13 Chapter 12b

The archers surrounding Pran, Doc, and Ralph didn't fire, but those soldiers on foot bearing spears began a chillingly professional, steady and orderly advance. As the soldiers hemmed the three in, one Elf, riding a horse and clearly not a soldier, separated himself from his companions and rode forward, as if both to assert his authority in the matter, and to demonstrate that the three prisoners could present him with no personal danger; to reinforce in the minds of all present that they were wholly under his control. Doc guessed at once that this was Prince Cir, not from any description of the Prince, as he'd heard none, but rather from the Elf's careless authority, if not the fact that he alone wore no livery, which under the present circumstances attested that his station in life was clearly above and beyond that of the military.

The Prince was, at first glance, utterly lost within himself and drunk with arrogance. But a second look confirmed that his general appearance was otherwise very ordinary, especially when the self-indulgent luxuriance of his attire was ignored. He appeared dangerously average, if that may be said, for there was a hidden strength about him that spoke of a rabid, unbridled ferocity, when and where it could gain expression; from the shifty looks he cast about, it was obvious to all that seeking an outlet for his murderous ferocity consumed all of his attention. If the soldiers went along, the monster within the Prince would come out and show itself. If the soldiers did not, the monster would remain concealed, at least until another opportunity came along.

Doc groaned inwardly the moment the Prince began to speak. Some non-scientific instinct told him that the Elf before them was a psychopath: Doc had twice before met the acquaintance of serial-killers; one in a high-security mental facility, the other who had stalked a girl into a corner grocery store where a young James Irving Wallace was a customer. The killer was thwarted by Doc and the clerk, neither of whom had known what they were dealing with, until much later, when the killer had been caught and brought to trial.

Watching the Prince caused Doc's comparative memory to bifurcate into two very disparate images; the obsequious prisoner and the rabid killer; the sight of the latter had quite literally made the hair on the back of Doc's (and later, he learned, the store clerk's) neck stand up.

Doc's non-scientific, but unerringly accurate instinct told him also that Prince Cir was a sociopath, and what was more, a sociopath in an uncontestable position of authority.

Suddenly, much that was wrong with the Elf Kingdom, and with monarchies in general, became all-too-clear to Doc Wallace.

Not that he could articulate such things in so many words, Ralph knew instantly what they were in for the moment he laid eyes on the Prince: he had encountered his type twice before, in the person of Deborah's brother, and her father. His kind were only tough when they'd caught a weaker person alone, or when they were surrounded by "friends", the weak-willed and weak-minded types with little self-esteem and even less self-control, the type often found in gangs, who would either not interfere in, or would help with their bullying. When on the receiving end of the treatment meted out at the hands of such characters, Ralph well knew the best course of action was to do nothing; to say nothing; anything else would prompt such a character to act. Ralph's grandfather, were he still alive, would have said "an excuse to act", but Ralph instinctively knew better; that "excuse" implied intent.

Ralph knew that people like the one before him did not act with intent, that intent was for the most part beyond them. They acted more like machines made of meat, responding to stimuli; they were primitive-minded, wholly egocentric, apparently blind and heedless to the awareness and personal sovereignty of other living things; living in and for the moment, only for themselves.

The Prince's attention was fixed primarily on Doc, whom he stared at uncertainly. He'd heard the rumours which circulated about his Powers of healing, but the arcane device the old man wore over his eyes bespoke of something else.

'Well, Pran, you have finally demonstrated that you are indeed a traitor Your attempt to conceal the presence of this Magi has failed, and though I deem him to be powerful, I very much doubt that he and his lone bodyguard will prevail against two score archers.'

'I have concealed naught,' Pran replied in a calm voice. 'These two are travellers, new to the Elf Kingdom, and are guests in my home.'

'If you have concealed naught,' the Prince replied in a surly tone, 'then why have they not been brought before Myself or the King?'

'I was unaware,' Pran replied levelly, 'that Men travelling within and through the Elf Kingdom required Your leave. To the best of my knowledge, Men and Dwarves are free to come and go as they please.'

'Not,' the Prince said, his voice rising, 'when their purpose is to conspire against My person or the King's, or to abet those that participate in social discord.'

A crowd, comprised mostly of Men and Dwarves from the surrounding shops, had begun to gather at these words. Some of the Elven soldiers on foot attempted to dissuade these onlookers from gathering and listening, but were brushed aside. The onlookers made it plain that the words spoken here concerned them very much, and that they were going to stay and listen, come what may. The soldiers, looking uneasily at the Prince, let them be, but stood ready.

'To what social discord do you refer?' Pran said, in a quiet voice.

The import of the question was clear to all present, and was followed by a hushed silence. The Prince, however, remained surprisingly calm, and turned his attentions to Ralph.

'Trafficking in weapons is common practice, and perfectly legal, but not when such weapons are powerful periapts designed to undermine the authority of our Elven armies. We know that this warrior is more than he appears, that he is a sorcerer as well as a smithy.

'The three of you, and all of your associates, will pay dearly for this treason. You will be taken, forthwith, and all that you know extracted-'

'What do you mean, "associates?"' Doc inturrupted.

Referring to Pran, the Prince replied, 'His family and friends, the Human woman who is your companion, and that Pixie vermin, the one that Pran and his associates have used to spy on his fellows . . . the one whose execution he was explicitly charged with carrying out, a little over one year ago . . . you see? there is nothing wrong with my memory.' He said this last to Pran.

Gesturing carelessly to his soldiers, the Prince said, 'Take them.'

No one moved.

Infuriated, the Prince cried, 'Well? What are you waiting for? Do what I tell you Take them Or do the rest of you wish to suffer the same fate?'

Even as those words were uttered, there was momentary confusion as another group of soldiers approached on horse. The leader of this group stood in his stirrups as they drew near.

'Hold Hold in the name of the Thane.'

Some of this group were wearing the King's livery, while others wore the Thane's. Their leader rode straight up to the Prince with his sword drawn, and didn't stop until he had the tip of his blade at the Prince's throat.

