Tanis the shadow years

16

A beautiful woman appeared next to Kishpa, the light throwing mysterious shadows across her magnificent face, partially hidden by her cloud of black curls. She held one of the mage's arms to keep him from teetering on his unsteady legs. Scowarr was delighted to have found Kishpa, but he was overwhelmed by Brandella. "Who is she?" he whispered to Tanis. "A woman who will not be forgotten," the half-elf replied. "Huh?" "Never mind." Then, aloud to the mage, Tanis said, "I assured Reehsha and Brandella that you would recover."

The wizard narrowed his eyes. "So they said. Did you know, or were you merely guessing?"

"Does it matter, as long as I was right?"

"Perhaps it does," Kishpa said thoughtfully. "But there is no time now to ponder the question. Come in, both of you, and tell me what is going on in Ankatavaka. I must know everything."

Tanis and Scowarr started for the door, but a shouted warning from the direction of the village caught their attention. They all turned to see what the trouble was. The mob that had followed Scowarr had apparently flushed one of the human soldiers out of hiding and was pursuing him. Kishpa, like the half-elf, could make out that much with elvensight, although they both doubted that Scowarr and Brandella could catch much detail. Tanis saw that the soldier was big, his long legs giving him a loping stride.

Tanis tried to focus on the man's face. The distance and the darkness, however, proved to be too great. Yet the human was the right size, and he had been spotted near the beach. It might be him, Tanis thought. It might be my father. Without another thought, the half-elf bolted in the direction of the human.

Brandella would have to wait. Old Kishpa would have to wait. Everything would have to wait until Tanis kept the promise that he had made to Yeblidod-and to himself.

"Where are you going?" shouted Scowarr.

Tanis didn't answer.

The others at Reehsha's shack shrugged and headed into the cabin. All, that is, except Brandella, who lingered in the night air watching Tanis recede into the darkness.

While Reehsha went to tend his boat and Scowarr slept huddled on the floor, Mertwig paced, trying to decide how to ask Kishpa for help. He wanted to give his wife a beautiful, delicate glass ball that the famous Pikla- ker had created. Unfortunately, the price was far beyond his means. But if Kishpa would merely vouch for him, the artist would be honor-bound to let him buy it.

Mertwig was a proud dwarf. Asking favors did not come easily. Finally, though, he managed to ask, "How long have you known me, Kishpa?"

Kishpa, resting on the wooden bench by the door, his red robes pulled around him against the cabin's chill, raised an eyebrow. "My whole life," conceded the mage. "You know that. Why do you ask me such a question?"

Mertwig drew a breath, made a decision, and plunged on. "Because I need you to speak on my behalf."

'To whom7" the mage asked warily.

'To Piklaker." The dwarf tried to look resolved, but his weak chin failed him. It wobbled with his nervousness.

"I heard you were eyeing his wares," said the wizard dubiously. "You really shouldn't-"

"No lectures!" interrupted the dwarf with sudden temper. "I simply want you to tell the artist that I'm good for the price of a certain glass trinket." He spun away from the mage, crossing his short arms before his chest. 'There, I said it."

'That 'trinket,' " the mage said sarcastically, "is worth more than what you earn in a year."

Mertwig turned back. "So what? It has value. I can always sell it later if I can't pay for it. Besides, I'm not asking you to buy it for me, I'm just asking you to tell Piklaker that you vouch for me." His voice took on a pleading tone. "If you do that, old friend, he'll let me have it." Mertwig saw Kishpa glance at Brandella, looking for her guidance. She nodded. Mertwig knew that Brandella didn't consider it her business, or Kishpa's, to decide what was right or wrong. The mage's duty, the weaver would feel, wasn't to judge his friends but to give them what he could and let them make their own choices; if Mertwig wanted to put himself into debt for his wife, then that was his decision. As long as he wasn't asking Kishpa to foot the bill, she would see no harm in what Mertwig was suggesting, the dwarf knew. But Kishpa would likely have a different view, Mertwig worried. He wished he'd never embarked on this conversation.

Kishpa frowned at Brandella's reaction.

