Swords Over Fireshore

by Pati Nagle

The avenue ended at the street that ran along the east side of Darkwood Hall. Vanorin paused and looked to the left, then swiftly crossed the open space to the garden wall, followed by the others.

  Eliani glanced toward the Hall; there had to be windows, but perhaps the alben had covered them against the daylight. They paused, clustered beneath the wall. No sign of their having been seen reached them. Ghlanhras remained silent.

  Vanorin summoned Sunahran with a gesture, and after a whispered consultation, the guardian braced himself against the wall and Vanorin climbed onto his shoulders.

  Eliani bit her lip, watching as Vanorin cautiously looked over the wall. After a moment he pulled himself up onto it, and gestured for the others to climb up.

  Two more guardians climbed onto the wall with Vanorin's help. As they moved forward toward the roof of the Hall, Eliani climbed onto Sunahran's shoulders, whispering her thanks. She took Vanorin's hand and he hauled her up, setting her on her feet. She smiled, but he was already reaching down to help the next.

  Eliani joined the other guardians on the roof and watched the rest of the escort climb up, Sunahran coming last with Vanorin's assistance. Now they must be especially cautious, and move with absolute silence. Any sound would alert the alben below to their presence.

  She swallowed a sudden dryness in her throat. They would do this; reaching this point had been half the battle.

  The sun's heat rose up from the roof tiles, making her uncomfortably warm in her borrowed leathers. When the guardians were all gathered, she gestured toward the highest roof in the complex, the large expanse that covered the audience chamber. She had found a way to see into it as she fled, and glimpsed Luruthin below—bound, at the feet of the alben leader—the last she had seen of him. She wished to see what the chamber held now.

  Vanorin and three others went ahead, the rest came behind Eliani. They walked with hunters' stealth, crossing the tiled roofs, keeping wide of the ornately filigreed screens that covered the high windows, lest their shadows fall across them and draw the notice of those inside the Hall.

  Eliani wondered about those screens. They were designed to bring light into the central areas of the Hall while minimizing the heat that came in. The alben would not care for the light, however.

  She reached the corner where she had previously looked through a screen, and knelt to look again. The small hole she had made in the silken gauze covering was still there, but behind it was a darker, heavier cloth. She could not move this aside to see down into the chamber; the fabric eluded her grasp.

  She glanced up at Vanorin, standing over her, and shook her head. Carefully she rose again, looking westward toward the wing where she and Luruthin had been given rooms, and whence she had escaped.

  She started toward it, going slowly, trying to remember from which window she had crawled onto the roof. The varying levels of the roofs followed the major passages of the Hall; she found the main corridor easily enough, for it adjoined the audience chamber.

  Following it toward the front of the Hall, she remembered the turning into the guest quarters, and so reached the passage where she had fled the alben. She stood above the very spot where Luruthin had been taken, and closed her eyes briefly at the memory.

  Spirits, guide me now. Help me find my kin.

  Drawing a deep breath, she walked slowly along the roof of the passage. She whistled a few notes, quickly and without rhythm. Bird-like.

  Beside her, Vanorin frowned. Holding his gaze, she whistled another phrase, and his brows rose. He understood; he had recognized “The Winter Star.”

  She waited, listening, then walked onward. The passage turned and she followed it. She remembered her desperate search for a way outside from that passage; she had found none. It had rooms to either side, and at its very end, a room without windows.

  She whistled again, a few notes at a time, pausing between like a bird waiting for its mate to answer. A few steps, another line of the song.

  Murmured voices below made her freeze. The others all did likewise, standing motionless in the hot sun. Eliani held her breath, straining to listen to the muffled voice from below.

  “Did you hear it? Do you know what sort of bird that is?”

  Eliani inhaled sharply, and looked at Vanorin. Luruthin? She mouthed the name silently, questioning, and the captain shrugged.

  She whistled a few more notes. More murmuring came from below, then a hesitant whistled answer—the next phrase of the song.

