Garet Jax came up against him, the terrible gray eyes as cold as winter. «That would be most unfortunate for you, Gnome, for the wolves would reach you first. Take a moment and think it through.»
The Assembly went deathly still. Weapons Master and Gnome faced each other without moving, eyes locked. In the eyes of the man in black, there was death; in the eyes of Slanter, hesitation. But the Gnome did not back away. He stood where he was, seething with anger, trapped in a snare of his own making. Slowly his gaze shifted to find Jair, and in that instant the Valeman actually found himself feeling sorry for the Gnome.
Slanter’s nod was barely perceptible. «I’ve no choice, it seems,” he muttered. «I’ll take you.»
Garet Jax turned back once more to Browork. «Six.»
The Dwarf Elder hesitated, then sighed in resignation. «Six it is,” he declared softly. «Fortune go with you.»
Chapter Fifteen
Late the following morning, their preparations completed, the little company departed Culhaven for the deep Anar. Jair, Slanter, Garet Jax, Elb Foraker, Edain Elessedil and the Borderman Helt, armed and provisioned, slipped quietly from the village and were gone almost without notice. Only Browork was there to see them off, his aged countenance reflecting a mix of conviction and misgiving. To Jair, he gave his promise that warning of the Mord Wraiths would be sent to the elder Ohmsfords before their return to the Vale. To each of the others, he gave a firm handshake and a word of encouragement. Slanter alone evidenced an understandable lack of appreciation for the good wishes. No other fanfare accompanied their departure; the Council of Elders and the other leaders, both Dwarf and outlander, who had participated in last night’s gathering remained divided in their feelings as to the wisdom of this undertaking. More than not, were the truth to be made known, felt the entire venture doomed from the start.
Yet the decision had been made, and so the company went. It went alone, without escort, despite strenuous objection from the Elven Hunters who had accompanied Edain Elessedil east from the home city of Arborlon and who felt more than a little responsible for the safety of their Prince. Theirs was but a token force, after all, dispatched hurriedly by Ander Elessedil upon his receiving a call for aid from Browork and, until a larger force could be mobilized, dispatched in recognition of an obligation owed the Dwarves for their aid in the Demon–Elf struggle of twenty years earlier. Edain Elessedil had been sent in his father’s place, but without any real expectation that he would see battle unless the Gnome armies advanced all the way to Culhaven. His offer to join the company on their quest into the heart of enemy country had been completely unexpected. But there was little that the Elven Hunters could do about it — since the Prince was free to make his own decision in the matter — other than to insist that they, too, be made a part of the undertaking. There were those among the Dwarves and Bordermen who would have gone as well, but all were refused. Garet Jax made the decision, and it was supported by the others who comprised the company of six, even Slanter. The smaller the group, the greater its mobility and stealth and the better its chances of slipping through the great forests of Anar unseen. With the unavoidable exception of Jair — and he had the magic to protect him, he kept reminding them — all were skilled professionals, trained in survival. Even Edain Elessedil had been tutored by members of the King’s Home Guard during the years he had grown to manhood. The fewer they numbered, they all agreed, the better off they would be.
And so only six went — on foot, for the forest wilderness prevented any other form of travel eastward from the Dwarf village into the darkened woods, following the bend of the Silver River. Browork watched them until they were lost from sight in the trees, then turned reluctantly back to Culhaven and the work that awaited him there.
It was a clear, cool autumn day, the air sharp and still and the skies bright with sunlight. Trees shimmered in myriad hues of red, gold, and brown, leaves falling to blanket the forest earth in a soft carpet that rustled beneath the feet of the six as they marched ahead. Time slipped quickly away. Almost before they knew it, the afternoon was gone, the evening settling in across the Anar in dark shades of gray and violet, and the sun sinking slowly from view.
The company made camp next to the Silver River in a small grove of ash, sheltered on their eastern fringe by an outcropping of rocks. Dinner was prepared and eaten, and then Garet Jax called them all together.
«This will be our route.» It was Elb Foraker who spoke, kneeling in their midst to clear the leaves away, a broken stick tracing lines in the bare earth. «The Silver River flows thus.» He marked its passage. «We stand here. East, four days or so, is the Dwarf fortress at Capaal that protects the locks and dams on the Cillidellan. North of that, the Silver River runs down out of the High Bens and the Gnome prisons at Dun Fee Aran. Further north still lie the Ravenshorn and Graymark.»
He looked about the little circle of faces. «If we can do so, we must follow the river all the way into Graymark. If we are forced to leave the river, the path through the Anar becomes a difficult one — all wilderness.» He paused. «Gnome armies hold everything north and east of Capaal. Once there, we will have to watch ourselves carefully.»
«Questions?» Garet Jax glanced up.
Slanter’s snort of derision broke the silence. «You make it seem a whole lot easier than it is,” he growled.
«That’s why we have you along.» The Weapons Master shrugged. «Once beyond Capaal, you’ll be the one choosing the path.»
Slanter spit disdainfully on the drawing. «If we get that far.»
The group broke up, each member moving off to make up his bed for the night. Jair hesitated, then started after Slanter. He caught up with the Gnome on the far side of the clearing.
«Slanter,” he called. The Gnome glanced about momentarily, saw who it was and looked away at once. Jair stepped around in front of the Gnome and faced him. «Slanter, I just want to tell you that it was not my idea to bring you with us.»
Slanter’s eyes were hard. «It was your idea, all right.»
Jair shook his head. «I wouldn’t force anyone to come who didn’t want to — not even you. But I’m glad you’re here. I want you to know that.»
«How very comforting,” the Gnome mocked. «Be sure to remind the walkers of that when they have us all in their prisons!»
«Slanter, don’t be like this. Don’t…»
The Gnome turned away abruptly. «Leave me alone. I want nothing to do with you. I want nothing to do with any of this.» Then he glanced back suddenly, and there was a fierce determination in his eyes. «First chance I get, boy, I’ll be gone! Remember that — first chance! Now — are you still glad I’m here?»
He whirled and stalked away. Jair stared after him helplessly, both saddened and angered by the way things had worked out between them.
«He’s not as angry at you as he seems,” a low voice rumbled. Jair turned and found the Borderman Helt beside him, the long gentle face looking down. «He’s mostly angry at himself.»
Jair shook his head doubtfully. «It didn’t look that way.»
The Borderman moved over to a tree stump and sat, stretching his long legs. «Maybe not, but that’s the truth of it. The Gnome’s a tracker; I knew him in Varfleet. Trackers are not like anyone else; they’re loners, and Slanter is more alone than most. He feels trapped in this, and he wants someone to blame for that. Apparently he finds it easiest to blame you.»