The Riftwar Saga Trilogy: Magician, Silverthorn and A Darkness at Sethanon

by Raymond E. Feist

  Martin and Galain ducked back down and faced the others. ‘He’ll be discovered in a few hours. They may think us on our way in and search above us first, but then they’ll be down the mountain. Now we must fly. We’re two days to the outer reaches of the elven forests if we don’t stop. Come.’

  They scrambled down the trail, Jimmy wincing as he was half carried by Laurie. ‘If the horses are still there,’ muttered Roald.

  ‘If they’re not,’ said Jimmy weakly, ‘at least it’s all downhill.’

  They stopped only to let the horses get the minimal rest they required to survive a cross-country run. It would be likely the animals would not be usable after the dash, but that could not be helped. Arutha would let nothing prevent his return now that he possessed the means for Anita’s cure. Before, he had been a man on the edge of despair; now a flame burned within, and he would let nothing extinguish it. Through the night they rode.

  Lathered, panting horses were led by exhausted riders down the woodland trail. They had entered deep forest, still in the foothills of the mountains, but close to the boundary of the elven forests. Jimmy was half-conscious from loss of blood, fatigue, and pain. The wound had opened again sometime during the night and he had been unable to do more than clutch his side. Then the boy’s eyes rolled up and he fell face down onto the trail.

  When he regained consciousness, he sat up, held by Laurie and Baru while Martin and Roald wrapped him in fresh bandages cut from Martin’s cloak. ‘This’ll have to do until we reach Elvandar,’ said Martin.

  Arutha said, ‘If it opens again, say something. Galain, ride double with him, and don’t let him fall off.’

  Once again they were in the saddle, and once again they endured the nightmare ride.

  Near sundown of the second day, the first horse faltered. Martin put it down quickly and said, ‘I’ll run for a while.’

  For nearly three miles the Duke ran; though the fatigued horses’ pace was slower than normal, this was still an impressive feat. Baru took to the trail for a while, then Galain, but still they were reaching their limit. The horses were reduced to a loping canter and trotting. Then they could only walk.

  In silence they moved through the night, simply counting the passing yards as each minute took them closer to safety, knowing that, somewhere behind, the mute moredhel captain and his Black Slayers followed. Near morning they crossed a small trail and Martin said, ‘Here they must split forces, for they can’t know we haven’t turned east for Stone Mountain.’

  Arutha said, ‘Everyone dismount.’

  They did and the Prince said, ‘Martin, lead the horses towards Stone Mountain for a while, then turn them loose. We’ll continue on foot.’

  Martin did as he was bidden while Baru masked the tracks of those on foot. Martin caught up with them an hour later. As he ran down a woodland trail towards them, he said, ‘I think I heard something behind. I can’t be sure. The wind is picking up and the noise was faint.’

  Arutha said, ‘We continue towards Elvandar, but keep alert for a defensible position.’ He started a stagger-legged run, and the others took off after him, Jimmy supported in part by Martin.

  For nearly an hour they half ran, half stumbled along, until the sounds of pursuit could be heard echoing through the woods. They felt a surge of energy as fear drove them onwards. Then Arutha pointed towards an outcropping of rock, in a semicircle that formed an almost perfect natural breastwork. He asked Galain, ‘How far until help?’

  The elf studied the woods in the early morning light and said, ‘We are near the edge of our forests. My people will be an hour away, perhaps two.’

  Arutha quickly gave the elf the pack containing the Silverthorn and said, ‘Take Jimmy. We’ll hold them here until you return.’ They all knew the pack was against the possibility the elf didn’t return in time. At least Anita could still be cured.

  Jimmy sat down on the rock. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I would double the time he’ll take to find help. I can fight standing still better than I can run.’ With that he crawled over the stone breastwork and pulled out his dirk.

  Arutha looked at the boy: tired, bleeding again, almost collapsing from fatigue and blood loss, but grinning at him while holding his dirk. Arutha gave a curt nod and the elf was off. Quickly they got behind the rocks, drew weapons, and waited.

