The Day of the Tempest

Chapter 14 Dangerous Reunion

Gilthanas tugged the cord free from the neck of his bright indigo tunic and tied back his hair, tucking the loose strands out of the way behind his prominent elven ears. Then, without slowing his stride, he straightened the tunic and brushed at a couple of loose threads. It was one of the garments Rig had bought for him not quite a week ago in Gander, where most of the Northern Waste refugees had been sent on their way—thankfully easing the severe overcrowding on the ship.

The mariner had purchased colorful clothes for everyone, and gave each passenger a purse of steel coins. Gilthanas remembered that Feril was pleasantly surprised by Rig’s generosity, but that generous act wasn’t enough to save the dark-skinned man from the Kagonesti’s tongue-lashing several minutes ago.

Gilthanas varied his stride a bit, working to break in his new leather boots. Feril walked to his right—they had fallen behind the Majeres so they could talk a little. He had decided that the Kagonesti was a formidable person, and he was glad he was on her good side. She was someone he’d like to continue to be friends with. He ran his fingers over the pommel of his borrowed cutlass and caught Feril staring at him. She swallowed hard and looked away.

“Don’t like my ears?” he teased. “I don’t have the slightest problem with yours—though it’s almost impossible to see them under all of those curls.”

She shook her head. He was referring to the fact that she was a Kagonesti, and he was a Qualinesti—quite a bit taller and paler, almost aristocratic, in comparison with the wild elves. Historically, the disparate races of elves did not see eye to eye, though that was starting to change under the tyranny of the dragon overlords. Qualinesti, Kagonesti, and Silvanesti were banding together in some lands. One such colony was on the southern shore of Southern Ergoth.

“Your ears ” she laughed softly. “No, it’s not that at all.” She paused. “Dhamon had blond hair, and he used to tie it back like that, too.”

Gilthanas gave her a sympathetic look. “I heard a lot about him from the others on the ship. A former Knight of Takhisis, but a good man from what I understand. I take it you were close.”

“We were trying to be. Fate just wouldn’t give us a chance.” Feril took a deep breath, turning her tanned face toward the sky. “Wouldn’t have worked out anyway. He was human.”

“Something wrong with being human?” Gilthanas asked just loud enough so that Palin and his son, walking a few paces ahead, could hear. Both Majeres glanced over their shoulders, and Gilthanas grinned mischievously at Feril. Ulin scowled, shook his head.

The Kagonesti blushed, offering Palin and his son a weak smile. “There’s nothing wrong with humans. I like humans—truly.” Softer, once the Majeres had turned around to continue following their guides, she added, “But they’re not like us. Their life spans are so short, burning out like stubby candles. They look at things differently. They like cities; I prefer the wilderness. They’re better off with their own kind. Things wouldn’t have worked out between Dhamon and me. And there’s no point in thinking about it now—he’s dead.”

“Decades ago I thought like you,” Gilthanas said. “I was younger, definitely more foolish, and I almost cost my sister Laurana her happiness. I doubt she would have ever forgiven me of my ignorance.”

“Laurana fell in love with a human?”

“Yes, a half-elven man named Tanthalas”

“Tanis Half-Elven” Feril said excitedly. “I’ve heard of him. He was a hero with Caramon and Raistlin, and he died before the Chaos War. I don’t know much more, though.”

“His mother died giving birth to him, and my family took him in. He was a playmate, a confidant. But he was different, tainted I used to think, not as good as the Qualinesti, and certainly not good enough for my sister. She was infatuated with him from the beginning. One day when they were playing together, she made him promise that they would marry when they were older. He thought it was a jest and I heard him promise, felt the blood pounding in my ears. I realized it was no game to my dear sister; she wasn’t kidding. I drew Tanis aside, intent on keeping my family’s pure elven heritage alive. I threatened him, I guess. I most certainly threw our friendship out the window by calling him a half-breed unworthy of my sister.”

Tanis left and my sister was heartbroken. I was very pleased with myself, so happy that I’d saved her—until he came back a few years later. Laurana pursued him again, with more of a passion than ever. But Tanis was wise enough to heed my words. He kept his distance, and 1 kept my eyes on him.”

“So, they never got together?” Feril asked quietly.

“During the War of the Lance, fate took all of us to Icewall, then up to Southern Ergoth, your home. The three races living there—your people, mine, and the Silvanesti—were at odds. Though they lived side by side, they weren’t civil to each other. And it opened my eyes. You see, I fell in love with a Kagonesti. Being with her made me realize that elves are elves, and the names and happenstances of birth are irrelevant. It’s what’s inside a person that counts. The shell isn’t what matters.”

“Where is she now? What happened to her?”

“I pledged my love to her, fell so deeply that she became my entire world, and all thoughts of Laurana and Tanis were pushed aside. But then,” Gilthanas said, pausing to stroke his chin, “she showed me her true nature. She wasn’t a Kagonesti after all, and I turned away.”

