Legends 1 - Honoured Enemy Read online

  'At least Kavala is dead,' Bovai said, and Golun grunted in reply. 'Strange, across all the years I could not slay him. He desired Anleah as much as I, and if I had fallen in battle, I know he would have courted her. But his hatred for Tinuva matched my own - he blamed him for Clan Badger's destruction. He was ambitious and would have displaced me if he thought he could, yet I endured his envy and hatred; a day did not go by that he did not wish to drive a dagger into my heart.'

  'His death frees you of the need to kill him, and it has also revealed the presence of your brother for certain. It is ironic that in removing an avowed enemy, Tinuva did you a service.'

  'Yes,' Bovai replied, drawing the cloak tight around his shoulders to ward off the chill. 'At the fort we took, I sensed his presence, yet after all these years it was almost hard to believe that finally we were coming to the conclusion of all events.'

  'Slay him and your honour is fully restored,' said Golun. 'With your honour intact at the Great Council next summer no one will dare to speak against your name. Who could deny one who would slay his own brother in order to restore the family name?'

  Bovai nodded. Golun was his friend, but Golun was also ambitious. He knew what it was that Bovai sought.

  Bovai looked over at him.

  'Delekhan,' Bovai whispered. 'He has always used my brother's betrayal against me in Council.'

  'It would be far better that you, rather than he, should rule the entire clan if Murad should fall. The death of your father left the way open for your ambitious cousin to seize control, when it should have been you sitting at Murad's right hand.'

  Bovai glanced over at Golun and wondered for a second if there was some veiled insult in his words. If the tragedy had not played out as it had, it would have been Morvai bringing together Raven and Badger, Morvai who would now be ruling both clans, their combined strength thus making him Murad's most trusted captain.

  'Kill Tinuva: but you will still have to contend with the problems down there,' Golun said, nodding back to the stockade by the river.

  'Now what?'

  'Another fight between the humans and goblins. Two dead on both sides.'

  'Damn.' Bovai sighed. Following Golun's lead, he started back down the hill.

  Garrisoning all of them together to sit out the storms was proving to be a nightmare. Half a dozen heads were already staked above the gate, executions undertaken in order to maintain order.

  It had been nearly a fortnight since they had lost the chase and their prey had escaped. He knew they would hole up in the valley. Several of the humans with the party had heard rumours of the place and one claimed to know a pass to the north of the mountains that would bring them into the valley from the other side. That pass was a march of at least thirty miles, once the Edder Forest was circled, and until the storms abated and the thaw that often came at midwinter melted off some of the snow and compacted the rest, the march would be impossible.

  He knew he had to do three things now. The first was to keep his force together. He had promised to get them back safely to their homeland before winter. If it had not been for the diversion of the chase they would have gained the final pass before the storms.

  Having failed in that he now had to succeed in the other two. To satisfy the men and goblins, Hartraft's Marauders had to be annihilated. The glory derived from such an act would assuage their anger and they would return home to boast of what they had achieved. And finally the death of Tinuva would settle a dispute that had lasted for centuries. It would afford him little pleasure, he knew, and Anleah would love him not one whit more when the traitor was dead, but it would remove a canker from his heart, and come summer it would place him in a position to challenge Delekhan himself for a prominent place in the clan Council. He might never have Morvai's love, but he would some day have glory his former brother had only dreamed of.

  As the snow swirled he returned to the fortress and for several minutes loud arguments ensued. Some moments later there was the ringing of steel, and six more heads were placed upon the battlement wall.

  Gregory refilled Tinuva's mug with tea and passed it over to him, pouring another cup for himself. Moving the small kettle off the flames, he tossed another log on the fire and settled back. The two of them were sitting inside the rotted-out remains of a massive tree stump. Tearing away the south side of the stump to gain entrance, they had settled in after a morning of hunting. The thin outer wall that engulfed them on three sides formed a natural shelter against the wind and snow: the two of them were able to stretch out comfortably on the sawdust-dry inner remains of the great tree.

