Carefully creeping forward, Iydahoe peered through a narrow crack between two of the rocks at the lip of the cliff. He saw legionnaires with their crossbows sighted upward, yet for long seconds they held their fire. Iydahoe couldn't see Bakall, but from the lowering of the cross- bows, he deduced that the young elf had not been shot- for the moment, at least.
Only then did he hear the other voice-first stern and commanding, then softer, more convincing. Iydahoe saw the elven cleric he had observed earlier. Now the priest stood atop the seat of the wagon, addressing the legionnaires with words Iydahoe couldn't understand. Their captain and officers slain by the first of the elven arrows, the men-at-arms wavered between vengeance and the eloquence of the cleric's arguments. Ultimately they held their fire, watching carefully as the young warrior reached the foot of the cliff and advanced toward the Silvanesti who still exhorted from his wheeled pulpit.
Iydahoe's bow and the dozen arrows remaining in his quiver were forgotten in the wild elf's wonder at the scene below. He saw Bakali reach the side of the wagon, taking the cleric's extended hand to step upward. As the young brave disappeared into the curtained interior, the cleric shouted something to the legionnaires.
Another man emerged from a different wagon-Iydahoe felt a mixture of horror and fury when he saw the dark gray robes of a wizard. He was out of arrow range, or the elf would have shot immediately. The fellow set a small, iron brazier on the ground and squinted upward, beginning to chant something aloud.
Even at this great distance the wild elf felt the flash of cold recognition. This was the face he had seen on the robed rider, fourteen years before. Flinging himself flat on the rocks, Iydahoe took shelter against the unknown threat of magical attack. His mind seethed with the hatred that had so long burned for this magic-user, the man who had enabled the armies of Istar to reach the wild elf villages undetected. If there was one man, beside the Kingpriest himself, who was to blame for that butchery, Iydahoe knew this wizard was that killer.
The mage shouted something, his words crackling in triumph. Iydahoe, peering around the rock, gaped in astonishment as the wizard's pot of coals suddenly spewed out a great column of flame. The fire crackled upward and out, like a living being-a creature cringing before the commands of its human master. The twisting, blazing shape broke away from the brazier. The wizard shouted again, pointing up the bluff, and the fiery creature followed the magic-user's command. Bushes and trees crackled into flame as it moved, but the fire-being didn't pause. When it reached the base of the precipice, it began to surge upward, bounding with a series of uncanny leaps.
Abruptly the legionnaires kicked spurs to their horses, while the wagon drivers shouted, unsparing in the use of their lashes. Hooves pounding, wheels rumbling, the procession clattered along the floor of the gorge. Dust swirled into the air, pushed by the breeze into a choking cloud that billowed upward in the canyon like muddy water flowing through a stone-bound channel.
At the same time, fire crackled higher on the cliff side as the blazing monster flew upward. Dozens of newly- kindled blazes added to the smoke and terrified the horses. The first band of riders, less the several dozen who had fallen to Kagonesti arrows, galloped past, with the wagons clattering behind. Shortly afterward, the final rank of legionnaires came into view, staring with fear and fury at the cliff from which death had rained-and where, now, the animated figure of the wizard's fire reached the lip of the precipice.
Iydahoe was unaware of the fleeing legionnaires as the towering fire beast surged into sight. The creature had a broad torso mounted on a circular base of flame. Two blazing arms extended from its upper body, while a head-complete with two charcoal-black eyes-surmounted the entire horrific form.
The thicket concealing Iydahoe erupted into fire. Heat singed the wild elf's skin, raising blisters on his arms. Behind him, a dry tree exploded into flame, blocking the Kagonesti's retreat. With no alternative, the warrior raised the silver axe and lunged forward, slashing wildly at the belly of the monstrous creature. Surprisingly, the axe head ripped a great gash through the pillar of flame.
