The second dragon, even larger than its mate, cried out in fury. Huge jaws gaped, and Ashtaway felt a tremor of sympathy as he saw a great fireball explode outward, sweeping around several tree trunks-and consuming the horses and riders who sought shelter there.
Ignoring the death screams of their comrades, a dozen knights charged with leveled lances toward the dragon as the serpent landed in an open space between several trees. The wyrm reached out, crushing one rider with its great claws, then incinerating several more with another firestorm. At the same time, sharp steel lance heads pierced the dragon's flanks, drawing a shrill cry of pain. The serpent struggled to break free, flapping its wings frantically as the knights plunged their long-shafted weapons deeper.
Several men drew huge swords and chopped into the monster's flesh as it flailed. Ash was deeply impressed by the force behind these blows. He watched the steel weapons plunge deep through the monster's scaly skin. Blood flowed from the wounds as the dragon bellowed, pivoting through the midst of nearly a score of dead knights.
The dragon tried to raise its head, jaws gaping, for another explosive breath, but now the surviving knights drove in, chopping and hacking at the exposed neck. One man in particular, bearing a two-handed sword with a golden hilt, threw all caution to the wind as he stood before the writhing wyrm. With a mighty, shuddering stab, he thrust the weapon through the red-scaled breast, all the way into the serpent's corrupt, seething heart. The beast reared and then, serpentine body shivering with tremors, collapsed forward in one dying lunge. The monster's death shriek turned to a gurgle as it convulsed and died, fully burying the courageous knight beneath the crimson bulk of its body.
The first dragon, during the death fight of its companion, struggled through the sticky muck, flapping and clawing desperately. Many arrows, which to Ashtaway looked like tiny darts in the distance, glittered from its right wing. Apparently the knights had been trained to concentrate their shots, and to good effect-obviously the beast had been too badly injured to fly. The Kagonesti reflected, grimly impressed, that crippling one wing of a living creature was every bit as effective as injuring them both.
But the crimson monster could still breathe, and when its companion fell, fatally pierced, the survivor erupted with a screech of pure hatred. Fire exploded once, twice, and again from those widespread jaws, incinerating the remaining knights even as the humans turned to meet the new threat. Even in the face of certain death, the men remained steadfast-not one threw down his weapon or aimed in a useless attempt at flight.
Ashtaway continued to watch, awestruck, as the wounded dragon crawled away from the bloody battle. Dragging its useless wing in the dirt, it disappeared into the forest. The Kagonesti warrior remained immobile and silent for several minutes after the last scarlet scales on the serpent's tail had vanished into the shadows.
Finally he moved, though he didn't take the trail back to the village. Avoiding the scene of the battle, Ash worked his way along the high crests. All the while, the moves of the combat replayed in his head like the steps of an elaborate dance. The battle offered by the knights had been the greatest act of courage he had ever witnessed. Furthermore, the fact that the heroes had been humans now forced him to reexamine a number of previously held beliefs and assumptions-obviously, short lives did not equate to a craven existence.
A sound reached his ears and sent a jolt of alertness through Ashtaway's body-a tingling sense of delight that took him completely by surprise. The noise was repeated, and the wild elf recognized the distant blaring of a horn, its music impossibly sweet, delightful.
He was reminded of the three-spiraled Ram's Horn that his uncle, lydaway Pathfinder, played on important or ceremonial occasions. The sound of this distant music was similar, yet even more grand-fuller of body, more resonant in tone. And despite its distance, something told the elf that this horn played a song for him, and for him alone.
Even as he wondered about the sound, he began to run, not consciously aware that he had been summoned.
Chapter 10
Lectral
Ashtaway run tirelessly, coasting down from bis lofty vantage, sprinting along flowered meadows and down shaded forest trails. Like a deer he flew over shallow streams, dart- ins around thickets, speeding dizzily when the undergrowth thinned. He raced for hours, unaware of time or distance, knowing only a joyous sense of anticipation.
