Paul Thompson - The Forest King

Where was Balif, still bobbing in the water below? Mathi wanted to look down and check, but she was afraid of giving him away. She succumbed to temptation and looked.

Balif was not there.

“Don’t even think of jumping,” warned the officer. “You’ll have two spears in you before you reach the water.”

They grabbed his hands, pulling them out to receive the shackles. Mathi resisted. Her original captor struck her across the back with the shaft of his spear. The blow drove her forward, almost breaking through the ring of elves around him. Thinking she was trying to escape, the officer drew his sword. In the next moment the night fell on them.

It was Balif. With the watch distracted by Mathi, he was able to gain the rail unseen by climbing the hull planking with his claws. Spying Mathi in trouble, he leaped to her aid. The elves were so intent on Mathi they didn’t know what hit them. The beast bowled them over, sending them sprawling on the deck. Mathi took the opportunity to shove and trip the last soldier standing.

Balif was the first one up. He lashed out first on one side, then the other, backhanding the soldiers with his paws. The officer got to his knees, sword in hand. He was about to strike the furry intruder when Balif seized him by the seat of his pants and hurled him overboard. He yelled all the way down, terminating with a great splash.

Doors opened all along the deckhouses. Elves of various duties stepped out-sailors, soldiers, courtiers, servants. Because the ship was so well illuminated they saw the beast clearly. Shouts rang out and not a few doors slammed shut again.

Like a whirlwind Balif flattened the soldiers around him. A sword skittered up against Mathi’s feet. She considered picking it up, then decided it would be her death warrant. She had come to the flagship in peace. If she was taken in arms, they would hang her from the nearest yardarm without question.

Warriors boiled out of the cabins, juggling armor and helmets while gripping swords and spears. Balif put his head down and charged right through them, slamming those on his left against the deckhouse and tossing those on his right over the side. Courtiers who were too slow got the same treatment. Mathi walked behind the beast, offering apologies.

“Please excuse us. We mean no harm. Oh, I am sorry! Don’t get up, he’ll knock you down again. Begging your pardon, my lords-”

Dazed elves responded with confusion. What was that monstrous beast? Who was the polite acolyte with him?

Some soldiers dashed up from behind and tried to lay hands on Mathi. Balif whirled, fangs bared, and they backed off. Sailors brought a fishing net from the ship’s stores and hauled it to the roof of a deckhouse, meaning to drop it over the invading creature. An ordinary beast might have been trapped, but Balif clearly saw the danger and circled around the deckhouse where the sailors crouched. They cast anyway, missed, and watched their weighted net go slithering over the rail into the bay.

“There!” Mathi cried, pointing. “That’s the way down, there!”

Up the steps came warriors of Amaranthe’s personal guard. No finer fighters existed among the Silvanesti, and they barred the way, resolute and ready. Balif crouched low on the deck, and Mathi thought he was going to try to force his way through. Faced with eight drawn swords, the beast chose an alternative not open to most two-legged attackers. He leaped first to the roof of the deckhouse, then immediately hurled himself at the open stairwell. The warriors fell back, swords and shields held high to ward off the marauder, but Balif was faster. He hit them like a catapult stone, knocking them down the steep stairs.

Alone on deck with the awakened crew, Mathi felt distinctly outnumbered. She forced a smile and strolled to the hatch.

“Thank you for your warm welcome,” she said for all to hear. “And now I must see to my friend. He gets rather impatient when I’m not around.”

She bolted down the steps with scores of footfalls thundering after her. Balif had cleared the way, and she was able to run right into the audience chamber. Mathi skidded to a halt, arrested by the extraordinary scene before her.

Amaranthe was there. That surprised Mathi, who thought she would have retreated behind as many locked doors and armed guards as could be mustered on board. But no, there she sat, clad in a white silk robe with delicate embroidery in red and blue around the cuffs and collar. In front of her stood a small phalanx of archers knelt with arrows nocked. Six feet in front of them Balif crouched, chin down and hindquarters high. His yellow teeth were bared in a grimace of-what? Defiance? Contrition? It was hard to read his beastly countenance.

Almost imperceptibly a few archers adjusted their aim to cover Mathi. Fear climbed her back, and her knees almost failed. She had seen too well what elf archers could do. At that range she would be riddled with arrowsif she so much as blinked.

“Highness!” she said hoarsely, holding out her hands as if to ward off the soon-to-be-loosed arrows. “It is Mathani Arborelinex, remember? I have done what you asked!”

The princess’s crystalline gaze shifted from her to the beast. Amaranthe’s brow furrowed.

“You?” she said. The truth dawned, and her austere features fell. “Merciful gods! Is this-?”

“Yes, Highness!”

She looked again in disbelief. The creature at bay curled a lip and gave a throaty snarl. Bowstrings creaked as the archers drew back further, ready to pin the monster to the planks if it moved.

“Stay your hands!” Amaranthe said suddenly. The chief of the archers asked her to repeat her command.

“Put down your weapons! I command it!”

The cool professionals obeyed. Without sharp bronze points aimed at her, Mathi recovered her nerve. She went down on one knee and thanked Amaranthe for her compassion-and her insight.

“How can this be?” the princess of Silvanost said sadly. “Who has done this to him?”

“A curse, Highness, cast by-” Mathi remembered the penalty for mentioning Vedvedsica’s name. “By the one who cannot be named.”

“Does he know me? Does he know anyone?”

Mathi let Balif answer that. The beast crawled forward on his belly like a dog. He could not penetrate the line of archers still on guard, but the gesture was plain.

“My poor love,” the princess whispered.

She called out to someone-a long elven name that sounded like “Talaramitas.” From the curtained area behind Amaranthe’s chair an elf emerged. He was fairly young, with unusually short hair for a Silvanesti. Dressed in baggy green leggings, kilt, and tunic, his wrists and ankles were thickly ringed with slender metal bands. A copper band circled his forehead. As he stepped up to the princess’s right hand, wisps of colored light sparked from his extremities and quickly vanished.

“Stand aside,” she ordered the archers. They parted ranks, revealing the beast. When the soldiers were out of the way Balif leaped to his feet and uttered a hair-curling growl. Bows creaked, and one elf lost control long enough to send an arrow into the deck between Balif’s front and back feet. It thunked loudly into the planking, but the beast paid it no mind.

“The next one who looses an arrow, dies by my order!” Amaranthe cried. Everyone froze.

To the bearcat she said, “Do you mean me any harm?”

He couldn’t answer, but the beast remained where he was. Mathi could tell Balif was staring not at the princess but at the green-clad magician next to her.

“Talaramitas, what do you make of this?”

The elf closed his eyes and held out one hand at a low angle. He quickly snatched his hand back.

“An enchantment of great power, Highness. One of the most potent I have ever encountered,” he said. He had a deep, cultured voice that provoked fresh, if restrained, snarls from the beast.