  For long minutes they huddled down behind the rocks, knowing that as each minute passed, their chances of rescue increased. Almost with each breath they could feel rescue and obliteration racing towards them. Chance as much as anything would determine their survival. If Calin and his warriors were waiting close to the edge of the forest, and Galain could quickly locate them, there was hope; if not, no hope. In the distance the sound of riders grew louder. Each moment passed slowly, each instant of possible discovery dragging by, and the agony of waiting increased. Then, in almost welcome relief, a shout was sounded and the moredhel were upon them.

  Martin rose up, his bow already drawn by the time he had a target. The first moredhel to see them was propelled backwards out of his saddle by the force of the arrow taking him in the chest. Arutha and the others made ready. A dozen moredhel riders milled about, startled at the sudden bow fire. Before they could react, Martin had another down. Three turned and rode away, but the others charged.

  The outcropping reared up and spread out, making it impossible for the moredhel to overrun them, but they came at full gallop anyway, their horses’ hooves making dull thunder upon the still-damp ground. Though they rode close to the necks of their horses, two more were taken by Martin’s bow before they reached the stone redoubt. Then the moredhel were upon them. Baru leapt atop the rocks, his long sword a blur as he sliced through the air. A moredhel fell, his arm severed from his body.

  Arutha ran up and jumped from the rocks, dragging a Dark Brother from the saddle. The moredhel died under his knife. He spun in place, his rapier coming from its sheath as another rider charged. The Prince stood his ground until the last, then with a sideways leap and a slash unseated the rider. A quick thrust, and the moredhel died.

  Roald pulled one from his saddle and they both slid down into the protection of the rocks. Jimmy waited as they rolled about, then, when he saw an opening, another Dark Brother died as the boy used his dirk.

  The two remaining saw Laurie and Martin ready, and chose to retreat. Both died as Martin’s bow sang in the morning light. As soon as they were out of the saddle, Martin was over the rocks. He quickly scavenged the bodies and returned with a short bow and two quivers of arrows. ‘I’m almost out,’ he said, indicating his depleted quiver. ‘These are no cloth-yard shafts, but I can use this little horse bow if I need.’

  Arutha looked about. ‘There’ll be more along soon.’

  ‘Do we run?’ asked Jimmy.

  ‘No. We would only gain a little, and we might not find a place nearly as defensible. We wait.’

  Minutes passed and all waited with eyes turned towards the trail they knew the moredhel would use to attack them. Laurie whispered, ‘Run, Galain, run.’

  For what seemed an eternity the woods were silent. Then in clouds of dust, with hooves pounding the ground, horsemen came into view.

  The giant mute, Murad, rode in the van, a dozen Black Slayers behind him. Other moredhel and human renegades followed. Murad reined in, signalling for the others to halt.

  Jimmy groaned. ‘There’s a hundred of them.’

  Roald said, ‘Not a hundred, more like thirty.’

  Laurie said, ‘That’s enough.’

  Arutha looked over the rock, saying, ‘We may be able to hold for a few minutes.’ They all knew it was hopeless.

  Then Baru stood. And before anyone could prevent him, he started shouting at the moredhel, in a language unknown to Jimmy, the Prince, and Martin. Laurie and Roald shook their heads.

  Arutha began to reach for the hillman, but Laurie said, ‘Don’t. He’s challenging Murad to personal combat. A matter of honour.’

  ‘Will he accept?’


  Roald shrugged. ‘They’re a funny lot. I’ve fought the Dark Brothers before. Some of them are cut-throat renegades. But most are caught up in honour and ritual and the like. Depends on where you find them. If that lot’s a gang of moss-troopers from north Yabon, they’ll simply attack. But if Murad’s got a band of old-fashioned deep-forest Dark Brothers under his command, they may not take kindly to him saying no. If he’s trying to show some magic powers are backing him, he can’t rightly refuse and keep their loyalty. But mostly it depends on what Murad thinks about matters of honour.’

  ‘Whatever’s the outcome, Baru’s thrown them into confusion,’ observed Martin.

  Arutha could see the moredhel standing about while the mute stared impassively at Baru. Then Murad waved his hand towards Baru and the others. A moredhel in a cloak rode forward, turning his horse to face Murad, and said something in a questioning tone.

