Legends of the Riftwar (34 page)

They rode in silence for a while then finally Roxanne's head came up, and she looked off to the side of the trail. ‘I remember that,' she hissed into his ear, and pointed. ‘It's a side trail up to an old quarry. My father took me there to see the marble. The bridge is only a few minutes' ride ahead.'

Even as she spoke, he could feel that their horse was ready to give way. He tried to kick it forward but the animal simply stopped, its flanks shaking, and with a groan it settled to its knees. Cursing, he slipped off the saddle and uncovered his bow. ‘We go in on foot.'

Roxanne dismounted, unslung her own bow and strung it. He waited impatiently and was about to speak when she reached out and gently scratched the horse's ear. ‘I'm sorry old friend,' she whispered. ‘Rest now.' She looked back up at Dennis and he could see that her eyes were bright with tears and that she was shaking, though whether from cold or fear he couldn't tell.

‘Take the right side of the road, stay a dozen paces behind me: I'll be on the left. If I fall, you get the hell out. No heroics, just turn and run until you meet up with Asayaga.' She nodded. He realized that it was beginning to get lighter, that dawn was not far off. He patted her on the shoulder, a clumsy gesture, then withdrew his hand. ‘Remember: get out.' Then he turned and set off at a lopping trot, not looking back.

The road turned in a long gentle curve to the right, cutting down and clinging to the flank of the hill. Off to his left he could now hear a
low rushing thunder: the river cascading over a falls.
Good, the sound would cover his approach
. He could see nearly a hundred feet now: if not for the snow it would be a clear view all the way down to his goal. And then he saw it–a dull, pulsing glow of light. He picked up his pace, arrow nocked and bow half-drawn, the glow of light turning the falling snow ahead into a pool of pink. He could see a glowing swirl rising up as well and spreading out; then there was a flash of fire, an explosion of light, and dark demonic figures dancing and waving their arms as one of them hurled another pot of oil into the conflagration consuming the centre span of the bridge. He ran, powdery snow churning up, his sprint so quick that he nearly lost his footing on the ice underneath. He reached the edge of the bridge, the stone span arching up to the centre section of wood that was blazing from end to end. His first arrow caught a goblin in the middle of its back from not fifty feet away. The goblin pitched forward, shrieking, staggering out on to the burning beams. For a few precious seconds the dying goblin's four companions thought he was drunk, which he indeed was, and broke into gales of laughter at their companion's antics, until a second one spun around, an arrow protruding from his body. The other three finally began to turn, one of them pointing at Dennis. They were perfect targets, silhouetted by the fire and his next arrow gutted yet another, who sank down to his knees shrieking in agony, his cries heard above the roar of the fire. One of them began to charge, but the second hesitated and looked around for a way to escape. Another arrow streaked in, piercing the charging goblin's heart, but he continued forward for a dozen paces, almost reaching Dennis before collapsing. The last survivor began to squeal and run frantically back and forth at the edge of the inferno, looking for a way out. Dennis, with cold brutality drew another arrow, carefully nocked it, and raised his bow.

‘Hartraft!' He heard an arrow hiss past his cheek and then he was down, something ramming into him from behind, a dagger flashing into the snow within inches of his throat. He kicked out, rolled over and then his attacker was on top of him, blade poised, the flash of it coming down yet again, narrowly missing his eyes. His assailant was a moredhel, strong and sinewy. He pinned Dennis's right hand to the ground with his left, even as he raised his right for another
strike. Dennis tried to kick his legs up, to catch him in the back of the head, but the response was a knee to the groin which caused Dennis to gasp. And then he barely saw the shadow of Roxanne coming up from behind, her dagger glinting as she leapt in, cutting the moredhel across the throat.

Silently, the moredhel staggered to his feet, the dagger slipping from his grasp. Both hands went to his throat and arterial blood squirted out from between his fingers. He looked back at the woman, astonishment in his eyes, as if she had broken some rule and played a cruel and unfair joke. Then he sank to his knees.

Dennis rolled away, a hazy sheen of pain consuming his world.
The other goblin…

He looked up. Roxanne had Dennis's bow in her hand. He watched her reach into her quiver, pull out an arrow, nock it and raise the bow. It was a heavy weapon and she struggled to draw the arrow back. The goblin still at the edge of the fire was shrieking, hands raised imploringly. She hesitated for a second then released the shot. The bolt brought the creature down, but didn't kill it. Trembling, she took a second arrow, and advanced towards the goblin.

‘Be careful,' Dennis gasped, coming to his knees, eyes still on the dying moredhel.

Roxanne stopped a dozen paces away and the goblin kicked and thrashed, trying to roll out of the way. ‘Be still and let me finish it,' she cried.

