The War Revealed (The Lost War Book 2) Page 8

  “Then we’ve gone far enough to find strangers.”

  “Thank you for shooting that wolf.”

  “I wanted quiet so I could go back to sleep.” Soft scrapes told of the elf climbing back to his branch.

  Newman took Goldenrod aside. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. We just sat in our tent with our knives out until it was over.”

  ***

  “Behold!” cried Aelion.

  The view was worth beholding.

  A wide waterfall poured over a sheer cliff made of blue and purple layers. A half circle of blue water sat beneath the waterfall in a basin of rock. The edges were bedrock, forcing the forest away from the lake. Sunlight reflecting off the rippling water made ever-changing patterns on the cliff face.

  “Build a fire. I’ll get some fish.” The elf stripped off his clothes and dove into the water. They could see him clearly as he skimmed the bottom toward a school of fish.

  Verbena muttered, “That was a memorable sight.”

  Goldenrod smiled. “Don’t tell Foxglove. She’ll be jealous.”

  “Really? I’d heard she was sweet on him. Did she . . . ?”

  “She’s sweet, but he’s gotta be twenty times her age, so no.”

  A six pound fish landed on the rock beside them.

  “Let’s get some firewood,” said Goldenrod.

  The lake fish were tastier than the river ones they’d been eating.

  Some of the hunters skinny dipped while waiting for their turn at the cooking fire. Goldenrod and Verbena considered plunging in but decided to avoid complications.

  “I come here every three or five years,” said Aelion. “It’s one of my favorite places.”

  Goldenrod nibbled on some roasted fish. “I can see why. It’s lovely.”

  “And that stream takes us straight to my village.”

  She followed the elf’s pointing finger to the top of the waterfall.

  “Newman?” she called.

  He joined them.

  “Aelion says we have to climb that cliff.”

  Newman looked up at the edge of the rock formation. Then back down at the elf. “Is there an easier way up?”

  “It’s not a hard climb. There’s plenty of hand holds.”

  “I’m sure there are. But we don’t climb as well as you do.”

  Newman walked over to the men at the fire. “Crusher, you’re on the sick list, keep sitting. The rest of you go a couple of miles each direction along the cliff. We need to find an easier place to climb up it. Lanyard and Rasp go right, Deadeye and Pritchel left.”

  They were all back in two hours. Verbena had taken the chance to extract a leisurely magic lesson instead of a short session before sleep. Neither pair found a better place to ascend. From their descriptions the lake was one of the few stretches without an impossible to climb overhang.

  “Well, that’s why we brought rope,” said Newman. “Let’s set up camp. We’ll tackle it in the morning. Tonight I’m going to teach harnesses and climbing 101.”

  The first step after breakfast was convincing Aelion to carry the rope up to the top of the cliff. He finally agreed saying, “Don’t ask me to carry any of you up. This trip wasn’t my idea.”

  The elf made a brisk free ascent. At a couple of points he sprang up to reach the next easy handhold. At the top he let the coiled rope go.

  It was, thankfully, long enough to reach the ground. Newman tied the few extra feet into a harness. Then he started up.

  He’d done some climbs on Earth where crumbly sedimentary rock threatened to give way under his fingers whenever he tightened his grip. That wasn’t a problem here. The rock was solid, hard, and unforgiving.

  Newman had to chin himself up some stretches. His fingers could fit into gaps his boot toes couldn’t. Aelion’s work on the rope was only barely a net benefit. The elf’s tugs were as likely to jerk him off a hard-won handhold as pull him past a smooth patch.

  “About time,” said Aelion as Newman crawled over the edge. “Here’s your rope. I’m going swimming.” He dropped his clothes and gear on the stone, then slid into the waterfall.

  Newman shook his head. He took a spike and hammer from his belt, drove the spike into the rock, then secured the end of the rope to it. He untied his harness and threw the rope down.

  Bringing Deadeye up wasn’t that hard. Newman found some gouges near the edge he could plant his heels into. Sitting down braced against the rock let him pull as hard as he could when Deadeye needed the help.

