Коллектив авторов - The Realms of the Elves

This might work after all, Daried thought. Then the captain-Lord Sarthos, he guessed-came out of his tent. Snarling his own dire invocation, Sarthos threw out his hand and scoured Daried with a bolt of crawling black power. Even in his trance Daried cried out in pain as his side sizzled and smoked, and the strength drained away from his limbs. He stumbled into the path of a grizzled old sergeant with a poleaxe, who nearly took his arm with a powerful overhead chop, and a small wiry man with a pair of curved daggers got close enough to slash him badly across the midsection before the flame-shield drove him back, blinded and screaming.

I have to deal with the wizard, he decided. With the right spell the mercenary lord might immobilize or cripple Daried outright, and he would be cut down in a heartbeat.

Fighting through his exhaustion, Daried threw himself toward the enemy lord. He thrust at the wizard's midsection, but the man easily beat his blade aside with his own.

"Don't use your swords, lads!" Sarthos called to his men. "The elfs guarded by a fire-shield. You'll need spears or arrows for this work."

Stepping back from Daried, the mercenary lord snatched a wand from his belt and riddled Daried within the armor over his heart. Daried stumbled and went to one knee, his bladesinger's trance finally broken by the pain and fatigue. Only his fire-shield served to protect him, and as he looked up, he saw a half-dozen mercenaries approaching with long spears to transfix him where he kneeled.

I underestimated them, he realized. I thought my skill and magic would be enough.

He looked back to the Chondathan lord, who watched him with his teeth bared in a bloodthirsty grin. "You're not as good as you thought, are you?" Sarthos sneered. He gestured to the spearmen.

An arrow flashed in the firelight and struck the pock-faced lord on the right side of his chest, spinning him to the ground. Then another one took a spearman approaching Daried in the eye, dropping the warrior like a puppet with its strings cut. A third arrow lodged in the small of the sergeant's back, driving him to the ground with a strangled cry.

"Archers!" shouted one of the men. "Archers!"

"She shoots as well as she said," Daried murmured in surprise.

He glanced at Lord Sarthos, who sat up on one elbow, grimly wrestling with the arrow in his chest as blood streamed from his wound. The man's breastplate had taken much of the blow, but he gasped with pain and paid no attention to the bladesinger. Other men thrashed into the woods, seeking to flush out their attackers and get out of the firelight.

The Morvaeril moonblade was only fifteen feet away. But it would cost him his life to try for it. With a snarl of frustration, Daried wove a spell of darkness over the camp, plunging the clearing into utter blackness. Then, allowing his fire-shield to gutter out, he staggered to his feet and groped his way out of the mercenaries' camp.

The ill effects of the mercenary lord's black ray seemed to wear off with time. By the time Daried reached a good spot half a mile north of the Chondathan camp, he no longer shook with complete exhaustion. His wounds troubled him, of course, but in a few moments of work he bound the worst of them and decided that he could fight again if he had to. Moving a few yards off the trail, he settled in to wait and watch, wrapped up in his gray-green cloak with little more than his eyes showing in the darkness.

The thunderstorm slowly moved off, leaving the forest dripping wet but noticeably cooler in its wake. It was past midnight, and the moon was sinking quickly toward the west. Another elf might have replayed the skirmish in the camp in his head while he waited, but Daried was not given to regret or wishful thinking. What was done was done; there was no point in wishing otherwise. He would not underestimate his adversaries again.

He more than half-expected the whole band of human sellswords to come crashing down the path at any time, but to his surprise, they did not pursue him. Perhaps they thought there were more elf archers roaming around in the night. With the failing moonlight and the overcast skies, he found it dark indeed under the trees. To human eyes it was likely pitch-black, and even the most bloodthirsty mercenary would think twice about blundering around blindly in the dark.

An hour passed before he began to worry about Nilsa.

At first, he told himself that she was simply circling away from the trail, swinging wide of the camp so as to throw off pursuit. That could easily turn a ten-minute trot into the work of a long, slow hour. But as one hour stretched toward two, he found it harder to remain patient. Did she simply become lost in the darkness? he wondered. Her woodcraft seemed better than that, but in the confusion of the fight at the camp, who knew? Or had she fallen into the hands of the mercenaries? If that was the case… Daried sincerely hoped that she'd forced them to kill her instead of taking her captive. He had an idea of what men such as the Chondathans were capable of, and death would have been preferable.

He was wrestling with the question of whether to head back to the camp when she finally appeared, picking her way down the trail. Every few steps she paused and spent three heartbeats listening and peering into the woods.

When she drew closer he stood and called softly, "Here, Nilsa."

The girl started. "You scared me half to death, elf," she muttered. She hurried off the trail and joined him in the shadows.

"Where have you been? What happened?" he demanded.

"I was going to ask you the same thing. You were supposed to run off the whole camp. That was your plan, I seem to recall."

"I did not expect to meet with a competent wizard. Things would have gone differently otherwise."

"If you say so." She snorted softly in the darkness. "After you cast that darkness spell, I tried to lay low and wait out the Chondathans. But they turned loose their hounds, and I realized I couldn't stay hidden for long. So I shot the two dogs that were left, and evaded the men by circling way to the south before doubling back in this direction."

Daried stared at her in the shadows. He knew more than one skilled elf warrior who wouldn't have had the nerve to he still that close to so many enemies, or the cold calculation to kill the hounds in order to stymie pursuit.

"I misjudged you," he murmured aloud. "I am sorry that I did not think better of you. Or our adversaries, for that matter."

"You don't know the half of it," Nilsa answered. "When I circled to the south, I came across a very large camp, a little less than a mile farther down toward Battledale. Chondathans, just like the others, but I'd guess their numbers at three hundred, perhaps more."

"Three hundred?" Daried repeated. His heart grew cold. "Are you certain?"

"I didn't count heads, but I know what I saw. Does the exact number matter?"

Daried shook his head. A couple of hours ago he would have dismissed the girl's claim as wild exaggeration, but he was coming to learn that he could take her at her word.

"If you are right, they must be on their way north to invade the western portions of the dale, behind our defenses along the Ashaba. The marauders that came to Glen were scouting the route for the main force."

"That's what I make of it, too," Nilsa said. She sighed and looked away. "Naturally, they indulged themselves in any murder or mayhem they liked while they were at it. Glen just happened to be in their way."

Daried quickly gathered his belongings. "Come. We have not a moment to lose," he said. "By daybreak these woods will be swarming with the Sembians' mercenaries."

He hurried back to the trail, Nilsa a couple of steps behind him, and set off at once. By his reckoning they had twenty-five miles, perhaps a little more, back to the human village. The bladesinger was tired and his wounds felt stiff, but with luck he thought he might be able to reach his warriors sometime in the late afternoon. The question was how much the half-human girl would slow him down. If she couldn't keep up, he didn't see any alternative to leaving her behind and making the best speed he could alone.