Riverwind the Plainsman

by Paul B. Thompson

  Riverwind stood amid a shower of fist-sized rocks. The gully was full of milling Hestites, yelling and waving swords. The soldiers packed in tightly, trying to scale the slope exactly behind the small circle of their brothers on the far bank. Bodies began to roll down the slope, knocking down other warriors who were trying to reach the battle.

  Amid all this chaos, the plainsman strode head and shoulders above the rest. He fended off rocks with his shield. He shoved aside the turmoil and confusion in his mind. The enemy had shown himself. Now was the time to end the threat to Goldmoon once and forever.

  “Form ranks—don’t crowd!” he cried. The Hestite soldiers paid him no heed. The whole of Karn’s force was now either in the gully or on the far bank. Senseless, wounded, and dead warriors were piling up at the foot of the slope.

  A deep, rushing sound filled Riverwind’s ears. It was like the wind. The soldiers around the plainsman began to scream and claw at their faces. Riverwind couldn’t tell where the rushing sound came from. It was a steady whoosh-whoosh, not really like the wind, more like a great beast breathing.

  Black smoke rolled through the air. It settled more quickly than smoke usually did, enveloping the warriors. Coughing erupted from three hundred throats. The smoke was actually dust. Riverwind’s eyes flooded with tears. He blinked them away and drew his sword.

  The elves were more affected by the dust than Riverwind was. As he climbed the stony slope, warriors collapsed around him, gasping for breath. Their ranks thinned, and Riverwind was able to make it to the top.

  The scene he found was like a dream of the Abyss. Hundreds of black-clad figures surrounded the warriors, all screaming at the top of their lungs. Rocks flew, swords flashed, and blood flowed. Riverwind saw these black-garbed figures and knew they were agents of Loreman.

  In the center of the swarm of diggers was a wagon on which a bellowslike contraption puffed gouts of black dust at the Hestite warriors. Diggers pumped away, making the engine spew the noxious stuff from its flared bronze nozzle.

  Riverwind shouldered to the line of shields and broke through. The Blue Sky People gave way as the plainsman advanced. A few brave ones thrust swords at him, which he easily parried. A shower of rocks fell on him. They hurt, but they weren’t going to stop him.

  Black dust flew directly into his face. Riverwind sneezed repeatedly and his eyes watered, but he kept coming. Diggers only half his height tried to stop him with swords they’d picked up only a few hours earlier. The sword of Hest cleaved through them one after another, yet always there was another hate-filled face to replace the one he’d just slashed at.

  The plainsman leaped onto the wagon and cut down the diggers manning the bellows. The keen elven steel of Hest’s blade split the soft copper and bronze of the bellows, spilling the pepper on the diggers nearest the wagon. They wheezed loudly in spite of their masks and fell over themselves trying to get away from the choking dust.

  “Rally to me, men of Que-Shu!” Riverwind roared over the din of battle. But the Hestite soldiers could not hold, much less rally. The last part of Mors’s trap had been sprung when two hundred Blue Sky diggers rushed the soldiers in the gully. They’d been hiding around the bend, lying low in the mud. Their black clothes camouflaged them, and when they rose up, it was as if the ground itself were coming to life. Without Karn to keep them in order, the warriors broke. Some fell on their knees and begged for mercy. Others dropped their weapons and ran.

  Riverwind raged at them to stand and fight. Then a particularly well-aimed rock hit him above the ear, stunning him. By the time he shook it off, he saw a Que-Shu man standing above the mob of black-clad figures.

  “Loreman!” he bellowed. Riverwind waded through the sea of diggers toward the author of all his misery. Loreman, the crafty, plotting serpent … if Riverwind died in the next minute, he knew he would be satisfied if only he could bury his sword in Loreman’s heart.

  The Que-Shu elder did not attempt to get away. He watched Riverwind cut his way toward him, but he didn’t move. Brave old fox, the plainsman grudgingly thought.

  The diggers ceased trying to fight Riverwind and merely evaded his slashing blade. A lane opened in the mob, direct from Riverwind to his intended target. The old man waited calmly.

  “Loreman, it’s time for you to die!” Riverwind declared.

  “I’m not Loreman,” the elder said.

