by Alon Shalev
“Um, General Tarlach, sir?” It was Bortand. “Do you plan to offer them a chance to surrender?”
The general squinted. “Why would I do that, my friend?”
“There might be considerable information to glean from these dwarves, such as if there are more, um, colonies. We could even send a couple out to spread the word of how ruthless the Emperor’s army is. And you can bring the, um, Emperor’s nephew and the rebel elf alive to the Emperor.”
“I admit, it is tempting,” General Tarlach replied. “But a lot could happen between here and the capital. They all got in and out of Galbrieth once.”
He considered a moment more before turning to Bortand. “No. No surrender. General Shiftan, perhaps we might introduce the full force of dwarves, men, and pictorians?” His voice hardened as he spoke to a soldier. “Send orders inside. No one leaves alive. And I mean no one.”
“Hold that order a moment, Lieutenant,” said General Shiftan, turning back to his friend. “Let those already engaged take the second cavern, but then hold back. We will pound them with explosives and then advance.”
General Tarlach looked at him. “You think this will be more effective?”
“Yes. And cut down on our casualties. It will still help finish off the resistance, if you are not looking for survivors.”
“Very well. Follow General Shiftan’s orders.”
They watched the pictorians enter. The sounds of battle – clanking steel and cries of pain – were muffled. Tarlach had never sent forces underground before. It was both fascinating and surreal.
“Over there.” General Shiftan gestured to where the mirror was flashing again.
“The second cavern is secured,” a soldier interpreted. “Explosives are in place to break into the third. They’re set for five seconds, four, three, two, one . . .”
This explosion was louder, and Tarlach watched, satisfied, as the very mountainside began to collapse. But he gaped at the second blast that imploded what was left.
When the dust cleared and coughing subsided, the command was in awe.
“Wow,” a soldier said. “We brought down the whole mountain.”
“No, we didn’t,” Tarlach said, frowning. “We blew out the side. They brought down the mountain.”
THIRTY
The group followed a focused, intense Ballendir as they descended through the tunnel. The dwarf evidently had no desire to talk with anyone, and all seemed to understand his need for space except Seanchai, who felt his emotions rising.
As they entered a huge cavern, Seanchai called a halt.
“Rest up and drink,” he said as he pushed Ballendir away from everyone.
“What is it?” Ballendir growled, wrenching his arm from Seanchai’s grasp.
“Ellendir is alive, right? The priestess said that Ellendir would be her successor, and that she already had her own set of stones. You’re about ready to burst, and I want to know why.”
“Not for Ellendir, though I don’t like being away from her. She is young and has always had our ma and Ophera and me. I’m sure she’s alive, the priestess had a plan to keep her safe, but she’s alone.”
“So we can let the others rest and you and I will go back to get her. Come on, I’m willing.”
Ballendir stared at him. “Why? Yeh barely knew her. Why would yeh risk your own life and need to kill maybe dozens of soldiers for one dwarfe.”
Seanchai took a deep breath. “Maybe I’m not doing it just for her. Maybe I’m doing it for you. You’re my friend, Ballendir. You offered to swing your axe for me. Well, I’ll swing my swords for you and that includes your family.”
Ballendir stared at him. “Yeh would wouldn’t yeh?” There was a tone of wonder in his voice.
Seanchai nodded.
“Well, yeh a fool, elf, if yeh would risk the entire future of Odessiya for that.” Then he sighed and patted Seanchai’s broad shoulder. “But yeh’re a good friend.
“I grieve for the priestess and the elders, yes. I also grieve for mah home. It makes mah angry, and I want to keep that anger inside of mah, until I have someone I can really let it out on.”
Ballendir turned to the rest of the company. “What are yeh all doing? This is no vacation. Let’s go!”
They walked on in single file, looking up at splits in the rock above where sunlight shone through, lighting the cavern. At the far side was a huge waterfall.
“Where’s all that water coming from?” Rhoddan asked.
“From above the snowline,” Seanchai answered. “There’s so much of it.”
