Darkness at Sethanon

by Raymond E. Feist

  Arutha said, ‘We leap from the cauldron to the fire, then.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ answered Guy. ‘Still, we know what we face if we ride the plain.’

  Jimmy said, ‘Maybe we could slip by, keeping our disguises.’

  It was Galain who answered. ‘There is no chance, Jimmy. One look and any moredhel knows an eledhel instantly. It is something we do not speak of, but simply believe me. There is an instinctive recognition.’

  Amos spurred his mount forward. ‘Then there’s nothing else for it. Into the forest, lads.’

  They rode as quietly as they could through woodlands dark and foreboding. Distant calls echoed from Murmandamus’s army, camped for the night on the plains to the north. By moving throughout the night, Arutha judged they would be well ahead of Murmandamus’s army by sunup. By midday they would be out of the forest, back upon the plain, able to pick up speed. Then if they could reach Cutter’s Gap and Brian, Lord Highcastle, there was a chance of slowing Murmandamus all the way down the High Wold and through the Dimwood.

  Jimmy spurred his horse forward and overtook Galain. ‘I’ve got this funny itch.’

  Softly the elf said, ‘I feel it, too. I also sense something familiar about these woods. I can’t put a name to it.’ Then with elvish humour he added, ‘But then, I’m only a youngster, barely forty years of age.’

  Returning the dryness, Jimmy said, ‘An infant.’

  Guy, who rode next to Arutha, said, ‘We might just get to Highcastle.’ He was quiet for a while, then at last said, ‘Arutha, returning to the Kingdom poses some problems for me.’

  Arutha nodded in understanding, though the gesture was lost in the dark. ‘I’ll speak with Lyam. I assume once at Highcastle I’ll have your parole. Until we sort this mess out, you’ll be under my protection.’

  Guy said, ‘I’m not worried over my fate. Look, I’ve what’s left of a small nation streaming down into Yabon. I just … just want to ensure they’re well cared for.’ His voice revealed a deep sense of despair. ‘I vowed to rebuild Armengar. We both know that will never be.’

  Arutha said, ‘We’ll work out something to bring your people into the Kingdom, Guy.’ He studied the form that rode slowly beside him in the darkness. ‘But what of yourself?’

  ‘I have no concern for myself. But … look, consider interceding with Lyam on Armand’s behalf … if he got out. He’s a fine general and able leader. If I had taken the crown, he would have been the next Duke of Bas-Tyra. With no son of my own, I couldn’t imagine a better choice. You’ll need his sort, Arutha, if we’re to weather all that’s coming. His only fault is an overblown sense of personal loyalty and honour.’

  Arutha promised to consider the request and they lapsed into silence. They continued riding until well after midnight, when Arutha and Guy agreed upon a halt. Guy approached Galain while they rested the horses and said, ‘We’re now farther into these woods than any Armengarian has travelled and returned.’

  Galain said, ‘I’ll keep alert.’ He studied Guy’s face. ‘I have heard of you, Guy du Bas-Tyra. At last recounting, you were something of an object of distrust,’ he said with elven understatement. ‘It seems the situation has changed.’ He nodded toward Arutha.

  Guy smiled a grim smile. ‘For the moment. Fate and circumstance occasionally forge unexpected alliances.’

  The elf grinned. ‘That is true. You have an elf-like appreciation. I would like to hear the tale someday.’

  Guy nodded. Amos approached and said, ‘I thought I heard something that way.’ Guy looked where he indicated. Then both discovered Galain gone.

  Arutha came over. ‘I heard it also, as did Galain. He’ll return soon.’

  Guy hunkered down, resting while alert. ‘Let’s hope he’s able.’

  Jimmy and Locklear tended the horses in silence. Jimmy studied his friend. In the gloom he could only see a little of the boy’s expression, but he knew that Locklear still hadn’t recovered from Bronwynn’s death. Then Jimmy was visited by a strange sense of guilt. He hadn’t thought of Krinsta since the retreat from the wall. Jimmy tried to shrug aside the irritation. Hadn’t they been lovers from desire and entered freely into the relationship? Had any promises been made? Yes and no, but Jimmy felt nettled at his own lack of concern. He didn’t wish any harm to Krinsta but he didn’t see much sense in worrying about her. She was as able to take care of herself as any woman Jimmy had met, a soldier by training since childhood. No, what troubled Jimmy was the absence of concern. He vaguely sensed something was lacking. He became irritated. He’d had enough concern with others in his life, with Anita’s injury and Arutha’s mock death. Becoming involved with other people was a bloody inconvenience. Finally he felt his irritation grow to anger.

