Venom and Song (33 page)

The flet soldiers, cheering in victory, soon felt a new surge of emotions. Here they stood completely free of fear for the first time in centuries. No cowering behind carefully erected screens, waiting for some search party to happen upon them; no counting seconds by passing shadows to keep groups of sunning Elves from being topside too long. Those days, it would seem, were over. Here they were, shouting and raising a ruckus, their most feared enemy now tucking its tail and running back to its hole.

“Well done!” Travin awarded them. “WELL DONE, I SAY!”

When Travin had finally returned, leaving behind a company of flet soldiers to guard the point of entry aboveground, he presented the details of the battle in full to the council. Manaelkin was practically gushing with pride, though he tried his best to remain collected and not betray the overwhelming sense of accomplishment he felt.

“My men will alert us at the first sign of a counterattack,” Travin finished up. “But I suspect the Spider King will be found nursing his wounds for quite some time, and think twice before engaging us again.”

“Here, here!” the elders replied, pounding their fists in agreement. All but one that was.

“See here,” Manaelkin said when the praise finally subsided. “It would seem our brother, Alwynn, still does not share our enthusiasm.”

Alwynn sat stoically.

“What would you say, Alwynn?” said Danhelm.

“What would I say?” Alwynn drummed his fingers a few times. “Commander Travin”—he looked to the warrior—“would you say the layadine cannons contributed to our success?”

“Aye,” replied Travin, “more than that. They were our saving grace.”

“And the layadine?”

“Surely a gift from Ellos himself.”

“Here, here!” replied the rest, pounding the table yet again.

“It is a wonder that Ellos would send us to the only place where the Nightwish flower grows, and in it our key to victory,” said Danhelm. Another round of support thumped across the room.

“And I would ask you, Travin, have your gunnery commanders accounted for what has been used in today's massacre?”

At this question, the commander grew a bit uneasy, as did the rest of the council.

“There is no need to dwell on such—”

“Yes, Manaelkin, there is.” Alwynn leaned forward now, his hands gripping the table. “I most heartily agree that layadine if a gift from Ellos, one that takes decades to cultivate, and even more to stabilize.” His voice was strenuous now. “
Hundreds of years
, brothers. So I would ask our beloved commander again . . . how—much—is—left?”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room as all eyes fixed on Alwynn, and Alwynn glared at Manaelkin. When Travin spoke, there could be no doubt that whatever means had secured victory this time, it would not happen again . . . at least not for another few hundred years.

By the time the council had reconvened the next morning, Alwynn felt as if his point had been but a minor inconvenience, now overshadowed by a far more dynamic prospect: the Seven Elf Lords.

“While I appreciate the concerns that some have brought to light”—Danhelm paused in regard to Alwynn—“I would propose to this assembly that layadine, and its providential existence, has served its purpose: to gain us this one victory and in turn speed momentum in our favor, and nothing more.” The notion had somehow gained great favor among most of those present. “Are we to rely on such a tactic in the future, as some have come in the habit of relying upon? Or are we to look to new windows of opportunity, ones that far outweigh flowers and powders?”

“Say it!” some of the Elves demanded. “Out with it!”

“Brothers of the council”—Danhelm's voice rose—“I say it is time we retrieve the Seven Elf Lords from Whitehall and make good our siege of Vesper Crag!”

The council chamber erupted with cheers and clapping. It was the very notion they had all been holding to themselves. And, truth be told, Alwynn, too, hoped to put an end to the still-looming threat of the Spider King. But what Alwynn also knew was that the Seven were entrusted to a man far wiser than any of the councilmen at this table. Grimwarden would return the Seven to their
people
—not a council—when he thought they were ready, and not a moment before. Anything less would be reckless at best . . . suicide, if Alwynn's suspicions were well founded. Alwynn felt powerless—and even more, he felt betrayed that his own compatriots would turn against the very man they installed to advise them on all things military: Grimwarden. Oh, it was a noble cause, to be sure. Who among them did not dream of freedom? Did not long for the days of walking freely beneath the light of the sun once again? But just because a prophecy foretells something, doesn't mean a particular generation will live to see it.

Move too fast, gentlemen,
Alwynn thought to himself
, and I fear you will not find the Seven as you so desire them. And then not even a thousand years of layadine could help you crush your enemy
.

Grimwarden sat beneath his favorite oak and took a large bite from a fresh ketelo fruit. The papery reddish skin of the oblong fruit dissolved on his tongue, and he enjoyed its distinctive tart taste. He stretched his heavy limbs, relishing the cool shade that the leaves provided him against the afternoon heat. It was a pleasure he had long forgone, knowing he must suffer with the rest of his people in their underground plight. But being here in Whitehall these many months, this spot, . . . this practice, had become his one respite. And he allowed himself the pleasure. He tossed the core into a thicket and closed his eyes, feeling the soft breeze blow across his face and rustle the leaves above. Grimwarden sprang to his feet and summoned his blade. “Speak!” he commanded. “While you can.”

