A Darkness at Sethanon (38 page)

Arutha looked at
his brother and nodded. Martin took Briana by the arm and left.
Arutha knew how much the woman had come to mean to Martin and
realized his brother would want to spend his last hours in Armengar
with her. Without thinking, Arutha reached out and placed a hand upon
Jimmy’s shoulder. Jimmy looked up at the Prince then followed
his gaze to the plain before the city, where under clouds of rolling
dust an army approached.

Martin held
Briana closely. They had retired to her quarters for the afternoon.
She had left word with her second-in-command she was to be disturbed
only in case of grave need. Their lovemaking had been frenzied at
first, then gentle. At the last they simply held each other, waiting
as the moments slipped by.

Martin at last
spoke. “I must go soon. The others will be gathering at the
tunnel door into the hills.”

“Martin,”
she whispered.

“What?”

“I just
wanted to say your name.” She studied his face. “Martin.”

He kissed her
and tasted the salt of tears upon her lips.

She clung to him
and said, “Tell me about tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”
Martin felt a sudden, unexpected confusion. He had laboured to honour
her request in not speaking of the future. His elven-tempered nature
offered patience, but his feelings for her demanded commitment. He
had put aside the conflict that resulted from this contradiction and
had lived for the present. He softly said, “You said we must
not think about tomorrow.”

She shook her
head. “I know, but now I want to.” She closed her eyes
and spoke softly. “I told you once I was a commander, privy to
knowledge most of the city are ignorant of. What I know is that we
most likely will not hold this city and must needs flee into the
hills.” She was silent for a moment, then said, “Understand,
Martin, we know nothing save Armengar. The possibility of living
somewhere else never occurred to any here until the Protector came
among us. Now I have faint hope. Tell me about tomorrow and the day
after and the day after that. Tell me of all the tomorrows. Tell me
how it will be.”

He nestled down
into the covers, gently cradling her head upon his chest, feeling a
hot flush of love and urgency rise up within himself. “I will
get through the mountains, Bree. There is no one who can stop me. I
will bring Dolgan and his kin. That old dwarf would take it
personally if he weren’t invited to this battle. We’ll
hold Murmandamus at bay and ruin his campaign for a second year. His
army will desert and we’ll hunt him down like the rabid animal
he is and destroy him. Vandros will send his army from Yabon to
bolster yours and you’ll be safe. You’ll have time for
your children to be children.”

“And what
of us?”

Ignoring the
tears that coursed down his cheeks, he said, “You’ll
leave Armengar and come to Crydee. You will live there with me and we
will be happy.”

She cried, “I
want to believe.”

He gently pushed
her away and lifted her chin. Kissing her he said, “Believe,
Bree.” His voice was hoarse with emotion. Never in his life had
he thought he could feel such bittersweet happiness, for to discover
that his love was returned was a joy shrouded by the shadow of coming
madness and destruction.

She studied his
face, then closed her eyes. “I want to remember you this way.
Go, Martin. Don’t say anything.”

Quickly he rose
and dressed. He silently wiped away the tears, turning his feelings
inward in the elven fashion as he prepared to face the perils of the
trail. With a long last look at her, he quit her chambers. When she
heard the door close, she turned her face into the covers and
continued to cry softly.

The patrol moved
up toward a canyon. It had ridden out as if making a final sweep of
the area before retreating behind the upper redoubts that protected
the cliffs above the city. Martin and his three companions crouched
down in the shelter of a large rock formation, waiting. They had left
the city by the secret passage from the keep that cut through the
mountain behind Armengar. Reaching a position along the patrol’s
route, they hid in a narrow draw a short distance from the canyon.
Blutark lay silently, Baru’s hand upon his head. The Hadati had
discovered the source of Armengarian indifference to his possession
of the dog. It was the first time a Beasthound had survived its
master in the memory of those of Armengar, and as the dog seemed to
accept Baru as his master, no one objected.

Martin
whispered, “Wait.”

