Silverthorn

by Raymond Feist

  Roald said, “This is what they should have done the first time.”

  “They’re a little slow, but not entirely stupid,” commented Laurie.

  Jimmy clutched his dagger as the Dark Brothers charged. “I’d have preferred stupidity.”

  The moredhel came in a wave, and suddenly there was fighting on all sides. Jimmy leaped away as a sword came crashing down from above. He thrust upward with his dagger and took the moredhel in the stomach.

  Roald and Laurie battled, back to back, surrounded by Dark Brothers. Martin shot until he was out of arrows, when he grabbed up the moredhel bow and arrows. His firing was rapid and accurate and a dozen more Dark Brothers were struck before he dropped the bow and pulled his sword.

  Arutha fought like a man possessed, his rapier delivering injury at every quarter. No moredhel could get close and remain free of wounds. But the Prince knew time would eventually win. The defenders would fatigue and slow and then they would die.

  Arutha could feel the strength drain from his arms as the certainty of death came to him. There was little point in hoping. There were more than twenty moredhel still standing, and they were but five.

  Martin hewed with his sword, cutting all who came before him. Roald and Laurie lunged and parried, giving up only inches, but slowly being worn down by the attackers.

  A moredhel leaped over the stone breastwork and spun to face Jimmy. Jimmy acted without hesitation, his stiff side slowing him only slightly. He lashed out and sliced the moredhel’s hand, causing it to drop its sword. The Dark Brother yanked its belt knife loose as Jimmy slashed again. But the moredhel leaped back, avoiding the boy’s cut. Then it closed and was upon Jimmy. The boy slashed wildly, losing his balance and his knife, and the moredhel was atop him. A knife blade came rushing toward the boy’s face, but he dodged and it struck rock. Jimmy gripped at the creature’s wrist, holding the blade away. The blade came toward his face, for the weakened boy could not hold back the moredhel’s superior strength.

  Then the moredhel’s head snapped backward and Jimmy could see a knife drawn across the dark elf’s throat, leaving a bloody track. The moredhel was pulled off by the hand gripping his hair, then the hand was extended to Jimmy.

  Galain stood over the boy and helped him to his feet. Stunned, Jimmy looked about. Hunting horns sounded in the forest and the air was filled with arrows. The moredhel retreated before the attacking elves.

  Martin and Arutha dropped their weapons, slumping in exhaustion. Roald and Laurie collapsed where they stood. Calin ran toward them, directing his elven warriors in pursuit.

  Arutha looked up, relief bringing tears unbidden to his eyes. In a hoarse voice he said, “Is it over?”

  Calin said, “It is, Arutha. For a while. They’ll be back, but by then we will all be safely within the boundary of our forests. Unless they plan invasion, the moredhel will not cross that border. Our magic is still too strong there.”

  An elf leaned over the body of Baru. “Calin! This one still lives!”

  Martin lay back on the rocks, panting. “That Hadati is tough.”

  Arutha waved away Galain’s hand as he stood, his legs feeling like water. “How far?”

  “Less than a mile. We need only to cross a small stream, and we are in our forests.”

  Slowly the survivors of the attack felt a lifting of their hopelessness, for they knew their chances now were excellent. With the elven escort, it would be unlikely the moredhel would muster enough strength to overwhelm them, even should they mount another attack. And with Murad dead, it was likely their leadership would crumble. From the behavior of many of the Dark Brothers it was clear he had been of major importance to them. His death would surely weaken Murmandamus’s plans for some time.

  Jimmy hugged himself, wondering at the chill he felt, for suddenly he was returned to the moment he stood in the cave at Moraelin. He felt the strange dislocation in time, and knew where he had experienced that chill before—twice before, in the palace and in the cellar of the House of Willows. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and knew with dread certainty that some magic was being visited upon them. He leaped away from the rock and looked about the glade. Pointing, he shouted, “Then we’d better start now! Look!”

  The body of a Black Slayer began to move.

  Martin said, “Can we cut their hearts out?”

  “Too late,” cried Laurie. “They’re armored, and we should have acted at once.”