Then a fist of crackling heat smashed into the wild elf's shoulder, sending him staggering backward. With shocking speed the fire monster leapt-but Iydahoe flailed with the mighty axe blade, knocking the beast aside. More bushes ignited, and sweat dripped in the warrior's eyes. His retreat blocked by flaming brambles, Iydahoe again hurled himself at the blazing apparition, hacking with the axe from the right, from the left, then chopping with brutal, overhand slashes. Parts of living fire fell away, flickering weakly on the ground, and the elf pressed his advantage. Finally the monster broke apart, balls of oily fire dropping over the cliff, spattering into smoke on the rocks below.
The wild elf turned and sprinted through the blazing tinder, ignoring the sparks that stung his sltin, the blisters that had begun to ripple along his legs. Real fear gnawed at him. How could he battle a man who could wield the forces of the very elements themselves? At the same time, Iydahoe imagined shooting an arrow into the wizard, putting an end to his evil, and the thought brought his hatred to a tight, burning focus.
Iydahoe was as frightened by Bakall's strange departure as by the wizard's magic. The brave raced along the high ground, striving to catch sight of the procession. His chest rose and fell from the easy effort of his breathing, and finally he got a glimpse of the rear guard. From there he held a steady pace with his quarry, taking care to remain back from the lip of the cliff. Fortunately, the hastening procession made enough noise that he found that he didn't have to see it in order to follow it. Soon, afternoon shadows lengthened around him and, based on his limited experience with humans, he felt it likely that the Istarian party would soon camp for the night.
The power the cleric had used to compel Bakali mystified Iydahoe-and, he was forced to admit, frightened him more than a little. How could the wild elves fight this kind of magic? Yet he couldn't abandon the young warrior, not while there was a chance that he lived and could be rescued.
Another part of him could not deny a feeling, however slight, of gratitude. The mysterious elven cleric, after all, must have gone to great lengths of persuasion to spare Bakall's life. Why would he deprive the legionnaires the vengeance they so obviously had craved? Dozens of their number had been slain, and one of the killers had emerged into plain view. What sort of discipline could have held their hands? Another question arose, pestering: For what purpose did the priest want a Kagonesti prisoner?
Soon the gorge walls opened up, the pathway meandering through a series of hardwood groves mingled with a number of small meadows. A clear stream splashed through the center of the valley, providing fresh water along the entire route. The procession made camp around the largest clearing they could find, but even so they were forced to picket the horses and halt the wagons under the boughs of many tall hardwoods. As the sun set and stars sparkled in the sky, large blazes crackled upward from a number of campfires. The humans seemed jumpy, and even from a distance the wild elf heard men bickering, shouting, and cursing at each other. Unsettled by the ambush, the men obviously suspected that additional danger lurked in the surrounding darkness.
Iydahoe approached the bivouac with every bit of stealth in his warrior's and hunter's repertoire. During the first two hours of full darkness, he circled the place, locating the numerous and well-placed sentries by their dull outlines, the warmth of their bodies illuminating them in the darkness to his elven eyes. The men had formed a ring of steel-armed vigilance around their camp, but it was a circle with an inherent weakness: All the sentries stood on the ground.
Climbing into the branches of a widespread oak fifty feet outside the ring of sentries, the wild elf was careful to keep the heavy bole of the tree between himself and the wagons. With silent care, he hoisted himself from limb to limb until he was several dozen feet above the ground. Here, the boughs of the tree were still thick and sturdy, but a lower, leafy level of branches provided him good concealment from the human men-at-arms below.<
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Climbing from tree to tree, moving along one limb to the next with patient deliberation-more like a snake than a monkey-the Kagonesti brave approached the camp of the humans. A guard stood beneath the third tree Iydahoe reached, and he crept with ultimate stealth along the limbs and around the trunk of the forest giant. He heard the man sniff his nose and spit, but by moving with incredible deliberation the elf passed overhead without making a sound audible to the watcher below. It took him the better part of an hour to traverse that tree, but by the time he slipped into the next, the wild elf was within the perimeter of the procession's camp.
He waited for a long time, watching. His bow and arrows were ready to hand, and he desperately hoped that the gray-robed magic-user would wander into sight. Though he saw dozens of legionnaires among the camp- fires and corrals, there was no sign of the wizard or the House Elves.
