“No,” said another voice.
They all looked down the dimly lit hallway that led into the depths of Arlie Longfinger’s home. Swiftraven stood in the passage.
“It isn’t Brightdawn,” he said. “It’s-”
“There you are!” snapped Arlie Longfinger. The old herbalist shoved past Swiftraven and marched straight up to Riverwind. “He’s been asking for you. He has a message.”
“Message?” Kronn echoed, confused. “Who has a message?”
At last, Riverwind’s frayed patience snapped. “Would someone tell me what in the Abyss is going on?” he shouted.
Arlie blinked at him, startled, then turned and headed down the hallway, beckoning with his hand for the others to follow. They did, Riverwind at the fore. The herbalist reached a door-it led to the same room where Call had lain, while she’d recovered from her head wound-and gently pushed it open.
The room was dark, but it was not empty. From the bed, the sound of ragged breathing mixed with moans of pain.
The tang of fresh blood hung in the air.
“What is this?” Riverwind demanded as he entered.
Arlie pushed past him and went to an oil lamp that sat, flickering faintly, upon a small table by the bed. He turned its key, and the lamp’s light rose to a lambent, ruddy glow.
When Riverwind saw the man who lay upon the bed, he blew out his breath and staggered as though he’d been punched in the stomach. Swiftraven was at his side in an eyeblink, taking the old Plainsman’s arm and leading him to a low stool beside the bed. Riverwind sat down heavily and stared in mute horror.
The man on the bed was badly injured. He had been stabbed in the gut, and even though the bandages Arlie had used to bind the wound were fresh, they were nonetheless dark with blood. Despite the seriousness of his wound, however, the man stirred when he saw Riverwind and even tried to sit up. Swiftraven rushed to his side and eased him back again, whispering soothing words and mopping the man’s sweat-soaked brow.
“I don’t understand,” Paxina said, staring at the injured man. “He looks like one of your people, Riverwind-but what is he doing here? Who is he?”
Riverwind opened his mouth, but could say nothing. He bowed his head, overcome. Swiftraven turned toward the Lord Mayor, his face contorting into a grimace of pain.
“It’s Stagheart,” he said. “My brother… and Moonsong’s beloved.”
Chapter 19
“My chief,” Stagheart of Que-Teh, moaned, through teeth clenched with pain. He clawed for Riverwind with a strong, sweat-soaked hand. The old Plainsman gripped it tightly, tears spilling down his cheeks. “Oh, my chief.”
Riverwind forced himself to speak calmly. “Be easy, Stagheart,” he said. “Still yourself, then speak.”
Stagheart relaxed, slumping back in the bed and breathing heavily. It was a long while before he could summon the will to speak again. When he did, his terse words sent a chill through the old Plainsman.
“They took her,” Stagheart gasped. “I tried to stop them, but-” He stiffened, grimacing as the wound in his belly wracked him with pain. “They took her… Moonsong…”
Riverwind jerked away from Stagheart’s touch as though the younger man had stung him. Shakily, he rose to his feet and backed away from the bed until he bumped into the wall. His face was as pale as a corpse, his eyes wide with horror.
The old Plainsman said nothing. He only stared at Stagheart, scarcely even breathing, his lips moving soundlessly.
Paxina nodded to Catt, who slipped out of the room. Paxina followed her, casting a troubled glance at the old Plainsman before she stepped out the door.
Riverwind raised a shaking hand to his head. “What happened?” he asked. “How did he get here?”
“I was leading a scouting patrol out beyond the ogres’ camp,” Giffel answered. “Down by Chesli’s Creek. We found him, unconscious and covered in blood. We bound his wound as well as we could, and brought him to Kendermore through the tunnels. It took eight of us to carry him here.”
“They took her,” Stagheart wept as Swiftraven smoothed back his damp, brown hair.
Drawing a long, slow breath to calm himself, Riverwind knelt by the bedside. “Stagheart,” he said, at once gentle and insistent. “What happened?”
Stagheart’s eyes rolled, showing nothing but white, then his gaze settled on Riverwind. “My chief,” he breathed. “I have failed you.”
“Tell me,” Riverwind said.
The two men held each other’s gaze for an excruciating moment, then Stagheart grew calm. Drawing upon some deep well of strength within himself, he began to speak.
“We left Que-Shu a month ago,” he said. “Moonsong had a… a nightmare. She dreamt that Brightdawn was in danger, that she needed her, so she pleaded with Goldmoon to let us go after you. We rode south to New Ports, found a ship to bear us across the New Sea-”
“Then crossed the desert in Khur, crossed the Bay of Balifor, and headed inland, toward the Kenderwood,” Kronn finished proudly. “The same route we took.”
“Kronn,” Riverwind snapped.
“No, he’s right,” Stagheart said. A smile flickered across his face, then vanished. “When we reached the Kenderwood, though, it had been burned. Whole towns destroyed.”
“You should have turned back,” Riverwind said.
“I told Moonsong just that,” Stagheart agreed. “But she would hear nothing of it. She wouldn’t leave….”
His voice broke, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Riverwind laid a hand on his arm, and after a time Stagheart grew calm again. He went on. “We’d bought a map in Port Balifor. It showed the way to Kendermore. We followed a trail, and as we neared Kendermore we reached a firebreak. Beyond, the forest was untouched by fire-but it was ailing, brown, and foul. Still we went on. We were so close-even I didn’t think of turning back.
“By the time I saw the ogres, it was too late to run. They came out of the forest on all sides. I tried to protect her, my chief. I swear. I must have slain half a dozen of them. I did everything I could to keep them away from her-but it wasn’t enough. Then one of them stabbed me.” He gestured feebly at the bloody bandages girding his stomach. “It is… hard to remember everything that happened after that. I fell, and they left me for dead on the ground. Then they took her. She tried to run, but they were all around her. I tried to rise, but my wound… I no longer had the strength. I lay on the ground, calling her name. I don’t know how long. Then I gave in to despair and blacked out.”
He paused, drawing a deep, shaking breath. “When I woke again, I was here, in this room, and Swiftraven was with me. I asked for you so I could tell you of my failure before I died.”
“You’re not going to die,” Swiftraven said firmly. He looked to Arlie, silently beseeching.
“He’s right, actually,” the old herbalist agreed. “I’ve looked at the wound. It’s grievous but not fatal. You must rest and heal, but you’ll live, Plainsman.”
“No!” Stagheart shouted. His body jerked with the force of his rage. When he calmed down, he looked directly at Riverwind. “I have failed, my chief. Your daughter is lost, and I am to blame. Bring me a dagger, and let me end my shame.”
Riverwind, however, was staring into the distance, thinking. His grip tightened on Stagheart’s arm, his knuckles whitening. He looked at Arlie Longfinger. “How old is his wound?” he asked.
“Only a few hours.”
A fire kindled in Riverwind’s gaze. He rose and started toward the door. “There’s still a slim chance,” he said. “Giffel, where did you say you found Stagheart?”
“Chesli’s Creek,” the tall kender answered. “Why?”
Kronn gasped suddenly, his eyes wide. “You’re not going after her-”
“You’re damned right, I am!” Riverwind snapped. “She might still be alive. Giffel, I need you to take me to Chesli’s Creek. If I can locate the ogres’ trail…”
“Okay, then I’m going too,” Kronn declared. He rose.
“Very well,” Riverwind agreed. “Come. There’s no time to lose.”