on Tanis. The half- elf touched his fingertips to his lips, contemplating his words, and the dwarf leaned forward.

  "If you want to know what kind of person your father was," spoke Tanis, "I can tell you this: He twice saved my life. Both times, Clotnik, he was in great peril or great pain-or both. The first time, he attacked a giant spider that was about to devour me. I would have perished if he hadn't diverted the monster's attention to himself."

  Clotnik beamed with incipient pride. But he said nothing, seeming to want to avoid interrupting the narrative.

  "The second time," Tanis continued, "he was mortally wounded, yet he dragged himself to my rescue, slaying a goblin who was about to strike me from behind." Tanis looked directly in Clotnik's eyes. "Do these sound like the actions of a bad man?"

  The slanting amber light from the setting sun bathed Clotnik's face, his eyes sparkling with a pleasure that went far beyond the reflected glory of the bright orb in the western sky. No, Tanis thought, the reflected glory came from Mertwig. Clotnik seemed to sit straighter, hold his head more erect-even his ears seemed to droop less. He was seeing himself in a different way, Tanis realized; Clotnik had become the son of a hero. Tanis found himself envying the dwarf.

  "He did all that?" the dwarf said in awe.

  "That and more," Tanis replied, wishing he were describing his own father. "He was also protective of you and generous to your mother. His first impulse was to send you out of harm's way when there was fear of a human invasion. And he wanted only the best for your mother-even," he said without thinking, "when he couldn't afford it." He caught his breath, hoping Clotnik had missed the slip.

  Borne up on this proud image of his father, Clotnik shook his head. "Then why wouldn't Kishpa tell me7 Why, when I asked him about the rumors, did he say he didn't know? He'd always change the subject."

  "For a simple reason," Tanis said with a benevolent smile. "Kishpa really didn't know." Tanis did not add, however, that he was the only person to whom the dwarf told the truth, just moments before he died.

  "I still don't understand," Clotnik said.

  "What?"

  The dwarf swung and faced Tanis again. The setting sun left him a silhouette to the half-elf. "If there were rumors about my father in Ankatavaka," Clotnik asked, "why didn't Kishpa stand up for him?"

  Tanis bent over to peel a piece of wood from the log. He busied himself with pulling little chips of charred wood from the piece, then wiped his sooty hands on the sandy ground. "He stood up for you, didn't he?" Tanis answered, deflecting the question. "He took care of you all these years. Isn't that what Brandella said?"

  "It's just strange," insisted the dwarf. "Kishpa took me in very soon after my mother died. Brandella had already disappeared, and I've always wondered if it was her loss that caused him to take me in. It seemed he needed someone to talk to. And me… I needed someone to listen to. He treated me as if I were his own. But when I grew and the stories persisted about my father, he took me away from Ankatavaka. We traveled all across Ansalon. We had no friends except each other and, to amuse myself and Kishpa, I learned to juggle."

  "And you learned it well. No magic involved?"

  "None at all," the dwarf said proudly. "I would not allow Kishpa to enchant the balls. Not even the glass one, though he begged me to let him."

  Tanis found that he couldn't speak. "Kishpa was a good father to me. I just wish he would have let me enter his past; I would have loved to have seen my father, talked to him." The droopy-eared dwarf turned to Tanis in sudden contrition. "Forgive me I I never asked if you found your own father. Here I am, so concerned only with myself. I should have-" Tanis stemmed the rush of
words with a wave of one tanned hand. "Don't apologize. Except for meeting Brandella-and that's a very large exception-I would much rather that you had gone to meet your father, too." "He was not what you'd hoped?" "He was not what anyone would have hoped," said Tanis dryly. "Sometimes it's better to imagine the truth." "But not in my case?" asked Clotnik. "No," said Tanis with a smile. "Not in your case." The dwarf leaned back, contented. The sim was nearly down, and dusk had settled over the land. "Brandella should be back soon," said Tanis. "Before she returns, tell me something." "Anything." "Why did Kishpa and Brandella part? You said something about her disappearing." "That's what he called it. He never spoke of it much. It seemed too painful to him. All he said was she had painted a picture of some kind that foretold a time when she would be taken away from him. And someone did, indeed, come and fetch her. He never saw her again." Tanis sat in stunned silence, the mystified expression on his face hidden by the enveloping darkness of night. It was that same darkness, however, that eventually began to trouble the half-elf. "Brandella should have been back by now," he said, rising to his feet. "Maybe I should make sure she's all right." "I'll show you the way," said Clotnik. They walked quietly through the night, making their way out of the glade and up the hill. When they reached the grave site, Brandella was gone.

