Kagonesti lh-1

by Douglas Niles

  This time, when Darlantan ceased speaking, Kagonos knew that his words were done forever. Sighing, yet possessed by a tingling sense of energy he had not known since before the battle, the wild elf rose to his feet- though his shoulders remained hunched in grief.

  Now he had an important task. Kagonos found a sturdy, blunt-ended stick below the cottonwood tree, and used it to scratch a hole into the soft dirt. He knelt to pull the loose soil out of the hole with his cupped hands. The work was hard and grueling, yet the elf took a peculiar satisfaction from the blisters raised on his palms, the stiffening muscles that began to ache and complain each time he hoisted more dirt out of the hole. He felt that, in every way, this was the most honorable work he had done in a long time.

  Finally the excavation was deep enough to protect Darlantan from scavengers and desecrators. As gently as possible the Pathfinder carried the ram to the grave, laid him with dignity along the soft mud in the bottom of the hole. Murmuring a prayer for the creature's peaceful rest, the wild elf slowly, reverently, moved the dirt back into the hole. When he was finished, he washed himself in the river and spoke another prayer for the spirit of his friend. With a look at the sky, Kagonos had no trouble believing that Darlantan's light still burned brightly among the legion of twinkling stars.

  Across the plain, huge victory fires blazed, spurting showers of sparks into the dark sky. Under, in the form of ogre supply carts, surplus spear shafts, and other debris, was cast onto the coals. Shouts and cheers arose around the fires-already the victory dances, with their attendant boasting and storytelling, had begun.

  The Elderwild braves would figure prominently in the celebration, Kagonos knew. His people could brag as expansively as any other, and a wild elf warrior would not be shy about enhancing the drama and glory of his accomplishments. And in the recent battle those accomplishments had been truly legendary.

  Still, the Pathfinder could find no enthusiasm for the celebration. If not for the need to tend his people's business, he would have started back to the mountains immediately. The solitude of the heights seemed likely to provide the only possible balm for his multitude of intangible wounds. He realized that all of central Ansalon was once again open to him, to all the wild elves. Yet what freedom was that when Dall, Kyrill, and Darlantan would not be there to share it with him?

  Certainly the rest of the tribes would depend on him for leadership, for some sort of suggestion as to where lay the future of the Elderwild. Perhaps it was time for the multitude of small tribes to consider gathering again in larger clans. After all, the danger of the evil dragons was gone. He thought back to a long time ago, having difficulty remembering that the Dark Queen's wyrms had smashed the great councils that had been an annual feature of Elderwild life during the first centuries after Kagonos's birth. He remembered the time of Midsummer Starheight, when he had spoken to the Grandfather Ram. He had left the tribes, tired of their silly celebration-and had been given the Ram's Horn. Now the tribes would create a whole new series of such observances, based around the moons that appeared nightly.

  Indeed, the idea of such communal celebrations tickled a favorable nerve-perhaps the idea had merit. If the tribes once again met in Highsummer council, if they talked with their brethren from across Ansaion, would not the wild elves grow stronger, develop the will to resist the encroachments of the followers of Silvanos? And they would all hear the song of the Ram's Horn and share in its wisdom and comfort.

  The wild elf Pathfinder cast a last look at the grave of his comrade. The site, with its smooth, rounded dome of earth, seemed larger than was possible. Even in death Darlantan possessed a regal dignity, an awe-inspiring presence that seemed to cry out to any observer that this had once been a masterful being, lord of flatland, mountain, and sky.

  Abruptly Kagonos froze, then slowly lowered himself into a flat crouch. He didn't know what had alarmed him-sound or smell, most likely, a sensory impression too light for conscious awareness. Nevertheless, he knew he was not alone. There was an intrusive presence nearby, someone who had arrived here with stealth and cunning. With that knowledge, Kagonos clearly understood something else, something important:

  The hidden figure in the darkness was someone who intended him harm.