  “I can see who you are! You can’t lie your way out of your fate now!”

  “Look again, tall man! You can see who I really am, yes?”

  Riverwind raised his sword high. He focused all his rage on the gray-haired figure before him. Nothing would stop him. Nothing. The world could explode in flames, and he would still kill Loreman. And yet—his arm refused to strike. Thrust home! Use the sword! a voice screamed in his head. Here is your enemy helpless—kill him! I demand it!

  Goldmoon’s face loomed in his mind’s eye. Her blue eyes were clouded with hate, her smooth white face contorted by rage. Kill my enemies! her voice shrieked. Kill them all!

  Beloved! his heart cried out. Goldmoon would never, could never, say such a thing to him! She had never looked at anyone, not even Loreman, with such ugly, bald hate. Her face began to change, its soft, rounded smoothness becoming thinner, more angular.

  Kill them all! the woman’s voice screamed again, and Riverwind dropped the sword as his hands clutched his head. He fell to the ground. The distorted, ugly face of Goldmoon ranted and shrieked at him. Her face changed further. The gold hair darkened and thickened. Soon it was a rich red-brown shade. This was not the face of Goldmoon. It was the queen of Hest—Li El!

  “Riverwind?” the old man said.

  Riverwind lay face-down on the ground, sharp rocks nicking his face. Finally, the soft voice of the old man penetrated his throbbing temples. He moved with great care and looked up. “Catchflea,” he said hoarsely.

  The old soothsayer smiled. The eyes that looked up at him in exhaustion were his friend’s eyes once more. Catchflea had felt his knees turn to sand when he’d first seen Riverwind striding toward him, murder in his eyes. He extended a hand to the large warrior.

  Riverwind got to his feet and looked around him like a man seeing home again for the first time. He and Catchflea were in the center of a vast crowd of diggers, standing silently, watching them. The edge of the circle of diggers opened and Di An appeared, leading a blind elf by the hand.

  “Is he himself?” asked Mors.

  “He is, yes,” said Catchflea.

  “Riverwind,” Di An said breathlessly.

  He smiled at her, then followed her gaze, looking down at himself. Li El’s gift of Hestite armor looked incongruous on his tall, rangy form. He tore the lacings and flung the undersized breastplate away. The diggers seized the engraved armor and began to stomp on it, obliterating the heraldic crest of the great Hest.

  Di An led Mors to Riverwind. Catchflea introduced the leader of the Blue Sky People. Conscious of his position, of what he’d done, the plainsman sank down to his knees. “I place myself at your mercy,” he said. “I know I have fought against those I should have helped. Many are dead because of me.”

  The elf girl regarded Mors expectantly. Catchflea went to Riverwind’s side. He said, “He’s not responsible for what he did, Master Mors. You know Li El’s power.”

  The blind elf cocked his head to one side. “Am I to do nothing to him then? What do you say, Vvelz?”

  “Vvelz isn’t here,” Di An said.

  “No, not when there’s fighting, I’m sure. Find Master Vvelz for me.” Mors’s command rippled outward through the crowd.

  “The warriors are done,” Catchflea said. He surveyed the now quiet battlefield. “Though I fear a good number got away to warn Li El.”

  Mors said, “You, giant: I will spare you, as the old barbarian wishes it. He has been of great service to me, so I owe him a boon.”

  Riverwind thanked Mors wearily.

  Gradually the Blue Sky People returned from chasing the sca
ttered warriors. The dead and injured were separated, and those still living were treated. Catchflea noticed that even as the rebels sorted themselves out, more diggers appeared, joining the ranks. They were fresh runaways, still bearing their tools and still coated with the soot from the foundries. With the newcomers came the word that all of Vartoom was in turmoil. Soldiers ran in the streets, bawling the news. Karn was dead, the Host defeated, and Mors was coming. Li El was making no attempt to calm her people.

  She did not appear among them, nor did she use her considerable presence to bolster her flagging troops.

  “We have won?” asked Di An.

  “Not so easily. She’s gathering her strength,” Mors said, “though her witcheries against Riverwind must have drained her considerably. Where is Vvelz? I want to know what she’s plotting.”