Finally his footsteps faltered. The wild elf's forest senses suddenly signaled an alarm. He slowed to a trot along a narrow deer trail, then stopped altogether, listening.
Other footsteps thudded quietly through the woods, rut not silently, like the running of a Kagonesti brave. Crouching, Ash melted into the brush beside the path. Someone else came along the same trail-and ran with a great deal of grace and speed, to judge from the sounds.
Abruptly she came into sight around a bend, and when he recognized Hammana, Ashtaway's heart trilled with delight. The elfwoman's slender body was garbed in a gown of soft doeskin, her black hair braided into a single, lush plait that usually lay over her shoulder-though now it trailed behind, flying from the speed of her run. Her beaded moccasins glided lightly, making little sound-for the Kagonesti women were nearly as adept in stealth and woodcraft as were the men.
She was a healer, not a warrior, and she did not have the warrior's constant alertness. Her bright, hazel eyes were downcast, her face wrinkled in concentration as she raced closer to Ashtaway.
When she was still a dozen paces away, he stepped into the trail and called her name, wanting very much not to frighten her. She gasped slightly and pressed her fingers to her mouth as she suddenly stopped, but Ash thrilled to the realization that she concealed a sudden, secret smile. She was not displeased to see him!
"Greetings, Warrior Ashtaway," she said formally. Then she frowned. "Did you hear it as well?"
"The horn? I am on my way to find its source."
"I heard it calling, and I had to do the same. But what do you think it is?"
Hammana came closer, and Ash was once again struck by her beauty and serene grace. Since childhood she had possessed that sense of self-assurance he found so refreshing and impressive. Perhaps because she was blessed with her unusual skill, she lacked the self-effacing shyness that characterized so many young Kagonesti women. Often Ashtaway had watched her in the village, and sometimes had even gone into the woods to spy on her as she wove nets by the marshy edge of the Bluelake. The few times they had walked that shoreline together were experiences burned indelibly into the young warrior's memory.
Now fate had drawn them both to this compelling sound, and this fact excited and disturbed him. Surely that was a portent of destiny-that the two of them were meant to be together. Only as these thoughts filtered through his mind did he remember her question.
"It-it sounds like the Ram's Horn, or a bigger version of it," he suggested. "I've heard my uncle play it many rimes."
"I, too," she reminded him. 'Though this did not sound like the signal of our Pathfinder."
They fell into step side by side, jogging along quickly- though not so fast that they couldn't converse. "Where were you when you heard it?" he asked.
"At the lake shore," she said. "There were fishers there, too, but none of them noticed the sound-I asked them."
"Only you… and me," he said, his tone serious, the significance of the fact not lost on either of them.
She started to ask something and then, as they came around another bend in the trail, halted with a gasp of breath.
Ashtaway protectively took another step before he, too, ceased moving. The woods opened into a wide clearing, н-ith a cliff of black rock rising steeply beyond. He could only stare in awe at the creature that lay, coiled, in the center of the open space.
Silver scales rippled in the sun, though in many places the argent surface was broken by cruel cuts and ugly, bleeding gashes. One leathery wing, also silver, was half- spread onto the grass, while the other was twisted awkwardly at the great creature's side. The
serpentine neck curled through a full circle, and the broad snout was turned to face them-though both silver eyelids remained dose.
The dragon was big-larger than the two reds Ashtaway had seen before-but terribly rended by battle. At first the elf thought it was dead, until he noticed the slow, rhythmic pulsing of one wounded flank.
Look!" Hammana whispered, her voice taut-but with excitement, not fear. "There, held in the forepaw."
Carefully Ashtaway stepped forward, looking down to get a clear look at the object held by the dragon.
"It's the Ram's Horn!" he replied. "Or one very much like it."
"Yes-but it's not the tribe's horn. Look, it curls in the opposite direction… as if it came from the same ram, but from the other side of its head!"
