The History of Krynn: Vol IV

by Dragon Lance

  Dru bowed his head. “As Your Highness wishes. I shall be very careful.” Then he quickly gave Ulvian a precise list of the things he’d need. It was a short list, but a puzzling one.

  “What on Krynn can you do with a pound of white clay, some chips of coal, a span of leather thong, and a copper brazier?” the prince asked, confused. “None of them is rare or guarded. Why don’t you collect them yourself?”

  The sorcerer’s gray eyes glittered like diamonds in the half-light. “You may not realize it, my prince, but I am closely watched. No one dares kill me, but I dare not do anything to cause suspicion, or my limbs would be fettered and I would be consigned to a deep, dark hole.” He gestured at the rough limestone walls. “Like this.”

  Ulvian left him there. As he wended his way to the main tunnel under the central citadel, he mulled over the possibilities. Dru was dangerous, but a potentially powerful ally. Ulvian smiled in the dark tunnel as he limped along. Let Dru believe he was a vainglorious fool. That was a useful illusion. The time might come when Ulvian would no longer require Dru’s services....

  Rough hands seized his shirt front. “Here!” bellowed a harsh voice. “Here he is, lads!”

  Ulvian was dragged into a side tunnel and flung to the floor. His bruised leg knifed with pain. Through the gloom, he saw three grunt gangers standing over him. Two he knew well – the Kagonesti Splint, and a human called Brunnar. The third was another Kagonesti he knew only as Thrit.

  “We been waiting an awful long time for our water,” snarled Splint. “The damn dust down here is thicker than soup.” He planted a foot on Ulvian’s back. “So where’s the water?”

  Painfully the prince dragged the waterskin from beneath him. It was snatched from his grasp by Thrit, who reported that it was empty.

  “I think our little waterboy needs a lesson,” Splint growled, and kicked the prince in the ribs. The three tall figures closed in.

  *

  Dru swung his pick energetically at the limestone around him. He had no interest in working hard for his captors; the physical activity was simply a reflection of the state of fevered excitement in his mind. His time in this unnatural prison could be measured in days, perhaps only hours. Soon he would be free! Surely his patron god had sent that fool of a prince to be the instrument of his deliverance.

  A sound in the passage behind him made him pause. Pick in hand, Dru whirled. The feeble glow of the fat-burning lamp didn’t penetrate beyond the bend in the tunnel some six feet away. He waited. The noise came again, a scraping, dragging sound. Carefully the sorcerer bent down to take up the lamp, his eyes never leaving the black passage.

  A hand, pale and slim, came into view on the dusty floor. Dru crept forward until the lamplight fell across the form of Prince Ulvian, sprawled on the ground. Blood matted his unkempt beard, and one eye was swollen shut.

  Dru knelt. “Your Highness! What happened?”

  “Splint... Brunnar... Thrit... beat me.” Ulvian’s lips were swelling, making speech difficult.

  Dru dragged the prince to the far end of the tunnel and propped him against the wall. After making certain no one was around, the sorcerer reached under the waist of his baggy trousers and brought out a small hide drawstring bag. He poured a little of its contents into his hand. A pungent, sweet smell filled the air.

  “Take this,” murmured Dru, putting his hand to Ulvian’s purple lips. “It’s an herbal mixture of my own. It will restore you.”

  The prince managed to swallow some of the ground herbs. In a few minutes, the swelling in his eye and lips began to subside. A modicum of strength flowed into his body. Though the pain of his injured leg eased, his ribs still ached from his beating.

  Ulvian lifted clouded eyes to the sorcerer’s face and struggled to his feet.

  “Rest a bit longer, Highness.”

  “No.” Ulvian struggled to his feet. The magic herbs hadn’t healed all his pains, but he felt considerably better. “I want to proceed with our plans as quickly as possible,” he informed Dru. “And I’ve added a condition of my own.”

  Dru tucked his herb bag away. “What’s that?”

  “Twice Splint has laid hands on me. I want revenge!”

  “Easily done, Highness. Just get the items I need.”

  Ulvian pushed Dru aside and hobbled off down the tunnel. His voice echoed back to the pleased sorcerer. “I’ll have it all for you tonight!” he declared grimly.

