Malowan’s lips curved in a grim smile.
“Paladin!” Rowan’s voice was low, but it cut through Eclavdra’s wailing and the crackling flames.
Malowan began backing toward her, moving his feet cautiously across the carpet so that he wouldn’t trip over anything.
Eclavdra held up her hands, and Lhors could see that her palms were red and badly blistered.
“You have only one spell to neutralize whatever I use against you,” Nemis said grimly. “I know you, Eclavdra—and that was your greatest mistake. When I woke today, I made sure I would have several such spells. Go ahead and try to blind me. You’ll be the one who cannot see. You wasted your fire on two who couldn’t have fought you anyway. Now you cannot touch me.”
The sorceress’ lips began to move, her black eyes fixed on his, but before she could complete the spell, an arrow sang past Nemis’ ear and plunged deep into the hollow between the draw’s throat and shoulder. She cried out, staggered, and almost managed to catch herself before she reeled back into the thorns. Blood soaked into her tattered robe as she tried to pull away from the clinging barbs.
Nemis gazed into her eyes for a long moment.
The sorceress drew a deep breath and began another spell. “Ignisthre navlanim,” he said quietly and pointed at her. A spear of fire erupted from his fingers and enveloped her. Eclavdra fell back full force into the thorns and hung there. A faint moan escaped her, and then she hung limp and lifeless.
“Water!” Nemis shouted urgently.
Lhors stared as the blackened horror curled in on itself, still burning. Agya caught up her water bottle and ran across the room. Nemis stopped her from throwing it on the burning drow.
“No! For Mal. Go.”
The mage did something that smothered the flames and stopped the smoke.
“Rowan, leave Mal to Agya and help Vlandar. He is cut badly. Lhors and Gerikh, help me find Eclavdra’s chest. We need to get out of here, but I won’t leave without proof if it is here!”
“What of Maera?” Rowan sobbed.
“She’ll die with the rest of us if we don’t leave here soon,” Nemis said. “The silence spell did not hold. We will all be killed in a few minutes if we don’t find that scroll!”
“But—”
“If there is anything to be done for her, we can heal her in Cryllor! Now obey me!” The mage’s was grim as he looked across the room where Khlened and Bleryn’s remains lay smoldering. His gaze hesitated on Maera, then he turned away. “We owe it to them.”
Nemis did something that reversed the spell on Malowan’s eyes. The paladin joined in the search for evidence then. His reveal spell found a chest deep in a cupboard where the clerics’ spare clothing was stored. He freed the box and handed it to Nemis. The mage made a quick check for traps, then began rummaging through the chest.
“Here!” He shouted in triumph as he withdrew a scroll.
Malowan handed the chest to Gerikh as the mage began perusing the scroll.
“It’s your only responsibility,” said the paladin. “Keep it safe.” He moved across the room, pausing to pray briefly over both dead clerics and the sorceress. He walked slowly over to look down at what was left of the barbarian and dwarf. Agya joined him.
The paladin knelt to pray, but Agya stood very still, her head tipped to one side as she listened. “Mal, Nemis! There’s someone coming this way!”
“I know,” Nemis replied. “Almost ready.”
A white-faced Vlandar stood behind them, his sleeve torn and stiff with blood. Lhors ran to help him. The warrior managed a faint smile for him, but his eyes were dark with pain.
“All of you, over here!” The mage commanded sharply. “Now!”
Agya helped Lhors get Florimund to his feet. Rowan stared down at her sister and refused to move when Vlandar tried to draw her away. Nemis came over then, scooped the ranger up in gentle arms, and handed her to Malowan.
“Everyone, get as close together as you can,” the mage said sharply.
Lhors could hear deep voices out there now, and someone began slamming something heavy against the wall.
“They can’t get in… can they?” Agya asked nervously.
“It doesn’t matter,” Nemis said simply, then he voiced his spell.
The smoke and heat and carnage were suddenly gone, and so was the chamber. The world twisted and turned, blurring in and out of existence. Before Lhors could draw breath, he found himself sitting on wiry, coarse grass and cold ground. A cool wind ruffled his air, bringing the smell of road dust and horses. He blinked at the familiar walled city he’d seen only days before.
