Anthology: The Realms of the Elves

He probably could have left them, since it was not likely they would wake on their own for a time, but the approaching storm concerned him. A loud thunderclap might rouse the sentries again, and he did not want to have to elude them when he left the camp. So Daried bound and gagged both men thoroughly before moving on to the next two sentries. Killing men in their sleep was a hard thing to do, even men such as these.

The next two sentries were a little less wary then their fellows. A thick stand of trees stood between them, so that it was hard to keep each other in view. Daried simply distracted the one on the left with a magic word and a nick of his hand, creating a rustle in the underbrush near the guard's feet. While that man looked down and backed up a step, Daried glided close behind the second and killed him with a sword-thrust through the throat. It was not a nobly struck blow, but he reminded himself that these Chondathans were murderers and robbers. He'd seen what they had left behind in the farmsteads they'd plundered south of Glen. The man at his feet died far better and more swiftly than many of the mercenaries' victims.

"Roldo?" called the first man. "Did you hear something?"

The remaining sentry took two steps toward the place where his fellow had fallen, and Daried stepped out of the shadows and whispered another spell.

"Swift and silent," he hissed, "run back to the Ashaba and keep watch over the crossing there."

The big human stared at him slack-jawed for three heartbeats, caught in the power of Daried's spell. Then he nodded vigorously and hurried off into the night, vanishing into the forest. The Ashaba was better than ten miles off in that direction. Daried wondered whether the man would reach the river before the enchantment wore off, or if he would come to his senses somewhere in the middle of the forest.

Four sentries dealt with; the two on the other side of the camp would not be relevant to Daried's efforts. A few fat, warm raindrops began to patter down in the branches overhead. It seemed likely that there would be a downpour within a matter of minutes, but the bladesinger decided that heavy rain would only help him. He ignored the raindrops and glided toward the firelight.

A couple of the Chondathans still sat up, talking with each other near the fire. Better than a score of their fellows lay scattered about the clearing, lying on top of their bedrolls since it was a warm night. Among the sleeping men were three big war-hounds with iron-spiked collars, drowsing with their masters.

The hounds were dangerous… but if things went as he planned, they would not trouble him much.

He took a deep breath, and waited for another rumble of thunder. It was not long in coming, and as the treetops sighed and shook in the warm night wind, he whispered the words of an invisibility spell. Then he advanced into the camp, picking his way past the sleeping men all around his feet. The captain slept in a tent apart from his men. It was a surprisingly large and well-made pavilion that must have weighed hundreds of pounds. No elf leader would have burdened himself with such an ostentatious shelter, but Daried supposed that the mercenary captain had likely taken it from some pillaged enemy camp long ago, and had his men carry it along to put on airs of nobility.

Daried slipped into the tent, steel in his hand. He could not help disturbing the flap that served as the tent's entrance, but he did it in silence. Heaps of plunder filled the inside of the tent, the wreckage of dozens of lives ground out in the last few days by the mercenary band. The bladesinger moved past the sacks and bundles. A small partition separated the sleeping area. Grimly, he used the point of his sword to edge the drape out of his way.

The mercenary captain sat facing him behind a small camp desk, his bared sword leaning against the table. He glanced up at the motion of the drapery and frowned, perhaps puzzled by the strange motion of the partition. His eyes gleamed oddly in the faint light of an oil lamp.

On the folding cot, the Morvaeril moonblade sat in its human-made scabbard of red leather. Rain began to patter more heavily against the heavy canvas of the tent, and the air smelled of distant lightning.

Daried smiled coldly and returned his attention to the mercenary leader. The fellow glanced over at the ancient sword lying on the cot, and glanced back in Daried's direction. A tiny motion of his eyebrow betrayed a hint of surprise.

He sees me, Daried realized. He sees me!

Whether the captain knew some magic of his own, or possessed some enchanted token that allowed him to discern magical invisibility, Daried did not know. But now he had to strike and strike quickly, because his advantage was gone. In the space of a heartbeat he leaped forward, his swordpoint aimed at the lean man's heart.

But the human captain reached the same conclusion Daried did, and just as quickly. He seized his own sword and with one powerful shove flung the light camp desk into Daried's path. Daried tried to jump over the desk but failed, and found himself sprawling at the feet of the man he'd intended to kill. And his invisibility-spell faded, spoiled by the attack he'd just launched against his foe.

"To arms! To arms!" the captain shouted to his men outside. "We are attacked!" Then he stabbed viciously at Daried, his sword darting and striking like a silver shadow in the darkened tent.

Daried's magical agility saved his life. He threw himself aside, fetching up against the foot of the cot.

"Damn it all to Lolth's black hells!" he growled in Elvish. Then he rolled back in the other direction and threw out a hand to lever himself to his feet, only to snatch it back a moment later as a small viper with jade-green scales struck at his outflung arm. The little serpent's eyes glittered with unnatural intelligence, and it hissed at him maliciously.

A wizard's familiar, the elf realized. That explained much. The leader of the mercenaries was more than he seemed, and Daried would have to live with the consequences of his unfounded assumptions.

"I do not know what your quarrel with me is, elf, but you won't have long to regret your mistake," the human snarled.

He pressed close and slashed at Daried's legs, but Daried finished his roll and got to his knees and one hand. The bladesinger snapped out the words of a spell of his own, a burst of eldritch fire that seared everything around him. The viper recoiled and slithered into the pile of loot it had been hiding in, and the captain roared in rage and staggered back.

Finally free to stand, Daried took a deep breath and threw himself into the state of perfect clarity, of action without thought, that marked the bladesinger's dance. He moved his swordpoint through the familiar passes, and arcane symbols formed in his mind. He retreated out of the mercenary's tent, since he fought best with plenty of clear space, and he would not want to be trapped in the tent between the captain and his warriors.

He emerged into a scene of complete chaos. All around him men struggled to their feet and groped for weapons, shouting to each other. More than a few simply stared in astonishment as he appeared from their captain's tent, an elflord in golden mail whose sword whirled about in a dizzying weave of bright steel.

Only three steps in front of him a scar-faced swordsman with rotten teeth glared at Daried in dull fury. "What in the Nine screaming Hells is going on here?" he roared, sweeping a curved tulwar from his belt.

"The elf tried to kill Lord Sarthos!" someone cried.

The scarred swordsman grunted and threw himself forward. But Daried barked out another spell and shrouded himself in a brilliant aura of blue flame. He reached out to take the scarred man with a thrust to the throat. Like a zephyr of white steel and deadly magic, he danced across the clearing. Lost in the bladesong he hardly knew what he was doing. He slipped into the space between eyeblinks, sharpening his perceptions until it seemed that raindrops sank slowly through the night and lightning-swift swordstrokes were languid and slow.