Chapter 3

Coldhope, the Imperial League

Forlo roused from dreams of slithering scales and rushing wind, to the crash of splintering wood and pounding feet. Someone shouted something in a deep and booming voice, but he was still too groggy to make out words. Pain and nausea gripped him, though not as strongly as when the shadows brought him down. He opened his eyes. Gray light burned his sight, and it was a struggle to focus.

He was in Coldhope again. The greathall—lying, it seemed, on the banquet table. Shapes moved around him, three of them. Shedara and Hult, and a third. A strange-looking elf with long, braided hair and the garb of a savage—a merkitsa of the northern woods, beyond the steppes. They were not looking at him; their eyes were turned toward the door.

Groaning, Forlo lifted his head and saw the minotaurs.

There were eight of them: none shorter than seven and a half feet tall, massively built, encased in steel armor and bristling with axes and swords and huge, flanged maces. Their long horns gleamed wickedly, banded with bronze and ivory rings. Their lips pulled back into fang-filled snarls. Their eyes were yellow and red, cruel. Forlo had had a minotaur friend, Grath. Grath had been jovial, warm-tempered. These bull-men, however, were clearly killers, born and bred. They were the League's shock troops and craved only battle. He knew—he'd commanded minotaurs like this in battle, against the undead hordes of Thenol.

They will kill us, he thought. They'll gut us and stake our heads for the crows. If they carried crossbows, we'd be dead already.

"Easy, now," he murmured in Elvish, not daring to take his eyes of the bull-men. "No rash moves. We can't handle this many—not in the state we're in."

The others heard him and looked down, surprised. Forlo struggled to sit up, the pain in his belly running through him like sheets of fire. Hult grabbed him, helped him rise. The strange elf—he must have been the archer who'd saved their lives—said something, reaching out to stop him, but Hult warned him away with a word in the Uigan tongue. Forlo almost blacked out, but struggled to his feet. He looked at the minotaurs, glaring at them from across the room. They watched him, their red eyes narrow.

"Shedara. Weapons away," he said. "Tell the others."

Slowly, carefully, Shedara sheathed her dagger then showed her empty hands. The merkitsa did the same, saying something in Uigan to Hult, who frowned and followed suit. Forlo looked down to inspect the bandages on his leg and stomach. Whatever treated his wounds, it felt like it was working: his injuries throbbed but also tingled a little. Magic? Probably. He wondered who had tended him. He suspected the wild elf.

Warily, Forlo faced the minotaurs. His hand went to his side, found his scabbard empty. He glanced at Hult, whose eyes flicked back to the table. Looking, Forlo saw his sword resting near where he'd lain. Forlo met the boy's gaze: while they didn't understand each other's speech, they were both warriors, and he knew Hult understood. If things go wrong, his look said, I'll need that blade quickly. Hult nodded.

All right.

Forlo stepped forward, limping on his injured leg. "All is well, friends," he said. "We do not wish for trouble. All we want is to be left in peace."

One of the minotaurs moved ahead of the others. His breastplate was etched with crossed spears, marking him as an officer. He raised a huge, spiked hammer, then brought it down on an ornately carved, teak chair. It shattered, sending pieces flying every which way. Forlo gritted his teeth, remembering how he and Essana had searched for just such a chair, haggled over the price, and proudly brought it home to this room, but he held his temper.

"We are the Fourth Legion," rumbled the bull-man. His fur was a deep, rust color, patched with cream on the snout and forearms. He hefted his maul like it was a willow-switch. "We will say how we will leave you… if we leave you at all."

Forlo knew this act well enough. He'd lived among minotaurs most of his life. They tried to act as fearsome as possible, as early as possible in any encounter, to intimidate those they spoke to. If you backed down, if you let them scare you, they won the upper hand. These ones did scare him a little, but he refused to show fear. He nudged a broken chair leg with his foot, kicked it away.

"I know you're the Fourth, soldier," he said. "I recognize your colors. And you should know that I am Barreth Forlo, lord of this manor, and a marshal of the Sixth Legion. I don't think it will go over well with your captain if he learns you broke down my door, then started smashing furniture and threatening me and my guests."

The minotaur blinked. He hadn't expected to be spoken to this way, clearly. After a few moments, though, his eyes narrowed, and one corner of his lip curled into a sneer. He hawked and spat at Forlo's feet.

"That to you, and the Sixth!" he barked. Behind him, the other minotaurs chuckled. "Your threats are empty. Our captain would laugh to hear them! We are glad to make your acquaintance, Barreth Forlo, lord of the manor—for we have come here not to honor you, but to bring you to Kristophan in chains!"