  Two men pulling brought Lanyard up easily. Pritchel and Rasp came up with even less effort. When only Goldenrod, Crusher, and Verbena were at the bottom Newman went back down.

  “Okay, this should be easy for you,” he said. “We’ve got four strong guys up there to hold on to you. I’ll do your harness so you’re secure. So up you go. I’ll follow with the rest of the gear.”

  Crusher could use his wolf-bitten arm. It just couldn’t take his full weight. He ascended slowly without slipping.

  Goldenrod had gone to a rock-climbing gym with Newman for their third date. He was confident in her abilities. Which didn’t keep him from being nervous until her feet went over the edge.

  “The bad news is you’re the shortest,” said Newman as he tied the harness onto Verbena, “so you won’t be able to reach all the handholds we did. The good news is you’re lightest so they can haul you past any place you have trouble with.”

  “Right.” Verbena set her jaw and headed up the cliff. She made it twenty feet before needing a boost.

  Newman had bundled all the tents and other gear into a single pack before breakfast. A few pounds of leftover broiled fish topped it off.

  When the rope came back down he tied a harness on. The sling holding his lochaber axe went on over that. Then he put the pack on. He started up. Second ascents were always easier. You knew there was a handhold. You just had to find it again. He envied the climbers who could memorize an ascent on the first try.

  The place he couldn’t find a handhold he remembered. “I’m at the smooth patch,” he called up.

  “Pulling,” replied Deadeye.

  Everyone had needed to be pulled past this spot. The rope pressed hard against the rough granite edge as they pulled. Each time some fibers had frayed. With the gear Newman was the heaviest load the rope had borne.

  This time it would snap.

  Newman felt his harness taking up his weight. He held firmly on to his handholds until he started moving up. This time his feet almost lifted off their holds before the rope broke. They slammed back down, one foot slipping loose from the jolt.

  Curses and yells came from above. Newman tuned them out. He held his weight with his hands until both feet were securely placed again.

  The rope slithered past his chest as it fell. Then the ragged end went past and he felt nothing until the tug as it reached its full length below.

  Newman thought, Three deep breaths, then take stock.

  No point in going down. I’d just have to come back up again.

  Straight up isn’t an option.

  I can go sideways until I find a way up.

  I’ve done ascents this hard without slipping.

  Newman looked left along the cliff. The straight expanse of rock was almost as scary as looking straight down. He spotted some hand and footholds in reach.

  The view to the right had fewer holds. The bottom edge of the smooth patch sloped down to that side. If he went far enough to the right he would be able to land in the lake instead of on rock. But that was farther than he needed to go up.

  A splash in the lake was probably the elf playing. No point in yelling for help. The waterfall would drown shouts out.

  He’d rather get out of this mess on his own than ask the arrogant jackass for help anyway.

  He went left.

  His arm muscles complained. One ascent, part of another, hauling up the other men, and a descent was a serious workout. Newman moved slowly. When muscles quivered he held pos
ition until the spasm was over.

  Carrying all this weight didn’t help. Newman thought of his knife. He could draw it with one hand. Cutting loose the rope harness would be a lot of work and not save much weight.

  The pack had two shoulder straps and a hip belt. They should cut easily enough. But when two were cut he’d get a nasty jolt as it flopped down to pivot off the third. Better to be safe.

  Besides, they needed that gear. And Duchess Roseblossom would never forgive him if he lost the axe.

  Newman kept climbing. He was working up and sideways now.

  I owe Aster an apology. He chuckled at the thought. He was climbing in her style now. Only one hand or foot moving at a time. Sometimes he braced his torso against the rock for extra support while reaching for a new hold.

  Newman glanced up. He was closer to the top now. Might make it all the way before his arms gave out. There was a head poking over the edge. He didn’t look long enough to see who it was.

  A disturbance made him freeze. It was a rope uncoiling past him.

  Deadeye called from above. “We checked the whole thing. There’s no more frayed spots. Grab hold and we’ll bring you up.”

