Thinking of this, Gilthanas rose to his feet quickly and began to search for Silvara. He moved silently, hoping to avoid the questions of Sturm and Derek, who were standing watch. A sudden chilling thought crossed his mind. Hurriedly, he looked for the dragon orb. But it was still where Silvara had put it. Beside it lay the broken shaft of the dragonlance.
Gilthanas breathed more easily. Then his quick ears caught the sound of water splashing. Listening carefully, he determined it wasn’t a fish or a nightbird diving for its catch in the river. The elflord glanced at Derek and Sturm. The two stood apart from one another on a rock outcropping overlooking the camp. Gilthanas could hear them arguing with each other in fierce whispers. The elflord crept away from camp, heading toward the sound of softly splashing water.
Gilthanas walked through the dark forest with no more noise than the shadows of night itself would make. Occasionally he caught a glimpse of the river glistening faintly through the trees. Then he came to a place where the water, flowing among the rocks, had become trapped in a small pool. Here Gilthanas stopped, and here his heart almost stopped beating. He had found Silvara.
A dark circle of trees stood starkly outlined against the racing clouds. The silence of the night was broken only by the gentle murmurs of the silver river, which fell over rock steps into the pool, and by the splashing sounds that had caught Gilthanas’s attention. Now he knew what they were.
Silvara was bathing. Oblivious to the chill in the air, the elfmaid was submerged in the water. Her clothes lay scattered on the bank next to a frayed blanket. Only her shoulders and arms were visible to Gilthanas’s elvensight. Her head was thrown back as she washed the long hair that trailed out behind her, floating like a dark cobweb on the darker pool. The elflord held his breath, watching her. He knew he should leave, but he was held fast, entranced.
And then, the clouds parted. Solinari, the silver moon, though only half-full, burned in the night sky with a cold brilliance. The water in the pool turned to molten silver. Silvara rose up out of the pool. The silver water glistened on her skin, gleamed in her silver hair, ran in shining rivulets down her body that was painted in silver moonlight. Her beauty struck Gilthanas’s heart with such intense pain that he gasped.
Silvara started, looking around her terrified. Her wild, abandoned grace added so much to her loveliness that Gilthanas, though he longed to speak to her reassuringly, couldn’t force the words past the pain in his chest.
Silvara ran from the water to the bank where her clothes lay. But she did not touch them. Instead, she reached into a pocket. Grabbing a knife, she turned, ready to defend herself.
Gilthanas could see her body quivering in the silvery moonlight, and he was reminded vividly of a doe he had cornered after a long hunt. The creature’s eyes sparkled with the same fear he now saw in Silvara’s luminous eyes. The Wilder elf stared around, terrified. Why doesn’t she see me? Gilthanas wondered briefly, feeling her eyes pass over him several times. With the elven sight, he should stand out to her like a—
Suddenly Silvara turned, starting to flee from the danger she could feel, yet could not see.
Gilthanas felt his voice freed. “No! Wait, Silvara! Don’t be frightened. It’s me, Gilthanas.” He spoke in firm, yet hushed tones—as he had spoken to the cornered doe. “You shouldn’t be out alone, it’s dangerous.…”
Silvara paused, standing half in silver light, half in protecting shadows, her muscles tense, ready to spring. Gilthanas followed his huntsman’s instinct, walking slowly, continuing to talk, holding her with his steady voice and his eyes.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone. I’ll stay with you. I want to talk to you anyway. I want you to listen to me for a moment. I need to talk to you, Silvara. I don’t want to be here alone, either. Don’t leave me, Silvara. So much has left me in this world. Don’t leave.…”
Talking softly, continuously, Gilthanas moved with smooth, deliberate steps toward Silvara until he saw her take a step backward. Raising his hands, he sat down quickly on a boulder at the pool’s edge, keeping the water between them. Silvara stopped, watching him. She made no move to clothe herself, apparently deciding that defense was more important than modesty. She still held the knife poised in her hand.
