Raymond E. Feist - The Complete Legends of the Riftwar Trilogy - Honoured Enemy, Murder in Lamut, Jimmy the Hand

The horse’s hooves clattered on the stones and the sound of ice cracking under its iron shoes filled the cold day’s air like a clarion of doom.

T HE RIVER WAS FLOODED.

Tinuva, with Dennis and Asayaga behind him, slowly slipped out of the cover of the forest, crouching low, and slid down the muddy bank. Tinuva disappeared into the high tangle of dried rushes that were coated in a glistening sheen of ice.

Crawling through the tall brown foliage, he approached the trail that ran parallel to the river. He could remember a time, centuries ago, when he would walk openly on this trail, ambling along on warm summer evenings and hunting in the autumn, the trees ablaze with colour.

That had been centuries ago, and of the elves who had shared those moments, nearly all had gone to the Blessed Isles, dead in the bitter strife with the moredhel. Mortality was something he tried not to dwell on, but even so he suddenly felt old, and wondered if it was somehow a foreboding, a warning.

He thought of Kavala. The settling of an ancient debt had been achieved at last. Although he knew that the death of another was something in which to take no joy, still there had been a terrible moment of satisfaction when he had seen Kavala come out of the mists, unaware that death was closing in at last.

Now was not the time to dwell on that, to let such thoughts divert him from the dangers at hand. Alert to every nuance of sound and scent he lifted his head, looking towards the far bank of the river. The water was high and the rushes were bobbing and swaying as the icy current scoured the river bank.

A stag, standing at the edge of the far bank, raised his muzzle, sniffing the air. He looked Tinuva’s way, then returned to drinking. Several does ambled out from the treeline on the far side to drink as well.

Good, nothing was waiting on the other side.

Dennis crawled past him for the last few feet, reaching the trail. It had once been a broad road, but was now weed-choked and abandoned. The coating of ice on the path was solid, showing no prints except for those of several deer that had come down for their morning drink. Dennis stood up cautiously, Tinuva by his side.

‘In summer you could cross here and barely get your knees wet,’ Tinuva said, shaking his head, watching as ice floes eddied past, swirling and tumbling in the current.

‘You mean this is where we are to cross?’ Asayaga asked and Tinuva could sense the trepidation in his voice.

‘It’s either here or we try and fight our way across the bridge,’ Dennis snapped, pointing back downstream.

‘We haven’t looked there yet,’ Asayaga replied. ‘You drag us off a clear open trail, run us through a freezing stream for more than a mile, and we wind up here.’

‘The bridge will be guarded,’ Tinuva replied patiently. ‘In the old times there was an entire moredhel village there; fishing was abundant, as was hunting in this region. Clan Raven once ruled this region; they were always cautious of enemies, from the south and the north. They erected barriers at both ends of the bridge, and constructed a blockhouse. Those who pursue us are Clan Raven, so we must assume the moredhel are back at the bridge, and they are up there in strength.’

‘Then we attack and sweep them aside,’ Asayaga announced. ‘We did it last night.’

‘That was evening, in the fog, and we had surprise on our side,’ Dennis snarled. He gestured to the swirling clouds overhead. Coming out of the pass they had dropped below the storm, so there was no longer a concealing fog. ‘There is no guarantee that someone didn’t get out when we took the pass. They might have been warned. Even if it’s open ground for bowshot’s distance all around the bridge.’ He fell silent, then added, ‘And if Tinuva is correct, it won’t be a small company waiting for us, but a full war camp.’ He looked at Asayaga. ‘I know you Tsurani to be fearless, but even you wouldn’t charge sixty warriors across an open field at a fortification of three hundred warriors who are waiting for you.’

‘Then follow the trail up the river,’ Asayaga argued.

‘Why don’t you want to cross here?’ Dennis asked.

The Tsurani bristled. ‘That water is freezing. You might be cold-blooded, but my men are not. It will kill them.’

‘Then stay here,’ Dennis retorted. ‘Follow that trail up the river. It will give out above the falls half a day’s march from here. Then jump off the damn falls for all I care, but my men are crossing here.’

‘We threw them off our track only for a little while,’ Tinuva interjected, ‘but they will be back on it soon enough. Wait here and we are pinned. But if we get across here they’ll have to back-track for at least ten miles or more to get over the bridge and by then we will be gone.’

‘Madness,’ Asayaga sighed.

Dennis grinned. ‘Afraid, Tsurani?’

Asayaga turned, and his hand fell to the hilt of his sword.

Dennis said nothing but Tinuva could see his barely-suppressed desire to have it out.

‘Asayaga. Would you let it be said that Kingdom troops dared something that the Tsurani could not do as well? I know you are made of sterner stuff,’ said the elf.

Asayaga looked over at him, obviously not sure if the elvish scout was taunting him as well.

‘I speak to you with respect for your prowess,’ Tinuva went on. ‘The crossing will be hard but it can be done. We run a rope across to hold on to. All men strip naked, bundle up their clothing and weapons, securing them to staves which they hold out of the water as they cross. The first across build a fire to warm the rest. Dennis and I shall go first, bearing the rope.’

Asayaga seemed to hesitate.

‘It is the only way, Tsurani,’ said Dennis in a calm tone, having suddenly lost the desire to taunt his enemy. Slowly, he repeated, ‘It is the only way.’

At last Asayaga nodded reluctantly. ‘I shall tell my men.’

He stood up and started back up the river bank to the edge of the forest where the two forces waited.

‘Tsurani?’ Dennis shouted.

Asayaga turned.

‘Let me guess. You can’t swim. Is that it?’

Asayaga turned away with an angry snarl and Dennis smiled. ‘Perhaps we could drown them all,’ Dennis whispered, even as he started to pull off his cloak, trousers, boots and tunic.

‘We will still need them on the far side,’ Tinuva replied. ‘Sixty additional swords will be the difference between life and death in the days to come. We still have to outrun the moredhel and then circle around to an open pass. I doubt if we can achieve that without a fight.’

‘And then what?’

‘Worry about that later.’

Tinuva stripped down, drawing his short sword to hack a sapling and trim it into a staff to which he tied his bundle of clothing.

Sergeant Barry came down, looking a bit absurd in his nakedness, already shivering from the cold. He carried a heavy coil of rope, the thirty-foot lengths carried by every fifth man in Dennis’s unit having been knotted together.

‘I hope it’s long enough. Got the end tied to that tree up there,’ Barry said, as he tossed one end to Dennis, who tied it around his waist.

Tinuva looked over at Dennis. It was one of the few times Tinuva had seen him naked and once again he was astonished at just how many scars a human could acquire in such a short life. A nasty white slash traced across his chest and just below the left collarbone was a knot of pink flesh from the arrow he had taken in an ambush the summer before. Both arms were cross-hatched with lines and his left calf was twisted and gnarled from a blow that had nearly taken off his leg three summers past.

Without comment, Dennis waded into the river, staff over his shoulder, and Tinuva could hear his sharp intake of breath. Tinuva followed, closing his thoughts, silently chanting the ‘Isluna’, the meditation to block pain, to disconnect the flesh from the mind.