  He moved up to Locklear and grabbed his friend roughly, swinging him about. ‘Stop it!’ he hissed.

  Locklear’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Stop what?’

  ‘This bloody damn – silence. Bronwynn’s dead and it wasn’t your fault.’

  Locklear’s expression remained unchanged, but slowly moisture gathered in his eyes, then tears began to run down his face. Pulling his shoulder out from under Jimmy’s hand with a shrug, he quietly said, ‘The horses.’ He moved away, his face still streaked with tears.

  Jimmy sighed. He didn’t know what had possessed him to act that way, but suddenly he felt stupid and thoughtless. And he wondered how Krinsta was faring, if she was still alive. He turned to the horses and struggled to push away strong emotions.

  Galain returned at a silent run. ‘A light of some sort, far into the woods. I ventured close, but heard movement. They were stealthy, almost passing unnoticed, but I did hear signs of their coming this way.’

  Guy moved toward his horse, as did the others. Galain mounted, and when the others were ready, he pointed. He whispered, ‘We must move to the edge of the forest, as far from the light as we can without being seen by Murmandamus’s scouts.’

  He spurred his horse and began to ride forward. He had moved about a dozen paces when a figure dropped out of the trees from above, knocking him from the saddle.

  More attackers leaped down from the trees and all the riders were dragged from their horses. Arutha hit the ground and rolled, coming to his feet with his sword in hand. He regarded his opponent, looking into an elf-like face set in a mask of hatred. Then he saw the bowmen behind, drawing a bead upon him, and with a strange sense of finality, he thought, is this how it will end at the last? The prophecy was wrong.

  Then the one sitting atop Galain pulled him up by the tunic, his other hand drawn back with a knife ready to kill him. He faltered, exclaiming, ‘Eledhel!’ followed by a sentence in a language unknown to Arutha.

  Suddenly the attackers ran forward, but no attempt was made to kill Arutha’s party. Hands restrained them while Galain’s attacker helped him to his feet. They spoke rapidly in the other language, and Galain motioned to Arutha, then the rest. The others, dressed in grey hooded cloaks, nodded and pointed toward the east.

  Galain said, ‘We must go with them.’

  In soft tones Arutha said, ‘Do they think us renegades, and you one of them?’

  The normal elven mask was dropped and Galain revealed confusion in the gloom. ‘I don’t know what wonder we have stumbled into, Arutha, but these aren’t moredhel. They’re elves.’ He glanced about the clearing. ‘And I’ve never seen any of them before in my life.’

  They were brought before an old elf, who sat upon a wooden seat, elevated by a platform. The clearing was seventy or so feet wide, and on all sides elves squatted or stood. The surrounding area was their home, a village of huts and small buildings of wood, but totally lacking the beauty and grace found in Elvandar. Arutha glanced about. The elves stood arrayed in unexpected garb. Grey cloaks, much like those worn by the moredhel, were common, and the warriors wore an assortment of leather armour and furs. Odd decorative jewellery of copper and brass, set with unpolished stones, or necklaces of animal teeth hung about many of the warrior’s necks
. The weapons were rude but efficient-looking, lacking the fine craftsmanship common to those elven weapons Arutha had seen before. That these were elves was certain, but they possessed a barbaric aspect that caused Arutha no small discomfort. The Prince listened as the leader of those who had captured them spoke to the elf upon the seat.

  ‘Aron Earanorn,’ whispered Galain to Arutha. ‘That means King Redtree. They call that one their king.’

  The King motioned for the prisoners to be brought forward and spoke to Galain. Arutha said, ‘What did he say?’

  The King said, ‘What I said was that had your friend not been recognized, you’d all most likely be dead now.’

  Arutha said, ‘You speak the King’s Tongue.’

