The Cleric Quintet: In Sylvan Shadows

 

Ancient Wisdom



"Hold! Hold!" Elbereth cried, splashing from the river and shoving aside the two elves holding swords to Ivan's throat. "He is no enemy!"



The proclamation caught Ivan by surprise. "Thank ye, elf," he said, grimacing in pain with every word. The black-shafted arrow was nearly halfway through his thick and muscled thigh.



The two elves, thoroughly flummoxed, dipped their shoulders under Ivan's arms and hoisted the dwarf the rest of the way from the river. "Away, and quickly!" one of them said. "The enemy will cross after us if we remain in the open." None of the weary band had to be asked twice to leave, especially since they could still hear Ragnor above the din of the rushing waters, back out of sight over the ridge, wildly bellowing orders to his soldiers.



Elbereth, most of all, looked back to that ridge. Never before had the elf prince been bested in battle, yet for all his complaining at Ivan, Elbereth had to admit that if the dwarf had not torn him from the fight, Ragnor would have killed him.



The elf prince left the river with that dark thought in mind.



The elven camp wasn't formally an encampment. Rather, it was an area where the shadowy boughs of every tree seemed to hold an archer, grim-faced and ready should the enemy attempt to cross the river.



Elbereth and his companions were met in a small clearing by welcome faces, Shayleigh and Tintagel, two elves that the elf prince had feared slain at Daoine Dun. They offered no smiles as they walked over to join the companions; they even frowned at the sight and smell of the dwarves.



"It is good that you have returned," Shayleigh said, her melodic voice more somber than Elbereth ever remembered hearing it. He stared long and hard at her, just then beginning to understand the depth of the defeat at Daoine Dun.



"Many have died," added Tintagel, similarly reserved.



Elbereth nodded. "Who tends the wounded?" he asked. "Lady Maupoissant's arm requires a new dressing and my" he looked at Ivan curiously for a moment - "my friend has taken an arrow."



Ivan's eyes widened at the elf prince's proclamation of him as a friend.



"Wow," breathed Pikel.



"Bah! It's nothing, elf," Ivan growled, but when he pulled away from his supporters and tried to take a step, he nearly swooned from the pain and found that the leg would not support him.



Danica was beside the dwarf in an instant, propping him with her good arm. "Come," she said, straining a smile. "We will go to be tended together."



"Two old and broken travelers, eh?" chuckled Ivan.



"Not as broken as the enemies we left behind," Danica pointed out. She noticed that Shayleigh and Tintagel had not relinquished their frowns, and she nearly growled at them as she and Ivan walked past.



"The dwarves are to be treated as allies," Elbereth ordered, "for that they are, and let no elf consider them otherwise."



"By whose command?" came a voice from the side, which Elbereth recognized as his father's before he ever turned to regard the elven king.



"Have you taken command of the forces?" Galladel snarled, moving to his son. "Is it your right to choose our alliances?"



Danica and Ivan stopped and turned to watch; Cadderly and Pikel didn't blink, but Cadderly dropped a hand on Pikel's shoulder to keep the dwarf calm as the elf king walked close by them.



Elbereth wasn't convinced that his father's outburst was even worthy of an answer, but he knew that the trouble would only increase if he did not face Galladel then and there. "I did not believe we were in a favorable enough position to refuse offered help," he said.



"I never claimed to help ye, elf," barked Ivan, wanting to put the whole thing back into a perspective that his dwarven sensibilities could accept. "Me and me brother came to watch over Cadderly and Danica, not yerself!"



"Oo oi!" Pikel agreed firmly.



"Indeed," said Galladel, putting his glare upon one brother, then the other. "Do watch over Cadderly and Danica, then, and keep out of my people's way."



"Father," Elbereth began sharply.



"And I will hear no arguments from you, elf prince of Shilmista!" Galladel shouted sarcastically. "Where was Elbereth when Daoine Dun was overrun? Where was my son while his people were slaughtered?"



For the first time since he had met Elbereth, Cadderly thought that the elf prince looked very small. The young scholar looked past the elf, to Danica, and saw that a wetness rimmed her almond eyes. No jealousy came over the young scholar this time, for he shared Danica's sympathy.



"Go off again, if you so desire," growled Galladel. "Then, perhaps, you will not be forced to watch our final moments, the destruction of our home." The elf king wheeled about and disappeared into the brush.



Elbereth stood long and silent in the deepening shadows.



"They'll not attack at night," Tintagel offered to the companions, hoping to break the grim mood.