Cryllor, he thought dazedly. They weren’t more than two hundred paces from the main gates. He could see people on the walls—guards and soldiers—staring at them. Two farmers riding a cart piled high with hay had drawn their bony horse to a halt so they could stare.
Vlandar crouched next to him. He was very pale and obviously still in a great deal of pain, but seemed in very high spirits. Gerikh set the chest down at Vlandar’s side and tugged a blanket from his pack to cover the warrior.
Most of the onlookers had fled in fright, but a few alarmed guards with shields up and spears raised were beginning to approach tentatively. Ignoring their surroundings, Malowan let Agya spread another blanket so he could lay Maera on that. Rowan knelt there, silently weeping.
“It will be all right,” Malowan told her. “We’re safe. She still lives. When I draw the arrow out, there likely will be a great deal of blood, but she should be fine. Gerikh and Lhors, you should hold her down in case she wakes.”
As gently as he could manage, Lhors sat across the wounded ranger’s knees and pinned her wrists to the ground while Gerikh leaned heavily upon her shoulders. The paladin knelt, snapped off the bloody point of the arrow, and with one slow, smooth motion, he pulled it out. There was a horrific gush of dark blood. Maera shuddered violently and whimpered but did not wake.
Whispering an almost silent prayer, Malowan laid his hands over the wound. Blood seeped between his callused fingers, and still the ranger did not wake. After a moment the paladin removed his grip and sat back with a sigh. Maera’s wound was completely gone.
“A moment’s rest, Vlandar,” the paladin said tiredly, “and I will see to you.”
Vlandar nodded. With a painful wince, he got to his feet and waved at the cautiously approaching guards. “It’s Vlandar of the outer guard!” he shouted. “Send someone to let the lord know we’ve returned and get men out here to help us!”
Lhors felt light-headed, all at once. He watched, bemused, as men came running to clap Vlandar on the back. Everyone was suddenly talking at once, but the youth couldn’t understand a word of it. There was a strange throbbing pulse in his ears, and a sudden exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him. He moved obediently when a healed Vlandar wrapped an arm around his shoulders and drew him into the city. He followed dreamlike through the streets and through the arched gate leading into the ruling lord’s courtyard. All the while, their party was surrounded by astonished soldiers and gawking townspeople.
Later, he could remember very little of those following hours. After a very quick washing and change of clothes, Vlandar addressed the lord and his council. The entire party accompanied him, but no one else except Nemis and Malowan spoke. Somewhere in all that, Lhors must have fallen asleep, because when he opened his eyes, he’d been rolled into a blanket. It took him a moment to recognize the rough wood wall as Vlandar’s barracks and the prickly mattress as the one he’d slept on before.
The room was quiet and dark except for a low-burning candle that had been shuttered next to his bedside. Malowan and Vlandar sat at the small table talking in hushed tones, but as the youth rolled over and edged onto his elbow, Vlandar looked at him and smiled. “It’s all right, lad. We’re all here, and you’re safe.”
“I know,” Lhors said, and lay back down.
Late the next afternoon, Vlandar held a brief meeting in the barracks courtyard. Excepting th
e slain Khlened and Bleryn, everyone from their party was there. Lhors thought Maera looked pale, and her face seemed even thinner than usual, but otherwise she was none the worse after her near-fatal wound.
“The Lord Mebree is readying a delegation to go to the king,” Vlandar told them. “There have been more raids in Keoland since our departure, and the king will need our information. The chief magician here has a spell that will transport as many as fifteen to the palace in Niole Dra. The lord asks that I go, and Nemis and Malowan. The rest of you need not if you would rather remain here or go your own way, but I think you all have the right.”
“I agree,” Malowan said. “Each of you performed deeds worthy of a king’s praise.”
“Or a king’s ransom,” Gerikh put in. He smiled, but his eyes were dark. “Khlened would have said as much, or Bleryn, and I think I may speak for them.”
