Tanis the shadow years (d2-3) (6 page)

They were a small band of elves against an evergrowing number of humans. Tanis saw that Scowarr, bandages flapping around his head, was silently running to the attack alongside him.

"I know what you're thinking," Little Shoulders rasped as he ran. "You're thinking, 'Why isn't he making jokes now?' Well, I'll tell you why: When you're in deep water," he said, "the best thing to do is shut your mouth."

The human soldiers flowed over the southern barricade like water rushing over a falls. But there was a dam up ahead that sought to stop the onrushing tide, a dam not of earth and wood, but of a small phalanx of elven villagers led by Tanis. As Tanis raced into the fray, he felt a fear that was new to him. He was confident enough fighting several enemies at once; he'd done it many times. But he had never taken on so many foes without his good and true companions at his side. Yet he charged on. He was used to having Hint Fireforge on his right. waving his fearsome battle-axe, Sturm Brightblade on his left, wielding his deadly sword, and Caramon Majere tossing bodies in all directions, making his presence felt in a thousand ways. Kit's swordplay, Tas's hoopak, and Raistlin's magic could always be counted upon to help even the odds. He was fearless when he went into battle with them. He was full of fear without them.

Yet he charged on.

He had no idea if the elven villagers who raced to the battlements with him could be counted upon to fight like soldiers. In fact, he had no idea h'ow many of the elves had actually heeded his call to storm the barricades. It might have been as few as three or four or as many as twenty or thirty. He did not have the nerve to look back and count.

Yet he charged on.

Tanis knew only that Scowarr had been alongside him when the charge began, and the human was still there as they neared the barricades. Little Shoulders was no Hint, but he would have to do.

A woman stood on a balcony. Directly below her she saw humans fighting with elves in the streets. To the east, she could see the main army of the humans struggling in the unrelenting downpour that rained only on them. It was the sight to the south, however, that filled her with dread. The barricades had been breached. A small branch of the human army had broken through, and all of Kishpa's warnings to leave Ankatavaka came home to her. But she dismissed them now as she had dismissed them then. She would not flee her home, not while she still had the power to fight back. The woman appeared fragile, but she was not; a great heart beat in her chest. Her exquisite face, however, belied the woman's fighting spirit. She seemed eternally, mysteriously feminine, with shining brown eyes so dark they appeared almost black, fringed by improbably thick lashes. Her glistening eyes, which mesmerized almost like Kishpa's magic, contrasted sharply with her delicately pale skin. She had a strong, proud nose, a delicate, sensuous mouth, and thick, curly hair that spilled nearly to her waist. Each of her features, alone, was startling in its perfection. All her features, together, were breathtaking.

She was Brandella.

With a longbow in her hands and a pile of arrows beside her, Brandella took aim at a human climbing over the barricade and let loose of the bowstring. She didn't see her target as a fellow human, but rather as an enemy. She had qualms about killing, certainly, but not about defending her home, her friends, and her life with Kishpa. Her arrow struck its mark, lodging deep in the human soldier's left thigh. He fell backward, clutching his leg, then tumbled off the outer edge of the barricade and out of sight.

It was then that Brandella saw the elven charge to retake the battlement. She estimated nearly one hundred humans were swarming over the barricades, yet only a force of a dozen or so villagers were attempting to retake it.

With controlled fury, she began shooting her arrows at the enemy atop the barricades, trying desperately to buy a few moments more for the handful of elven martyrs. Despite her barrage of arrows, she expected the charging elves to be quickly slaughtered by the far-superior human forces. Although some elves did fall, the rest still managed to fight on, driving the humans, step by step, back up toward the top of the battlements. Brandella looked closely and saw someone she'd never seen before. He was taller than the other elves, and he fought with a ferocity she'd never witnessed. He ranged in front of the others, muscular body lithe in tooled leather, urging the elven soldiers on, battling like a brave warrior she had dreamed about as a little girl, a man who would come to her from a mythical world and take her on a grand journey to eternity. With all her heart, she hoped he would not die.*****

Tanis had no idea how many humans he had slain. He was drenched with blood and his own sweat. His broadsword slashed through his enemies, cutting a swath of red for the rest of his small and ever-diminishing contingent to follow.

