"We must be very near the plains," Ash guessed. "If you follow the stream down from this valley, I suspect you'll be out of the foothills by the end of the day."
"Then westward, toward Solamnia," Sir Kamford agreed. "I need to learn how Huma's campaign fares- and let the lords know of our success."
"Was it worth the cost?" Ashtaway wondered. Throughout the long, dark march, his mind had replayed the glorious images of the charge. He remembered the inexorably precise advance, the way that no ogre or human could stand in the face of those raging horses.
Then had come the fires, when so much of the enemy's stockpiles had burned. This still seemed, to Ashtaway, a curious way to fight. It made sense when the knight described it-the Kagonesti could understand that the weapons and food would benefit the Dark Queen's army for some months-but it was not the kind of thing any wild elf chieftain would try to do. After hours of subterranean meditation, Ashtaway had finally understood why: When the Kagonesti went to war, they expected to win or lose on the day the battle was joined. This planning for battles that would not occur until the next season was a thing that seemed pointless, even defeatist.
"I believe it was," Sir Kamford declared, though he shook his head with a weariness that belied his words. "To lose Sir Blayne… to see so many other good men fall, never to rise. Who can say? If those arrows, that steel, were destined to kill a hundred men in the future, the cost was just. If they never were to have been used…"
The knight lapsed into silence, and only after a moment's reflection did Ash realize that the human was patiently, elven-fashion, awaiting the Kagonesti's response.
"Even so, many ogres were slain. And some slaves were freed. I think that those are good things," Ashtaway replied.
"And I would like to think that the knights have made a friend-a good friend-among the proudest, the finest elves on all of Ansalon."
The Kagonesti Pathfinder, deeply moved, touched his hand to the knight's shoulder. "You have," he promised, knowing that Sir Kamford Willis was a warrior as courageous, as mighty-in his own way-as Faltath, or any heroic wild elf brave.
Ashtaway stood still, remembering and meditating, while the knights allowed their horses to graze and drink. He still hadn't moved when they mounted, though he finally raised a hand in farewell as Sir Kamford, riding at the rear, disappeared into the trees.
After a few brief minutes spent rigging several snares, Ash spent the rest of the day swimming in the stream and sunbathing. The snares provided him with two plump rabbits for dinner, and afterward he slept under the stars. Every time he awakened, he rejoiced to the array of lights that gleamed and twinkled at him from the moonless vault of the sky. He felt newly alive, as if he had emerged from the tunnels a different person, a different kind of Pathfinder.
He took five days in returning to the south, following valleys that became steadily more familiar as he moved closer to the Bluelake. All the while his mind worked, as he wrestled with an expanded view of his world. For the first time in his life, he considered the notion that there were good people in the world-people who were not of the Kagonesti. Sir Kamford, and even Highbulp Toofer, had forced Ashtaway to reconsider the traditions that had kept his tribe in an almost constant state of war. Surely some enemies, such as the ogres and the bakali, were worthy foes. But perhaps it was wrong to assume that humans, that dwarves, were enemies, simply because they were humans or dwarves.
Ashtaway even speculated about the Silvanesti-might the Kagonesti learn that the ancient clans of the House Elves were not filled with the despicable villains that Ash had always been taught resided there? He had known Kagonesti who had been killed by Silvanesti swords, and of the deadly traps laid by the House Elves to protect their precious cities. He had seen Silvanesti slain by arrows fired from wild elven ambush. He sensed that such depths of hatred could not be wrong. The House Elves and the wild elves were forever destined to be foes.
As he traveled through the eternal woodland, Ashtaway discarded some of his earlier beliefs and embraced others. He reflected on war and peace, on the worth of life and death when a hated foe stood before one's blade or bow. He wondered about the nature of hatred, such as that which had raged between his people and humankind through all the ages of Krynn. And still the inner torment raged within him. It was not until he had reached a familiar valley within a day's march of the village that he understood why.
