The Five Elements (13 page)

"Whatever you have heard about her," Ensel Rhe said, "is likely not true. She does not eat children, for one."

"How do you know?"

"Because she cannot abide their presence long enough to cook them up."

Aaron paused. Was that a joke? Aaron noted that Master Rhe was not smiling.

"How do you know? Have you been there before?"

"It is how I know the way."

Ensel Rhe looked past Aaron, towards the direction they'd come. He was finished with this conversation. Aaron, however, was not.

"I'm not going."

Ensel Rhe's stare settled on him. "Excuse me?"

"I-I said I'm not going. I'm not going any further with you. I don't even know why you've brought me this far, but if you mean to take me to the Woman of the Wood then I know it's for no good. I won't go. I won't." Aaron realized he sounded like a pouty child and that he'd perhaps spoken out of turn, but right now he didn't care. He'd meant what he said. He wasn't going. Nothing Master Rhe said could change his mind.

"Stay here, then," Ensel Rhe said. "The dwarves can't be far behind. They should find you in no time." The eslar said nothing more, but turned and walked away.

Aaron stared at his departing form. He expected Master Rhe to stop, come back, and forcefully make him follow. A dozen steps later and he'd done none of those things. It was only a ruse, Aaron thought. Master Rhe had not taken him this far just to leave him out here in the wilderness. Half a dozen steps more and the eslar was disappearing into the foliage. Aaron took a few steps of his own in that direction, to better gauge the other's progress he told himself. Master Rhe might go a little further, but he'd turn around. He’s only trying to scare me, Aaron thought. Almost out of view now, Aaron suddenly couldn't stand the thought of being left alone.

"W-wait!"

Aaron ran to catch up. Ensel Rhe stopped.

"You can't just leave me," Aaron said. "I don't know where we are and…" Aaron tried to contain himself, but bottled up emotions were suddenly welling up, defying Aaron's best efforts to contain them. "I don't know why any of this happened. The earthquake and the waves and the flooding and the dwarves trying to… kill me." His shoulders slumped. He wanted nothing more than to just go home. He wanted Shanna back. Elsanar, too. He'd even welcome Corrin's abuse if it meant returning things to the way they'd been. But he knew there was no going back. Ever. Norwynne had been devastated. Shanna, Master Elsanar, the others—they were gone. He had only this now: a wayward life with a stranger who trafficked with the diabolical. Aaron's gaze strayed to Master Rhe's satchel. He visibly shuddered. As much as he might wish it otherwise, he knew he didn't have any choice but to follow where Master Rhe led.

For a moment, Ensel Rhe looked about to say something, but he was cut off by a single, distant howl. The noise lasted long enough to cause Aaron's heart to miss a beat, then it faded and was gone. A dog, or wolf. Nothing more than one or the other, Aaron thought, until he saw Master Rhe's stare lingering in the direction of the howl. Like the horn, it came from the direction of Norwynne. Like the horn, its sound was not alone as other howls rose up to pierce the morning, one after the other for a time, until finally their crescendo ended.

Neither of them said anything. They didn't need to. Nor did Aaron need any prompting this time to fall in line, though he did take a moment to cast one last, long look behind them. Of a sudden, dwarves and witches seemed the least of his worries.

T
HE DWARVES LED THEIR CAPTIVES deep into the Grey Hills to a wooded ravine so secluded Shanna thought it the last place anyone from Norwynne might think to look. Entry was achieved by stepping through a dark-as-pitch maw that was formed only by accident as everywhere else a snarl of vines and tree branches sealed the place up as if it were walled. Inside, perimeter guards manning their posts without the warmth of a fire rose from crouches to greet them. They said nothing as the bound captives were dragged past, deeper into the dark. Shanna thought she heard the sounds of a camp, but she couldn’t see clearly to tell for sure. They were led to a trio of prison wagons, two of which were already full of other captives. The third wagon was empty, but not for long as the dwarves undid their prisoners' bindings and ushered them inside. With that done, all but three of the dwarves left, heading for the center of their secret refuge. The three who remained huddled together, muttering in subdued voices and only occasionally chuckling at some jibe or joke told by another. Hours passed, until dawn's first glimmering just began to cast a pale glamour throughout the hollow. Only then did Shanna see the dozen or so tents at the center of the hideout. Dwarves milled about most of the tents save for one which was the largest of them all and set so far apart one could hardly help noticing the void around it. It was a void, too, a zone of inactivity that dwarves not only avoided, but purposely shied from. Where the other, smaller tents flew various insignia, this one flew nothing: no colored banners, no pennants, no flags. It was sealed tight, too, with no one coming and no one going. Most distinct of all, Shanna saw standing to either side of the sealed flap a pair of guards too tall to be dwarves.

