Unless, she thought, he found her worthy.
As her seventeenth birthday approached, her parents asked her what she would like for a present. What she wanted was clear to her, but it was not something they could give her. Still, it was something she might be able to give herself.
She celebrated her birthday with her parents, all the while knowing what she was going to do. What she had to do.
And on the morning following, without telling them anything or even leaving them a note, she set out on foot for Paranor.
FOUR
Parfend, Maturen of the Corrax Trolls, stood with his army atop a rise facing northeast to where the waters of the Tiderace were visible in vague choppy heads of foam through layers of shifting mist. The army stood readied perhaps five miles back from the shoreline, but from the high ground they could look down on their enemies as they marched in loose formation to a second rise, somewhat below them and several hundred yards away.
The Corrax were a fearsome sight. Their faces were painted with terrifying images of blood and bones, and they were stripped naked to their waists to emphasize the huge muscles of their arms, shoulders, and torsos. They carried massive battle-axes and broadswords, their blades sharpened and gleaming even in the faint light of dawn. Were an adversary to be struck by any of these—even if it were only a glancing blow—death was almost certain. The Corrax fed on the fear of those they fought, and fear was unavoidable against creatures and weapons as large as these.
Parfend did not know who these enemies were, but they had invaded Corrax territory and were exhibiting a clear hostile intent to remain. Where they had come from remained a mystery. Efforts to speak with them had failed. Any chance at a reasonable resolution had evaporated when the heads of their envoys had been returned in a cart. The Corrax were warriors, fighters for as far back as anyone could remember. Nomads as well, which made their claim to the land on which they stood somewhat suspect.
But for the Corrax, wherever they were was territory that belonged to them until they decided to move on. They themselves were invaders with a long and bloody history of warring with the other Troll tribes. They had engaged most of them in battle at one time or another and, for the most part, triumphed. So they were not worried about this latest batch of fools.
The Corrax attack relied on brute force and a reckless disregard for personal safety to overwhelm and crush their opponents. It had always worked before. Strike hard. Give no ground. Show no mercy. It should have worked here. The Corrax should have been able to hammer their way through the invaders’ lines with all the fury and bloodlust that had destroyed so many other armies.
Parfend took a moment to watch these latest enemies draw up in an uneven line on the lower ridge. They were lightly armored, tall, and fair-haired. With the ocean brume shifting and swirling, it was hard to tell much about them besides that. There did not appear to be as many of them as there were Corrax, which suggested they did not understand the nature of the enemy they faced. Anyone who knew anything of the Corrax people knew they were ferocious, relentless, and implacable. Once they engaged, they fought to the death. Once they attacked, they did not retreat.
But this enemy did not seem concerned. It simply waited for them to come, standing perfectly still in precise but loosely formed ranks, showing rather large gaps between individual soldiers. They stood with their long scarlet robes tightly drawn and their pale-tan boots set. Those in the front two ranks carried spears—eight-foot poles with hafts of pale ash, smooth, iron-tipped points affixed to one end, handgrips carved into the wood at the other. Those in the rear ranks bore short swords—held loosely at their sides, balanced and easily maneuverable in combat.
Parfend waited to see what they would do, but it soon became apparent they intended to do nothing. If the Corrax wanted a battle, they would have to do the attacking. This was fine with Parfend. The Corrax were used to attacking, to seizing the advantage, to striking swiftly and surely and making a quick end to any conflict. So it did not trouble him that they would have to do so here.
Nevertheless, he held his ground longer than usual. There was something odd about these men lined up across from them. There was an ethereal quality to them, a sense of ghostliness. The wind off the Tiderace whistled and the mists swept all around the invaders, and at times they seemed to fade and then reappear. Everything about them—even their weapons—seemed curiously insubstantial. They were creatures made not of flesh and blood but of smoke and mirrors. They were there, clearly revealed in their paleness, and yet they were not.
It was unsettling, but the Corrax were not accustomed to being troubled by things they couldn’t explain. That was the nature of the world and those that inhabited it.
A moment longer, and Parfend gave the signal to attack, his sword arm raised high as he roared the Corrax battle cry. His warriors took it up. When his arm fell, the army rushed forward, screaming like madmen. They tore down the slope toward the waiting enemy, brandishing weapons while keeping their lines intact, one on point and two to form the body of the charge. Their cries shredded the sounds of the ocean and the wind, and the pounding of their feet on hardpan and rock sent up a fearful roar.
But the enemy did not stir. It continued to wait.
They will break, Parfend thought. They will break and run.
But they did not. They held their line, the butts of their spears firmly planted on the ground, their swords still sheathed. They remained so still they seemed to be statues rather than men. Not even a shifting of feet was visible. Not even the faintest whisper of voices could be heard.
The Corrax reached the valley between the two ridges and continued on. They slowed slightly with the incline, but their war cries remained undiminished. Even the bravest and most resolute of adversaries had always fled from them in the end.
The Corrax were within fifteen feet when the invaders shifted slightly, the entire line taking on a curious shimmer all along their ranks as they did so. While nothing seemed to change, there was an odd sense that something had happened. Then those in front lowered their spears and a bristling forest of long, steel-tipped shafts faced the Corrax. And all of a sudden it was unclear where any of them were. In another instant, they were not there at all. They had simply vanished.
The Corrax were caught completely by surprise and had no chance to adjust. By then, they were on top of the enemy, weapons slashing and stabbing, finding only empty air as the enemy ranks dissolved before them. They experienced a few quick moments of confusion and then sword blades and spear points were skewering and slashing the Corrax from places where no one seemed to be. The Corrax fought back in a frenzy, still screaming their battle cries as they died, but there was nothing they could do to protect themselves. They couldn’t see their attackers. All they could see were empty images, insubstantial and no more solid than air.
Their enemies had become ghosts.
The Corrax fought on anyway, because that was all they knew to do, struggling as they did so to understand what was happening, to restore things to the way they should have been. But it was hopeless. Blood flew everywhere, painting the ground and the faces and torsos of the living. The Corrax swung wildly at nothing, trying to find their adversaries and failing. And still they were cut down.
They died still wondering what had killed them, still blind to what had happened.
At the center of the line, where the fighting was fiercest, Parfend tried to rally his warriors. He called them to him, had them form a solid line of defense, their weapons pointed out, their bark-skinned mass surging forward toward the enemy. Or to where they believed the enemy to be. But by now, the enemy was no longer where they had been. By now, the enemy was behind them, attacking their rear, felling the unsuspecting Trolls before they could defend themselves. All around the Corrax Maturen his friends and family died. All around him, his warriors perished. It was a slaughter, and there was nothing Parfend could do to stop it.