  A dozen Black Slayers were slowly rising and turning to face Arutha’s party, weapons in hand. With tentative steps they began to advance upon the Prince. Calin shouted orders and elves grabbed up the near-exhausted and wounded men. Two carried Baru between them, and they started to run.

  The dead warriors staggered after, their wounds still bleeding, and as they moved, their movements smoothed out, as if some agency was perfecting its control over them.

  With increasing speed the undead followed. Elven bowmen ran, halted, turned, and fired, to no effect. The shafts struck the dead moredhel and would rock them, knocking a few to the ground, but they would only rise again.

  Jimmy looked back, and somehow the view of these creatures running through the bright morning light in the lovely forests was far more horrible than anything he had seen at the palace or in the sewers of Krondor. Their movements were surprisingly smooth as they ran after, weapons at the ready.

  Those elves carrying the injured and fatigued humans kept running while Calin ordered others to slow the moredhel. Elven warriors drew swords and engaged the undead creatures; after a few parries, they would retreat. The rear guard slowed the Black Slayers, but they could not be halted.

  The elves worked themselves into a pattern. They would turn, fight, retreat a little, fight again, then flee. But the inability to visit harm on their foes served only to delay these, not to end their threat. Panting, fatigued elves labored to halt an inexorable flood. After several minutes the humans were being half carried, half dragged across a small stream.

  Calin said, “We enter our forests. Here we will stand.”

  The elves drew swords and waited. Arutha, Martin, Laurie, and Roald readied weapons and waited. The first moredhel entered the water, sword in hand, splashing toward them. He reached the shore as an elf made ready to strike, but the moment the undead creature placed his foot upon the shore, it seemed to sense something behind the elves. The elf struck it to no effect, but the dead Black Slayer staggered back, raising its hands, as if seeking protection.

  Suddenly a rider sped past the defenders, a figure resplendent in white and gold. Upon the back of a white elf steed, a legendary mystic horse of Elvandar, Tomas charged the moredhel. The elf steed reared, and Tomas leaped down from its back and, with a golden arc of his sword, nearly split the Black Slayer in twain.

  Like a raging flame incarnate, Tomas sped along the shore, visiting destruction upon each Black Slayer as they set foot across the stream. Despite their arcane origin, each was helpless before the combined might of his arm and Valheru magic. Several managed single blows, which he easily turned aside, answering with terrible swiftness. His golden sword lashed out and black armor was cracked as if little more than brittle hide. But none of the undead sought to flee; each came on, and each was quickly dispatched. Of those with Arutha, only Martin alone had seen Tomas in battle before, and even he had never seen such a display. Soon it was over, and only Tomas stood upon the edge of the stream. Then came the sound of more horses. Arutha looked behind and saw more elf steeds approaching, ridden by Tathar and the other Spellweavers.

  Tathar said, “Greetings, Prince of Krondor.”

  Arutha looked up and smiled weakly. “Thanks to you all.”

  Tomas resheathed his sword and said, “I could not travel with you, but once these dared cross the boundaries of our forest, I could act. Elvandar is mine to preserve. Any who dares invade will be treated as these.” To Calin he said, “Build a funeral pyre. Those black demons shall never rise again.” And he said to the othe
rs, “When it is done, we shall return to Elvandar.”

  Jimmy fell back upon the grass of the stream bank, his body too sore and tired to move. Within moments he was asleep.

  They feasted the next night. Queen Aglaranna and Prince Tomas hosted Arutha and his companions. Galain approached where Martin and Arutha sat and said, “Baru will live. Our healer says he’s the toughest human he’s seen.”

  “How long before he’s up again?” asked Arutha.

  “A long time,” said Galain. “You’ll have to leave him with us. By rights he should have died an hour before we got here. He’s lost a lot of blood, and some of those cuts are severe. Murad almost crushed his spine and his windpipe.”

  “But other than that, he’ll be as good as new,” said Roald across the table.

  Laurie said, “When I get home to Carline, I promise never to leave again.”

  Jimmy came to sit next to the prince. “You look thoughtful for one who’s pulled off the impossible. I’d thought you’d be happy.”

  Arutha ventured a smile. “I won’t be until Anita is cured.”