"Darkness favors goblins," Cadderly said, more to continue the conversation than to argue the point.



"Not in Shilmista!" the blue-eyed elven wizard replied, forcing a smile. "Our enemies have learned to fear the darkness. They attack only during the day. Such was the case at Daoine Dun." Tintagel's voice trailed away meekly as he mentioned the fateful battle.



Elbereth said nothing. He did not lower his face, refused to dip his proud chin, as he slowly walked away.



*****



The night was extraordinarily chilly for late summer, and Cadderly was allowed a fire far back from the front lines. He took up his light tube and the book of Dellanil Quil'quien and began his task at translating, determined to do what he might to help the elven cause.



He became distracted soon after, though, by a night bird's melodic cries a short distance away.



A thought came over Cadderly. He placed the ancient book down and recalled the spell of silence he had memorized earlier that day. It was not an easy spell; Cadderly had known all along that casting it would challenge him. While he was glad that Dorigen had not appeared in Ragnor's camp, he almost wished he had found the opportunity to take that challenge.



"Why not?" the young scholar mused, and he slipped away from the fire, narrowing the light tube's beam to better locate the bird.



He recited the runes exactly, not sure of his inflections, but confident that he would omit no words from the prescribed chant. Several seconds passed; Cadderly felt a strange energy building within him.



It gathered strength and urgency, called for him to let it loose. And he did so, uttering the last syllable with all the determination he could throw into his voice.



He paused a moment. The night bird was suddenly silent; all the forest was quiet.



Cadderly clenched his fist victoriously. He went back to the ancient book, feeling better about the role he might play in the coming battles.



His enthusiasm was stolen soon after, though, when Danica approached his fire. The young woman's lips moved in greeting, but no words came from her mouth. She looked about, confused.



Cadderly understood, and he dropped his face into his hands.



His sigh, too, could not be heard, nor could the crackle of the fire, he then realized. Grabbing a stick, he wrote, "It will pass," in the dirt and motioned for Danica to sit beside him.



"What has happened?" Danica asked a few minutes later, when the noise of the flames had returned.



"I have once again proved my uselessness," Cadderly replied. He kicked his pack, containing the Tome of Universal Harmony. "I am no priest of Deneir. I am no priest at all. Even the simplest spells roll awkwardly from my lips, only then to fall upon targets I do not desire. I tried to silence a bird and quieted myself instead. We should be glad that the wizard did not appear at the last battle. We all would have died if she had, though no one would have heard our final screams."



Despite Cadderly's grave tone, despite everything around her and the pain in her injured arm, Danica laughed aloud at that thought.



"I am afraid to call for even the simplest healing spells," Cadderly continued, "knowing that they would probably deepen a wound and not lessen it!"



Danica wanted to comfort him, to tell him that he was the most intelligent man she had ever met and the highest regarded young priest in the Edificant Library. But she found no sympathy for his minor problems, not with the weight of doom hanging heavily in Shilmista's ancient boughs.



"Self-pity does not become you," she remarked dryly.



"Self-truth," Cadderly corrected.



"So it may be," argued Danica, "but an irrelevant one now."



"All my life -" Cadderly began.



"Has not been wasted," Danica interrupted before the young scholar could sink lower into despair. "All your life? You have just begun to live it."



"I had thought to live it as a priest of Deneir," Cadderly lamented, "but that does not seem my course."



"You cannot know that," Danica scolded.



"Agreed," came a voice. They looked up and were surprised to see Kierkan Rufo approaching the fire.



Danica had nearly forgotten about the angular man, and seeing him now brought back many unpleasant thoughts. Cadderly sensed her sudden anger, and he put a hand upon her shoulder, fearing that she would spring at Rufo and throttle him.



"Some of the highest-ranking members of our order are inept at spellcasting," Rufo went on, taking a seat on a log opposite the low fire and pointedly avoiding Danica's cold stare. "Your friend, the headmistress, for example. Even the simplest spells often fail when uttered by Headmistress Pertelope."



Rufo's angular features seemed sharper in the flickering shadows, and Cadderly detected a tremor in his voice. The young scholar paid that fact little heed, though, more concerned with the revelation Rufo had given him.



"How can that be true?" Cadderly asked. "Pertelope is a leader among the order. How could she have attained such heights as headmistress at the Edificant Library if she cannot perform the simplest spells?"



