Part 8 (1/2)

”My papa! Don't leave me! My papa!”

What had he forgotten? What was there left for him to do? Spinning in the lost currents of nowhere, Tobeszijian struggled to remember what had been so important to him. He felt shame lingering on his senses, shame for all he'd left undone. It was time he proved himself, time he stuck with his duty.

But hadn't he done enough? He had lost his throne, but he had saved the Chalice from the hands of evil.

Was that not duty enough performed? He found himself at the s.h.i.+ning barrier of light. How beautiful and wondrous it was. How brightly it shone. He squinted and thought he could see shapes moving behind it.The third world, he thought with a rush of excitement and joy. He tried to reach out to it, wanting to find Nereisse, wanting to find happiness.

But his duty was unfinished. Had he stayed home instead of going hunting, his enemies would not have had such an easy opportunity to strike against him. Had he chosen his travels more wisely, he might have needed to use the Ring only thrice, as commanded. Had he imprisoned Muncel or exiled him when he first succeeded their father, his half-brother would not have found it so convenient to betray him.

So many mistakes, but this time he would not make another. The barrier's radiant glow shone across his face. He could feel its warmth, so lovely and refres.h.i.+ng. But when he tried to reach through the light, his hand bounced off something. He could not see the shapes behind it except as motion and color. He could not see Nereisse. He tried to call out, but he had no voice here in the gray void of the second world.

And he knew that he must finish his task before he could pa.s.s through. For once in his life he must be the king his father and his subjects had expected him to be. Muncel must not stay on the throne of Nether.

The evil that had crept into the land must be driven out. These remained his responsibilities. Sighing, feeling hollow with regret, Tobeszijian turned back from the gateway to the third world and found himself plunging forever in the gray mists, unable to escape them, his obligations like a chain that held him shackled. On the narrow road in the forests of Nold, all lay quiet and still. There remained nothing to see of the battle which had raged in King Tobeszijian's final moments except the churned ground and the stripped bones of his darsteed's eaten carca.s.s.

A week or so later, a peddler came wandering along in a drizzling rain, whistling softly to firm his courage there in the gloom of forest. Many tales were told about the legendary Dark Forest of Nold.

These woods had seen centuries of evil aprowl, and old battles fought by G.o.ds, and long terrors, and darkness, and doom.

The peddler had traveled the length and breadth of Nold often enough to keep him wary but not unduly afraid. Stories were stories. He had a sharp dagger in his belt and a set of good wits. He was a small man, quick of thought and keen of eye.

He paused when he came to the battleground, sensing some lingering disquiet in the air. Doffing his cap, he made a quick sign with his nimble fingers to ward off evil and left the narrow track to tiptoe around the spot where clearly death had struck.

The drizzle stopped and the clouds overhead parted for a moment to let suns.h.i.+ne fall into the forest. In the moisture-laden air, the light sparkled with the soft, magical colors of rainbow.

A wink of something glittering in that beautiful light caught the peddler's eye, and he stopped.

Stooping low, he peered at the ground a long, cautious while. At last, satisfied that no invisible trap of evil had been set there to snare him, he took one quick step onto the torn, muddy ground. He picked up the object and held it aloft.

The ring glittered and flashed in the sunlight. It was finely wrought, its band stamped all around with intricate rune carvings. The top was set with a large oval stone as pale and smooth as milk. He had never seen anything so fine except on the fingers of rich n.o.blemen. Now here, on this lonely road, lay the long bones of a n.o.ble's rather large horse, lay also the chewed and tattered remains of a fine leather saddle, lay the n.o.ble's fine finger ring; in fact, lay all but the bones of the n.o.ble himself.

The peddler grinned to himself at his good luck, and couldn't resist polis.h.i.+ng the ring on the front of hisjerkin. A fine piece, worthy of a king, he thought. It would bring him luck. It would bring him a pretty price when he sold it. Not in Nold, of course. The scattered villages and burrows held only rude dwarves willing to buy a few trinkets, colored ribbon, or tea leaves bound up in little bags of coa.r.s.e cloth, but nothing better. No, he'd not sell this fancy ring until he crossed the border into the rich land of Mandria.

He was not an impatient or a greedy man, but when luck came his way he knew what to do with it.