The second shot missed completely. She started to scream at the goblin even as she drew a third arrow, stepping closer, aiming almost straight down.

Hands raised, it continued to beg for mercy in the common tongue. She released the arrow, and the screaming stopped, changing to a gurgling cry, almost like that of a wounded rabbit. She started to fumble for a fourth arrow but the goblin finally curled up and was still.

She came back to Dennis and knelt down by his side, looking warily at the moredhel whose throat she had cut. Blood leaked from the wound, but it was not yet dead. The dark elf stared at her. ‘And to think, a human woman slew me,' he whispered. ‘Tell my brothers it was Hartraft, then Bovai will have more reason for vengeance.'

She nodded.

‘Tell Tinuva his cousin Vakar will await him on the far shore.' Still kneeling, he lowered his head and was still.

Roxanne, sobbing, leaned over and vomited, gasping for air.

Dennis, legs wobbly, stood up and gently rubbed her shoulders as she cried.

‘I'm sorry. I saw him coming up, I shot and missed, almost hit you.'

‘It's all right, it's your first fight. It's alright.'

‘And the way he kept shrieking, I didn't want him to suffer, I just wanted him to die.'

‘Its alright,' he said woodenly, looking at the bridge. The entire centre span was a crackling hell. It was obvious that the moredhel had not let his goblins sleep through the night. They had shovelled the wooden section clean, then piled brush and dried timber torn from the side of the mill above the bridge onto the span. Even as he watched, the flooring gave way, crashing down to reveal one of the two support spans underneath. The goblins had been at work there too, having cut through both beams with an axe. The support spans gave way and the entire structure crashed down into the thundering river below in an explosion of steam and hissing embers. He sighed, barely noticing that Roxanne was standing, leaning against him, still crying, her arm around his waist.

‘I'm sorry,' she sobbed.

He held her tighter and gently wiped the tears from her face. ‘It will be all right, you did just fine.'

He looked back at the bridge. They were trapped.

The dawn was beautiful.

Tinuva, gaze turned towards the east, could sense that the sun had risen above the mountains. The world around him was grey, all of it grey, the snow swirling about him in drifting eddies. He remembered how his father had told him that when it snowed even humans could see the wind, and it was so. He watched as gusty eddies danced and flickered, a single flake pausing for a moment to hover before his eyes, a twirling crystal of light, the exhale of his warm breath causing it to dance away even as it melted.

‘It is a good morning,' Tinuva whispered.

‘What?'

He looked over at Gregory and smiled. ‘A beautiful morning.'

‘My friend, you must be addled,' Gregory sighed.

Tinuva reached out and lightly touched Gregory on the shoulder and the gesture caught his mortal friend off-guard for a moment. The elf said nothing. The voice within his heart, the whispering of the forest had already told him enough.

They waited a few more minutes, but no pursuer closed.

‘They must have stopped to rest,' Gregory finally whispered.

Tinuva nodded in agreement and the two scrambled down from the low outcropping, remounted on the single horse spared for the rearguard and rode back half a mile, Gregory hooting like an owl to signal Hartraft's men of their approach.

The reserve was well concealed behind an upturned tree and they
reined in. The six men stood up, pulling back their cloaks. Three were Tsurani, led by a Kingdom corporal.

‘Nothing,' Gregory said. ‘Fall back.'

‘The road is just a few hundred yards beyond,' one of the men said. ‘And there's hard news.'

‘What is it?' Gregory asked.

‘The bridge. A rider just came up. Dennis took it, but the span is down. Goblins led by a moredhel were burning it when he came up.'

Gregory and Tinuva dismounted. Tinuva said nothing as he reached into his saddlebag, scooped out a handful of oats and fed the horse, gently stroking its nose and whispering apologies for having driven it so hard through the night.

‘We make a rearguard here,' the corporal said, his voice flat. ‘Buy time for them to run a span across.'

‘What about the mill there? We could pull out some of the beams,' said Gregory.

‘The mill is ancient. The timbers are all rot and dust,' Tinuva said quietly, his attention still fixed on the horse. ‘They'll have to cut down some trees, build a rough hoist and swing a span across. It'll take hours.'

‘Then climb down into the gorge and ford the damn river,' Gregory replied.

Tinuva shook his head. ‘Maybe you and I can do it, but the children, the old women?'

Gregory sat down heavily and cursed.

The corporal looked at the two. ‘How much time do we have?'

‘I don't know,' Gregory sighed.

‘Not long,' Tinuva replied. ‘They're coming.'

‘Dennis sent just you back here?' Gregory asked, looking at the six men.

The corporal nodded. ‘Hartraft wants us to slow them down as long as possible: every man is needed to cut down the trees, build the hoist and defences if we don't get the bridge up in time. One of us is to ride back when contact is made to give warning.'