"Because she is a scholar, as are you," Rufo replied, "and in Deneir's favor, do not doubt, even if that favor does not manifest itself in the form of clerical magic. Headmistress Pertelope is no pretender to her title."



"How do you know this?" Danica asked, and she had many other questions she wanted to ask of Rufo, particularly concerning his interactions with Dorigen.



"I heard Avery talking once," Rufo replied, trying to sound casual, though his monotone voice quivered with every word. "And I have been attentive since." He leaned back on his bony elbows, again trying futilely to appear calm.



Cadderly realized that a lot more was going on in this conversation, both from Danica's and Rufo's perspectives, than the casual banter implied. Passing moments did little to dissipate the tension; indeed, it seemed to Cadderly to be mounting in both his fireside companions. Still, Cadderly was relieved to hear Rufo's claims about Pertelope. He considered the words in light of his own experiences with the headmistress, and he had to agree that he had rarely seen Pertelope attempt any spellcasting at all.



Rufo stood stiffly. "I am glad that you have returned," he said, somewhat strained. From his pack he produced Cadderly's silken cape and wide-brimmed hat, the latter a bit crumpled. "I am glad," Rufo said again. He half-bowed and started away, nearly tripping over the log as he went.



"Surprised to see us, do you think?" Danica remarked when Rufo was beyond hearing distance. "Certainly our friend was a bit nervous."



"Kierkan Rufo has always been nervous," Cadderly replied, his voice sounding relaxed for the first time since he had discovered the failure of his spell of silence.



"You think it is a coincidence, then," Danica muttered. "And is it coincidence that Dorigen knew of him?"



"She may have learned of Rufo from the same source who told her of us," Cadderly reasoned.



"Indeed," the young woman agreed, and her wry tone shifted the connotation of Cadderly's own words to sound like an accusation against their angular companion. "Indeed."



*****



Cadderly awakened to the sounds of battle shortly past dawn. He fumbled about his pack for his spindle-disks, grabbed his walking stick, and rushed away. The fight was over before he ever got close, with the elves successfully beating back yet another enemy probe.



Despite the success, though, neither Danica, Elbereth, nor the dwarves seemed pleased when Cadderly came upon them.



"I am sorry," the young scholar apologized, stuttering the words. "I was asleep. No one told me. . . ."



"Fear not," Elbereth replied. "You would have had little role in the fight. Elven archers turned the enemy back before very many of them even got across the river."



"And them that did wished they had turned back!" added Ivan, seeming none the worse for his leg wound. He pointedly held out his bloodied axe for Cadderly to see. Pikel, meanwhile, was busily pulling a clump of goblin hair from a thin crack in his club.



Cadderly didn't miss the appreciative stare Elbereth cast the dwarves' way, though the elf obviously tried to mask the look. "Go and gather your strength now," Elbereth said to Danica, then he looked around to indicate that his words were meant for all of them. "I must attend council with my father. Our scouts will return this morning with more complete estimates of the enemy's strength." The elf bowed and was gone.



Ivan and Pikel were asleep almost immediately after they returned to Cadderly's small camp. The dwarves had been up all night, showing some of the more receptive elves how to construct a proper barricade, complete with cunning traps.



Danica, too, stretched out to rest, and Cadderly, after a quick meal of tasty biscuits, dove back into the book of Dellanil Quil'quien. His translating had gone slowly through the late hours; he thought he had discerned the meaning of just a single rune. A hundred more arcane symbols remained a mystery to him.



Elbereth came to see them later that morning, accompanied by Tintagel and Shayleigh. The elf prince's grim expression revealed much about what the returning scouts had reported.



"Our enemy is more disciplined and organized than we had believed," Elbereth admitted.



"And the enemy wizard returned this morning," added Shayleigh. "She sent a line of fire from her hand, shrouding an unfortunate scout. He is alive, but our healers do not expect him to survive the day."



Cadderly reflexively glanced over to his pack, to the Tome of Universal Harmony. What healing secrets might he discover there? he wondered. Could he find the strength to help the wounded elf?



He looked away, ashamed, admitting that he could not. He was no cleric of Deneir; he had established that fact the night before.



"What of allies?" Danica asked. "Has the Edificant Library responded to our call?"



"There has been no word of outside help," Elbereth replied. "It is believed that the library could not muster sufficient force anyway, even if they could arrive in time."



"Where does that leave us?" Cadderly asked.



"Galladel speaks of leaving Shilmista," Elbereth said past the welling lump in his slender throat. "He talks often of Evermeet, and says that our day in the common Realms has passed."