Turning to the side, he made his way toward the foothill valley, climbing through the rocky notch to see the black, obsidian wall. He wished he had the time to hunt, to bring fresh game with him, but his urgency wouldn't allow delay.
Once again he found Hammana in the woods-though this time he didn't surprise her. Instead, she stood in the midst of the clearing, watching the woods as he emerged from the underbrush.
"Hello, Pathfinder," she said quietly. Her hazel eyes shined as she looked at him, her chin held proudly raised.
"Hammana…" He crossed to her in long strides and took her hands in his.
"No." She pulled back, and he saw that the shining in her eyes came from unshed tears. "I cannot let myself love you."
He didn't pursue, though his hands remained outstretched, reaching. "I am the Pathfinder now. I didn't ask for the horn, but it's a destiny that came to me-and I shall bear it, I hope, well.
"But 1 know already, Hammana, that I'm a different Pathfinder than those who came before me. I am not Iydaway or Barcalla or Father Kagonesti. Just as Iydaway changed the tasks of leadership by speaking and persuading rather than guiding in aloof silence, I, too, shall change. I will not make war against the humans, simply because they are human. Already I have done a thing unlike any other Pathfinder of the Kagonesti."
"You… you will be a great leader of our people. This I know." She seemed proud when she said this, and sad as well.
"But this peace with humankind is not the only way I will be different," Ash persisted. He stepped forward and took her hands again, holding too tightly for Hammana to easily pull away. "Other taboos, too, date from an earlier time. They may have been right in the past, but I know they are wrong for me."
She looked at him intently now, surprised and wondering.
"I will also be the first Pathfinder who takes a wife… if she will have me."
For a moment, he didn't know what she would say. The tears spilled down her cheeks then, overwhelming her efforts to blink them away.
"She will," the elfwoman said, and his arms wrapped her as she fell against him.
"This is a wonderful development, truly splendid!" Lectral declared when, hand in hand, they went to the cave and shared their news. "A bit of departure from tradition, though, isn't it?"
"It is," Ashtaway agreed. "We live long lives, your people and mine, but I have learned that times can change, peoples can change-many things change."
Lectral blinked sagely. "Even for elves and dragons," he said with a contented nod.
Chapter 21
A final Parting
Thee two wild elves returned to the village together. As they entered the vallenwood glade, Ashtaway saw Faltath, bearing the fresh, plump carcass of a wild pig on his shoulders, emerge from the forest on the opposite side of the clearing.
"Ashtaway!" cried the delighted brave, casting his prize to the ground. "I thanked the gods for sending me this gift of game-and now I know the cause of our joy! We shall have a feast to celebrate your return!"
"I thank you, my friend. And know that there is even more to celebrate-on this day I shall speak to Wallaki about the taking of his daughter's hand." Faltath's eyes widened, then he threw back his head and whooped in delight. "You are the Pathfinder!" he declared heartily. "And you are sure to show the tribe some very interesting trails!"
The tribe immediately set to the preparations for a feast. Older women took Faltath's pig and began to skin it, while several braves laid a bed of hardwood on the base of the fire pit.
Ashtaway crossed to the bark lodge where Wallaki, Hammana's father, sat outside the do
or, enjoying the afternoon's warmth. Blocked by the hut, the elder Kagonesti had not seen the pair return to the village.
"Welcome back, Pathfinder. Come sit with me and rest your feet after your long march. Do you have any further word of my daughter, or have you come straight from the Three Smoking Mountains?"
"Thank you." Ash squatted beside the old warrior. "Hammana has returned to the village with me. She will come to see you soon."
"But first…?"
"I would speak with you." Ashtaway drew a deep breath and told Wallaki about the changes that he would make in his time-honored role. "I shall bear the Ram's Horn as long as the tribe wants me to have it," he concluded. "But, also, I will take a wife."
Now Wallaki's eyebrows raised and he looked at Ashtaway with keen interest. "Hammana is a precious girl, and a wonderful prize for any brave. She knows the arts of curing in ways that many healers who have studied for centuries can never master. Too, she is an elf of wondrous beauty, with many other talents as well. But I do not know how I should survive without her to tend to my needs."
