Chris Pierson - Dezra's Quest

Caramon frowned. "What about the rest of the Circle? Eucleia, Pleuron… your father and brother?"

Trephas glanced at him, his eyes hopeful. "Aye," he said. "Chrethon would have staked their heads too, if they'd been killed."

"Then they're still alive," Dezra stated. "They could have gotten away."

"It's possible," Trephas said doubtfully.

"Where would they have gone?" Caramon asked. "Surely they had a plan for what they'd do if Ithax fell."

Trephas nodded. "There's a stronghold in the mountains. Only the Circle and a few others knew of it. I'll take thee. Chislev willing, my people will be there."

"Good," Dezra said. "Let's get moving, then."

She turned to go, but Caramon caught her arm. "Have some respect, girl," he hissed, nodding toward the severed heads. "We need to see to them first."

She stopped, looked at the stakes, and slumped. "Of course," she grumbled. "It's dark, I'm cold and wet, and the stench here could kill a troll. All right, don't grouse. I'll help."

She stepped past Caramon, to Trephas's side. Caramon started to follow, then glimpsed Borlos out of the comer of his eye. The bard's face was gray. He swallowed, staring at the centaurs' heads-Olinia's in particular-with wide, horrified eyes.

Caramon rested a hand on his shoulder and offered him a flask of water. Borlos took a long drink, then looked up again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I'm sorry," he gasped. "I can't."

Trephas turned toward him. "It's all right, my friend," he said. "I won't ask for thy help. The rest of us will see to this."

Borlos smiled thankfully, pushing himself back to his feet. He wobbled unsteadily, but shook his head as Caramon reached out to him. "I'm fine," he said. "I just need to feel the wind on my face."

"Sure, Bor," Caramon said. "Just don't get lost."

With a grateful wave, the bard staggered away, across the body-strewn battlefield. He labored for breath as he walked. In time he stopped, glancing about blearily. The others were well behind him. He unstopped the wine-flask at his hip and drained it. Shuddering, he gazed at the ground. Corpses lay all about him, ravaged by a month's exposure to wind, rain and scavengers. Gently he nudged one of the twisted bodies with his foot. It shifted, then settled again, one of its begrimed hands dropping flaccidly beside his boot. His mouth twisting with disgust, he turned again, to head back to the others.

Something grabbed him from behind.

Borlos was too stunned to react as the Skorenoi bore him down, wrestling him to the ground. By the time he recovered his wits, it was too late. They had his arms and legs pinned, and one clapped a hand over his mouth. He struggled for a moment, then went limp as a bay Skorenos-a tall, ogrish beast with a shaggy black mane-strode toward him.

"Lift him up," Thenidor growled. The Skorenoi hauled Borlos back to his feet again. The bay spat in the mud, leaning on his halberd. "The bard," he snarled. "Trust my luck to catch the least useful one among them."

Borlos jerked suddenly, biting the hand over his mouth. The Skorenos who'd gagged him pulled back with a curse. Borlos sucked in a breath and shouted something-he wasn't sure what-before glimpsing the haft of Thenidor's halberd, flashing toward him.

There was a crack, and a flaming arrow of pain in his head. A wave of blackness swept him away.

"Big guy! It's Thenidor! Don't-"

Then silence.

Everyone stared at each other in mute horror. Caramon peered into the gloom. "Bor?" he called, resting a hand on his sword. He started forward. "Borlos!"

Dezra grabbed his arm, hauling him to a stop. "Whoa," she said. "Hold up."

"Let go of me, girl," Caramon growled, shoving her back. She held firm, though. He whirled, furious. "I said let go!"

"Not a chance," Dezra replied. "Stop and use that thick head of yours. Didn't you hear what he just said? The Skorenoi are out there."

"And they've got Borlos," Caramon growled. "I've got to go help him."

"How?" Dezra snapped. "By lumbering off into the dark, so they can get you too? We need to think, or we'll end up dead-and they'll get the axe."

"What do you suggest?" Caramon snapped.

Dezra peered into the night, her brow furrowing. "Give me a moment. It would help if we knew where they are, and how many there are."

"Which we don't," Caramon said.

"Be still, both of thee!" Trephas interjected hotly. "There has to be something we can do."

"Maybe we can help," said a lilting voice, very close by.

They started in alarm, reaching for their weapons and searching for the man who'd spoken. There was nothing but darkness.

"Who's there?" Caramon whispered harshly.

"Ye don't remember us?" asked a second voice, a woman. She clucked her tongue in disappointment. "And I thought we'd gotten to be friends."

There was a rapid, fluttering sound. Then, suddenly, two small, elfin figures appeared before them. Silver moth wings sprouted from their backs. The companions stared in astonishment as the sprites doffed their caps, bowing as they hovered above the ground. "There," said the female, grinning. "Does that help?"

Caramon blinked. "Ellianthe?" he asked. "Fanuin?"

"Aha!" Fanuin declared, his green eyes glinting. "Ye do remember us!"

"But-" Trephas sputtered. "How… ?"

"Oh, we've been with ye since ye left our kingdom," Ellianthe answered blithely.

Caramon frowned, then understanding dawned on his face. "I remember now. I tried to say good-bye, before we left, but you'd disappeared. I thought you'd gone, but you were with us the whole time, invisible. Right?"

The sprites beamed. "Very good," Fanuin said.

"But why?" Dezra asked.

An awkward silence followed. Fanuin coughed. "Our da sent us along in secret, to see if the troubles in Darken Wood were as bad as ye said. Now we know they are," he declared, staring sadly at the battered bodies. "We were going to hie back home when ye left this place, and none o' ye would be the wiser."

"That was the plan, anyway," Ellianthe remarked. "But since ye're in trouble, we figured ye could use the help."

"We sure can," Dezra said. She smiled, thinking fast. "Can the two of you make yourselves invisible again?"

"Aye," Ellianthe stated, her chest swelling proudly. "Just say the word."

Caramon looked at his daughter, a smile curling his lips. Dezra returned the grin crookedly. "Great," she said. "I think it's time we found out what we're up against."

The rain finally ended. A cold wind gusted in its wake, scouring the battlefield. The companions huddled, shivering, as long, silent minutes crawled by. The wait was excruciating, but they'd resolved to stay where they were until Fanuin and Ellianthe returned.

Thenidor shouted in the darkness. "We have the bard!" he bellowed. "Give us Peldarin's axe, and we'll return him to thee!"

"Sure they will," Dezra murmured sourly.

"How'd they find out about Soulsplitter?" Caramon asked Trephas.

Trephas shook his head, scowling.

Suddenly, the buzz of moth wings sounded nearby. Fanuin and Ellianthe blinked into view, bobbing on the gusting wind.

"We saw them," Ellianthe reported. "Eight of those… creatures." She shuddered.

Caramon gestured at the muddy ground. "Draw it for us," he bade. "Show us where they were."

The sprites did as he bade, using their needle-like swords to scratch several circles in the soft earth. "Four with bows, four without," Fanuin said.

"All of them are Skorenoi?" Trephas asked.

Ellianthe nodded. "Aye." She tapped the last circle with her blade. "This is the leader."

"Thenidor," Trephas growled. "What about Borlos?"

Fanuin quickly added an X, off to the side. "He's alive," he added in answer to the companions' anxious looks, "but not moving."