‘All of you go back,' Tinuva said quietly.

Gregory looked up and Tinuva smiled. He opened a small leather
bucket, emptied the last of his water into it and offered the drink to the horse.

‘You heard me, go back.'

The corporal hesitated.

‘Six more men back there might make all the difference in getting that span across. We can handle this.'

The corporal looked to Gregory who nodded his head.

Tinuva said, ‘Corporal, go. Take my horse–he's a gentle creature–fighting is not in his blood so be kind to him.'

‘Sir?'

Tinuva patted the corporal on the shoulder and then pushed him towards his mount. The corporal reluctantly nodded and then climbed into the saddle.

‘Don't stay too long, sir.'

‘I'll be along soon enough.'

The corporal motioned for his men to move out and they quickly disappeared into the snow.

‘You go too, Gregory.'

‘Not likely.'

‘One more against two hundred won't matter. You know what I need to do.'

Gregory stood up.

‘You've been my friend, Tinuva, since I was a boy. I'll not leave you now.'

‘It is between my brother and me now. I know him, Gregory: he has thirsted for this across the centuries. I will go back and he will know I am waiting. His pride and his lust will consume him and he will stop to face me. If I win, perhaps the others will stop, if not…' His voice trailed off. Then he said: ‘Well, if not, at least the rest of you will be free and that is good enough.'

‘I stand by you.'

‘You'll be killed out of hand, Gregory, and it will divert me from what I have to do. They will not tolerate a human witness to what will happen.'

‘No, I go with you, Tinuva.'

Tinuva stepped closer and as he did so he knew that somehow
his countenance was changing, becoming something that he had left behind in these woods long ago.

‘Go!' His voice was dark, filled with power.

‘I won't. No!'

The blade flashed out as if it had leapt from its scabbard. The cut was a clean one and hissing with pain and shock Gregory backed up, holding his right hand, blood dripping from his fingers.

‘Natalese, try and draw a bow now,' Tinuva snarled, voice full of menace.

‘Damn you,' Gregory cried, shaking his injured hand. He tried to flex his fingers and blood dripped onto the snow.

‘Go!' Tinuva raised his dagger. ‘It'll be the other hand next time, and I'll cut so that you never draw again.'

Stunned, Gregory backed away, fumbling for his own dagger with his left hand. Again Tinuva leapt in and Gregory's dagger went spinning off, disappearing into the snow.

‘Then the hell with you,' Gregory snarled. He backed up, trembling, his voice near to breaking. ‘The hell with you.'

Tinuva smiled. The sense he had within was like a distant memory. It was almost frightful, this look of shock, disbelief, and rage in another's eyes. It almost brought him joy and he struggled against it, finally lowering his own blade.

‘I want you to live,' he whispered. ‘If you stay, you die. This is between Bovai and me, and you can do nothing. Tell Hartraft to build the bridge, get across, then destroy it. If it all works out, I'll find another way back.'

‘You're going to die.'

‘Even those who are long-lived must face that,' Tinuva said softly. ‘From our birth we are all dying, but some of us finish sooner than others.'

Gregory lowered his head, and his shoulders began to shake. Tinuva stepped forward, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder, though he still kept his dagger poised.

‘Of men, you were the one true friend I have found in this world,' Tinuva whispered. ‘A day will come when we shall hunt again, the wind in our hair as we track game through Yabon. Now, go my friend.' And he kissed the Natalese lightly on the forehead.

Startled Gregory looked up to see tears in the eyes of his friend. Tinuva, smiling, brushed a tear from his face and dabbed it into Gregory's bleeding hand.

After a moment, Gregory laughed softly. ‘Nothing's changed,' he sighed. ‘So that lore about the healing properties of elf tears is just a tale.'

‘Yes, just a tale.'

The two stood silent for a moment. Then Tinuva raised his head, turned and listened. ‘They're coming. Go and tell Hartraft. Now go!'

His final words were again filled with command and a dark power.

Gregory stood as if frozen for a moment then finally raised his head. ‘Till our next hunt my friend.'

But Tinuva was already gone, having disappeared into the storm.

‘He's here.'

‘What, my chieftain?'

Bovai raised his hand, signalling for the column to halt. Golun looked over at him in confusion.

‘Tinuva: he's close. He's waiting for me alone.'

Golun drew his mount around in front of Bovai.

‘Then ride him down,' Golun hissed. ‘We don't know if Vakar reached the bridge and destroyed it. If he failed they'll be across and destroying it even now. We had to stop so the damnable goblins could rest, but now we are closing in. Push in now, my chieftain.'

‘Vakar succeeded. They're trapped.'

‘You might sense that sire, but I don't.'

‘Bovai!'