“No.” A faint voice broke in. Florimund got to his feet, and when Maera—a subdued, almost docile Maera—would have protested, he put his fingers on her lips to silence her, then turned to look Nemis in the eye. “I did nothing to deserve praise or thanks.”
“Nothing,” Nemis agreed, “but it was the right sort of nothing.”
Agya scowled questioningly at Malowan, who merely shrugged in response.
Florimund sighed faintly. “Yes, Nemis. I knew all along that you mistrusted me.”
“I was aware you were not merely a prisoner taken, tortured, and left to rot in a cell,” Nemis replied. “I suspected there was more to you, but who could have known that the drow and their giant allies tried to turn you into a spy against your own kind? I admit, it seemed likely they would attempt this, but if they had succeeded with you, you would not have still been in that cell where we found you.”
“You did not do what they wanted,” Maera offered.
Rowans mouth twisted with distaste.
“He didn’t, Rowan!”
“I know,” Rowan replied softly. “Just as I know he never meant to make a wall between us, sister.”
Florimund shook his head. “Not that, ever. Still, when you made your way into the Rift, I was so afraid that I began to think that… I thought if I could somehow—”
“Y’meant t’make noise all along th’ way t’get us caught,” Agya snarled.
Malowan murmured something in her ear and she subsided, but the half-elf nodded.
“I tried to warn the frost giants, hoping they would… I don’t know what I hoped. No more pain, of course. You didn’t know how bad fire giants’ hold was, and when I heard your plans to go there, and the drow… I …” He swallowed and turned away. “I could not face that.”
“No one who had been to either place could blame you,” Nemis said quietly. “I know. I have been there.”
Florimund eyed the mage warily.
Nemis managed a faint, wry smile. “I say you have as much right as I to come with us.”
Florimund bowed his head in grateful acquiescence. “Then how dare I say no? I have long wished to see the king’s city.”
“And I,” Gerikh said. “There may be jobs about for an engineer like me.”
“I am reminded, speaking of jobs,” Vlandar said. He was smiling broadly. “We have coin and gems to divide among us. Even a small share of that will keep you in comfort for some time to come, Gerikh.”
“Little as I did to help you,” the man said.
“You helped,” the warrior replied. “You held your own and didn’t shrink back when the time came to fight.”
Vlandar went into the barracks and came back with a cloth-wrapped packet that seemed heavy for its size. “The chest you carried out of the drow’s quarters. Lord Mebree’s wizards kept the scroll and the box, but the lord gave me back what else was in there. Look.” He whipped the cover aside to reveal three bars of black metal. “That’s adamantine, or so they tell me. Each of them is worth about three thousand gold pieces each, and they’re ours.”
“Not so bad,” the engineer allowed with a grin, though his eyes were wide. The smile faded. “Too bad Khlened and Bleryn aren’t here to share. I took to them, you know. I’d like to see the look on that red-bearded madman’s face when he saw those.” A momentary silence followed, which he broke. “I’ll come with you, Vlandar. There may be a few things I can tell your king about what the giants were up to when I was taken.”
“I will go,” Maera said steadily. “I—”she glanced up at her sister—“I want to be certain they know what the drow are capable of.”
“If Mal’s in, then so’m I,” Agya added.
“You most certainly are,” the paladin told her. “This is no place for a young woman alone, especially when her only acquaintances are thieves and the like.”
“No more thievin’ for me, I told y’so!” the girl protested. “B’lieve I’ll take my share of th’ bounty and use it t’be a fine lady in a palace.”
“You,” Malowan said evenly, “will give at least a few coins to the thieves’ god Rudd for answering your prayer back in that lava tube! But if you choose to stay with me, there will certainly be no palace in your future!”
Agya grumbled under her breath, sighed heavily, but finally grinned up at him. “Knew it,” she said cheerfully. “Knew y’needed me! Well, I s’pose th’ world needs someone like you t’keep things safe. My luck.”
“Your luck and my fate,” replied the paladin and tugged at her hair.
It was an odd relationship, Lhors thought. In Upper Haven, that kind of teasing between boy and girl or woman and man meant there’d be a marriage soon. But Malowan wouldn’t make such a vow, and certainly not with a girl less than half his age. Agya would likely be horrified if someone suggested she wanted Mal that way.