Long moments
dragged by, then the soft footfalls coming out of the darkness could
be heard. A squad of goblins hurried by, moving with no light and
little noise, as they shadowed the route of the patrol. Martin waited
until they vanished down the ravine, then signalled.

At once Baru and
Blutark were up, running across the draw. The Hadati jumped to the
upper edge of the shallow wash and reached down as Blutark leaped.
With a helping hand from the hillman the huge Beasthound cleared the
rim of the small depression. Laurie and Roald sprang for the edge,
followed a moment later by Martin. Then Baru was leading them along a
naked ridge. For terrible long moments they ran in a crouch, exposed
to the view of anyone who might look their way, until they could jump
down into a small crevice.

Baru looked one
way and the other as his companions landed beside him. With a curt
nod he led them away, toward the west and Stone Mountain.

For three days
they moved, making cold camp at first light, hiding in a cave or in a
blind draw, until nightfall, when they would be off again. Knowing
the way helped, for they avoided many of the false trails and other
paths which would lead them away from the true route. All about them
was proof Murmandamus’s army was sweeping the hills, ensuring
they were clear of Armengarians. Five times in three days they had
lain in hiding as mounted or foot patrols passed by. Each time the
fact of their hiding motionless, rather than fleeing for Armengar,
saved them. Arutha had been right. The patrols were looking for
stragglers heading for the city, not for messengers on the way out.
Martin was sure that was not always going to be the case.

The next day
Martin’s fears were borne out, for a narrow pass, impossible to
get around, was guarded by a company of moredhel. A half-dozen
hill-clan moredhel sat about a campfire, while two more were posted
as guards near their horses. Baru had only narrowly avoided being
spotted, the warning from Blutark the only reason he had blundered
into view. The Hadati lay back against a boulder, holding up eight
fingers. He motioned that two stood atop rocks, and pantomimed
looking. He then held up six fingers and squatted, pantomiming
eating. Martin nodded. He motioned passing around the position. Baru
shook his head.

Martin
unlimbered his bow. He took out two arrows, putting one between his
teeth as he nocked the other. He held up two fingers and pointed to
himself, then pointed to the others and nodded. Baru held up six
fingers and motioned he understood.

Martin calmly
stepped out into view and let fly with his first arrow. One of the
dark elves flew backward from the top of his stone perch, while the
other started to jump down. He had an arrow in his chest before he
landed.

Baru and the
others were already past Martin, weapons drawn. Baru’s blade
whistled through the air as he slashed out, killing’another
moredhel before he could close. Blutark had another down on the
ground. Roald and Laurie engaged two others, while Martin dropped his
bow and pulled his sword.

The fight was
furious, as the moredhel quickly recovered from the surprise. But as
Martin engaged another, the sound of hoofbeats could be heard. One
moredhel had been left without an opponent and he had chosen to leap
to his saddle. He spurred his horse and rode past the attackers
before he could be prevented. In short order, Martin and his
companions had dispatched the other moredhel and the campsite was
silent. “Damn!” Martin swore.

Baru said, “It
could not be helped.”

“If I’d
stayed with my bow, I could have brought him down. I was impatient,”
he said, as if that was the worst possible error. “Well,
there’s nothing for it now, as Amos would say. We’ve
their horses, so let’s use them. I don’t know if there
are more camps beyond, but we’ll need speed now, not stealth.
That moredhel will be back here shortly with friends.”

“His sort
of friends,” Laurie added as he mounted.

Roald and Baru
were also quickly up and Martin cut the cinches on the remaining
three horses. “They can have the horses, but they’ll have
to ride them bareback.”

The others said
nothing, but this petty act of vandalism indicated most clearly how
angry Martin was with himself over the moredhel’s escape. The
Duke of Crydee signed, and Baru ordered Blutark out ahead. The dog
ran down the trail, and the riders followed quickly after.

The giant turned
his head as Martin’s arrow struck between the shoulders. The
ten-foot-tall creature staggered back as another arrow took him in
the neck. His two companions lumbered toward Martin while he fired a
third arrow into the stricken giant as he collapsed.