The voice drifted on the wind, unearthly, floating on the breeze. Bovai stiffened. Even Golun turned, dropping his reins, reaching to unsling his bow. Bovai extended his hand, motioning for him to stop.

‘Bovai!'

Again the echoing cry, more felt than heard; even so the column of riders behind Bovai stirred, bows rising up.

‘Hold, all of you,' Bovai hissed, turning to look back at his fellow
moredhel. ‘It is Tinuva; the time has come for the matter to be decided.'

‘He's delaying us, buying time,' Golun hissed. ‘Then he'll slip away.'

Bovai looked back and shook his head. ‘He's with them now. Despite the evil of their queen and their Spellweavers, the eledhel have honour. He will not run this time.'

Golun sighed and lowered his head. ‘Then upon you shall it rest if they escape.'

‘We'll have Hartraft and all of them before the day is half done.' As Bovai spoke he looked back at his followers. ‘It shall be but a little undertaking, my brothers, then honour for me, and glory for all of us. Which we shall tell Murad of upon our return, with the honour of our clan restored and the heads of Hartraft and Tinuva in a basket to present to him.'

Several nodded their heads.

‘All of it, all my share of the loot, of the glory, I give to you, for what I shall do next I have waited an eternity for.'

Golun leaned closer. ‘Then fight him, if you must, but let me lead this column around to the road to finish Hartraft.'

Bovai looked at him in surprise. ‘A few minutes only,' he whispered, ‘and I want all of them to see. All of them.'

Golun cursed silently.

‘Order the goblins and humans to move back: they are not to see this. They can rest on the far side of the hill we just crossed.'

Golun reluctantly grunted an acknowledgment, then barked out the command for a squad to direct the goblins and humans to their designated place. Those so tasked muttered in disappointment and Bovai knew he had just won his point, for the rest now felt privileged and would not miss the honour of bearing witness to the confrontation about to take place. It was one which had been speculated about in the long houses across hundreds of winters. At last Bovai would face his renegade brother Morvai, now called Tinuva.

‘No one intervenes,' Bovai said. ‘No matter what. Anyone who raises a bow or unsheaths a blade, let him be struck down.'

There was a chorus of agreement even as the unfortunates given
the task of herding the goblins and humans broke away from the ranks and headed back down the column.

Bovai dismounted, pulling his bow out from its case, testing the draw. Some of his followers rode up, reaching into their quivers and drawing out arrows.

‘Take this: this is the shaft that killed Uvanta at two hundred paces,' one of them said.

‘This shaft came from the hand of Govina the master fletcher,' another said.

Bovai, deeply moved, bowed his thanks to each and carefully placed the two arrows in his quiver. It meant that these members of his clan now fought with him and the gesture filled him with pride. His fight had become theirs. He stepped away from the group and raised his head.

‘Tinuva!'

His cry echoed out. If a mortal had heard it, a chill would have coursed down his spine, for the cry was a whisper from another world, high-pitched, unearthly, filled with a fell power.

He moved silently, drifting with the wind, feeling its touch, sensing that never had he been so alive as he now felt at this moment. The shadow which had darkened his world was about to be lifted forever, and again he could walk in the sunlight and beneath the moon without shame.

‘Bovai.'

The voice was close, very close. He tensed, turning…and then he saw him, standing in a clearing, his bow down, the world around him a swirl of white snow, the only sound the gentle hissing as the icy sparkles struck the ground.

‘Tinuva.'

He stepped closer. The wind swirled up and for an instant he felt a touch of panic, imagining that it was all illusion, that his brother had disappeared. The snow parted like a curtain being drawn back and he was still there, not a dozen paces away. He took another step, then Tinuva slowly raised his right hand.

‘Close enough.'

Bovai nodded in agreement.

Tinuva sighed, a sigh that was filled with an infinite sadness and
for the briefest of moments Bovai felt a stab of pain. Here before him was his brother, whom he had once loved as no other. Though now of the despised eledhel he could sense all that he once was.

‘So how are you, brother?' Tinuva asked and Bovai felt a flash of hot anger.

‘I am not your brother. My brother Morvai died the night you were created, eledhel. And you know all that I have been since the day you left, as I know all that you have been.'

Tinuva nodded. ‘I slew Kavala.'

Bovai shrugged. ‘He was too ambitious for his own good. If you had not killed him, once you were dead I would have cut his heart out.'

‘I didn't need to go that far. Killing him was enough.'

‘As I shall now kill you,' Bovai said softly.

‘That is what you want?'

Bovai hesitated and Tinuva took a step closer, bow still down. Bovai half-raised his bow and he stopped, tensing. ‘You were once of the People. You know that what you've become is an abomination to us all. You are a traitor to your race. Honour demands that you die. It is not what I
want
; it is what I
need
,' Bovai finally hissed.