The Knife's Edge (9 page)

Rydel returned, guiding their horses. She saw Rensha, her white mare, and was glad for the familiar face. She stroked the horse’s muzzle and Rensha nickered. Rydel swiftly strapped down the saddlebags. She normally rode her cormac—faster and more intelligent creatures that were more attuned to the spark, but such a creature would be far too conspicuous beyond the gates and within Daerval, a land without magic.

Karil nimbly mounted Rensha. Rydel took to his large black warhorse and together they turned towards the wide archway when the ground rattled. Abruptly, the door behind burst open. Shards of wood rained down. Rensha spooked, bucking in terror and she fought to gain control of the frantic animal.

“Karil! Run!” Rydel shouted.

She slammed her heels into Rensha’s flanks, bursting towards the open archway, but her charge was brought to a sudden halt as she was flung forward. When Karil gained her senses, she was on the ground. Twenty or so elves in black armor poured into the stables, surrounding them with silent, deadly ease. She saw the one that had flung her from her horse. He stood before her, tall and muscular. Where Rydel was broader of shoulder and arm, this elf was slender like a blade, with long straight blond hair that draped over his shoulders. He held Rensha’s reins casually with one powerful arm as the creature bucked. His other hand gripped a long, curved dagger. Karil swallowed with a rush of comprehension.

“So then, Dryan has no intention of letting me live,” she said. The blond elf grinned, showing uncharacteristically human-like emotion. Karil’s blood ran cold. “I see. That’s clever of him, crushing all opposition here in the quiet, where the chaos will flow over and wash away his questionable deeds.”

The elf sneered as he approached. “Oh, you misunderstand. You’re not a threat to an elf like Dryan. Nevertheless, dead is always simpler than alive. Rumors are easy enough to quell. You have been too outspoken for your own good.”

Anger rose inside Karil. “You’re more of a fool than I thought,” she replied. “Dryan has no claim to the throne, and never will. Who would ever believe him?”

The elf laughed openly. “You don’t get it, do you? They will believe what we want them to believe.”

Karil took a calm breath. She summoned her ka. It was weaker than most elves because of her half-blood, but undetectable for that same reason. In the corner of her vision she saw Rydel. Surrounded by ten other elves, he looked like a cornered tiger. He flashed her a look. She nodded. With a fierce cry, she lashed out, pulling every shred of her power into one invisible cord. A root from a nearby tree plunged upward through the thick ground, sending a shower of dirt into the air. Startled, the elf bounded backwards. He cut at the tubers, but the roots were quicker. They shot out, snaring his legs. The elf was thrown to the ground. At the same time, Karil leapt to her feet and bounded into Rensha’s saddle.

Behind, she heard the cry and clash of Rydel with the other elves, but she didn’t spare the time to look, trusting her companion. She bolted for the open door, when Rensha bucked again as if colliding with a brick wall. She turned and saw the blond elf held the reins. His face twisted, muscles cording with strain. Three more guards were approaching fast behind her. In one swift movement, she unsheathed her slim dagger and slashed the elf’s hand. He unleashed the reins with a cry and she broke free. Suddenly, Rydel was at her side, riding hard.

Twenty more elves alighted from thin air and she pulled her reins short. Too many, she thought.

A fierce battle cry rang through the clearing, and the Terma froze. Karil followed the sound, but saw nothing. When suddenly more elves burst from the woods. Her heart rose as she glimpsed their green armor. The two forces clashed and cries pierced the night. Green armor upon black, swords flickered like a blur. A Terma was thrown into Rensha’s flank. The animal bucked wildly. She gripped the reins and clung to her mounts back. Through the haze of swords and tangle of Rensha’s mane, she saw him once again.

The blonde Terma cut down a green armored shadow with menacing ease. The other elf fell to his knees clutching his chest, vainly trying to stop the flow of his gaping wound. The Terma lifted his sword to finish the job. Karil wasted no time. Holding Rensha’s mane in one vise-like grip, she lunged for her dagger, hurling the blade. It flew over the crowds and sunk into his back, biting deep between his shoulder blades. She watched him fall and then unsheathed her sword and looked around, but in a matter of seconds, the fighting was over.

