The Grand Crusade by Michael A. Stackpole

Author:Michael A. Stackpole [Stackpole, Michael A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction, Fantasy
ISBN: 9780553578515
Google: XRoOkUbxnswC
Amazon: 0553578510
Goodreads: 572518
Publisher: Spectra
Published: 2003-12-30T05:00:00+00:00

Resolute raised a hand to stop the others behind him. He slowly crouched on the woodland trail and peered through the woods. The Grey Misters who had joined him might well have been quiet enough to sneak around Yslin, but in the forests of Loquellyn they made as much noise as a herd of cattle — complete, in some cases, with lowing complaints about thirst or blisters. A few even sported wounds from the engagement with Aurolani troops several nights back, but those Vorquelves tended toward stoicism and remained quieter than their brethren.

Resolute turned his head slightly to the left and saw Qwc perched on his shoulder, his spear at the ready. The argent-eyed warrior pointed off north-northeast, then nodded, and the Spritha took flight. He darted between trees with the angular precision of a dragonfly in flight.

He returned quickly and flashed enough fingers to communicate the fact that nearly a score of individuals waited in the brush. Resolute nodded his understanding, but the Spritha did not stop. With his spear held in his lower two hands, the upper pair pantomimed settling a crown on his head. Resolute raised an eyebrow, Qwc nodded enthusiastically, and the Vorquelf actually managed a smile.

He stood and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Trawyn, Princess of Loquellyn, you need hide no more. Those who were hunting you are dead.”

His call got no response, but he’d not expected one. “We have met, Highness, when you welcomed a Gyrkyme into the palace at Rellaence, not yet a year past.” Resolute tried to use his best Elvish to speak to her, but among the Vorquelves eloquence had eroded. He dimly recalled a time when he liked weaving words into patterns and formal sequences, but much blood had run between that time and this.

Resolute started down through the trees in the direction Qwc had flown. “I am coming to you. You will see me before I see you, and you may decide what to do then.”

As he moved down the needle-and-leaf-strewn slope, he sought signs of the elves’ passage. He thought he would see wet leaves showing from beneath a layer of dry, or a plant stem crushed underfoot. He even watched for threads caught on thorns, but until she stepped from the brush before him, and two archers with nocked and drawn arrows flanked him, he’d seen nothing.

“You’re Resolute, but you could be one of her creatures.”

Trawyn was not as he remembered her. Her auburn hair had been long and flowing free, but now it was hacked off to less than a finger length. Her left eye was still a pure blue, but a bloody rag hid the other socket. In Rellaence she had worn gowns, but here her clothes were more the castoffs peasants would give to beggars. Dirt and blood smudged her cheeks and hands, and her one eye had a dark circle beneath it.

Resolute instantly dropped to a knee. “I am Resolute, and I would never in life become one of her creatures.”

Trawyn raised

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