  'You never told me about her before,' Gregory said, his friend having fallen silent, after speaking, for the first time, of the story of his wife, Anleah.

  Gregory kept his voice soft, trying not to show the slightest shock over the tale that his companion of so many years had just related. He knew Tinuva had been of the moredhel, but had never questioned him about that, or the reason for his 'Returning', to the eledhel. One did not question elves on such secretive matters and the mere fact that Tinuva had just discussed Anleah with him was startling, and a bit worrisome.

  Tinuva nodded. 'No reason before. It was long ago.'

  'Not so long ago that the memory doesn't hurt.'

  Tinuva, gaze fixed on the fire, again fell silent. An acceptance of the elf's silences was one thing Gregory had learned early on in his friendship with Tinuva. Elves understood time differently. Perhaps it was because the span of humans was so short that they had to cram each moment with something. An elf could go for days, weeks even, without speaking and in fact be completely unaware of it. It was one of the reasons they seldom chose humans as friends, for humans clouded the air with too much talk and too frenzied a pace of living.

  The small log he had tossed on the fire burned down and Gregory replaced it with another.

  Finally Tinuva stirred. 'Yes, it hurts,' he whispered. 'It will always hurt. I love her still.' He sighed, and the anguish of the sound cut into Gregory's heart. 'And I loved my brother as well.'

  Gregory wanted to ask the question but knew he couldn't; he would have to wait.

  More than an hour passed before Tinuva spoke again.

  'I'll never know if she wed my brother willingly, or if my father forced her. I guess it doesn't matter, in any event.'

  Startled, Gregory fought to keep his features composed, his eyes fixed on the flames. 'I find it difficult to understand much of what you've told me, my friend.'

  Tinuva laughed sadly. 'You have no idea of the struggle within my soul, of the great divide between moredhel and eledhel. You have no idea of what it was to be a moredhel. Yes there is a darkness to it, but ah, the passion, the power of it is intoxicating beyond my ability to describe. My father's people are a unique and difficult race, yet they have their own honour and glory.'

  'There are few outside our race who know of the Returning, Gregory. You and a few others among the Rangers. Even Martin Longbow, Prince Calin's friend and hunting companion, is ignorant of the Returning, I think. To some among us, it is a difficult thing, for it speaks of an ancient lore and mysteries even the wisest among us can hardly fathom.'

  'Some believe once we were a single race, serving the Ancient Ones.'

  Gregory nodded, for much of that lore had been hidden before the arrival in Elvandar of a white-clad warrior called Tomas. Rumour was he had once been a keep-boy in Crydee, but now he was a swordsman unmatched in ferocity and power. It was said he harboured an ancient magic within him, and Gregory knew there was some truth to this, for he had seen his friend and other elves when they spoke of Tomas. He had heard the whispers of Valheru, the Ancient Ones.

  'It is said that when the Ancient Ones departed this world, they named us a free people, and we divided, some clinging to the ways of our ancestors, while others sought out power for the sake of power.'

  'It is from that division that the moredhel and the eledhel arose. We have grown so different that our language, customs, and bel
iefs have changed.' Tinuva looked at Gregory. 'Did you know that the union between a moredhel and an eledhel can produce no offspring?'

  Gregory said nothing, but silently gazed at his friend.

  'Some say this proves we are a different race from the Dark Ones. Yet, those of us who were once of the moredhel, who have Returned, can take wives and father children.'

  Gregory said, 'It's passing strange.'

  'There are mysteries even more difficult to plumb,' said Tinuva. 'Such as the heart of another.' He paused. 'I told you that even before we were married I suspected Bovai loved Anleah. At the wedding feast, I told him there was no shame in it, for who could know her and not love her?'

  'Bovai was not the only one. Kavala hated me for the betrayal he saw as the cause of his clan's destruction. But most of all, he hated me for wedding Anleah.'

  'He was the one you slew on the road,' Gregory interjected.

  Tinuva nodded.