  Her stomach clenched. She had found him.

  Darkwood Hall

  Luruthin leaned against the door of the room where Othanin was being held. The alben guards frowned, but apparently the red cord he wore bought him a measure of tolerance. He spoke urgently to the door.

  “Did you hear it? Othanin?”

  “Get back from there.”

  The alben male put a hand on his sword hilt and took a menacing step toward Luruthin. Though he could not help flinching, he did not move away from the door.

  “We are just talking. That has not been forbidden.”

  “Do as he says, or you will find your privilege curtailed.”

  Luruthin flashed a resentful glance at the guard who had followed him. No doubt the alben meant to earn reward by reporting to his leader everything Luruthin did.

  His pulse sped as he thought of her; he forced the memory away. Someone was here—someone from the south—and he had to make Othanin understand.

  A creaking of wood sounded nearby. Luruthin reacted, but managed to keep from looking up. A tingle went through him; hope, dread....

  The sound came again, from a little way down the hall. Another creak, small and swift, as of a peg being drawn.

  “What was that?” One of the guards.

  “Othanin, did you hear that bird?”

  Luruthin raised his voice as much as he dared, as if to make himself heard through the door. One of the guards buffeted his shoulder, thrusting him back.

  “Get away!”

  He glanced upward and thought he saw movement; a tiny breeze stirring the gray cloth that had been hung to block light from the overhead windows. He caught his breath, then a horrendous groan of breaking wood began.

  The shouts of the alben guards turned to cries of anguish as five of the overhead windows were staved in and sunlight poured into the passage. Luruthin squinted, looking up into the sudden brightness.

  Figures appeared in the open windows, light glowing all around them, burning white in their pale hair. Luruthin gasped in spite of himself.

  Not alben. Not outside at midday.

  Someone grabbed him roughly. He wrenched away, out of the guard's grasp and into the sunlight. Two ælven dropped down to land beside him, one to either side.

  One drew a knife and ran down the passage in pursuit of one of the alben. A second alben lay writhing in the sunlight; the other ælven dispatched him with a quick knife-thrust, then turned to Luruthin.

  “Othanin—where is he?”

  It was Taharan, one of his own clan. Grateful tears sprang to Luruthin's eyes. He pointed toward the door at the end of the corridor.

  The last alben—the one that had been following him—stood against the door, cowering in the small shade remaining at the end of the corridor, menacing with his drawn sword. Taharan glanced upward.

  “Sword!”

  A blade was lowered hilt first into the guardian's waiting hands. He advanced toward the alben.

  “Luruthin!”

  Eliani's voice! Gasping, he looked up, but the sun was behind her and he could not see her face.

  “Eliani! What are you doing here?”

  “What do you think?”

  A rope fell out of the sky toward him. He flinched, remembering the nets, then recovered and caught hold of it. A loop had been tied in its end; he set his foot into that and gripped the rope with both hands.

  The clash of swords drew his glance as he was lifted—the alben and Taharan, fighting—then he lost sight of them as the rope spun him round.
He glimpsed the other ælven returning along the passage, wiping his bloodied knife, then hands caught at Luruthin's arms and shoulders and hauled him onto the roof.

  He rolled aside and sat up. At once he was caught in a fierce embrace. Eliani's smell filled his senses and her voice whispered hoarsely in his ear.

  “Forgive me! I would not have left you—”

  “No.” His throat tightened. “There was no choice.”

  “Your pardon.”

  Vanorin stood above them. Eliani looked up at the captain, then released her hold on Luruthin, to his relief. Her sudden embrace had set his heart racing with fear. Even from her, his beloved kin and former love....

  At Vanorin's gesture, Eliani stood and moved back from the broken windows. Luruthin joined her. Sounds of commotion came from below, though he heard no more swordplay.

  Two guardians were on hands and knees by the window nearest the end of the passage. One of them answered a call from below by throwing down the rope once more. They both hauled on it, and a moment later Othanin appeared, looking bedraggled and confused. The guardians pulled him onto the roof, and Eliani went to help him up.

