The Kagonesti, page 24
“Perhaps.” But Iydahoe was not convinced. “I can’t believe that anyone – especially an elf – who was held against his will would be able to create such beautiful music. No – I don’t think they were prisoners.”
“But then why?” pressed Bakall.
Iydahoe’s silence was his only reply, and his companion understood that the older brave had nothing more to say on the subject. For more than an hour they maintained the steady trot, moving swiftly along the ridgetop, until Iydahoe judged it was time to curve back toward the trail.
Now he led Bakall through slopes laden with sumac, already turned crimson as a harbinger of the coming season – Yule, as it was known to the humans. They skirted a rocky bluff, then found themselves on the height of a promontory, perhaps sixty feet above the trail. A sheer precipice of cracked and treacherous limestone formed an impassable barrier between the two warriors and the trail they could see winding directly below them. A hundred feet away, a similar cliff rose to an even greater height, and between them these rocky faces formed a canyon through which the Istarian procession would have to pass.
“This will give us vantage to shoot many arrows and still make our escape,” Iydahoe declared, and Bakall nodded approvingly – as if he, himself, had sought those exact advantages in the site of their ambush.
Taking shelter in a shaded nook that afforded them a good view of the approaching trail, the two wild elves settled down to wait. They carried some dried venison jerky and ate with the accompaniment of a few swigs from their water sacks. All the while they kept their gazes on the approaching path, staring with the patience that was such a vital characteristic of their kind.
“There!” whispered Bakall, pointing at a golden cloak that shimmered through the trees. Chagrined, Iydahoe realized that his young companion had seen the enemy first.
The captain of the legionnaires led his riders toward the steep, cliff-walled gorge, then reined in his horse and brought the whole procession to a halt. The elves watched him scrutinize the heights to each side of the trail, and Iydahoe sensed that the commander had some misgivings about the route. Obviously, he was not a fool.
Turning to his following riders, the man spoke some orders, and four men dismounted. Two went to each side of the trail, disappearing into the woods – though Iydahoe easily guessed their mission. Each pair of scouts had no doubt been ordered to inspect the looming heights, seeking just the sort of ambush that the two elves intended.
Nevertheless, the Kagonesti warrior was not worried. The bluff’s top was rough, with too many hiding places to yield to anything but a sweep by a whole company of men. He took care to see that the two braves were fully concealed in the depths of a cedar bush. The scouts would not discover them unless they actually parted the branches, and there were far too many bushes up here for the two men to make such an exhaustive search.
As silent and still as the rocks around them, the two warriors waited for the scouts. True to Iydahoe’s guess, the men appeared about an hour later, carefully working their way along the bluff top. Though they could have dropped the pair with two quick shots, the Kagonesti held their bows in reserve, not wanting to spoil the ambush before it had time to develop.
Grumbling angrily, the two men stalked past within a dozen paces of the hiding elves, but didn’t come near the cedar bush. Iydahoe sneered at the carelessness, listening with amusement to their litany of complaints.
“Stinkin’ elves, anyway,” one groused. “Why we got to risk our lives to guard a wagonload of Silvanesti wenches?”
“Because the Kingpriest likes to hear them sing,” declared the other, in a tone of rebuke. “Are you going to argue with him?”
“Me? Are you nuts? Not now, especially – when everyone’s talking about this great cleansing he’s going to do. He’ll banish evil from the world, they say.”
“Don’t believe everything ‘they’ say,” cautioned the older legionnaire. “But remember, the elven chorus has been a hallmark of the Evening Prayer in his palace every night, and it’s time for a new bunch of elves to get up there. And, besides, who do you think could sing as pretty?”
“Or look as pretty,” the other allowed with a rude chuckle. “I tell you, there’s a few of them little vixens I wouldn’t mind one bit if …”
The men’s lackluster search took them out of earshot before the elves could hear more. Another hour passed, with the two elves remaining as still as before. Finally the riders began to move forward, and they knew that the scouts must have signaled from the other end of the gorge.
Carefully, Iydahoe and Bakall moved into position. The first hundred riders filed into the shallow canyon, and the wagons trundled into view behind. Iydahoe saw the curtain tugged back on the compartment of the lead wagon, and he was startled as an elven maiden, golden hair flying in the breeze, leapt onto the ground.