  39

  At the cамр of the Sliqs

  "Sliqs," whispered Clotnik, sniffinf the air. "I can smell their stinking odor. They must have taken her," he said with disgust. He kicked at the ground. "Kishpa's fire didn't stop them. They're still after that enchanted quill." Suddenly, he whirled in the dark to face Tanis. "You did get rid of the quill, didn't you?" "Yes" said Tanis distractedly, looking for some sign that would tell him in what direction the cousins of the hobgoblins had gone. "I left it in Kishpa's memory, just as he instructed." His elven eyesight helped him see slig footprints all over the grave site, but they told him nothing he didn't already know. Meanwhile his mind spun with recriminations. He berated himself for letting Brandella wander off alone. To have come this far with her only to lose her to a band of sligs filled him with rage. He would have exploded in frustration if he had not spotted a faint point of light on a distant hill. He gestured. "Over there! It looks like a campfire."

  They headed indirectly toward the light. Tanis led the way making sure they did not leave themselves silhouetted against the horizon. Hugging lower ground, they were fast-moving shadows intent upon their destination. When they got close enough to smell the smoke from the campfire, Tanis ducked behind a burned stump and said, "We'll circle around behind. They'll be less likely to expect anyone from the direction they came from."

  Breathing hard, Clotnik nodded in agreement. When they neared the rear of the camp, the dwarf managed to ask between gasps, "I wonder where they got the wood for a fire? Everything out here burned up three days ago."

  Tanis's answer was to clap his hand over Clotnik's mouth and drag him, face down, to the ground.

  A nearby slig guard paused as though it had heard voices. Sounds drifted down from the raucous slig camp above; the creature quirked its pointed ears down below, obviously trying to discern whether these new sounds came from below or from the camp. Its sword at the ready, the slig tromped down the hill to investigate.

  "Don't move," Tanis whispered in Clotnik's ear. "And whatever happens, don't let its spittle touch your skin; it's poisonous."

  Clotnik nodded, and Tanis removed his hand. flickering light from the fire at the top of the hill illuminated the slig guard in yellow flashes. More than six feet in height, the slig wore no clothes, although its back was daubed with broad stripes of black and brown. Its body was a mass of tough, horny hide that seemed more like flexible stone than skin. A tail dragged along the ground. When the slig looked their way, Tanis saw its long, thin mouth open to reveal rows of thick, sharp teeth. Its almost hornlike ears were huge and pointed.

  Clotnik turned to whisper to Tanis, but the half-elf had disappeared without making a sound. Alone, not knowing what he should do, the dwarf froze. All Clotnik could do was watch the slig in silent terror as the guard made its way closer to where he hid in the brush.

  The slig's jaws moved up and down as it filled its mouth with spittle. It was moving lower on the hill, the heavy metal trinket that dangled from its massive left ear swinging back and forth with each step.

  The slig loomed closer. The dwarf tried to sink into the ground, to disappear, but it didn't seem to do any good. The creature kept coming in his direction.

  Off to one side, Tanis watched as the slig came abreast of him, moving toward Clotnik, who was fidgeting in the brush below. As soon as the creature passed him, Tanis leaped up and unsheathed his sword.

  The slig heard the familiar sound and turned with surprising speed-right into Tanis's blade. The half-elf speared the creature in the throat, just above the ar- morlike hide that protected its chest. As it fell, it tried to call out a warning, but all it could do was gurgle.

  Tanis did not wait for the slig to die. He took the creature's sword and gathered up Clotnik. "Here, take this," he said, handing the weapon to the dwarf. "I hope you won't need it."

  "I won't need it for long," he said in a shaking voice. Even his brown beard quivered. "I'm not a fighter."