Still grinning to himself, the peddler secured the ring in a safe place inside his clothing. Putting his cap back on, he shouldered his pack and continued on down the road, whistling to himself. Never once did he see the silent shadows which slid forth from among the trees to follow him on his journey.

Part Two - years later

The sound of hunting horns-faint at first, then swelling louder-filled the air and silenced the forest.

Startled, Dain lifted his head from the shallow pool of water where he'd paused for a drink. He listened intently. The wailing blat of the horns came again, from his left, the southwest. Dain glanced at the gray clouds scudding low above the treetops, and tried to gauge distance and time. He knew he must be nearly out of the Dark Forest. Rising to his feet, he listened, straining to hear hoofbeats.

Ah . . . yes, cras.h.i.+ng like the muted thunder of a distant summer storm. That meant the hunters were Mandrian, for no one in Nold hunted with such noise and fanfare. Most especially not now, when the dwarf clans were at war, their drumbeats throbbing late at night and the smoke from burned-out burrows hanging in the air.

Dain swallowed hard. Never before had he ventured this close to the border. But now was no time to lose his courage. Thia's life depended on what he managed to accomplish today.

Down deep within the knot inside his belly, he felt an ache of fearful despair, but he ignored his emotions and set off at a ground-eating trot, determined to get help for his injured sister.

Dodging and darting through the undergrowth of dense forest, he angled toward the approaching sound of the hunters.

If he was close enough to the border for men to be venturing into the forest, that meant he was nearing settlements and villages, places where he could steal food and perhaps a horse.

Sudden terror, alien and fierce, burst through his mind. With it came a stag that burst from cover and bounded across Dain's trail. The animal pa.s.sed so close to him that he saw the blood splattering its dusty coat, the heaving flanks, the white of its eye, the dark pink flare within its nostril. Awash in fear and pain, the creature's mind swept across Dain's, making him stagger to one side and grip a tree trunk for support. Dain closed the stag's senses from his own, shaking his head to clear it.

Seconds later, he heard a deep baying sound that made the hairs rise on the back of his neck. A pack of tall, brawny red dogs came cras.h.i.+ng through the thickets and closed in on the faltering stag.

Dain felt the purposeful flick of their minds: chaseIchaseIchaseIchase. He dived for cover, for now the horses and riders were upon him, cras.h.i.+ng and blundering through the undergrowth and trees. They were shouting and blowing their horns in great excitement. One rode past Dain so closely he was nearly hit in the face by the rider's spurred foot.

In a heartbeat, they thundered past, kicking up dirt and leaves behind them. He left his cover and followed them, knowing the stag could not run much longer. Indeed, only a few minutes later the stagwent down in a small clearing. The dogs leaped on it with yelps and snarls. For a moment there was milling confusion while the hunters beat off the dogs. Someone shot an arrow into the stag's creamy throat. The n.o.ble creature turned its gaze toward its killer for a moment, then its head sank to the ground and it lay still. Whooping, the hunters surrounded their prey. They were four youths, each about Dain's own age. Richly dressed in velvet cloth and furs, gilded daggers gleaming at their belts, their bows held slack in their hands, they slapped each other on the back and congratulated each other. Three older men in chain mail and green surcoats without crests and one muscular man wearing the crossed-axe crest of a protector stayed in the saddle and watched the proceedings silently. Dain crept closer, focusing all his attention on the bulging saddlebags of finely worked leather. He could smell food inside-the pale tender bread baked in a puff, wedges of cheese, hanks of cold meat all wrapped in neat waxed-linen bundles.

His own hunger was like a living thing inside him, driving him forward, almost making him forget caution.

With his mind, he stilled the nearest horse, turning it around and luring it toward him at the edge of the clearing. Snorting, the handsome animal tossed its head and came forward a few steps, then nibbled at a few blades of gra.s.s before coming another few steps closer. Finally it stopped and began to eat in earnest, its reins dragging on the ground.

Dain admired its sleekness, seeing how well groomed and cared for it was. Its splendid leather saddle and cloth alone would bring a fine price. Dain could sell the trappings and the horse for enough gold to support him and Thia for a year. But most of all, he wanted the food in those saddlebags. Hovering at the edge of the thicket, Dain dared not venture into the open. Keeping a wary eye on the armed men, he crouched close enough to a tangle of briars for the thorns to snag his tattered clothing, and used his mind to lure the horse into coming yet closer.

