“Arcuballis! That’s my griffon! The humans must have captured it,” he said. In fact, he couldn’t imagine how; as far as he could determine they were miles from the spot where he’d first landed, and it would have been very difficult for strangers, especially humans, to handle the spirited Arcuballis.
“How many humans are there?” Kith-Kanan inquired.
Anaya gave him a disdainful look. “Corvae can’t count,” she stated contemptuously.
They started off again as twilight was falling. For a brief time it actually brightened in the trees, as the sinking sun lanced in from the side. Anaya found a particularly tall maple and climbed up. The majestic tree rose even above its neighbors, and its thick limbs grew in an easy step pattern around the massive trunk. Kith-Kanan had no trouble keeping up with the Kagonesti in the vertical climb.
At the top of the tree Anaya stopped, one arm hooked around the gnarled peak of the maple. Kith-Kanan worked his way around beside her. The maple’s pinnacle swayed under his additional weight, but the view was so breathtaking he didn’t mind the motion.
As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but the green tops of trees. The horizon to the west was darkening from pink to flame red. Kith-Kanan was enchanted. Though he had often seen great vistas from the back of Arcuballis, his appreciation for such sights had been increased by the weeks he’d spent in this forest, where a glimpse of sky was a rare treat.
Anaya was not enraptured. She narrowed her sharp eyes and said, “There they are.”
“Who?”
“The intruders. Do you not see the smoke?”
Kith-Kanan stared in the direction she pointed. To the north, a faint smudge of gray marred the sky’s royal blue. Even as he stared at it, Kith-Kanan wasn’t sure the smoke was really there. He blinked several times.
“They are burning the trees,” Anaya said grimly. “Savages!”
The prince refrained from saying that to most of the civilized people of Krynn, it was she who was the savage. Instead he asked, “Which way to Mackeli?”
“Toward the smoke,” she said. “The humans have taken him after all. I will see them bleed!”
Though Kith-Kanan was surprised at the depth of her feeling, he had no doubt she meant what she said.
They stayed in the treetops until the prince had begun to miss his handholds and then nearly fell forty feet to the ground. It was too dark to continue aloft, so Anaya and Kith-Kanan descended to the forest floor once more. They walked perhaps a mile in silence, Anaya gliding through the black tree trunks like a runaway shadow. Kith-Kanan felt the tension rising. He had never fought humans—he’d only met a few of them in Silvanost, and all of them were aristocrats. For that matter, he’d never fought anyone for real, in a fight where death was the likely outcome. He wondered if he could do it, actually thrust his sword through someone’s body, or use the edge to cut them…He reminded himself that these humans were holding Mackeli prisoner, and probably his royal griffon, too.
Anaya froze, silhouetted between two large trees. Her hand was out stiffly behind her, a signal for Kith-Kanan to halt. He did and heard what had stopped her. The tinny sound of a flute drifted through the forest, borne along by the smells of wood smoke and roasting meat.
When he looked toward Anaya she’d vanished. He waited. What was he supposed to do? Kith-Kanan shook himself mentally. You, a prince of House Royal, wanting directions from a Kagonesti savage! You are a warrior—do your duty!
He charged through the underbrush. At the first gleam of a campfire, Kith-Kanan drew his sword. Another twenty steps, and he burst into a clearing hewn from the primeval woodland. A large campfire, almost a bonfire, blazed in the center of the clearing. A dozen ruddy faces—thickly fleshed human faces, with their low foreheads, broad cheeks, and wide jaws—turned toward the elf prince. Some had hair growing on their faces. All stared at him in utter astonishment.
One of the humans, with pale brown hair on his face, stood up. “Terrible spirit, do not harm us!” he intoned. “Peace be with you!”
Kith-Kanan relaxed. These weren’t desperate brigands. They were ordinary men and, by the looks of their equipment, woodcutters. He dropped his sword point and stepped into the firelight.
“It’s one of them!” declared another human. “The Elder Folk!”
“Who are you?” demanded Kith-Kanan.
“Essric’s company of woodmen. I am Essric,” said the brown-haired human.
Kith-Kanan surveyed the clearing. Over thirty large trees had been felled in this one place, and he could see a path had been cut through the forest. The very biggest trees were trimmed of their branches and were being split into halves and quarters with wedges and mallets. Slightly smaller trees were being dragged away. Kith-Kanan saw a rough pen full of broad-backed oxen.
“This is Silvanesti land,” he said. “By whose grant do you cut down trees that belong to the Speaker of the Stars?”
Essric looked to his men, who had nothing to tell him. He scratched his brown beard ruefully. “My lord, we were brought hither and landed on the south coast of this country by ships commanded by Lord Ragnarius of Ergoth. It is Lord Ragnarius’s pleasure that we fell as many trees as his ships can carry home. We didn’t know anyone owned these trees!”
Just then, an eerie howl rippled across the fire-lit clearing. The humans all stood up, reaching for axes and staves. Kith-Kanan smiled to himself. Anaya was putting a scare into the men.
A clean-shaven man to Essric’s left, who held a broadaxe in his meaty hands, suddenly let out a cry and staggered backward, almost falling in the fire. Instead, he dropped into the arms of his comrades.
“Forest spirits are attacking!” Kith-Kanan shouted. His declaration was punctuated by a hair-raising screech from the black trees. He had to struggle to keep from laughing as the twelve humans were driven from their fire by a barrage of sooty stones. One connected with the back of one man’s head, stretching him out flat. Panic-stricken, the others didn’t stop to help him, but fled pell-mell past the ox pen. Without torches to light their way, they stumbled and fell over stumps and broken branches. Within minutes, no one was left in the clearing but Kith-Kanan and the prone woodcutter.
Anaya came striding into the circle of light. Kith-Kanan grinned at her and held up a hand in greeting. She stalked past him to where the human lay. The flint knife was in her hand.
She rolled the unconscious human over. He was fairly young and had a red mustache. A thick gold ring gleamed from one earlobe. That, and the cut of his pants, told Kith-Kanan that the man had been a sailor at one time.
Anaya put a knee on the man’s chest. The human opened his eyes and saw a wildly painted creature, serrated flint knife in hand, kneeling on him. The creature’s face stared down with a ferocious grimace twisting its painted designs. The man’s eyes widened in terror, showing much white.
He tried to raise an arm to ward off Anaya, but Kith-Kanan was holding his wrists.
“Shall I cut out your eyes?” Anaya said coldly. “They would make fine decorations for my home.”
“No! No! Spare me!” gibbered the man.
“No? Then tell us what we want to know,” Kith-Kanan warned. “There was a white-haired elf boy here, yes?”
“Yes, wonderful lord!”
“And a griffon—a flying beast with an eagle’s forepart and a lion’s hindquarters?”
“Yes, yes!”
“What happened to them?”
“They were taken away by Voltorno,” the man moaned.
“Who’s Voltorno?” asked Kith-Kanan.
“A soldier. A terrible, cruel man. Lord Ragnarius sent him with us.”
“Why isn’t he here now?” Anaya hissed, pushing the ragged edge of her knife against his throat.
“He—He decided to take the elf boy and the beast back to Lord Ragnarius’s ship.”
Anaya and Kith-Kanan exchange looks. “How long ago did this Voltorno leave?” persisted Kith-Kanan.