“Where is your mother?” Riverwind asked.
“She waits for you in the chieftain’s lodge,” Wanderer replied, glancing toward a wooden longhouse at the far side of the arena.
Riverwind nodded, taking a deep breath to calm himself. His face stern, he turned to face the nervous crowd. Thunder roared.
“Go home,” he told them. “All of you. Get out of the storm.”
He walked past the still-amazed Honored Ones, bound for the chieftain’s lodge. The villagers dispersed, running for shelter as the rain of the Hianawek overtook Que-Shu.
She had not changed as much as her husband, but age had not left Goldmoon of Que-Shu untouched. She was plumper than she had been in her youth. Her long braided hair was more silver now than gold. There were crow’s feet around her pale blue eyes and worry lines around her mouth.
“You are still beautiful,” Riverwind told her as he stepped into the chieftain’s lodge.
Goldmoon looked up from where she sat, smiling. “And you still flatter me too much.”
She rose from her sitting-blanket, pushing herself gracefully to her feet, and stepped forward to meet him. They embraced, but when his lips sought hers, she turned, allowing him to kiss her cheek only.
“You weren’t at the Ceremony of Greeting,” Riverwind chided gently.
“I’m sorry,” said Goldmoon. “Did I miss something? I thought it might not be good for my illness to be out in the rain.”
“Illness?” Riverwind paled with worry “What has-”
“Don’t fret so,” she scolded him gently. “It isn’t serious. Merely a cold, but I don’t want it to grow worse-nor would I want you to catch it.”
He gazed at her a moment, his eyes filled with pain. Then, before she could turn away, he kissed her full on the lips, hard and fierce. When they parted, she looked at him with piercing eyes.
“I can tell by your face,” she said. “You aren’t staying. Why?”
He shook his head. “When I was in Solace, two kender came to the inn. There is trouble in Kendermore-ogres, and a dragon. I told them I would help them.”
“Kender?” she asked.
“Two children of Kronin Thistleknot. All grown now, and kender through and through.”
“And you promised to help them?”
Another woman might have wept, might have begged him not to go. Goldmoon only studied his face, nodding. There was sorrow in her gaze, but there was also understanding. “If you must,” she murmured. “It will not be the first time I have waited for your return.”
Thunder bellowed, and brilliant light blazed outside the lodge’s narrow windows. The flash drew Goldmoon’s attention, and she did not see the grimace that twisted her husband’s face. When she turned back to him, he was composed and stoic once more.
“When do you leave?” she asked.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “In the morning.”
She nodded, then reached out and took his hand. Her grasp was strong, sure. His breath quickened as she raised his fingers to her lips.
“What fools we would be, then,” she murmured, “to let this night go to waste.”
They went to the bedroom then, husband and wife. The storm raged on, but they paid it no heed.
The folk of Que-Shu rose early the next day. It was a clear morning, with a chill in the air that spoke of summer’s end. The villagers set about mending what the storm had broken. The wind had torn tents from their moorings, and debris was scattered through the streets. As the sun rose above the Eastwall Mountains, however, the folk began to set aside their work and gather at the gates to see their chieftain off on his journey.
Kronn and Catt were the first to arrive. The Plainsfolk muttered darkly at their approach, making warding signs and glowering balefully. A few of the younger men spat in the mud as the kender passed.
“They don’t seem very pleasant this morning,” Kronn remarked, regarding the Plainsfolk in puzzlement. “Must be something they ate, although I thought supper was fine. Breakfast too. And I’m looking forward to lunch.”
“It’s because we’re kender, you ninny,” Catt said. She forced a smile at the angry Plainsfolk. The muttering was getting louder. “They’re not all as nice as Riverwind.”
Kronn frowned thoughtfully. “I hope this doesn’t have anything to do with that misunderstanding last night. I thought I explained that it wasn’t my fault those sacred talismans ended up in my pouch. If they’d taken them down when the storm started, they wouldn’t have been blowing around like crazy, and I wouldn’t have had to keep them safe. They should probably thank me, actually.”
“No,” Catt replied. “I think they’ve calmed down about that-although I’m a bit miffed they decided to post guards outside our hut. I was hoping to do some more exploring.”
“Me too,” Kronn agreed with a disappointed sigh. He glanced back toward the arena. “Hey, someone’s coming.”
The Honored Ones were striding down the street, toward the gates. Wanderer walked in the lead, his face looking as if it was carved of stone. The elders followed, then Graywinter of Que-Kiri and Nightshade of Que-Teh. At the last came Moonsong, Brightdawn and Swiftraven.
“No Riverwind,” noted Catt in a low voice. “Do you think he maybe changed his mind? People here don’t seem to be too keen on him going. Maybe they convinced him to stay.”
The Honored Ones stopped at the edge of the crowd, which grew quiet at their approach. The Plainsfolk continued to glare at the kender, and Graywinter and some of the elders did the same.
Kronn nodded to them respectfully. “Say,” he said, “what’s with Brightdawn?”
Catt looked at the young Plainswoman and frowned. While Moonsong was clad in an embroidered white dress and buckskin slippers, Brightdawn still wore traveling clothes: a brown tunic and leggings, with high boots and a plain, fur cloak. Her mace still swung from her belt. Swiftraven was similarly attired, a quiver of white-fletched arrows on his back and a slender sabre at his hip.
Catt opened her mouth to answer, but at that moment the crowd stirred again, pointing. Looking, the kender saw Riverwind and Goldmoon walking toward them from the center of town. As one, the villagers knelt before their chieftain and priestess.
Riverwind marched up to Brightdawn, scowling. “Where are you going?” he demanded.
“I’m riding along with you,” she replied, her chin rising defiantly.
“You’ll do no such thing.” Riverwind’s tone was harsh. “I alone agreed to make this journey.”
“Actually,” Kronn piped up, “Paxina said it would be fine if we brought more than one person back with us…
Riverwind ignored him, rounding on Swiftraven. “And you,” he growled. The young warrior fell back a pace, paling. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Leave him be, Father,” Brightdawn said. “He only wants to come along so he can protect me.”
“No one is ‘coming along,’ ” Riverwind said. “This isn’t like a sleigh ride to Solace, Brightdawn. It’s dangerous business.”
“You weren’t much older than me when you went on your Courting Quest,” Brightdawn challenged. “You’re always telling us how dangerous that was.”
“This is different. I was a shepherd boy; I had no choice in the matter. But you’re-”
“I’m what?” Brightdawn asked, her eyes flashing. “A girl?”
“My daughter.”
Those words, and the plaintive way her father spoke them, gave Brightdawn pause, but only for a moment. “I’m not helpless, Father,” she said. She held up her mace. “I know how to use this. I fought against the Brutes when they attacked Que-Shu.”
“That was different,” Riverwind reasoned. “We had no choice but to fight. You should know your place is here with your mother.”
“My place,” Brightdawn repeated. “And what is that, Father? Wanderer has his-he wears the champion’s breastplate, for he is Chieftain’s Son. Moonsong is Chieftain’s Daughter and will become high priestess when Mother is gone. One day, she and Stagheart will lead the tribes. But who am I, Father? Chieftain’s Third Child, the extra daughter. I have no place.”