The Sword of Shannara Trilogy (190 page)

Answering cries came back a moment later. Jair and Slanter crouched low at the far end of the bridge, watching the battle before them as it swept into the dark and hearing disembodied cries rise all about them. The sharp twang of Elven ash bows sounded above the rush of wind and rain, and more Gnome Hunters began to die.

Then a single Gnome burst from the darkness before them, bloodied and disheveled, his yellow face frantic in the dim light. He rushed onto the bridge, a two-edged axe in his hands. He saw Slanter and stopped, confused. Then he caught sight of Jair and sprang forward. The Valeman stumbled back, trying vainly to protect himself, so startled by the other’s appearance that he momentarily forgot about the long knife he carried at his waist. The Gnome howled, weapon lifting, and Jair threw up his hands protectively.

“Not the boy, you . . .” Slanter cried out.

The Gnome screamed in rage, and again the axe came up. Slanter’s sword swept down, and the attacker dropped to his knees, dying. Slanter drew back, a shocked look on his rough face. Then he had Jair by the arm, yanking him to his feet and pulling him ahead until they were clear of the bridge.

Abruptly Elb Foraker appeared. Without a word, he dropped below the trestle bridge to where the pins that held it fixed were concealed. With frantic motions, he began to pull them free.

Renewed cries sounded from the center of the bridge. Booted feet raced onto the wooden planks and from out of the mist and night Helt and Edain Elessedil burst. Still upon the bridge, they turned, and the great ash bows hummed. Gnomes howled in pain in the dark behind them. Again the bows hummed, and more cries rose. The sound of running feet disappeared back into the night.

“Hurry with those pins!” Helt bellowed sharply.

Garet Jax appeared now, joining Foraker beneath the bridge. Together they knocked the remaining pins free, one after the other—all but two. Again the thudding of booted feet rang out.

“Helt!” the Weapons Master called a moment later, scrambling back onto the ledge. Foraker was a step behind him. “Get off the bridge!”

The Borderman and the Elven Prince raced from out of the night, bent low against the wind. Spears and arrows flew after them. Lighter and quicker, Edain was first off the bridge, springing past the crouched forms of Jair and Slanter.

“Now!” Foraker called over to Garet Jax.

They stood opposite each other, pry bars anchored in hooks fixed to the last of the concealed pins. As one, they pulled them free. In the same instant, Helt sprang clear of the bridge.

With a groan, the wooden beams wrenched free of their pinnings, and the bridge began to sink downward into the night. Screams rose from the throats of the Gnomes still caught upon its length, but it was too late for them. The bridge dropped away with a sudden heave, falling downward into the mist and the rain, spinning away against the cliffs until it broke free on the far side, dropped into the gorge, and was lost.

On the northern cliffs of the Wedge, six shadowed forms slipped swiftly into the darkness and were gone.

T
he rain stopped that night, sometime in the early morning hours while the members of the little company from Culhaven lay sleeping within a shallow cavern half a dozen miles east of the Wedge. No one knew exactly when it happened—not even Edain Elessedil, who had been given the late watch. Exhausted by the harrowing flight across the Wedge, he had fallen asleep with the others.

So it was that dawn brought with the new day a change in the weather. North, almost lost in the horizon’s bluish haze, stood the vast mountain range they called the Ravenshorn, and from down out of her giant peaks blew a wind chill with the promise of autumn’s demise and winter’s coming. Bitter and stiff, it swept the clouds, the rain, and the mist that had cloaked the Silver River southward, and once again the sky turned depthless blue. The damp and discomfort were gone. The sodden earth dried hard once more, the rain water evaporated in the wind, and the whole of the land came back into focus with stunning clarity, sharp-edged and brilliant in the sun’s golden light.

Once more the company marched east, wrapped close in their still-damp woolen forest cloaks to ward off the wind’s biting chill. Ridgelines and grassy bluffs flanked the Silver River now as she churned through her forested banks. As the six pushed ahead, the whole of the Anar spread away beneath them. All day the clustered peaks of Capaal loomed eastward of where they marched, jutting from out of the forest trees like massive spikes to pierce the fabric of the sky. Still distant when the day began, they grew steadily closer with the passing of the hours until, by midafternoon, the company had reached their lower slopes and begun the climb in.

They had not gone far, however, when Edain Elessedil brought them to a halt. “Listen!” he cautioned sharply. “Do you hear it?”

They stood silently upon the open slope, heads turned eastward toward the peaks as the Elven Prince pointed. Wind blew fiercely from out of the rocks, and there was no sound save its mournful howl.

“I hear nothing,” Foraker murmured softly, but no one moved. The Elf’s sense of hearing was much sharper than their own.

Then abruptly the wind seemed to shift and die, and a deep, steady booming came from far in the distance. It sounded faint and muffled, lost in the myriad twists and turns of the rock.