  The old elf nodded. ‘As well as Armengarian. We speak the tongues of men, though we have nothing to do with men. We have learned it over the years from those we have captured.’

  Guy seemed angered. ‘It has been you who have been killing my people!’

  ‘And who are you?’ asked the King.

  ‘I am Guy du Bas-Tyra, Protector of Armengar.’

  The King nodded. ‘One-eye, we have heard of you. We kill any who invade our forest, whether men, goblins, trolls, or even our dark kin. We have only enemies without the Tauredder. But this’ – he pointed at Galain – ‘is something new to us.’ He studied the elf. ‘I would know you and your line.’

  ‘I am Galain, son of one who was brother to one who ruled,’ he said, not using the names of the dead in elven fashion. ‘My father was descended from he who drove the moredhel from our homes. I am cousin to Prince Calin and nephew to Queen Aglaranna.’

  The old elf’s eyes narrowed as he studied Galain. ‘You speak of princes, yet my son was slain by the trolls seventy winters ago. You speak of queens, yet my son’s mother died in the battle for Neldarlod, when our dark brothers last sought to destroy us. You speak of things I do not understand.’

  Galain said, ‘As do you, King Earanorn. I do not know where lies this Neldarlod you spoke of, nor have I heard of our people living north of the great mountains. I speak of those of our kin who live in our home, in Elvandar.’

  Several elves said, ‘Barmalindar!’

  Arutha said, ‘What is that word?’

  Galain said, ‘It means “golden home – place – land”; it’s a place of wonder. They think of it as a fable.’

  The King said, ‘Elvandar! Barmalindar! You speak of legends. Our ancient home was destroyed in the Days of the Mad Gods’ Rage.’

  Galain was silent for a long while, as if deeply considering something. Finally he turned to Arutha and Guy. ‘I am going to ask that you be taken from here. I must speak of things, things which I lack the wisdom to know if it is proper to share with you. I must speak of those who have gone to the Blessed Isle, and speak of the shame of our race. I hope you understand.’ To the King he said, ‘I would speak of these things, but they are for the eledhel only to hear. Will you take my friends to a place of safety while I speak?’

  The King nodded and waved for a pair of guards, who escorted the five humans to another clearing. There was no place to sit, except upon the ground, so they hunkered down upon the damp soil. They could not hear Galain speak, but they caught the faint sound of his voice on the night wind. For hours the elves held council and Arutha drifted off into a doze.

  Suddenly Galain was there, motioning for them to rise. ‘I have spoken of things I’d thought I had forgotten, old lore taught to me by the Spellweavers. I think they believe now, though they are deeply shaken.’

  Arutha looked at the two guards who waited some distance away, respecting Galain’s privacy. ‘Who are these elves?’

  Galain said, ‘I understand that when you and Martin passed through Elvandar on your way to Moraelin, Tathar told you of the shame of our race, the genocidal war conducted by the moredhel against the glamredhel. I think these are the surviving descendants of the glamredhel. They seem proper elves and are certainly not moredhel, but they have no Spellweavers or keepers of lore. They have become more primitive, little more than savages. They have lost many arts of our people. I don’t know. Perhaps those who survived the last battle, when the first Murmandamus led the moredhel, came here and found refuge. The King spoke of their having lived for a long time in Neldarlod, which means “Place of the Beech Trees”, so they are but recently come to Edder Forest.’

  ‘They’ve been here long enough to make it impossible for the Armengarians to hunt or lumber deeply,’ said Guy. ‘At least three generations.’

  ‘I’m speaking of elven things, an elven sense of years,’ answered Galain. ‘They’ve been here over two hundred years.’ He regarded the two guards. ‘And I don’t think they’re entirely free of the glamredhel heritage. They’re much more warlike and aggressive than we of Elvandar, almost as much as the moredhel. I don’t know. This King seems unsure of what should be done. He’s taking counsel now with his elders, and I expect we’ll hear what they wish in a day or two.’

  Arutha looked alarmed. ‘In a day or two, Murmandamus will again be between us and Cutter’s Gap. We must be away this day.’

  Galain said, ‘I’ll return to council. Perhaps I can explain a few things to them about the way the world works outside this forest.’ He left them and they sat, again resigned to having nothing to do but wait.