  Chapter 10

  THE KNOWING CHILD

  Verhanna slept deeply for the rest of the night and well into the next day. When at last she stirred and sat up, she saw Rufus sitting on the ground beside her. A cool compress of damp moss fell away from her forehead when she moved. “What – what is this? Where are we?”

  “The west bank of the Astradine River,” said the kender.

  Rufus gave her a strand of venison jerky he’d bought from the Kagonesti settlers. Verhanna gnawed on the tough meat in silence for a while, then finally said, “Now I remember. The goblins! That rotten scab of a creature bit me. The wound festered.” Suddenly she twisted around and lifted the horsehair poncho draped over her. “It’s gone!” she shouted. Verhanna lowered the piece of blanket. “Who healed me? My muscles aren’t even sore!”

  The kender pointed away from their campsite. “Him,” Rufus said simply.

  Seated on a fallen log a dozen paces distant was Greenhands, bare-chested now since Verhanna was using his poncho. His hair, which had appeared yellow by torchlight, was revealed by the light of day to be of purest white. Kith-Kanan’s daughter picked her way down the mossy riverbank toward him. The strange elf was gazing placidly across the sluggish stream, which was still depleted by the three-day onslaught of the sun.

  Verhanna opened her mouth – to demand, question, challenge – but she closed it again without speaking. There was something unsettling about this elf, something compelling. He was not handsome by elven standards. His cheeks were broad, but not high; his chin and nose were not fashionably narrow; his lips were full, not thin; and his forehead was massive, almost human in proportion. However, he was unmistakably elven, with almond-shaped eyes, elegantly pointed ears, and exquisitely long, tapering fingers. The expression on his face was serene.

  “Hello,” the Qualinesti princess finally said. His green eyes left off their study of the river and found her. A chill passed through Verhanna. She’d never seen any elf with eyes that color, and his gaze was direct – unwavering and unnerving. “Can you speak?”

  “I speak.”

  “Thank Astra.” She paused, embarrassed at the debt she owed him and unsure what to say. After a long moment, during which the elf’s eyes never left her, she added rather hastily, “Rufus tells me you healed me. I – I wanted to thank you.”

  “It needed to be done,” replied Greenhands. The wild elves whose wagon had been stuck in the mud hailed them, and the elder Kagonesti male called for Greenhands to join them.

  “Come along,” the Kagonesti said. “We’re bound for Qualinost.”

  The strange elf replied, “I cannot go.” Still his eyes remained on Verhanna.

  The Kagonesti father tied off his reins and jumped down from the wagon. “What’s that? Is this warrior holding you back?” he asked, glaring at the warrior maiden.

  “I am not,” she replied tartly.

  “I must go to the west,” Greenhands said. He rose and faced in that direction. “To the High Place. They must come with me.” He indicated Verhanna and Rufus, who had managed to join them quietly for a change. Kivinellis, riding in the wagon with the Kagonesti’s family, jumped off and ran to Verhanna.

  “I want to go, too!” he declared. The father protested strongly. A young boy couldn’t wander around with a kender, a warrior, and a simpleminded elf.

  Verhanna ignored the Kagonesti and turned to Greenhands. “Why do you have to go west with us?” she wanted to know.

  His brow furrowed in thought. “I have to find my father,” he said.

  “Who is your fath
er?”

  “I do not know. I have never seen him.”

  In spite of these vague replies, Greenhands was obstinate. He must go west, and Verhanna and Rufus must go with him. Defeated, the Kagonesti returned to his wagon, propelling Kivinellis ahead of him. The elf boy complained all the way.

  “Poor little fellow,” said Rufus. “Couldn’t we keep him, my captain?”

  Verhanna’s attention was all on Greenhands. “No, he’s better off with a family,” she said distantly. “Astra only knows where we’re headed —” The creak of wheels interrupted her. The loaded wagon lurched onto level ground and pulled away. Kivinellis, his blond head shining among the dark elves, waved forlornly from the back of the wagon. He was securely held by the Kagonesti’s wife. Verhanna returned the wave, then turned back to Greenhands.

  “I need some answers,” Verhanna declared. “Who are you?”

  “I have no name,” was the mild answer.

