"That's reassuring," Flint groused, trudging along behind Tanis and staying well away from the edge of the ravine. "And what in Krynn is a Kentommenai-kath!"
"When an elf undergoes a Kentommen, a close relative, one who has not yet undergone the ceremony himself, goes to an open area overlooking the River of Hope to keep vigil alone all night."
"Don't make me work so hard, boy," Flint huffed. "What's a Kentommen?"
"It's a ceremony that elves undergo when they reach their ninety-ninth birthday-when they become adults. Porthios will have his Kentommen in a few months. Gilthanas, I imagine, will perform the Kentommenai-kath."
The trail wound through the dense forest of aspen and pine, occasionally following the edge so closely that Flint felt his palms grow sweaty, and sometimes swerving upward back into the forest, to his relief. Finally, after more than an hour, they arrived at the Kentommenai-kath. The path opened into a sun-bathed outcropping of purple granite, dotted with white, green, and black lichens and looking east over the ravine. Flint could see the Tower of the Sun shining in the distance; the homes of the elves looked like pink stumps of branchless trees. The Grove, the forest in the center of Qualinost, was visible just north of the open area that must have been the Hall of the Sky.
The cries of birds carried faintly through the air. In the center of the Kentommenai-kath was a huge outcropping of purple granite, nearly flat but dotted with hand-size depressions that cradled clear water. The outcropping inclined gently toward the ravine's edge.
"This is where the relative of the Kentommen elf kneels to pray to Habbakuk, to ask the god's blessing on the young man or woman, to keep them in harmony with nature throughout their centuries," Tanis said reverentially.
Flint wandered around the Kentommenai-kath, scuffing the rock with his traveling boots and admiring the purples, greens, and whites of the glade, surrounded by aspen, oak, and spruce. A sense of peace permeated the area. He looked over at Tanis and continued to stroll.
"Flint, no!" Tanis yelled, his face horrified.
Flint looked ahead… out… and down. The outcropping, which had a gentle grade on three sides, ended sharply at the edge on this side. The dwarf was a scant foot away from a drop of at least six hundred feet, maybe more.
He felt his blood freeze. Then a strong hand clamped down on his collar and jerked him back. Tanis and the dwarf lost their balance together on the uneven rocks and landed with a "hoof!" on the safe, solid granite. The half-elf was pale, and Flint patted the rock appreciatively with one clammy hand while his brain whirled.
"I…" Flint paused.
"You…" Tanis paused.
They stared at each other for a protracted moment, until Flint drew a shuddery breath. "The edge comes up a bit sudden there," he said.
A crooked smile stirred faintly on the half-elf's face. "A bit," he agreed.
Flint, recovering his grumpiness, sat up and recovered his money-pouch, which had fallen from his tunic in the tumble. "Not that I was ever in any real danger of falling, though," he reassured himself.
"Oh, no," Tanis said, a little too quickly. "Certainly not."
"Perhaps this would be a good time to stop to recov-ah, to stop for lunch," the dwarf added.
Tanis nodded and retrieved their lunch sack. By unspoken agreement, they moved back from the edge another ten feet or so.
"I'm not worried for myself, mind you," Flint said. "I just don't know how I'd tell the Speaker you'd gone and dropped yourself off a cliff." Tanis said nothing.
They broke bread in the bright sun of midmorning, with Flint pressing on Tanis the largest slices of cheese, the tastiest chunks of bread, and the finest pieces of fruit. Then they sat for a short time enjoying the view from a decent space back from the cliff, and decided to head back to Qualinost; Hint had work to do at the forge.
The problems began as the adventurers started the way back. The path must have forked as they came to the Kentommenai-kath, and neither had noticed. When they returned, they took the wrong path. Then the weather entered the picture. First a single dark cloud drifted past the sun.
"As my mother used to say, 'One cloud gets lonely,' " Flint pointed out to the half-elf. Within a short time, a gray phalanx of clouds had crossed the sky overhead. The cloudy sky seemed to lower at an alarming rate, so that Tanis half thought it would drop right onto their heads, but the only thing that did was the rain-big, cold drops. Before long, half-elf and dwarf were soaked and chilled, and Flint had taken to grumbling the words "No more adventures… no more adventures…" over and over again.
All this might not have been so bad had it not been for the shortcut. Tanis expressed reluctance, but Flint only glared challengingly at him as the dwarf pointed down a barely visible footpath that cut off from the main trail.
"I thought I was the one who had traveled the face of Krynn," Flint griped. "I suppose I was just mistaken."
Tanis spent the next ten minutes assuring the dwarf that, indeed, Flint was the one who had had the experience on the road, that Flint was the one who knew forests like the back of his hand, and, yes, that he was the one who had been paying enough attention to practical matters on the way up to have seen the shortcut. Furthermore, he had fought off a rampaging tylor the previous day, practically unarmed. And so they plunged through the undergrowth onto the faint footpath leading into the rain-soaked woods.
They plunged deeper into the woods, watching worriedly for the tylor and growing soggier with each moment.
Two hours later, as the rain continued unabated, they ran into a tylor-hunting party and accompanied the group of unsuccessful hunters home. But Flint was coughing by the time they reached the outskirts of Qualinost, and feverish by the time Tanis pulled off his friend's waterlogged tunic, breeches, and boots. Tanis wrapped him in a blanket, pushed him into a chair, and fired the forge for extra heat.
Now, in late afternoon, as Tanis stirred a pot of venison stew over the fire, the force of Flint's sneeze sent the chair tilting backward so precariously that Tanis leaped to grab it before it tumbled over.
"Oof!" Tanis grunted, his knees nearly buckling as he pushed against the big wooden chair. "I know you aren't terribly tall, Flint, but you are a bit on the dense side." With a good deal of effort, he righted the chair, but the dwarf seemed less than grateful.
"Ah, what does it matter if I fall, seeing as I'm dying anyway?" the dwarf said glumly. He blew his nose into his linen handkerchief, a gift from the Speaker of the Sun, with a sound like a badly tuned trumpet. "At least that way I'll be all laid out and ready for my coffin." Flint huddled deeper into his woolen blanket and stuck his big-toed feet back in a steaming pail of water. Close as he was to the glowing coals of the forge, the heat couldn't drive the chill from his dwarven bones, and his teeth chattered as he shivered.
"As it is, I'm practically frigid with cold anyway. Might as well be officially dead," Flint complained.
"I could mull you some elvenblossom wine."
Flint glared. "Why not take your sword and end my pain quickly? I'll not go to Reorx embalmed in elven perfume!"
"Flint," Tanis said gravely, "I know you'll be terribly disappointed. But you've only got a cold. You're not dying."
'Well, how would you know?" Hint growled. "Have you ever died?" Flint let out another monumental sneeze, his bulbous nose glowing red, a complement to the glow of the setting sun. Tanis could only shake his head. There was an odd sort of logic to the dwarf's statement.