Bodies littered the ground, mostly the Terma. She turned to her defenders. Their breathing was heavy, faces ragged. They wore green cloth, loose and light with a few added pieces of leather armor, piecemealed together. It was the garb of the Lando, as they had started calling themselves. In the common tongue, it meant Liberators. Karil noticed the last subtle difference in their armor. Small trinkets the size of her finger were pinned to their breasts. She recognized them as the shattered pieces of her father’s crown.

Rydel approached. “Are you all right?”

“Fine now.”

Rydel looked to the elves, with a note of respect. “They saved us again. But the Terma are not done,” he said. “You know as well as I, that was only the first. More will be coming, and soon.”

She nodded. The elves now stood in a file, all facing her. As one they clapped a hand to their chest, and spoke in unison, “Tel Merahas.” Then they took to one knee, their armor rustling in the quiet night.

Her heart welled with pride and sorrow. Every one of them had abandoned everything to protect her, to protect the side of light against the tide of darkness. Her people. Most of them were young, but their youthful faces were far different than two days ago. Whatever softness had once been there had been hammered out. She regretted it all, feeling somehow that it was her fault. Yet such was the times, her father would have said. She swallowed, choking back her emotions. “Twice you have protected me. Words can never express my gratitude for your brave acts, both two days ago, and tonight.” She let the words hang in the air. She felt Rydel’s presence and knew the gap for their escape was closing, but it was because of these elves she had survived. The elves waited for her command, and she felt the weight of all their fates. “Time is short. I would wish to say more, and though I do not want to I, we must leave now.”

“Then we will accompany you,” said one, immediately standing.

“We will have your side,” said another, a slightly older guard with longer ears and deeper-set eyes, but with equal fervor.

She shook her head firmly. “You all must stay. With Rydel, I can make it past the border. I would ask one more thing of you, as your queen.” The words tasted bitter on her tongue, a taste she would gladly spit out for another. Her first order as queen was to strip them of their pride, but she knew she must. “You must forsake your pledge to me until I return. Furthermore, for now, you must wear your normal armor.”

They looked hurt and confused.

She pointed to the small trinkets. “I know what it represents to you. You fought with great pride that day, but the honor you hold is not in some trinket upon your breast. Just as the power my father wielded, and your love for him did not derive from the crown he bore. So please, spread the word: take up the normal armament of the guard, and assimilate back into the ranks.” And live. She swallowed hard at the command. She knew she was doing it for them, but she also knew many of them might have chosen death, instead of losing their pride. And many of them had died. Yet she would not allow anymore, at least not because of her.

Karil felt Rydel, urging her to leave. She owed them one more thing… “Not far from now, where we stand, I will be back to take the throne, and on that day I will call for you to fight and take back what is rightfully ours.” Pride returned to their faces.

“My queen,” Rydel pressed. At the same time, Terma guards appeared like shadows from thin air, attacking from every angle, but the Lando charged.

“Sirvas!” they cried as one, cutting a path through the enemy. The dark armored Terma faltered, taken back by the sudden retaliation, but only for a moment, and the tide was quickly turning in favor of the dark elves.

A shout rose, “Run, my queen!”

One elf, the older of the bunch, gripped Rensha’s reins in one hand. “Heed your own words. Live, my queen. One day we will see you again, and return the honor that has been stolen from you. I swear to you, we will not see your father, the true king, die in vain.” He clasped a fist to heart and dove back into the fray. The Lando bellowed as they were sliced down, but still they fought.

“Karil!” Rydel shouted.

At last, guilt wrenching her, she turned, dashing through the opening they had created for her. Rensha’s hooves pounded as she raced into the woods, away from her kingdom. Karil chased the image of Rydel’s whipping cloak, heading towards Daerval, with the bloody cries of elves loud in her ears.

The Shadow’s Hand

G
RAY’S LEGS BURNED AS HE FOLLOWED
the hermit’s cloak through the night. The tree limbs seemed to reach out, lashing at him as a roar cracked through the woods. The forest was a blur as he ran. He skidded to a halt, nearly crashing into Mura. They stood in a small clearing. To his left was a sheer cliff with a view of the vast canopy of the lower woods, far below.