Iydahoe had marked the wagon holding the cleric and Bakali by its blue canopy, which was embroidered on each side with a series of silver discs. Now the Kagonesti was not surprised to find that wagon near the very center of the bivouac-yet even here the humans had been careless, for several large trees extended their embrace of branches into the space over it. Iydahoe continued his meticulous advance, well aware of the humans cooking, eating, and talking directly below him.
By midnight he had reached a branch that extended almost directly above the cleric's wagon. Here he crept onto the low limb and lay still, twenty feet off the ground, while he studied the surroundings. Gradually the camp fell silent, though the legionnaires-still fearful after the brutally effective ambush-would no doubt remain jumpy and vigilant throughout the night. Several of the nearby sentries slumped listlessly at their posts, and a few of them even began to snore.
Finally, certain that he had located every human within sight-and that all of these were either sleeping or absorbed in their own musings-Iydahoe swung downward, suspending himself by his arms. With a last look around, he dropped to the grassy meadow, collapsing into a crouch that muffled the sound of his landing into an almost inaudible whisper.
Crawling to the wagon, Iydahoe could hear nothing from within. Narrow cracks in the canvas were utterly dark, so the wild elf deduced that the occupants had no lamp burning-a good thing, since the pulling back of the flap would otherwise have cast a sudden, alarming illumination through the camp.
Iydahoe froze, suddenly alarmed by the sensation that someone was very near. Moving his head only slightly, he looked around, his keen eyes penetrating the shadows cloaking the large wagon. He saw no one, but the peculiar apprehension did not go away.
As he reached toward the flap of the wagon, he heard a single word, spoken practically in his ear. With the quickness of thought, he spun, bringing the steel-edged axe up. There, a few feet away, in a space that had been empty when Iydahoe had looked a moment earlier, stood a human-the gray-robed mage! The man's finger pointed, as if in accusation, at the frantic wild elf.
Before Iydahoe could swing the axe, he felt gooey strands encircle his arm, quickly expanding into a cocoon around his chest, torso, and legs. Struggling in his fury, he tried to twist away, but succeeded only in tripping himself. The wizard gazed coldly downward, then snapped his fingers. Immediately a bright light emanated from his hand, and, as he held it up, dozens of legionnaires advanced from the darkness to form a ring around the immobilized elf.
With bitter bile in his throat, Iydahoe knew he had been taken by magic. The web caster must have been lurking beside the wagon for hours, waiting for a chance. The brave even wondered if magic had somehow silenced the sound of the mage's own breathing-he suspected that it had, or the keen-eared wild elf would have known of his presence.
"So, Feigh, you've taken the wild elf assassin!" declared a loud voice. A human dressed in a golden breastplate and cloak pushed through the crowd. Iydahoe recognized the garb. It was the same worn by the first man he had killed during the ambush. This fellow's hair was longer and neatly combed, his mustache drooping but well- trimmed. His face might have been handsome, except for a cold vacancy in his black eyes that seemed to absorb every bit of light cast by the wizard's spell.
"Aye, Captain-General Castille. Your guess was correct. The murderous wretch thought to approach the wagon undetected." Feigh, the wizard, spat at Iydahoe as he spoke. "He was easy to capture."
The wizard clapped his hands, and flecks of diamondlike dust flew into the air. The stuff seemed to coat much of the mage's body, sparkling into sight with the man himself when he had cast his web spell.
"These savages never stop to think about magic," continued the gaunt-faced mage, expansively. "I used the same trick to sneak up on their villages, years back when we tried to exterminate them."
Iydahoe stared in mute fury. The wizard's cold gaze met his, and there was a touch of cruel humor around the man's narrow lips. The warrior felt a flush of absolute rage-the mage had wanted him to know that he was the killer of the four tribes! And now Iydahoe could only tremble impotently, helpless to strike. The gray robe floated outward, and the elf saw a pouch tied to the wizard's belt. Flecks of the glittering dust clung to the embroidered flap.
"Good killing on that campaign," the commander agreed cheerfully.
"Your men have died twofold for the dead of my tribe!" Iydahoe retorted, feeling the emptiness of the boast even as he spoke.