"I don't know…" he said slowly. 'This is a matter of honor. If I vouch for you and you can't pay, it will make me look like a fool to Piklaker-to the whole village. Don't you see that? Don't you see that you're asking me to risk my own reputation? I would do it if you needed food, a roof over your head-something serious. But you want to buy a foolish, useless bauble."

Mertwig stamped his foot, then looked over to where his wife still slept. "Don't tell me about foolish and useless," the dwarf countered heatedly, keeping his voice to a hissing whisper. "What about your collection of ridiculous spells? How much have they cost you?"

Kishpa's face showed his fatigue, and the long sleeve of his red robe shook as he drew his hand across his eyes, tangling his shock of black hair. Obviously, he didn't wish to argue. He simply sighed and tactlessly replied, 'The difference is, I didn't buy anything I couldn't afford."

The two, facing what could be death in battle on the morrow, stared across a widening chasm in their longtime friendship. Mertwig barely held his temper. "I'm telling you, I have to get that glass ball for Yebbie, especially after what she's been through tonight. She deserves it! Besides," he added plaintively, "I told everyone I was going to get it."

Kishpa appeared to be battling between his head and his heart. His gaze didn't meet Mertwig's. "I… I wish I could help you."

"By the gods, if anything goes wrong, I'm the one who's going to look like a fool! Not you!" said the dwarf, his voice suddenly stone cold. "Just tell Piklaker that I'm good for the debt. I'm not going to beg."

Rising wearily from the bench to put his arm around Mertwig's shoulder, the mage tried to break the tension. Kishpa's red robes seemed almost garish against the earth tones of Mertwig's stained clothes. "Please. You're making too much of this," the wizard said, his pained face a sudden portent of the old man he would become. "There's no reason for you to get angry with me. We simply have a different way of looking at things. I can cast a spell for you and create the-"

"No," the dwarf said petulantly, throwing Kishpa's arm off his shoulder. "I said / would buy the glass ball for her. That glass ball. I promised her. I keep my promises. Will you help me or not7"

"No."

Tanis saw the human soldier make a sharp turn into a narrow street. The mob of elves saw him, too, and followed, screaming for his blood. Tanis, behind the elves, feared they would reach the human before he did.

"He ducked into the stable!" came a cry from ahead.

The stable was right next to the smithy, and Tanis knew where that was. Rather than follow the elves, he circled behind the stable, hoping to catch the human as he tried to slip out the back way.

He wasn't the only one who had that thought, however. A small band of elves broke off from the mob and rushed to the rear of the stable. They got there before Tanis, and it was they who came face to face with the human.

Three of them were carrying weapons, while the fourth held the torch, which cast dancing waves of light on the determined faces of the angry elves. The human's face remained shrouded in shadow. Tanis heard the rapid breathing of the combatants and the crackling of the torch as he rounded a corner. He sprinted to join the group. The fourth elf was the first to fall, the human's sword impaling him in the chest. The torch and the elf fell as one to the ground, the light quickly extinguished in a pool of blood, dying along with the one who had held it.

In the sudden near-darkness, the red moon casting a weird glow over all, another elf charged the human, swinging a battle-axe. The human sidestepped and slashed with his blade, cutting a deep wound in the elven fighter's side. The elf screamed, dropped his weapon, and fell in a heap.

The remaining two elves held back warily, seemingly hoping to keep the human at bay until the rest of the elves could join them. The human rushed the two villagers who stood in his way.

Despite the blackness behind the stable, Tanis's elvensight showed him the back of a tall, powerful human bringing his broadsword to bear on a young elf who was clearly overmatched. Next to him, another elf crumpled to the ground, his right leg nearly cut in two.

The main contingent of elves had heard the sounds of battle and would join their fellow villagers soon. The human had to be aware of that. He intended to quickly dispatch the remaining elf who blocked his path.

Except Tanis was there to stop him. The half-elf left his feet and dove at the human as the soldier's sword came down at the hapless young elf. Tanis hit the human behind the knees with his shoulders, knocking him off his feet. The human's sword skittered out of his hand as they both went down, rolling over each other several times in the dirt.

The human ended up on top, quickly pinning Tanis's shoulders to the ground. The soldier reached for his belt and pulled a long, thin-bladed knife from a sheath. Tanis looked up at the man who was about to kill him.