  “We’ve found him—” Diggers bore their victorious leader along. Catchflea, Riverwind, and Di An followed in Mors’s wake. Near the lip of the gully, the crowd parted, revealing Vvelz on his knees in the bloody mud. Beside him was Ro Karn. Vvelz was working a healing spell on him.

  “Will he live?” Mors asked once the situation was explained to him.

  “Only as long as you wish him to,” Vvelz replied tersely. He tossed the broken arrow into the gully. His hands were covered in blood. “I thought you would want me to aid him, Mors.”

  “He knew what he was doing.”

  Vvelz glared up at him. “This is your son!”

  “He’s Li El’s creature.”

  Catchflea coughed. “Mors, how much does the queen value Karn? Perhaps he would be useful as a hostage, yes?”

  Mors hung his head a moment, then replied. “Put him in a wagon under guard. If he causes trouble, kill him. Otherwise, bring Ro Karn with us to Vartoom.” Mors cast a hand about, trying to find Di An. The barren child was usually right at his side. “Where are you, Di An?” he called. Mors could not see that she was with Riverwind some ten yards distant. The exhausted plainsman had finally collapsed and was sitting quietly while the elf girl gently washed the cuts on his face. Catchflea hurried over to them.

  The blind elf put out his hands slowly, reluctant to blunder about on his own. He feared he was all alone till he felt another hand grasp his. Mors gripped the hand, though it was sticky and damp.

  “I’ll lead you,” Vvelz said. The blind elf said nothing, but closed his fingers tightly around Vvelz’s hand, smearing himself with Karn’s blood.

  Chapter 11

  The Last Choice

  The Blue Sky People advanced on Vartoom in a quiet mass, without formation or order. Everywhere they passed, diggers threw down their tools and joined them. A sense that something vitally important was happening possessed the Hestites. The warriors captured with Karn were abandoned. Riverwind was surprised to see many of them fall in with the crowd and walk peacefully beside the same diggers they had tried to slay only hours earlier.

  “Why are you surprised, tall man?” Catchflea said. “The cause they fought for now must seem totally lost. And Li El is not loved by any of them.”

  Riverwind looked at the chains around his wrists. Mors had insisted the young plainsman be bound, so that if Li El reasserted her power over his mind, he could do little real damage to the digger army. “Her cause is not lost yet. Li El is very powerful on her own.”

  The old man put a hand on the young man’s back. “She is, yes, but she cannot hope to defeat so many. Mors will drown her in rebellious diggers if she resists.”

  “She will resist.”

  In the center of the moving mass of Hestites strode Mors and Vvelz. Those ahead broke down walls and fences so the blind elf could go forth unimpeded. He maintained a tight grip on Vvelz’s hand. The sorcerer did not complain.

  Behind Mors, four diggers carried the unconscious form of Ro Karn. Vvelz had stopped his bleeding and closed his wound with the healing spell, but the shock and damage of the arrow was still there. Riverwind and Catchflea followed behind the elves carrying Karn, and trotting at the tall plainsman’s side was Di An.

  The crowd stopped only once. A canal was cut in the stone floor of the cavern, watering the wheat fields at the base of the city terraces. There were two broad stone bridges across the canal, and these were blocked by hastily assembled contingents of the Host. The Blue Sky People milled about, uncertain whether to charge the bridges. Mors, Vvelz, the plainsmen, and Di An gradually worked their way to the front of the crowd.

  “Who is that?” Mors called.

  A soldier with a golden sun riveted to the front of his helmet replied, “Hail, Ro Mors!”

  “Quarl? Is that you?”

  “It is, Ro Mors.”

  “Stand aside, Quarl. You cannot stop us.”

  “I have my orders,” the warrior called back.

  Mors turned away from the bridge. “Take the bridges,” he said loudly. Armed diggers closed in, swords and spears flashing by the brazen sun’s light.

  Quarl advanced his thirty warriors to the center of the bridge. Along the banks of the canal, diggers began slipping into the sluggish water and wading across. Smoke obscured the second bridge, but the clatter of arms reached his ears, telling Riverwind the battle there was joined.

  The Blue Sky diggers moved cautiously. It was one thing to ambush warriors in open country, hampering them with pepper and flying rocks. But to meet them face to face in the confines of a bridge, sword to sword—they went forward slowly indeed. The warriors behind Quarl grew impatient and shouted taunts.