The man called Captain-General Castille threw back his head and laughed heartily, though the humor did not reach his eyes. Abruptly he crouched and seized Iydahoe's long hair in a heavy hand. Pulling the elf up to a sitting position, he studied Iydahoe's tattooed face, taking care not to touch the gooey strands that still encircled the Kagonesti's body.
"You have killed too many of my soldiers, Elf. If I hadn't stayed in my wagon today, you would have killed me- instead, you took the poor wretch who wore my uniform. For all these reasons, you will die… very slowly."
Iydahoe spat into the man's face. The captain-general cursed and threw him back to the ground, standing and wiping his cheek with the back of his hand. "Drive a stake into the ground," he ordered, without taking his eyes off the Kagonesti. "Gather brush-dry twigs, kindling. I want this to be a long, slow fire."
Castille kicked the wild elf in the knee, and Iydahoe stifled a grunt of pain-he would not give this human the satisfaction of visible suffering. Still, as he thought of imminent death, his old, inescapable fear returned with numbing force. How could the tribe survive without him? His bitter need for vengeance had never seemed so foolish- now it would doubtlessly cost them Bakall's life as well!
Abruptly another person stood over him, and Iydahoe recognized the cleric who had stood on the wagon's seat-the House Elf who had somehow compelled Bakall to come down from the bluff.
"I see you have taken your prisoner," the newcomer said quietly.
"Aye! Now give us the other wild elf, Wellerane. Let the two burn side by side!" demanded the captain-general.
"I do not want him to burn," the priest replied, his tone gentle, lacking in the passion that seemed to emanate visibly from Castille and Feigh.
"A pox on your elven superstitions!" cursed the magic- user. "These Kagonesti are no better than animals. I'm only sorry to see that a couple of them still survive."
"There have been wild elves for thousands of years. Why do you take it upon yourself to eliminate them?" pressed the elf called Wellerane, though his voice retained its serene, soothing tone.
"Their time is long past. Now they're obstacles to the Kingpriest. And you've seen how dangerous they are!" snapped the wizard. Feigh looked frankly at Iydahoe. "I thought we did a more efficient job a few years back. I dusted a whole army of the Kingpriest's men. Invisible and soundless, they sneaked up and wiped out every village."
Iydahoe's rage hissed through his body, driving his muscles in a vain attempt to break out of the gummy web. Trembling, frantic with hate, he at last collapsed in utter exhaustion. Yet even in his despair, a portion of his mind heard the wizard's words and remembered the flec
ks of glittering dust.
"Enough talk of butchery," declared the priest, with a short, chopping gesture.
For the first time, Iydahoe saw Wellerane as an elf. True, the cleric's unpainted skin, his garments of fine cloth, marked him as no better than a human. At the same time, high cheekbones and a narrow forehead, slender ears extending gracefully beneath the strands of fine, golden hair, showed him clearly as a member of the sylvan race.
"Feigh's right," declared Castille. "You should give us the young one, too-nits make lice, after all."
"Nonsense. There is much to be learned from the youngster-he is, after all, a rare survivor of a nearly vanished people. And, as to this one, you must-in the name of Paladine-give me leave to absolve him before his execution."
"More of your superstitious nonsense!" spat the magic- user with a good deal of venom. "Burn both the wretches at once!"
"Captain-General, you must realize that this is a political decision." The cleric ignored the gray-robed wizard, speaking directly to the expedition commander. "Your prisoner is a noted villain, to be sure. If the black arrows are any proof, he is responsible for hundreds of deaths- well deserving of execution. But your liege, the King- priest, is ever a man-a being-who perceives the pure goodness that is the ultimate gift of the gods. He would take it poorly, I think, if this condemned elf is not given the chance to hear of this ultimate beneficence-before he burns."
As the wizard turned away in disgust, Captain-General Castille stared bluntly at the web-shrouded prisoner. Iydahoe met his gaze with a flat stare of his own. He had no care to hear Wellerane's words, to be absolved by the House Elf cleric, but anything that delayed his execution could only increase his chances of escape. Fear still thrummed through his muscles-a certain knowledge that the tribe would come to disaster, that the last Kagonesti on Ansalon would cease to exist if he failed them now.
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