The young hunters joked and yelped in high spirits. The largest one, with shoulders as burly as a grown man's, pa.s.sed around a wineskin with a furtive giggle while another boy knelt to dip his fingers in the stag's blood. He smeared crimson streaks across his face, then marked the faces of his companions.

Fascinated despite his sense of urgency, Dain stared at these Mandrian youths, who were his own age and size, yet as different from him as night from day. He had seen Mandrians before, of course. Jorb had done much trade with the n.o.bles, who valued a well-crafted sword. But it was seldom that Dain saw boys of such wealth and magnificence, with such beautiful horses and fine leather tack. Bold youths indeed, to enter the Dark Forest after game. Dain had heard many tales among the dwarves, tales of the foolish Mandrians who quested in the Dark Forest for the legendary Chalice of Eternal Life or the mythical Field of Skulls, which Jorb said was no place for any common mortal to see. Such searchers often failed to return. The Dark Forest was a mysterious place, full of impenetrable sectors and traps for the unwary. Even the dwarves knew there were parts of the forest where no living creature should go.

But these young hunters laughed and sucked blood from each other's fingers and boasted, each claiming in turn to have shot the arrow which first wounded the stag. The red dogs twisted and circled among them, panting and whining for attention. Dain returned his concentration to the horse, which would not quite venture to the edge of the clearing, despite all his enticements. Perhaps he should risk being seen. If he mounted the horse, he could outrun the others and lose himself quickly in the dense undergrowth.

After all, what harm could such boys do him? They were nothing but brave talk and blowing wind. Right now they were discussing whether they should break off the stag's antlers or cut off its entire head. The rich, wasteful fools weren't interested in its flavorful, dark meat or the beauty of its hide.

A corner of Dain's mind urged him to wait out of sight, safe and quiet, until they left with their prize.

Then he could help himself to all the venison he could carry. He knew how to build a slow, smoking fire, how to cut the meat into strips and dry it into leathery jerky.

Wait, he cautioned himself. But the horse was so close. A fleet-footed, strong animal that would carry Thia to a village large enough to support a healer. The Bnen arrow point had snapped off inside her. It festered there, bringing her much pain and fever. Right now she needed tending as much as they both needed food. Drawing a deep breath, Dain cautiously sent his thoughts in the direction of the four men overseeing their charges. Look at them, he urged. Watch what they do. Help them. The protector turned his mount to ride toward the hunters, who were now hacking inexpertly at the stag's head. The other men looked that way. Quick as thought, Dain slipped from cover and went to the horse. Alarmed, it lifted its head from the gra.s.s, but Dain soothed it with a thought and swept his fingers gently across the animal's shoulder.

Rea.s.sured, the horse bent its head again to eat. Dain drew in scents of warm horse, leather, the boy who'd ridden the saddle, and the ham that was so enticingly close. He gathered the reins and put his foot in the stirrup. Without warning, the horse squealed in fury and swung away from him. Hopping on one foot, Dain tried to climb into the saddle, but the horse reared, las.h.i.+ng out with its forefeet.

AttackIattackIattack. Its mind was awash with heat. It lunged at him, snapping with huge, yellow teeth.

Dain smacked its muzzle and stumbled back, falling in the process.

Across the clearing, the boys stood frozen, staring at him with astonishment. Then the handsomest, best dressed of the lot stepped forward and pointed at Dain.

”A thief!” he called out. ”Sir Los, he's stealing my horse!” With shouts, the armed men drew their swords and came rus.h.i.+ng at Dain. He was busy trying to escape from the horse, which sought to trample him, but a shrill whistle from the boy in the blue, fur-trimmed tunic swung the horse away from him. It trotted to its master, and Dain jumped to his feet and ran. At that moment, two more riders-one clad in chain mail and green surcoat, the other in plain green wool, with a horn slung across his barrel chest and a pointed cap on his head-galloped into the clearing between Dain and his pursuers. The men swore at each other, while the boys ran to mount up. The dogs milled and circled, barking.

”It's an eld!” someone shouted in a shrill voice.

”It's a thief!” said someone else.

”Get him!”