Shanna's inspection was interrupted when, without announcement or ceremony, the guards began unlocking all three of the cages and shouting for the prisoners to come out and form a line. As they did, a light drizzle began to fall. Most of the refugees were dressed in nightclothes paired with an odd assortment of hastily thrown on tunics, pants, gowns, or shirts. Already shivering, the rain's first touch sent a visible shudder across them all. The dwarves paid no attention to this as they went about ordering the formation of the refugees. One of the guards gestured toward the main part of the encampment. Shanna followed the line of his finger, seeing nothing in particular except for a single dwarf, who at this distance looked no different than the others as he strode through the heart of the camp. No retinue followed him. No one jumped out of his way or saluted as he passed. Still, there was purpose in his stride as he made for Shanna and the others. The moment he reached the trio of guards, he addressed the one who had pointed.

"Keln, how went the hunt?"

Right away Shanna saw that this dwarf was indeed different from the others. His clothes—leather breeches and a loose fitting shirt that clung to him from the damp—were cleaner and of a finer cut. Long, blondish-red hair was pulled back straight from his forehead and must have reached halfway to his waist if not further. His beard was braided and neatly groomed, though littered with drops of moisture now. As thick of body as any of the others, surliness ruled the dwarf's narrowed brow and steel-blue eyes. But there was thoughtfulness there, too, especially as he looked past the one named Keln to sweep his gaze across the prisoners.

Keln did not answer right away. Instead, he briefly studied the other. His examination started and ended with the great weapon slung across the other's back. Shanna thought it odd that it should be wrapped from handle to blade in a thick layer of cloth.

"You have it, then?" Keln said, the braids of his beard swaying as he gestured with his chin at the large cloth-wrapped item.

"Yes," the other replied. "I have it and, with it, leadership of the clan."

Again, silence, until Keln said, "Yet, you do not bear it proudly. Why is that, brother?"

"Because," the other said, his voice suddenly a rumbling landslide, "it is an accursed thing and you know it."

Keln weighed the other's words, then he nodded. "Aye, tis a double-bladed weapon in more ways than one, eh?"

"Truly," the other said, his voice calm now. "Pity Kelgin's indulgence with it was brief. I intend my time with it to be longer. When we return home, Soljilnor will unite the clans. With it in my possession, I will claim leadership."

"And if that leadership is challenged?"

"Let any dwarf do so and he'll soon find himself basking in the fires of hell."

At that, Keln laughed, long and hard. Then he shouted into the morning. "All hail! Engus Rul, Clan-lord of Fire Rock!" The rain and gloom swallowed his words. No one answered. Quieter, he said, "Better you than some others, eh?" Not waiting for an answer, Keln turned and swept a hand down the length of their prisoners. "We found these outside the city. More remain. Like rabbits chased from their holes. We'll find them. All of them," Keln said, adding, "if that is what you wish."

Engus Rul didn't move, but Shanna saw his eyes examining them, one after the other. When Shanna's turn came, she made herself meet his gaze. Meet it and hold it. Such a feat was not without effort. A feverish cold swept up and down her spine and she felt her knees go weak. She clenched her fists though, determined that the dwarf would not see her fear. The dwarf's expression never changed, nor did his eyes leave hers right away. In them, Shanna saw strength, resolve. These things she expected. But there was something else. Sadness. No, not sadness. Pity. Perhaps even remorse. It left her confused as the dwarf's gaze moved past her.

His inspection complete, Engus Rul said, "No, there are enough."

Keln nodded. "Best we get this business over quickly, eh? If you want, I'll see it’s done. No need for you to stay—"

"I'll stay."

