Martin smiled his approval and said to Calin, “I hope we may learn what is coming, if the feared offensive is really to be mounted and where. I’ve learned a few phrases of their tongue, but not enough to make any sense of what they might tell us. Only Father Tully and Charles, my Tsurani tracker, can speak to them fluently. Perhaps we should attempt to move them to Crydee?”
Calin said, “We have the means to learn their tongue, given time. I doubt they would lend much cooperation in their transport. Most likely they would try to raise the alarm every step of the way.”
Martin conceded the point. Then a disturbance caused him to turn.
Tomas came striding into the clearing Dolgan began to greet him, but something in the young warrior’s manner and expression silenced him. There was madness in Tomas’s eyes, something the dwarf had glimpsed before as a glimmer, but which now shone forth brightly.
Tomas regarded the bound prisoners, then pulled his sword slowly and pointed at them. The words he spoke were alien to both Martin and the dwarves, but the elves were rocked by what they heard. Several of the older elves dropped to their knees in supplication, and the younger ones drew away in reflexive fear. Only Calin stood his ground, though he appeared shaken. Then slowly the Elf Prince turned to Martin, his face drained of color. In terrified tones he said, “At last the Valheru is truly among us.”
Ignoring all others in the clearing, Tomas walked up to the first Tsurani prisoner. The bound soldier looked up with a mixture of fear and defiance. Suddenly the golden sword was raised high and arced down, severing the man’s head from his shoulders. Blood splattered the white tabard, then flowed off, leaving it spotless. A low moan of fear came from the huddled slaves, and the remaining soldiers’ eyes were wide in terror. Slowly Tomas turned to face the next prisoner, and again his sword took a life.
Martin freed himself from shocked paralysis, forcing his eyes away from the butchery. He felt terrible dread, but it appeared as nothing to what the elves revealed in their abasement before Tomas. Calin’s face showed a struggle within as he tried to overcome a nearly instinctive obedience to the words spoken in the ancient language of the Valheru, masters of all, ages past. The younger elves, less studied in the old wisdom, simply had no understanding of the overwhelming need to obey this man in white and gold. The language of the Valheru was still the language of power.
Tomas turned away from his slaughter, and Martin felt struck by the strength of his gaze. Gone was any vestige of the boy from Crydee. Now an alien presence suffused his being Tomas’s arm drew back, and Martin tensed to dodge the blow. Any human was a potential victim, and even the dwarves drew back at the awesome menace Tomas projected. Then a faint spark of recognition entered Tomas’s eyes, and he said, in a distant voice, “Martin, by the love I once bore you, be gone or your life is forfeit.”
Mustering courage against the most consuming fear he had ever felt, Martin shouted, “I’ll not stand and watch you slaughter helpless men!”
Again a distant voice answered, steeped in ancient majesty and lost grandeur regained. “These come into my world, Martin. None may seek that which is my domain, my preserve, mine alone! Shall you, too, come into my world, Martin?” With inhuman speed Tomas wheeled, and two Tsurani died.
Martin charged, crossing the gap between them in a bound, and knocked Tomas away from the prisoners. They went down in a heap, and Martin grabbed at the wrist that held the golden sword.
A strong man capable of carrying a freshly killed buck for miles, Martin was no match for Tomas. As easily as picking up a bothersome infant, Tomas pushed Martin aside and came lightly to his feet. Martin sprang at Tomas again, but this time Tomas stood ready. He simply seized Martin by the tunic and said, “None may interfere with my will.” He tossed Martin across the clearing as if he weighed less than a tenth his weight. Martin’s arms flailed the air as he arced high over the ground, striving to control his fall. He landed hard, and all around could hear the breath explode from his lungs as he struck.
Dolgan rushed to his side, for the elves were still held in thrall by what they had witnessed. The dwarven chief poured water from a skin at his side upon Martin’s face and shook him awake. The strangled cries of terror from the Tsurani slaves watching soldiers being butchered greeted Martin as he regained his wits.
Martin struggled to focus his vision, the scene before him swimming and shifting. When he could see, he drew a hissing breath in horror.
Tomas struck down the last Tsurani soldier and began to advance upon the cringing slaves. They appeared unable to move, watching with wide eyes the bringer of their destruction, looking like nothing so much to Martin as a band of deer startled by a sudden light in the night.
A ragged cry came from Martin’s lips as Tomas killed the first Tsurani slave, a pitiful-looking willow of a man. Longbow struggled to rise, senses reeling, and Dolgan helped him to his feet.