They looked at each other, awestruck. The legend of the second Ram's Horn was a part of Kagonesti lore, familiar to them both. At the time Darlantan bestowed the powerful talisman upon Father Kagonesti, he had claimed that the second horn would be held by the silver dragons, a symbol of the bond between wild elf and those mighty serpents. Yet it had never been heard in the dozens of centuries since, so the Kagonesti had come to view the story as a mystical legend.
"The second Ram's Horn. The tales are true," Hammana breathed, taking Ash's hand as she stepped to his side. He welcomed the touch, feeling this as a moment of wonder, not danger. "Is it dead?"
"Not yet, thank you." The words rumbled from the great mouth, though the jaws barely moved. With a grunt of effort, the silver dragon lifted its huge head from the ground and blinked with a pair of luminous yellow eyes.
Hammana rushed forward, kneeling before the great head as Ashtaway stepped more deliberately behind. "You called us, and we have come! How can we help you?" she asked, gently placing her hands to either side of the mighty jaws.
"Who are you?" asked the Kagonesti warrior, squatting before the silver dragon's head.
"I am called Lectral among my people, and it would please me to be called that by you as well." The dragon dipped his head, formally polite. "And you are of the wild elves?"
"I'm Hammana, and this is Ashtaway, a mighty warrior!"
"A mighty warrior of the Kagonesti. I am indeed honored."
"My friend is overly kind," Ashtaway declared, shaking his head in embarrassment. "1 have only recently spi- raled my tatoos, and my prowess is far from legendary." In fact, while Ash had accompanied war parties against humans and House Elves, his only kills had occurred in a few fights against the scaly, lizardlike bakali-evil creatures that sometimes penetrated the Kagonesti woodlands and were slaughtered by the wild elves whenever they were encountered. While he had fought well, there were many other braves in the tribe who had earned higher battle honors.
"Perhaps not legendary yet, but you will be." The dragon said this with a shrug, as if it were a statement of fact, not conjecture. Ashtaway felt a shiver of apprehension tinged with profound wonder.
"Who hurt you?" the warrior asked protectively, as if he himself was ready to avenge the attack.
"Four red dragons fell upon me, just two days since. I killed two, but I'm afraid the other two got the best of the fight. They must have been in something of a hurry, though-they left me wounded, when they could have finished the job."
"Are you badly hurt? The cuts look deep," Hammana observed.
"It will be long before I fly again." The dragon wriggled his mangled right wing, but the leathery membrane barely twitched weakly. "And some of these bites, I fear, may begin to fester."
"Hammana is a healer of much skill," the warrior said hurriedly. He turned to the woman. "Can you help him?"
"I need mud, for poultices-and bring me strands from the inner bark of young pines. I saw some mushrooms beside the trail that I'll fetch, and I think I noticed the smell of lilyweal. I'll gather some of that as well."
Leaving the dragon, who seemed not the least bit concerned by his grievous wounds, the pair scoured the woods for a time, gathering the items Hammana needed. While he searched, Ash located a deep, dry cave in the base of the sheer obsidian cliff. He returned to Lectral, who was intrigued by this suggestion of shelter and limped after the warrior to the foot of the black stone wall.
"This will do quite nicely/' the silver dragon admitted.
Hammana, bearing an armful of herbs, roots, and tubers, found them at the cave. Ash built a small fire-for roasting some of the herbs-while the woman began applying poultices of mud and leaves to the worst of the dragon's hurts.
"That feels much better," Lectral allowed, stretching his neck around to let her swab a wound in his shoulder. "Now, if only you had a deer, perhaps, or a wild pig?"
Ashtaway shook his head, shameful. "This has been a hard time for hunting. 1 had stalked for three days when I heard your horn, and had not even seen the spoor of game."
"It is the war," Lectral said with a shrug. "With dragons in the air, the forest creatures must resort to extreme caution-those who survive, that is."
"Aye. And the dragons fly closer than ever," Ash noted. He described the encounter he had witnessed, carefully relating every detail of the red dragon attack and the heroic defense of the knights. "You told me of battling four, killing two. Perhaps they were the survivors." Lectral listened in silence until the tale was fully told.
