Kith-Kanan came to a door. It was just a door, like any other in the palace. He pushed the door open, and there, in loving embrace, were Sithas and Hermathya. She turned to face him, a smile on her face. A smile for Sithas.
“No!”
He leaped forward, landing on his hands and knees. His legs were completely numb. It was pitch dark around him, and for a few seconds Kith-Kanan didn’t know where he was. He breathed deeply. Night must have fallen, he realized. But the dream had seemed so real! The elf’s senses told him he’d broken some spell, one that had come over him as he looked at the patterns of light and shadow up in the trees. He must have been dreaming for hours.
After a long minute waiting for the feeling to return to his legs, Kith-Kanan cast about for his sword. He found it sticking in the moss. He freed the weapon and shoved it into its scabbard. A vague sense of urgency turned him back to the blasted clearing. His last blaze was visible in the night, but the second to last was almost gone. New bark was covering the cut he’d made. The next mark was a mere slit, and the one after that he found only because he remembered the oddly forked trunk of the ash tree he’d hacked it into. There were no more to find after that. The cuts had healed.
For a moment the elf prince knew fear. He was lost in the silent forest at night, hungry, thirsty, and alone. Had enough time passed for the cuts to heal naturally, or was the grove enchanted? Even the darkness that surrounded him seemed, well, darker than usual. Not even his elven eyesight could penetrate very far.
Then the training and education of a prince reasserted itself, banishing much of the fear. Kith-Kanan, grandson of the great Silvanos, was not about to be bested on his first night in the wilderness.
He found a dry branch and set about making a torch to light his way back to the clearing. After gathering a pile of dead leaves for tinder, Kith-Kanan pulled out his flint and striker. To his surprise, no sparks flew off the iron bar when he grated the flint against it. He tried and tried, but all the fire seemed to have gone out of the flint.
There was a flutter of black wings overhead. Kith-Kanan leaped to his feet in time to see a flock of crows take up perches on a limb just out of reach. The dozen birds watched him with unnerving intelligence.
“Shoo!” he yelled, flinging a useless branch at them. The crows flapped up and, when the branch had passed, settled again in the same place and posture.
He pocketed his flint and striker. The crows followed his movements with unblinking eyes. Tired and bewildered, he addressed the birds directly. “I don’t suppose you can help me find my way back, can you?”
One by one, the birds took wing and disappeared into the night. Kith-Kanan sighed. I must be getting desperate if I’m talking to birds, he concluded. After drawing his sword, he set off again, cutting new blazes as he hunted for the clearing where he had left Arcuballis. That way, at least he could avoid walking in circles.
He smote the nearest elm twice, chipping out palm-sized bits of bark. He was about to strike a third time when he noticed the shadow of his sword arm against the gray tree trunk. Shadow? In this well of ink? Kith-Kanan turned quickly, sword ready. Floating six feet off the ground, more than a dozen feet away, was a glowing mass the size of a wine barrel. He watched, half anxious, half curious, as the glowing light came toward him. It halted two feet from his face, and Kith-Kanan could clearly see what it was.
The cool yellow mass of light was a swarm of fireflies. The insects flew in circles around each other, creating a moving lamp for the lost prince. Kith-Kanan stared at them in shock. The glowing mass moved forward a few yards and halted. Kith-Kanan took a step toward them, and they moved on a bit farther.
“Are you leading me back to the clearing?” the prince asked in wonder. In response, the fireflies moved another yard forward. Kith-Kanan followed warily, but grateful for the soft sphere of light the fireflies cast around him.
In minutes, they had led him back to the clearing. The blasted tree was just as he remembered—but Arcuballis was gone. Kith-Kanan ran to the spot where the griffon had lain to rest. The leaves and moss still carried the impression of the heavy beast, but that was all. Kith-Kanan was astonished. He couldn’t believe Arcuballis had flown off without him. Royal griffons were bonded to their riders, and no more loyal creatures existed on Krynn. There were tales of riders dying, and their griffons following them into death out of sheer grief. Someone or something must have taken Arcuballis. But who? Or what? How could such a powerful creature be subdued without sign of a struggle?
Sick in his heart, Kith-Kanan wandered to the lightning-seared tree. More bad news! His boar spear remained stuck in the trunk, but the sack containing his possessions was ~ gone. Angrily, he reached up and wrenched the spear free. He stood in the clearing, gazing at the dark circle of trees. Now he was truly alone. He and Arcuballis had been companions for many years. More than a means of transport, the griffon was a trusted friend.
He sagged to the ground, feeling utterly wretched. What could he do? He couldn’t even find his way around the forest in broad daylight. Kith-Kanan’s eyes brimmed, but he steadfastly refused to weep like some abandoned child.
The fireflies remained by his head. They darted forward, then back, as if reminding him they were there.
“Get away!” he snarled as they swooped scant inches from his nose. The swarm instantly dispersed. The fireflies flew off in all directions, their tiny lights flitting here and there, and then were gone.
“Won’t you come in? You’ll catch a chill.”
Sithel drew a woolen mantle up over his shoulders. “I am warmly dressed,” he said. His wife pulled a blanket off their bed, wrapped it around her own shoulders, and stepped out on the balcony with him.
Sithel’s long white hair lifted off his neck as a chill wind passed over the palace tower. The private rooms of the speaker and his consort took up the penultimate floor of the palace’s tower. Only the Tower of the Stars provided a higher vantage point in Silvanost.
“I felt a faint cry not long ago,” Sithel said. “Kith-Kanan?” The speaker nodded. “Do you think he is in danger?” asked Nirakina, drawing her blanket more closely about herself.
“I think he is unhappy. He must be very far away. The feeling was faint.”
Nirakina looked up at her husband. “Call him, Sithel. Call him home.”
“I will not. He offended me, and he offended the noble assembly. He broke one of our most sacred laws by drawing a weapon inside the Tower of the Stars.”
“These things can be forgiven,” she said quietly. “What else is it that makes it so hard for you to forgive him?”
Sithel stroked his wife’s soft hair. “I might have done what he did, had my father given the woman I loved to another. But I don’t approve of his deed, and I will not call him home. If I did, he wouldn’t learn the discipline he must have. Let him stay away a while. His life here has been too easy, and the outside world will teach him to be strong and patient.”
“I’m afraid for him,” Nirakina said. “The world beyond Silvanost is a deadly place.”
Sithel raised her chin so their eyes met. “He has the blood of Silvanos in his veins. Kith-Kanan will survive, beloved, survive and prosper.” Sithel looked away, out at the dark city. He held out his arm. “Come, let us go in.”
They lay down together, as they had for more than a thousand years. But while Nirakina soon fell asleep, Sithel lay awake, worrying.
4 — Three Days Later
After three sunrises, Kith-Kanan was in despair. He’d lost his griffon and his spare clothing. When he tried his flint and striker again, he managed to start a small fire. It comforted him somewhat, but he found no food whatsoever to cook. On his third morning in the forest, he ran out of water, too.