Foraker’s black-bearded face went dark. “Gnome drums!”

They went forward again, more cautiously now, eyes scanning the cliffs and drops ahead. The pounding drums grew deeper and harder, throbbing against the rush of the wind, rumbling ominously through the earth.

Then, as the afternoon lengthened and the shadow of the peaks stretched farther down to where the six climbed, a new sound reached their ears. It was a strange sound, a kind of chilling howl that seemed almost a part of the wind at first, then grew distinct in its pitch and fury. Lifting out of the distant heights, it rolled down across the mountain slopes and gathered them in. Faces glanced one from the other, and at last it was Garet Jax who spoke, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“There is a battle being fought.”

Foraker nodded and started ahead once again. “They’ve attacked Capaal!”

They climbed into the mountains, working their way through an increasingly jumbled maze of fragmented boulders, crevices, drops, and slides. The sunlight fell away as the afternoon died into dusk, and shadows lengthened over the whole of the southern exposure. The wind faded as well, and the chill it carried lost its edge. Silence descended across the land, its empty corners reverberating with the harsh echo of drums and battle cries. Far beyond where they climbed, through gaps in the barren peaks, great birds of prey circled in lazy sweeps—scavengers that watched and waited.

Then at last the company was atop the ridgeline of the nearest peak, turning into a deep and shadowed defile that ran through the rock into coming night. Cliff walls hemmed them in on all sides, and they squinted sharply through the half-light for signs of movement. But the way forward lay open, and all of the life among these rocks seemed to have been drawn to where the battle ahead was being fought.

Moments later they emerged from the defile and drew to a sudden halt. The cliff face dropped away before them and the whole of what lay beyond stood revealed.

“Shades!” Foraker whispered harshly.

Across a narrows, high within the peaks through which the waters of the Silver River flowed, stretched the locks and dams of Capaal. Huge, rough, and startlingly white against the dark rock, they rose high within the gathering of the mountains and cupped the waters of the Cillidellan in giant’s hands. Atop their broad, flat crest, extending through three levels, was the fortress that served as protection, a sprawling mass of towers, walls and battlements. The greater portion of the citadel was settled upon the northern edge of this complex and faced onto a plain that ran back at a gentle slope into the sheltering peaks beyond. A smaller watch stood sentinel at the near end where the peaks ran down to the banks of the reservoir and only a series of narrow trails gave access to her walls.

It was here that the battle had been joined. The army of the Gnomes stretched all across the broad expanse of the far shelf and the slopes beyond, and all along the trails and rock slides running down. Huge and massive, it surged against the stone battlements of Capaal in a dark wave of armored bodies and thrusting weapons, seeking to breach the fortifications that held it out. Catapults flung huge boulders through the fading light, which smashed with crushing force into the armor and flesh of the Dwarf defenders. Screams and howls rose up through the ringing clash of iron, and men died all across the length and breadth of the fortress. Tiny, faceless beings, they struggled before the battlements, Dwarves and Gnomes alike, and were swept away in the carnage that resulted.

“So this is what the Gnomes have chosen for Capaal!” Foraker cried. “They have put her under siege! No wonder they were so bold in seizing the Wedge!”

Jair pushed forward for a better look. “Are the Dwarves trapped?” he asked anxiously. “Can’t they escape?”

“Oh, they can escape easily enough—but they won’t.”

Elb Foraker’s dark eyes found the Valeman’s. “Tunnels bore underground to the mountains on either side, secret passages built for escape should the fortress fall. But no army can breach the walls of Capaal, Ohmsford, and so the Dwarves within will stay and defend.”

“But why?”

Foraker pointed. “The locks and dams. See the waters of the Cillidellan? The poison of the Mord Wraiths has blackened and fouled them. The dams hold back those waters from the lands west; the locks control the flow. Should the fortress be abandoned, the locks and dams would fall into the hands of the enemy. The Gnomes would open the gates and drain through the whole of the Cilhidellan. They would flood the lands west with the fouled waters, poison as much of the land as they could, and kill as much of its life as they were able. The Wraiths would see to it. Even Culhaven would be lost.” He shook his bearded face somberly. “The Dwarves will never permit that.”

Jair stared down once more at the battle below, appalled by the ferociousness of the struggle. So many Gnomes besieged the defenders of the fortress; was it possible for the Dwarves to withstand them all?

“How do we get past this mess?” Garet Jax was studying the drop.

The Dwarf seemed lost in thought. “When it’s dark, work your way east along the heights. That should keep you above the Gnome encampment. Once past the Cillidellan, come down to the river and cross. Then turn north. You should be safe enough then.” He straightened and extended his hand. “Luck to you, Garet.”

The Weapons Master stiffened. “Luck? You’re not thinking of staying, are you?”

The other shrugged. “I’m not thinking of anything. It’s decided.”

Garet Jax stared. “You can’t do any good here, Elb.”