Unknown to Tanis, the group had a secret weapon in its midst. It was Scowarr. With his head wrapped thoroughly in bandages, except for small slits for his eyes, nose, mouth, and ears, he was a fearsome sight. He had the appearance of a creature risen from the dead, a ghostlike apparition that could kill but could not be killed in turn. The horrible screams and cries that spewed from his mask of bandages sounded unearthly and terrible. The humans had no way of knowing that those screams were the hysterical ravings of a terrified man who had no idea what he was shouting in his abject fear. Neither did his fellow fighters, who pushed themselves faster and fiercer, following his example.

Wherever he charged, the humans fell away, stumbling back in dread of his wildly swinging sword. Soon Tanis and many of the remaining elven fighters took advantage of the effect Scowarr had on the enemy and attacked those who were already stumbling backward in fear.

The desperate tactic worked, and the line of humans began to falter and break. Tanis plunged forward, parrying the blow from a battle-axe, then kicking his foe in the stomach and knocking him backward from the top of the barricade. Another human dove at Tanis, attempting to wrap his arms around the half-elf's legs and wrestle him to the ground.

What the human hadn't counted on was the arrow that came out of nowhere to lodge in the back of his neck. His arms went slack as his limp body slammed into Tanis. The half-elf recovered his balance, wondering who had shot the arrow that had saved his life.

Brandella smiled grimly as she plucked another arrow from her rapidly diminishing pile.

The battle for the barricade was hardly over. Although Tanis and the others had gained the top of the battlement, now they had to hold it until the village reinforced them. The twilight made their situation that much more difficult.

Only eight of the elves who had joined him in the charge remained on their feet, and several were badly wounded. They couldn't hold out for long. Brandella nocked another arrow for her longbow, and let the deadly missile fly. Then a frantic voice challenged her from below the balcony.

"Brandella! You're still here!" Kishpa cried in anguish. "I hoped you were on that ship in the harbor."

Brandella saw the mage below her on the street. "Never mind me," she called back. "You must use your magic to save our people on the southern barricade."

Kishpa shook his head. "I can't," he intoned with a groan. "I exhausted myself with the storm spell; I won't have enough strength for another spell until morning. Mertwig says-"

Brandella slung another arrow onto her bow. She took aim on the distant barricade as she shot sharp words at her lover. "Never mind what Mertwig says. Have you seen what our people have done, how they have fought?" she insisted.

"I have," he admitted. 'They are brave indeed, but you should have been on that ship!"

She let loose with the arrow and watched with satisfaction as another human soldier plummeted from the barricade. Her tone remained impatient. "Please, Kishpa, say no more about my leaving. Say only that you'll help those poor creatures on the battlement!"

Brandella didn't immediately notice the pause that followed her words. "IH try," Kishpa finally said solemnly. "Ill do it because you ask it of me."

His tone penetrated her concentration, frightening her, and with a shock, Brandella realized what he risked for her. She leaned over the edge of the balcony, far out over the street, crying, "Wait! Don't sacrifice yourself! I didn't mean…"

It was too late. Kishpa already had entered a trance and was muttering the sacred, long-forgotten words that would create an enchantment. His mage's robes stood out against the gray of the cobblestones like a splash of red blood.

When he finished, he collapsed on the street.

The silver-inlaid bnoadsword in Tanis hand might as well have been a boulder with a handle. His arm was so weary he could hardly lift it. As twilight descended, after more than four hours of intense fighting, Tanis and the others stood atop the barricade as yet another wave of human soldiers stormed the battlement.

They were eight bloodied defenders against nearly fifty fresh troops. Tanis looked apprehensively over his shoulder. He was shocked, yet unsurprised, by the sight of the empty streets behind him. No one was coming to help them. The villagers had gone after the humans who had already breached the barricade. Busy fighting little battles and small skirmishes from door to door, they were oblivious to the doom that awaited them if Tanis and his small band were destroyed. He drooped with fatigue, staying on his feet only by an act of will. Was it only a day ago, the half-elf wondered, that he was caught in the fire with Clotnik, or was the fire still scores of years in the future?