  A blast of hard wind swept over the bridge, swirling smoke in the diggers’ eyes. Vvelz snatched his hand from Mors’s grasp. “Lie down and cover your heads!” he shouted.

  “What are you babbling about?” Mors demanded.

  “Li El—!”

  The dull boom of thunder rolled down the cavern. Ripple patterns appeared on the canal’s surface. The wading diggers cried out as the water surged forward, rising in a wave twice their height. A smoke whirlwind formed over Vartoom. The Blue Sky People screamed and fell to their knees, covering their heads with their hands. Soon, out of a crowd of thousands, only Mors and Riverwind were left standing.

  “Rage on, Li El!” Mors roared. “See if you can blow me away!”

  Hardly had he spoken when the ground beneath his feet started to shake. On the bridge, warriors and diggers alike forgot their fight and stampeded to safety. The whirlwind engulfed the warriors on the far side of the bridge. They were lifted shrieking into the air. Li El was savaging her own troops.

  The diggers on the bridge almost made it to safety. When they were only a few steps from solid ground, the bridge pavement between them and the shore cracked and collapsed into the canal. The diggers wavered on the edge of the drop until the whirlwind rolled up behind them. Panicking, they leaped into the churning water and were carried away.

  Riverwind tried to shield his face with his arms, but smoke and flying grit stung his eyes. He fought his way through the cowering Hestites to Vvelz and dragged the sorcerer to his feet. “Do something!” Riverwind shouted. “Stop her, or we’ll all be finished!”

  “I can’t,” Vvelz wailed. “She’s too strong!”

  Riverwind shook the terrified elf and bellowed, “Try, damn you!”

  He set Vvelz on his feet. Silver hair flying in the wind, the sorcerer shakily extended his hands. He cried, “Attend what you hear!” His words echoed in the plainsman’s head, even over the thunder of the whirlwind.

  Vvelz incanted: “Storms and shakings of the ground, begone! Smoke and vile vapors, depart! All is order, all is calm! Attend what you hear!”

  The funnel cloud actually retreated, and the maelstrom in the canal subsided. Riverwind shouted encouragement to the sorcerer. Sweat popped out on Vvelz’s face. Tremors racked his body. He clenched his thin fingers into fists.

  “Obey the balance of nature! Disperse, you creations of an evil mind! You cannot exist any longer. Begone! Begone! Begone!”

  The whirlwind shrank to a narrow, writhing column of
dense black smoke. The canal lost its wild fury and lapped slowly around the fallen stones of the bridge—and the bodies of drowned diggers.

  Vvelz turned to Riverwind and Mors. His eyes were huge in his face. Astonishment shone from his face. “She is beaten!” he whispered. His face flushed with joy. “I have defeated my sister at last!”

  Even as he spoke, the black coil of smoke swooped down like a monstrous tentacle and seized Vvelz. It wrapped around him three times and hoisted him kicking and crying into the air. Instinctively Riverwind leaped at the smoky coil, trying to save the sorcerer. His bound hands passed through it and were stained black with soot. He seized a sword dropped by a digger and chopped awkwardly at the inky tentacle; his cuts had no effect. Vvelz screamed for help, for mercy. His arms and legs were pinned to his sides, rendering him unable to cast a spell.

  The coil of smoke withdrew rapidly across the canal. Vvelz’s desperate cries grew fainter with distance. Riverwind stood at the break of the old bridge, gasping for air and watching Li El’s magic carry her brother away. The black tentacle diminished to a smudge. Then, it was drawn into the palace and disappeared. Silence enveloped the old bridge.

  It took some hours to get all the Blue Sky People across the canal. Most simply waded over. On the far side, a ruined wheat field greeted them. The whirlwind had plucked every grain off the stalks, leaving an eerie scene of brown straw and twisted stems. Vartoom was only a mile away. It looked deserted.

  Soon they reached the ramps leading up to the city. The crowd—hardly an army—flowed up the angled streets. Curious Vartoom diggers came out and mixed with the Blue Sky folk. Many joyous reunions began in the street, as those who’d run away to join up with Mors met friends and relatives who’d stayed behind.