"And what do you say?" Danica asked, her question sounding almost like an accusation.



"It is not time to go," the proud elf answered sternly.



"I'll not leave Shilmista to the goblins, but . . ."



"But our hopes here are fast fading," Shayleigh answered. Cadderly did not miss the edge of sadness in her violet eyes, a somber look that had stolen her vigor and heart for the fight.



"We cannot defeat so large an enemy," the elven maiden admitted. "Many goblins will die, it is true, but our numbers will continue to dwindle until we are no more."



To his own surprise, Cadderly abruptly broke the ensuing silence. "I have begun the translation of Dellanil's book," he said determinedly. "We will find our answers there."



Elbereth shook his head. "You have little time," he explained, "and we do not expect as much as you from the ancient work. The magic of the forest is not as it used to be in that regard, I fear, my father is correct."



"When will you decide our course?" Danica asked.



"Later this day," replied the elf prince, "though I believe the meeting is just a formality, for the decision has already been made."



There was no more to be said, but so much more to be done, and the three elves took their leave. Danica fell back to her blanket, squirming about in a futile attempt to find some sleep, and Cadderly went back to the ancient book.



He spent another hour, frustrated by two simple runes that appeared on nearly every page. If these two could take so much of his time, how then could he hope to complete the work in a single day?



He moved the book aside and stretched out, exhausted and defeated, filled with loathing for his own inadequacies. Cadderly the priest? Apparently not. Cadderly the fighter? Hardly. Cadderly the scholar?



Perhaps, but that talent suddenly seemed so very useless in the real and violent world. Cadderly could recount the adventures of a thousand ancient heroes, tell of long-past wars, and ascribe a wizard's lost spellbook after having seen it only once. But he couldn't turn the black tide from beautiful Shilmista, and now none of his other talents really seemed to matter.



Sleep did take him, mercifully, and in that sleep came a dream that Cadderly could not have expected.



He saw Shilmista under the light of an ancient sky, under starlight of violet and blue and crisp yellow rays, filtering softly through the thick leafy canopy. There danced the elves, ten times the number of Shilmista's present host, led in song by the greatest of Shilmista's kings.



The words were strange to Cadderly, though he fluently spoke the elvish language common to his day. Stranger still came the reaction of the forest around the elves, for the trees themselves reverberated with Dellanil's song, answering the elf king. Only a slight breeze wafted through this ancient vision of Shilmista, yet the great and thick limbs bent and swayed, synchronous to the graceful movements of the sylvan folk.



Then the vision was gone, and Cadderly sat up, awakened by Ivan and Pikel's thunderous snores. The young scholar shook his head and lay back, hoping to recapture that lost moment. His dreams were fast fading, only a blur, but he remembered the serenity, and the magic, acutely.



His eyes popped open wide and he scrambled for the black-bound book. Those unknown runes greeted him once again, but this time Cadderly threw aside his notes and logical, practiced techniques. This time, the young scholar used his emotional revelations, felt as Dellanil had felt in his dreamy vision, and sent his soul dancing as the elves and the trees had danced, their song sounding within him.



*****



"Get out!" Kierkan Rufo growled, banging his arm against a tree trunk. "I did as you demanded, now leave me alone!" The angular man glanced around nervously, fearing that he had spoken too loudly. The elves were everywhere, it seemed, and Rufo did not doubt that one of them would gladly put an arrow into him if that elf ever discovered the source of Rufo's dilemma.



He was alone in the forest, physically at least, and had been since his departure from Cadderly and Danica the previous night. Rufo could find no sleep an impish voice in his head would not allow that. Already the angular man appeared haggard, haunted, for he could not be rid of Druzil's telepathic intrusions.



What have you to lose? purred the imp's raspy voice. All the world will be your gain.



"I do not know what they are planning, nor would I reveal it to you if I did," Rufo insisted.



Oh, but you would, came Druzil's confident reply. And you shall indeed.



"Never!"



You have once betrayed your friends, Kierkan Rufo, Druzil reminded him. How merciful would the elf prince be if he learned of your weakness?



Rufo's breath came in short gasps. He understood that Druzil's question was a direct threat.



But think not of such unpleasantness, Druzil continued. Aid us now. We will prove victorious that is obvious and you will be well rewarded when the battle is won. Scorn us, and you will pay.



Rufo didn't realize his own movements, was oblivious to the sharp pain. He looked down in shock to his hand, holding a clump of his matted black hair.