  After the break trusting a rope felt like insanity. But clinging on with his hands wasn’t a good move.

  Newman reached out and grabbed the rope. He flipped it to his other side. Then he let go of it and reached under his gripping arm to grab the rope again. Hooking his elbow over the length above him forced the rope into a loop under his shoulders. The loose end had been cut neatly and tied with some threads to keep it from fraying.

  He couldn’t tie a good knot one handed. But he managed an abomination that let him slide the loop tight against his chest. Then he grabbed hold, pulling the rope tight. He wrapped it around his forearm and pulled. As the rope took his weight he let go of the other handhold and took the rope with both hands.

  Newman called, “Haul away!”

  They pulled him up at a steady pace. He used his feet to keep from scraping against the rock. At the top hands reached over the edge to pull him over. Then everyone held him, carrying him inland from the cliff.

  “Oh, your hands are bleeding,” said Goldenrod.

  “I’m not complaining,” answered Newman.

  Deadeye handled taking the pack off. Then Newman could rest while the others set up camp. He lay with his head on Goldenrod’s lap, not quite asleep but certainly resting.

  Verbena took Newman’s hand. The abrasions faded to healthy skin. Even the cracked fingernails flowed together. She passed her hands over his arms and chest. “Some strained muscles here. I can fix that, I think.”

  Newman let out a contented sigh as his shoulders and pectorals stopped hurting.

  “I didn’t know you could do that,” said Goldenrod.

  “A week ago I couldn’t.”

  “What’s with tents?” asked Aelion, still dripping wet. “There’s hours more sunlight.”

  Goldenrod answered for them. “We’re camping here.”

  ***

  As they came closer to the elf village discussions on how to handle negotiations dominated campfire talk. Aelion objected when he found out he was expected to act as interpreter.

  “Show up to meetings all day long? Somebody will kill me for sure.”

  “Well, how else are we going to talk to them?” asked Goldenrod.

  The elf reached out and put his hand on top of her head. White light flared under his palm.

  She bent over, singing out a string of words in an angry tone.

  Aelion sang back apologetically. He touched the side of her head.

  “You okay?” asked Newman.

  “Yeah.” Goldenrod rubbed the back of her neck. “He gave me a headache and took it away. But I can speak Elvish now.”

  “My village’s Elvish. Others have their own tongue. That’s why I learned the spell.”

  “Could you do that for me?” asked Verbena.

  “Tomorrow.”

  ***

  “There it is. Home.” Aelion’s voice had no note of rejoicing. Some of the humans perked up, more from the end of a week of marching than the sight of the village.

  The elvish village was a cluster of tall trees isolated from the rest of the forest. Platforms sprouted from the trunks in an organic fashion. Newman wondered if they were constructed or grown.

  The platforms were wall-less but roofed over with half domes sprouting from the trunks in the same manner as their floors.

  Most of the elves in sight weren’t doing much of anything. They stood or sat or lay in pairs or small groups. Probably conversing, but from here he couldn’t be sure.

  The ground between the trees had some tables and benches holding more elves. Newman looked for storage sheds or piles of goods. He saw neither, which boded ill for their mission.

  The space between the forest and the village was filled with garden patches, not plowed fields. He recognized many of the plants from what the gatherers had brought in.

  No animals. So much for the hope of begging a herd of cattle. Crusher would be disappointed. He’d been hoping to work this world’s first cattle drive. Too many cowboy movies.

  The nearest elves were hoeing in the gardens. They were dressed much as Aelion was, wearing vests and shorts. Some had hats. One noticed the expedition, or at least Aelion, and waved.

  Verbena waved back. Belatedly, so did Aelion.

  Newman asked the elf, “Shall we go say hello?”

  “Eh . . . better I follow you guys.”

  Newman shrugged. “Let’s go, folks.” He walked forward toward the elf who’d waved.

  Goldenrod moved up to walk alongside him. Verbena walked on her other side.