He slumped against a tree, catching his breath. “What’s happening? Those things were vergs weren’t they?” He shivered at even saying the name. Vergs were monstrous creatures, myths rumored to have lived during the Lieon, but no more than that.

Mura didn’t seem to be listening. He moved as if searching for something. “It was here! It has to be,” he muttered. He set down a strange scimitar that Gray hadn’t seen until now with brown sheath and obsidian-like handle. The hermit’s hands grazed the trunk of a silveroot. He tore into the brush at the base of the tree, ripping away clumps of tanglevine. Gray watched in confusion as the hermit’s fingers pried into the tree’s base, pulling away a perfectly square hunk of wood from the trunk and unveiling a dark cubbyhole.

He stepped forward. “How did you know that was there?”

“Because I created it, a long time ago, and have kept it concealed for a much needed time.” Reaching in, Mura extracted a brown bag. “I will answer all, lad, but this is not the time. Now come forth.”

Mura grabbed a handful of the forest floor, and then rubbed the soil between his palms. He then put a hand to Gray’s head. The warmth of the man’s palm against his temple was comforting. He opened his mouth when a bright light bloomed. It grew as Mura chanted in Elvish. A chill coursed through his body. “What did you do?” he asked. “That was…”

“Magic,” said Mura. “It’s not much, but it will hide your scent for five days, and buy you time to leave the woods.”

“But where will I go?”

“North and stop for nothing. Follow the Silvas River. It will lead you out of the woods and to safety. Once out, get to the town of Lakewood, and I will find you there. I swear it. But you must go now.” He picked up the bag and pressed it to Gray’s chest. “Here, take this.”

“What’s this?”

“Some of the answers to your past,” said the hermit, “Now, go! There isn’t much time.” The howls grew louder, emphasizing his words.

He unsheathed Morrowil from his back. “I won’t let you fight them alone. I can help.”

Abruptly, the woods darkened, and even the silver light from his sword dimmed.

“Go!” Mura shoved him, withdrawing his blade.

Gray startled at sound like rushing air. A black mist appeared, and then vanished. “What is that?”

“A creature not from this world,” Mura said.

Like dark lightning, the black mist leapt from one tree to another and a voice hissed from everywhere at once, “Handle them. Kill the boy and take the sssword.”

A figure stepped out from the shadows, head scraping the belly of the bent boughs. Despite uneven shadows, Gray saw teeth like hand-length daggers jutting from a wide mouth.

“Run, boy! Now!”

Gray took a step backwards.

The verg gave a throaty laugh. “You should listen to your master,” it said, guttural voice rasping like a saw, as if it were not meant for speech.

“Flee!” Mura yelled.

Something flashed within the dark slits of trees. The shadows materialized, leaping towards him. He dove to the ground, pitching beneath a set of glistening fangs. His sword tip caught the dirt and was ripped from his grip. He turned to see a large black wolf. It turned its massive head, eyeing him with burnished red eyes. Gray’s heart hammered as he grasped for his sword. It was nowhere to be seen. He twisted, and in the pocket of his vision he glimpsed the blade. It was several feet behind him, teetering on the cliff’s edge.

Slowly, he edged towards it. In the corner of his vision, Mura leapt over the verg’s massive swipe, moving with incredible speed. As he looked back, the wolf lunged. Gray reached for his sword. As he gripped the handle, sharp teeth snatched his arm scraping against bare bone. He screamed in pain. Still, he gripped the sword and kicked at the beast, slamming his heel into its muzzle. The wolf didn’t budge, its teeth like iron pincers. It snarled and shook, ripping at his flesh. Gray gasped, pain blotting his vision when he saw trunk-like legs pounding towards him.

“No!” Mura cried out.

The verg’s huge hand seized Gray’s arm and heaved him into the air. He cried out, stretched between the wolf’s snarling jaws and the verg’s brutish grip. Mura dove, lashing at the verg, lacerating its trunk-like legs with his sword. The verg gave a bestial roar. The earth shuddered as its fist cracked the ground and shards of dirt flew. Gray’s body whipped like a wet rag. Through his agony, he felt the wolf’s teeth slip. He heard a loud pop and his vision clouded in pain, voice too hoarse to scream.