  Chapter 7

  An Accounting

  Kagonos crouched soundlessly, responding by instinct to the sense of danger. He tried to absorb the subtle clues of the night, sniffing the air, trying to penetrate the shadows with his eyes. Someone shared this dark riverbank with him-someone very close, someone dangerous. Kagonos was inclined to believe that it had been an odor, faintly borne by the night breeze, that first had triggered his subtle sense of alarm. He never questioned that his intuitive response had been a portent of real danger.

  Silently the Elderwild crawled sideways along the riverbank, wriggling snakelike through the mud and grass. He strained to study the darkness, to break the veil of silence. His nostrils twitched, probing the wind, and then he knew: it was the scent of metal, tainted recently with blood.

  The wind shifted, and the scent was gone, yet its passing gave Kagonos a better picture of his enemy's location. The threat lay along the bank, slightly downstream. Carefully, silently, the Elderwild worked his way along the mud flat bordering the great flowage, crawling against the direction of current until he felt safe from observation. He remained as low as a slithering animal when he climbed the bank and lay on the brittle grass of the plain. Against the horizon, the fires from the camp still surged, too far away to provide any illumination here.

  Staying low, Kagonos crept along the bank, vision attuned to the darkness, nose twitching as he sought that faint, yet clearly definable, scent.

  His elven eyes saw the threat first as a haze of warmth gathered between two juniper bushes. Creeping carefully closer, Kagonos discerned his quarry pressed to the ground, immobile, head raised to better see the grave site. Obviously, the lurker hadn't seen the wild elf make his way off to the side.

  Kagonos observed the vague shape, gradually making out the cooler form of a longsword held ready in the fellow's hand. That blade was the source of the smell, he knew. The fact that it remained out of its scabbard seemed clear enough proof of this hidden figure's hostile intent.

  Rising on his hands and gathering his legs beneath him, Kagonos prepared for the charge. His long-shafted weapon, the steel axe head gleaming coolly in the starlight, felt light and deadly in his right hand, while his left would launch the momentum of his charge. When the soft moccasins nestled into small depressions in the ground, the Elderwild waited a few heartbeats, ensuring that his quarry did not know he had been detected.

  No sign of alarm disturbed the still watcher. The steel sword remained poised a few inches off the ground, the slender head-an elven head-fixed on the riverbank below. With an explosion of speed Kagonos sprang, raising his axe and sprinting along the dry grass with no more noise than the rustle of the air around his body.

  Yet that wind sound was enough. The other elf twisted on the ground, starlight reflecting with diamondlike glitters as that silver sword whipped toward the charging Elderwild. Kagonos pounced and swung, then cursed as the clang of metal rang loudly through the night-his target parried the blow with a lightning-fast twist of his blade.

  The Elderwild tumbled away, hearing the whoosh of air as the deadly sword slashed past his ear. Bouncing to his feet, crouching for balance, Kagonos raised his axe and watched his quarry, ready to counter the swordsman's next move. As he probed the darkness to seek his enemy's intentions in his eyes, the tribal chieftain recognized the stealthy ambusher-without surprise.

  "Quithas!" he spat. Though he had suspected this since his first tingling of alarm, the sight of his old enemy inflamed, and at the same time strangely gratified, Kagonos.

  "Yes, Wild Elf. I have come to reclaim my axe-and to avenge myself for its theft."

  "You lost it easily enough-against a naked, unarmed Ъоу.' Do you remember?"

  Kagonos watched the golden-hair
ed general carefully. Quithas was taut, almost trembling with tension-but his hook-nosed face was twisted into an almost giddy grin. He leered at the Elderwild, his eyes glittering unnaturally, and cackled a laugh before he replied.

  "I remember well. But I have killed many times since then," Quithas replied. "And with each death my skills have improved-and with each death I have brought myself one step closer to ultimate vengeance against you!"

  "Why do you seek me now, when peace is here?" The Elderwild was disturbed far more by his opponent's unsteady demeanor than he would have been if Quithas had been grim and purposeful. Kagonos struggled to contain his own anger, understanding that careful alertness might be the only way to save his life. Forcefully he pressed aside an urge to throw himself wildly at the House Elf, swinging the axe in mad, furious swipes.