'Birin ' shouted the Prince, 'I'll have your head-'

'Have you or your friends been harmed,' Birin asked Pran without taking his eyes from the Prince's.

'We have not,' Pran replied, 'but from the Prince's words just now, I have cause to fear for my family and friends.'

This brought a glint from Birin's eyes, and he pressed his blade firmly against the Prince's throat. 'Have you conspired to harm his family?'

Prince Cir smiled at this. 'The fate of his family does not lie in my hands.'

'Answer me ' shouted Birin, nicking Cir's neck and drawing blood this time. 'Or I will strike your head from your body without benefit of trial.'

Fixing Birin with his insolent gaze, he said, 'You wouldn't dare.'

'No?' Birin said mildly. For a moment, it appeared as though he meant to put his sword up. But at the last moment, he brought it up hard, and with the flat of it caught the Prince full across the face. Crying out in pain and rage, the Prince fell awkwardly from his horse. With an animal noise, thick with the promise of violence, he got to his knees, glaring malevolently, a hand clutched to his face. Birin's sword had cut him deeply along the entire length of his jaw; it oozed slightly- but it did not bleed.

'Take this message to your King,' said Birin to the Prince, who struggled to his feet, 'for he is no longer my King.'

'You will all die for this ' shouted the Prince, clutching his face, holding closed his split face. 'Before this day is out, I will have each and every one of you flayed-'

'I find that very unlikely,' Birin told him. 'In the meantime, if you value your life, be silent You will tell your King that the Thane no longer recognises his former Sovereign, and will strive for the good of all free peoples to unseat his former King. This former King will then be captured and brought to trial for crimes against certain free people, including his own, for which he will surely be put to death. Do you understand me?'

There was something very un-Elf-like about the Prince now as he licked at the blood on his hands. His smile was the mad grin of a ghoul as he glared back at them. 'You have just signed the death-warrants of yourselves and your families,' he hissed.

One of the soldiers rode forward, beseeching Birin. 'Must we let this thing live?' the soldier cried in dismay.

'Let it live awhile longer yet,' said Birin without taking his eyes off the Prince, 'but mark my words, snake; at the last, when your King and those conspirators who abet his madness fall, and all his plans are thwarted and his insane works destroyed, at the last I myself will come for you, and you will suffer at my hands before you die.'

'Your words are empty,' hissed the Prince. 'The King has many allies, and many, many soldiers.' He fumbled his way to his horse and mounted. Turning to face them, laughing as though he had planned this moment himself and now relished it, he said, 'Before, I had to be satisfied with spitting Faerie women and children. No longer. Now you will all die.' He turned his mount and left at a gallop, his words hanging heavily in the air long after he left.

Birin, who himself was wearing the King's livery, took stock of those around him. 'Any of you who represent the King should depart, now.'

'You will find no representatives of the King here,' said one of the Elves who had ridden with the Prince. 'But we do ask your leave to alert our friends and families. They will be in danger, and should know whether to seek safety or to join with us.

'But captain Birin, tell us . . . what did his words mean? To what allies does the Prince refer, and to what soldiers? I can speak for most of those in the King's own guard; most of them will leave His service, and Prince Cir's and come to our aid. But Prince Cir clearly discounts this occurrence, or I am not a soldier of experience '

'I, too, am troubled by the Prince's words,' Birin told him, 'especially so, since it seems he has planned for this moment A nameless dread comes upon me when I consider that Prince Cir, in his younger days, was known to have made long forays into the far regions of the North, where the Goblins dwell. The Thane attempted to track the villain, and even now, certain words of the Thane's come back to me; words that he may himself not have understood the import of; that tracking Prince Cir was always made difficult and dangerous by the number and threat of Goblins '

'Prince Cir has slain many Goblins,' the soldier said, somewhat defensively, realizing at once the import of Birin's words.

'Prince Cir,' Birin said carefully, 'has murdered many people, of all races.'

Meeting his eye unwillingly, the soldier nodded. 'That would be like Prince Cir. What better way to cover his tracks?' Then, sudden awareness causing his eyes to widen with fear and anger, 'He knows every track and trail through the Northland Waik; he knows our positions, our strengths, our weaknesses, that which is defended, and that which is not-'

'He knows, too,' Birin added, 'that under the present circumstances, which we ourselves have just helped precipitate, that our Northern defences will shortly be in disarray, and will subsequently collapse.'

The soldier suddenly became grey with apprehension.

'I had always feared civil war, had always assumed, even in my darkest dreams, that such was the worst that could possibly happen . . . but this My captain, what has the Prince contrived to do to us?'

'I fear,' Birin replied, 'that he gives us no choice but to partake of his madness.'

After issuing several orders in rapid succession, Birin then turned his attention to Pran, and said, 'Quickly What of this threat to your friends and family?'

'Prince Cir's soldiers were waiting for us near the old battle site on the Mirrow,' Pran told him. 'Others had come across the open field from the direction of my home. I fear they may have been waiting for me to leave my family undefended.'

'Loriman Dornal ' shouted Birin. Two Elf soldiers came forward with alacrity. 'Each of you form a unit of two score. Loriman, you will escort Pran to his home, and Dornal, you will continue east, and deal with any marauders. If you encounter Cir's soldiers, slay them if you must, for they are not to be trusted. There has been enough mischief.'

A number of Men and Dwarves who had been standing about since the unpleasantries began, watched these proceedings with understandable concern. One large man stepped forward to address Birin.

'Is it truly your wish that we should leave? I for one would aid you against these fools who so blithely destroy the peace.'

Birin bowed to the Man from his horse. 'I thank you for your moral support, friend Helmsmith, but this is civil war, and your people should leave as soon as is possible, lest they become divided in loyalties as well.'

The Man laughed, and many Dwarves and Men about him smiled grimly. 'We know where our loyalties lie,' he said, 'and it is not with your King or Prince Cir. We have long been friends of the Elven people, and there is not one of us who does not know of the barbarities committed against Faeriekind; though against our desire, we have remained forever silent and neutral in this matter, hoping it would become resolved.'