  They had heard the two approaching moredhel and had laid the ambush, and then at the very last second Tinuva had shifted aim, going for the one on the right, the same target Gregory was aiming at. It had thrown the ambush off and one had escaped, but now he understood why.

  'A moment I have dreamed of for centuries,' Tinuva whispered.

  'I understand.'

  'Bovai hates me for what he sees as a betrayal of everything he holds sacred in his life: his clan's honour, his blood, and his shame. Kavala hated me because of personal jealousy and envy as much as because I killed his brother. Kavala made a practice of hunting close to the boundaries of Elvandar, and when he could, he'd stalk our sentries. He killed four over the years, leaving his mark on them, so that I knew it was his doing, his way of reminding me he was out there, and more. It was he who left a message on the first corpse that Anleah had been wed to my brother.'

  Gregory said nothing, waiting for Tinuva to continue, but the elf paused and sipped his tea before continuing.

  'I feel shame, and no little fear that my moredhel blood still lingers in my veins, for I will tell you what I will tell no other, Gregory: I enjoyed killing Kavala.' He rose as he said it.

  Gregory looked up at his friend, not certain how to respond. He would never have imagined his friend capable of taking pleasure in the death of another.

  Tinuva kicked at the coals of the fire and then tossed another log on which crackled and hissed as the flames took. Then he squatted and held his hands out to the growing flames, warming the palms.

  'The madness of it all taints me. My father kidnapped Anleah to fulfil his own plans and my joy blinded me to the reality that my happiness was never a factor in my father's choices. I ignored the pain my brother's love for her must have caused him, distracted already by the call of the Returning. A clan destroyed and brothers hunting brothers in the name of honour. Madness, all of it madness.'

  Another silence fell, but this one was shorter.

  'That realization came at the moment I knew I was no longer of the moredhel. I left my life behind and went on the journey to be reborn.'

  'And yet you slew Kavala without hesitation, taking the shot rather than letting me do it.'

  Tinuva smiled. 'I am of the eledhel, but that does not mean I am without flaw.'

  Gregory shook his head. 'No mortal being is without flaw.'

  'You know that my brother and I shall settle this thing soon,' Tinuva said, looking up at the sky, which was darkening with the approach of night.

  'Is that why you tell me these things now? You feel fate closing in?'

  Tinuva smiled. 'So that someone will know. So that if I do not survive, you may tell Dennis what the truth of this hunt was, and some day tell those in Elvandar what has transpired. I was always better with the blade than my brother, but that is no guarantee of my success. Fate is bringing us together to finish this tragedy, but I may be the one to travel to the Blessed Isle, and not my brother.'

  Gregory nodded, saying nothing.

  'Bovai's honour demands it. I am an apostate; I have abandoned all that he is. The shame to my clan is all but unbearable in a way that it is hard for anyone not of the moredhel to understand.'

  'And of what he now has, that once was yours?'

  'Yes,' Tinuva sighed. 'I have never loved another as I once loved her. I know now that it is in the past, but still, at times I remember . . .'

  His voice trailed off and again a silence lingered until darkness concealed the cold woods around them. Then the elf sighed and Gregory was startled beyond words to realize that Tinuva was silently weeping.

  The tears of an elf were said to be the rarest of all things, and that but a single drop could restore the life of a dying man. Gregory knew the later was but an old wives' tale, but in all the years he had known elves, he had never seen one weep. He remained motionless, hardly daring to breathe and the darkness of night closed in, the fire flickering down and dying before Tinuva spoke again.

  'My brother and I shall soon meet again,' and his voice was a shadow moving on the night wind, 'and it will come to a bloody end.' He looked at his friend. 'For the only thing that will keep me from killing him is my own death.'

  Gregory remained silent. He listened to the wind, and silently thanked the gods that he was spared the burden that was crushing his friend.

  THIRTEEN - Accord

  The woods were silent.

  Asayaga, bow raised and partially drawn, waited. The stag was half-concealed behind a fallen log, only its antlers and the upper arc of its back visible. It had been there for some minutes, peeling bark from a low-hanging branch, head down.