  "There can be no peace for me, as long as you live!" Quithas declared. For a moment, his face became earnest, as if he really wanted the Pathfinder to understand his murderous intent. "There is more than vengeance in my mind, Kagonos. I shall kill you, but not only for revenge."

  Kagonos ducked as the silver sword slashed forward. Skipping backward, the Elderwild parried a series of fast cuts, meeting each with the head of his long-hafted axe. He took great care to parry metal against metal, knowing that the keen longsword, if it met the wooden shaft, could possibly chop his weapon into two useless pieces. Deftly the wild elf backed away, watching his enemy expend energy on a series of futile slashes.

  "What is this if not your revenge?" demanded Kagonos, falling back for a moment, trying to keep his enemy talking. He was surprisingly shaken by the House Elf's words.

  Quithas barked a laugh. "Silvanos is speaking to the Elderwild. Under a banner of high honors, he has promised to lead them to his capital in the south, to fete them with gifts and treasure."

  "They will not go!"

  "Already they agree. Barcalla and Felltree have been dazzled by jeweled bracelets-the shamans are fighting over baubles," Quithas declared with a smirk. "I told the great ruler that I would seek you, persuade you of the wisdom of this course."

  "He knew you would try to kill me!" Kagonos declared. The Pathfinder's rage expanded outward to include the elven patriarch in its embrace.

  "Perhaps," Quithas noted with a shrug. "I don't think he really cared-he doesn't understand, as do I, that your people will be much more malleable without your disruptive presence."

  "My people love the life in the forests-they will not turn their backs on it!"

  "Silvanos can be very… persuasive. He has showered them with countless things they could never gain in their usual savage state."

  This time Kagonos didn't hold back the fury. He exploded toward Quithas with a wicked slash of his axe. Drawing back before the griffontamer's parry, the wild elf reversed his swing, driving his opponent back toward the steeply dropping riverbank. One step from the edge, Quithas halted, defending against the attacks with skill that was the match of the Elderwild's. Finally Kagonos retreated, realizing that he would not yet find the fatal opening. Once more Quithas breathed heavily, drawing deep gasps through his open mouth even as he tried to grin triumphantly.

  Within Kagonos's mind raged a storm of dissension and fear. Could it be as Quithas had boasted? Would the elves of his tribe turn their backs on the woodlands, choosing instead the "protection" of city walls? And what use would their polished cousins find for them- painted, unclothed, unschooled in matters of poetry and arts? As House Servitor? No! They must be wild!

  He remembered Darlantan's commands-only Kagonos, the Pathfinder, could show his people the way.

  Quithas moved so quickly that Kagonos barely saw the attack. One moment the swordsman leaned forward, gasping to regain his wind, and the next he burst into violence, silver blade lashing from the darkness like the tongue of a striking snake.

  Again and again the axe bashed the sword aside, though the tip of Quithas's weapon gouged a stinging cut across Kagonos's chest. Now it was the wild elf who fell back, struggling to block each potentially fatal blow, striving to avoid the roots and branches that suddenly seemed to thrive on ground that had been smooth a few minutes earlier.

  Then the House Elf stabbed with a lightning thrust that grazed the Elderwild's side as Kagonos twisted away. Grunting, Quithas twisted his weapon, carving deeply into his enemy's flesh. The Pathfinder gasped as cold steel ripped over his rib cage.

  But this time Quithas overreached himself, though he realized the mistake immediately. Planting both feet, crouching, the swordsman jerked his blade back, flipping it upward to parry Kagonos's blow-which he expected from the left.

  The Elderwild feinted with a drop of his shoulder, but at the same time he flipped the axe into his other hand. When Quithas raised his weapon to block the anticipated blow, the axe head swept inward from the opposite direction, striking the elf cleanly in the neck, slicing with cruel force, the blade coming free, emerging into the air above Quithas's opposite shoulder.

  With a reflexive shiver, the House Elf's body flexed backward, the longsword flying harmlessly into the mud. When the corpse started to topple, Kagonos reached forward and grasped Quithas's head, seizing the locks of long blond hair. While the body flopped onto the ground, the head swung freely from the Elderwild's hand.