  “When do we ride home?”

  “We go to Crydee in the morning; the elves will escort us there. Then we take ship to Krondor. We should be back in time for the Festival of Banapis. If Murmandamus can’t find me with his magic, a ship should be safe enough. Unless you’d prefer riding back the way we came?”

  Jimmy said, “Not likely. There might still be more of those Black Slayers about. I’ll take drowning over another run-in with them, anytime.”

  Martin said, “It will be good to see Crydee again. I’ll have much to see to, getting my house in order. Old Samuel will be at wits’ end with the estate management, though I’m sure the Baron Bellamy has done well enough running things in my absence. But there will be much to do before we leave.”

  “Leave for where?” said Arutha.

  In an innocent tone Martin said, “Why, for Krondor, of course.” But his gaze traveled northward, and silently he echoed his brother’s thoughts. Up there was Murmandamus, and a battle yet unjoined. The issue was not decided, only the first skirmish. With the death of Murad the forces of the Darkness had lost a captain, had been pushed back, retiring in disorder, but they were not vanquished, and they would return, if not tomorrow, then some other day.

  Arutha said, “Jimmy, you have acted with wit and bravery beyond what is required of a squire. What reward shall you have?”

  Biting a large rib of elk, the boy replied, “Well, you still need a Duke of Krondor.”

  NINETEEN

  CONTINUATION

  The riders reined in.

  Staring upward, they studied the mountaintops that marked the boundary of their lands, the great peaks of the High Wall. For two weeks twelve riders had picked their way through the mountains, until they had journeyed beyond the normal limits of Tsurani patrols, above the timberline. They moved slowly through a pass it had taken days to locate. They were seeking something no Tsurani had searched for in ages, a way through the High Wall into the northern tundra.

  It was cold in the mountains, an alien experience for most of the riders, except those who had served on Midkemia during the years of the Riftwar. To the younger soldiers of the Shinzawai Household Guard, this cold was a strange and almost frightening thing. But they showed no sign of their discomfort, except to absently draw their cloaks more tightly about their shoulders as they studied the odd whiteness on the peaks, hundreds of feet yet above their heads. They were Tsurani.

  Pug, still in the black robes of a Great One, turned to his companion. “A short way from here, I think, Hokanu.”

  The young officer nodded and signaled his patrol forward. For weeks the younger son of the Lord of the Shinzawai had led this escort beyond the limits of the Empire’s northern borders. Following the river Gagajin to its highest source, a nameless lake in the mountains, the hand-picked warriors had passed the trails followed by patrols of the Empire of Tsuranuanni. Here were the wild, rock-strewn, seemingly desolate lands between the Empire and the tundra of the north, home of the Thūn nomads. Even with a Great One in attendance, Hokanu felt vulnerable. Should a Thūn tribe be migrating nearby when they came out of the mountains, there would be a score or more of their young warriors running as flankers, seeking any excuse to take a Tsurani head as a trophy.

  They rounded a bend in the trail and a narrow gap in the mountains provided a glimpse of the lands beyond. For the first time they could see the vast expanse of the tundra. Vaguely perceived in the distance, a long, low white barrier could be made out. “What is that?” said Pug.

  Hokanu shrugged, his face an implacable Tsurani mask. “I do not know, Great One. I suspect it is another range of mountains, across the tundra. Or perhaps it is that thing you described, the wall of ice.”

  “A glacier.”

  Hokanu said, “Whatever; it lies to the north, where you said the Watchers may be.”

  Pug looked behind him at the ten silent riders. Then he asked, “How far?”

  Hokanu laughed. “Farther than we can ride in another month without starving. We shall have to stop to hunt.”

  “I doubt there is a great deal of game about.”

  “More than one would think, Great One. The Thūn struggle to reach their traditional southern ranges every winter, the lands we have held for over a thousand years, but they still somehow survive the winters here. Those of us who have wintered on your world know how to forage in snow country. There will be creatures like your rabbits and deer once we drop back down below the timberline. We shall survive.”