“Her true nature?”

“I felt betrayed. She wasn’t who she claimed, what she claimed. She hadn’t been honest with me. I thought I knew her, but I didn’t know her at all. I felt that she’d tricked me, made a mockery of my feelings. I was no longer willing to trust her or to accept her. I refused to acknowledge my feelings for her. Then, I disappeared. Disappeared? Ha!”

“That’s when you were imprisoned?”

“Yes, by the Silvanesti. Spending years alone in that cell made me think about my life, my very haughty life. My own people gave me over to the Silvanesti. First, I focused on Tanis being not good enough for my sister. Thank the gods, the two were finally married. Then, I fixated on Verminaard. He killed my people, and I vowed vengeance, no matter what. Next, I was obsessed with Silvara. I loved her deeply, then rejected her just as passionately. I later realized I should have given her a chance, our love a chance. When I finally escaped from the prison, I began to travel all of Ansalon in search of her. Ultimately, I was betrayed again by elves and wound up in the prison where you and I met.”

“Maybe you could still find her”

“Maybe,” Gilthanas said, so softly that Feril had to strain to hear him. “How petty I was. And how entirely unworthy of her. Race has nothing to do with love, Feril.”

The Kagonesti studied his face for a few moments, and considered asking him more about Silvara. Gilthanas stared straight ahead. Feril looked down. “Dhamon and I never had enough time together,” she said quietly.

Gilthanas remained silent for a while. The thin woman and the red-haired youth led the small entourage through Witdel. The city was for the most part impoverished. At one time it had been prosperous, but it had gone through hard times, starting with the Chaos War. Most of the buildings were made of wood, and they were weathered from neglect and the ravages of the sea — paint was peeling, doors hung a little off-center. Business signs were crude, some with paint chipping so badly that they couldn’t be read.

However, a few establishments seemed to be faring better. A small boardinghouse two blocks from the docks was in better shape than most. Flowers bloomed in baskets hanging from the porch, and the trim around the windows looked newly painted. Nearby, a store that catered to fishermen and hunters was in the process of being renovated and expanded.

The thin woman glanced at her reflection in the window of a cobbler’s shop, frowning at her disheveled appearance. She didn’t walk very fast, exhausted from her ordeal as a prisoner of the Knights of Takhisis, but her stride was a determined one. “You can’t free them all, can you?” she asked Palin. “I mean, the Knights of Takhisis are probably taking prisoners in other cities, too. And you can’t save all of them”

Palin didn’t answer, didn’t think she really expected one.

“Even saving one person is important,” Gilthanas interjected. “Nobody should be a slave to the knights.”

The Qualinesti knew what it was like to be held captive. Gilthanas had been a prisoner for more than ten years at the hands of the Silvanesti. Second in line for the throne, his confinement had been a matter of political expedience. It was a short time in the life of an elf, but hardly a pleasant experience. And then he’d fallen afoul of a band of Knights of Takhisis and was again taken captive. He was grateful to Palin, Rig, Blister, and Feril for being rescued.

On both occasions of his imprisonment, Gilthanas had thought about a lot of things—and one female in particular. She was not of his race, and Gilthanas had therefore denied his feelings for her. However, confinement provided a lot of time for thinking, and during those long hours and long years the elf had come to the conclusion that love transcended race.

Decades ago, he had been supposed to meet his love near the Tomb of Huma on Southern Ergoth, and he felt certain that breaking that appointment had been the greatest mistake of his life.

At the edge of town, Palin asked their guides to stop. “Down this road?”

The thin woman nodded. “A couple of miles. Their camp is in a clearing that the road cuts through. It didn’t take us long to walk from there to the docks—even though it was dark. Just follow us.”

“I think we can find their camp from this point,” Palin said.

The woman started to protest, then gave hi when the red-haired youth tugged on her arm. “We’ll wait for you here,” she said.

Feril glided past Palin and knelt at the edge of the small dirt road that lead southeast from the city. “The knights travel up and down this road.” She pointed to broken twigs and crushed fern leaves, running her fingers along the outlines of several bootprints.

“How do you know a Knight of Takhisis made that print?” Ulin asked.

“All of these prints are deep and relatively uniform, like they could’ve been made by people in armor—soldiers— except for these prints, which were probably made by the prisoners they took to the docks.” Feril glanced at Palin. “I’m going to scout ahead.”

The Kagonesti moved a few dozen yards beyond the sorcerers. She was in her element, focusing her acute senses on the plants and the ground, looking for traces of the knights. She dropped to her hands and knees when she heard voices ahead, quietly crawling forward until she came upon a campsite in a clearing. Hiding behind a large bush, she parted its leaves and watched a knight dragging an elk into the clearing, a single arrow protruding from the creature’s chest. He tugged the elk near a fire that another knight was building and began to skin and gut it

Behind the pair, two more knights guarded a group of people who were tied together with lengths of rope, bound at their wrists and ankles. Feril could see ten knights altogether, and she counted forty-three prisoners. She watched for several more minutes, then hurried back to the sorcerers and relayed the information.