Gilthanas admired her determination, although he was ashamed for her nakedness. Any well-bred elven woman would have fainted dead away by now. He knew he should avert his eyes, but he was too awed by her beauty. His blood burned. With an effort, he kept talking, not even knowing what he was saying. Only gradually did he become aware that he was speaking the innermost thoughts of his heart.
“Silvara, what am I doing here? My father needs me, my people need me. Yet here I am, breaking the law of my lord. My people are in exile. I find the one thing that might help them—a dragon orb—but now I risk my life taking it from my people to give to humans to aid them in their war! It’s not even my war, it’s not my people’s war.” Gilthanas leaned toward her earnestly, noticing that she had not taken her eyes from him. “Why, Silvara? Why have I brought this dishonor on myself? Why have I done this to my people?”
He held his breath. Silvara glanced into the darkness and the safety of the woods, then looked back at him. She will flee, he thought, his heart pounding. Then, slowly, Silvara lowered her knife. There was such sadness and sorrow in her eyes that, finally, Gilthanas looked away, ashamed of himself.
“Silvara,” he began, choking, “forgive me. I didn’t mean to involve you in my trouble. I don’t understand what it is that I must do. I only know …”
“… that you must do it,” Silvara finished for him.
Gilthanas looked up. Silvara had covered herself with the frayed blanket. This modest effort served only to fan the flames of his desire. Her silver hair, hanging down past her waist, gleamed in the moonlight. The blanket eclipsed her silver skin.
Gilthanas rose slowly and began to walk along the shore toward her. She still stood at the edge of the forest’s safety. He could still sense her coiled fear. But she had dropped the knife.
“Silvara,” he said, “what I have done is against all elven custom. When my sister told me of her plot to steal the orb, I should have gone directly to my father. I should have sounded the alarm. I should have taken the orb myself—”
Silvara took a step toward him, still clutching the blanket around her. “Why didn’t you?” she asked in a low voice.
Gilthanas was nearing the rock steps at the north end of the pond. The water flowing over them made a silver curtain in the moonlight. “Because I know that my people are wrong. Laurana is right. Sturm is right. Taking the orb to the humans is right! We must fight this war. My people are wrong, their laws, their customs are wrong. I know this—in my heart! But I can’t make my head believe it. It torments me—”
Silvara walked slowly along the pool’s edge. She, too, was nearing the silver curtain of water from the opposite side.
“I understand,” she said softly. “My own … people do not understand what I do or why I do it. But I understand. I know what is right and I believe in it.”
“I envy you, Silvara,” Gilthanas whispered.
Gilthanas stepped to the largest rock, a flat island in the glittering, cascading water. Silvara, her wet hair falling over her like a silver gown, stood but a few feet from him now.
“Silvara,” Gilthanas said, his voice shaking, “there was another reason I left my people. You know what it is.”
He extended his hand, palm up, toward her.
Silvara drew back, shaking her head. Her breath came faster.
Gilthanas took another step nearer. “Silvara, I love you,” he said softly. “You seem so alone, as alone as I am. Please, Silvara, you will never be alone again. I swear it.…”
Hesitantly, Silvara lifted her hand toward his. With a sudden move, Gilthanas grabbed her arm and pulled her across the water. Catching her as she stumbled, he lifted her onto the rock beside him.
Too late the wild doe realized she was trapped. Not by the ma
n’s arms, she could easily have broken free of his embrace. It was her own love for this man that had ensnared her. That his love for her was deep and tender sealed their fate. He was trapped as well.
Gilthanas could feel her body trembling, but he knew now—as he looked into her eyes—that she trembled with passion, not fear. Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her tenderly. Silvara still held the blanket clasped around her body with one hand, but he felt her other hand close around his. Her lips were soft and eager. Then, Gilthanas tasted a salty tear on his lips. He drew back, amazed to see her crying.
“Silvara, don’t. I’m sorry—” He released her.
“No!” she whispered, her voice husky. “My tears are not because I am frightened of your love. They are only for myself. You cannot understand.”