  The sword was handed back up. Luruthin stepped toward the guardians.

  “The other sword—the alben's. Bring that, too.”

  Sunahran, one of the Southfælders, looked at him in surprise. Luruthin explained.

  “They do not have many swords. Every one we take from them is an advantage.”

  Sunahran's brows rose, then he turned to call down into the corridor. The second sword appeared, then the two guardians were hauled up with the rope. Sunahran came to Luruthin, offering the alben's sword.

  He accepted it; a plain sword, well made, but lacking the virtues of a mountain-forged blade. Luruthin inhaled sharply, realizing where his own sword must be—in the hands of the alben leader. A tremor of wrath went through him, but he mastered it. It was good to have a blade in hand, at least.

  Vanorin consulted briefly with the two who had been below, then led the party across the rooftops. He and two others went first, then Eliani with Luruthin and Othanin, the rest coming behind.

  They moved as swiftly as they dared, keeping their steps silent. Even so, before they had passed the large, high roof of the audience chamber, a shout was raised below.

  Vanorin cast a glance back, then sped his steps, abandoning caution. Terror coursed through Luruthin's veins as he followed.

  He would not be taken again. He would die first, on the stranger's blade in his hands if need be.

  Eliani kept an anxious eye on Luruthin and Othanin as they followed Vanorin to the rear of the Hall, down onto the wall, and into the street. The party sped down the avenue, away from Darkwood Hall, crossing streets without hesitation. Caution would not serve them now.

  They started across a particularly broad street. Recognizing it, Eliani slowed.

  “Hai! This is it!”

  She turned south along the city's main street, and could see the darkwood gates ahead as she ran. Vanorin and the others followed. She glanced back to assure herself that Luruthin and Othanin were still there.

  A shout from ahead drew her notice. Something flew past her, singing as it brushed her face. The next moment Vanorin slammed into her, pushing her into an avenue and against the wall of a house.

  She grunted and drew breath to protest, then met the captain's terrified gaze. A stinging started in her cheek. She put her fingers to it, touching blood.

  Eliani?

  I am all right. A scratch.

  Turisan said no more, but she could feel his worry. She wanted to embrace him, accept his comfort, but it was Vanorin's arms around her, not Turisan's.

  She struggled free of Vanorin's grasp, and sent Turisan the signal to wait. She could not afford to be distracted just now.

  The others gathered, sheltering beside the house. Cærshari, one of the Southfælders, crept forward to glance around the front corner, then ducked back as two arrows sang past. She returned to the party, speaking in a low voice.

  “The windows are open in every house between here and the gates.”

  Vanorin grimaced. “And full of archers, apparently.”

  Eliani swallowed, her heart still thundering at the nearness of her escape. “So we go around.”

  She pushed away from the house. Vanorin stepped ahead of her, glaring. She yielded to him. Glancing at Luruthin and Othanin—both pale but determined—she followed Vanorin to the next street, and along it toward the outer wall.

  They soon reached a vast darkwood yard near the front of the city. The street they were on ran along the east side of it. Stacks of darkwood boards lay beneath high shed roofs, and several vast, twining, uncut trunks of darkwood lay in the midst of the yard.

  Vanorin made the others wait while he took a few steps down the unsheltered street. Eliani held her breath, keeping her eyes on a long crafthall at the far side of the yard. That hall was the only structure between them and the main street, and if she were a conquering alben she would have put archers into it as well.

  If archers were there, however, their attention was not on the wood yard. Vanorin stepped behind a stack of cut wood and gestured for the others to join him.

  They hurried across the exposed space and clustered together behind the wood. Othanin picked up an arm-length scrap of darkwood and slapped it into his free hand, a passable club.

  Vanorin turned to Eliani, gesturing to a line of sheds, some empty, most sheltering stacks of wood. “We can keep out of sight most of the way to the wall. If we do not see the others when we reach it, we go over.”