Ulin shook his head. “I don’t like the odds.”

“Rig would say we have them outnumbered,” Feril added.

“It’s not that I don’t think we can take them,” the younger Majere quickly returned, “I just think the odds are high that some of the prisoners could get hurt in the process. Still, I’ve an idea.”

A lone Knight of Takhisis staggered into the camp, the front of his tabard coated with blood from a gaping chest wound, his face streaked with dirt. He was weaponless and shieldless, and his helmet hung from his hand. At once the other knights were alert, all of them jumping to their feet As one, they drew their swords and looked past the wounded man. The knight who’d been skinning the elk stepped toward his injured brother, ready to steady him. But the knight stepped back, refusing the aid. He flung his arm toward the road that led back to Witdel.

“Hurry!” he panted, “the ship.” He dropped to his knees and held his chest. “It’s been attacked, the prisoners freed. You must hurry. The attackers are coming here. They’ve weapons and—” He gasped for air and pitched forward, his face inches from the fire, his helmet rolling away.

The knight-officer motioned for his men to form ranks. “We’ll meet them on the trail!” he snapped. “Move!” He gestured for two of his men to stay with the prisoners, then led the way back toward Witdel at a hurried march.

“Is he dead?” one of the remaining knights asked after the rest of his brethren had thundered away. He cast a curious and sympathetic glance at the fallen knight. “Know who he is?”

“Never seen him before. Must have come from the ship in Witdel,” the other replied. He took one step closer to the knight, glancing over his shoulder at the prisoners. “He breathes—but barely, and with all that blood he’s as good as dead. We’ll be burying him before dawn.”

“Maybe we can do something for him.”

“You heard the officer,” the second knight said, “he told us to watch the prisoners.”

The wounded knight raised his head slightly, staring at the flames only a few inches away. He could feel the warmth on his skin. The smell of the partially gutted elk nearby was practically overpowering. The fire writhed as he gazed at it, becoming more animated. Its tendrils swayed, not teased by the wind, but by the fallen knight’s mind. His mental commands urged it to dance higher and to consume the wood as if it were a ravenous beast.

“Hey! What’s going on?” one of the knights hollered.

All traces of the blood and wound had vanished. The knight stood, shedding his black armor. He was a tall man with shoulder-length brown hair, and was clad in a simple tunic. The man slowly rose to his feet and reached for the staff at his side that had been magically disguised as the knight’s helmet.

“Sorcery!” the other shouted. “Stay with the prisoners. We’ve been tricked!” He drew his blade and charged Ulin, who was stepping back from the fire.

Ulin gestured toward the knight, sending a spark to the man’s tabard. The knight paused only a moment to swat at the flame, and in that time, Ulin had scrambled back farther and willed the campfire to erupt into a great ball of fire that quickly overpowered the two knights.

The prisoners gasped, recoiling as much as their bonds allowed. The flames licked dangerously close to them, but Ulin called the fire back, mentally urged it to fold in upon itself until all that remained were glowing embers.

“It’s all right,” he told them. “Everything’s going to be all right. My friends and I will take you to the city.” He stepped toward them and noted that most were leery. He tried another tact to relax them a little. “My father’s Palin Majere. He’s nearby, dealing with the other knights.” Those words seemed to do the trick, and he began untying the prisoners.

Feril lay on her stomach among the ferns off to the side of the road. The Kagonesti breathed deep, taking the heady scent of the loam into her lungs. Her fingers stretched forward, touching the leaves—so delicate, yet strong. She closed her eyes and vividly pictured the ferns.

“Join with me,” she softly called, her words sounding like the wind blowing gently across the fronds. “Feel with me.” The Kagonesti fluttered her fingers and moved her head from side to side. The ferns followed her movement, and she felt the energy that flowed in their stems, surged from their roots. She felt the nourishing sun on her back- She seemed to drink in the energy. “Join with me,” she repeated.

A sound intruded on her private world—it was Gilthanas. “The knights are coming,” he said. She heard the shush of leaves being brushed aside. Palin was kneeling down beside her. Feril heard other sounds then, frantic and hurried ones—leather boots running over the earth. She redirected all her attention to the fern.

“Join with me,” she breathed. And suddenly, her vision pulled back and she saw the bush near the fern, the veil-like leaves of the willow birch that stood a few feet away. She saw the tall grasses, the moss, the wild roses that grew in profusion.

The sound of bootsteps came closer, and the plants began to move, swaying in time with the Kagonesti’s fluttering fingers. The vines from the oak overhead, the willow birch veil, the ferns, and more, all swaying, stretching, grasping. The oak groaned and dipped a branch, whipping like a noose around the neck of the lead knight. The willow birch’s veil enveloped two more, holding them as tightly as though it were a spiderweb trapping helpless insects.