  Newman looked back. The escort was staying with them, spread out. They had bows accessible but no weapons drawn. They walked around the garden plots so they wouldn’t step on growing plants. All as he’d discussed with them this morning.

  The gardener stopped and leaned on his hoe as they approached. Newman was pretty sure about the ‘his.’

  “So you’re back,” he said. “Going to settle it with her family?”

  Newman understood it. He’d been given the language this morning.

  “What do you care?” answered Aelion.

  “I can use the entertainment. We haven’t had any excitement since you ran off.”

  “Too bad. I’m just here because my friends want to do some trading.”

  “Friends? Is that what they are. I thought you’d come up with some fancy wergild.”

  Newman studied the gardener. His skin was yellower than Aelion’s, shiny as a new gold coin. The furs were precisely complementary shades. Gleaming bronze hair stretched four feet down to the elf’s hips. The face—the face was staggeringly handsome. Aelion was pretty, but nothing compared to this Hollywood idol.

  “Yes, they’re friends,” said Aelion. “Ophyol, meet the humans. This is Newman, Goldenrod—” He ran through everyone’s names.

  Ophyol nodded in acknowledgement. “You’re short.”

  “We are,” answered Newman. “We fit in small houses.”

  That provoked a laugh.

  “Then let’s get you to the village. I don’t want to miss the show.”

  Ophyol led them toward the tree houses. Verbena struck up a conversation about the gardens. Just finding the elvish names for the plants the humans had been eating took them to the bare dirt under the trees.

  An arrow from above flashed past Aelion’s head and stuck in the dirt.

  Deadeye nocked an arrow and sent it back. The other hunters readied their bows and drew arrows.

  “Don’t bother,” said Aelion. “The peace enchantment won’t let arrows hit here. That was just someone letting me know he’s still mad.”

  A couple more gardeners had joined the procession. At the village more left their conversations to check out the newcomers—or the returnee.

  All the elves had gleaming skin. Shades of silver, steel, or pewter were as common as the copp
er and gold they’d seen before. Hair was always long and perfect. The clothes were mostly furs but still looking elegant.

  Newman realized how to spot the elf females. They wore skirts of overlapping vines or leaves or animal tails. That accentuated the size of their hips. Breasts were also larger on females than males, on average. But on a seven or eight foot frame the differences seemed so small as to be invisible at first glance.

  One elf looked to be about nine feet tall. Newman wasn’t sure. He was good at estimating human heights but once people were above six feet four he was fuzzier.

  Goldenrod had found the headman, Lomlil. Now she was explaining where humans came from, how they arrived, and what they’d been doing here to most of the population of the village. She’d wound up standing on a table so more could see her.

  The rest of the humans were clustered behind her. Aelion sat in the middle of them. Newman had spotted some of the elf’s enemies. A knot of seven elves were sending death glares his way. More had given him friendly greetings, but none of those wanted to stand next to him.

  Verbena said in English, “There’s no metal, no cloth, no domesticated animals. These people aren’t even Neolithic. They’re Paleolithic.”

  “If we develop the level of magic they have our grandchildren might think metal tools were just a fad,” said Crusher.

  The elves broke into cheers. The ones standing around the humans knelt. One seized Crusher’s hand and kissed it. Others began dancing.

  “What the hell?” said Crusher as a second elf kissed his hand.

  Verbena explained, “She just described the big fight with the orcs.”

  “Guess they don’t like orcs.”

  Newman put out his hands in a calming gesture. Both wound up kissed.

  A female elf forced her way through the crowd. She knelt and extended her basket to the humans.

  Deadeye took a handful and swallowed. “Ooh. Those sweet red berries.”

  The others grabbed some as the smiling elf passed the basket around.

  Goldenrod hopped off the table to get some. “I was going to tell them about learning magic next, but that’s going to have to wait until they calm down.”

  The lowest platform shook as three drummers pounded out the dance beat. Some flutes joined in. The elves joined hands and danced in circles. When two circles drifted close together they let go their hands to let the circles interpenetrate. One circle moved across the other without any dancer bumping another.