Reaching out, she shyly put one hand around his neck and drew him near. And then, as he kissed her, he felt her other hand, the hand that had been clasping the blanket around her body, move up to caress his face.
Silvara’s blanket slipped unnoticed into the stream and was borne away by the silver water.
6
Pursuit. A desperate plan.
At noon the next day, the companions were forced to abandon the boats, having reached the river’s headwaters, where it flowed down out of the mountains. Here the water was shallow and frothy white from the tumbling rapids ahead. Many Kaganesti boats were drawn up on the bank. Dragging their boats ashore, the companions were met by a group of Kaganesti elves coming out of the woods. They carried with them the bodies of two young elven warriors. Some drew weapons and would have attacked had not Theros Ironfeld and Silvara hurried to talk with them.
The two spoke long with the Kaganesti, while the companions kept an uneasy watch downriver. Though they had been awake before dawn, starting as early as the Kaganesti felt was safe to travel through the swift water, they had, more than once, caught glimpses of the black boats pursuing them.
When Theros returned, his dark face was somber. Silvara’s was flushed with anger.
“My people will do nothing to help us,” Silvara reported. “They have been attacked by lizardmen twice in the last two days. They blame the coming of this new evil on humans who, they say, brought them here in a white-winged ship—”
“That’s ridiculous!” Laurana snapped. “Theros, didn’t you tell them about these draconians?”
“I tried,” the blacksmith stated. “But I am afraid the evidence is against you. The Kaganesti saw the white dragon above the ship, but they did not, apparently, see you drive her off. At any rate, they have finally agreed to let us pass through their lands, but they will give us no aid. Silvara and I both pledged our lives for your good conduct.”
“What are the draconians doing here?” Laurana asked, memories haunting her. “Is it an army? Is Southern Ergoth being invaded? If so, perhaps we should go back—”
“No, I think not,” Theros said thoughtfully. “If the armies of the Dragon Highlords were ready to take this isle, they would do so with flights of dragons and thousands of troops. These appear to be small patrols sent out to make this bad situation deteriorate further. The Highlords probably hope the elves will save them the trouble of a war by destroying each other first.”
“The Dragon High Command is not ready to attack Ergoth,” Derek said. “They haven’t got a firm hold on the north yet. But it is only a matter of time. That is why it is imperative we get the dragon orb to Sancrist and call a meeting of the Council of Whitestone to determine what to do with it.”
Gathering their supplies, the companions set out for the high country. Silvara led them along a trail beside the splashing silver river that ran from the hills. They could feel the unfriendly eyes of the Kaganesti follow them out of sight.
The land began rising almost immediately. Theros soon told them they had traveled into regions where he had never been before; it was up to Silvara to guide them. Laurana was not altogether pleased with this situation. She guessed something had happened between her brother and the girl when she saw them share a sweet, secret smile.
Silvara had found time, among her people, to change her clothing. She was now dressed as a Kaganesti woman, in a long leather tunic over leather breeches, covered by a heavy fur cloak. With her hair washed and combed, all of them could see how she had come by her name. Her hair, a strange, metallic silver color, flowed from a peak on her forehead to fall about her shoulders in radiant beauty.
Silvara turned out to be an exceptionally good guide, pushing them along at a rapid pace. She and Gilthanas walked side by side, talking together in elven. Shortly before sundown, they came to a cave.
“Here we can spend the night,” Silvara said. “We should have left the pursuit behind us. Few know these mountains as well as I do. But we dare not light a fire. Dinner will be cold, I’m afraid.”
Exhausted by the day’s climb, they ate a cheerless meal, then made their beds in the cave. The companions, huddled in their blankets and every piece of clothing they owned, slept fitfully. They set the watch, Laurana and Silvara both insisting on taking turns. The night passed quietly, the only sound they heard was the wind howling among the rocks.
But the next morning Tasslehoff, squeezing out through a crack in the cave’s hidden entrance to take a look around, suddenly hurried back inside. Putting his finger to his lips, Tas motioned them to follow him outdoors. Theros pushed aside the huge boulder they had rolled across the mouth of the cave, and the companions crept after Tas. He led them to a stop not twenty feet from the cave and pointed grimly at the white snow.