'Nevertheless,' replied Birin quietly, 'if you stay, both your own and your families' lives will be in jeopardy. Neither Prince Cir nor the King would scruple to murder your wives and children if you became involved. For the good of all, I suggest that you return to your homelands, and close your borders until this matter is resolved.'

'Very well,' replied Helmsmith in a way that was not altogether convincing. 'We will leave. But we will be watching.'

Pran, Ralph, and Doc set out for Pran's home once more, this time with forty Elf soldiers led by Dornal. The other forty, led by Loriman, had set out before them at a hard gallop. The sun was low in the sky now, and they set off at a quick pace.

'Well, Doc, what do you think of this place now?' asked Ralph, riding beside him. He was talking more in an attempt to choke down his own fear for the others, than to make conversation.

'I think you'd better get busy with those arrowheads,' Doc replied. 'There's something not right with that Prince Cir character.

'What do you mean?'

'Didn't you notice anything strange about the blood on his face?'

Overhearing this, Pran slowed to ride beside them. 'What is strange about Cir's blood?'

'He didn't bleed enough, for one thing,' said Doc. 'For another thing, the injury itself didn't look right.'

Ralph laughed humourlessly. 'Well, how should it have looked?'

'Not like a split grape,' said Doc. 'Look, I've seen every kind of wound there is. When skin is split open like that, you should be able to see fat and bone underneath, as well as muscle and tendon.'

'And?' asked Pran.

Turning to face the Elf, Doc said, 'Either your friend has the strangest anatomy I've ever seen, or he's not who or what he claims to be.'

Pran pondered this a moment in silence. However, instead of responding to Doc's observations, he said, 'My friends, I owe you an apology I did not anticipate this turn of events; I will endeavour to make amends as soon as may be. Yet, in truth, I did make every attempt to avoid such an occurrence; as a soldier in the King's armed forces, a service that by its nature carries certain attendant risks, I have ever been fearful for those close to me. I have, from time to time, speculated that my premises may have been watched, but I did not realize the extent to which I was being spied upon. It was my assumption that upon relinquishing my captaincy, any competitive interest in my person, or personal enmities incurred when executing my duties, would over the last year have waned and been quite forgotten. However,' he added, 'as Prince Cir has reminded me, such was not the case. I am sorry. I have erred.'

'Don't be ridiculous ' Doc muttered, gruffly. 'Your Prince Cir is a dangerous and unpredictable lunatic. You're not responsible for his actions.'

'Ditto,' Ralph said, though it was obvious the main focus of his thoughts was elsewhere. At last, he said, 'Will Cir's soldier's have done anything, do you think?' It was apparent from his tone of voice, as well as his visage, that he was visibly upset by what he was thinking. 'I mean, they are soldiers. They will just take civilians prisoner, until they get further orders, won't they?'

'That,' Pran said, his face pale with his own unspoken fears, 'depends entirely on what they were initially ordered to do. Regardless, many of Prince Cir's soldiers can't be trusted to follow orders, and many take licence from the Prince's actions.' In a barely audible voice, he added, 'There is no telling what his soldiers will do . . . or what they are capable of.'

Rani extracted her hand from Nevana's impatiently, and walked ahead with Zuic and the other children. Arlon and Durphel walked in the lead to either side, Arlon carrying a rusty old sword that looked much too big for his thin arm to wield, and Durphel using his long-tined hay fork like a walking stick. In the rear, Mari and Durus, also bearing sharp farm-implements, were silent and watchful, though they acted as though they were merely taking a stroll in the country.

'Nevana, leave the girl be She is not a child. If you want someone to mollycoddle, carry Pitr for a while.'

Pitr, the youngest, overhearing this, had been lagging a bit, but quickly increased his pace until he walked safely in the midst of the other children. Seeing this, Mari smiled.

'Poor, confused young thing,' she teased, loud enough that Nevana could easily overhear, as she was meant to. 'Can't decide whether she wants to hold hands with a child, or a certain young man.'

Pouting at Rani's rebuke, going very red at Mari's teasing, Nevana walked alone in the middle, listlessly, looking as out of place in the group as she felt.

'She knows, all right 'Durus said in a stern tone that was devoid of kindness. She was annoyed by what she perceived as the often impractical and rebellious convolutions of her daughter's mind, a subject with her that was often cause for concern. Regardless, she egged the girl on because through her daughter she hoped to exercise her own proprietary interest in the stranger who was skilled at working metals, and even now she considered various means by which she herself could profit by his skills. 'Nothing would make me happier than a union between my Nevana and that big foreigner, and to see her safely tied down with a swelling belly.'

'Mother ' Her features were scarlet as much from angry embarrassment as from an unfamiliar flush, a physical reaction which seemed to emanated responsively, maddeningly, from her belly, altogether without her volition.

The group suddenly stopped, faced by Arlon.

He was furious.

'This is no walking party ' he said in a harsh whisper. Except for Durphel, the others stared at him, fearful. The children suddenly huddled together, terrified by the quiet farmer's sudden wrath; something they had never before witnessed. 'Be silent Keep a watch out Listen carefully I am not going to tell you twice Is there a one of you who doesn't understand this? Do you not recall Theuli's words to us?'

Met with silence, he nodded approvingly.

They continued once more, the timbre of the group's mood sullen in response to Arlon's outburst. But, as if in answer to his warning, the late afternoon suddenly began to feel menacing; a feeling which only increased as skies darkened, becoming close and intense as the light of day failed altogether.