  Nearly half the day had passed when Galain returned. ‘The King will let us go. He’ll even provide escort to the valley that leads to Cutter’s Gap, along a clear trail, so we will reach it before Murmandamus’s army. They’ll have to go around the forest, while we’ll go straight through.’

  Arutha said, ‘I was worried we might have trouble.’

  ‘We did. You were going to be killed, and they were still deciding what to do with me.’

  ‘What changed their minds?’ said Amos.

  ‘Murmandamus. I just mentioned that name and you would have thought someone had stuck a branch in a hornets’ nest. They have lost much lore, but that is one name they remember. There is no doubt we have found the descendants of the glamredhel here. I judge about three or four hundred in the immediate area from the number of those in council. There are more living in distant communities, enough that it doesn’t pay for anyone to bother them in any event.’

  ‘Will they help with the fight?’ asked Guy.

  Galain shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Earanorn is a sly one. If he should bring his people to Elvandar they’d be welcomed but not entirely trusted. There’s too much of the savage about them. It would be years before anyone was comfortable. He also knows that in the council of the true Elf Queen, he would be only a minor member, as he is not even a Spellweaver. He would be included, as a gesture to his people and also because he is among the oldest of the elves living in the Edder Forest. But, here he is a king, a poor king, but still a king. No, this will not be an easy or simple problem. But, that is the sort of question we elves are willing to spend years in pondering. I’ve given Earanorn clear instructions on the way to Elvandar, so that should his people wish to return to our mother forest, they may. They will come or not as pleases them, while for now we must make for Highcastle.’

  Arutha rose and said, ‘Good; at least we have one less problem.’

  Jimmy followed Arutha toward the horses and said to Locklear, ‘As if the ones we have left are such piddly little things.’

  Amos laughed and clapped the boys on the shoulders.

  The horses were at their limit, for Arutha and his companions had been riding them hard for almost a week. The tired animals were footsore and slow, and Arutha knew they had only just managed to stay ahead of the invaders. The day before, they had spotted smoke behind them, as Murmandamus’s advanced scouts had made camp at day’s end. This lack of caution at being spotted showed their contempt for the garrison between them and the Kingdom.

  Cutter’s Gap was at the south end of a wide valley, running through the Teeth of the World, rock-strewn and densely grown with brush for most of its length. Then it clear
ed, with no vestige of cover. Only scorched ground could be seen. Jimmy and Locklear glanced about, and Guy observed, ‘We have reached the limit of Highcastle’s patrols. He probably has a burn here every year, to keep the area uncovered so no one can approach undetected.’

  As the sixth day since their leaving the Edder Forests was drawing to a close, the valley began to narrow and they entered the gap. Arutha slowed his horse as he looked about, softly observing, ‘Remember Roald saying that thirty mercenaries held back two hundred goblins here?’

  Jimmy nodded, thinking of the fun-loving mercenary. They rode into the gap in silence.

  ‘Halt and identify yourselves!’ came the cry from the rocks above.

  Arutha and the others reined in and waited while the speaker revealed himself. A man stepped out from behind a rock above on the rim of the gap, a man wearing a white tabard with a red stone tor depicted upon it, still clear in the twilight of evening. A company of riders appeared from down the narrow canyon while bowmen rose up on all sides above.

  Arutha slowly raised his hands. ‘I am Arutha, Prince of Krondor.’

  There were several laughs and the officer in charge said, ‘And I’m your brother, the King. Nice and bold, renegade, but the Prince of Krondor lies dead in his family’s vault in Rillanon. If you’d not been running weapons to the goblins you’d have heard.’

  Arutha shouted back, ‘Get me to Brian Highcastle.’

  The leader of the horsemen rode up next to the Prince and said, ‘Put your hands behind you, there’s a good lad.’

  Arutha removed his right gauntlet, and held out his signet. The man studied it, then shouted, ‘Captain! Have you seen the Royal Seal of Krondor?’

  ‘An eagle flying over a mountain peak.’

  ‘Well, whether he’s the Prince or not, he’s wearing the ring.’ Then the man looked at the others. ‘And he’s got an elf with him, too.’

  ‘An elf? You mean a Dark Brother.’