Chuckling easily, Ash felt the tension drain away. His step was light, relaxed, as he led his new companion back toward the woods.
Chapter 14
"I am called Asbtamay," tbe warrior offered as be led tbe buman toward the village clearing. "Sir Kamford Willis, Knight of the Rose, at your service." "I recognized you from your sword, though, of course, I did not know your name." "Recognized me from where?" the human asked, puzzled. "I witnessed your fight against the red dragons-you and the men who rode with you." Ash described his vantage of that heroic, doomed skirmish. "When the dragon's breath swept across you, I felt certain you must be dead. Perhaps I should have looked more closely." "It was the mud," Sir Kamford explained, shaking his head in wonder. "I should have perished-all the men of my company did. But when I fell to the ground, that wyrm fell on top of me and pressed me right into that muck-it was quite wet in that clearing, after all. I had to squirm out before I suffocated, and 1 assure you that was no easy task. A small dragon it may have been, but plenty enough weight to trap a man for good! Then, by the time I emerged, the other dragon was gone."
"How did you come to the Bluelake? And why did you stand against the bakali?"
"As to the first question, I was lost. The mountains kept forcing me south when I wanted to go west-traveling a lot slower than I would have liked, since I lost my horse. I was working my way along the shore, hoping I could swing westward past the tail of the lake. Then, yesterday, I saw the smoke from the burning village, and 1 got close enough to see the lizardmen-no friends to any knight. I found a good hiding place under the bank, right at the foot of the ravine. Naturally, I wanted to get an idea whether or not this force intended to move against Solamnia." Sir Kamford continued to explain as they reached the edge of the vallen- wood glade, where Kagonesti warriors halted their labor of removing bakali bodies to watch the human's arrival with cold, impassive eyes.
"Then, when you launched your attack and took them by surprise, I saw the chance to trap the scaly fellows right here. But I did wonder why you didn't send some of your braves to seal off the escape route."
Ash shook his head, unwilling to admit that his own suggestion for that tactic had been vetoed. He could clearly imagine the mass bakali escape, however, if Sir Kamford had not arrived when he did.
'The aim of our attack was to drive them off. Thanks to your help, the victory is-"
Ash froze, paralyzed by a look of alarm on Ampruss's face as the young brave dashed up to him. "It's the Pathfinder! You must see him-before it's too late!"
Panicked, the warrior raced to the ruins of his uncle's lodge. Ampruss ran beside him. "It was a bakali-it came out of the woods when the battle was almost over. I… I killed it, but too late!" The young warrior's voice choked, and Ashtaway sensed, with pain of his own, Ampruss's grief and guilt.
Iydaway lay on a straw mat just outside his former front door. Ash knelt beside him, sickened to see a deep, bubbling wound in the Pathfinder's frail chest.
The old elf's lips gasped reflexively, but no sounds emerged. Ash leaned close as his uncle desperately tried to speak.
"Here… take…"
At first the warrior didn't understand what Iydaway meant. The old elf's hands trembled, seemed to flail mean- inglessly. Or perhaps, Ashtaway didn't want to understand.
"The Ram's Horn, Pathfinder," Iydaway gasped. "It is yours now-yours as long as the gods allow."
"Don't talk!" urged Ashtaway, desperately frightened by the old man's weakness, and by his words as well.
"I… had hoped to teach you longer. But I have always suspected you would be the one-then, when you heard the second Ram's Horn, I knew."
"Please, Uncle-"
"Listen… no time… you are the Pathfinder. Go, now, speak to the tribe…"
"But-what can I say? Why should they listen?"
"Use the horn… it will know… play the horn, and Father Kagonesti will show you…"
For a time Iydaway was silent, and Ash feared he had died. Finally the wounded Pathfinder opened his eyes, inhaling a deep, bubbling breath.
"Take the tribe south… the central woodlands… find the path."
With a gurgling exhalation, the elder Kagonesti shuddered and lay still. Tears stung Ash's eyes, and he looked, with something like loathing, at the spiraled horn in his hands.
Then he thought of Hammana, of the potent force-he knew, now, too late, that it was love-growing between them. He truly hated the horn, hating even more the bonds of pledge and responsibility that were its potent companions.
But he could not ignore the command. Blindly he rose to his feet, stumbling away with a hand in front of his face-the hand that brandished the Ram's Horn. Vaguely he became aware that many eyes were turned to him. He blinked, and forced himself to stand tall.
"You are the Pathfinder," Faltath declared, his voice emerging from the mass of tattooed braves. Ashtaway didn't see his old friend, but he wanted, desperately, to argue with his words.
Ashtaway thought: My uncle has made a mistake! The young warrior wanted to shout the news to the tribe, to hold out the spiraled horn for any who would take it. But he couldn't do this any more than he could disobey Iydaway's command.
"He gave it to me because I heard the second Ram's Horn. Let us gather in the council circle, and I will tell the tale."
The wild elves ringed the central fire pit of the village. They listened raptly as Ashtaway told of the summons from Lectral, of the silver dragon that Hammana still tended. His voice tightened reflexively as he spoke of the beautiful healer, of her tender ministrations toward the mighty serpent.
After a time, one of the older warriors produced a pipe, and for several minutes the braves smoked, passing the ritual bowl from one to another-waiting silently while the young Pathfinder suspended the telling for his turn to inhale the aged tobacco. Ashtaway gave it to Sir Kamford and admired the human's fortitude as the knight drew in the harsh smoke and allowed it to breeze easily outward from his nostrils.
Pensively, Ash's mind returned to Hammana. More than ever before, he wanted to see her, to talk to her. But he had other things to do now, and to say.
"The tribe must make ready to depart," Ashtaway declared. "Such was my uncle's last wish, and it shall be done."
"You won the battle, and you're still going to leave?" The knight spoke more bluntly and hastily than an elf, and Ashtaway paused, startled.
"The village has never been attacked here," the Pathfinder explained shortly. "Now the bakali, and doubtlessly other minions of the Dark Queen, know that we are here. We fear for the lives of our elders and our children. Also, it seems that the war is creeping steadily closer."
"Aye, my friend. Those are good fears, right and proper. But as to the war, if you find a place where it's not encroaching, 1 wish you'd let me know. There's people all over Ansalon wishing for the same thing, but not one that I know of's been able to find it."
"We will move south, into the heart of the forest lands that divide Silvanesti and Qualinesti."
"Forests? Maybe in your granddaddy's time, I'll guess," Sir Kamford disputed, with a wry chuckle that struck a dissonant note in the contemplative elves. 'True, I'd heard tales going back to the time of Vinas Solamnus himself. Said that there used to be woodlands filling the whole gap between the Kharolis and Khalkist Ranges. Not anymore, I'm afraid. You're talking of migrating into some prime farmland now."
The Kagonesti warriors remained silent, but uneasy glances flickered among the tribe. None of them was prepared to believe the word of a savage human, but neither did any of the elves have personal knowledge of the southern forests. Not since the Kinslayer War had any of the wild elves dwelled there, and that was a thousand years in the past.