Walking alone in the middle of the group, feeling as though she were wading through the darkness, a sensation which, in her imagination, was how it would feel to walk under water, Nevana found herself feeling afraid, and wishing not only for Ralph's comforting presence at her side, but for his strength, his protection. She wondered at this sudden image in her mind, of a tall warrior wielding a sword. Until now, she had loathed soldiers and their cruel weapons of war. To her wonder, she found herself welcoming the idea. 'How odd,' she thought, 'that a change of heart can steal unbidden into one's being, utterly without volition. I wonder;' she mused, with a thrill and tingle of fear mixed indelibly with pleasure, 'could he take my heart as easily as he has captured all my attention?' The thought did not give her comfort. To love, like she loved her father and siblings, and to be affectionate: those were things she could understand. But the very notion of being in love . . . of being utterly at the mercy of her feelings, her passions . . . she shuddered, and thought to herself, That is the weakness of men, and the means by which we women are able to control them. And if it were not for that interfering little Faerie, I might have lured him into compromising me; then, I would tell my parents, they would make him marry me, and I could make him take me far away from this place, and live in peace, with a little house and garden of my own . . .

In a world of her own, like a bubble, her passage through the night seemed destined to be and remain untouched.

'You're certain?' the soldier asked the masked one once again, as though he didn't trust him. 'You're sure those were his very words?'

'I will tell you this last time;' the cowled figure replied, 'it has begun Every man, woman and child is to be slain on sight. No mercy, no exceptions. All livestock is to be taken, and if not, slaughtered, and fowled or burned so that it's flesh cannot be consumed. All buildings are to be put to the torch, all wells filled with debris, all stores taken or burnt: you are to cut down every tree that bears fruit or nut, you are to burn every crop, and you are to despoil what you will.

'As for me, I leave you now. There are many others to whom I must carry this message. Go now. Do as you have sworn to do.'

When the hooded figure had left, riding into the blackness at a gallop, bearing his message of doom, the soldier rejoined his waiting company.

'He is gone?'

'Yes.'

There was a long stillness, and silence, and more; and still the soldiers hadn't moved.

'You must realize this is madness What he asks... if we accomplish what he desires us to do, we ourselves will be left with nothing but a dead wilderness.'

'I am aware,' the leader said, quietly, and muttered, '". . . and borne upon the wynds of Estland Wayk were the sounds of ghosts of Man and beast alike . . . a host of wandering solitudes . . ."'

And as if in answer to The Laye Of Estland Wayk, they could see, in the distance, a small group of people; men, women, and children.

The three women had retraced their steps, returning through the transitional country, leaving behind trail and copse, arriving at last at the irrigation ditch and the hedge. It was now completely dark out; the night seemed to close in around them. Malina had the uncomfortable feeling that they were being followed, but was dogged by a maddening uncertainty. At last, Theuli snapped at her.

'Malina, we can make much better time, travelling openly across-country I cannot afford this dithering '

Stung into silence and immobility, the young Pixie woman, too intimidated to even consider trying to reason with Theuli, wanted instead to please her, but couldn't because of the risks. Deborah, fortunately, came to her defence.

'She's doing the best she can Can't you see that? I know you're worried, but you're just making things worse by bullying her '

Theuli was silent for a long moment, her head bowed, and in the indistinct, silhouetted darkness, the two younger women wondered fearfully if she was angry or frustrated with them. But at last, she approached the two and put her arms around them, and they saw to their surprise that her cheeks were wet.

Putting a shaky hand to her face, she said, 'I am sorry . . . I am sorry . . . but my sister, her husband, and their children, lie dead back there . . . I can think of nothing else.'

The two girls stared at her in shock.

'Oh my God ' Deborah put her hands to her face reflexively. 'Oh, Theuli I'm so sorry I didn't know-'

Any hint of indecisiveness in Malina's mien vanished. Neither of the other two could see the hard set of her jaw and her small shoulders as she digested this news. Without hesitation, drawing the others with a will, she said curtly, 'This way Quietly We will wade the ditch and run the distance along the outside of the mound, where the ground is firm and flat.'

Galvanized into action, they heeded her words. And they ran.

By the time they reached the end of the irrigation mound, they could see, in the distance behind them, the light of small fires in the distance, fires which bobbed and flickered and moved unnaturally.

Changing direction, they began wending their way between the low hills near to Pran's farm. Theuli, who seemed to have recovered herself somewhat, did her best to keep their spirits up, but she was casting an uncertain eye over her shoulder with increasing frequency.

Malina didn't need to look back to know that they were pursued, or that their pursuers were closing, rapidly.

The soldiers spread out in a line, as if to meet the group of travellers on foot. But something in their bearing caused Arlon and Durphel to slow their approach and tightly clutch the weapons they held inexpertly before them. Mari and Durus, too, sensed that something was amiss, and the children held back, keeping close to the two women.

Nevana, however, was all set to run ahead, relieved, when her father caught her roughly by the arm and drew her back.

A few of the soldiers bore torches, and in the dim light, two of them rode forward, appraising the Elven girl. At last, one of the soldiers spoke.

'Come here, girl.'

Something in the soldier's voice made her go cold inside, and she was suddenly terrified of him, or what he might do. She turned to her father for help, wide-eyed. Arlon's look was hard, his sword raised.

'There are women and children with us. Leave them be. You can take us menfolk, but leave our women and children alone.'

The soldiers hesitated. A few of their mounts champing impatiently, as though they knew or expected what was to come.

The one next to the soldier who had spoken, said impatiently, 'What are we waiting for? You know the orders '

'I know the orders,' said the soldier, and he began moving forward, slowly, as if willing himself to perform an act from which there was no turning back, an act which he knew, in every fibre of his being, would change him forever in his own eyes, and in the eyes of the watching world; that is, if the world was watching at all.

At once, as though pivoting, turning against his former life, he said, 'There has been no order given for the sequence of events as we must enact them. I will have my way with this wench before I kill her. The rest of them . . . do what you will '

As the three women ran crouched over through the tall marsh, Deborah half expected to hear or see something following them through the tall grass, and her instincts screamed at her to run flat out. They stopped dead in their tracks when Malina whispered, 'Wait, stop, I hear something '

They found a slight hollow like an old grass-filled ditch and hunkered down into it, listening intently. There was nothing to be heard but the breeze as it hissed faintly through the grasses, nor could anything be seen. Theuli and Deborah, lacking Malina's instincts, were about to relax, when the sound of something far off caught their ears.