At the same moment, blood began to spurt from the human's mouth. The tip of a sword protruded from the front of the man's throat as he dropped the knife and fell, dead, on top of Tanis. The young elf whom Tanis had saved only a moment before stood over the pair, retrieved his knife from the human and wiped it on the back of the dead man's shirt. Then he shoved the corpse off Tanis with one push of his leg and extended a friendly hand to the half-elf.

Tanis was grateful on two counts: He was alive, and he had not been denied the chance of killing his father.

The dead human was a stranger.

The inky gray light of the false dawn was diminished even further by a fog that began to blow in from the Straits of Algoni. In the murky light, the tense citizenry of Ankatavaka watched and waited. The villagers who had survived the battle of the day before stood on the ramparts on the east, south, and north sides of the town, fear their constant companion. The day before, they had been emboldened by Kishpa's presence. If that hadn't been enough, two brave strangers-the bold human, Scowarr, and his enigmatic half-elf companion-had joined their ranks. The pair had made a difference in turning yesterday's battle.

As the new day broke, however, the elves discovered that Kishpa had disappeared and that neither Scowarr nor Tanis had taken positions on the barricades. They feared they had been abandoned. Worse, they feared that their cause was hopeless. Word had spread that the humans now had magic-users on their side. It seemed as if the beleaguered defenders of Ankatavaka had little chance of surviving. The humans were likely, indeed, to drive them into the sea, just as they had promised they would. Many of the elves were privately considering taking fishing boats and fleeing while they still had the chance. The closer it came to sunrise, the less private the talk became. When they plainly heard the humans breaking camp and preparing to attack, the elven defense began falling into disarray, with loud arguments and occasional fistfights. At first, a few elves on the eastern barricade climbed down to the street and hurried toward the sea amid angry shouts from some of those who stayed behind. Soon, though, the example of those who'd fled inspired others, and scores upon scores of elves on all three sides of the village threw down their weapons and ran down the main street of Ankatavaka toward the boats.

Halfway to the waterfront, however, they came upon a dwarf, a young mage, and a funny-looking man with little shoulders. The trio stood in the narrow cobbled road, blocking their way. Shops loomed closely on each side.

"You shall not pass!" proclaimed the mage.

Hanking the wizard, the little man and the dwarf drew their swords in warning to those who might disobey the command.

This was no phalanx of intimidating soldiers blocking the path of the fleeing elves. It was just three men, alone, one with magic and the other two with swords, standing against neighbors in the murky morning air. The mage was pale and weak, and his companions didn't appear to be skilled warriors, from their looks. Yet the fleeing elves stopped. They would not dishonor their wizard, his old, dear friend, their hero-or themselves.

"I am returning to the barricades," announced the mage, blue eyes flashing. "I shall not be defeated. I'll protect our village, our homes, our way of life. I am going back. Come with me."

Then the dwarf with the craggy face and slanting forehead pointedly growled, "I'm going back to the barricades because friendship and loyalty are not mere words to me. Come with me." Before anyone else could speak, the funny man with the tufted hair and little shoulders said, "I'm going back, too. Your battle is my battle. Today, like yesterday, your village is my village. And today, like tomorrow, my blood is your blood. I'm going back. Come with me." After he spoke, Scowarr felt his skin prickle. Maybe, he thought, he should forget about being funny and concentrate on being heroic.

The crowd muttered with uncertainty. "I'm going back, too," one wizened villager finally said. He turned, and two friends followed. Either shamed or inspired, an ever-growing column of villagers turned and marched back toward the barricades, their hope renewed, their heads held high.

The elves who had stayed behind on the barricades to defend their village were waiting grimly for the human attack when a cacophony erupted behind them. There were whistles, cheers, and voices raised in song. The deserters returned as if they were a fresh new army of reinforcements. But the most heartening sight of all was Kishpa and Scowarr, marching at their head.

Scowarr had promised that he would find the mage and bring him back. He had kept his word.

When the mage and the previous day's hero finally climbed the barricades, Ankatavaka was a village that felt fear no more.

But then, the battle had not yet begun.