A Darkness at Sethanon (2 page)

Further
exploration revealed the cave to be part of a large underground
Valheru abode, nearly unrecognizable after ages of erosion. Jimmy
then determined that Silverthorn must be under water, as the elves
had stated it grew close to the edge of the water and the rainfall
that year had been heavy. That night they found the plant and began
their flight. Jimmy was injured and the party slowed. They eluded the
moredhel sentries but were forced to kill one, alerting Murad, who
led the force set to capture Arutha. Near the edge of the elven
forests, the exhausted party was forced to halt. Galain ran ahead,
seeking his kinsmen Calin and the other elven warriors. The first
band of moredhel overtook Arutha and was beaten back, but then Murad
arrived with his larger force, including Black Slayers. Baru
challenged Murad to single combat, and the strange honour code of the
moredhel forced him to accept. Baru killed Murad, cutting his heart
out to end the risk of his returning from the dead. Baru was cut down
by a moredhel before he could return to his companions, and the
battle was rejoined. As the Prince’s party was nearly
overwhelmed, the elves arrived and drove off the moredhel. Baru was
found to be barely alive, and the elves carried the Prince and his
party to the safety of Elvandar. The dead Black Slayers returned to
life and pursued the elves to the edge of Elvandar, where Tomas
arrived with the Spellweavers and destroyed the Black Slayers. At a
celebration that night, Arutha learned that Baru would live after a
long convalescence. Arutha and Martin considered the end of their
quest, both knowing the battle was only a part of a larger conflict,
whose final outcome had not been decided.

Pug reached
the northern edges of the Empire and, leaving his Tsurani guards, set
off across the Thun-held tundra. The strange centaur-like creatures,
who called themselves the Lasura, sent an old warrior to converse
with Pug. The creature revealed the existence of dwellers in the ice
and ran off declaring Pug mad. Pug at last reached the glacier, where
he was met by a cowled being. The Watcher who greeted Pug took him
down below the icecap to where a fabulous, magic forest existed. It
was called Elvardein and was twin to Elvandar. Pug discovered the
Watchers to be elves, the long-vanished eldar, or elder elves. Pug
was to stay with them a year and learn arts beyond those he already
had at his command.

Arutha
reached Krondor safely with the cure for Anita. She was revived, and
plans were made to finish the wedding. Carline insisted Laurie and
she also get married at once, and for the time being, the palace at
Krondor was the scene of joy and happiness.

Peace
returned to the Kingdom of the Isles, for almost a year . . . .

Lo! Death has
reared himself a throne
In a strange city.

POE,
The City
in the Sea
, st. 1

T
he
wind came from nowhere.

Ringing into
existence with the reverberation of a hammer striking doom, it
carried the heat of a forge that fashioned hot war and searing death.
It came into being in the heart of a lost land, emerging from some
strange place between that which is and that which seeks to be. It
blew from the south, when snakes walked upright and spoke ancient
words. Angry, it stank of ancient evil, echoing with long forgotten
prophecies. In a frenzy the wind spun, swirling out of the void, as
if seeking a course, then it seemed to pause, then it blew northward.

The old nurse
hummed a simple tune, one handed down from mother to daughter for
generations, while she sewed. She paused to glance up from her
needlework. Her two small charges lay sleeping, tiny faces serene
while they dreamed their tiny dreams. Occasionally fingers would flex
or lips would purse in sucking motions, then one or the other would
return to quiescence. They were beautiful babies and would grow to be
handsome lads, of this the nurse was certain. As men they would have
only vague memories of the woman who sat with them this night, but
for now they belonged as much to her as their mother, who sat with
her husband presiding over a state dinner. Then through the window a
strange wind came, chilling her despite its heat. It carried a hint
of alien and distorted dissonance in its sound, an evil tune barely
perceived. The nurse shivered and looked toward the boys. They became
restless, as if ready to wake crying. The nurse hurried to the window
and closed the shutters, blocking out the strange and disquieting
night air. For a moment it seemed all time held its breath, then, as
if with a slight sigh, the breeze died away and the night was calm
again. The nurse tightened her shawl about her shoulders and the
babies stirred fitfully for another moment, before lapsing into a
deep and quiet sleep.