The words stamped a finality on their conversation as silence ensued. The quiet brought with it a new sense of dread amongst the prisoners as they waited for whatever came next. Frightened and nervous already, many cast wild-eyed stares in the direction of the dwarves and their camp. Their stares lingered the longest on the solitary tent.

Then there was movement. Through the rain, between the two man-sized guards, Shanna saw the solitary tent's flap open. A robed man, his hood drawn over his head, stepped out. The moment he did, the rain lessened. He took one step and then another and it lessened further. By the third the rain had stopped altogether. Two others emerged behind him. A boy and, after a noticeable span, a woman dressed all in white. The two guards waited for the boy to pass before they followed. The woman came last. Together, the ensemble moved toward the dwarves and their captives. It was a slow march. The robed man, who walked with the help of a cane, set the pace, with those behind content to keep their order. Shanna counted every heartbeat hammering in her chest before the group came within speaking distance and finally stopped.

The morning had gone still. Rain dripping from the branches of surrounding trees ceased. The call of morning birds disappeared. The dwarven camp went silent as if suddenly deserted. The man, even hunched, was too tall and lean to be dwarven. He held the attention of everyone assembled. There was little to see, for gray robes covered his gaunt frame from the hood that concealed his face all the way to the soft shoes on his feet. Only the man's hands, both of which were clasped at the top of a whitewood cane, were visible. The backs of them were crisscrossed with a myriad of wrinkles. The fingers were long and bony and, like the man's cane, pure white, with only a hint of pinky flesh. Shanna thought them the hands of Death, for there seemed a pallor of gloom about the whole of him, a feeling that his merest touch might shrivel each of them to pruned husks. He made no threatening move towards them, though. He simply stood there, head tilted downward as if cognizant of nothing but the ground before him. It was the boy who stepped forward.

The scamp—Shanna thought him about her age—was dressed in a red tunic hemmed in gold, dark pantaloons, and a short cape of velvet and ermine trim held at his throat by a broach that sparkled. His hair, pulled tight over his scalp, was held in place by a golden circlet at his forehead. Rings adorned his every finger and at his belt hung a small knife resting in a jeweled sheath. The boy strolled to one end of the prisoners' line where he proceeded to inspect from top to bottom the disheveled, pot-bellied man standing there. He performed this inspection not with his eyes but with something that looked suspiciously to Shanna like one of Aaron's measuring instruments. The boy held the device out, then ran it up and down the man’s body. A look of annoyance flashed across the boy's face at the results. "This one will not do," he said, loud enough that all heard him. He stepped away, gesturing at Engus Rul and the other dwarves.

Engus Rul gave the boy a long, appraising look before he settled on his heels and crossed his arms across his chest. Keln and the others, who'd gathered around their clan lord, followed suit.

The boy's look of annoyance deepened as he stomped a foot. "Come forward!" Far from the commanding tone Shanna thought he meant to convey, the boy's words emerged as a whine that commanded neither respect nor fear. He must have recognized this failing, for his expression only grew more angry as he pointed at the captive he'd singled out. "This one will not do!"

When neither Engus Rul nor his men made any attempt to do whatever it was the boy expected of them, the infuriated lad motioned to the two guardsmen who'd accompanied them from the tent. At first, they made no move to obey either. But then, with a single pasty-handed gesture from the robed man, they came forward. The moment they did, Shanna recoiled from what she saw, for they were not men at all, but sitheri, who walked with the legs of men and wielded weapons with four-fingered hands, but who were snakes in all other regards. Long serpent bodies, marked by alternating rings of gray and brown scales, ended in waving, serpentine tails. Snake faces, wrapped around by their traditional sur-rys, possessed eyes that did not blink and scaly lips from which slipped forked tongues. Their garb—silk vests and matching pantaloons with holes in back to accommodate their tails—were a flamboyant violet and soaked through from their time standing guard outside the solitary tent's entrance. They were armed with curved swords that hung at their waists and a long spear to each of them. Most striking of all were the sashes each wore around one shoulder. Thick and dark, they were woven through with tufts of… hair. Shanna swallowed. Hair, and skin. Scalps.

The sitheri seized the pot-bellied man by either arm. Confused, but unable to resist, the man was dragged down the line, past Shanna, to a grassy swath where he was thrown facedown to the ground. He was just struggling to rise when one of the serpent guards plunged its spear into the man’s back.