"What?" Shedara blurted.

Forlo risked a glance at the others. Hult and Shedara were confused, but his third companion seemed to understand. The wild elf's fingers twitched near the hilt of his sword. He wanted a fight but held back. For now. Forlo could tell he would draw steel and leap to battle in an instant, when the need came.

He turned back to the minotaurs. "In irons? That's preposterous! Who are you? Who is your commander?"

"I am Brosh, lieutenant of the Blood Horn Company," declared the bull-man with an arrogant toss of his huge, horned head. "I report to Marshal Omat of the Fourth. And I place you under arrest, lord, for deserting your post after the Battle of the Lost Road."

"I didn't desert," Forlo replied. He didn't have time for this, not from minotaurs such as those he'd led in the wars. "I left my men under the command of Captain Culos. You can ask him. I came back here to find my wife."

"Enough!" thundered Brosh, pointing his hammer at Hult and the wild elf. "If you are no traitor, why do you keep company with Uigan and elven scum?"

The merkitsa drew his sword again.

"No man speaks to me that way," the wild elf snapped. "Much less cattle."

Forlo shut his eyes, blowing a long breath out his nose. Great.

A couple of the minotaurs barked approving laughs at the elf's brazenness, but Brosh silenced them with a look. He stepped forward; against all better judgment, Forlo didn't edge back. He knew better than to show weakness now.

"What pretty hair you have, elf," the bull-man sneered. "Your scalp will look fine, hanging from my battle-standard."

"And wine will taste all the sweeter when I drink it from your horn," Eldako snapped back.

"Shut up, damn it," Shedara muttered.

It was too late, though: Brosh's nostrils flared wide with rage. He pawed the ground, his hands twisting around the thick haft of his hammer. The wild elf held his sword firmly in reply, shifting onto the balls of his feet. It was said the merkitsa fought like dancers, even more graceful then the civilized elves of Armach. But graceful or not, he'd be just as dead if the mallet found his skull. Snorting, Brosh strode forward.

Forlo had tried reasoning. That hadn't worked. So there wasn't much else to do. He shouted to Hult, who grabbed up his sword and tossed it into Forlo's waiting hand. Shedara was even quicker, though: as he was bringing his blade around, she reached to her belt, plucked a throwing knife from its sheath, and side-armed it at Brosh.

The minotaur, whose eyes were fixed on the merkitsa, didn't see the dagger coming until it was too late. The blade pierced the base of his jaw, driving deep into his neck. Brosh stopped, baring a snarl full of sharp fangs, then took a single, shaky step before dropping his hammer and crashing headlong to the floor. He lay still, his spine severed clean through.

"Khot," swore one of the minotaurs.

Forlo, for one, agreed. He looked at Brosh, then at Shedara, and gave her an appreciative nod. Then it was the wild elf's turn. With a shrill cry, he sprang at the remaining bull-men, sword raised high. It caught them flat-flooted; they stumbled back, still stunned by how suddenly their commander had fallen.

The companions had the advantage, but only for the moment. The remaining minotaurs spread out to meet them, recovering from the momentary surprise. They started their axes moving, spinning them in wide, whistling arcs that never stopped. There was no parrying weapons like those; you could either dodge or lose an arm… or a head.

"A good throw," said the wild elf, as Shedara drew her sword.

"Thanks," she answered, then over her shoulder said, "Barreth, this is Eldako of the Dreaming Green. He's a friend of Hult's. Eldako, Barreth Forlo."

"You saved my life," Forlo said.

The merkitsa raised an eyebrow. "Twice. You may yet have the chance to repay me."

"We can't hold this room," Forlo said in a low voice. "Better if we try a fighting withdrawal, to the upper levels."

Shedara shook her head. "We'll be trapped up there."

"We're already trapped down here," he replied. "Better to keep things confined to close quarters."

"Hmm," she said. "Good point."

"We will hold them," the wild elf said firmly. "Shedara and I. You and Hult should flee first. Your injuries would otherwise slow us down."

Forlo wanted to argue with Eldako, but he couldn't deny the pain in his leg and gut. He couldn't fight well in this state—and neither could Hult. The elves would be better off if they didn't have to worry about their welfare.

"How long can you give us?" he asked.

"As long as we can manage," Shedara said, spinning her sword in lazy circles. "A few minutes, at least."