“Commander Grimwarden, is . . .” Grimwarden recognized that voice. “. . . is that—
ugh!
” Someone was clearly struggling in the undergrowth. “Who goes there?” Grimwarden replied, now lowering his sword. Whoever this was, he was none too skilled in stealthy movement.

“Is it safe?”

“Safe?” Grimwarden chuckled. “I daresay you scared off any creatures for many a league. In any case, show yourself. Or do you need help to escape the bracken?”

“Nay,” said the stranger. “I can manage—whoa-ah-whoa!” Nearly tumbling out of a thick briar bush—thorns still pulling on braided hair and knit cloth—emerged High Cleric Alwynn.

“Alwynn, my friend!” Grimwarden sheathed his sword and walked swiftly to meet the man. “What in Allyra brings you all this way?”

Alwynn was still busy trying to wrest himself of the woods. At last he smoothed his cloak and pressed his shoulders back. The two Elves crossed wrists over their chests and bowed. “Grim urgency brings me,” said Alwynn.

There was no mistaking Alwynn's tone. Grimwarden stood back. “Go on.”

“The Spider King invaded Nightwish.”

“
WHAT?”
Grimwarden rocked as if struck. Suddenly all his private misgivings about taking the lords and leaving Nightwish surfaced anew. “When?”

“Four days ago. A full invasion. Through the catacombs.”

“So they finally discovered us.”

“Yes. Our enemy sent a larger force than that which toppled Berinfell, but we repelled them.”

“Truly?” Grimwarden thought quickly. “Travin?”

“Yes, yes,” said Alwynn. “He was valiant. But, Grimwarden, the Spider King did not lead this force. I believe he was testing us.”

“Did we pass?”

“We defeated them utterly,” replied Alwynn. “Only a handful of casualties.”

“Only a handful? I don't under—”

“They used almost all of the layadine, by Manaelkin's order.”

“Fools!” Grimwarden slammed his fist into his palm. “How often have I advised the council of sparing, strategic use of our layadine stores? Bah, the council leader has won us a great battle. Pray he has not forfeited the war.”

“I have, and I will,” said Alwynn. “But do not say that it was not strategic use of the layadine. Winning such a decisive victory has earned Manaelkin great authority, authority to follow through with his original plans.”

“He demands we return the Seven Lords to Nightwish?”

“Worse,” said Alwynn. “He comes to take them back, by force if necessary.”

“Manaelkin was always calculating, but now I fear he has gone entirely mad! How much time do we have?”

“I left as soon as the council concluded. His plans were to gather his detachment of flet soldiers and depart just hours later.”

“Then he is near?” Grimwarden gazed into the woods over Alwynn's shoulders. “I'll need to sound the warning bell. Who knows where the Seven have scattered on their afternoon off. I—”

“You have more time than that,” said Alwynn. “Two days, or a little more.”

“You put two days between you?” Grimwarden looked on Alwynn with new wonder. “Forgive me for the implications of my question, but how could someone of your age and modest woodcraft gain that kind of time on able-bodied soldiers?”

“I flew,” said Alwynn. Seeing the bewilderment in his friend's face, he explained, “I sought aid from the Old Ones. They lent me one of their scarlet raptors. Wind-swift, they are.”

“Scarlet raptors,” Grimwarden muttered.

“Yes, the Old Ones maintain a secret eyrie in the Bristlethorn Hills, more than a hundred of the rare birds.”

“Do they?” Grimwarden asked, almost to himself. “Do they indeed? I will remember that. You see, this is not the first time I've heard of Elves riding the raptors. One lives here in Whitehall, or did. We haven't seen it for weeks now.”

After a pensive silence Alwynn asked, “What will you do?”

“Get the lords as far away from here as possible. And then confront Manaelkin myself.” Grimwarden found himself absently fondling the pommel of his sword. Then he looked up to Alwynn. “And you?” The question was a good one as Alwynn was clearly a council member; by now his absence was duly noted, with more than one of his brethren having their prejudices confirmed, and when they realized he had gone to Grimwarden, there would be no question as to where his sympathies lay.

Alwynn gave a funny smirk. “Well, if you're going to pick a fight, you might as well have a crotchety old politician in your corner.”

20
Puddle Jumping

“REMEMBER”—NELLY whispered, her back against the cold stone of a dead end—“keep a contact point at all times.”

Nelly edged two barrels out away from the wall. “I've got the barrels. Five count on the crates . . . make them six feet out for a launch point.”

“Agreed.”

“I hear them.” Nelly crouched behind the barrels. Backlit from the other end of the passage, at least seven large warriors approached. The Gwar leading them was absolutely massive. He carried a wide shield, but Nelly couldn't see his weapon. If she waited longer, she would lose any small advantage. Her back once more against the wall, she put one foot on each barrel and drew her knees back to her chin. She kicked the barrels launching them forward with a thunderous force. They careened down the passage toward the approaching warriors.