"This is both bad and good," the great silver serpent declared sagely when Ash had concluded.
"I understand the bad-but how can it be good as well?" wondered the Kagonesti.
"The sending of her scouts this far to the south is a sign that the Dark Queen grows desperate. For too long her armies have been held in bloody stalemate on the Plain of Solamnia, at the brink of the Kharolis Mountains, and perhaps she begins to fear that victory may yet elude her. She must strike at the forces of Paladine in Palanthas, and until she breaches that range she cannot bring her army to bear."
"I have heard of these mountains-but they are terribly far away, beyond the broad plain of Vingaard," Ash said skeptically. "What importance can those battles have to these southern forests?"
"There has come a warrior, a knight called Huma. It is said that through him the forces of Paladine may yet find a way to defeat Takhisis, and to reclaim the plains they call Solamnia. The Queen of Darkness must have heard these tales as well-and she is frightened. Since her armies are held at bay, she no doubt seeks another way to strike at the knights in Palanthas."
"But surely she will not find such a route through these southern forests? Only Silvanesti lies beyond."
"Perhaps it is not attack, but defense, that is now on her mind," Lectral suggested.
"Defense from what? We Kagonesti? Or does she fear that the arrogant House Elves of Silvanesti will take notice of her war and march forth to do battle?" The scorn in Ashtaway's voice clearly showed his own estimation of that likelihood.
"1 doubt she fears the elves. Surely Takhisis knows that if she leaves them alone they will not interfere with her plans for the human realms. Still, as her armies and arms are depleted, she must take steps to guard her base of power and supply in Sanction."
"I have seen Sanction from the mountain heights. It is a smoky, miserable place-why must she guard it so carefully?"
The silver dragon was silent for several minutes, gathering his thoughts. Ash waited patiently until his companion once again spoke.
"For two reasons. Sanction holds the great forges where all of the dark army's steel is smelted, and is the place where weapons that carry the war forward are forged. Her losses have been heavy, and it is known that her slaves are driven hard to hammer new steel, to forge weapons to replace those broken and abandoned on the fields. Sanction is where all this labor occurs. Great mounds of coal are stored there, as well as fields of iron and nickel from which that steel is forged. If she were to lose Sanction, her armies would be left without the lifeline of their power-the materials that allow her to wage this war.
"And second, the city is the site of countless huge storage barns-the food that will keep her army in the fi
eld through the upcoming year. Were those to be destroyed, much of the evil strength would be dispersed by the need to forage."
"Cannot the knights attack the city and destroy these forges?" Ashtaway wondered.
"I am certain that they would like to, but the city is guarded by walls and armies against attack from the west. Any attacking force would have to penetrate many barriers in the face of much resistance. Though they might desire to do so, I doubt that even the bravest warriors could succeed."
"What does this have to do with dragons flying over the forest?"
"Just this, I suspect: As I stated, Sanction is secure against attack from the west. But as her situation grows more perilous, perhaps Takhisis worries about attack from some other quarter. True, Sanction is guarded by mountains to the north, east, and south, but the Dark Queen is fearful, and no doubt seeks to reassure herself that these avenues, too, are protected."
"This knight called Huma must be a great man," Ashtaway suggested, "for his presence to cause the Queen of Darkness such concern."
"I am told that he is," Lectral agreed. "And, no doubt, if there was any way through the mountains, the knights would make every effort to strike at Sanction. I suspect her fears on that score are groundless, but she will nevertheless make effort to patrol these forests, just to make sure."
"I wonder what it is that brought the knights into the woodland. The force was too small for a battle such as you describe. This is far from their domain, as well," the elven warrior mused.
Lectral shrugged a great shoulder. "Humans think that all Krynn is their domain-but who can guess why they ride where they will?"
"My fellow warriors have slain many humans. When they fight us, they seem crude and vicious, not at all courageous. Though I admit that these knights were different-"
"Isn't this enough talk of war?" Hammana interrupted. She looked at Ashtaway pointedly. "Can you find some food?"
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