For a moment the younger elf looked as though he wanted to argue. Abruptly he nodded, and with a last look at the ogre hilltop, Kyrill turned back toward the gorge and started down the mountain.
Chapter 3
The ogres continued tbeir disorganized attempts to fortify tbeir hilltop camp, piling boulders into a ring around the periphery of the crest to form a barrier of irregular height and loose, haphazard construction. The makeshift wall had numerous gaps, and nowhere was it higher than the top of an elf's head. Kagonos saw that most of the ogres aiready grew bored with their labors, and dozens of the brutes lolled about their camp or engaged in listless bickering and brawling. This lassitude served to reassure the Eiderwild that the monsters were unaware of the imminent menace to their camp-and to the Bluestone.
What if he was wrong-what if the stolen artifact was not kept there? Kagonos could only dismiss the thought, unwilling even to consider the prospect, knowing that if it was true, all hope was lost.
While waiting for his warriors, Kagonos had spent hours scouring, with his eyes, the hilltop camp, seeking some sign of that powerful talisman of dragonkind. He knew that the stone cast a powerful illumination, so that even if he couldn't see the magical gem itself he hoped to catch a glimpse of its emanations. His search had proved fruitless, but that did not change his mind. Very likely, he told himself, the Bluestone was concealed in a cave, or had perhaps been buried somewhere.
Thus far, however, the Pathfinder had been unable to locate a cave mouth. The hilltop was fairly smooth, and though, because of the crude wall, he couldn't see all of the enclosed area, Kagonos had begun to form a suspicion. In the center of the fortified clearing rose a small cairn of boulders, no taller than an ogre. The top of the pile had been smoothed into a platform, suitable for a lookout to see over the walls, but during the time the elf watched, no ogre had climbed onto that cairn for so much as a glance at their surroundings. It seemed to him, then, that the boulders had been piled there for some other purpose.
A purpose such as concealing the mouth of an underground hiding place. The more he thought about it, the more convinced Kagonos became that this cairn marked the place where he would find the Bluestone-after, of course, the Elderwild entered the crater, crossed the lake, climbed the hill, and breached the ogres' impromptu wall.
He heard the sounds of climbers only as Dall came into sight below. Quickly the young elf rejoined his brother, creeping to the edge of the crater, while a file of warriors advanced behind him. Another wild elf crept forward, and Kagonos nodded to Barcalla, chief of the Silvertrout tribe. Each of the Elderwild warriors bore a pair of skis strapped to his back, with both hands free to hold weapons. Kyrill would take longer to reach his position across the crater, but he, too, should soon be getting into position.
"They don't look like they're expecting trouble," Dall whispered. The young elf's voice trembled with excitement, and his hand shook as it clutched the slender steel sword that, today, he would use for the first time in anger.
Dall's face, like his brother's, was painted in the charcoal black stain favored by the tribe as war paint. Since this was his first battle, the younger elf's skin was marked by circles of black, instead of the winding, spiraled ram's horns that denoted the more experienced braves. Dall, like Kagonos, bore the insignia of an oak leaf design enclosing his left eye. This was their family sign, unrelated to any of the tribal symbols.
"Ogres never look alert," Kagonos replied, "but they react very quickly when trouble shows its face."
"I know," replied the younger elf, eager to demonstrate his readiness for this battle.
Kagonos sighed, wishing there were another way- futilely cursing the necessity that brought even the voungest males of the tribe into the battle. But there was no alternative. If they won this battle, the Elderwild could live in peace and flourish. If they lost, and the blue dragons remained free to terrorize Krynn, the end of the wild elves would be an inevitable and probably imminent development.
"Is Kyrill over there? Is he ready yet?"
"Patience, my brother. Kyrill will signal us when he's in position."
Kagonos allowed his eyes to drift upward, away from the snowswept island in its vast bowl of snow, until his gaze swept across the rock-fanged ridge on the opposite side of the frozen lake. Though the Pathfinder could see no sign of movement, he knew that Kyrill must by now be leading his detachment of warriors through those rocks. Moving invisibly among the snow-draped crags, the Elderwild across the mountain would be nearing their starting positions. Kagonos studied the small saddle, marked by a distinct pillar of rock, where Kyrill was to signal his readiness. He saw no sign of the elf yet, but Kagonos forced himself to be patient. He knew that his brother wouldn't make him wait much ionger.
The high, steep ridges encircled the lake almost completely-only the narrow notch broke the crest at one point, plunging into a canyon where the stream of the lake's outflow passed toward the plains. Now that waterway, like the lake itself, was frozen. Several ogres stood sentry duty in the foot of the gorge, diligently observed by Elderwild warriors who remained out of sight among the rocks above.
The snow on the rugged heights, on the other hand, showed no sign of drawing ogre curiosity. Many trees dotted the crater's slopes, and deep drifts of powder rendered the ground into a deceptively smooth incline. Hopefully, the snow would provide the means for a quick and startling attack by the elven braves. Certainly the soft powder made it difficult for the lumbering monsters to get around, but their carelessness still astounded Kagonos. Surely they were aware that the Elderwild could travel here?
Perhaps they were too busy worrying about Silvanos, he reflected. That must be it: why would they worry about a few hundred savage elves-elves who didn't wear armor of metal, who shunned horses and lances and the steel- coiled longbows of their city-dwelling kin-when faced with the threat of an entire, well-disciplined army marching along the fringe of the mountains? The wild elves would take grim satisfaction in proving them wrong.
Kagonos's eyes swept back to the camp, where the work on the wall had ceased altogether, though the barrier remained irregular and slipshod. Most of the ogres relaxed under the afternoon sun or bickered and gambled in small groups.
"There it is!" hissed Dall. The younger elf pointed across the basin to the opposite ridge, and Kagonos saw it, too: a glimmer of silver, as Kyrill reached the saddle on the opposite rim and flashed his blade in the sun.
Kagonos threw back his head, lips taut as he put the spiraling horn to his mouth. He blew a harsh, strident blast that carried clearly to the ears of all the elves-yet was virtually inaudible to the ogres, who heard merely a fresh ripple of mountain wind.
To the hundreds of Elderwild warriors waiting among the trees, the Ram's Horn sounded a clarion call to battle. Garbed in fur cloaks, wearing skis, the elves turned their feet downhill and began to move.
Kagonos led the warriors attacking from the south. Here the trees were dense, and he cut back and forth between them, rapidly gaining speed. The snow had melted even in the shade, making the initial maneuvering slow and clumsy. Soon, however, he slashed downward, the wind burning his face and stinging tears from his eyes while his increased speed allowed him to turn smoothly, gracefully to avoid the trees.
Silent except for the hissing passage of their skis, the elves glided down from the highest forests. The Pathfinder could hear them behind, knew that his warriors used every ounce of their skill as the descending onslaught continued to gain speed.