Feril clenched her fists and the tall grasses lashed out at the Knights of Takhisis*s ankles, tripping those not held fast by the trees. The roses lashed their thorny stems around the knights’ calves, and the fern leaves encircled the wrists of the knights who fell to the forest floor.

The Kagonesti felt pain intrude on her private world, the sensation of the knights fighting against the plants, trying to rip the grass from its earthy bosom. She felt what the plants felt.

But Palin was moving through the ferns now, casting an enchantment of his own. Feril kept her senses focused on the plants and was only dimly aware of the sparks of fire that flew from the sorcerer’s fingertips. Then she felt a warmth on her back and limbs, the perception of blood. Gilthanas was swinging Rig’s sword, the knights’ blood splattering the plants. The Kagonesti directed the willow birch to wrap more of its tender lengths around the knights to bind their arms.

The plants responded, moving faster now, drawing strength from Feril. The wild roses recoiled, dragging a knight into their thorny embrace. As he fought against the plant and struggled to rip off the stems, Gilthanas darted in and slew him quickly. Another knight was nearly free, squirming out of his mail shirt to elude the oak. But Palin stopped him with more sparks that struck his chest, penetrated, and made him go limp.

“Move with me” Feril was talking louder now, easing herself off the ground as she continued to direct the plants. The forest all around her was more alive than ever, moving and grasping, branches and stems lashing out like cobras, vines working like lassos. She pointed to a small patch of wild raspberries growing by the road, and in response, the coiling, reed-thin stems entwined around calves and ankles, pulling the remaining knights down. There, the moss waited, releasing an intoxicating, dizzying scent. Join with its, the moss urged the knights, relaxing them, lulling them into a restful state, which made them easy to dispatch.

Palin and Gilthanas had been forced to slay half of the men. Feril sluggishly detached her senses from the plants and staggered onto the trail. She took several deep breaths and steadied herself. The enchantment had enervated her. Four of the knights were tied with vines against the largest trees. Gilthanas was removing their boots, slicing the footwear in half with his cutlass and tossing it into the underbrush. Palin was gathering the men’s swords.

“They’ll be barefoot and weaponless,” Palin informed her. “So if they work themselves free, they’ll pose little threat. You all right?”

She nodded and smiled. “Fine. Just tired. Let’s see how your son fared.”

Ulin had freed nearly all of the prisoners by the time Feril, Palin, and Gilthanas entered the clearing. Gilthanas was carrying the knights’ weapons, and he quickly distributed them to some of the former captives. Ulin snatched up his staff and nodded to Palin, who was inspecting the charred remains of two knights.

“Let’s move out,” Gilthanas urged, pointing toward the trail that would lead back to Witdel. “We should be on our way in case there’s more of them”

“Something’s wrong ” Feril said. The Kagonesti turned about, scanning the trees that ringed the campsite, sniffing and listening intently. “There’s—”

“More knights? Reinforcements?” came a sultry voice. A stocky woman clad in a black robe stepped into the clearing. At her side were Knights of Takhisis, their weapons drawn. More knights ringed the campsite, nearly two dozen of them. Four had bows drawn and pointed at the prisoners. The stocky sorceress gestured at Gilthanas and Ulin, who flourished weapons. “Make a move to fight, and the men will loose their arrows.”

“Put down your weapons,” another knight said. This one was clearly in charge, the insignia of a subcommander visible on his shoulder.

Her eyes narrowed as she spotted Palin, and the sorceress nodded to get her commander’s attention. “Subcommander Gistere,” the robed woman said. “We have a very important person in our midst — Palin Majere.”

Gistere’s face remained impassive, but his gaze locked onto Palin’s. “Put the swords down. And you, put down the staff.” The last order was directed at Ulin. “Keep your hands where I can see them.” The officer scrutinized them. “Your weapons!” he barked.

Ulin dropped his staff, and the prisoners behind him reluctantly dropped the weapons they’d been given. Palin slowly raised his hands out to his sides, watching the knights. He knew there were more behind him, and his mind whirled with the spells he might cast. He couldn’t catch all of them in an enchantment — not without also injuring the prisoners and his companions.

Feril’s lips curled back as she dropped her arms to her sides. “How did you know we were here?” she asked, her tone venomous. “And how did you sneak up on us?”

The Knight of the Thorn took a step toward her. “There are enchantments that can make a talon move as quietly as a dying breeze, my dear wild elf,” she hissed. “It’s a spell that can stifle the clink of armor. We were to meet the men guarding these prisoners. Fortunately I sensed something was wrong. Tell me, did you slay them all?”

