Somehow he knew this crumbling keep had to be linked to whatever was killing folk and forest creatures hereabouts. He'd felt it clear out along the coast road, calling him here … calling him …
He stopped and glared up at the mossy stones. Could a spell be at work on him, drawing him here?
He'd have felt any simple charm or suggestion … wouldn't he?
Abruptly El wheeled around and started back across the sagging bridge, heading away from the ruins at a steady pace. He looked back once, just to be sure nothing was speeding toward his back, but all seemed as quiet as before. He still felt as if he was being watched, though.
He studied the toothlike remnants of walls for a long time, but nothing moved and nothing seemed to change. With a shrug, El turned around again and headed back down the road.
He hadn't gone far when he saw it…out of the corner of his eye, expected but yet not what he'd expected… a woman watching him from between two duskwood trees. He spun toward the trees, but there was no one there. He turned slowly on his heel, all around, but he saw no watching human, or anyone flitting from tree to tree or crouching in any hollow. He'd have heard the dead leaves rustling at any such movement, anyway.
With a little smile, El turned back to the road and an unhurried trudge along it back to the coast road. He suspected he'd not have to wait long before seeing that face peering at him again…for that was what it had been, no gowned figure, but a head and a neck. She could even be a floating ghost.
If she was the Slayer, that could well explain the lack of tracks to follow or creatures for the High Duke's men to corner. The manner of slaying even argu…
There she was again, peering at him from a tree ahead. This time El didn't rush forward but turned slowly to look in all directions … and as he'd expected, that face peered at him from a tree behind him, back toward the ruins, just long enough for their eyes to meet.
He smiled slowly and walked back to that second tree. He was only a few paces from it when a ghostly face turned to regard him from high in a tree a good distance closer to the ruins. Elminster gave her a cheery wave this time and allowed himself to be led back to the ruins. The sooner he got to the bottom of this, the sooner he could be away from here before dark, and on about the main task Mystra had set him.
He went the other way around the walls this time, just to cover new ground, and found himself looking, through gaps in the crumbling stonework, into a vast chamber that seemed to have furniture in it. He moved carefully nearer through the tangle of stunted shrubs and fallen stone, peering.
"There!" a voice snarled…human, rough, and not far away. As Elminster ducked low and spun around, he heard the familiar hum of approaching arrows. The life those arrows sought was his.
Ilbryn Starym reined in at the sentry's startled yell and held up an empty hand. "I come in peace," he began, "alone…"
By then javelins were whizzing his way and men with hastily-drawn swords in their hands and fear and astonishment warring on their faces were leaping through the trees on all sides. "Elves!" one of them roared. "I told you 'twas elves, all along…"
The elf sighed, threw off his cloak with the word that made the world dark, and backed his snorting mount to one side. Its sudden jerk told him one of the javelins had found a mark even before it reared up, spilling him out of his saddle, and came crashing down heavily on its side…inches away from Ilbryn. The elf rolled away as hard as he'd ever done anything in his life. A stray hoof numbed his good hip and had probably laid it open, too.
Bloody humans! Can't even ride along woodland trails without getting jumped by idiot adventurers arrogant enough to pitch their encampments right across the trail itself.
Ilbryn found his feet, stumbled awkwardly away until he ran into a tree, and propped himself against it. The humans were blundering around in the little corner of nightfall he'd made, hacking at each other…of course, the fools!..shouting in alarm, and generally despoiling their camp and the woods immediately around them. If these were the Slayers, they were more than inept … no, these must be one of the bands of hireswords…hah! They thought he was the Slayer!
Right, then …
Cloaked in darkness only he could see through, Ilbryn watched the fray rage for a time as he caught his breath and peered around, seeking mages or priests who might have the wits and power to end his spell. Once he unleashed another, his darkness would fall like a dropped cloak…so he wanted that spell to be a good one.
Two of this benighted band of adventurers were dead already at the hands of their fellows, and as Ilbryn watched, a third met a screaming end spitted on two javelins. The stronger of his slayers ran him back against a tree and left him pinned to it and vomiting his lifeblood away. The elf shook his head in disgust and kept looking … there!
That man by the tent, bent over the scrolls. Ilbryn readied his spell, then plucked up a stone from beside his tree, measured the throw with narrowed eyes…and threw. The stone bonged off the pot and spilled it into the fire.
The man with the scrolls whipped his head around to see what had befallen, and two other adventurers came loping back through the trees, employing that most favorite of human words, "What?" in the midst of many oaths.
A goodly group. Now, before they all ran off again! Ilbryn steadied himself against the tree, cast the spell as quietly as he could but with unhurried care, and was rewarded, an instant before its end, with the human mage hissing, "Hoy, all…be still! Listen!"
The seven-odd adventurers obediently stopped their shouting and rushing about, and they stood like statues as the darkness fell away…and waist-high whirling shards of steel melted out of the empty air and cut them all in half. A few of them even saw the elf standing against a tree sneering at them.
The crouching mage was beheaded, his blood exploding all over the scrolls as he slumped forward into the dirt. Seeing that, Ilbryn didn't bother to survey the slain any longer, he was listening hard now for the sounds of the living. At least two, and possibly as many as four, were still lurking close by.
One of them ran right past him, shrieking in horror as he sprinted into the bloody camp. Sweet trembling trees, were all humans this stupid?
Evidently they were, two others joined the first, weeping and yelling. Ilbryn sighed. It wouldn't be long before even fools such as these noticed a motionless elf standing against a tree. Almost regretfully he sent forth the spellburst that slew them.
Its echoes were still ringing off the trees around when he heard the slight scrape of a boot that made him spin around…to stare at a lone, horror-struck human warrior three paces away, coming toward him with sword raised.
"You're the Slayer?" the man asked, face and knuckles white with fear.
"No," Ilbryn told him, backing away around the tree.
The man hesitated, then resumed his cautious advance. "Why did you kill my sword brothers?" he snarled, snatching out a dagger to give himself two ready fangs.
Ilbryn took another step back, keeping the tree between them, and shrugged. "You made a mistake," he told the human, as they started to slowly circle the tree, watching each other's eyes. "I was riding along the trail, at peace and intending no harm to you…and you attacked me, more than a dozen to one. Brigands? Adventurers? I'd no time to parley or see who you were. All I could do was defend myself. A little thought before swinging swords could have saved so much spilled blood." He smiled mockingly. "You should be more careful when you go out in the woods. It's dangerous out here."