But the sight of that eerie sorcery reminded the bardling that he, too, had some combat magic. Granted, the song-spell wasn’t strong enough to hurt anyone. All it could do was confuse a foe’s attack. But surely that would help—if the magic would only work for him—
No, no, there wasn’t time to doubt! Kevin dove for his lute, for a moment terrified that his bruised hand wasn’t going to let him play. Forcing his stiff fingers over the strings, he started at full speed into the opening bars. His voice was almost too dry for song, rasping out desperately, and he knew that even if he did summon his Bardic Magic, it wasn’t going to last long. It didn’t even seem to be coming out right! But something was happening, because the whole battle was beginning to glow a faint but very real blue.
Oh, great. All I’m doing is making pretty colors!
“Damned sorcerer!” a voice muttered. Before Kevin could turn, a harsh arm was about his throat, choking him. The bardling lost his grip on the lute, heard it hit the ground—
Please, please, don’t let it break!
He kicked back and felt his boot hit bone. The bandit swore, losing his strangling grip. Kevin felt a jolt against his already sore ribs as the man tried to stab him but hit the mail shirt instead. The bardling pulled free, lunging for his sword, then cried out in pain as the bandit kicked it viciously away, tearing the hilt from Kevin’s aching hand. The sword came to rest wedged between two rocks. Kevin and the bandit both scuffled after it, but the bandit got there first, stomping down hard. Tb the bardling’s horror, the sword snapped halfway up the blade.
For a moment. Kevin and his foe stared at each other, frozen. Then the bandit slowly grinned, revealing a mouthful of ugly teeth.
“Too bad, boy. I win, you lose!”
With that, the man leaped at him. Kevin scrambled to his feet, looking frantically about for another weapon. Out of the corner of his eye, the bardling saw the bandit’s knife flash again, this time aimed at his unprotected neck. He twisted about, just barely managing to catch the man’s wrist in time.
But I... can’t ... hold him ... he’s just ...too strong ...
The bandit continued to grin. Slowly he began bending the bardling’s wrists back and back ... Kevin gasped as renewed pain shot through his bruised hand, and lost his grip. The knife began its plunge—
But then the bandit froze as a dark-skinned hand closed on his neck. The man’s eyes widened, gaping in sudden blind horror. As Kevin stared in sheer disbelief, he saw the man’s hair fade from black to gray to white. The leathery skin sagged, wrinkled. The bandit let the bardling go so suddenly Kevin fell, dragging himself frantically away as what had been a living man a moment before crumbled to ancient dust.
Naitachal stood revealed, eyes still blazing red from the force of his spell. But in those eerie eyes, Kevin saw such bitter despair that for a moment the bardling could do nothing but stare in helpless fascination. Then, with a quick flip of his wrist, me Dark Elf pulled up the hood of his black cloak, hiding his face.
Only then did Kevin realize what was happening around them. That last horrific sorcery had been coo much for what was left of the bandit gang. Yelling in terror, they fled back down the gorge. Lydia started to knee her horse after them, then reined the animal in again.
“Nah,” she muttered. “Not worth it. Everyone all right?”
Tich’ki fluttered to a landing behind Lydia. Cleaning her spear with a scrap of cloth from a bandit’s tunic, she grinned fiercely. “No problems here.”
“I am unhurt.” Eliathanis was disheveled, golden hair wild, cloak gashed and elven mail darkly stained, but his voice was as calmly formal as ever.
“And I,” added Naitachal softly. “What of you, Kevin?”
The bardling snatched up his fallen lute, examining it carefully, then let out a sigh of relief. “It’s only scratched a little.”
“Yes, bardling, but what of you? I saw how carefully you moved your hand.”
Reaction set in, as abruptly as though the words had been a spell. Kevin clutched the lute to him. trying to hide his sudden trembling, realizing only now how narrowly he’d escaped permanently damaging his fingers. Powers, oh Powers, Master Aidan had been right to warn him. He’d come so close to ending his Bardic career before it had started ....
“It’s nothing,” the bardling said gruffly. ‘Just a bruise.” He retrieved what was left of his sword, glancing ruefully at the fragments, then slipping them back into their scabbard. “C-come on, let’s get out of here before the bandits recover.”
“They’re not going to recover so quickly!” Tich’ki jeered, pointing with her spear at crumpled bodies. “But the boy’s right. Let’s go.”
“Wait,” Eliathanis said softly, approaching the Dark Elf. Naitachal stiffened, murmuring something in the elvish tongue that was plainly a wary question, but the White Elf shook his head. “No. Let the humans understand this as well. Naitachal, I have always believed that the Nithathil, the Dark Elves, hated life, that they cared nothing for any but themselves.”
“Well?”
“You had no need to risk yourself guarding my back. Yet you did. You had no need to risk yourself saving the bardling. Yet you did.”
“What are you laying to say, Eliathanis?”
“Just that I...” The fair skin reddened. “I may have been too hasty in judging you.”
He held out a hand. The Dark Elf hesitated for a long moment, then raised his own hand. As they pressed palm to palm in the elvish version of a handshake, Tich’ki snickered.
“Touching,” she said. “Now. can we please get going?”
A lilting call in the elvish language coaxed the strayed horses back to them. As they rode off, Kevin resolutely refused to look at the dissipating mound of dust that had been a living man.
To the bardling’s relief, the gorge widened again after a short time of uneasy riding, the stone walls dropping off into a tangle of greenery. Dazed by shock and exhaustion, he sank into a weary stupor, clinging blindly to the saddle, barely aware of the world around him.
“Hey, Kevin! Kevin!”
Lydia was calling him. The bardling roused himself, realizing with a start that night had stolen up on them. They were stopped in the middle of a small meadow, their horses grabbing greedily at the lush weeds and grass. “We’re stopping for the night?”
“I think that’s a good idea, boy, don’t you?”
Oh, he did, indeed.
Lydia, experienced traveler and adventurer that she was, carried a pouch of healing herbs with which she treated everyone’s cuts and bruises, including the bardling’s sore hand.
“Now let’s try to get some sleep,” she ordered after they’d finished a brief meal of cold rabbit and stale bread. “It’s been one hell of a tiring day!”
But for all his weariness, Kevin couldn’t sleep. He kept seeing death, and blood, and a man dying on the point of his sword, another man withering to dust .... At last he moved away from the others to sit wrapped in darkness without and within.
After a time a shadow stirred: Naitachal, moving silently to join him.
“What’s wrong, Kevin?” the Dark Elf asked softly.
“Nothing. I just can’t sleep.”
“You’re still thinking of the battle, aren’t you?”
“No—Yes—” The bardling broke off with a choked little gasp. “Naitachal, t-this isn’t going to mean much to you, I mean you’re a Dark Elf and a necromancer, you’re used to death and all that, but I... killed a man today.”