In another room
nearby, a young man worked over a list, struggling to put aside
personal likes and dislikes as he decided who was to serve at a minor
function the next day. It was a task he hated, but he did it well.
Then the wind made the window curtains blow inward. Without thinking,
the youngster was half out of his chair in a crouch, a dirk seeming
to fly from his boot top to his hand, as a street-born sense of
wariness signalled danger. Poised to fight, he stood with heart
pounding for a long moment, as certain of a death struggle as he had
ever been in his conflict-torn life. Seeing no one there, the young
man slowly relaxed. The moment was lost. He shook his head in
perplexity. An odd disquiet settled in the pit of his stomach as he
slowly crossed to the window. For long, slowly passing minutes he
gazed toward the north, into the night, where he knew the great
mountains lay, and beyond, where an enemy of dark aspect waited. The
young man’s eyes narrowed as he stared into the gloom, as if
seeking to catch a glimpse of some danger lurking out there. Then as
the last of the rage and fear fled, he returned to his task. But
throughout the balance of the night he occasionally turned to look
out the window.

Out in the city
a group of revellers made their way through the streets, seeking
another inn and more merry companions. The wind blew past them and
they halted a moment, exchanging glances. One, a seasoned mercenary,
began to walk again, then halted, considering something. With a
sudden loss of interest in celebration, he bade his companions good
night and returned to the palace where he had guested for almost a
year.

The wind blew
out to sea where a ship raced toward its home port after a long
patrol. The captain, a tall old man with a scarred face and a white
eye, paused as he was touched by the freshening wind. He was about to
call for the sheets to be shortened when a strange chill passed
through him. He looked over to his first mate, a pock-faced man who
had been at his side for years. They exchanged glances, then the wind
passed. The captain paused, gave the order to send men aloft, and,
after another silent moment, shouted for extra lanterns to be lit
against the suddenly oppressive gloom.

Farther to the
north, the wind blew through the streets of a city, creating angry
little dust swirls that danced a mad caper across the cobbles,
skittering along like demented jesters. Within this city men from
another world lived beside men born there. In the soldiers’
commons of the garrison, a man from that other world wrestled one
raised within a mile of where the match was taking place, with heavy
wagering among those who watched. Each man had taken one fall and the
third would decide the winner. The wind suddenly struck and the two
opponents paused, looking about. Dust stung eyes and several seasoned
veterans suppressed shudders. Without words the two opponents quit
the match, and those who had placed wagers picked up their bets
without protest. Silently those in the commons returned to their
quarters, the festive mood of the contest having fled before the
bitter wind.

The wind swept
northward until it struck a forest where little apelike beings,
gentle and shy, huddled in the branches, seeking a warmth that only
close physical contact can provide. Below, on the floor of the
forest, a man sat in meditative pose. His legs were crossed and he
rested the backs of his wrists upon his knees, thumbs and forefingers
forming circles that represent the Wheel of Life to which all
creatures are bound. His eyes snapped open at the first caress of the
darkling wind and he regarded the being who sat facing him. An old
elf, showing but the faint signs of age native to his race,
contemplated the human for a moment, seeing the unspoken question. He
nodded his head slightly. The human picked up the two weapons that
lay at his side. The long sword and half-sword he placed in his belt
sash, and with only a gesture of farewell he was off, moving through
the trees of the forest as he began his journey to the sea. There he
would seek out another man, one who was also counted friend to the
elves, and prepare for the final confrontation that would soon begin.
As the warrior made his way toward the ocean the leaves rustled in
the branches over his head.