  The mute motioned again, and the moredhel who confronted him waved the other away. The moredhel riders, except for those wearing black armour, retreated their mounts several yards. One of the humans rode up and turned his horse to face Murad. He shouted something at the moredhel leader, several other humans behind echoing the tones.

  ‘Martin,’ said Arutha, ‘can you make out what’s being said?’

  ‘No. But whatever it is, it isn’t flattering, that’s for certain.’

  Suddenly Murad drew his own sword and struck the offending human. Another human shouted something and seemed ready to ride forward, but two moredhel rode to intercept him. With a sullen expression the first brigand turned his horse and rode back to join the other humans.

  Murad again gestured towards the humans, and charged his horse.

  Baru leapt from the rocks and ran a short way forward to take up position. He stood his ground, his sword drawn back to strike. As the horse was almost upon him, Baru lashed out with a circling step that took him from harm’s way, and the horse nickered in pain as it stumbled.

  The wounded animal went down. Murad, despite his bulk, rolled from the falling animal and came up, sword still in hand. He was quick and turned in time to meet Baru’s attack. The two combatants clashed, steel ringing on steel.

  Arutha looked about. The dozen Black Slayers waited quietly, though for how long Arutha did not know. With Murad involved in a matter of honour, they might wait until the issue was decided. The Prince fervently hoped so.

  All eyes watched; Martin said, ‘Don’t let down your guard. As soon as this is over, either way, they’ll hit us again.’

  ‘At least I can catch my breath,’ said Jimmy.

  Arutha surveyed the area. Twenty more moredhel were approaching the area. All Baru did was buy them time.

  Murad struck out and was struck in return. Within minutes both combatants were a mass of bleeding wounds, testimony to how each was able almost to deliver a death blow, but not quite. Cut and parry, lunge and riposte, slash and dodge, the struggle went on. The Hadati was equal in height to the moredhel, but the dark elf bulked larger. With a series of overhead, clubbing blows, Murad began to drive Baru back.

  Martin brought his sword to the ready. ‘Baru’s tiring. It’ll be over soon.’

  But like a dancer timing his moves to the music, Baru let Murad fall into a pattern. Up and down the sword rose and fell, then, when it was rising, Baru ceased his retreat, instead stepping forward and to the side. With a sweeping cut, he sliced Murad’s ribs. It was a deep cut that bled fiercely.

  ‘That’s a surprise,’ Martin said calmly.

  ‘Damn fine move,’ said Roald in professional appreciation.

  But Murad didn’t let the surprising blow finish him. He turned in place and grabbed the Hadati’s sword arm. Murad was off balance, but he pulled Baru down with him. They grappled and rolled down the hill towards the rocks where Arutha stood. Weapons slipped from blood-wet fingers and the two combatants struck at each other with fists.

  Then they were up again, but Murad had his arms about Baru’s waist. Hoisting the Hadati into the air, the moredhel placed interlocked hands in the small of Baru’s back, squeezing to break his spine. Baru’s head went back as he cried out in pain. Then he brought his hands together in a thunderous slap over the moredhel’s ears, rupturing his eardrums.

  Murad gave a warbling, gurgling cry of pain as he dropped Baru. The creature covered his ears with his hands, blinded by pain for a moment. Baru reared back and struck the moredhel in the face with his fist, a staggering blow that pulped Murad’s nose, broke some teeth, and split his lip.

  Again Baru struck him in the face, jerking his head back, and again. The Hadati seemed on the verge of clubbing the moredhel to death. But Murad gripped Baru’s wrist and pulled him down, and again they rolled upon the ground.

  Then Murad was atop Baru, and each had his hands around the other’s neck. With grunts of pain and exertion, the two began choking each other.

  Jimmy reached down and took a dagger from the body of the dead moredhel at his feet, to supplement his dirk. Martin said, ‘Soon. Soon.’

  Murad bore down with all his weight, his face turning red, as did Baru’s. Neither could breathe, and it was only a question of who succumbed first. Baru bore the bulk of the moredhel atop him, but Murad had a deep wound in his side, which still bled, weakening him as every second passed.

