Tanis the shadow years

9

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.