Things seemed to be much more complicated than he’d thought them when he was growing up in a small hill village. There his life had been structured by the seasons, by the ways things had always been, patterns as familiar as the shadow cast by a grain rick across the village square every midsummer at midday, or the way squashes came ripe when the shadow of a certain oak lay across the hill where the first vines were planted, even Gran and her formidable memory for the past—and that had come down from wisewomen before her, so that even the unexpected could be traced back to a larger pattern.
There hadn’t been a pattern that warned her against the giants, Lhors thought. But even if there had been, there couldn’t have been one that would have told her about the drow or saved them from Eclavdra’s years of scheming.
He blinked and came back to the moment as Rowan smiled and took one of Nemis’ hands between both of hers. “I will go—if only because you do.”
Nemis tugged his hand free. “You owe me nothing,” he said stiffly.
“Owe. That word has no meaning between you and me, mage,” Rowan replied, as stiffly. She smiled. “You think yourself hardened by your past, but I know better. We will talk of this later—in private.”
“If you like,” Nemis said, but he brought her hands up and brushed them with his lips.
“Lhors?”
“Huh?” Lhors looked up to see Vlandar’s eyes on him.
“The king’s city, Lhors. You’ll come with us, of course?”
The question warmed him. Of course. Vlandar could never replace his father, but he was a good man and kind, as well as a skilled warrior. Lhors knew that Lharis would be pleased to see his son apprenticed to such a warrior. Still…
Giants had destroyed Upper Haven. High Haven and New Market were possibly gone as well. The king might not care so much for a few distant villagers trying to recover from such loss, but Lhors did. More importantly, he had his father’s hunting skills and he could plant, weed, shear sheep, help birth calves…
He could keep the people—his people fed. Of course, if the giants came again, he doubted he’d be able to lead them into battle. But thanks to Vlandar and the others, he could find a way to fight with few against many. He knew his duty. Still, it was hard to get the words out.
“Sir… Vlandar.�
�� He swallowed hard. “I would like very much to see the king’s city, but I know Gran must be worried. I should go home, at least to see if she’s all right.”
Vlandar shook his head. “I knew you would say that. Your father would be proud. But no, the Lord Mebree has already made certain the Havens are safe. He has a small company of guards quartered in a new garrison based in New Market, and there are more guards on the way—with one of my old lieutenants who knows how to keep proper watch on country like yours. Your Gran is there in New Market with the children you and she rescued. And she sends word to you, Lhors.” The warrior paused to recollect the exact words. “‘We manage as we always do… and will. Carry word for us, boy. Tell the king what you saw and remember to remind him of the taxes—lose enough villages and you lose more than a pair of coppers, you lose all.’”
“Pair of coppers…” Lhors echoed. He turned away, a lump in his throat and his eyes damp. Gran, would it surprise you to know I have more wealth than our village ever paid the king in taxes, just because Vlandar thought I’d be a good rear guard? Well, he’d offer a few coins to his father’s gods, but more to the New Market and Havens villages. Enough to be certain his father had a proper burial, and that Gran and the two girls they’d saved wouldn’t want for anything.
Beyond that—he didn’t know. Too many possibilities.
One word caught his ear, all at once. Safe. Gran was, then. The girls were. That was good, he was sure of that.
But safe—it wasn’t what he wanted. Lhors Giant Killer… the words echoed in his mind. Hearing that had felt good. It eased the pain of his slain village, if only just a little.
Vlandar seemed to read his thoughts. “If we are to put a stop to these raids, the king will need experienced men, especially those who have fought giants.”
The boy I was, Lhors thought, maybe giants would have killed him as easily as they had killed Father. He had survived that night more by luck or the favor of the gods. Nothings sure, but just perhaps, knowing what I know now, I could have saved him or Headman Yerik, who had his own store of knowledge, or laughing Bregya, who’d taught him so much…. Once again, the rage began to smolder within him. He held out both hands. “Sir… Vlandar, I’m with you. To the end.”
Against the Giants Page 29