“And I don’t think we care to meet any of them,” the Dark Elf added wryly, “so come! We must hurry.”
At least it had stopped raining; they were given that much of a boon. But the day was a waking nightmare of being forever on the run, slipping on mud and wet leaves, struggling through underbrush so dense it seemed impassible, with hardly a chance to snatch a sip from a stream, hardly a chance to swallow a handful of berries. Lydia, experienced hunter that she was, led the way, showing them how to throw off anything that might be following by scent by crossing and recrossing streams, how to avoid leaving footprints by running along rock or fallen trees.
“Ha, why didn’t I think of this before?” Tich’ki suddenly exclaimed during one of their brief pauses to rest. “I can help! I’ll hide our trail altogether!”
“Not by magic,” Naitachal warned sharply, gashed arm cradled against his chest. “Carlotta will surely sense the use of any spells.”
“No, no, you don’t understand! You know the trick I have of influencing minds? The way I did with the guards back in Westerin? Well, that’s not magic, strictly speaking, not really; it’s a—a skill of the mind, sort of an unmagic to make people unthink.” She shook her head impatiently. “I can’t put it more dearly in human terms. But I should be able to make the trackers unthink the trail—and there won’t be a trace of magic for Carlotta to find!”
“Carlotta,” Lydia reminded her dourly, “is part fairy. I’m not taking bets on anything she can or can’t do. Go ahead, Tich’ki. Try your unthinking unmagic. The rest of us are going to keep right on watching our steps.”
Tich’ki grinned and darted off.
“Eh, all right, Kevin, Naitachal,” Lydia snapped, getting to her feet. “Rest time’s over. We have some more hiking to do!”
By the time darkness began to fall, Kevin was only too glad to sink to the ground in the rocky little grove Lydia had found. Beside him, Naitachal sat in weary silence, shrouded in his cloak, but the woman paced restlessly about, checking the lay of the land in her usual wary fashion.
“We’re not likely to find a better place.” The Dark Elf’s voice rose eerily out of the shadow of his hood.
“No,” she agreed, hands on hips. “It’s a pretty good spot for camping. Easily defended, too, what with the rocks making a natural wall on one side.”
“And there is a stream nearby,” Naitachal added. “Possibly with edible water plants.”
Kevin hadn’t thought anything could have gotten him to his feet, but the thought of something to eat made him scramble up. “I’ll go.”
“No, kid. You wouldn’t know what’s safe to eat. I'll go.” She glanced around at the ever-darkening forest “You think you can manage some sort of smokeless little fire, Naitachal?”
“Of course.”
When Lydia returned with double armfuls of vegetation, it was to a rabbit cooking over the barely visible campfire the Dark Elf had concocted, “Where did that come from?’’ the woman asked.
“It popped its head up to look at us,” Kevin said. He added modestly, “I threw a rock at it I was lucky.”
“So-o!” Lydia’s teeth flashed in her indomitable grin. “Tonight, we feast!”
A whir of wings marked Tich’ki’s return. “Just in time! I’m starved.”
But it was a strangely somber meal. Now that he had a moment to relax even a little, Kevin found himself constantly expecting to see Eliathanis. He caught himself thinking. We must remember to tell him about—or I wonder what he would think about—and had to force himself not to keep looking over his shoulder for the White Elf.
At last, after their scanty dinner was done and the fire had been banked to coals, the bardling couldn’t stand it any more. Hardly aware of the others, he took out his lute and let his fingers move across the strings. At the back of his mind Kevin was vaguely aware that he wasn’t trying for Bardic Music: he wasn’t even trying for any music worthy of a Bard at all. But somehow music took form beneath his fingers and here was Eliathanis stopping in surprise, the sun turning his hair to molten gold, and here was Eliathanis bending in worry over the fallen Naitachal, and here was Eliathanis grinning at the Dark Elfin sudden friendship ...
And here was Eliathanis freely, joyously, giving his life so his friends might live.
All at once Kevin’s vision was blurring and his hands were shaking so much he couldn’t play any more. Face wet, he stilled the strings to silence with a palm, then took a deep, shaken breath and dried his eyes, drained and a little awed by what his mind and hands had evoked.
He glanced up, aware of the others only now, and slightly embarrassed at their regard. Lydia, too, was wiping her eyes, and even Tich’ki was sitting still, wines wrapped about her like an iridescent cape. Naitachal had his back to them all, huddled nearly double in his black cloak, so silent that the bardling wondered if he had even heard the music. But then Kevin heard the Dark Elf murmur fiercely, as though angry with himself:
“There is no time for this!”
‘‘There never is,” Lydia retorted.
The shrouded figure straightened slightly at that, and Kevin caught a Hash of anguished eyes. But instead of the sharp reply the bardling was expecting, Naitachal asked simply, “Does it always hurt like this?”
“Always.” Lydia paused, frowning slightly. “What, have you never lost a friend before?”
Naitachal glared. “Have you forgotten who and what I am? I have never had a friend before.”
“You have some now,” Kevin reminded him softly.
But the Dark Elf, plainly embarrassed by his own grief, pulled his hood savagely forward, hiding his face once more. “I intend to sleep,” Naitachal said shortly. “1 advise you to do the same.”
Kevin and Lydia exchanged wry glances. The woman shrugged. “He’s got a point.” She hesitated for a long, awkward while, then added quietly, “Kevin, for the music and all that, I... Ah, hell. What I’m trying to say is, thank you.”
The huddle of black cloak stirred faintly. “So am I,” Naitachal admitted softly, then was silent once more—
Night passed into day, and day into night, and the fugitives continued to flee through the forest. Tich’ki’s “unmagic” did seem to be throwing off Carlotta’s aim when it came to any direct sorcery, but her trackers remained grimly on the trail. Once Kevin, hiding flat in the underbrush, not even daring to breathe, caught a glimpse of them: squat, powerful, sharp-fanged beings, monstrous human-ogre hybrids that sniffed the ground like so many deadly hounds. If he fell into their ugly hands, the bardling was pretty sure he wouldn’t have to worry about Carlotta any longer.
That time, the trackers missed their prey completely. But no place was safe for long. Kevin thanked the Powers for Tich’ki, who confused those trackers as best one fairy could, and for Lydia, who somehow kept moving her friends from concealment to concealment without their getting caught, skillfully doubling back and forth on their tracks like some hunted wild thing.
Which she is, Kevin thought wearily. Which we all are. I can’t remember the last time I had, a good meal, or a full night’s sleep. Ha, and if I don’t get a bath pretty soon, those trackers are going to be able to just nose me out!
What was truly frustrating was knowing he bore the manuscript holding the spell to destroy Carlotta—and yet not being able to do anything about it. When they came to a temporary hiding place, a crushed-down thicket that deer had used for a bed, Kevin pulled the manuscript out in desperation and showed it to Naitachal.