  Tanis took the young dwarf by the shoulders and looked directly into his green eyes. "I once knew a man who was much more terrified than you when he went into battle for the first time. When it was over, he was not only still alive, he was a hero. You'll do all right. Just stay behind me. And don't move around so much; you draw too much attention."

  Tanis moved carefully up the hill until he could see the slig camp. And Brandella. She was tied to a stake in the ground, lying next to the fire. One of the sligs, obviously the leader by its size, stood over her, spitting its poisoned saliva just inches from her face. It splattered on the ground next to the long braid of black hair that coiled over one shoulder. She didn't cry out. She didn't even move. She simply stared up at the slig with defiance on her face.

  The sligs seemed impressed, but not enough to stop. Tanis tried to make out what the slig leader was saying. It sounded like Common tongue, but all the half-elf could hear was the shouted warning, 'Tell or die!"

  Clotnik crawled up next to Tanis and saw the remnants of a water wagon, empty barrels lying on their sides all around it. The wagon obviously had been on its way to the glade to fill up at the pond. The dwarf wondered where the driver was. His attention was arrested by something black turning above the blaze, juices dripping down and causing the wood to sizzle and the flames to jump. Clotnik leaned close and whispered, "Where'd they get the venison7 I thought all the animals had left with the fire."

  Tanis looked at him, expressionless, and Clotnik realized the chunk of meat above the blaze was no deer. He swallowed hard and looked away.

  Tanis continued to scan the camp. If there had been a wagon, something must have pulled it. On the far side of the camp, he saw what he was looking for: two brawny bullboggs. The six-legged draft animals, crosses between horse, bull and buffalo, weren't fast, but they were steady and dependable.

  "How fast can you run?" Tanis whispered.

  "How fast do I need to rim?" the dwarf replied nervously.

  "Faster than the sligs."

  "If they're behind me, I'll run like the wind."

  "You'd better," said Tanis, "because you're going to attack their camp-you and your 'men'-and then you're going to run like you've never run before."

  Clotnik swallowed again. Hard.

  Brandella had fought the sligs after they surprised her at Kishpa's grave site. It wasn't her own life that she was defending, though: it was the peace of Kishpa and the lives of Tanis and Clotnik. At all cost, she did not want the sligs to disturb her mage's grave, digging it up for the enchanted quill that they so ruthlessly demanded of her. She told them she knew where it was-although she had no intention of ever telling them. Nor did she want the sligs to know that she had two companions just a short distance away. Far
preferable, she thought, to die for those who had done so much to try to save her.

  Her fight with the sligs was decidedly short. One of the creatures knocked her down with a swipe of its gargantuan right hand, hitting her so hard that she thought for a moment that it had broken her jaw. Two of the wilder sligs grabbed each of her arms, intending, she guessed in terror, to eat her limbs raw. They were stopped by their leader, who kicked them away from the woman.

  It was getting dark. Although sligs often lived in caves, they did not like to be out in the open in the dark. The leader, who towered above the other creatures and had a long scar that ran down its snout, ordered the band to take Brandella back to their camp. They would learn there, with torture, what they wanted to know.

  They cooked the wagon driver right in front of her, making her watch the man burn on the spit. She refused to talk. But she listened.

  "We could trade her for weapons."

  "Only if she's in perfect condition."

  "If she doesn't talk soon, though…"

  "Broken bones and burns will lower her value."

  The leader cut them short with a snarl. "If we get the quill, it will be well worth the loss of her life. Besides," it added, "if we can't trade her, we can always eat her."

  Brandella lay quietly by the campfire, thinking of Kishpa and Tanis and Scowarr and the brave acts she'd witnessed the past several days. She was determined, despite a tremor in her abdomen that she couldn't quite control, to live up to those examples. But she blanched as the leader of the sligs took a slat from a broken water barrel and put one end of it in the fire; after the end began to smolder, the slig walked to the weaver and held the burning wood near her face. In Common, the slig said, "I am going to set your hair on fire. Loose hair burns in a flash, but a tight braid should burn slowly-satisfactory for our purposes. If you don't tell me where the magic quill is, I will let the flames continue, to burn your head and face until there is nothing left. Do you understand?"