  “Greenhands, that’s your name,” said the kender. He clasped the elf’s grass-hued hand in both of his small ones. “Pleased to meetcha. I’m Rufus Wrinklecap, forester and scout. And that’s my captain, Verhanna. Her father is Kith-Kanan, the Speaker of the Sun.”

  Greenhands seemed startled, even bewildered, by this flood of information.

  “Never mind,” said Verhanna, shaking her head. Awkwardly she put a hand on the elf’s bare shoulder. His skin was warm and smooth. When she touched him, Verhanna felt a tingle shoot up her arm. She didn’t know if it was due to some force passing between them or if it was simply her own nervousness. Greenhands didn’t seem to notice anything odd.

  Looking him directly in the eyes, Verhanna asked firmly, “Who are you? Really?”

  He shrugged. “Greenhands.”

  A flush of irritation washed over the warrior maiden. She was intrigued by this odd fellow and deeply grateful that he’d saved her life, but his naive and evasive replies were getting under her skin.

  “I guess you’d better come with us,” she stated. “My father would want me to bring you to Qualinost.”

  “What about the slavers?” asked Rufus.

  “This is more important.”

  Greenhands shook his head. “I cannot go with you. I must go to the High Place.” He pointed west, toward the Kharolis Mountains. “There. To find my father.”

  Verhanna’s eyes narrowed, and her jaw clenched. Rufus intervened quickly. “It’s not so far off the track to Qualinost, my captain. We could swing by the mountains first. You know,” he said, changing the subject completely, “my father was a famous pot thrower.”

  Suitably distracted, Verhanna hitched the horse blanket up on her shoulders and looked at her scout. “You mean he made pots – threw them – on a wheel?” she asked.

  “No, he threw them at my Uncle Four-Thumbs. In the carnival.”

  Suddenly Verhanna realized Greenhands was no longer with them. He was twenty paces away, loping along with the morning sun at his back. She called out for him to stop.

  “You must stay with us!” she shouted.

  Wind stirred his long, loose hair. He stopped, eyes fixed on the western horizon, while Verhanna retired to a stand of trees to dress. Now that the perishing heat was over, she donned her breastplate, childrons, and greaves over a fresh haqueton. Rufus did one of his usual vaults to reach the broad back of his red-coated Thoradin mount, and together they rode to where Greenhands waited.

  “Do you ride?” Verhanna asked, returning the poncho to Greenhands. “There’s room behind Wart if you do.”

  “There’s room for most of Balifor up here,” opined Rufus.

  Greenhands pulled the poncho on over his head. “I’ll walk,” he said.

  “It’s a long way to the mountains,” she warned, leaning on the pommel of her saddle. “You’ll never be able to keep pace with the horses.”

  “I’ll walk,” he repeated, with exactly the same intonation.

  She shook her head. “Suit yourself.”

  They topped a low rise and were out of the shallow valley cut by the river and back on the grass-covered plain. To the south, the blue humps of the Kharolis foothills were plainly visible in the clear morning sky, but Greenhands went resolutely west.

  So intent were Verhanna and Rufus on keeping their eyes on Greenhands that neither bothered to look back at the riverbank. What had been a mud flat the night before was now a blossoming meadow. Grass had sprung up knee high in a few short hours, and a thousand colors of wild flowers bloomed where once there had been nothing but mud and cattails. Moreover, this strange growth narrowed as it entered the upland. Eventually it thinned to a point – the exact trail where Greenhands trod.

  *

  The day wore on, and Greenhands showed no signs of tiring.

  Verhanna and Rufus ate in the saddle, passing a water bottle back and forth between them. Greenhands plucked a few stems of grass from the turf to nibble. He ate and drank nothing else.

  By mid-afternoon the novelty of watching the strange elf had worn off. Rufus lay down on his horse’s back, clasping his hands behind his head and shading his face with his travel-worn hat. He gave his reins to his captain, and soon high-pitched snores whistled from his lips. Verhanna nodded a bit, but she was too conscious of her duty to falter and fought the sleep that tried to claim her.

  Fatigue and the lingering shock of her healed goblin bite proved too strong, though, and she, too, eventually nodded off. When her charger stumbled slightly over a gopher mound, Verhanna jolted awake. Greenhands was no longer forging ahead on foot. The warrior maiden reined in and looked back. In the high grass fifteen yards behind them, the tall elf was kneeling.