  Pug weighed his choices. After a moment of silent consideration he said, “I don’t think so, Hokanu. You may be right, but if what I hope to find is only a legend, then we shall have all come for no good reason. I may return to your father’s home by my arts, and I could manage to take a few of you with me, three or even four, but the rest? No, I think it is time for a parting.”

  Hokanu began to object, for his father had ordered him to protect Pug, but Pug wore the black robe. “Your will, Great One.” He signaled to his men. “Pass up half your food.” He said to Pug, “There will be enough here to keep you fed for a few more days if you eat sparingly, Great One.” When the food had been gathered in two large travel bags and hung behind Pug’s saddle, Hokanu motioned his men to wait.

  The magician and the officer rode forward a short way, and the son of the Shinzawai said, “Great One, I have given thought to the warning you bring and your quest.” He seemed to find it difficult to speak his mind. “You have brought much into my family’s life, not all of it good, but like my father, I’ve always believed you to be a man of honor, one without guile. If you believe this legendary Enemy to be the cause behind all the troubles on your homeworld you have spoken of, and if you think it about to find your world and ours, I must also believe. I admit to fear, Great One. I am ashamed.”

  Pug shook his head. “There is no shame, Hokanu. The Enemy is something beyond any of our understanding. I know you think it a thing of legend, something spoken of when you were a small boy and your teachers began to instruct you in the history of the Empire. Even I, who have seen it in mystic vision, even I do not fathom it, save to count it the greatest threat to our worlds imaginable. No, Hokanu, there is no shame. I fear its coming. I fear its power, and its madness, for it is a thing mindless in rage and hate. I doubt the sanity of any who did not fear it.”

  Hokanu lowered his head in agreement, then looked the magician in the eyes. “Milamber…Pug. I thank you for the ease you brought to my father.” He spoke of the message Pug had carried from Kasumi. “May the gods of both worlds watch over you, Great One.” He bowed his head as a sign of respect and then silently turned his mount around.

  In a short while Pug sat alone atop the pass through which no Tsurani had ridden in ages. Below him lay the forests of the north slope of the High Wall, and beyond them the ranges of the Thūn. And beyond the tundra? A dream or legend perhaps. The alien creatures seen briefly in a
vision each magician endured as he passed his final testing for the black robe. Those creatures known only as the Watchers. It was Pug’s hope they possessed some knowledge of the Enemy, some knowledge that might prove the difference in the coming battle. For as Pug sat atop his tired mount, on the wind-swept heights of the greatest mountains on Kelewan’s largest continent, he was certain some great struggle had begun, a struggle that could mean the destruction of two worlds.

  Pug urged his horse forward, and the animal began moving downward, toward the tundra and the unknown.

  —

  Pug pulled back on the reins. Since leaving Hokanu’s patrol he had seen nothing in the hills as he rode down toward the tundra. Now, a day out of the foothills, a band of Thūn were speeding to meet him. The centaur-like creatures hooted their battle songs as they ran, their powerful hooves beating the tundra in rhythmic concussion. But unlike the legendary centaur, the upper portion of this creature looked as if some form of lizard had grown to man shape above the torso of a heavy horse or mule. Like all other native life forms on Kelewan, they were hexapedal, and as with the other intelligent native race, the insectoid cho-ja, the upper limbs had developed into arms. Unlike humans, they had six fingers.

  Pug waited quietly until the Thūn were almost upon him, then he erected a mystic barrier and watched as they crashed into it. The Thūn were all large, warrior males, though Pug couldn’t really imagine what a female of the species must look like. Still, these creatures, for all their alien appearance, acted as Pug would have expected young human warriors to act under the same circumstances, confused and angry. Several beat ineffectively against the barrier while the others retreated a short way off to observe. Then Pug removed the cape the Shinzawai lord had given him for the journey. Through the haze of the mystic barrier, one of the young Thūn saw him wearing the black robe and shouted to his companions. They turned and fled.

  For three days they followed him at a respectful distance. Some ran off, and for a time those remaining were joined by other Thūn. This leaving and returning, with some Thūn always behind him, continued unabated. At night, Pug erected a circle of protection about himself and his mount, and when he awoke the next morning, the Thūn still watched. Then, on the fourth day, the Thūn finally made peaceful contact.