  Instinctively Kagonos tipped back his head and raised the horn to the sky. He blew, and the braying wail carried across the plains, into the camp of the celebrating army, perhaps even to the distant stars themselves. He wondered if Darlantan heard-and took some comfort from the hope that he did.

  Then Kagonos turned toward the House Elf camp. His fury pounded, and he held his grisly trophy up toward the sky. He would go there, carrying the head of Quithas Griffontamer, and present it to Silvanos himself!

  Kagonos would speak to his people, would wrap them in his fury. They would fight if they had to, battling through the camp of the craven, villainous House Elves. He would show them the path with his rage, with his righteous condemnation of Silvanos. He would lead them to the wild places!

  If they would come.

  Chapter 8

  Song of the Ram's horn

  As be trotted along, fueled by fury, tbe Pathfinder clutched the head of his enemy and grasped the smooth haft of his weapon. Only gradually did Kagonos begin to perceive the effect that his entrance to the camp-bearing the gruesome head-would have.

  The grisly talisman would certainly have the power to inflame the elves of Silvanos, perhaps driving them to a frenzy of vengeance that would bring open warfare to the camp. The Elderwild, outnumbered and surrounded to begin with, would certainly lose-but Kagonos knew that none of his braves would shrink from such a battle. That was one way to bind them to their chieftain, and in a way that would allow them to fight in the finest traditions of warlike elven valor.

  Of course, there were the women and the young and the old elves who were not warriors but would nonetheless be caught up in the slaughter. Or else, left without their braves, they would have no choice but to give themselves into the hands of the House Elves, joining the ranks of House Servitor. Was this not the fate that so many of them desired?

  Yet even as the martial beat of his heart intensified, and though he did not waver in his direction or his pace, Kagonos began to question the wisdom of his tactics. Truly, he saw, if the tribes were to sunder themselves from the House Elves, they could only do so peaceably. The severed head of Silvanos's cavalry general would do nothing to make this easier.

  With a scornful gesture, he threw the trophy to the side, cleaning his hands by wiping them on tufts of dry prairie grass. Then he resumed his rhythmic lope, stretching each step into a lengthy, gliding stride that betrayed his growing urgency.

  He trotted into the camp, past armed pickets who stared at him in surprise, but made no effort to impede his progress. Kagonos continued jogging forward, ignoring the numerous elves who, apparently startled by the intensity of his gaze, scattered out of his way. The followers of Silvanos thronged to watch his arr
ival, gathering to form a long aisle for their leader. Steadily the wild elf continued along this impromptu passageway.

  Before him the clans of the Elderwild chanted and sang, gathered around one of the largest of the victory fires. They cheered at the Pathfinder's approach, and Kagonos saw a look of relief on Barcalla's face as that normally reserved warrior raised his voice in a lusty shout. He saw others, including women and the children, and knew that he must not give way to the anger that once again began to burn within him.

  Many of the wild elf warriors crowded forward as their chieftain approached. Still painted, their faces flushed with celebration, the braves held their weapons aloft and shouted a mixture of eagle and wolf cries. Kagonos smiled thinly as the cacophony washed over him. Finally the Pathfinder came to a halt, breathing easily as he stood before the great bonfire, letting the heat steam the sweat rrom his skin.

  The crowd of House Elves parted, and Kagonos saw Silvanos, with Balif at his side, striding forward to greet him. If the great ruler was surprised to see the Elderwild alive, his face betrayed no hint-instead, the patriarch's expression seemed to be one of genuine pleasure.

  "Welcome back, my kinsman," Silvanos said, before his eyes betrayed a hint of somberness. "Did you find Darlantan… in time?"

  "Aye… though his time is now past."

  "He is a hero unique among our allies-a dragon whom the elves will revere throughout all the coming ages."

  Kagonos had his doubts about that, but he was touched bv Silvanos's apparent sincerity. If Darlantan's name was not remembered by elves two thousand years hence, the Elderwild knew that it would not be because Silvanos himself had forgotten.

  "Did Quithas find you?" Balif asked. Kagonos looked for a hint of conspiracy in the diminutive elf's eyes, but he could see only honest curiosity.