On both occasions of his imprisonment, Gilthanas had thought about a lot of things—and one female in particular. She was not of his race, and Gilthanas had therefore denied his feelings for her. However, confinement provided a lot of time for thinking, and during those long hours and long years the elf had come to the conclusion that love transcended race.
Decades ago, he had been supposed to meet his love near the Tomb of Huma on Southern Ergoth, and he felt certain that breaking that appointment had been the greatest mistake of his life.
At the edge of town, Palin asked their guides to stop. “Down this road?”
The thin woman nodded. “A couple of miles. Their camp is in a clearing that the road cuts through. It didn’t take us long to walk from there to the docks—even though it was dark. Just follow us.”
“I think we can find their camp from this point,” Palin said.
The woman started to protest, then gave hi when the red-haired youth tugged on her arm. “We’ll wait for you here,” she said.
Feril glided past Palin and knelt at the edge of the small dirt road that lead southeast from the city. “The knights travel up and down this road.” She pointed to broken twigs and crushed fern leaves, running her fingers along the outlines of several bootprints.
“How do you know a Knight of Takhisis made that print?” Ulin asked.
“All of these prints are deep and relatively uniform, like they could’ve been made by people in armor—soldiers— except for these prints, which were probably made by the prisoners they took to the docks.” Feril glanced at Palin. “I’m going to scout ahead.”
The Kagonesti moved a few dozen yards beyond the sorcerers. She was in her element, focusing her acute senses on the plants and the ground, looking for traces of the knights. She dropped to her hands and knees when she heard voices ahead, quietly crawling forward until she came upon a campsite in a clearing. Hiding behind a large bush, she parted its leaves and watched a knight dragging an elk into the clearing, a single arrow protruding from the creature’s chest. He tugged the elk near a fire that another knight was building and began to skin and gut it
Behind the pair, two more knights guarded a group of people who were tied together with lengths of rope, bound at their wrists and ankles. Feril could see ten knights altogether, and she counted forty-three prisoners. She watched for several more minutes, then hurried back to the sorcerers and relayed the information.
Ulin shook his head. “I don’t like the odds.”
“Rig would say we have them outnumbered,” Feril added.
“It’s not that I don’t think we can take them,” the younger Majere quickly returned, “I just think the odds are high that some of the prisoners could get hurt in the process. Still, I’ve an idea.”
A lone Knight of Takhisis staggered into the camp, the front of his tabard coated with blood from a gaping chest wound, his face streaked with dirt. He was weaponless and shieldless, and his helmet hung from his hand. At once the other knights were alert, all of them jumping to their feet As one, they drew their swords and looked past the wounded man. The knight who’d been skinning the elk stepped toward his injured brother, ready to steady him. But the knight stepped back, refusing the aid. He flung his arm toward the road that led back to Witdel.
“Hurry!” he panted, “the ship.” He dropped to his knees and held his chest. “It’s been attacked, the prisoners freed. You must hurry. The attackers are coming here. They’ve weapons and—” He gasped for air and pitched forward, his face inches from the fire, his helmet rolling away.
The knight-officer motioned for his men to form ranks. “We’ll meet them on the trail!” he snapped. “Move!” He gestured for two of his men to stay with the prisoners, then led the way back toward Witdel at a hurried march.
“Is he dead?” one of the remaining knights asked after the rest of his brethren had thundered away. He cast a curious and sympathetic glance at the fallen knight. “Know who he is?”
“Never seen him before. Must have come from the ship in Witdel,” the other replied. He took one step closer to the knight, glancing over his shoulder at the prisoners. “He breathes—but barely, and with all that blood he’s as good as dead. We’ll be burying him before dawn.”
“Maybe we can do something for him.”
“You heard the officer,” the second knight said, “he told us to watch the prisoners.”
The wounded knight raised his head slightly, staring at the flames only a few inches away. He could feel the warmth on his skin. The smell of the partially gutted elk nearby was practically overpowering. The fire writhed as he gazed at it, becoming more animated. Its tendrils swayed, not teased by the wind, but by the fallen knight’s mind. His mental commands urged it to dance higher and to consume the wood as if it were a ravenous beast.
“Hey! What’s going on?” one of the knights hollered.
All traces of the blood and wound had vanished. The knight stood, shedding his black armor. He was a tall man with shoulder-length brown hair, and was clad in a simple tunic. The man slowly rose to his feet and reached for the staff at his side that had been magically disguised as the knight’s helmet.
“Sorcery!” the other shouted. “Stay with the prisoners. We’ve been tricked!” He drew his blade and charged Ulin, who was stepping back from the fire.
Ulin gestured toward the knight, sending a spark to the man’s tabard. The knight paused only a moment to swat at the flame, and in that time, Ulin had scrambled back farther and willed the campfire to erupt into a great ball of fire that quickly overpowered the two knights.
The prisoners gasped, recoiling as much as their bonds allowed. The flames licked dangerously close to them, but Ulin called the fire back, mentally urged it to fold in upon itself until all that remained were glowing embers.
“It’s all right,” he told them. “Everything’s going to be all right. My friends and I will take you to the city.” He stepped toward them and noted that most were leery. He tried another tact to relax them a little. “My father’s Palin Majere. He’s nearby, dealing with the other knights.” Those words seemed to do the trick, and he began untying the prisoners.
Feril lay on her stomach among the ferns off to the side of the road. The Kagonesti breathed deep, taking the heady scent of the loam into her lungs. Her fingers stretched forward, touching the leaves—so delicate, yet strong. She closed her eyes and vividly pictured the ferns.
“Join with me,” she softly called, her words sounding like the wind blowing gently across the fronds. “Feel with me.” The Kagonesti fluttered her fingers and moved her head from side to side. The ferns followed her movement, and she felt the energy that flowed in their stems, surged from their roots. She felt the nourishing sun on her back- She seemed to drink in the energy. “Join with me,” she repeated.
A sound intruded on her private world—it was Gilthanas. “The knights are coming,” he said. She heard the shush of leaves being brushed aside. Palin was kneeling down beside her. Feril heard other sounds then, frantic and hurried ones—leather boots running over the earth. She redirected all her attention to the fern.
“Join with me,” she breathed. And suddenly, her vision pulled back and she saw the bush near the fern, the veil-like leaves of the willow birch that stood a few feet away. She saw the tall grasses, the moss, the wild roses that grew in profusion.
The sound of bootsteps came closer, and the plants began to move, swaying in time with the Kagonesti’s fluttering fingers. The vines from the oak overhead, the willow birch veil, the ferns, and more, all swaying, stretching, grasping. The oak groaned and dipped a branch, whipping like a noose around the neck of the lead knight. The willow birch’s veil enveloped two more, holding them as tightly as though it were a spiderweb trapping helpless insects.