Even when they saw elves gathering, shadows at the edges of the forest with more substance than most, the goblins kept still, for Gnash warned that these must have to do with the ransom or some treachery. Gnash knew how to let things fall as they would and pick his moment at the proper time. It must be told, though, that Gnash's army had a hard time keeping still in such proximity to elves. The wind was blowing out of the forest, and it hung with the sick-sweet stench of Qualinesti, enough to gag a goblin, if any had cared to risk his own head at Gnash's blade for making retching sounds.
And, of course, he had that staff of his, that magic.
Chapter 6
Like the hound who guarded her, Elansa lifted her face to the wind, the chill blowing not from the south now but from the west. It carried the scent of pine trees and snow. Fang pricked his ears, and Elansa filled up her lungs with that perfume: the scent of home. Nearby stood Brand and Ley. The elf had his back to the wood. Past him lay a stony flat known as the Notch for its wedge shape. Elansa traced the sketch of stone fences that lay on the land. Someone had farmed here once. Perhaps outlaws or goblins had driven them out.
Ley pulled up the hood of his cloak against the cold and said, "We saw the wagons, Brand. North on the road that runs alongside the edge of the wood. Two drivers, teams of four stout horses. The wagons aren't covered. We saw the weapons. Long sword-lockers, and we couldn't see what's in there, but we could see the shafts of lances and bows with the strings wrapped round. We saw quivers stacked like logs, filled fat. No place for warriors to hide in those wagons.
"We’ve been in the forest, and there's no one-birds, saw some deer-just the forest. Tianna went in as far as the glen-" He held up two water bottles, fat and dripping. "Plenty of that. I think they must have had some good rain or snow."
Brand looked past the elf, away across Stagger Stream. Not much water ran there, but Elansa knew this stream didn't have its source in the White-rage River. The head of this stream lay in the north, but farther west in the stonelands. That, she had heard Brand say, must be blocked by rock-fall.
"It's all right," Ley said. "Just the forest and the wagons coming."
Elansa turned away; hoping no one could see the blood move to her cheek, the flush of hope rising. It might be the outlaws saw only two wagons and their drivers, but she knew-it had to be!-that Keth wouldn't simply trust the ransom and his wife to two drivers. He would be here. Somewhere he was here, waiting to take her home. And before he did he would kill every one of these bandits.
She looked around, but carefully, as though she were but casting down her glance, perhaps afraid. In fact, she looked to see where weapons were-the knife in the belt of Arawn, Dell's bow and quiver, Brand's sword, Char’s throwing axe. On the ground, carelessly left beside the limping stream where it had been used to gut fish, someone's knife lay. Dull light wavered fitfully on the edge of the blade. In two strides, Elansa could have her hand on it. She didn't move. She simply marked it and looked away.
A small dusting of snow gathered white in the cracks between the rocks. The hounds that accompanied the outlaw band went with heads low, licking the stones. Over Ley's shoulder, Elansa saw Tianna standing. The woman faced the forest. Her hair blew back in the wind, a pale pennon of silver. Again, Elansa was struck by the elven look of her-the elegantly canted ears, almond eyes, silver hair. She stood taller than an elf, though, and there was something about her features, a lack of refinement perhaps, a coarseness that put Elansa in mind of humans. She looked away, as from someone’s shame.
"Half-elf," Char said. He cocked his head, his one good eye narrowed. "Bother you?"
Wind blew, grit flew, and Elansa smelled snow on the air. She thought the question impertinent from a dwarf whose own kin did not like to see their blood mingled with other races.
"It is disgusting," she said, and she didn't care who heard her. Soon it wouldn't matter. Soon Keth would come and fetch her home. No one seemed to have heard her, or if anyone had, no one cared.
Brand snapped an order, a simple word-"Spread!"-and his outlaws melted away into the stoneland, their dun clothing making them nearly invisible. The hounds padded beside, and Fang kept close to Char and Elansa. She did not look at the knife. She did not look at Char. She walked, a step, another, the knife gleamed. One more step, and she fell, hard to her hands and knees, crying out and hoping her cry sounded no less hopeless or weary than any other the dwarf had heard her make.
Char never looked around. "Fang," he said, and the dog hung back to make sure she wouldn't bolt.
Neither did she, but beneath her right hand lay the forgotten knife, once used to clean fish. She slipped it quickly into the sleeve of her blouse. Making noises to sound like distress, she climbed to her feet, the dwarf and the dog none the wiser. At Char’s command she went behind a tumble of boulders, great stones rolled out from the mountain a long time ago when the gods visited cataclysm upon Krynn.
"Stay," Char said, as he would have to the hound.
She did. From her vantage behind the pile she could see the road, rough and rocky. Upon it traveled two wagons, dust billowing behind. The horses struggled with the weight they pulled and the difficult road. Elansa held her breath, and she thought she heard one of the drivers call encouragement to the beasts. Gray-cloaked, she couldn't determine whether they were man or woman. That they were elves she only knew because they were her ransom-bearers.
Noiselessly, Brand slipped around the corner of the stones and dropped down beside Char. "Keep her here," he said, never looking at Elansa. "And don't trust her to the dog. Do it yourself."
"Aye, I got ’er. Don't worry."
The dwarf didn't have a hand on her, but Elansa could not doubt that should she try to break and run he'd drop her in her second stride, his throwing axe buried between her shoulders. She kept very still, feeling the blade of the knife against the skin of her forearm.
Brand stood, jerked his head, and Arawn stepped out from hiding onto the road. Together, the two walked toward the wagons, swords drawn, a fighting distance between them. Elansa’s heart beat hard, her eyes stayed fixed upon the wagons and the drivers. The wind changed, and she smelled the horses. She heard Brand shout:
"Hold! Right there!"
Horses snorted, harnesses jangled. One of the drivers called in Elvish to her team or to her companion. Elansa shivered, knowing the voice. Lindenlea! Her every muscle tensed, ready to leap. One-eyed but quick-eyed, Char grabbed her hard from behind, yanking her off her knees and onto the stone.
"Don’t," he said. "Fastest way to die."
She sat still, jarred and clinging with awkward fingers to the hidden knife. As though in despair, she drew up her knees and buried her face in her arms. Beneath her filthy green cloak, she let the knife slide into her hand and closed her fingers round the bone handle.
I will kill you first, dwarf. In her mind, she snarled.
But when she looked up again, nothing of what she thought or truly felt showed on her face. She composed her expression into one of anxiety and fear, arranging mouth and eyes into flinching as though she were an artist sculpting.
Kill you first, she thought, turning her face, only briefly, toward Char to let him see what she wished seen.
Horses snorted. One whinnied. Another of the drivers called out, a curse that humans might think was meant for the poor weary beast. "Stinking bastards," is how that would have translated into Common. Elansa’s heart beat hard again, slamming against her chest. That was how Prince Kethrenan addressed Brand and Arawn, though the two certainly did not know it.