With a swiftness that startled even Forlo, Eldako launched himself at the minotaurs. He hit them spinning, his sword snapping around once, twice. Red ribbons flew from one of the bull-men, his throat and stomach sliced open with lethal precision. A heavy axe clattered to the floor, and the minotaur crashed to his knees. Eldako glided around the creature, and his sword whipped down, raking across the back of its neck. The minotaur's head came halfway off, and he collapsed.

"Mother of Astar," Shedara murmured. "He's good."

Then she joined in, ducking under a whistling axe, spinning so a second clanged behind her, then tucking into a roll that carried her right past her target. She came out of it on the minotaur's off side, a little behind. As he was turning to face her, her sword slipped up and in, piercing chainmail and sliding between his ribs. He staggered, grasping at the wound, and she jerked the sword out and leaped away. Clots of blood blew out his nose, and he fell bellowing onto his side.

"Go!" she yelled to Forlo and Hult. "Get out of here while you can!"

Forlo limped away, grabbing Hult and hauling him away from the fight. The Uigan protested, shouting in his language, but Forlo half-dragged the barbarian to the door before looking back. Eldako finished another minotaur just then, feinting high with his sword then dropping low and kicking him hard in the side of his knee. There was a crack, then a roar of pain, and the wild elf's blade went up and into the bull-man's gaping mouth, then jerked out and away just as fast.

Just like that, four minotaurs lay on the floor, dead or dying or too badly hurt to matter. But there were still four left, and they regrouped into a tighter knot—discipline taking over where sheer force had failed. Eldako sensed the change in tactics and stepped back again, his sword pointed at them. Blood dripped from its tip.

One of the bull-men turned and yelled. There was commotion outside, feet pounding up Coldhope's steps. Brosh had brought more men. A lot more, from the sound.

"Now we're in real trouble," Shedara said.

Forlo tarried in the doorway, watching as one of the bull-men swung a heavy mace at Eldako. The cudgel missed the wild elf by less than a hand's breadth, but it didn't seem to perturb him; he snapped his sword around in reply, and it bit into his attacker's arm, all the way to the bone. The minotaur's fingers went limp, and the mace flew from his grasp, smashed into the wall, and tore a tapestry from its mountings. The hanging fell in a tangled heap, and Eldako spun about, his foot rising and catching the bull-man full in the face.

Shedara glanced back and saw Forlo and Hult still staring at the fight. Her face turned furious. "What are you doing?" she snapped, then turned in time to evade a whirling hatchet. "Upstairs! Now! Don't wait for us!"

A fresh spike of pain drove into Forlo's gut. He grunted, pressing his hand against his wound as he doubled over. Now it was Hult's turn to drag him away, jabbering in Uigan and shoving him down the hall. Forlo staggered away from the din of battle, deeper into Coldhope's heart.

Up and up they went, higher and higher, toward the topmost floors of the keep. The pain in his stomach got worse. White and black spots exploded in front of his eyes. Every breath felt like sucking in razors. Still they lurched on, and the clamor of fighting died away behind them. Forlo wondered if it was because the elves had finally retreated or because they were both dead.

He found out when they reached the third landing, where a doorway led to a hall, which led in turn to Forlo's bedchamber. Where the black dragon had taken Essana. Hult was pale and breathing hard, his face pinched with pain. Forlo caught a glimpse of himself in a silver mirror, and felt horror claw at him. His face was green. Behind, he heard running feet, and he turned, sword rising, to see the elves pounding up after them.

"They're coming," Shedara said. "More and more of them. I cast a spell to grease the stairs, which should slow them down, but… there's no going back that way."

"Well, we can't go any higher," Forlo replied, leaning hard against a wall. "There's just the tower up there, and that's a prison."

Shedara made a sour face. "I know. You kept me there, remember?"

"So what do we do now?" Eldako asked. "Where do we go?"

"The bedchamber door is strong," Forlo said. "And it bolts from the inside. It will take a while for them to chop their way through."

The bull-men's bellowing was getting closer. Horned shadows played on the wall of the stairway. They were out of time; they needed more.

"All right," Shedara said, pointing at the bedchamber. "Let's go."

They ran inside. The bed was still in disarray from when Forlo had risen, early that morning. He'd slept poorly, haunted by dreams of his wife… suffering… dying. He'd expected never to see the room again.

The minotaurs reached the landing. Hult's strength finally gave out, and he collapsed against the bed. Forlo sagged to the ground as well, cramps wracking him. Shedara called to Eldako, who ran to help her bolt the doors shut. They were heavy, dark oak, bound with brass and carved with images of the keep, with its five spires. Shedara laid a hand on them, shutting her eyes and murmuring. Eldako stepped back, giving her a wide berth. His people used magic as well.