In another
forest, leaves also trembled, in sympathy with those troubled by the
passing darkwind. Across an enormous gulf of stars, around a greenish
yellow sun spun a hot planet. Upon that world, below the cap of ice
at the north pole, lay a forest twin to that left behind by the
travelling warrior. Deep within that second forest sat a circle of
beings steeped in timeless lore. They wove magic. A soft, warm glow
of light formed a sphere about them, as each sat upon the bare earth,
richly coloured robes unblemished by stain of soil. All eyes were
closed, but each saw what he or she needed to see. One, ancient
beyond the memory of the others, sat above the circle, suspended in
the air by the strength of the spell they all wove together. His
white hair hung below his shoulders, held back by a simple wire of
copper set with a single jade stone upon his forehead. His palms were
held up and forward, and his eyes were fixed upon another, a
black-robed human, who floated opposite him. That other rode the
currents of arcane energy forming a matrix about him, sending his
consciousness along those lines, mastering this alien magic. The
black-robed one sat in mirror pose, his hands held palm out, but his
eyes were closed as he learned. He mentally caressed the fabric of
this ancient elven sorcery and felt the intertwined energies of every
living thing in this forest, taken and lightly turned, never forced,
toward the needs of the community. Thus the Spellweavers used their
powers: gently, but persistently, spinning the fibre of these ever
present natural energies into a thread of magic that could be used.
He touched the magic with his mind and he knew. He knew his powers
were growing beyond human understanding, becoming godlike in
comparison to what he had once thought were the limits of his
talents. He had mastered much in the passing year, yet he knew there
was much more to learn. Still, with his tutoring he now had the means
to find other sources of knowledge. The secrets known to few but the
greatest masters - to pass between worlds by strength of will, to
move through time, and even to cheat death - he now understood were
possible. And with that understanding, he knew he would someday
discover the means of mastering those secrets. If he was granted
enough time. And time was at a premium. The leaves of the trees
echoed the rustle of the distant darkwind. The man in black set dark
eyes upon the ancient being floating before him, as both withdrew
their minds from the matrix. Speaking by strength of mind, the man in
black said,
So soon, Acaila?

The other
smiled, and pale blue eyes shone forth with a light of their own, a
light which when first seen had startled the man in black. Now he
knew that light came from a deep power beyond any he had known in any
mortal save one. But this was a different power, not the astonishing
might of that other but the soothing, healing power of life, love,
and serenity. This being was truly one with all around him. To gaze
into the glowing eyes was to be made whole, and his smile was a
comfort to see. But the thoughts that crossed the distance between
the two as they gently floated earthward were troubled. Then with a
texture of thought the black-robed man had come to understand was
humour, he added aloud, “But ready or unready, it is time.”

The others rose
as one and for a silent moment the black-clad one felt their minds
join with his, in a final farewell. They were sending him back to
where a struggle was under way, a struggle in which he was to play a
vital part. But they were sending him with much more than he had
possessed when he had come to them. He felt the last contact, and
said, “Thank you. I will return to where I can travel quickly
home.” Without further words he closed his eyes and vanished.
Those in the circle were silent a moment, then each turned to
undertake whatever task awaited him or her. In the branches the
leaves remained restless and the echo of the darkwind was slow in
fading.

The darkwind
blew until it reached a ridge trail above a distant vale, where a
band of men crouched in hiding. For a brief moment they faced the
south, as if seeking the source of this oddly disquieting wind, then
they returned to observing the plains below. The two closest to the
edge had ridden long and hard in response to a report by an
out-riding patrol. Below, an army gathered under banners of
ill-aspect. The leader, a greying tall man with a black patch over
his right eye hunkered down below the ridge. “It’s as bad
as we feared,” he said in hushed tones.

The other man,
not as tall but stouter, scratched at a grey-shot black beard as he
squatted beside his companion. “No, it’s worse,” he
whispered. “By the number of campfires, there’s one hell
of a storm brewing down there.”