  Eliani gave a reluctant nod. She did not wish to leave the three that had gone to the stables to fend for themselves. She wanted them back, with the horses if possible. She wished to leave none of her folk in Ghlanhras.

  Following Vanorin, the party darted from shelter to shelter along the width of the darkwood yards. No sign of movement came from the crafthall.

  The last stack of cut wood was only shoulder high to Eliani; she and the others crouched behind it. An open space of perhaps two rods lay between them and the outer wall. Vanorin crossed it swiftly and flattened himself against the wall.

  Eliani peered around the front corner of the wood, looking toward the gate. She saw what she hoped for; three guardians, with horses behind them, in the street beyond the gate. They were some distance from it, though, and they appeared to be pinned. Arrows flew toward them from the front of the crafthall, falling short or striking the wall.

  Eliani grimaced and looked across at Vanorin. He nodded; he had seen. He looked about to speak, then flinched as an arrow struck the wall beside him.

  Eliani ducked back, heart pounding. She beckoned to Vanorin, but arrows continued to come at him. He would be hit before long.

  Anger drove her to pull at a board from the stack beside her. It was heavy; it tumbled to the ground, nearly striking her foot. With the help of Taharan she lifted it, then turned it upright.

  The board was half again her height, and slightly less than her width. She turned to Taharan. “Take it to Vanorin.”

  Taharan nodded and took the board from her hands, holding it as a shield as he carried it across the open space to the wall. It was poor shelter for both him and Vanorin, but better than none. Sunahran pulled down a second board and carried it across; side by side, the two boards formed an adequate makeshift wall.

  Vanorin called to Eliani across the open space. “We go over the wall.”

  “No! The horses!”

  “We cannot get to them.”

  Stubbornness set in. She could hear her father chiding; knew Turisan would scold. She did not care. She reached to pull down another board.

  “We form a shield wall and move to the gates. We can open them.”

  Othanin came forward to assist her. “It takes three to raise the bar. It is solid darkwood.”

  “Then three will raise it while the rest hold the shields.”

  Vanorin frowned. “My lady—”
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br />   Luruthin stepped up beside her. “We can do this.” He held out his sword to her.

  “If you will carry this, I will carry a shield.”

  Eliani cast him a grateful glance as she took the blade, her throat tightening. Luruthin had already shielded her once. Now he supported her again. How she loved him!

  Vanorin offered no more argument, though his lips were a thin line of disapproval. The guardians each took a darkwood board in hand.

  Eliani scuttled across the open space behind two boards carried by Sunahran and Birani. Five boards across filled the space that ran along the city wall, three others formed a shield wall at angles with the first, and the whole party moved toward the gates.

  Their progress was slow. Arrows began to batter against the darkwood shields like hail in a tempest. Now and then one came through a momentary gap, but the party reached the gate without injury.

  The shield-bearers shifted into a single line between the gate and the now-constant rattle of arrows. Eliani laid her two swords at her feet and stepped forward to help Vanorin and Othanin lift the bar.

  It was massive, and the three of them strained to raise it clear of the brackets. Behind her she heard a small, sharp cry from one of the guardians.

  Dread spilled down her spine. If the shield wall failed now—

  She strained, digging in her feet to lift with her shoulders. The bar rose up another handspan, enough to clear the brackets. Together she and the two males stepped back, dropping the bar at their feet. It narrowly missed the swords.

  Eliani picked up the blades, shoulder muscles already complaining. Othanin was pulling the left gate open. When the gap was a shoulder's breadth, Vanorin turned to Eliani.

  “Go!”

  She slipped through the gate and out into the clear, gulping deep breaths of freedom, filled with sudden relief. The road stretched southward before her, leading home.

  Othanin joined her, then Luruthin. She moved away from the gate to the side of the road, against the forest.

  A loud clap sounded, then two more guardians came through the gate. It was opening wider, now; swinging away. Two darkwood boards lay fallen inside the gate.