The bull-men hit the doors hard, even as she was uttering the spell. The wood jumped beneath her hand, and she nearly lost control of the moon-power that coursed through her—but she kept her calm, kept hold of the magic. They hit it again and again, with the dull, hacking sound of heavy steel blades biting into oak. Sweat poured down Shedara's face. Beside her, Eldako slipped in and thrust his slender sword through the gap between the doors. From the other side came the shriek of metal punching through metal then a grunt of pain. The assault relented, if only for a moment.

It was enough. She finished the spell, and the magic passed out through her hands, into the wood. Forlo saw the magic, a silvery lattice that spread through the doors, binding them to the frame, the floor, each other. The mesh of magic turned rigid, like thick cables of steel, holding them fast. Shedara stumbled back, breathing hard, and nearly fell. Eldako caught her, kept her on her feet.

"Thanks," she said, stepping away. She shook her head to clear it. "Good fighting back there."

The merkitsa shrugged, as if it were nothing at all. "You as well."

Outside, the bull-men attacked again. Axes fell against the door, slowly chewing through. Shedara stepped back, shaking her head.

"They'll break through eventually," she said. "It'll take time, but the magic won't do anything if they hack all the wood away."

Hult struggled to rise, breathing hard. He was soaked with sweat, and his bandages had slipped. Eldako went to him, helped him sit down on the bed, and inspected his wounds, muttering in Elvish. Shedara, meanwhile, went to the window. Forlo followed. It was open a crack, looking out on the rain-gray sky and the angry sea below. Forlo knew what she could see, for he'd seen the same sight every morning he'd dwelt at Coldhope: a long drop, hundreds of feet down to sharp rocks and churning surf. There was no way anyone could survive such a fall.

"Interesting," Shedara murmured.

The minotaurs kept chopping and pounding, yelling curses, alternately demanding their surrender and promising to tear them apart. Forlo couldn't help but grin at how poorly the two ideas meshed. Shedara glanced nervously toward the door.

"This one cannot run anymore," Eldako said, looking up from Hult. The boy looked more than half-dead, his eyes glazed with pain. "We appear to be trapped."

An axe tip pierced the doors, then was withdrawn for another blow.

Shedara laughed. "Bet you're thinking twice about having saved us earlier on."

Hult asked a question, wheezing for breath. It didn't need any translation. What are we going to do?

"I have an idea," Shedara said, "but first, you're all going to have to swear to trust me."

Eldako repeated her words in Uigan. Hult looked reluctant but nodded. The wild elf looked back at Shedara, his eyes gleaming. She turned to Forlo as the doors shook again. An ominous crack snapped across the room.

Forlo's eyes narrowed. "What do you have in mind?"

"We're going to jump."

They all stared at her. They looked at the window. They stared at her again. There was another snapping sound from the doors, and a twang like a broken lute string. The binding spell was starting to give way. The minotaurs outside raised a vicious cheer.

"Jump?" Forlo asked. "Out the window?"

"I know a spell," Shedara explained. "It will make us fall slowly. Like leaves. We won't be hurt."

Hult leaned forward anxiously, his face troubled. Eldako spoke in Uigan. The barbarian's eyes went wide. He shook his head, drawing back, and jabbered something. He bit the heel of his hand—a ward against evil, no doubt. Shedara rolled her eyes.

"If any of you has a better idea," she said, "say something now, before the gentlemen with the axes join us."

The doors were slowly giving way, they could all hear the smashing sounds. Hult looked at Forlo, then back at Shedara. His mouth firming into a line, he tried again to stand. He succeeded this time, but he was shaky, and could barely raise his shuk. Even so, he turned away from the elves and started toward the door.

"For the black moon's sake!" Shedara shouted at his back. "That way is certain death!"

"That is his intent," said Eldako. "I know his people. They do not trust sorcery. He would rather die with his blade in his hand."

Shedara shook her head then looked to Forlo. "We don't have time for this," she said.

Forlo's eyes flicked to the window. If they leaped from the window, the minotaurs would think them lost on the rocks below. And if their bodies weren't found… well, the relentless, crashing surf would explain that, wouldn't it? But he sympathized with Hult. It was difficult to trust her magic enough to leap out the window.

"This spell," he said. "You're sure it will work?"

She met his gaze, unsmiling. "My spells always work."