Ash might have pointed out that Wallaki had survived quite nicely while his daughter had been caring for Lectral, but he did not. Instead, he spoke with respect. "Perhaps two doeskins and the down of fifty geese would make your loneliness more comfortable," he suggested.
Wallaki nodded. "That would help. But see these old fingers? They are too gnarled for proper fletching. I can still shoot, but I have no arrows."
"You will soon have one hundred of the finest shafts that I can feather," Ash promised, bowing his head. The dowry price was very high-and he was elated to pay it.
"Ah… that will do much to soothe my despair!" It was all the old shaman could do to keep from cackling in delight.
"We shall be wed with the autumn harvest," Ash told the beaming priest. The Pathfinder rose and bowed respectfully before he went to spread the word through the rest of the village.
Ashtaway stood beside the slowly roasting pig, far enough away so that he didn't get burned-but close enough for his silhouette to darken against the backdrop of brightness, as he looked across the faces of his people. The young Pathfinder felt a vague, unidentifiable sense of disquiet, wondering what unease lurked at the back of his mind. He wished that Iydaway could be here-and he wondered what his uncle would say about his break with tradition.
Then he realized another thing: He wished that Lectral, too, could share in this feast-that they could really celebrate the end of the Dragon War. But did he dare to hope that Huma's victory over Takhisis would occur, that the scourge of evil dragonkind might be lifted from Krynn?
"What is it, my Pathfinder?" He felt a gentle hand in his and looked down into Hammana's bright, penetrating eyes.
"I'm thinking of a friend," he said quietly.
"I think our friend will come."
Ashtaway patted her hand, appreciating her optimism even as he couldn't share it. But she was no longer looking at him-instead, she raised a hand and pointed toward the forest encircling the village.
"Look!"
Shiny silver rippled through the trees, and Ashtaway and Hammana raised shouts of greeting as a broad snout poked out of the forest. Kagonesti voices shouted in alarm, mothers sweeping children into their arms as warriors raced toward the dragon that had suddenly appeared in their midst.
Ashtaway raised the Ram's Horn to his lips and blew a joyful blast. "Hold!" he cried, as the warriors turned to look at him. "This is a friend-a very welcome friend!"
Stepping forward, Hammana at his side, he advanced to greet the mighty dragon.
The serpent, dragging his injured hind leg, limped into the clearing and coiled himself, smiling gently, at the edge of the village. Remembering Ash's tale of the great silver dragon, Lectral Hornbearer, the Kagonesti gradually overcame their awe and came forward to regard the dragon, who returned their dignified inspection with a serious and serene expression.
Children stared at the dragon wide-eyed, but without fear. Some even ventured to approach, and soon Lectral was entertaining them by lifting them up on his broad snout and letting them slide, squealing, down his smooth, curling tail.
"It is a time for changes of many kinds," Ashtaway observed solemnly.
"Aye, and friendships of many kinds as well," the dragon replied as a giggling tot tumbled from his tail into the dirt. Children clamored for more turns, but Lectral gently disengaged himself-after each of the youngsters had had a ride-and limped to the central clearing. The Kagonesti hurried about, cleaning dirt off the children, getting ready for the feast.
"It is good to see you so happy," said Lectral. "For this alone I would have come to the village."
Ashtaway didn't miss the dragon's meaning. "There is another reason that you came, then?"
"Yes. It is to make my farewells to you and Hammana, who have cared so well for me."
"Farewells? But surely you're not going anywhere? Not with the battle won, perhaps even the war! You must stay with us and celebrate the peace!"
"Alas, I cannot," sighed Lectral with genuine regret. "For, as you suspect, the war is won. But the price of that victory is the departure of me, and my kind."
"What do you mean?"
"They are winging to me, tonight. I came here to say good-bye to you and await Saytica-for the two of us will fly together."
Saytica, Ash remembered, was one of Lectral's female offspring-now a huge silver dragon in her own right. Her proud father had boasted that she was one of the foremost fighters in the dragon wing defending Palanthas.
