Kaz busied himself with rearranging his equipment. Crystalthorn hesitated and finally, quietly, commented, “I think you find it harder to face your companion’s spirit than you do your own people.”
The minotaur, his things in hand, was already walking in the direction the elf had indicated. His response was low, almost muffled, but Sardal’s sharp ears still made out the single word as the elf moved to catch up.
“Yes.”
They had come to a blighted section of the forest. Some of the trees ahead of them were dead, and it reminded the minotaur of the war.
“When I was with Huma,” Kaz was saying, “we thought that all Ansalon must be like this-dead or dying forests and little, if any, wildlife other than carrion crows and other scavengers. It seemed amazing that so many areas had not suffered nearly the damage we thought they had during the war.”
Sardal agreed grimly. “The northern portion of the continent suffered most, but there are areas in every corner of Ansalon that will not be normal for years to come-even in Qualinesti or Silvanesti. Our much vaunted solitude gave us nothing. Men won the war for us, though some remember only that men also fought for the forces of darkness.”
They camped in the forest overnight. Kaz had, at one point, assumed that Sardal was going to lead him along some magic path, but the only magic lay in the fact that only an elf could have ever found this obscure trail.
The night passed without incident-Kaz could scarcely believe it-and the two continued on. They were beyond the point where the minotaur had been thrown into the river, but Kaz paused this day to stare at the rushing water anyway.
“I lost a good comrade here as well.”
“I see no reason why you might not meet up with the kender once more.”
Kaz laughed. “It was not Delbin I was thinking of, though, horrible as it is to admit, I grew used to him. No, elf, I was referring to a strong, loyal horse I’d ridden for five years and never even given a name.” He touched the axe handle. “If some give weapons names, a good steed certainly deserves one.”
“Give him one now.” Sardal smiled. He had never met a minotaur like this!
The minotaur nodded. “When I think of a worthy one.”
They continued on, and early the next day they finally reached the last of the trees. Beyond, the ghost forest began.
“Astra’s Harp!” cursed Sardal. The elf was visibly shaken.
Kaz, meanwhile, found himself caught in the past. Before him stood a nearly dead land, seemingly untouched since the war. He remembered the goblins and the dragons, the piles of dead, and the curses of the ogre and human commanders as they drove the minotaurs forward. The battles gave him a moment of pride, until he recalled that it was Huma’s comrades he had fought much of the time. There had been other battles, this time alongside the Knights of Solamnia, and about those he felt better.
Five years. By now he would have expected to see at least a few tender shoots, a blade of wild grass or two- not this barren deathscape before them.
He heard what sounded like thunder and looked up into the sky, only to understand belatedly what it was he was actually listening to.
“Riders!” Kaz pulled Sardal back.
Some distance away and riding as if the Dragonqueen was on their tail, could be seen a band of knights, twenty, perhaps. As the two watched, the party rode unhesitatingly through the dead forest. They could have only one destination in mind, Kaz knew: Vingaard Keep.
“Those knights come from different outposts and keeps,” the elf commented.
Kaz wondered how he knew and then recalled the tales of how superior the vision of elves was. “They come from different places?”
Sardal nodded. “I was able to glimpse some markings. Each knight has an insignia that represents the keep or outpost he is attached to. Most of the southern forts are represented in that group. It is curious. I am almost tempted to go with you, if I did not have other important matters…”
The elf quieted, as if he had said too much. Kaz pretended his attention was still totally focused on the vanishing riders. “They should get there days ahead of me. Perhaps the Knights of Solamnia prepare for yet another war.”
“Against whom?”
“I can’t say,” Kaz muttered. “But it would explain in part why they seem to have turned their backs on their people. It may be that the remnants of Takhisis’s armies are gathering together. I could have misjudged them.”
“Do you think so?”
“I won’t know until I get there.” Even to Kaz, the words sounded lacking.
Sardal straightened. “I will leave you, then.” He held out a hand, palm toward the minotaur. “May E’li and Astra guide you-also Kiri-Jolith, who I think would particularly care what happens to you.”
Kiri-Jolith was the god of honorable battle and resembled a man with a bison’s head. Typical of some of the contrary ways of the minotaur race, he was held by some in as high regard as Sargas, Takhisis’s consort, despite the fact that, if they met, the two gods would have fought a battle royal. Kiri-Jolith was E’li’s-Paladine’s- son.
The minotaur returned Sardal’s hand sign, then turned his eyes briefly to the ghostly forest he was about to enter. “I think my easiest route would be to follow the knights. They’ve left me a fairly obvious trail. What do you say, Sardal Crystalthorn?”
When Sardal did not answer, Kaz turned back to where he had last seen the elf. There was no sign of his benefactor, not even a footprint. Kaz knelt down and studied the ground. He could follow his own footprints for as far as he could see, but of Sardal’s, there was no trace. It was if he had never been there.
Kaz grunted and rose. “Elves.”
He turned back to the bleak lands of northern Solamnia, and shouldering his pack so that it would not interfere should he need the services of Honor’s Face, he started walking. Before he was a hundred paces into the wasteland, he became aware of the sudden absence of all the normal sounds of the forest save one-a familiar one from the war.
Somewhere a carrion crow was calling to its brethren. Kaz knew that the only time they cried like that was when a feast was imminent. Somehow the birds were always there when warriors were about to die; then they would perch and wait for the feast.
The minotaur hoped it was not the crows they were expecting.
Chapter Seven
Though there were few clouds in the sky, the sun did not shine as brightly in this bleak region. Kaz could not come up with any suitable explanation. Perhaps the entire land suffered under some affliction, or perhaps it would take years for the Dragonqueen’s curse to fade. He only knew that he would be very happy to be away from this land.
Occasionally there were signs of life. The minotaur’s first glimpse of a wild green plant brought him more pleasure than he would have thought possible. Northern Solamnia was not quite a corpse, then. A struggle for existence was going on.
Night came swiftly and, with it, a relief of sorts. In the darkness, most every land looked the same. The dead trees might have been live ones merely waiting for spring to come, although Kaz knew otherwise. The only things missing in the night were the sounds of the forest. Once he did hear a scavenger cry out to the moons. Somehow those creatures always managed to survive in the desolate areas. A few insects made their presence known, but compared to the usual cacophony of night, the forest seemed empty.
Almost empty. As he was bedding down, something huge and incredibly swift flew over him but vanished before he could even look up. Kaz had only the impression of a massive creature with long, wide wings. His first thought was that it was a dragon, until he recalled in irritation that the dragons-all of the dragons-had vanished at the war’s end. The dragons of darkness had been cast out by Huma. The dragons of light had departed voluntarily, so some said, in order to preserve the balance. No one really knew for certain. Whatever the night flier was, it did not return. Unnerved, Kaz ate a modest meal and settled down.