Voices.

Deborah didn't recognize the language, but it had a distinctly unpleasant sound to it. Turning to Theuli to ask her what it was, she saw the Elf-woman listening in wide-eyed horror.

Theuli clutched her arm and mouthed the words, Goblins Do not move or make a sound

Deborah's heart was pounding so loudly she thought it would give them away. So, it wasn't Elves following them The Goblins were still a fair distance off, but she could see them now, dark silhouettes in the distance, stooped over as if searching the ground.

With mounting horror, she realised the Goblins were tracking them. She tried shifting her position when her hand caught a hard object, a flat round rock about half the size of her palm. Picking it up, she turned it edgewise and threw it as hard as she could towards the direction of the forest. As she hoped, it landed rolling, and continued on for some distance.

Grunting in surprise, the Goblins froze, looking in the direction of the noise they heard. Barking orders in their brackish tongue, they began moving off. Theuli, watching Deborah with surprise, mouthed what now?

Let's get out of here They began crawling in the opposite direction. Malina was struggling, unused to this sort of exercise. Deborah caught up with her.

Malina Come on Don't slow down. Here, lean on me if you have to. Malina shook her head emphatically, trying to catch her breath. Look, I can move a lot faster than you. Just do as I say. Seeing the sense in this, though with great reluctance, Malina gripped Deborah's arm as though it were a lifeline.

Right Deborah mouthed, Now let's go

They had gone maybe a furlong when they heard an angry cry. 'They have found the rock,' said Theuli, knowing silence was useless now. 'We have to run Malina, take my hand. Deborah, take her other hand. Go '

Malina's legs ached and her lungs were soon burning with exertion. The three stumbled along and almost fell several times as they stumbled through the darkness. Suddenly, they became aware of a whizzing sound in the air around them. It took a horrifying moment to realize the Goblins were loosing arrows at them.

Theuli made a short, sharp sound, a choking cry of pain. She had been hit in the back. Falling to her knees, her voice full of blood, she cried, 'Run Get yourselves away and run ' Turning to go back and assist the Elven woman, Deborah felt something white-hot strike her in the thigh. Turning around, as though in slow-motion, she landed on her back. A strange feeling came over her and she felt wondrously calm and warm. Falling downwards into unconsciousness, staring up at the stars, feeling the cool night air against her face and wondering why she felt no pain, she thought she heard screaming.

In the distance, they began to see a flickering guess. The Elf soldiers stiffened.

Torches ' Dornal shouted. 'Loriman, take your archers and cover us.'

Pran, as though he were still a member of the cavalry, plunged after them, drawing his bow. Without thinking about what he was doing, Ralph rode at his side, having drawn a weapon he had never used. Pran seemed about to shout something to the big Human, but the sound of fighting drew all of his attention, and he spurred his mount into a hard gallop.

Ahead, besides the torches, something was burning; it looked to be a bonfire. All about it, milling in the red light and semi-darkness like demon-centaurs, were Elven soldiers

'What the bloody hell? '

Ralph almost drew his mount up short, unable to make sense of the fray; he could not tell friend from foe; they all seemed dressed alike. At last, however, one thing caught and held his attention, a slight form held upright, hair pulled back, throat bared, trying vainly to cover herself with what remained of her torn dress, even as the Elven soldier who held her threatened to cut her throat.

Ralph didn't know the first thing about swordplay or killing. Instead, he relied instinctively on what he did know. Spurring his mount straight at the girl, at the last moment veering ever so slightly to the left, close enough to graze her, leaning over, sliding his left leg over the saddle at the last possible second, he let his size and momentum do for him what he lacked in finesse . . .

. . . and slammed headlong into the girl's knife-wielding attacker like a battering-ram.

'Football and calf-roping . . .' he thought dazedly to himself as the stars cleared. 'Who'd have thought '

To his horror, looking at the result of what he'd done, he found the Elf man laying dead at his feet. Seeing Ralph coming at the last moment, the soldier had raised his blade reflexively, and the force of the big Man's momentum had turned his wrist and driven the point of the knife at his neck, even as his head snapped back, driving the long dagger up to the hilts into his brain.

Numb with shock, feeling as though he were reeling in the midst of some horrific nightmare, his mind barely registered that the girl had thrown herself into his arms, weeping hysterically, crying something about her mother and father. In a daze, mechanically and hardly aware of what he was doing, he led Nevana to his horse, removed a blanket, wrapped her in it, and tried to take stock of what had happened to her. He was dimly aware that she was led away from him, to where Doc was working on the wounded.

Pran seemed to instinctively understand something, and drew Ralph away, saying words that only half-registered on his mind.

'That was well done But we have to find the others. They are not here. Do you understand me, Ralph? Malina, Deborah, my wife . . . they are not here.'

Swallowing, Ralph looked into the Elf's eyes, saw an empathy there that made his own burn.

'I didn't mean to kill him It was an accident '

Pran nodded, his gaze wandering.

'You prevented a murder, Ralph. And a rape. But the others are not here. We have to find them. They need us. They need you.'

Shaking his head, as though the act in itself would help gather his wits, Ralph suddenly remembered something, looking to the Elf apprehensively.

'The dead here . . . they're all soldiers. Nevana . . . she said something . . .'

In dry measured tones, Pran iterated, as though from a formal text long rehearsed, 'Nevana's father, Arlon, is badly injured. It is a miracle that the others have met with no harm. It would seem that some disagreement or reticence on the part of the soldiers prevented their committing murder.'

Ralph almost asked how they were doing, but decided that it was probably wiser for him not to. Instead, he said, 'All right. What happens now?'

'We wait until Doc is finished tending to the injured and the dying,' Pran said, his gaze yearning towards his daughter, as if wishing to, but fearing to close the distance between them at this time, in this place. 'Then, we will go. I suggest you take a meal, and prepare yourself for another hard ride.'