“Have you ever been in snow?” Rhoddan asked.
Seanchai nodded. “The peaks near Mhari’s camp.”
“What’s it like?”
“Snow?” Seanchai looked up and shrugged. “It’s okay at first, but the cold wetness seeps deep inside of you.”
“You don’t talk much about that time,” Ilana observed.
“The snow is hardly my most vivid memory.”
“You know what I mean.”
“She was a great teacher,” Seanchai said. “I hold the memories close as a way to honor her – to mourn her.”
“What is your favorite memory?” Ilana asked.
Seanchai sighed heavily. “It was shortly after I had received the swords. She was teaching me to master them. I would copy her form and then we would spar, practicing her movements. I remember when it all came together. We began slow, but hit a rhythm and went faster and faster. She was far better and more experienced, of course, but as I got faster and tried different moves, she would match me with a smile on her face. She was proud of me and as undeniably exhilarated as I was.”
He finished reminiscing and found them all staring at him. “What is it?” he asked.
“Your expression – it’s heartbroken,” Ilana said. “You’ve lost so much.”
Seanchai’s face hardened. “Look at each of you,” he said. “We all have. That is why we must do what we have to.”
The humidity rose as they approached the waterfall. Ballendir suggested they pack away as many of their clothes as they were comfortable with, to keep them dry.
“Keep yeh weapons close,” he growled, axe twirling in his hands.
Seanchai looked around. Everyone was uneasily drawing their weapons, and the dwarves were all looking up. He wanted to ask Ballendir what they were worried about, but by now even shouting would not compete with the roar of the waterfall.
He tried to scry, but could only feel that they were being watched from above by multiple pairs of eyes. As they drew closer to the waterfall, the dwarves at the front started across a bridge made of dark wood planks. The planks were held together with metal chains that connected to cold, wet iron railings.
Crossing the bridge required concentration. The wet wood was slippery, and about halfway across, the abrupt, cold spray of the waterfall hit their bodies. They shivered beneath their gooseflesh.
Everyone stopped dead at the beating wings and high-pitched screech from above. Sellia noched an arrow. Rivulets of water glided down her face and sparkled against her ebony skin. Her eyes met Seanchai’s, and she glanced upwards and shrugged as if to ask what was up there. Seanchai shook his head and turned back.
When the first one swooped down, his blood froze. It looked like a giant bat, its wingspan twenty feet across. He saw bright yellow eyes and large black pupils. Its wings were thick and spiked at the tips, but most frightening were its sharp, curved claws.
It swooped over Seanchai, who hadn’t even tried to stab with the one sword he held, and went straight for the dwarf at the end of the line. Sellia let fly an arrow, which pierced the creature’s belly but didn’t seem to slow it down.
The bird creature snatched the dwarf and lifted it up effortlessly. The dwarf struggled briefly and then was still. A second, slightly smaller creature began to swoop, and Seanchai instinctively knew it was coming for Ilana.
Focusing on his steps so he didn’t slip, Seanchai drew his second sword and leapt up onto
the iron railing. The creature hesitated, allowing Seanchai to take two long strides on the railing and jump, slashing the creature’s underbelly. Hot, black liquid poured from its stomach onto Seanchai and a dwarf who had been ahead of Ilana.
The creature screamed, nearly sending Seanchai off balance. The wounded bat swerved up into the air and was set upon by three other of its flock. The company took this opportunity to scramble across the remainder of the bridge.
But when they looked up, the upper cavern was a mass of flapping creatures. Seanchai glanced at Ballendir. “How long ‘til we get into another tunnel?”
Ballendir’s face was white. “Too long,” he answered.
THIRTY ONE
Seanchai looked around for cover, but saw none. The creatures’ cries were getting louder. He grabbed Ballendir and yelled into his ear over the roar of the waterfall.
“What are they? Where are their weaknesses?”
Ballendir, eyes still focused above, shook his head. “They’re malochites, creatures imbued with dark magic from a distant time. I don’t know what their weakness is. No one has ever lived through a fight. We need to make a stand.”
