Paul Thompson - Riverwind

Riverwind did not understand their speech. These folk spoke like no one he'd ever heard before.

The loudest soldier, who had to be the leader, stood gazing around the room. He made a sharp demand of the little one in black. When an answer was not forthcoming, the leader rapped him with a short metal baton. Riverwind frowned. He didn't like cruelty, whatever its logic.

The little fellow spoke slowly, gesturing at the array of goods around him. With rapid, angry words, the leader pointed in the direction Riverwind and Catchflea had come, and then to the way they themselves had entered. The small one made plaintive sounds. The leader seized him by the shirt and flung him into the arms of the other soldiers. They dragged the protesting fellow away.

Riverwind climbed down and got Catchflea from his hiding place under the homespun. Come with me, he signed to the old man. Say nothing.

They skulked along an aisle parallel to the soldiers and their cringing captive, always keeping bales of booty between them. In tine heart of the chamber was an operv space. There, two soldiers forced the captive to his knees. The leader approached from the side with his sword raised.

Riverwind acted. He knew a pending execution when he saw one.

“Ha!” he cried, springing into the clear. The soldiers started back. They were considerably shorter than the plainsman, whose height seemed to intimidate them. They drew stubby swords and closed together, armored shoulders clanking as they fell into line. Their helmets were closed with hammered metal visors resembling very stylized faces, with embossed grimaces and chiseled eyebrows. The condemned fellow, whose features were still hidden by the drooping cowl, pointed excitedly at Riverwind and chattered volubly. Riverwind didn't need an interpreter to understand a triumphant “I told you so!”

The soldiers' leader stood forward. He raised his short, heavy-bladed weapon.

“Well, now, bully,” Riverwind said. “You're fine with unarmed boys. Let's see how you do with me.”

He was easily two feet taller than they, and his saber twice as long as their short swords. Still, there were five of them. The leader barked an order at his men. They fanned out behind Riverwind and presented the blunt points of their swords.

“My friend,” said Riverwind to the reprieved victim. “I've saved your neck, but it may cost me my own.” The little fellow, still on his knees, regarded the warrior with a quizzical tilt of his head. “I hope you're a good person. I'd hate to die saving a scoundrel.”

The leader attacked, slashing overhand at Riverwind's chest. Riverwind parried and gave ground. The other soldiers joined in halfheartedly. Riverwind scowled and shouted at them, and they flinched, never closing to a threatening distance.

He traded cuts with the leader, at one point scraping his saber on the bizarre leering helmet. The leader staggered back, shaking his head. Riverwind pressed home, shouting a Que-Shu war cry that made the chamber ring.

Then, two quick surprises changed the odds of the battle. The small, unarmed stranger got off his knees and leaped quickly out of the way as the fighting threatened to overwhelm him. As he flung himself out of harm's way, the cowl that had heretofore covered his face fell back. Riverwind glanced at him and halted in surprise. “He” was a she! A crop of short, spiky hair ruffled out of the black cowl and stood straight up on her head. Her skin was pale ivory, and her eyes enormous and black. Her pointed ears stood out from her close-cut hair. Riverwind had never seen an elf before, but he'd heard enough about them to know he was

looking at a girl of elvish blood.

At that precise moment, Catchflea appeared, a knout of

wood in his hand. He'd heard Riverwind's war cry and was rallying to help. “I'm with you, tall man!” he shouted gamely.

Unfortunately for Catchflea, the four timid soldiers were between him and Riverwind. They obviously decided the daft-looking old man couldn't be very dangerous, so they swarmed him. The firewood was struck from his hand, and down he went.

Riverwind had stared too long at the elf girl. The soldiers' leader struck him from behind with the baton. Riverwind fell against a stack of clay pots and sent them clattering to

the stone floor. Before he could regain his feet in the pot

sherds, the leader advanced and struck the plainsman again on the head. The burning lantern flared wildly in Riverwind's eyes, then all was dark.

The soldiers dragged Catchflea and Riverwind out of the chamber, to a wide corridor, and dumped them against the wall. The black-eyed elf girl knelt by Riverwind and put the neck of a copper bottle to his lips. He coughed and opened his eyes.

“By the gods!” he sputtered. “Is that water or brine?” The girl kept the bottle at his mouth even when he tried to turn his face away. His hands were chained tightly to his sides.

“Enough!” he said and shoved the bottle with his head. The girl took the bottle away. She tugged Catchflea to a sitting position and gave him some salty water, too. The old soothsayer choked and shook his head.

“Are you trying to poison me?” he said groggily.

“It's all right, Catchflea,” Riverwind said. “She means to be kind.”

“Oh, my head. What happened?”

“We were bested by these underground elves.”

“Elves!” exclaimed Catchflea.

“So it would seem. Did you not notice the girl's features?”

Catchflea squinted at the spiky-haired creature, now withdrawn to the opposite side of the tunnel. “Branchala bless me,” he said. “You're right, tall man.”

The gruff leader appeared. He flipped the leering visor up. His countenance was like the girl's-pale skin, prominent eyes, sharp chin, and long, thin nose. When the girl piped a few words at him, he raised his baton as if to hit her.

“You're a brute,” Riverwind said matter-of-factly. “A blustering bully who beats on defenseless children.” The leader, distracted, rattled off a long interrogative sentence at him. Riverwind shook his head. “I don't understand.” The useless exchange went on until the leader quit in disgust.

The soldiers, bolder now that the tall plainsman was chained, prodded him and Catchflea to their feet. The tunnel ceiling here was even lower than the one before. River-wind's head bumped the black stone. He had a momentary rush of claustrophobia, but it receded quickly. He didn't want to show any weakness in front of his captors.

The girl and the leader led them down the passage. Riverwind stumbled along, back bent and arms tied. Catchflea was likewise chained. Blue globes lit the way, but there were as many that did not shine. Riverwind wondered what fueled the strange spheres, and why so many were dark.

“Where do you think they're taking us?” asked the old man.

“To the surface, I hope,” Riverwind replied.

“In Silvanesti, yes?”

“That I can't even guess at.”

One of the soldiers trailing Catchflea decided to trip him. The old soothsayer sprawled hard on the floor, bashing his nose. Blood flowed from one nostril to his tangled beard.

Riverwind turned around. The four elves had their visors open, and one had a smirk on his face. Riverwind lashed out with one long leg and caught the smirker in the chest. Propelled by the powerful kick, the elf sailed back into the darkness and landed with a jingle of falling metal. His comrades laughed, and even the leader smiled.

“At least they've some idea of fair play,” Riverwind said. Catchflea got to his feet shakily.

“And a rough sense of humor, yes,” he said sourly.

The girl dropped back from the leader's heels and walked slightly ahead of Riverwind. He said, “I wonder why a child like this is off prowling dark tunnels?”