Standing before the Elf obstinately, Ralph replied, 'I will if you will.'

Pran considered him blankly for a moment. But then, a bleak wintry look, almost a smile, touched his features.

Ralph was not sure whether he found this mood in his friend reassuring.

As they waited, a group of five returning riders came to Dornal to report.

Speaking apologetically, as he knew that Pran was listening nearby, the soldier said, 'All of the buildings on that property owned by Pran are burned out, but there are no bodies, nor any sign of livestock. We found nothing of any note, save this- its contents scattered about-'

'Doc's medical bag ' Ralph blurted. The doctor overheard and came forward to collect his bag, his mien a mixture of apprehension and hope. After a moment's inspection, he said incredulously, 'It's all here Nothing is damaged or stolen '

'No doubt they feared to defile or handle its contents,' Pran told him. 'It does, after all, have a rather arcane look . . . and they would not have understood its contents. Though there is no magic in them, as you have told me, still they would believe these things imbued with properties beyond their primitive Lore, and would therefore leave them be.'

'We came across various trails made by both Elves and Goblins,' the soldier continued. 'I do not know whether the Elves' were those led by Loriman, but the Goblins seem to comprise a number of roving bands, some of which were given battle, others of which seemed to be intermixed with those of Elves. Excluding those, some of my scouts are attempting to retrace Loriman's direction of travel; a difficult task in the dead of night.'

Dornal nodded, then instructed his troops to fan out in a wide arc, leaving a few to tend to those who remained, and sending four more to locate a wain.

As the riders left that place, and began making their way east, Pran, Doc, and Ralph rode together, somewhat behind. It didn't take Dornal's scouts long to find both Loriman's and the Goblin's trail. They began moving at a greater pace, but Dornal suddenly called them to a halt.

'One moment Another trail crosses here.' A scout dismounted, as did Dornal, and they began searching the ground for clues. They exchanged a long look.

'Evidently, this trail leading towards Narvi is the fresher. But we do not know if it was made later by the same Goblins, or whether there is more than one war party.'

Dornal began walking to and fro across the Goblin's trail. 'It is the same war party. See, I would estimate their numbers at some twenty or thirty. They would not divide so small a force. But there are two sets of tracks, comprising three individuals; probably women. They leave in either direction.'

Reaching a decision, they began following the trail towards Narvi, which was fairly fresh, riding as though the night itself was beset with demons.

As soon as their prey stopped, the Goblins fanned out to prevent any from escaping. The largest Goblin brandished his black, serrated iron scimitar angrily. 'What? No warriors? Only a few women?' he laughed, brandishing his weapon at Malina who cowered, trying to cover Theuli with her body.

'Ah-h, they are young ' he hissed. 'Tonight, we eat lads.'

Theuli tried to say something, a stream of blood coming from her mouth, her breathing a horrible, bloody, gurgling sound. The large Goblin caught her by the hair, baring her throat. As he raised his sword, Malina screamed. The Goblin kicked Malina in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her. Raising his sword over Theuli again, he yanked her head back viciously.

Ralph had decided to follow Pran's advice, and stay out of the fighting this time. The Elf had been right; Ralph had been lucky that he'd not actually been involved in any sword-play. He tried not to think of the consequences . . . saw himself, in his own imagination, being cut down . . .

But these images seemed to mean little to him. Thinking of what he'd seen, of Nevana with a knife held to her throat, touched deep feelings within him; feelings that went deeper than self-preservation.

The sight of her, the feel of her, what had been done to her . . . the way she had come running to him . . .

Such things drove all else from his mind, the way a few months of summer will reduce the realities of winter to a vague memory of a bad dream.

But the dream was confused . . . something about it didn't ring true, as though Nevana were part of a waking dream that so closely resembled reality, the two, to the untrained eye, were indistinguishable . . .

And the dream . . . or nightmare . . . was not yet over. He seemed to hear a scream, and almost stopped as he tried to decide; was it in his mind? or in the air? or-

'Malina '

Without realizing how it had happened, everything began moving forward in a mad rush. Without realizing how it had happened, he found that he had drawn his sword . . . vaguely he heard Pran's warning . . . which was swiftly falling behind

There was some commotion that caught the Goblins' attention, causing the big one's sword-arm to falter in mid-stroke. The sound of the Elf-riders' hooves was like thunder as they broke into a gallop. That pause was enough for Malina to yank up a turve, grab a double handful of dirt, and throw it into the Goblin's eyes.

The moments its eyes were cleared of the stinging debris, the Goblin found itself staring into the battle-mad eyes of Ralph who swept down on the Goblin like an avalanche. With a savage yell, Ralph brought his own broadsword down on the Goblin's, swinging it with both hands like a club. Their swords met in a shower of sparks, Ralph's striking with such force that the Goblin was forced to retreat, holding its sword over its head to ward off Ralph's blows, while trying to retain control over its companions. Seeing this, enraged, Ralph dismounted and attacked like a man possessed.

The Goblin soon began to realize that this Human, though utterly lacking in finesse, was not about to be defeated through brute force alone, and that, though possessed of far greater skill, all of its skill, indeed all of its attention, was needed merely to deflect the Human's heavy broadsword.

Suddenly, Ralph levelled a blow which the Goblin parried badly; he could tell by the creature's sudden grimace of pain that the shock of the blow had transferred itself fully to the Goblin's arm, leaving it momentarily handicapped.

In desperation, the Goblin held up its serrated iron scimitar, but only managed hold enough to bring it up crossways. Seeing his chance, realizing that he might not get another, Ralph summoned every last reserve of strength, slamming his broadsword downwards with everything he could muster. With a sickening snap, the Goblin's wrist was broken, its blade shattered to slivers.

Ralph could easily have killed the creature then, but even as it fell to its knees, crying out in agony and clutching its wrist, Ralph kicked it in the face, knocking it senseless.

'Malina ' Oblivious to everything else, he didn't take stock of his surroundings until he was at her side.