“Vanisia!” came a stern voice from within, but the girl avoided the summons. A male elf, wearing the blue mantle of a priest, stuck his head out of the wagon and gestured the maiden back.
With a carefree laugh, she knelt beside the path and quickly picked a cluster of bright blossoms. Her face flicked upward before she jumped back to the wagon, and in that instant Iydahoe was stunned by an image of perfect, exquisite beauty. Not since he had shyly watched Moxilli, alive and carefree about the Whitetail village, had his heart pounded to the kind of excitement that suddenly rose, unbidden, within him.
“Now?” asked Bakall, holding his taut bowstring against his cheek and waiting for Iydahoe’s command. With a start, the brave realized that the legionnaires had advanced to well within arrow range.
“Now,” he agreed.
Both Kagonesti shot. Their sleek arrows flashed into the gorge, dropping the captain and his nearest attendant from their saddles. Consternation erupted as men shouted, horses bucked, and dozens of swords slid from oiled scabbards.
But already the elves had fired second and third volleys. The legionnaires milled about in panic, seeking escape from the deadly hail that had already dropped a half dozen from their saddles. The wagons blocked escape to the rear, and the facing walls of the gorge prevented any sideways movement, so the lead riders put their spurs to their steeds and charged headlong into the continuing canyon.
Iydahoe shot again and again, each missile claiming the life of a panicked rider. In earlier ambushes, he had vividly remembered the massacre of his village, drawing on the hatred fueled by that butchery to commit himself to his own killings. But by now the murderous tactic had become virtually automatic, with all his thoughts focused on the locating of his next target.
The wagons rocked forward, creaking and bumping over the bodies of slain legionnaires as their drivers hurried them through the gorge. The first wagon compartment’s curtain pulled back, and again Iydahoe saw that beautiful image – the elfmaiden Vanisia staring upward, wide-eyed. Oddly, she seemed more curious than afraid.
Abruptly she was pulled back into the wagon, her place taken by the dour figure of the elven cleric. Iydahoe looked back to the legionnaires, having little interest in killing a Silvanesti when Istarians were within range of his bow. Carefully he released another shot.
The cleric raised a hand, and Iydahoe gaped in shock as his arrow suddenly became a long-stemmed flower, fluttering gently against the chest of the human it had been intended to kill. Bakall’s shot, too, vanished into the shape of a harmless blossom!
Again and again Iydahoe released further arrows, altering his aim, seeking difficult targets, but each time the elven priest chanted his arcane command, and the arrow was rendered not only harmless, but beautiful.
Furious, Iydahoe changed his aim, this time drawing a bead on the cleric himself. But while the arrow started on a true flight, it suddenly swerved upward. Aghast, the Kagonesti saw white wings sprout from the shaft. Then, miraculously, the arrow was a bird, a snowy dove winging upward and away. Two more shots he released, and two more doves flew away.
The cleric fixed a burning stare on the cliff where the wild elves were concealed. His chant grew in strength, tugging at Iydahoe with a strangely compelling pull. Thwarted, the warrior backed away from the edge of the cliff.
“Come on. Let’s give them the false trail,” he hissed, turning to Bakall.
But the young warrior did not accompany him! Astonished, Iydahoe saw Bakall rise and step forward, exposing himself to plain view at the edge of the cliff. Then, before Iydahoe could do anything to stop him, the young warrior turned his face to the cliff and began to descend-straight toward the milling mass of the legionnaires and their Silvanesti allies!
Iydahoe lunged toward the cliff’s edge, but his split second of astonishment gave Bakall time to slip down the steep slope, dropping out of the older warrior’s reach. Below, legionnaires raised crossbows, drawing a bead on the young Kagonesti’s unarmored back. Apparently oblivious to his companion above and his enemies below, Bakall resolutely worked his way down the precipice, choosing his toeholds with almost reckless haste.
Carefully creeping forward, Iydahoe peered through a narrow crack between two of the rocks at the lip of the cliff. He saw legionnaires with their crossbows sighted upward, yet for long seconds they held their fire. Iydahoe couldn’t see Bakall, but from the lowering of the crossbows, he deduced that the young elf had not been shot – for the moment, at least.