  Then, with a grunt and sigh, Murad fell forwards onto Baru. There was silence in the woods for a long moment before Murad moved. With a roll he fell over, off Baru. The Hadati slowly rose. Taking a knife from the moredhel’s own belt, he slowly cut Murad’s throat. Sitting back upon his heels, Baru breathed deeply. Then, with deliberate contempt for his own danger, he plunged his knife deep into Murad’s chest.

  ‘What’s he doing?’ asked Roald.

  Martin said, ‘Remember what Tathar said about the Black Slayers. He’s cutting Murad’s heart out, just in case he might try to rise again.’

  More moredhel and renegades had joined the company overlooking the combat, and now more than fifty riders watched the Hadati butcher the moredhel chieftain. The Hadati cut down into the chest, then his hand plunged deep within the wound and with a single jerk he pulled Murad’s heart free. Holding his hand up, so that all might see, he showed the assembled moredhel and humans that Murad’s heart beat no longer. Then he tossed it aside and rose drunkenly to his feet.

  With a staggering, wobbling run, he tried for the rocks, only ten yards away. A moredhel rider moved to strike him from the side, and Jimmy threw his dagger. The point took the creature in the eye, causing him to scream as he fell back out of the saddle. But another came at Baru and cut at him. The sword took him in the side, and the Hadati fell forward.

  ‘Damn you!’ shouted Jimmy, near tears. ‘He won. You could have let him come back!’ He threw his dirk, but the other rider dodged. The moredhel who had struck Baru stiffened and turned, and Arutha and his companions saw an arrow in his back. Another moredhel shouted something as he put away his bow. This brought an angry shout from a third and one of the humans.

  ‘What is all this?’ asked Arutha.

  Roald said, ‘The one who killed Baru is a renegade: no honour. That fellow on the horse seems to have had the same opinion as Jimmy. The Hadati won, he should have been allowed to return to die with his companions. Now the slayer, another renegade, and the human bandits are all shouting at one another. We might gain a little time, or at least have some of them quit, now that their big chieftain is dead.’

  Then the Black Slayers charged.

  Martin reared up and began firing. The archer’s speed was phenomenal, and three riders were unhorsed before they reached the rock abutment.

  Steel clashed upon steel and the battle was joined. Roald leapt atop the rock, as had Baru before, and his sword also struck out at all who came within his reach. No moredhel could ride in close enough to strike him with their short swords, while his broadsword delivered death to whoever rode within reach.

  Arutha parried a blow aimed at Laurie, then struck upwards from a crouch t
o take a rider. Roald leapt and dragged one from the saddle and clubbed him with the hilt of his sword. Seven moredhel died before the others withdrew.

  Arutha said, ‘They didn’t all charge.’

  The others could see that some of the moredhel had held back, and others were still arguing, along with two human renegades. A few of the Black Slayers were still mounted, and they were ignoring what transpired with their companions, forming for another charge.

  Jimmy liberated another dagger from a moredhel just at the edge of the rocks, then noticed something. He tugged at Martin’s sleeve. ‘See that ugly-looking fellow with the fancy red breastplate and all those gold rings and things?’

  Martin saw such a one sitting at the head of the human riders. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can you kill him now?’

  ‘It’s a difficult shot. Why?’

  ‘Because as sure as there’s elves in the woods, that’s Reitz. He’s captain of that band of outlaws. You knock him off and the others will most likely run away, or at least keep holding back until a new captain’s elected.’

  Martin rose up, took aim, and let fly. The shaft sped between the boles of the trees and took the indicated rider in the throat. With a snap his head came up and he somersaulted backwards out of his saddle.

  ‘Amazing,’ said Jimmy.

  Martin said, ‘I had to clear the top of that breastplate.’

  Laurie said dryly, ‘Not very sporting, shooting without warning.’

  ‘You may convey my apologies,’ said Martin. ‘I forgot you singers always have the heroes acting that way in your sagas.’

  ‘If we’re the heroes,’ said Jimmy, ‘the outlaws should run away.’