"You're going to fly? Fly where? And how?" Ashtaway couldn't believe what he was hearing. He gestured at the scarred mass of the dragon's once-mighty wings. "Saytica may be a mighty dragon-but do you think she's going to carry you?"
Lectral smiled tolerantly, even puffing a brief snort of amusement.
"As to the where: We go to a place called the Isle of Dragons, a place beyond Ansalon. We-the dragons of silver and gold-are going there, and there we shall live out our days, and our generations."
"How do you know this?" Ashtaway challenged.
"Peace is a thing of which even the smallest birds take note-it has been the song on the wind for these past days. It is a music that spreads across the world, a tale of hope and mystery that an ear as sensitive as mine cannot help but sense."
The dragon smiled more broadly, mocking himself.
"Of course, it helped this morning that one of Saytica's children-a nestling, barely, but a fast flyer-came to my cave and told me to make ready."
"But Lectral-without wings, how will you fly?"
If the dragon had heard the question, he made no indication of the fact.
"They say that the Isle of Dragons is a splendid place, idyllic, bountiful to a dragon's needs," Lectral continued, his voice soft, dreamy. Ashtaway sensed that the great serpent did in fact relish the prospect of a pastoral life there.
The Pathfinder raised the horn to his mouth and began to play. He didn't think about the notes, but let the music rise from somewhere within his soul. Lectral half-closed his eyes, listening dreamily, while the rest of the Kagonesti sighed softly with the poignancy of the melody.
The notes of the horn, this time, were fuller and more profound than could possibly have resonated in that slender tube. Ashtaway recognized great, keening chants in the rich melody and understood that the instrument played a song of dragons. He did not, could not, know that these sounds had not rung from the horn in more than two thousand years, but he sensed their historic portent as he heard them now.
Lectral raised his own horn, and these notes joined Ash's in rising toward the sky, singing through the night. The elf had a strong feeling that Father Kagonesti himself hovered there, looking down at his people, his tribe. Ashtaway wondered what Kagonos thought about the changes in the world-and in the Pathfinder-that had come about during this portentous season.
In a flash of insight, he knew that the Elderwild was pleased.
At last, the big silver
dragon lowered his horn and raised his eyes to the canopy of leaves over their heads. "They come," he said softly.
Limping awkwardly, the great serpent hobbled through the village, and made his way between the vallenwoods that stood at the top of the lakeside bluff. Emerging from the trees, he looked toward the northwest, where Lunitari had just settled below the horizon. The Kagonesti came behind, reverently gathering along the crest of the precipice, looking across the star-dappled pattern of the Blue- lake.
The tribe settled into silence as the wild elves waited, following the direction of Lectral's gaze. Ashtaway still played, and still the notes of the horn keened impossibly deep and broad, and now the song expanded to fill the night.
The dragons came into sight first as silhouettes against the starlight, but as they flew lower the metallic glow of their wings shimmered even in the night sky. Many silver dragons circled overhead, most of them wheeling tirelessly far above the lakeside camp. A few dove, however, and one of these settled toward the great vallenwoods of the bluff's top, spreading her wings to land in a gush of wind beside the gathered elves and the great, crippled serpent.
"Greetings, Honored Father." Saytica, proud and beautiful, bowed to the great silver dragon. Her body was not as huge as Lectral's, but Saytica was supple and slender in a way that suggested deep and abiding power.
"Welcome, my daughter." Lectral's voice, firm with ritual, was nevertheless warm with the depth of his love.
"I am glad to find you," she said respectfully. "The time for flying is now."
"Farewell, my friends," Lectral declared with a bow of his head. Ashtaway watched in disbelief as the dragon's body abruptly shimmered and shifted, shrinking rapidly until he stood before them as an old human man. Shaggy white eyebrows concealed his yellow eyes-though Ash could still see those eyes flash in amusement at the elves' consternation.
"A-a human?" stammered the young chieftain after he regained his voice. "Why not take the form of an elf?"
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