Only then did he hear the other voice – first stern and commanding, then softer, more convincing. Iydahoe saw the elven cleric he had observed earlier. Now the priest stood atop the seat of the wagon, addressing the legionnaires with words Iydahoe couldn’t understand. Their captain and officers slain by the first of the elven arrows, the men-at-arms wavered between vengeance and the eloquence of the cleric’s arguments. Ultimately they held their fire, watching carefully as the young warrior reached the foot of the cliff and advanced toward the Silvanesti who still exhorted from his wheeled pulpit.
Iydahoe’s bow and the dozen arrows remaining in his quiver were forgotten in the wild elf’s wonder at the scene below. He saw Bakall reach the side of the wagon, taking the cleric’s extended hand to step upward. As the young brave disappeared into the curtained interior, the cleric shouted something to the legionnaires.
Another man emerged from a different wagon – Iydahoe felt a mixture of horror and fury when he saw the dark gray robes of a wizard. He was out of arrow range, or the elf would have shot immediately. The fellow set a small, iron brazier on the ground and squinted upward, beginning to chant something aloud.
Even at this great distance the wild elf felt the flash of cold recognition. This was the face he had seen on the robed rider, fourteen years before. Flinging himself flat on the rocks, Iydahoe took shelter against the unknown threat of magical attack. His mind seethed with the hatred that had so long burned for this magic-user, the man who had enabled the armies of Istar to reach the wild elf villages undetected. If there was one man, beside the Kingpriest himself, who was to blame for that butchery, Iydahoe knew this wizard was that killer.
The mage shouted something, his words crackling in triumph. Iydahoe, peering around the rock, gaped in astonishment as the wizard’s pot of coals suddenly spewed out a great column of flame. The fire crackled upward and out, like a living being – a creature cringing before the commands of its human master. The twisting, blazing shape broke away from the brazier. The wizard shouted again, pointing up the bluff, and the fiery creature followed the magic-user’s command. Bushes and trees crackled into flame as it moved, but the fire-being didn’t pause. When it reached the base of the precipice, it began to surge upward, bounding with a series of uncanny leaps.
Abruptly the legionnaires kicked spurs to their horses, while the wagon drivers shouted, unsparing in the use of their lashes. Hooves pounding, wheels rumbling, the procession clattered along the floor of the gorge. Dust swirled into the air, pushed by the breeze into a choking cloud that billowed upward in the canyon like muddy water flowing through a stone-bound channel.
At the same time, fire crackled higher on the cliff side as the blazing monster flew upward. Dozens of newly-kindled blazes added to the smoke and terrified the horses. The first band of riders, less the several dozen who had fallen to Kagonesti arrows, galloped past, with the wagons clattering behind. Shortly afterward, the final rank of legionnaires came into view, staring with fear and fury at the cliff from which death had rained – and where, now, the animated figure of the wizard’s fire reached the lip of the precipice.
Iydahoe was unaware of the fleeing legionnaires as the towering fire beast surged into sight. The creature had a broad torso mounted on a circular base of flame. Two blazing arms extended from its upper body, while a head – complete with two charcoal-black eyes – surmounted the entire horrific form.
The thicket concealing Iydahoe erupted into fire. Heat singed the wild elf’s skin, raising blisters on his arms. Behind him, a dry tree exploded into flame, blocking the Kagonesti’s retreat. With no alternative, the warrior raised the silver axe and lunged forward, slashing wildly at the belly of the monstrous creature. Surprisingly, the axe head ripped a great gash through the pillar of flame.
Then a fist of crackling heat smashed into the wild elf’s shoulder, sending him staggering backward. With shocking speed the fire monster leapt – but Iydahoe flailed with the mighty axe blade, knocking the beast aside. More bushes ignited, and sweat dripped in the warrior’s eyes. His retreat blocked by flaming brambles, Iydahoe again hurled himself at the blazing apparition, hacking with the axe from the right, from the left, then chopping with brutal, overhand slashes. Parts of living fire fell away, flickering weakly on the ground, and the elf pressed his advantage. Finally the monster broke apart, balls of oily fire dropping over the cliff, spattering into smoke on the rocks below.
