Tanis the shadow years (d2-3) by Barbara Siegel, Scott Siegel Page B
Authors: Barbara Siegel, Scott Siegel
Tags: sf_fantasy
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Mertwig. "Do you also know how she will fare?"
"She will be fine," the half-elf said, deciding there was no reason to say otherwise. "You need not worry about her."
Mertwig and Reehsha finally appeared at a loss for words. For the first time in long moments, silence fell on the fisherman's ramshackle quarters. Reehsha's face still showed suspicion, Mertwig's face, only relief. Brandella had dried her tears and watched the half-elf intently.
"Who are you?" the dark-eyed weaver finally asked, quietly and kindly. Her voice was steady. "You are a stranger to Ankatavaka, yet you claim to know my Kishpa. You call him friend and declare yourself my protector. Why is this? And by what magic do you possess such a sword7"
"All good questions, Brandella." Tanis dared to gaze into her eyes. Her tears had made her appear that much more pallid, yet the half-elf realized there was a cord of steel beneath the soft demeanor that was as strong as the broadsword he now sheathed.
"You know my name?" she asked.
"I know it well."
"Then use it well and tell me both what I wish to know and what I need to know."
"My name is Tanis," he began slowly, trying to decide how much he should tell her. The candle sputtered. Mertwig resumed his vigil by his wife's side, and the fisherman slumped onto a wooden bench by the door.
Tanis's problem, he knew, was that at some point he would have to escape the elder Kishpa's memory. He had been told that Kishpa would help him. But how? And when? Without that knowledge, he was reluctant to tell Brandella too much of the truth for fear that she would laugh at him. And he didn't know yet whether she would confide immediately in her lover-the man who would try to prevent her from leaving this time and place.
"I come from somewhere far away," he began, not quite sure of what he was going to say. "And I possess no magic except for what has been given to me by Kishpa. It is he who brought me here. And it is he who enchanted my sword. You see, I was on the south wall of the village when your mage cast his spell.
Brandella heard nothing else that he said. She simply stared at Tanis, remembering how he had looked from afar on the battlement. Yes, she thought, it was him… the man from the dream.
14
At Last, A Hero
Scowann stood on a heavy wooden table, surrounded by a sea of happy, hero-worshiping elven faces. He had them just where he wanted them: listening… The funny man's patter was coming fast and sure tonight. He ran one hand through his short hair-the elves seemed to find the cut of his hair especially amusing- and launched into a new joke. "I once asked an elderly elf, To what do you attribute your old age7' His answer? The fact that I was born a long time ago!' " He widened his amber eyes and nodded significantly at the crowd. The elves roared with laughter. Scowarr glanced down modestly, taking the opportunity to steal a glimpse of the elves' gift to him; they'd provided the slender human with a new set of clothes, the forest-green slacks and jerkins that Ankatavakan men preferred, to replace the filthy rags he'd worn while fighting the human soldiers.
After a day of carnage and death, Scowarr's jokes were a welcome release, a way to forget and to ignore what would come on the fast-approaching morn.
"And talk about the weather," he rambled on, "the only good thing about rain is that you don't have to shovel it."
In the back row, a middle-aged elven woman, one of several women who'd chosen to stay and fight beside brothers and husbands, yelped and poked her mate; again the crowd erupted with guffaws and applause.
Scowarr had been at it for more than two hours. He'd dredged up just about every joke he knew and more than a few that he'd made up on the spot.
'It's a miracle," he murmured, adding mentally, Or maybe it's magic. In the back of his mind, he wondered if that young mage, Kishpa, had cast a spell making him genuinely funny or had conjured up a village full of laughing elves. The very
"She will be fine," the half-elf said, deciding there was no reason to say otherwise. "You need not worry about her."
Mertwig and Reehsha finally appeared at a loss for words. For the first time in long moments, silence fell on the fisherman's ramshackle quarters. Reehsha's face still showed suspicion, Mertwig's face, only relief. Brandella had dried her tears and watched the half-elf intently.
"Who are you?" the dark-eyed weaver finally asked, quietly and kindly. Her voice was steady. "You are a stranger to Ankatavaka, yet you claim to know my Kishpa. You call him friend and declare yourself my protector. Why is this? And by what magic do you possess such a sword7"
"All good questions, Brandella." Tanis dared to gaze into her eyes. Her tears had made her appear that much more pallid, yet the half-elf realized there was a cord of steel beneath the soft demeanor that was as strong as the broadsword he now sheathed.
"You know my name?" she asked.
"I know it well."
"Then use it well and tell me both what I wish to know and what I need to know."
"My name is Tanis," he began slowly, trying to decide how much he should tell her. The candle sputtered. Mertwig resumed his vigil by his wife's side, and the fisherman slumped onto a wooden bench by the door.
Tanis's problem, he knew, was that at some point he would have to escape the elder Kishpa's memory. He had been told that Kishpa would help him. But how? And when? Without that knowledge, he was reluctant to tell Brandella too much of the truth for fear that she would laugh at him. And he didn't know yet whether she would confide immediately in her lover-the man who would try to prevent her from leaving this time and place.
"I come from somewhere far away," he began, not quite sure of what he was going to say. "And I possess no magic except for what has been given to me by Kishpa. It is he who brought me here. And it is he who enchanted my sword. You see, I was on the south wall of the village when your mage cast his spell.
Brandella heard nothing else that he said. She simply stared at Tanis, remembering how he had looked from afar on the battlement. Yes, she thought, it was him… the man from the dream.
14
At Last, A Hero
Scowann stood on a heavy wooden table, surrounded by a sea of happy, hero-worshiping elven faces. He had them just where he wanted them: listening… The funny man's patter was coming fast and sure tonight. He ran one hand through his short hair-the elves seemed to find the cut of his hair especially amusing- and launched into a new joke. "I once asked an elderly elf, To what do you attribute your old age7' His answer? The fact that I was born a long time ago!' " He widened his amber eyes and nodded significantly at the crowd. The elves roared with laughter. Scowarr glanced down modestly, taking the opportunity to steal a glimpse of the elves' gift to him; they'd provided the slender human with a new set of clothes, the forest-green slacks and jerkins that Ankatavakan men preferred, to replace the filthy rags he'd worn while fighting the human soldiers.
After a day of carnage and death, Scowarr's jokes were a welcome release, a way to forget and to ignore what would come on the fast-approaching morn.
"And talk about the weather," he rambled on, "the only good thing about rain is that you don't have to shovel it."
In the back row, a middle-aged elven woman, one of several women who'd chosen to stay and fight beside brothers and husbands, yelped and poked her mate; again the crowd erupted with guffaws and applause.
Scowarr had been at it for more than two hours. He'd dredged up just about every joke he knew and more than a few that he'd made up on the spot.
'It's a miracle," he murmured, adding mentally, Or maybe it's magic. In the back of his mind, he wondered if that young mage, Kishpa, had cast a spell making him genuinely funny or had conjured up a village full of laughing elves. The very
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