The Wide World's End by James Enge Read Free Book Online Page B

Silent Folk. They came from cities and towns and had no strong allegiances or families to protect them, so they banded together in the League of Silent Men and the Guild of Silent Women. A few decades ago they had settled a valley in the North.
    They were farmers with no great sense of discipline or purpose or the dangers of war. They could only be armed with improvised weapons. But they had come to defend their land in this moment of danger. Of all those in this fight, they were the most at risk.
    At their head, as she had expected and feared, Aloê saw a crooked, red-cloaked figure; he carried a sword in each hand and no shield. Another red-cloaked form, taller and more regular, stood beside him with shield and sword.
    Before she could say, even to herself, Don’t do that, you idiots! the two red-cloaked figures leapt into the thick of the retreating Khnauronts and began cutting a swathe through their midst. When the dwarves saw this, they finally began to chant, “ Ath, Rokhleni! Ath , Ambrosius ! Ath , Naevros ! Ath! Ath! ” Their line bent into a wedge, and the sharp end drove deep into the Khnauronts.
    â€œAmbrose! Ambrose! The bond of blood!” called out the Gray Folk in fell voices as they dropped down on the Khnauronts like an avalanche from the hills.
    The Khnauronts were in full retreat. The descent of the Gray Folk had closed off the retreat to the south. They turned toward the slopes of the Hill of Storms.
    â€œNow!” called Rynyrth, lifting her own bow to the ready. “Sort friend from foe and strike for your blood, harven or ruthen !”
    The songbows sang; the gravebolts flew, bright with moonlight against the dark ground; ragged ranks of skeletal Khnauronts went down in the cold light of the dwarvish banners. Aloê saw with disgust that the Khnauronts did indeed use their wands on each other, “eating their own wounded,” as Rynyrth had put it. Every time she saw a Khnauront do that, she aimed a gravebolt at him. Let the eaters be eaten.
    Morlock and Naevros’ wild whirling course had carried them through the mob of Khnauronts, and they turned again to strike into the heart of the fragmenting mob.
    Now the ragged wave of Khnauronts was climbing the slope of Tunglskin. The gravebolts thinned their ranks, but the survivors fed on the tal of the fallen. The enemies were close enough that Aloê could actually see their black wounds closing like mouths. Their faces were full of ecstasy rather than fear or hate.
    When there were only a few paces between the foremost of the enemy and the line woven of dwarves and Guardians, Aloê gripped her bow with her right hand just below its runic rose, wielding it like a club; she drew her knife with her left. Then she leaped out of the line and tore into the Khnauronts, smashing their wands with the weight of her bow, stabbing and parrying with the long knife.
    Rynyrth followed her, shouting, “ Ath, Rokhlan! Khai, Oaij! Ath! Ath! ”
    Glancing about to be ware of friend and foe, Aloê saw that Rynyrth was also wielding her bow like a club. For a stabbing weapon, she carried a forked spear of the kind the Khnauronts used.
    Lernaion’s bitter, dark eyes were lit with rapture. He stood wavering, like a man about to fall asleep on his feet. But any Khnauront that approached him fell lifeless to the ground.
    Earno had seized a fallen Khnauront by the heels and was swinging him in a circle, striking down his enemies with his enemy.
    There were moments of wild chaos as all the lines of battle met and mixed on the dark slopes of Tunglskin.
    Then the surviving Khnauronts were throwing down their weapons and speaking or weeping with dry, birdlike clicks. They didn’t seem to be surrendering so much as despairing. These had no lifetaker wands. The Khnauronts with wands fought to the death, or until their wands were broken.
    Now the battle had ended, but the chaos continued to swirl in Aloê’s mind and heart. She