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

by Raymond E. Feist

  Amos looked down, his face a stony mask. ‘It was there,’ he answered, pointing to a spot at the base of the cliff. Now only the raging inferno could be seen as the pool of naphtha burned unabated in the deep pit blown out of the rocks. Nothing which resembled the keep, the inner wall, moat, or the first dozen blocks of the city could be seen. Those buildings nearest the citadel still discernible were little more than piles of rubble. Only the outer wall remained intact, except where the barbican had been exploded. Everything was gutted, charred black, or glowing red. Amos said, ‘It’s all gone. Armengar is gone.’ No building remained intact, and the entire mountainside was shrouded by a blue black haze of smoke. Even outside the walls, the litter of bodies was appalling.

  It was clear that Murmandamus had taken a terrible beating in sacking the city, but still his host dominated the plain outside the walls. Banners flew and companies moved, as the moredhel warlord ordered his army to march. Amos spat. ‘Look, he still has a larger army in reserve than he threw at us.’

  Arutha said with fatigue in his voice, ‘You cost him close to fifteen thousand dead –’

  Guy interrupted. ‘And he can still march more than thirty-five thousand against Tyr-Sog…’ Elements were moving, and the scouts and outriders were already galloping toward their assigned places along the line of march. Guy studied it for a moment, then said, ‘Damn me! He’s not moving south! He’s moving his army eastward!’

  Arutha looked at Amos, then at Guy. ‘But that makes no sense. He can hold the dwarves to the west, pushing them back until he’s in Yabon.’

  Jimmy said, ‘To the east…’

  ‘… lies Highcastle,’ finished Arutha.

  Guy nodded. ‘He’s going to march his army down Cutter’s Gap, right into Highcastle’s garrison.’

  Arutha said, ‘But why? He can overrun Highcastle in days, but he’ll be left standing in the middle of the High Wold, unprotected on either flank. He’s got no obvious goal.’

  Guy said, ‘If he strikes dead south, he can be in the Dimwood inside a month.’

  ‘Sethanon,’ said Arutha.

  Guy said, ‘I don’t understand it. He can take Sethanon. Its garrison is little more than an honour company. But once there, what? He can winter, living on forage from the Dimwood and whatever city stores he captures, but come spring, Lyam can hit him from the east and your forces from the west. He’ll be between the hammer and the anvil, with a five-hundred-mile retreat back into the mountains. It would mean his destruction.’

  Amos spat. ‘Let’s not underestimate the nose-picker. He’s up to something.’

  Galain looked about. ‘We’d best be going along. If he’s moving east for certain, we’ll never be able to double back and reach Inclindel. That patrol we saw will be a company of outriders. They’ll stay up here along the entire line of march, following behind us.’

  Guy nodded. ‘Then we must reach Cutter’s Gap before his advanced elements.’

  Arutha spurred his horse and they began the ride eastward.

  For the balance of the day they managed to keep ahead of any of Murmandamus’s soldiers. Occasionally they would see flankers riding off from the main army, far below on the plain, and there were signs of movement behind them. But the trail began moving downward, and near sundown Arutha said, ‘We’re going to be riding smack into their outer pickets if we keep moving toward the plain.’

  Guy said, ‘If we continue riding past dark, we might slip into the woods at the bottom of the hills. If we hug the foot of the mountains and ride all night, we’ll enter the forest proper. I doubt even Murmandamus will be sending large numbers of soldiers into the Edder Forest. He can circle it easily enough. The Edder is no place I’d like to be, but we’ll have cover. If we ride all night, we might stay enough ahead of them to be safe … at least from them.’

  Jimmy and Locklear exchanged questioning looks, then Jimmy said, ‘Amos, what’s he mean?’

  Amos glanced at Guy, who nodded. ‘The Edder’s a bad place, boy. We can – could forest for about three miles or so into the woods along its edge. A little farther in a man could hunt. But farther than that, well – we don’t know what’s in there. Even the goblins and Dark Brothers skirt the place. Whoever goes deep into the forest just doesn’t come back. We don’t know what’s in there. The Edder’s pretty damn big, so just about anything could hide in there.’

  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 i
t 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.’