Seanchai tightened his grip on Ballendir’s shoulder. A suicide stand here seemed preposterous, and he was sure the dwarf didn’t plan for Seanchai to stay for it.
“What’s on the other side of the waterfall?” he yelled.
Ballendir shook his head. Seanchai turned and signaled to Rhoddan.
“I need you to try and get through the waterfall. See if there is shelter inside.”
Rhoddan’s eyes widened, but he summoned his warrior training and jogged into the waterfall with grim determination. His legs buckled under the force of the water, but he didn’t hesitate.
It seemed forever as the company looked back and forth from the waterfall to the birds, which were finishing feasting on their wounded prey. Three of them left the frenzy and began to circle again.
Seanchai’s hand went to the pouch on his belt He instinctively drew the blue stone, moved away from the group, and drew one of his swords. He watched calmly as one malochite spiraled down, flexing its claws. Suddenly the creature let out a cry and dove at the elf. Seanchai was so shocked he barely succeeded in rolling away.
Ilana shrieked, and Shayth grabbed her shoulders to keep her from diving toward Seanchai. Just as the malochite turned for another dive, Rhoddan appeared from within the waterfall.
“This way,” he spluttered, and then saw Seanchai crouched in preparation for the malochite’s attack.
Rhoddan began to run over, but stopped. “Ballendir, get everyone inside. They should hold each other. The stones are very slippery.”
Then he drew his thick sword and started back toward Seanchai, but the Wycaan reached out a hand and signaled for him to wait. Rhoddan watched as the malochite swooped down and Seanchai thrust out of his crouch, landing fifteen feet ahead. He rolled onto his back and, just before the malochite could adjust, thrust out the stone.
“Mereksur.”
Bright blue light shot up to the creature’s belly and sent it smashing into a rock. The other malochites hovered above, now wary of their prey. They turned their attention to the creature Seanchai had wounded, instead. The elf turned to the company.
“Into the waterfall,” he yelled. “I can’t maintain this for long.”
He scampered to one side as the malochites descended and ripped the wounded creature apart. As he did, he reached out with his mind to a smaller one on the group’s periphery and sent a wave of bravado.
The small malochite lost all sense of fear and charged its own flock, creating a hysterical fight. Seanchai turned and joined the last of his friends as they dragged the wounded dwarf through the waterfall.
Once inside the closed cavern behind the waterfall, Seanchai rubbed his forehead in an attempt to ease the familiar throbbing. When he felt he had it under control, he knelt by the wounded dwarf and saw she was female. She was covered with the black goo, and it was burning her. She lay shaking and gasping for breath.
Seanchai glanced at his own body. His skin was red, and he could feel the heat emanating from it, but it seemed no more severe than the poisoned bucksweed that grew in the forest near his village. He sent energy into one of the red blotches on his arm and watched as it slowly healed. He turned to the dwarfe and tried the same, but she struggled against it, and her gasps became screams.
He drew back, confused. “Have any of you been here before?” he called out above the din of crashing water.
The dwarves shook their heads. Seanchai tried scrying, not sure what he was looking for. Then he pointed to Jermona. “Come with me.”
Jermona nodded and followed Seanchai to the back of the cavern, where they began to climb.
“Focus on the route,” Seanchai told him. “I’ll need you to find our way back to the group.”
The young ranger nodded again, and they climbed up onto to a ledge and through a hole into a narrow passage too low to allow them to stand straight. Seanchai paused briefly and then continued crawling, turning right at a junction. The tunnel expanded, and Seanchai stood up. He let his mind lead him and began to run along the rising trail. Abruptly, he stopped and scrambled up the side of the rock face.
“That’s smooth,” Jermona protested, shocked at the elf’s agility. “I can’t–”
“Stay there. I’m coming down.”
Seanchai crept along a ledge. He could see malochite nests. A few adults remained, but their attention was focused on what was happening below.
He saw a huge patch of glowing orange mushrooms. He slashed a few with his short knife and stuffed them into his cloak. Then he scrambled back, jumping down twenty feet to a wide-eyed Jermona.