Scowarr stood next to Tanis, his bandaged head splattered with human blood. He had killed no one, but his presence in their ranks surely had been key to the brave elven stand. He had long since stopped screaming in total terror, principally, Tanis thought, because the man could no longer speak above a raspy whisper, and even that seemed to pain him. The human-Had Tanis once thought him frail?-was long past fear now, his fevered mind awash in the battles he had fought and survived. No matter that his throat felt as if he had swallowed hot coals, nothing alive or dead on Krynn could have stopped him from talking now…

"I think-yes, I know-I should have become a Knight of Solamnia," he sputtered painfully.

Tanis looked over at the man and fought a smile as he compared Little Shoulders Scowarr with the muscular Sturm Brightblade.

"Imagine," Scowarr rasped, "fighting all those soldiers for so long, and I'm still alive! Not even a scratch!" He grabbed Tanis by the arm and exclaimed, 'They see me coming, and they run! Imagine it! Ah, but you don't have to imagine it. You can see it with your own eyes! They fear me and my sword, shrinking from my every step. Let them come!" he screeched.

With Scowarr's exuberant movements, tufts of his light brown hair poked through gaps in his bandages, but he appeared unaware. Instead, he struck a defiant pose in the dying light. "Let them come!" he proclaimed. "Let them see what they get at the hands of Little Shoulders Scowarr! I'm not afraid of any of them. No more! Never! I say, let them come!"

Tanis wanted to hug this put-upon creature, who was willing to die with the dignity of a giant. If anyone, friend or enemy dared to tell Little Shoulders the truth, Tanis swore he'd slay the offender. Scowarr's delusion was the ultimate blessing from the gods. Tanis hoped that when his time came, he could die as full of pride.

The front line of human soldiers, swords and battle- axes at the ready, clambered up the barricade toward Tanis and the others, yelling oaths and battle cries.

Tanis stood his ground stoically, but not Scowarr. Little Shoulders taunted them in return, shouting through his pain, "I'll give you death by the bellyful! You think you have an advantage in numbers, but all it means is that more of you will die by my sword! Come! Die!"

If Scowarr had frightened the enemy before with his incoherent screams, he unnerved them now with his unreserved boldness. The humans appeared unwilling to take on a blood-streaked warrior who was so obviously in the throes of insanity. The humans split their ranks and climbed the ramparts on either side of Scowarr, choosing to attack any of the others rather than the figure with the blood-covered, bandaged head.

Tanis held a shield that he had picked up earlier from a fallen human. He threw it at one onrushing soldier, deciding that his fighting arm was too weak to hold the broadsword with one hand. He gripped the handle of his blade with both hands for what he knew would be his final fight.

Without any warning, a strange tingling shot through his fingers and up his arms. In the fading light of sunset, his sword appeared to glow red and, to his astonishment, became extraordinarily light. He wondered if he, like Scowarr, was experiencing a delusion. If he was, he intended to enjoy it.

He brought his sword to bear on a charging soldier. With a swiftness more often seen with a knife than with a sword, he swung his blade in a wide arc, slicing off the soldier's hand in one quick, clean stroke.

Catching Tanis off balance, another human tried to stab him in the side. With the speed of lightning, the half- elf recovered, his broadsword flashing back to block his enemy's lunge. A moment later, the human lay bleeding on the barricade, a victim of Tanis's glowing red sword.

Off to his right, Tanis heard Scowarr shout, "Afraid to fight me, eh? Then I'll bring the battle to you!"

Oh, no, thought Tanis. Don't do it, Scowarr!

Waving his sword over his head, Scowarr did exactly what Tanis feared he would do: He charged down the barricade alone into the oncoming enemy troops.

Tanis couldn't let Little Shoulders die without trying to help him. It was suicide for both, but if Tanis was going to die, too, he would do it with the same flair as Scowarr. "Bring me more victims!" Tanis cried wildly, mimicking Little Shoulders's choleric tantrum as he raced down the front of the barricade after his friend, cutting down everyone who stood in his path. "Death to those who block my way! Who will fight me? Who wants to die?"