On it were footprints, fresh enough that the blowing, drifting snow had not quite covered them. The light, delicate tracks had not sunk deeply into the snow. No one spoke. There was no need. Everyone recognized the crisp, clear outline of elven boots.
“They must have passed by us in the night,” Silvara said. “But we dare not stay here any longer. Soon they will discover they have lost the trail and will backtrack. We must be gone.”
“I don’t see that it will make much difference,” Flint grumbled in disgust. He pointed at their own, highly visible tracks. Then he looked up at the clear, blue sky. “We might as well just sit and wait for them. Save them time and save us bother. There’s no way we can hide our trail!”
“Maybe we cannot hide our trail,” said Theros, “but we can gain some miles on them, perhaps.”
“Perhaps,” Derek repeated grimly. Reaching down, he loosened his sword in its scabbard, then he walked back to the cave.
Laurana caught hold of Sturm. “It must not come to bloodshed!” she whispered frantically, alarmed by Derek’s action.
The knight shook his head as they followed the others. “We cannot allow your people to stop us from taking the orb to Sancrist.”
“I know!” Laurana said softly. Bowing her head, she entered the cave in silent misery.
The rest were ready within moments. Then Derek stood, fuming in the doorway, watching Laurana impatiently.
“Go ahead,” she told him, unwilling to let him see her cry. “I’ll be along.”
Derek left immediately. Theros, Sturm, and the others trudged out more slowly, glancing uneasily at Laurana.
“Go ahead.” She gestured. She needed a moment to be by herself. But all she could think of was Derek’s hand on his sword. “No!” she told herself sternly. “I will not fight my people. The day that happens is the day the dragons have won. I will lay down my own sword first—”
She heard movement behind her. Whirling around, her hand going reflexively to her sword, Laurana stopped.
“Silvara?” she said in astonishment, seeing the girl in the shadows. “I thought you had gone. What are you doing?”
Laurana walked swiftly to where Silvara had been kneeling in the darkness, her hands busy with something on the cavern floor. The Wilder elf rose quickly to her feet.
“N-nothing,” Silvara murmured. “Just gathering my things.”
Behind Silvara, on the cold floor of the cave,
Laurana thought she saw the dragon orb, its crystal surface shining with a strange swirling light. But before she could look more closely, Silvara swiftly dropped her cloak over the orb. As she did so, Laurana noticed she kept standing in front of whatever it was she had been handling on the floor.
“Come, Laurana,” Silvara said, “we must hurry. I am sorry if I was slow—”
“In a moment,” Laurana said sternly. She started to walk past the Wilder elf. Silvara’s hand clutched at her.
“We must hurry!” she said, and there was an edge of steel in her low voice. Her grip on Laurana’s arm was painful, even through the thick fur of Laurana’s heavy cloak.
“Let go of me,” Laurana said coldly, staring at the girl, her green eyes showing neither fear nor anger. Silvara let fall her hand, lowering her eyes.
Laurana walked to the back of the shallow cave. Looking down, however, she could see nothing that made any sense. There was a tangle of twigs and bark and charred wood, some stones, but that was all. If it was a sign, it was a clumsy one. Laurana kicked at it with her booted foot, scattering the stones and sticks. Then she turned and took Silvara’s arm.
“There,” Laurana said, speaking in even, quiet tones. “Whatever message you left for your friends will be difficult to read.”
Laurana was prepared for almost any reaction from the girl—anger, shame at being discovered. She even half-expected her to attack. But Silvara began to tremble. Her eyes—as she stared at Laurana—were pleading, almost sorrowful. For a moment, Silvara tried to speak, but she couldn’t. Shaking her head, she jerked away from Laurana’s grasp and ran outside.
“Hurry up, Laurana!” Theros called gruffly.
“I’m coming!” she answered, glancing back at the debris on the cave floor. She thought of taking a moment longer to investigate further, but she knew she dare not take the time.
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