Alliances

Careful to let nothing show on her face, Breetan stored the small jewels of information he’d let slip. He was indeed a Qualinesti elf, and a well-born one at that, judging from his voice and vocabulary.

“I will deliver your message. It will be your death warrant.”

He was master of himself once more. “Murder affects only the living. You cannot kill the dead.”

“Very well, dead elf. Until we meet again.”

She picked up her useless crossbow and ostentatiously turned her back on him. Head high, she walked away, west toward Alderhelm. She crested a slight hill and disappeared beyond it.

When the Dark Knight was gone, Porthios slid from the tall boulder to the ground. He clapped his hands once and the bushes on the east side of the clearing disgorged eight Kagonesti. They were covered from head to toe in borrowed greenery. Their faces and hands were smeared with malachite paste, staining them dark blue-green. Even standing in plain sight, they were hard to recognize as persons and not foliage.

“She’ll bring many soldiers, Great Lord,” said one of the camouflaged elves, the tarnished silver torque around his neck the only sign of rank.

“I hope so, Nalaryn.”

Porthios pushed back his hood. Despite the warming temperature, he did not remove the mask. “The more force our young whip brings here, the better for my plan.”

Nalaryn whistled, drawing more green phantoms from the woods. They set to cleaning the site, removing every item left by the Nerakans. In part, it was to preserve an air of mystery, to deny the enemy clues to their methods, but it also served to supplement their own stores. Every scrap of metal and leather was precious.

“How are the prisoners?” Porthios asked.

“Cowed, Great Lord.”

Porthios followed the Kagonesti chief into the brush. Twenty yards off the north road, they came upon seven Nerakan soldiers, bound hand and foot, sitting in the undergrowth. All were blindfolded. The knight’s fine horse was tied nearby, another green-camouflaged Kagonesti standing by its head.

“Who is senior here?” Porthios asked. One soldier grunted through his gag. At Porthios’s nod, he was hauled to his feet and the gag and blindfold removed. Porthios asked his name and rank.

“Jeralund of Werim, sergeant of the garrison of Alderhelm.”

“You should have stayed in Ergoth, Sergeant,” Porthios said. “Your lives have been spared, but if any one of you offers the slightest resistance, all will be slain. Do you understand? If one of you errs, all will suffer.”

The sergeant nodded. “What do you intend? None of us has rank enough to be ransomed.”

“I’m not after ransom, but I do expect to turn a profit on you. We are going to Bianost, called by the scum who infest it ‘Samustal.’

“What’s in Samustal?” Jeralund asked before his gag was restored.

“A great many evils, including, unfortunately for you, a slave market.”

The captives were hauled to their feet and their blindfolds removed. Each man’s bound wrists were joined to those of the man behind and before by vines, then the group was led out of the morning-bright clearing and into the shadowed forest. Their Kagonesti captors were each armed with along, willowy spear, stone-headed maul, or light bow. Several had metal daggers gleaned from captured Nerakans. Most sported necklaces of goblin teeth. Some were female, although the distinction was difficult to make, what with the face paint, long hair, and lean physiques.

Since his fateful encounter in the forest, Porthios had begun putting into action the lessons the god had imparted. The most difficult part had been making contact with the elusive Wilder elves. They avoided Silvanesti and Qualinesti alike, regarding their city-dwelling cousins as arrogant, effete, and nearly as treacherous as humans.

Many Kagonesti had spurned him, calling him a soulless ghost who would lead them to ruin. Then he met Nalaryn. A former scout for the Qualinesti army, Nalaryn was more worldly than his fellows. When Porthios explained his purpose, Nalaryn readily agreed to join in. That had been the first step forward on Porthios’s long journey.

Twenty-three of Nalaryn’s clan, fourteen males and nine females, had followed their chief. They made up Porthios’s small army.

There were few greater horrors for elves than bondage. Samuval had declared all free elves in Qualinesti to be rebels, condemning them to slavery whenever and wherever they could be captured. Several slave markets had sprung up. One of the largest was in the town of Bianost, which the invaders called Samustal. The town was ruled by one of Samuval’s most ruthless lieutenants, Olin Man-Daleth, who styled himself Lord Olin.