Tanis stabbed a human who was about to bring a battle-axe down on Scowarr's head. He cut open another soldier who tried to impale Little Shoulders with a lance. For his part, Scowarr didn't seem to have the slightest notion that he was in danger. He kept waving his sword and shouting, a man possessed by his own sense of immortality.

As for Tanis, he knew that death had to come soon. Yet his sword arm refused to grow weary, and his blade flew everywhere. Another soldier went down, then another. But Tanis's battle sense told him that there were too many of the enemy, crowding too close. He couldn't fight them all. Behind him, Tanis heard the wild shouts of the remaining elves with whom he had fought to regain the barricade.

Then the humans broke and ran!

"What on Krynn…?" Tanis burst out as he watched the soldiers leave their dead and flee, leaping, down the barricade.

Another elven shout broke the twilight air. Scowarr's wrathful outburst had spread to his fellow warriors, inspiring them to a level of courage that went far beyond bravery. Seeing Scowarr and Tanis charge down the battlement, they had thrown caution to the wind and joined madly, wildly, almost joyously, into the fray.

The humans had had enough. Fighting eight such mad creatures was too much to contemplate. Instead, they turned and fled.

"Come on back, you cowards!" Scowarr taunted, apparently unwilling to end what was, no doubt, the shining hour of his life. He began running after the enemy.

Tanis was quick to grab him by the flapping edge of his bandages, which were finally coming undone.

"It's over!" the half-elf told Scowarr firmly. "You can rest now."

The funny man stared at Tanis through the slits in his bandages. His eyes seemed to cloud over… and then he passed out.

Torches burned that night in every street and alley of the village. Human soldiers roamed within Ankatavaka, and they had to be found. That wasn't all. New defense plans had to be devised in case the human army attacked again at daybreak-which was all but certain.

Tanis, his strangely glowing sword safely ensconced in his scabbard, prepared to leave Scowarr in the care of his comrades-in-arms. The elves had repaired to the front of a nearby hall and were busily unwinding Scowarr's bandage by torchlight, eager to see the brave soul who had helped spur the victory. Tanis watched from the back.

Finally, the last bandage fell away, revealing a thin man with tufts of short, light brown hair.

"A human?" cried one elven soldier.

"What?" "Human?" came the responses from the other elves, who stared at Scowarr in shock. "He's not elven!" cried an injured elf. "Not elven?" replied still others.

Silence fell over the group as nearly a dozen pairs of almond-shaped eyes studied Scowarr's distinctly non- elven features. A piece of bandage still clung to one rounded ear, and Scowarr's smile grew crooked as he gazed back at his companions of only a few minutes before. Finally, he cleared his throat. "Have you heard the one about the cleric, the mage, and the tinker?" he asked hopefully.

Tanis froze, hoping he wouldn't have to defend the human against the elves whom Scowarr had helped save. The silence stretched longer as Scowarr's smile faded and the elves continued to exchange dumbfounded glances. One old elf chortled, then drew in his breath sharply and looked sideways at his colleagues. "A human!" he muttered wonderingly.

Another elf, streaked with dirt and sweat, let loose with a chuckle. "I'll be a slig!" he commented, then reached over and clapped Scowarr on the back. Another elven mouth stretched into a smile and opened into guffaws.

As laughter spread from elf to elf, Tanis relaxed and slipped out the door. As he slipped into the street, he overheard talk of raising a monument to honor Scowarr's heroics… if Ankatavaka survived, of course.

The light from more than five hundred torches bathed the seacoast village in a flickering orange glow as Tanis searched the streets for clues that might lead him to Brandella or deliver him to his father.

"Do you know a woman named Brandella?" he asked many a scurrying elf.

"Yes," replied everyone he questioned.

"Where can I find her?" he immediately countered.

They all answered, "With Kishpa, of course."

"And where is he?"

None knew.