“Enough!” Subcommander Gistere spat at the sorceress. “We haven’t the time for this. You — I said to drop your weapon.” He was pointing at Gilthanas, who stood with his legs slightly spread, Rig’s cutlass unsheathed and at his side. “My men will fire on the prisoners — do you understand? I’ll order them to slay the unarmed women and men. Their blood will be on your spirit. I’ll give you no more warnings.”

“Don’t do it!” a new voice intruded.

Feril’s eyes grew wide as a man stepped into the clearing. He was naked except for a Knights of Takhisis tabard that was draped over him, no doubt taken from one of the knights they’d captured on the road. And he had moved so quietly because he had no boots or armor. He looked like a wildman, a mass of tangled hair and a beard.

Dhamon? Feril mouthed. Her heart beat faster.

“Dhamon?” Palin asked in disbelief.

“Another fool to join you,” Subcommander Gistere sneered. “And a fool who will die very quickly if he doesn’t put down the weapon.” The subcommander motioned to one of his archers, who trained an arrow on Dhamon’s chest.

Gilthanas looked uncertainly between Dhamon Grimwulf and the Knight of Takhisis. Dhamon kept a firm grip on the glaive and protectively stepped between Feril and the knights. A second archer drew a bead on the wildman. “Dhamon,” she breathed as he passed by.

“The Knights of Takhisis used to be noble,” Dhamon said. “Years past they wouldn’t have threatened unarmed people, used weapons of distance on foes who hadn’t the same advantage. Only fair fights.” He looked directly at Gistere and raised an eyebrow when he spotted the red scale on his lily emblem. “But that was before they chose to bow to the overlords, to serve dragons instead of men. You should order them all slain,” he said, waving his free hand at the prisoners for emphasis. “Killing them outright would be a far better fate than what’s likely in store for them.”

Gistere’s eyes narrowed, and he raised his hands to signal the archers to fire. Then instantly his eyes grew wide and he held his gesture. He felt the presence of the Red Dragon in his head, felt the scale imbedded in his chest tingle.

This one intrigues me, Malys hissed. / could use someone with the tenacity to stand up to so many of your men. I want him—alive and whole. Slay the others as a lesson.

The subcommander swallowed hard and motioned to the archers, pointing out different targets—Palin Majere, Gilthanas, Ulin, Feril, and the burliest of the prisoners. In that instant, Dhamon rushed forward. Gilthanas joined his mad charge, even as the sorcerer had begun an enchantment.

Feril, stunned by Dhamon’s arrival, quickly came to her senses. There’d be time for an explanation later—if they lived. She reached inside her pouch and tugged free a sea shell. Ulin was behind her also, mumbling the words of a spell.

Palin had settled on an incantation just as Dhamon arrived. The astonishing return of the former knight threw him, and he had to concentrate to keep from tripping over the words to the enchantment. As he recited the arcane syllables, an arrow streaked by him, piercing the throat of one of the prisoners. Another streaked by, and he heard Ulin groan behind him.

“Son?” Palin whispered as the spell finished and tiny fragments of gold and silver, of ruby, emerald, and jacinth filled the air. The dying light of the sun touched the objects, and as the pieces spun about, they reflected a kaleidoscope of blinding color. Some of the knights threw their arms up to shield their eyes. But too late, Palin’s spell had blinded them—and practically all of the prisoners as well.

The sorcerer glanced behind him. Ulin was on the ground near the dying campfire, an arrow protruding from his back. “Ulin!”

Gilthanas darted toward his intended target, the Knight of the Thorn, but his path was quickly blocked by a knight wielding a two-handed blade. The elf barely stepped aside as the sword arced down, whistling through the still air.

Dhamon was near the Qualinesti, swinging the glaive in wide, sweeping motions. He was unaccustomed to the weapon, used to fighting with swords. At first this weapon seemed unwieldy, then it seemed amazing.

The glaive glowed faintly blue as it struck the raised long sword of a charging knight and cut the blade cleanly in half. The glaive continued its arc, slicing through the black mail of the knight as if the armor were thin cloth. It easily parted the man’s flesh beneath, blood spurting out to cover Dhamon’s chest and face. The Knight of Takhisis was dead before he struck the ground.

Dhamon spun about, blinking to clear his eyes, and found himself facing a pair of advancing knights. Holding firmly to the lower part of the glaive’s haft, he swung the weapon at waist height. Again it sliced through weapons and armor and two more men fell.

Subcommands Gistere saw his archers aim at Dhamon, and yelled to them to redirect their arrows, **At Palin Majere!” he shouted. “This one’s mine.”

Dhamon cut down three more knights as Gistere took a step forward, then halted in a defensive stance, with his long sword in one hand and a buckler shield in the other.

Dhamon whirled, dropping two more knights. Though he was practically covered in blood, none of it was his own. He eyed the subcommander. “Call your men off!” Dhamon cried. “There doesn’t have to be any more killing.”