  Asayaga remained motionless, barely daring to breathe, a slight trickle of sweat creasing down his forehead.

  The stag raised its head, seemed to look straight at him. Don't look in its eyes, Asayaga remembered, they can sense that. He let his gaze drift away. A moment later the stag stepped out from behind the overturned log. With a steady, fluid motion, as relaxed as if he were a branch stirring in the breeze, Asayaga drew back, sighted down the shaft and let his fingers slip off the string.

  The arrow winged in, the stag leapt into the air and then collapsed.

  Asayaga started forward.

  'Don't move.'

  Asayaga froze and looked over his shoulder. Dennis was leaning against the tree beside him, bow in one hand.

  'Remember, I told you this before. The sound of your shooting, the impact of the arrow, the death struggle of the animal -' and as he spoke he nodded to the stag which was feebly thrashing on the ground, '- if anyone else is near, it will draw them. I told you, if you are in hostile woods, after you shoot you should draw back in to your cover and wait a moment.'

  'But the animal?'

  'If you didn't make a clean kill, that is your own damn fault. But you must wait. Look around you, listen carefully. Usually if someone who is unskilled hears the shot he'll immediately start towards you, expecting to catch you off-guard butchering your kill, and you get an arrow in the back.'

  He smiled, a smile that held no warmth.

  'I know, I've done it more than once.'

  'To Tsurani?'

  'Do you want to know?'

  Asayaga did not reply, his gaze going past Dennis to the snow-covered glade and the stag struggling in its death agony. It was something he had never quite understood about himself. He had seen thousands of men die in nearly ten years of war and could look on it at times with a near-total detachment, but an animal suffering - be it a horse or needra injured in battle, or the stag now dying - moved him deeply. He tried to shut out the look in the animal's eyes.

  So strange to be out here like this with Hartraft, he thought. They had taken to the habit of going for a walk together each morning.

  For the first few days the walks had clearly been defined as a meeting to discuss what had to be done that day.

  Dennis always went forth with his bow and more often than not returned with something for the pot, and finally Asayaga had borrowed a bow from Wolfgar.

  Dennis had first
met Asayaga's efforts with barely-concealed disdain, but after several days, he announced that if Asayaga was to hunt by his side he had to learn to do it right or leave the bow behind.

  Now, at last, Asayaga had made his first kill and he felt a touch of bitterness. The Tsurani had accepted Dennis's lessons and admonishments in silence. He was willing to defer to Hartraft's superior skills, and besides, he was learning, how Hartraft worked in the woods: a valuable lesson worth the humiliations. At this moment, however, he half-expected a nod, an acknowledgment of a difficult shot through the woods on game they had stalked for nearly an hour.

  The mere fact that he expected some sort of praise from Hartraft made him angry with himself. He now did as ordered, carefully scanning the woods, watching as the branches slowly swayed in the afternoon breeze, trying to catch a movement that was not in rhythm, listening for a sound that was out of the ordinary. He caught the distant sound of a horse, and looked back to Dennis, who had heard it as well and simply shook his head. Of course it was all an exercise, for they were still safe in the valley, but he played out the game.

  'Nothing.'

  'Are you certain?'

  'Why? Is this still a drill or do you have someone hidden in the woods waiting to kill me?'

  Dennis's features clouded. 'Some day soon it will again be real between us, but until then, you are safe in my company. But while marching with my command in the woods I expect you to be of some help, at least.'

  'Who held the centre of the trail in our final retreat, Hartraft?'

  'The next fight might be different - a running battle through the forest - and there it's archery and stealth that counts.'

  Asayaga held up his hand motioning Dennis to silence. 'This argument is ridiculous,' he hissed. Drawing his blade, he turned and went to the stag, which was still kicking weakly, and knelt by its side.

  He lowered his head, whispered a prayer and then drew the blade across the dying beast's throat. Its kicking weakened and then finally stopped.

  'A dumb beast suffering needlessly tends to divert me,' Asayaga said coldly, looking up at Dennis.