The wild elf turned and sprinted through the blazing tinder, ignoring the sparks that stung his skin, the blisters that had begun to ripple along his legs. Real fear gnawed at him. How could he battle a man who could wield the forces of the very elements themselves? At the same time, Iydahoe imagined shooting an arrow into the wizard, putting an end to his evil, and the thought brought his hatred to a tight, burning focus.
Iydahoe was as frightened by Bakall’s strange departure as by the wizard’s magic. The brave raced along the high ground, striving to catch sight of the procession. His chest rose and fell from the easy effort of his breathing, and finally he got a glimpse of the rear guard. From there he held a steady pace with his quarry, taking care to remain back from the lip of the cliff. Fortunately, the hastening procession made enough noise that he found that he didn’t have to see it in order to follow it. Soon, afternoon shadows lengthened around him and, based on his limited experience with humans, he felt it likely that the Istarian party would soon camp for the night.
The power the cleric had used to compel Bakall mystified Iydahoe – and, he was forced to admit, frightened him more than a little. How could the wild elves fight this kind of magic? Yet he couldn’t abandon the young warrior, not while there was a chance that he lived and could be rescued.
Another part of him could not deny a feeling, however slight, of gratitude. The mysterious elven cleric, after all, must have gone to great lengths of persuasion to spare Bakall’s life. Why would he deprive the legionnaires the vengeance they so obviously had craved? Dozens of their number had been slain, and one of the killers had emerged into plain view. What sort of discipline could have held their hands? Another question arose, pestering: For what purpose did the priest want a Kagonesti prisoner?
Soon the gorge walls opened up, the pathway meandering through a series of hardwood groves mingled with a number of small meadows. A clear stream splashed through the center of the valley, providing fresh water along the entire route. The procession made camp around the largest clearing they could find, but even so they were forced to picket the horses and halt the wagons under the boughs of many tall hardwoods. As the sun set and stars sparkled in the sky, large blazes crackled upward from a number of campfires. The humans seemed jumpy, and even from a distance the wild elf heard men bickering, shouting, and cursing at each other. Unsettled by the ambush, the men obviously suspected that additional danger lurked in the surrounding darkness.
Iydahoe approached the bivouac with every bit of stealth in his warrior’s and hunter’s repertoire. During the first two hours of full darkness, he circled the place, locating the numerous and well-placed sentries by their dull outlines, the warmth of their bodies illuminating them in the darkness to his elven eyes. The men had formed a ring of steel-armed vigilance around their camp, but it was a circle with an inherent weakness: All the sentries stood on the ground.
Climbing into the branches of a widespread oak fifty feet outside the ring of sentries, the wild elf was careful to keep the heavy bole of the tree between himself and the wagons. With silent care, he hoisted himself from limb to limb until he was several dozen feet above the ground. Here, the boughs of the tree were still thick and sturdy, but a lower, leafy level of branches provided him good concealment from the human men-at-arms below.
Climbing from tree to tree, moving along one limb to the next with patient deliberation – more like a snake than a monkey – the Kagonesti brave approached the camp of the humans. A guard stood beneath the third tree Iydahoe reached, and he crept with ultimate stealth along the limbs and around the trunk of the forest giant. He heard the man sniff his nose and spit, but by moving with incredible deliberation the elf passed overhead without making a sound audible to the watcher below. It took him the better part of an hour to traverse that tree, but by the time he slipped into the next, the wild elf was within the perimeter of the procession’s camp.
He waited for a long time, watching. His bow and arrows were ready to hand, and he desperately hoped that the gray-robed magic-user would wander into sight. Though he saw dozens of legionnaires among the campfires and corrals, there was no sign of the wizard or the House Elves.
Iydahoe had marked the wagon holding the cleric and Bakall by its blue canopy, which was embroidered on each side with a series of silver discs. Now the Kagonesti was not surprised to find that wagon near the very center of the bivouac – yet even here the humans had been careless, for several large trees extended their embrace of branches into the space over it. Iydahoe continued his meticulous advance, well aware of the humans cooking, eating, and talking directly below him.