Gistere shook his head and raised his long sword. Perhaps if he could wound the man just enough to make him drop that cursed weapon…. He glanced at his four archers, and noted with relief that they all still lived. Two were peppering the prisoners and the third had struck the younger sorcerer in the back and the Qualinesti in the shoulder. The fourth was sighting the Kagonesti. “His shoulder, his legs!”—the sub-commander shouted to the fourth archer, pointing to Dhamon—“nothing else!”

The archer complied and sank two arrows into Dhamon’s right thigh, just enough to hobble him. The subcommander stepped forward and adjusted the hold on his sword so he could swing with the flat of his blade. Alive, Malystryx hissed a warning inside his head. And I want his weapon.

Meanwhile, the Knight of the Thorn crouched behind a fellow knight, protecting herself from Gilthanas. The sorceress pointed a long-nailed finger at the Qualinesti, who had been slowed by an arrow lodged deep in his shoulder. The sorceress smiled at the elf’s pain and uttered a string of words indecipherable to those around her.

But Gilthanas knew what the woman was saying. A spell-caster himself, though he often relied more on a sword, the elf gritted his teeth, thrust forward with the cutlass, and waited for the inevitable. A streak of orange-red light extended from the Knight of the Thorn’s finger to the elf’s chest. Prepared for it, Gilthanas was better able to take the electrifying pain. He thrust forward again, this time slipping past the mailed knight’s defenses. Rig’s cutlass carved deep into the man’s belly, and he fell to the ground.

The magical beam continued to pulse from her finger as Gilthanas tugged free the sword with a considerable amount of effort. The elf glared at the black-robed woman and dropped to his knees, the pain starting to overcome him and paralyze his limbs. Gilthanas tried to lift the blade, and cursed when another jolt rushed through him. His fingers trembled uncontrollably, and the cutlass slipped from his hand.

“Die, Qualinesti,” the Knight of the Thorn commanded. It was all Gilthanas could do to keep from crying out. He fell forward on his hands, his entire body quivering. “Die, elf!”

“No!” Feril shouted. The Kagonesti had completed her own enchantment and hurled the sea shell at the Knight of the Thorn. The shell stopped in midair above the woman’s head, and a heartbeat later the air surrounding her shimmered blue-green. Beads of water stood out against her black robes and spread like a sheen of sweat across her face.

The sorceress gasped and drew her hands to her chest, ending the spell that had tormented Gilthanas. More sea-scented water collected on her skin and garments. The Knight of the Thorn whimpered and fell, foam flecking about her wide nostrils and mouth. Even Gilthanas was impressed by the unusual magic. Feril had turned the air to sea water in the atmosphere immediately surrounding the sorceress and had drowned her.

The Qualinesti struggled to his feet and wrenched free the arrow that was stuck in his shoulder. “My thanks” he nodded to Feril, as he snatched up the cutlass and looked about. His shoulder throbbed and his arm was growing numb, but he shoved the pain to the back of his mind. Feril was occupied with directing the trees and vines in the area to join the struggle. They were snaking forward to bind the men.

When a knight rushed up to check on the fallen sorceress, Gilthanas hurried forward to meet him. Their blades clashed, and both drew back to raise their swords again. The Qualinesti dropped to the ground, rolled forward under the knight’s next swing, and drove Rig’s cutlass into the man’s stomach.

Gilthanas heard startled cries from somewhere behind him. Feril’s plants had entangled several of the knights, and they were panicked by what was happening. The elf charged at another knight. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dhamon slice through two more, then pause to tug the arrows out of his leg. The ground was red with blood, and the wild-looking fighter had to be careful not to stumble over so many fallen bodies.

Palin Majere glanced over his shoulder and breathed a sigh of relief. His son still lived. Ulin had pushed himself into a sitting position. Palin returned his attention to the scintillating lights that still filled the air of half of the clearing. Focusing, he increased the potency of the spell. The gem shards and bits of gold and silver glowed brighter—like sparks from a fire— and spun toward the knights, burning the faces and hands of those who were not entwined by the foliage.

Ulin added to the threat. The younger sorcerer was directing all of his waning energy at the embers in the campfire. The pieces of wood, hot as coals, rose under his command and streaked toward the men. His fingers pointed out targets, and the coals unerringly obeyed. Ulin could barely maintain consciousness. He knew he was losing a considerable amount of blood.

Feril crouched as two arrows cut through the air only a few inches above her head. She reached into the pouch at her side, dropped to all fours, then rolled as another barrage of arrows shot by. She sprang to her feet and stumbled toward Dhamon in time to see him carve through another knight and take a step closer to the subcommander.

“We can end this!” Dhamon called. “You’ve six men left. Six—and you! With one word you can end this. Let them live.”

