“Be quiet,” said a small voice. “You’ll wake the whole castle.”
“Who are you?”
“Just a visitor passing through. What did they lock you up for?”
“I’ve done nothing,” Mathi said urgently. “I only arrived this evening. My reception was cordial at first, but then they threw me in this dungeon!”
“Not very friendly of them.”
The voice sounded like a child’s, but the choice of words and the irony of the tone suggested an older person.
Feeling less threatened, Mathi sat up and said, “Do you have a light?”
“There’s one of those elf shards up here. How do they work?”
Mathi explained you had to know the proper word to excite them.
Her unseen visitor chortled merrily. “Excite, huh? What if I tickle it? Will it work then?”
Mathi spoke the word she knew to activate luminars. Some owners had secret words to start their lights, but when she spoke the common word, the foot-long crystal began to glow, dark red at first. As it grew stronger, the color became pinkish.
The girl looked around for her unseen companion. She saw no one. The cell door was still shut and locked. Who had she been talking to?
“Up here.”
She looked up, spotting her visitor at once. Clinging to the wood-beamed ceiling was a small person about two-thirds Mathi’s height. He was dressed in dark blue woolens and had long, auburn hair tied back in a single thick hank. The little fellow’s feet were bare.
“You’re the least nervous elf I ever met,” he declared.
“I should have looked up first,” Mathi said.
“Why?”
“I know that trick,” she said, remembering her escape from Balif. “Few people look skyward when there’s trouble.” “I’m not trouble. I’m Rufe.”
She looked puzzled. He let go with his feet and swung down. Letting go with his hands, he alighted easily right in front of the young elf woman.
“Name’s Rufe. You can call me Rufe.”
Face-to-face, Mathi tried to place her odd visitor. He was apparently male with a beaky nose; large, pointed ears; and very big eyes. He was definitely the oddest specimen of elf she had ever seen.
“My name is Mathani,” she said. “How did you get in here?”
“I squeezed under the door.”
The massive door was so close to the floor that it scraped when it opened. Nothing as big as Rufe could possibly pass underneath.
Rufe looked around. “Pretty plain. The others have nicer rooms.”
“What others?” Mathi said, seizing on his clue.
“Some folks down the hall. Locked up they are. I suppose they must like it.” Apparently having satisfied his curiosity, Rufe gave a little wave and said, “Bye! I’m off.”
“Wait!” Mathi grabbed him by the sleeve. Rufe looked at her hand, shrugged, and twisted out of Mathi’s grip so effortlessly that she ended up clutching her own arm instead. Treading lightly, the little fellow was at the door before Mathi could say or do anything about it.
“Get me out of here!” she cried. “I am unjustly imprisoned, as are my companions.”
“Really? I thought it was because elves don’t take kindly to impostors. Ain’t that why you’re in here?”
Mathi recoiled. How had Rufe seen through her pose as Balif’s daughter? Shaking off her surprise, she appealed to his sense of freedom. “Don’t let me languish in a cell,” she pleaded.
“There’s not much to do in here; that’s certain. Unless you’ve got some imagination, that is.” He pointed at the luminar, white and bright. “Can you bring that with us?”
Mathi climbed onto the only piece of furniture in the room, the chair she’d come in on. Stretching up high, she snagged the bright crystal with her fingertips.
“I have it!”
Stepping down, she saw Rufe was gone, but the door of the cell was standing wide open.
Delighted, Mathi ran to the door. The corridor was empty. Where had the little fellow gone to so fast? Remembering how they had met, she checked the ceiling. No, Rufe wasn’t there, but she noticed diminutive footprints in the dust, many sets running in both directions. Either Rufe had friends there or else he he’d been roaming the fortress at will for some time.
Mathi tiptoed down the passage, holding the luminar at arm’s length. Even though they were capable of blindingly bright light, luminars were never more than faintly warm to the touch. At the next door she found, she knocked softly and whispered, “My lord? Are you there?” Getting no answer, she tried the next. On her third try, she heard an answering hiss from the door she’d just left. It was Artyrith. Mathi slid back the bolt and pushed the door open with her toe.
Two strong hands seized the front of her gown. She was dragged forcefully forward, losing the light rod in the process. Whirled aroundand thrown down, Mathi found a foot planted on her throat before she even had time to protest.
A face bent low over. “It is the girl. Let her up.”
Artyrith stood back. Treskan helped Mathi stand.
Lofotan said, “My apologies for the rough welcome. Since we were forced in here, we haven’t found out who has confined us or why.”
Mathi compared her experiences with the others’. Lofotan and Treskan had been taken exactly as she was, at the dining table. The strange gag paralyzed them. The old warrior and the awkward scribe were stripped of weapons and carried to that room (larger than Mathi’s cell), where they found Artyrith already a prisoner.
“Where’s our lord?” she asked.
Artyrith said they were separated when they were dragged out of the dining hall.
“Of more immediate interest is how did you escape?” said the cook.
Mathi described Rufe in some detail as she had never encountered such a being before.
“Sounds like the race said to be invading the eastern province,” Lofotan remarked. He picked up the dropped luminar, ruby red and failing. “It’s cracked.” He hefted it like a club. “We must find our lord at once. He may be in worse danger than the rest of us.”
They pulled apart the chairs and divided the sturdy wooden legs among themselves. Hardly fine weapons but under the circumstances they would have to do.
Lofotan led the way, club in one hand and the dying luminar in the other. The passage outside ran straight another twenty yards then ended on a sharp left turn. They tried all the doors along the way but found no one.
“This will take all night!” Artyrith fumed. He slipped ahead of the cautious soldier and boldly grasped the latch of the next door. He flung it open, calling out, “My lord, are you here?”
Balif wasn’t in the room. But eight elf warriors were. They had stumbled into a guard room.
“Oh, E’li!” gasped Lofotan.
Artyrith uttered a wild yell and launched himself at the nearest soldiers. They scrambled to their feet, groping for arms they weren’t carrying. All their swords and pole arms were neatly racked on the back wall. Lofotan propelled Treskan forward to join the fray, while Mathi hung back.
Swinging his club, Artyrith connected twice in two sweeps. Down went an opponent with each blow. Lofotan kicked over a stray chair and threw the dark luminar at his closest foes. Treskan flailed around a bit, beating the air but not hitting any opponents.
By then the whole room was engulfed in a wild melee. Artyrith proved to be a remarkably adroit fighter. He dueled with his length of wood as if it were a sword, besting one warrior after another. Lofotan was as formidable as his age and experience could make him. He wasn’t as stylish as the cook, but he made no mistakes. Inept as he was, even Treskan held his own in the chaos, keeping warriors busy until his more martial comrades could deal with them.
Impressed by her companions’ skill, Mathi stayed by the door. She was no warrior, and she was certainly not fit to battle eight Silvanesti hand to hand. Lingering in the open door with a chair leg held tight against her chest, she flexed her fingers, nervous but unwilling to join the fray. She did shout warnings when Artyrith or Lofotan were in danger of being outflanked. The Silvanesti soldiers fought bravely, but they seemed reluctant to do the kind of damage Artyrith and Lofotan were willing to inflict. Sensing defeat, one of the warriors decided to get help.