“Let’s go,” Seanchai said.
Jermona backtracked easily, his ranger talents as good here as above ground. They found the others setting up camp at the end of the cave, as far as possible from the spray and noise of the waterfall. Seanchai pulled out a small metal bowl and a board from his bag.
“Please fill this bowl halfway with water,” he asked the dwarf who was fretting over the wounded one. When the dwarf nodded and reached for the bowl, Seanchai grasped his leathery hand. “I can’t promise anything, but I’m going to try.”
The dwarf’s smile was tight, and he ran for the waterfall.
“Seanchai, take off your clothes so they can dry.”
Seanchai glanced up and gulped at the sight of Sellia standing there in her undergarments, her brown body glistening. He quickly rose and turned away, peeling off his own clothes and dropping them in a heap. As he sliced up the mushrooms he had retrieved, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Sellia laid his clothes out on the rocks. She then went and crouched, chatting with Ilana. Both elves had their backs to him.
But Seanchai cast this from his mind as he tried first mashing and then chewing the tough mushrooms into a pulp: neither worked. Then, holding the bowl between his palms, he closed his eyes and channeled heat into the bowl, stopping just before it boiled.
He opened his eyes to find a group standing around him, staring. He smiled as he recalled his own amazement the first time he had watched Mhari boil tea for them this way.
When it was ready, he applied the thick salve to the dwarfe’s back and legs. She sighed, though it might have been the comfort of the heat. He turned her over and did the same to her legs and stomach. He asked Ilana to apply the salve to the rest of her body while he and the others gave them some privacy. When Ilana had finished, Seanchai instructed her to wrap the wounded dwarfe in a blanket.
Ilana finished and joined Seanchai, who had made some tea in the bowl. He poured her a cup, and they sat together, Ilana leaning against him and his arm loosely around her. Ballendir and the others who were still awake gathered around, as well.
“We will see how she fares in the morning,” Ballendir said. “If she can’t walk with us, I’ll leave two dwarves with her.”
Seanchai nodded, exhausted and heavy-lidded
. “There are more mushrooms up there. I will gather them in the morning.”
“How did yeh know what to do?” Ballendir asked.
“Seanchai was learning to become a healer,” Ilana said. “And he learned with Mhari, his teacher, and briefly with the priestess.”
“But how did he . . . how did yeh know what mushroom to use?”
“It’s one of the rules of healing,” Seanchai yawned. “Excuse me. Wherever there is a poison, there will be an antidote nearby. I had the poison on me and was able to scry with it, I think. The rest was instinct.”
Ballendir laughed and shook his head. “Yeh guessed?”
“Kind of.” Seanchai shrugged.
“Well,” said Ballendir, glancing at the wounded dwarfe, who was now sleeping comfortably, her head on the lap of her mate. “Good guess. Now, yeh sleep, too, mah friend. Sleep well.”
“Is it going to be like this all the way?” Seanchai asked. “You know, being attacked by ravenous beasts?”
“No,” Ballendir replied, stretching his tired limbs. He patted Seanchai on the shoulder. “It’ll probably get much worse.”
THIRTY TWO
General Tarlach and his troops spent two days scouring the mountain rubble and had not found one body other than a few dwarves. Nor had there been anyone to capture and interrogate.
Now he rode at the head of his army alongside General Shiftan, both deeply contemplative. The rain fell, a light but insistent drizzle. Tarlach was happy to leave these mountains, but unsure of what awaited him ahead.
In the retinue behind him was his trusted counselor. Bortand had helped craft the report to the Emperor. Despite his considerable penmanship and diplomatic skills, it did not paint a pretty picture.
It would take only two days for the report to reach the capital. Tarlach was expecting a quick reply and wondered what price he would pay for failing a second time. There was no option of following the dwarves underground now that the mountain had collapsed and Tarlach had to admit he didn’t know how to provide a supply line underground. With reluctance they moved out of the Bordan Mountains. At least the rain had abated and now blue sky was peeking through the clouds.