Foraker shook his head slowly. “Someone has to warn the garrison that the bridge at the Wedge has been dropped. Otherwise, if the worst happens and Capaal falls, they might try to escape back through the mountains and be trapped there.” He shrugged. “Besides, Helt can lead you in the dark better than I. And after Capaal, I don’t know the country anyway. The Gnome will have to guide you.”

“We made a pact—the six of us.” The voice of the Weapons Master had gone cold. “No one goes his own way. We need you.”

The Dwarf’s jaw tightened stubbornly. “They need me, too.”

An unpleasant silence descended over the group as the two faced each other. Neither showed any intention of backing away.

“Let him go,” Helt rumbled softly. “He has a right to choose.”

“The choice was made at Culhaven.” Garet Jax gave the Borderman an icy stare.

Jair’s throat tightened. He wanted to say something—anything—to break the tension between the Dwarf and the Weapons Master, but he couldn’t think of what it should be. He glanced at Slanter to see what the Gnome was thinking, but Slanter was ignoring them all.

“I have an idea.” It was Edain Elessedil who spoke. All eyes shifted toward him. “Maybe this won’t work, but it might be worth a try.” He bent forward. “If I could get close enough to the fortress, I could tie a message to an arrow and shoot it in. That would let the defenders know about the Wedge.”

Garet Jax turned to Foraker. “What do you think?”

The Dwarf frowned. “It will be dangerous. You’ll have to get much closer than you’d like. Much.”

“Then I’ll go,” Helt announced.

“It was my idea,” Edain Elessedil insisted. “I’ll go.”

Garet Jax held up his hands. “If one goes, we all go. If we become separated in these mountains, we’ll never find each other again.” He glanced at Jair. “Agreed?”

Jair nodded at once. “Agreed.”

“And you, Elb?” The Weapons Master faced the Dwarf once more.

Elb Foraker nodded slowly. “Agreed.”

“And if we can get the message to the garrison?”

The other nodded again. “We go north.”

Garet Jax took a final look down at the battle between Gnome and Dwarf armies, then motioned for the others to follow him back into the rocks. “We’ll sit it out here until nightfall,” he called back over his shoulder.

Jair turned to follow and found Slanter at his elbow. “Didn’t notice him bothering to ask me if
I
agreed,” the Gnome muttered and shouldered his way past.

The little company slipped down into a cluster of boulders, passing into the shadow of their concealment to wait until dark. Seated about the rocks, the six consumed a cold meal, wrapped themselves in their cloaks and settled back in silence. After a time, Foraker and Garet Jax left the cover of the rocks and disappeared down the slide for a closer look at the passage east. Edain Elessedil took the watch, and Helt stretched out comfortably on the rocky ground and was asleep almost at once. Jair sat alone for a few moments, then got up and walked over to where Slanter sat staring out into the empty dusk.

“I appreciate what you did for me back at the Wedge,” he said quietly.

Slanter didn’t turn. “Forget it.”

“I can’t. That’s three times now that you’ve saved my life.”

The Gnome’s laugh was brittle. “That many, is it?”

“That many.”

“Well, maybe next time I won’t be there, boy. What will you do then?”

Jair shook his head. “I don’t know.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Slanter continued to ignore the Valeman. Jair almost turned away again, but then his stubbornness got the better of him and he forced himself to remain. Deliberately, he took a seat next to the Gnome.

“He should have asked you,” he said quietly.

“Who? Asked me what?”

“Garet Jax—he should have asked you if you were willing to go down to the fortress with us.”

Now Slanter turned. “Hasn’t asked me anything before, has he? Why should he start now?”

“Maybe if you . . .”

“Maybe if I sprout wings I’ll be able to fly out of this place!” The Gnome’s face flushed with anger. “In any case, what do you care?”

“I care.”

“About what? That I’m here? Do you care about that? You tell me, boy—what am I doing here?”

Jair looked away uncomfortably, but Slanter gripped his arm and brought him about with a jerk.

“Look at me! What am I doing here? What has any of this got to do with me? Nothing, that’s what! The only reason I’m here is because I was foolish enough to agree to guide you as far as Culhaven—that’s the only reason! Help us get past the black walker, you asked! Help us get to the Eastland! You can do it because you’re a tracker! Hah!”

The rough yellow face thrust forward. “And that stupid dream! That’s all it was, boy—just a dream! There isn’t any King of the Silver River, and this whole trek east is a waste of time! Ah, but here I am anyway, aren’t I? I don’t want to be here; there isn’t any reason for me to be here—but here I am anyway!” He shook his head bitterly. “And it’s all because of you!”

Jair pulled free, angry now himself. “Maybe that’s so. Maybe it is my fault that you’re here. But the dream was real, Slanter. And you’re wrong when you say that none of this has anything to do with you. You call me ‘boy’ but you’re the one who acts as if he hasn’t grown up!”