There it was. Forlo sighed, then looked at Eldako. "Tell him this," he said, nodding at Hult. "I'm staying with him. If he chooses to die, we'll die together. Or he can jump, and I'll follow."

The door trembled, cracked again.

The merkitsa spoke in Uigan. Hult stiffened, then looked back at them, aghast. Forlo raised his chin, challenging him with a look, and stepped away from the window. Shedara nodded, beckoning to Eldako.

"Come here," she murmured. "Leave him."

The wild elf wasn't convinced, but gave her the benefit of the doubt. Together they pushed the shutters open. Wind blew in, billowing the curtains, bringing cold, slicing rain with it. Eldako looked down, licked his lips, then heaved a sigh.

"I will trust you," Forlo heard him whisper. "The Abyss take you if you're wrong."

Shedara began to recite the words of the spell, which skittered like lizards through Forlo's brain. He felt the moons' power flow into her, cool and clean. She gestured, shaping the magic.

Forlo kept his gaze on Hult, refusing to look away. He put everything he could into that stare, silently telling the young barbarian that both their lives were now in his hands. He hoped he'd guessed right about the boy, that the strange, protective urge he felt toward Forlo would be strong enough to overcome his pride. Hult stared back, stubborn, angry… but nervous too.

"Stay," Forlo said, "or go. Choose."

The door cracked. It began to come apart. The minotaurs cheered again, raucous, thirsting for blood.

The magic burned bright, flaring all around Shedara. She caught it, then reached out and touched Eldako's forehead. He shuddered as power flowed into him.

"Go," she said.

He frowned. "But you—"

"Now!"

He jerked back, surprised by the shrillness of her cry. Then, sheathing his sword, he stepped up onto the windowsill. Forlo turned to watch. The wild elf's braids blew wildly behind him. Murmuring a prayer to his people's gods, he leaped out into nothingness…

… and fell…

… and stopped. He hung in the air, buoyed by the wind, and for a moment Forlo worried he might actually blow back into the room. Then the gust slacked off, however, and Eldako began to float slowly downward. The last thing Forlo saw before he disappeared from sight were his eyes, which were wide with wonder.

He glanced back again at Hult. The Uigan remained where he stood, but now he was staring at the window. He looked away sharply, his face reddening. Shedara shook her head, annoyed.

"Last chance," she said and cast the spell again—first on herself, then a second time, on Forlo. When it was done, she stepped onto the sill, starting to hoist herself up.

Hult looked at Forlo. Forlo looked at Hult. The barbarian's eyes filled with venom. Then he stepped forward. "Tak!" he called, raising a hand.

Wait.

Shedara looked back and couldn't conceal her smile. Hult was furious, but she didn't care. He started walking toward the window, every step seeming to pain him. With a sigh of relief, Forlo followed.

The minotaurs bellowed triumphantly. Forlo turned and saw the blade of an axe lodged between two boards. It rocked back and forth, then jerked out of sight again, leaving an inch-wide, splinter-fringed hole. More of the magical bonds broke, showering sparks onto the rugs.

"Hurry up," Forlo said.

"Stay still," Shedara said. She tried to sound calm, but her voice broke. She was afraid. So was Hult. So, now that he thought of it, was Forlo.

The power was slow now—faint, sluggish. She pulled it in anyway, focused her will into speaking the words. She slapped her hand against Hult's chest, driving the magic into him. His eyes widened as it suffused his body. Then the elf hurled herself out into the rain, into the nothingness and over the waves below. She dipped, and the spell caught her. She began to float down.

"Come on!" she shouted.

Hult wavered, glancing back. With a grimace, he pulled himself up onto the sill. He stood there, watching her…… and didn't move. At the last moment, his courage failed him, and he balked.

"Jump, you fool!" Forlo yelled.

"Come on!" Shedara screamed.

He didn't. He couldn't. He watched, helpless, as the elves sank down, out of sight. When he turned back to face Forlo, his cheeks were wet with more than just the rain, and his eyes burned with terror and regret.

The pain in Forlo's stomach redoubled. He thought he'd been clever, weighing the Uigan's duty against his pride, never thinking there might be another factor. Hult was terrified.

Of course, Forlo thought. He fears the sea. How could I forget?

There was a thunderous smash, and the last of the binding spell gave way, taking the door with it. It burst to smoldering pieces. The minotaurs boiled into the room, a sea of horns and blades, surging through the shattered timber.

Forlo glanced at the window one more time. So close. They'd almost gotten away. But he might as well have been trying to reach the moon. He could never get to it before the bull-men caught him.

Khot, he thought, and turned to face them.