She was bruised and sore, gaping as though she barely recognised him, but he could tell that she was otherwise unhurt. Theuli Pran was holding her, calling her name. Deborah lay unconscious or dead.

'Oh my God Deborah '

Checking Theuli first, Doc found that she had taken an arrow. From the way she was coughing up blood he knew at once that a lung had been pierced. 'Pran ' he shouted to get the Elf's attention, 'Pran I need fire for sterilization, as much light as possible, and hot water. I have to get the arrow out and suture the wound.'

Deborah was not in any better shape. Though wounded only in the leg, and bleeding little, she lay deathly still and pale. As Doc began ministering to her, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

'The arrow the young woman has taken is poisoned,' an Elf soldier told him, in a tone of resigned compassion.

'What sort of poison?' Doc asked him brusquely.

The Elf looked at Deborah grimly. 'I am no Healer. I know only that such inflictions of the enemy are always fatal. The woman will be dead soon.'

The light from fires and torches was poor, but Doc was sure of his tools, and himself. He gave Theuli a local anaesthetic and had Pran cut off her blouse. The Elves watched in wonder as he quickly removed the arrow and sterilized the wound. When he began suturing it, one muttered, 'I had not thought skin could be sown like a garment.'

'It's not the best job,' Doc said with unjust self-reproach. 'I need a proper hospital. We can only hope for her lung to heal properly.'

Moving to Deborah, he had her pant leg cut away and began working to remove the arrow protruding from her thigh. He was distracted from his work by the soldier who had spoken before. 'The girl will die whether you remove the arrow or no.'

'Not if I can help it ' he snapped. Ralph and Malina looked on, Ralph trying to comfort Malina who wept inconsolably, certain that Deborah was going to die.

When he had the arrow in hand, some innate instinct caused him to smell its head. It had an evil odour, but none that he could place. It seemed to glow with a faint, sickly green light. Removing his glasses, he stared hard at it. On the head and shaft of the arrow was a cloying substance that seemed almost alive. There was something odd about this that he couldn't quite place. He concentrated harder, staring at the sickly green ooze. It seemed the more he concentrated, the more he saw . . .

What the Devil? Glancing at his hands, he saw a faint blue glow around them, like a penumbra. Intuitively, he put his hand on the green substance. The feel of it made his hand writhe, but he persisted, brought his concentration up to a higher pitch.

Then, he knew Pitting his will against the substance, he strangled the life out of it, with a grim but satisfying will. When he removed his hand, the green was gone. A great calm seemed to spread through him, then, and using his hands, he pressed the healing blue aura into Deborah's flesh. Within moments, some colour came back into her cheeks, and her breathing steadied.

Moving to Theuli, who was breathing in shallow gasps from the pain, he pressed his hands to her back. Pushing his concentration to the limit, he reached his senses inside to her injured lung, the torn ligaments and flesh, the severed nerves and blood vessels.

Pran, who could see none of this, said, 'Doc, my wife . . . will she live?'

The moment he was done, however, Doc levered himself to the ground where he sat, oblivious, staring at his hands as though wondering how the life he thought he knew had slipped so effortlessly through his fingers.

Pran was startled out of his fear by Theuli's gentle touch on his cheek. 'Leave him be, my husband. He has succoured my life. It is enough. I will live.' She managed to smile at him and closed her eyes. 'Promise that you will not fear for me as I sleep. I'm very tired now.'

Pran looked to Doc in desperation, and found that the aged Healer was watching him, his gaze at once clear and lucid. 'Please . . . I must know Is she-?'

Doc glanced at Theuli's peaceful, sleeping form, cradled tenderly and fearfully in her husband's arms. 'Oh, I think she's in good hands,' Doc told him, his characteristic disarming smile returning. 'And since you obviously won't be satisfied with anything less than clear, unambiguous language, yes, your lovely wife will be fine.'

Ralph had returned to the Goblin leader, whom he prodded into consciousness with the point of his sword.

'Can anyone tell me what he's saying?'

'It is a corruption of an old Elvish tongue,' said Loriman. 'Why do you let it live?'

'Ask it about Prince Cir,' said Ralph, who had been thinking about Doc's words, earlier. 'About what he is.'

At the mention of the Prince's name, the Goblin stared. Seeing this, Loriman spoke to the Goblin in its own brackish tongue. Despite its broken wrist, the Goblin began struggling wildly to escape, but Ralph pinned it down with his foot.

Several of the soldiers had come now to watch with growing curiosity. Loriman spoke to the Goblin again, this time with more threat in his voice. The Goblin said something that was obviously an obscenity. Dornal joined them, having overheard Ralph's words.

Loriman stared at Ralph oddly, but did as he was asked. This time the Goblin thought carefully before it answered. Its reply, though only a few words, brought an angry response from the Elves.

'What did he say?' asked Ralph.

Dornal swallowed in a dry throat. 'This vermin says it will tell us if we let it go.'

Ralph's eyes were hard as he said, 'Tell him we'll let him live as a prisoner, but only if he tells us everything.'

Loriman did so.

The Goblin said three words, which Loriman translated as 'Freedom or death.' He looked to Dornal who nodded. As Loriman spoke with the Goblin, Dornal said to Ralph, 'He is telling it we will grant its freedom for the information.'

'Is that a good idea?' Ralph asked him.

'Is there a choice?' Dornal responded.

Shortly before setting out, they were met by a squad of Elf soldiers who were but one of many that had been sent out to comb the surrounding countryside for marauding goblins and unscrupulous soldiers still loyal to the King and Prince Cir. The news was mixed. Some families living near Pran's farm, and those living closer to Narvi, had been forewarned and reached safety, but many living to the east had been systematically and barbarically slaughtered.

As they waited, a wagon arrived, which had been located and brought to bear the wounded and their tenders. Once the group was under way, Pran approached Ralph silently, and they rode side by side. Eventually, Pran said, 'You fought well. I could scarcely believe what I was seeing.'

