“Actors?” Riverwind said. He sipped the mug of weak but hot broth Lona had given him, and felt better. He reached out and fingered the end of the blade Darmon had presented to him in the rain. It bent easily under his thumb. The sword was a prop, made of tin.
“Hey!” Darmon protested. “You'll ruin it! Stop!” He shifted to the other side of the wagon, out of Riverwind's reach. The plainsman chuckled at the realization that he'd been threatened by a boy with a toy sword.
“How did you come to be out here?” Lona asked, watching him intently with bright brown eyes.
“I've traveled from Xak Tsaroth,” Riverwind said. “I found this staff there. Before that-” He frowned. “The details are hazy. There was a girl… a girl with dark hair.”
Lona pressed a cool hand to his cheek. “You have a high fever,” she said. “It's no wonder your head is addled.”
Riverwind drank more broth. “How long have you been out here alone?” he asked.
“The last of the adults, a fellow named Varabo, rode off on the last cart horse, promising to return in a day if he didn't meet up with assistance,” Lona said. “That was a week past, and we've been waiting here in the middle of nowhere ever since.”
“I told Varabo I should be the one to go,” Darmon said. “I knew he'd never find the way out.”
“Let me get my strength back, and I'll guide you out of the mountains,” Riverwind said.
“You!” Darmon sneered. “I thought you were lost, too.”
“The fever has dulled my senses,” replied the plainsman. He was developing a dislike for the arrogant boy. “Once my head clears, I can show you exactly how to get to Solace, if that's where you want to go.”
“Hmm, I suppose you'll want to share our food.”
Lona slapped Darmon lightly on the leg. “He's welcome to anything we have,” she insisted. Lona frowned at River-wind's decayed leather clothing. “I can stitch up some of Quidnin's clothes for you, I think. You're taller, but at least they'll cover you.”
“Thank you.”
“Lona's the company seamstress. She enjoys sewing and all,” Darmon sniffed.
With warmth in his belly and a dry blanket over him, Riverwind fell asleep. He dreamed of Goldmoon. She waited for him, arms outstretched. Suddenly, her face changed and she had short, dark hair. This woman he didn't recognize, though her name seemed just out of reach.
Gray clouds torn to shreds by a fresh wind scudded across the mountain sky. Riverwind scratched under his new, uncomfortable clothes. Lona had mended a linen shirt and tight-fitting breeches for him. She rummaged through a dozen pairs of shoes before she found some wooden-soled half-boots that fit Riverwind's feet. This eclectic ensemble was not to his taste-the shirt had faded red stripes, and the pants were much too tight-but it was better than wandering around three-quarters naked, like some savage.
Riverwind had a long argument with Darmon when he told the boy they would have to abandon the wagons. All their theatrical gear was in them, Darmon protested. But who will pull the wagons? Riverwind reminded him. In the end, sullen and silent, Darmon packed what items he wanted in a wooden carrying case and joined Riverwind and Lona on foot.
They followed the narrow wagon track down the slope of the mountain. The great forest spread out around them. Riverwind had to pause frequently to rest. During these respites he noticed how a few of the leaves on some trees were beginning to acquire their fall colors. He saw clumps of yellow starflowers, which he knew bloomed only at the end of the summer season. Finally, at a rest break, he remarked on how strange it seemed that summer was nearly over.
“Why is that strange?” asked Darmon.
Riverwind stared at the young man. “It was late summer when I left Que-Shu,” Riverwind said. “I feel I've been traveling for a long time and yet it is still the end of summer.”
“Perhaps you mix up the seasons?” Darmon said. “Haven't you been paying attention?”
“Be civil!” Lona chided.
“In truth, I think I was in a place that had no seasons.” Riverwind rubbed his temples with his long fingers. “I don't know how that can be so,” he said.
“It will all come back to you when you are well,” Lona said. She reached in a bag and brought out a handful of dried apple slices. She gave a few to Darmon and Riverwind. Riverwind nibbled absently on the fruit. He tried hard to remember. Bits and pieces floated through his mind-a murderous thing flying through the air with black wings, a kind and loving blue light-it made no sense, and it made his head hurt. He gave up for a while.
Gapped as his memory was, some things were quite clear. He knew exactly where they were: an arm of the Forsaken Mountains thrust south and east into the forest. There was a high pass into the southern range of mountains that led directly to the high plateau. The Sageway East ran along the northern edge of the plateau, and once on it, Que-Shu was an easy two days' march away. That memory was also clear-his home was Que-Shu, and there Goldmoon awaited him.
He explained the route to Darmon and Lona, and they agreed to go that way. As they walked, Lona told Riverwind how she and Darmon came to be with the Royal Theatre Company.
“We're orphans, Darmon and I,” she began. “My mother worked as a seamstress and cook for the company. She died a year ago of the flux, and I inherited her duties.”
“I'm sorry,” Riverwind said sincerely.
“Oh, she had a better life than most, and she didn't suffer much in the end. But, Darmon, he ran away from home to be an actor.” She arched her dark eyebrows and assumed a lofty air.
“My aristocratic family didn't approve of a son acting in plays,” Darmon said. He turned his face into the crosswind and let the air stir his loose blond hair. “They didn't understand I was born to be an artist.”
What rot, Riverwind thought. He said, “What will the two of you do when you reach Solace?”
“If the stars are with us, we should find Quidnin or some of the company there,” Lona said.
“And if you don't?”
“We'll start our own company,” Darmon said firmly.
Riverwind did not voice his own belief that all the actors were dead-starved or murdered-in the vast loneliness of the mountains. Kind Arlona and arrogant Darmon would most likely have nothing waiting for them in Solace. Nothing but a dead end.
Riverwind had a bad attack of the chills that night, in spite of the jar of hot water Lona gave him to hold against his chest. His teeth chattered so loudly he asked Darmon to whittle a white wood twig for him to bite down on. When sleep finally claimed him, he dreamed again. This time the images were more muddled than before.
He stood in a black space. Something flew overhead, a black, winged creature that had haunted his sleep the night before. Out of the dark, a woman's voice called his name.
Her voice was familiar. She walked out of the darkness toward him. Her hair was long and golden, and her beautiful face was sad. As she passed by him, Riverwind saw tears on her smooth cheeks. She moved on, still calling his name, until the darkness had once more swallowed her.
With a low cry, Riverwind came awake. He lay shivering and clutching the jar to his chest. Who was she? he wondered. Who was that woman? He should know. She was very important. The questions pounded his brain until, finally, sleep washed over him.
They reached the pass before noon of the next day. A few hours' climb up the steep path, and the trio stood on the high plateau. A remnant of the Cataclysm, the plateau had been formed when a great splash of rock and mud filled in a valley in the mountains. Among the Que-Shu it was said that if you dug into the brown soil of the plateau, you would find houses, animals… and people, all buried exactly where they stood at the time of the Cataclysm.
As it was, the plateau was a pleasant, grassy interval in the rugged, stony ocean of peaks. Bighorn sheep and mountain goats ran in herds on the plateau, and Riverwind fervently wished to hunt them. But, alas, he had no bow, nor even a decent javelin to hurl.