  “Wake up, Wart.” She called to the kender. Yawning, Rufus sat up and caught his reins as she tossed them.

  “Hey,” the kender said sleepily, “where’d all the flowers come from?”

  Verhanna looked past Greenhands and saw the vast trail of blooms that widened as it stretched out behind him. Not only flowers, but the dry prairie grass in the area had grown a foot taller.

  “Look you,” she said, leaning down from the saddle. “What sort of magic is this?”

  “Quiet,” he murmured. “The children call me.”

  She bristled at his abrupt command. “I’ll speak when I like!”

  The strange elf’s tense, prayerful posture suddenly relaxed. He inhaled deeply and said, “They come.”

  Verhanna was about to make a rejoinder when a faint rumbling sound reached her ears. Heavy vibrations in the ground caused her mount to shift his feet and stamp nervously. Rufus sat up and called, “Captain, look!”

  To the south, a dark brown line appeared on the horizon. It bulked larger and higher, and the rumbling grew louder. Swiftly the brown mass resolved into elk-thousands of them. A gigantic herd, stretching far to the left and right, was coming straight toward them.

  “By Astra, it’s a stampede!” Verhanna cried. She twisted her horse around to ride hard in the same direction the elk were moving. Their only chance was to go with the flow and not fall under those churning hooves.

  “Give me your hand!” she shouted to Greenhands. “We must flee!”

  The elk were only a couple hundred paces off and gathering speed. Rufus turned his mount and urged it next to his captain’s. Bouncing to his feet in the saddle, he crowed with delight, “What a sight! Have you ever seen so many deer? If only I had a bow, we’d have venison for dinner forever!”

  “You idiot, we’re going to be trampled!”

  Then the elk herd was upon them like a living wall of hide, antlers, and sharp hooves. The musky smell of the animals mingled with the dry odor of trampled grass. Thinking first of her decision to bring Greenhands to Qualinost, Verhanna threw herself on top of the elf to shield him from harm. Only after an eternal, terrifying second did the realization sink in that the herd had split and was flowing around them. The patch of ground with Verhanna, Greenhands, Rufus, and the two horses had been spared.

  Thousands of elk, with liquid brown eyes
and gaping mouths, rushed past them, nose to flank, shoulder to hip. The noise of their passage was deafening. Verhanna raised her head just enough to see the kender, still standing on his quiescent horse, hands clamped over his ears. With great astonishment, the warrior maid discovered that the stupid fellow was grinning. His carroty topknot was whipped back by the wind of the herd’s passage, and a huge smile lit his pale eyes.

  It seemed hours before the herd thinned. Alone or in pairs, the last few animals bounded in wide zigzags. In minutes more, the receding herd was again a brown line on the horizon. Then there was nothing but flying dust and the fading rumble of ten thousand hooves.

  “E’li be merciful!” Verhanna breathed. “We are truly blessed!”

  “Move away,” Greenhands grumbled from beneath her. “You smell terrible.”

  She rolled smartly aside, and he sat up. Verhanna slipped the mail mitten back from her hand and slapped the elf across the jaw. She was instantly sorry, because tears formed in his vivid green eyes and his lips quivered.

  “It’s the metal you wear,” he sniffled. One tear traced a shining path down his cheek. “It smells like death.”

  “Yippee!”

  The two of them turned to look up at Rufus. The kender was capering atop his horse. “What a sight!” he caroled gleefully. “That must be the biggest herd of elk in the world! Did you feel the wind they kicked up? The ground shook like a jelly pudding! What do you suppose made them run like that?”

  “Thirst,” Greenhands said. He sniffed and touched a hand to his wet cheek. The sight of his own tears seemed to confound him. “The heat of days past made them mad with thirst.”

  “How do you know?” Verhanna demanded.

  “They called out to me. I told them how to get to the river.”

  “You told them? I suppose you told them not to trample us, too?”

  “Yes. I told the horses to stand still, and the elk would go around us.”

  The tall elf rubbed his fingertips together till the tears were gone. Then he stood and walked slowly away, not west as they had been going, but veering south. Exasperated beyond words, Verhanna swung into her saddle and followed him. Rufus fell in beside her. He could hear her grumbling and grinding her teeth.