him.
“No,” said the elf, and then he raised his voice and said something in the other language.
As if by magic elves appeared from behind rocks and trees, at least twice as many as Kaspar’s band. The one thing that stood out most about them was their appearance; all were blond, had sun-browned skin, and the same sky-blue eyes as the magician. And all of them wore the same buckskin so that it was almost a uniform, save for a slightly different cut to a tunic or fringe on the sleeves. Some elves had feathers or polished stones woven into their braids or a warrior’s knot, and many wore their hairdown, long past the shoulders. Most carried bows, with arrows pointed at them, and another half a dozen carried staves. Kaspar was certain they were magic-users like the elf before them. After a moment he said, “Throw down your weapons.” Reluctantly the men obeyed, and Kaspar said to the elf, “We surrender.”
The elf nodded. “Gather your wounded who can travel, and come with us.”
It took a few minutes to find those able to move and render them aid so they could travel. A dozen men were too injured to move and the elf said, “Leave them. They will be attended to.”
Kaspar nodded, and when his men were ready, elves began escorting them up the hillside, along the same trail that led down from the cave Kaspar had used as his base of operations. As they reached a point where the elf had first revealed himself, a strangled cry from behind caused Jommy to flinch. As he started to turn, he felt a strong hand grip his arm. Jim Dasher said, “Don’t look. It’s easier.”
Jommy nodded. The men too injured to move were being killed quickly by the elves, and although Jommy knew it was probably kinder than letting a man die slowly from a gut wound or exposure, he still hated the thought of it.
Slowly the captives wended their way up the hillside high into the mountains above.
The rain continued.
CHAPTER 3
UPHEAVAL
P ug looked at the sun.
He shifted his perception through the visible spectrum and then into the other energy states he could now recognize. No matter how hard he tried, he could not find true words to express what he was seeing. He had been on the Dasati home world for two weeks, hiding in a complex of rooms under the protection of Martuch, a Dasati warrior and secret follower of the White. He had taken the opportunity to fine-tune his control of his abilities in this realm.
Nakor the Isalani, his companion and longtime friend, sat on another bench in the little garden, watching Pug. His charge, the strange young warrior Ralan Bek, was with Martuch, practicing his role as Martuch’sprotégé and mastering more of the subtleties of being a Dasati warrior.
Magnus, Pug’s older son, sat on the bench beside his father, lost in his own thoughts as the three magicians contemplated their mission. He trusted his father implicitly, but still had no idea what had brought them into this dark realm, to a place to which no human had ever traveled, seeking only his father knew what. Magnus recognized the threat posed by the Dasati, yet he had no concept of what they could possibly accomplish here, on a world an unimaginable distance from home. Distance, he corrected himself, was meaningless in discussing where they were. There was a good deal of proof that this world would have a twin in their own universe, perhaps even a world known to Magnus, but how they would get home to their own plane of reality was beyond Magnus’s understanding.
That last awareness sparked concerns in the young magician; he was, after his mother and father—and perhaps Nakor—the most powerful practitioner of magic on the world of Midkemia, and someday would most likely surpass even them. But for all his ability, talent, and knowledge, he had no idea how they would return. He had tried to understand the nature of the magic employed to bring them here, and bits of it were…familiar, echoing things he knew about transporting the body from
“No,” said the elf, and then he raised his voice and said something in the other language.
As if by magic elves appeared from behind rocks and trees, at least twice as many as Kaspar’s band. The one thing that stood out most about them was their appearance; all were blond, had sun-browned skin, and the same sky-blue eyes as the magician. And all of them wore the same buckskin so that it was almost a uniform, save for a slightly different cut to a tunic or fringe on the sleeves. Some elves had feathers or polished stones woven into their braids or a warrior’s knot, and many wore their hairdown, long past the shoulders. Most carried bows, with arrows pointed at them, and another half a dozen carried staves. Kaspar was certain they were magic-users like the elf before them. After a moment he said, “Throw down your weapons.” Reluctantly the men obeyed, and Kaspar said to the elf, “We surrender.”
The elf nodded. “Gather your wounded who can travel, and come with us.”
It took a few minutes to find those able to move and render them aid so they could travel. A dozen men were too injured to move and the elf said, “Leave them. They will be attended to.”
Kaspar nodded, and when his men were ready, elves began escorting them up the hillside, along the same trail that led down from the cave Kaspar had used as his base of operations. As they reached a point where the elf had first revealed himself, a strangled cry from behind caused Jommy to flinch. As he started to turn, he felt a strong hand grip his arm. Jim Dasher said, “Don’t look. It’s easier.”
Jommy nodded. The men too injured to move were being killed quickly by the elves, and although Jommy knew it was probably kinder than letting a man die slowly from a gut wound or exposure, he still hated the thought of it.
Slowly the captives wended their way up the hillside high into the mountains above.
The rain continued.
CHAPTER 3
UPHEAVAL
P ug looked at the sun.
He shifted his perception through the visible spectrum and then into the other energy states he could now recognize. No matter how hard he tried, he could not find true words to express what he was seeing. He had been on the Dasati home world for two weeks, hiding in a complex of rooms under the protection of Martuch, a Dasati warrior and secret follower of the White. He had taken the opportunity to fine-tune his control of his abilities in this realm.
Nakor the Isalani, his companion and longtime friend, sat on another bench in the little garden, watching Pug. His charge, the strange young warrior Ralan Bek, was with Martuch, practicing his role as Martuch’sprotégé and mastering more of the subtleties of being a Dasati warrior.
Magnus, Pug’s older son, sat on the bench beside his father, lost in his own thoughts as the three magicians contemplated their mission. He trusted his father implicitly, but still had no idea what had brought them into this dark realm, to a place to which no human had ever traveled, seeking only his father knew what. Magnus recognized the threat posed by the Dasati, yet he had no concept of what they could possibly accomplish here, on a world an unimaginable distance from home. Distance, he corrected himself, was meaningless in discussing where they were. There was a good deal of proof that this world would have a twin in their own universe, perhaps even a world known to Magnus, but how they would get home to their own plane of reality was beyond Magnus’s understanding.
That last awareness sparked concerns in the young magician; he was, after his mother and father—and perhaps Nakor—the most powerful practitioner of magic on the world of Midkemia, and someday would most likely surpass even them. But for all his ability, talent, and knowledge, he had no idea how they would return. He had tried to understand the nature of the magic employed to bring them here, and bits of it were…familiar, echoing things he knew about transporting the body from
Similar Books