Baru had ordered
Blutark to stand, for the huge humanoids wielded swords the size of a
human great-sword, easily sufficient to cleave the large dog in two
with a single blow. For all their shambling movement, the hairy
creatures could lash out with enough speed to make them very
dangerous. Baru ducked to a squat as the sword passed over his head,
then lashed out with his sword as he leaped past his towering
opponent. In a single stroke he hamstrung the creature, causing it to
fall. Between them Roald and Laurie had the third giant on the
defensive, and they kept him backing up until Martin could kill him
with the bow.

When all three
lay dead, Laurie and Roald fetched the horses. Blutark sniffed at the
corpses, growling low in his throat. The giants looked roughly
manlike, but averaged ten to twelve feet tall. They bulked heavier
than a human in proportion and were all uniform with their black hair
and beards. The Hadati said, “The giants are usually aloof from
men. What power do you think Murmandamus holds over them?”

Martin shook his
head. “I don’t know. I’ve heard of them, and there
are some in the mountains near the Free Cities. But the Natalese
Rangers also say they avoid contact with others and do not usually
cause trouble. Perhaps they are simply no more immune to the
blandishments of wealth and power than other creatures.”

“Legend
says they were once men such as you or I, but that something changed
them,” commented Baru.

As they mounted,
Roald said, “That I find difficult to believe.”

Martin signalled
that the march should resume, and they rode forward, the second
encounter with Murmandamus’s guards successfully passed.

Blutark’s
low growl indicated something up the trail. They were reaching that
point above the Inclindel Gap where they would be leaving the ridge
and heading down into Yabon. They had covered ground as fast as
possible for three days. They were bone-weary, drifting off to sleep
in the saddle, but they kept on. The horses were losing weight, for
the grain carried by the moredhel had run out two days before, and
there was no forage to speak of. They would have to let the animals
graze when they reached some grasses, but Martin knew that, with the
demands placed upon the animals, they would have to have more than
grass if they were to finish out the journey. Still, he was thankful
for the horses, for the three days of riding had turned their chances
from desperate to fair. Two more days of riding and, even should the
horses die, they would be certain to reach Stone Mountain in time.

Baru motioned
for the others to hold position. He inched forward along the narrow
trail, disappearing around a turn. Martin remained motionless, his
bow at the ready, while Laurie and Roald held the mounts.

Baru reappeared
and motioned them back down the trail. “Trolls,” he
whispered.

“How
many?” asked Laurie.

“A full
dozen.”

Martin swore.
“Can we get around them?”

“If we
leave the horses, and move along the ridges, there may be a way, but
I don’t know.”

“Try
surprise?” asked Roald, knowing what the answer would be.

“Too
many,” said Martin. “Three to one on a narrow trail?
Mountain trolls? Even without weapons, they can bite your arm off.
No, we’d better try to move around them. Get what you need from
the horses and let them loose back up the trail.” Martin
silently cursed the change in luck. Leaving the horses now severely
reduced their chances of reaching the dwarves in time.

They stripped
what gear they needed and Laurie and Roald led the mounts away, while
Baru and Martin kept a keen watch for any signs that the trolls might
venture up the trail. Suddenly Laurie and Roald were coming back at a
run. “Dark Brothers,” said Roald.

“How
close?” asked Martin.

“Too close
to stand here and talk about it,” said Roald as he began
climbing the ridges alongside the trail. They scampered up the rocks,
the dog able to keep pace, and moved toward the downslope side of the
crest, keeping the ridges between themselves and the trail, hoping to
bypass the trolls.

They reached a
point along the trail where it had suddenly doubled back. Baru looked
along its length. He signalled and they moved farther down the slope
and jumped back down to the trail. Suddenly they heard distant
shouting. “The moredhel have reached the trolls and most likely
have our mounts.” He signalled and they started to run down the
trail.

They ran until
their lungs ached, but behind they could hear the sound of riders.
Martin dodged around a tall stand of rocks on one side, and shouted,
“Here!” When the others had stopped, he said, “Can
you get up there and push those rocks down here?”