“Surrender?” Gistere asked. He raised his buckler and again felt the presence of Malystryx’s mind. The dragon hissed that giving up was not an option. She did not want her knights caught and questioned within another dragon’s realm—better that they die if necessary—even Gistere. The subcommander waved to four of his surviving knights, ordering them to charge. “I want them alive!” Gistere bellowed.

One knight continued sparring with Gilthanas as the other dashed toward Palin. Feril glanced around, concerned about Dhamon, but more worried about Palin, who was weaponless and too spent to cast another spell. She rushed toward the sorcerer.

In that instant, a howl cut through the clearing. Fury raced down the road and into the campsite, a mass of flying red fur that slammed into the knight attacking Palin. Palin grabbed up his son’s staff, and the wolf fell to tearing out the throat of the fallen knight.

A few feet away, Dhamon drew his lips into a snarl and gripped the glaive tighter, swinging it in a tight arc to keep four knights at bay. One tried to leap past the weapon, but Dhamon kicked forward, his foot landing hard against the knight’s mailed abdomen. The glowing blue edge of the glaive sang through the air as he raised the weapon and brought it down on the man’s shoulder, slicing halfway into the knight’s chest. The glaive came effortlessly free, and Dhamon swung at a second knight who had dared to inch closer. The edge cut through the man’s sword and continued its deadly path, quickly dispatching him.

Dhamon faced only two knights now, and both gave him an increasingly respectful distance. They circled him, looking for an opening. They were constantly stymied as he continued to pace them and use his glaive to keep them at bay.

When the knight fighting Gilthanas risked a glance toward the others, the Qualinesti swept in, striking the knight’s gloved hand with his cutlass. The long sword flew free, and the knight was forced to retreat a step. Gilthanas motioned with his head, nodding toward the trail that continued on the opposite side of the clearing. “I’d get out of here if I were you ” he whispered.

The knight glanced at his subcommander.

“I won’t offer again,” the Qualinesti said.

The knight backed up another few steps, keeping a wary eye on Gilthanas. Then he spun on his heels and dashed away. Gilthanas saw Palin kneeling by his son. The Kagonesti was speaking to the Majeres, hovering over them, but her words were too soft for Gilthanas to hear.

The elf turned his attention to Dhamon. He had cleaved through another knight, and the remaining one had dropped his sword and was begging for mercy. The subcommander snarled “coward” at his man as he brushed by, extended his weapon, and offered a mock salute to Dhamon. “Barbarian, I will take you alive. Although you may lose a few limbs in the process.”

“I’ll not be bested by the likes of you,” Dhamon returned, as he stepped forward to meet the man.

Gistere was nimble, despite his heavy mail, and he effortlessly dodged Dhamon’s first several swings. He darted in close, inside the blade of the glaive, and thrust at Dhamon’s already wounded leg. Gistere’s sword managed to graze the leg, and swinging again and again he forced Dhamon to retreat.

“You’re good ” Dhamon observed, as he took a defensive stance, “but I have the better weapon.”

“But I am the better weaponmaster,” Gistere sneered. The subcommander sprang forward, leaping over the path of the glaive as Dhamon swung it too low. Gistere landed next to the man and raised his sword high, bringing it down, pommel first, on Dhamon’s shoulder.

Dhamon fell to his knees. The blow was almost impossibly strong and was followed by another of equal force. The air rushed from Dhamon’s lungs and he scuttled away, gripping his weapon. “No!” he shouted to Gilthanas, who was coming forward to help him. “This fight’s mine.”

Gistere smiled, stepping closer. The strength in his arms and legs were a gift from Malystryx. He hadn’t yet worked up a sweat, though his opponent had. His body was soaked with sweat—wherever it wasn’t soaked with blood. “It will be a short fight, I think,” he said as he stroked down with his blade.

But Dhamon leapt to his feet at the last moment, spun his weapon, and brought the glaive’s edge up. It cut through the subcommander’s sword and continued toward the man’s mailed chest. The glaive’s keen edge parted the black links as if they were cloth, then struck the red breastplate beneath. It sank no deeper, but bounced off.

Gistere pushed off against the ground, vaulted over Dhamon and rushed toward the body of one of his men. There the subcommander snatched up a fallen sword, and turned just in time to see a flash of silver descend toward him.

Dhamon had spun as fast as the knight, wielding his weapon in the widest arc he could swing. Now the edge of the blade cut into Gistere’s stomach, just below the red breastplate.

The subcommander’s fingers released their grip on his sword and flew to his wound. Blood flowed over his hand, as he dropped to His knees. You have failed me, Subcommander Rurak Gistere, Malys hissed inside his head.

“Not yet!” he shouted. Then he felt a rush of dizziness, and his legs began to tremble. Gistere fell to his back, felt his throat filling with blood.

Dhamon was at the subcommander’s side. He knelt, trying to listen to something the man was trying to say.

“My mail” Gistere breathed, “please, off” He coughed and blood ran over his lower lip. Dhamon pulled the man to a sitting position and tugged the shredded chain shirt free. Gleaming on his muscular chest was a red scale.

