One of their number had been endangered. As one, they sprang to aid him, daring all, heedless of rules or cost. Above all in the world they were companions, and each one raised his blade to defend the others, no matter how weak. That’s what she was, the weakest of the company, the one with the least experience and with no magical weapons or magery to boast of. She was not even truly a thief. The weakest of the company, indeed.
But she was of the company, a full and proper member who darned her socks with the rest of them by the fire the next night in wild country and washed herself, fully clad, in an icy stream, as they did in the gray, misty morn that followed. Shandril had given up on her snarled, greasy hair, pulling it back into a simple tail with a broken strap of Delg’s. Even if she was the only female and jests were often hurled her way as she scrambled, red-faced, out of the deep brush after relieving herself, she belonged. They were her companions, her family, and she would die for them.
The company had left Deepingdale and promptly turned north into the woods, heading for Lake Sember. From old records in Suzail, the wizard Thail had learned that the elves had lived on the shores of the Sember in great numbers for two thousand years or more. Even if nothing of value had been left behind, Lake Sember lay along their path to Myth Drannor, and scouting it would serve them as practice for when they reached the ruined city. The company had come upon good trails in the woods, and for days they had ridden steadily north. Game was plentiful. The forest was never quiet around them, but neither did they see men or other large, dangerous creatures. At last the trees thinned ahead, and they looked out over Lake Sember.
The waters of Lake Sember were deep blue and very still. Clouds scudding overhead were mirrored in the lake at their feet; by the shore, the water seemed as clear as crystal. Beneath it they could see the bottom of the lake falling away, a drowned tree’s limbs long, dark, and silent, and the scuttling of a tiny crayfish bound for deeper waters.
The company fell silent as they looked upon Lake Sember. They all knew now why it had been so special to the elves. Far away down the long lake, a great gray heron rose from the near shore and winged silently across the lake. They watched in silence. The heron vanished into the trees.
The air had grown cooler, and Shandril shivered. Tall Burlane looked up abruptly and said, “We must move east. I hope to make camp where the Semberflow leaves the lake tonight. Let us go.”
The company turned east along the shore, weaving in and out around the trees, but keeping the water always in view. It would not do to get lost and stray south again now. Mist began to gather in white curls along the water’s edge as the air grew colder. Wisps drifted in under the trees, and the sky fell to silver-gray. Burlane hurried them on. Shandril found a cloak in the saddlebags and thankfully drew it on over her chilled arms and shoulders.
Somewhere ahead, a bird called amid the trees. The call did not echo, but faded away. Glancing around in the gathering darkness, Shandril noticed that Ferostil had quietly drawn his sword. The trees grew dense and the footing uneven, so they continued on foot.
“Sharp watch,” Burlane commanded quietly. Blades were drawn all around Mm. Shandril drew her own slim long-sword and clutched it firmly. Made for her predecessor, Lynxal, it was just a trifle too heavy. She felt no safer. The mist closed in around them.
Suddenly there came a high, weird, unearthly call, as if from a great distance. The horses snuffled and shifted uneasily. Looking at her companions, Shandril could see that they were puzzled by the sound as well. She was not the only frightened one, either.
By unspoken agreement, the Company of the Bright Spear waited in tense silence, but the call was not repeated. Shandril breathed a silent prayer for the kindness of Tymora, Goddess of Good Fortune. Finally Burlane ordered the advance again with a silent jerk of his head. Glad to be moving, they all shifted damp grips on weapons and reins and led the horses on through the thick white wall of mist.
“We should tarry until this mist passes,” Rymel said, his bard’s voice and gray eyes serious for the first time in Shandril’s memory. Tiny droplets of mist hung in the curls of his short beard.
“Aye,” Ferostil replied, his voice low and wary. “And yet-that cry we heard. If we wait, who knows what might hunt us? Surround and entrap us, and we not able to even see them until too late?”
His words left a deafening silence. Shandril met Burlane’s eyes, trying to look calm. A trace of a smile crossed his lips as they traded glances, but his calmness was an act too. Shandril felt grateful, and suddenly she was less afraid.
Delg the dwarf spoke. “I second that. I cannot abide waiting a whole night through in this damp, doing nothing. I say push on, and we’ll be the sooner out of it!” The light was growing dim. One of the horses snorted and shifted again, and Delg went to it and spoke soothingly.
“What say you, Thail?” Burlane asked quietly.
“It would be more prudent to stop and wait for morning and the lifting of this mist,” the wizard replied calmly. “But I, too, would hate such waiting.”
“Shandril?” Burlane asked in the same voice, and Shandril looked up in surprise, thrilled to be considered an equal.
“I’d rather risk stumbling into danger than waiting the night,” she answered as calmly and steadily as she could. She heard several vigorous murmurs of agreement.
Burlane said simply, “We go on. Better to be all awake and expecting the worst than to be all asleep but two.”
Suddenly, they heard a soft slithering sound, then a loud “plop,” as something entered the lake nearby. Shandril’s skin crawled. But the company could see nothing. Cautious minutes later they moved on, and soon they came to a place where the long grass was flattened in a wide swath as if by the passage of some great bulk, and flecked with trails of green-white slime. The horses shied from the area and had to be pulled across, snorting and rolling their eyes and lifting their feet as though surrounded by coiling snakes. The company hastened on as quickly and quietly as possible. Later they heard something scuttle away from their path, but again met no creature. They went on as night drew down.
At length, the sounds of wide waters moving before them could be heard, and Thail, probing with his staff, barred their way. “Open water/’ he said in a low voice.
“Either we have turned about and headed into the lake,” said Rymel, “or the shore has doubled back before us, or- and this seems most likely-we have reached the Semberflow, where you intended to camp,” he said to Burlane. In the twilit gloom they heard their leader reply, “Aye, it is likely. 1 will look.”
Pale light flared as he unwrapped the Bright Spear and bore it past them. The bard went with him, passing the reins of his horse wordlessly into Shandril’s hands. She clung to two sets of reins in anxious silence, pleased to be so entrusted, and yet apprehensive. If something startled the horses, she knew she lacked the strength to hold them.
The two were a long time looking, and even Thail had begun to step about anxiously before the Bright Spear’s radiance could be seen again in the thick violet and gray mist that enshrouded them. Burlane stepped back among them, looking pleased.
“It is the Semberflow,” he announced. “We camp here. We cannot see to cross.”
“A fire? Lanterns?” asked Delg. Burlane shook his head. “We dare not. Double watch the night through-Shandril and Delg, then Perostil and Rymel, and I’ll see the dawn. Make no needless noise. Don’t let the horses lie down-it’s too damp, and they’ll take the chill.”
The band quickly unburdened and fed the horses, shared cold bread and cheese, and rolled themselves in cloaks and blankets. Shandril found Delg in the darkness. “How can I keep watch if I can’t see?” she whispered. Delg grunted. “We sit down in the middle of everything, ladymaid. Back to back, d’you see? We give each other a pinch or an elbow now and then to keep awake. Three such, or more, quickly, means: beware, there’s danger. You look, yes, but mostly you keep still and listen. Mist does funny things to sounds-you can never trust just where and how far away something you hear is-but listen hard to us and the horses first, mind you, and get to know the sounds, and then listen for sounds that aren’t us.”