“You should have waited,” he told her.
At the sound of his stern voice, Billee started to cry again. Shooting her father a reproachful look, Brightdawn stroked the child’s long, black hair, clucking her tongue soothingly. “It’s all right,” she cooed. “It’s going to be all right, Billee. Don’t be afraid.”
Kronn looked up at her, startled. “What did you say?”
“I’m just trying to calm her down,” Brightdawn answered tersely.
Catt, however, had the same strange look on her face as her brother.
“Let me see her,” Catt said. “Please.”
Her skin growing cold, the Plainswoman knelt down. Catt reached out, hesitantly, and touched Billee’s shoulder.
“Trapspringer’s ghost,” she gasped. “She’s shaking. She is afraid.”
“I don’t understand,” Swiftraven said. “I thought you people weren’t supposed to be able to feel fear.”
Catt looked up at the Plainsfolk, her eyes wide and confused. “That’s what I thought, too.”
The light of the waning moon streamed through the window of Moonsong’s bedchamber, falling across her body as she writhed among the blankets. She moaned in anguish, fighting against the throes of a terrible nightmare.
“No,” she mumbled. “Bodies… fire…”
The sound of her despairing voice woke Stagheart from his own slumber. Blearily, he wiped his eyes and rolled over to look at her. “Moonsong,” he whispered. His strong hand reached for her, brushed the smooth curve of her shoulder. “You’re dreaming, love.”
She cried out, her voice slashing the stillness like a razor. “No!”
“Moonsong!” Stagheart sat up quickly, then bent over her and shook her gently. “Wake up!”
For a moment she resisted, beating at him with her fists, but he held her fast until her eyes fluttered open. She looked at him blankly, seeming to stare through him. “Where…“ she began, her voice trailing away.
“It’s all right,” Stagheart said. “You’re in Que-Shu. I’m here.”
“Stagheart?” She blinked. “You came back.”
He nodded, folding his arms about her. His face, however, was troubled. He had returned to Que-Shu more than a week ago, bearing the head of the griffon that had been troubling the herdsmen to the south. He had brought the grisly trophy into the Lodge of Brothers at the center of the village and laid it at the feet of Moonsong’s mother. Goldmoon, in return, had declared that, with his Courting Quest completed, he was free to marry her daughter.
Moonsong, however, appeared to remember none of this, even though they had spoken of the wedding earlier in the night as they lay flushed and breathless in each other’s arms. They had agreed the day would come as soon as possible. “But not until Brightdawn returns,” Moonsong had said, kissing him. “Your brother, too.”
Now, she barely seemed to recognize him at all. Stagheart held her, running his fingers through her long, golden hair. She trembled like a newborn foal, her skin rising in gooseflesh, and clutched at him in return.
“Oh, Stagheart,” she moaned.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Was it Brightdawn?”
She nodded, sucking a shuddering breath through her teeth. In the moonlight, her tanned skin looked pale and wan, and she glistened with cold sweat.
“Moonsong, you have to tell me. Was she in danger?”
She shook her head. “No. Not yet… but-”
Suddenly, the door swung open. Orange light spilled through the entrance, falling across the bed. Standing in the doorway was Goldmoon, clad in a sky-blue robe and cupping a tallow candle in her hands. The dim light flickered as she stepped into her daughter’s bedchamber.
“Mother!” Moonsong gasped, her mouth dropping open.
Goldmoon said nothing, only stared at the two of them as they clung to each other. There was an odd look in her eyes, an incongruous mixture of disapproval and grudging empathy.
“My chief,” Stagheart said, letting Moonsong go. He scrambled out of the bed to kneel before her, grabbing a blanket as he did so to conceal his nakedness.
“You know the custom, both of you,” Goldmoon said sharply. “You should not share a bedchamber until you are married. This is an ancient tradition, not to be taken lightly, Stagheart of Que-Teh.”
Stagheart dropped even lower, prostrating himself before her. The rushes on the floor pressed against his face. “Forgive me, my chief,” he pleaded.
She paid him little attention, however; her concentration focused on her daughter. “Child,” she murmured. “Have you dreamt of your sister again?”
Moonsong looked up at her mother, her eyes dark, and nodded wordlessly.
Goldmoon’s stern expression softened. She and Stagheart exchanged a knowing look. Moonsong and Brightdawn had shared dreams since they’d been babies.
“Moonsong,” Goldmoon said. “Tell me. Where is she? What has happened?”
“Near Kendermore,” Moonsong answered, her voice faint and wavering. “She is well-and so are Father and Swiftraven. Their journey shall end tomorrow. But-the Kenderwood has burned, and ogres lurk among the ashes. And the kender are-” She stopped abruptly, her gaze drifting. “The kender are in terrible danger,” she said.
Goldmoon, lost in thought, regarded her daughter.
“You want to go to her, don’t you?” she said.
“Yes.”
Goldmoon sighed heavily. Her shoulders slumped, and a weary look settled over her. “There’s little to say, then,” she said. “Go. Take Stagheart with you.”
Stagheart looked from mother to daughter, saw the conviction in both women’s eyes, and knew it would be little use to argue.
Moonsong, however, regarded Goldmoon with an expression of worry and guilt. “I’m sorry, Mother,” she said. “We’re all leaving you. I can wait until Wanderer returns to Que-Shu-”
“No.” Goldmoon shook her head firmly. “I will not hold you here. Go to Kendermore, child. Find your sister.” Her eyes shining, she started to turn away-then stopped, her hand on the door. “Take my blessing with you.”
Then she was gone. Moonsong stared at the door as it eased shut, then slumped back among the blankets with a quiet sob. Stagheart climbed back into bed beside her, gathered her in his arms again, and held her close, whispering softly as, outside, the moon slid slowly among the clouds.
Chapter 14
The day dawned gray, the sun reluctantly shedding its dim glow through the haze of drifting smoke. The companions rose slowly, their bodies and hearts heavy. None of them had found much solace in sleep, their dreams haunted by memories of what they had seen yesterday and thoughts of what might yet lie ahead. Little Billee Juniper whimpered softly, cradled in Brightdawn’s arms as the others broke camp.
“How far is it to Kendermore?” Riverwind asked, taking, a long pull from his water skin. When he’d finished drinking, he poured another measure over his face and tried to scrub away the soot that darkened his skin. He was haggard underneath the black smudges, hollow-eyed and ague-cheeked.
Kronn glanced around, studying the blasted forest. The Plainsfolk marveled that the kender could pick out any landmarks at all amid the ruined woodland. “A few leagues, I think,” he judged. “It’s only about three hours’ walk from the Wendle River to town.” They had crossed the river last night, shortly before darkness cloaked the Kenderwood. It had been like the rest of the woods: black and foul, choked with ash.
“We’ll be there by midday, then,” Riverwind judged. He shouldered his pack and went to unhobble the horses. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s put an end to this at last.”
An hour up the road to Kendermore, they reached another firebreak. The companions stopped, staring back and forth along its charred breadth. On the far side the forest was whole, untouched by the flames that had ravaged the land around Weavewillow. The sight of green leaves came as a shock. They had been walking through ashes for nearly a day and had seen little color in all that time. Even Kronn and Catt’s bright clothing was smudged with black and gray. The vibrancy of nature before them seemed alien.