No one had seen the mage since late afternoon. The wizard apparently had vanished. Teams of elves had been sent out to search for him. Without his magic, the villagers couldn't hope to hold the human army at bay.

Tanis tried another way of finding Kishpa's lover. He remembered Clotnik had said Brandella was a weaver. "Where does Brandella work at her loom?" he asked a rotund elven smith.

"Works and lives in the same place, m'boy," said the smith as he sharpened one of countless swords and knives that had been left with him overnight. "Y'know, my wife is rather fond of the shawls Brandella makes; wears them all the time. Costs me a fortune. But it's worth it. Keeps the wife happy, y'know."

'That's important," agreed Tanis, trying to remain patient. Perhaps ordinary chitchat helped the smith remain calm, maintaining the illusion that life as usual was still possible. "But can you tell me where she lives?" Tanis pressed.

'Try the second floor over that way," the smith said", using a worn hammer to point down the cobbled street. "See that overhang?"

Tanis nodded.

'That's her place. My wife…"

Tanis thanked the smith, ran directly to the overhang, and looked up at dark windows. He hurried through the doorway and took the stairs three at a time.

Knocking loudly on the door at the top of the stairs, he stood and waited, wondering what Brandella would look like, how she would act.

To his dismay, no one answered the door.

Tanis glanced down the stairway. When he saw no one lurking in the shadows, he put his shoulder to the door. It got away from him and swung open with a crash. Tanis grimaced.

Lighting a candle he found near the doorway, Tanis scanned the large room. A loom stood in one corner with baskets of bright red, yellow, and purple yarn beside it. Near the back was an unmade bed, the scent from the sheets aromatic and exotic, and there, too, were several baskets of yarn. Then he saw what he should have seen from the very beginning: All four walls were covered with a huge mural; even the ceiling was part of the enveloping painting.

Despite the meager light from the single candle, the images were bright and lively. Tanis couldn't figure out where the mural began or where it ended, and the more he peered at it, the less it mattered. The pictures told a story that needed no beginning, middle, or end. There were scenes of Kishpa, his physique perfect, his face flawless, his inner essence shining through his blue eyes with regal purity. It wasn't the mage's magic that shone, but the painter's art.

There were also scenes of children playing games. One of the children-a girl with black, unruly curls-always seemed to have her back turned to the viewer. Exquisitely dressed elven dancers leaped to music one could almost hear. Here, too, was an older girl, her hair flowing in thick, black curls down her back; her face also was hidden. There were scenes of merry festivals, viewed, it was clear, from the terrace overhang off to Tanis's right.

All of the scenes, wherever he looked, were joyous and happy, save one. On the ceiling, over her bed, Tanis noticed the woman with dark curls, her face obscured this time by the shoulder of a man, running toward a light that seemed to be a great distance away. The man was sweeping her into his arms, carrying her forward, and her body seemed to say, "I will go with you to the very source of light itself."

Trying to make out more detail of the woman's face, Tanis held the candle up close to the ceiling. The painter had hidden her features well. As he pulled the candle away, he saw something. The candle came loose from its holder and fell into a basket of yarn that sat on the floor near the bed. He quickly grabbed the candle and snuffed out the beginnings of a fire, only to find a piece of paper, now slightly burned, in the basket.

He steadied the candle back in its holder, held the note up to the flame, and read: Dearest of my Heart,

Please do as I beg you, and think only of your safety. A home is just a place to live; it isn't worth risking your life to save. I know what you're thinking: I'm a hypocrite because I'm staying behind to fight. I stay because it is my duty; my ancestors would be shamed if I left the children of their friends when my magic was needed most. I do not stay out of pride or desire. My only desire is to be with you. I keep you in my heart, in my mind, every moment of every day. Please, your life is too short as a human to risk it here. Go to Qualinesti. Our people know you, and you will be safe among them despite your race. Save yourself so that I may love you later. I will find you there when the battle is over. Go to the fisherman called Reehsha. He has promised me that he will ferry you to a ship in the harbor that sails for Qualinesti. You can trust him to save you a place on his boat. Don't delay. Do this for me, and know that I love you always. Yours Ever Faithful, Kishpa