Gilthanas had come over, curious at what was transpiring. “What is this?” the elf asked, pointing at the scale.

Feril joined them, and her breath caught at the sight of Dhamon. He looked like an animal, practically naked, his hair a snarled mass. Singlehandedly he had slaughtered more than half of the knights. Fury, his muzzle dripping with blood, padded to her side and sniffed at Dhamon.

As the subcommander’s lips moved, Dhamon bent closer, putting his ear next to the dying man’s mouth. Gistere’s fingers found the edges of the scale, dug in, and with the last bit of strength he could summon, he dug it loose.

Gistere screamed as he tore it free. His fingers burned like his chest had stung when Malystryx placed it on him. Dhamon cradled the man and stared at his chest, at the bloody indentation that remained, and at the scale he clutched.

“You can’t hope to win,” the subcommander gasped. He felt Malystryx’s mind drift from his, and he suddenly felt very cold. He shivered and gazed into Dhamon’s eyes. “You don’t know what you’re up against.” A smile formed on his lips, and he slapped the scale against Dhamon’s bare thigh. “Take it off, and die like me.”

The scale instantly adhered to Dhamon’s flesh, wrapping around his leg like a second skin and searing the former knight as if he’d been branded. Dhamon moaned as a jolt of heat shot from the scale and through his entire body, making his throat tight and dry. He fell back, releasing the knight and clawing at the dirt. The pain continued to race through him, waves of agony that surged in time with his heart. He writhed on the ground.

“What did you do?” Feril screamed at the subcommander. But her cries fell on deaf ears; the man was dead. She dropped to Dhamon’s side and tried to help him, but she couldn’t stop his contortions.

Fury paced around Dhamon, growling softly and keeping his distance. Palin nudged the wolf aside as he stepped closer, still supporting UHn. “Dark sorcery to be sure,” the elder Majere stated.

“We’ve got to take it off!” Feril shouted, grabbing at the scale.

“No!” Gilthanas warned, pulling the Kagonesti away. “The knight said Dhamon would die if he removed it. He might have been telling the truth. We don’t know what kind of enchantment was involved.”

“It’s killing him! We’ve got to do something!”

“Wait,” Palin told her, “watch.” He readjusted his hold on his son, who was drifting in and out of consciousness.

Feril and the three men watched as Dhamon’s contortions gradually subsided. He lay on his back, taking great gulps of air into his lungs. After several moments, his eyes met Feril’s, and the Kagonesti helped him to stand.

“I’m all right,” he said. In truth, he felt better than he had a few moments before, stronger somehow, though his leg tingled oddly.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “What did he do? The scale? And how did you get here? How did you get here—”

“Alive?” The tingling sensation had left him, and he could no longer feel the heat of the scale, though one glance confirmed that it was still there. “Feril, I—” She was in his arms instantly, tugging at his beard to bring his face down to hers.

“My survival is a very long story,” he said between her kisses. “There’ll be time for it later.” He held her tighter, desperately, and their kisses deepened. “As for this scale, we must cut it out,” he said when he finally came up for air.

“Ahem,” Gilthanas politely coughed after a moment.

Dhamon and Feril slowly separated. His fingers drifted down to entwine with the Kagonesti’s, and his eyes reluctantly left hers to take in Palin, Ulin, and Gilthanas. Curiously, the wolf continued to keep his distance, growling.

“It’s obviously a dragon’s scale,” Palin said, pointing to Dhamon’s leg. “I want to study it as soon as we get back to the ship. We’re not going to take a chance on losing you a second time by cutting it out here.”

Gilthanas retrieved the glaive and pressed the haft into Dhamon’s free hand. “Quite an amazing weapon,” the Qualinesti said.

“It’s part of the long story.” Dhamon looked at the elf for a long moment and then turned to Feril.

“Oh, this is Gilthanas,” she said. “We found him in the desert” She kissed Dhamon again. “But ail that can wait for later, too.”

“Then let’s be on our way,” the Qualinesti said. “There might be more knights close by, and even with your remarkable weapon, we’re not in fighting shape anymore.”

Dhamon nodded. “Wherever on our way is,” he said. “I… uh… have no idea where we are.”

“However you managed to end up here, it is good to see you,” Palin said. The sorcerer looked the former knight up and down and then nodded toward Ulin. “Dhamon, this is my son.”

“Let me carry him,” Dhamon said, passing the glaive to the sorcerer, and effortlessly scooping up Ulin. “Oh, he’s not as heavy as he looks,”

The group turned and headed back to Witdel, Feril leading the way with Dhamon at her side. Behind the entourage, the freed captives chattered animatedly about their rescue.

“Good thing Feril has nothing against humans,” Gilthanas said, winking at Palin. “Otherwise she and Dhamon would never work out.”