Ralph looked uncomfortable. 'I was going to apologize for what I did. I wasn't thinking at all . . . it was just blind instinct taking over.'

Pran raised an eyebrow at this. 'Your instincts seem to serve you well.'

Ralph didn't respond at first. Eventually, he said, 'What do you think about all of this? About what that Goblin said about Prince Cir? What do you suppose this means?'

Pran was silent for some time, lost in some distant memory. At last, he replied, 'The Thane has long suspected that Prince Cir has been associating himself with some . . .' he paused to search for words, 'outside influence. Such as Goblins. We . . . the Thane was never able to prove his suspicions, but there was, and remains, a preponderance of evidence, however indirect, which points invariably to such a conclusion.

'What is most worrisome is the fact that neither Prince Cir nor the King are so utterly careful, nor so skilful, as to think to conceal either their actions or their motives.' He shook his head at his own thoughts. 'Perhaps my mind searches for clues beyond the obvious, but which, to my eyes, are unrecognizable. After all, it could well be that it is not so much something in the King and his son that determines their actions, but rather, something that is lacking; and therefore would conveyance of their motives be utterly foiled.'

'I think,' Doc told him, thinking of psychopaths, serial-killers, and sociopaths, 'that you may be right, but on both counts.'

'Intangibles ' muttered the Elf, tasting the bitter gall of old suspicions, doubts, and fears. 'A soldier lives in the world of the concrete. I fear that the aim of the Prince is to carry the battle to ground that more suits him; an arena where the traditional skills of warfare will be rendered useless; or worse, will work against us. He is perhaps more skilled and resourceful than any would previously have deemed worthy of credit.'

'Even so, I just don't get it,' Ralph said. 'Why is he doing this? I can understand someone wanting to kill for the enjoyment of killing, and worse. We have that sort of people, too, back where Doc and I come from. But this thing of razing everything to the ground, and killing everyone; it just doesn't make sense.

'I mean, let me put it to you this way: when I was a kid in school, we had our share of bullies. I suppose, if they were allowed to go far enough, that they might actually have killed someone, but from what I've seen, it never goes that far, because they like to torment people, and you can't torment someone who's dead.

'But even killers . . . back home, we have people who are called "serial killers", who are people who go on killing sprees, who like to torture, dismember, and cannibalize their victims. But lots of these guys (almost all of them are men, for some reason) live dual lives, and live a normal existence, with wives and children. The point I'm trying to make is, they don't destroy everything. They never go so far as to wipe out their own, and their everyday means of survival.'

Without looking at his companions, Pran suddenly looked very tired. 'It could be,' he said quietly, 'that we Elves, as a people, have brought this upon ourselves, and that Prince Cir is the means of our destruction. The meddling of our Loremasters has made the Prince what he is . . . and their meddling was a serious transgression . . . where the Earth Mother is concerned.'

Doc looked non-plussed. 'You're not seriously telling us that this Earth Mother of yours is meting out Her vengeance, because of a few unscrupulous people, even on the innocent? That sounds too much like the Biblical crap I used to hear as a child, where it was said that the innocent would be punished along with the guilty, or words to that effect.'

'I do not know what you mean by Biblical crap,' Pran told him, frowning, 'but I did not say that this is the Earth Mother's doing. What I am trying to tell you is that this may be something that we, the Elven people, have done to ourselves. That is an important distinction. An apt analogy for this, and for affairs in general in the Elf Kingdom, would be something like this; and here I am quoting an old story: "There are a host of creatures that live in the water I drink. If I were of a mind to be rid of them, and if doing so meant poisoning my own drinking water, all that partook of that water would die-"'

'"-and for that reason have I learned to share the water, taking only what I need . . ."'

Both Pran and Doc turned to Ralph in surprise. Ralph responded with a slow, thoughtful smile.

'Rani showed me that old book of fables. She said it was one of her favourites, that it had belonged to her great-grandma. But she liked the one she wasn't supposed to read, better . . . the one with all the scary pictures. Kind of reminded me of Grimm's fairy tales; lots of blood and gore. It's too bad they got lost in the fire.'

Pran sighed. 'Yes, well at least books can be replaced. And good stories never die.'

As they moved off into the night, Pran rode apart somewhat; and gritting his teeth to contain his rising grief, considered the stars that glittered like motes in a killer's eye. He well knew the meaning of the manner of his wife's return and what it entailed for the fate of his brother Io, and Io's wife and children.

Zuic How shall I speak to you of this? How will you bear it?

His thoughts turned unwillingly to his younger brother Io, and to Io's beautiful young wife. Dear, sweet-tempered, gentle Jan. Gone now- forever With a physical effort of will, he wrenched his mind's eye away from that dark corridor, down which lay the certain knowledge of how they had met their end, in unimaginable horror, hopelessness and agony

Unbidden, as though to afford him a means to cope, there came to his mind the book Ralph had mistakenly refered to as a book of fables. In truth it was a very old book of songs, and in Elven fashion many of the songs contained within its pages were based upon true stories.

With a sick, cold feeling, like a pebble dropped down the stone throat of an eternally lightless well, Pran recollected Rani's favourite, a song that had always left him feeling somewhat shaken. It was called Poor Bagaster, and was about an Elven-woman who had lived long ago. She had been murdered along with her children by her common-law husband, Orn, a local cobbler who had been a man of some importance in their tiny village.

It was a common epithet amongst Elves to refer to evil behaviour among their own as being Goblin-like, and down through the ages, this behaviour was sometimes spoken of in terms of being like certain Elves. Prince Cir and the King were often likened to Orn the Cobbler behind closed doors.

Her appeals were all in vain

Orn, thy kindelun abused,

Left them dying in the rain,

False, thy leman thee accused

O, she pleadeth on her life

Save Bagaster, Cobbler-wife

Were her good acts all in vain?

Fain, withhold thy skinning knife

Blacken is thy soul, old Orn,

Even as the deed is done

Poor Bagaster, Cobbler-wife;

Gone to join thy kindelun.

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