The girl nodded, lifting her gaze from him to the trees. Far off, a sound rose over the tramping of goblin feet, an echo like the chanting of a choir at temple. In its wake, a brilliant flash lit the night, casting the area into sharp, blue-white relief. Kall flinched under the power, the nearness of the lightning, but the girl paid it no attention. She stared straight ahead. Her lips moved, but Kall couldn't hear what she said. The entire scene felt like a dream, except he could smell the smoke, the dirt, and the reek of goblin sweat.
The girl stopped speaking, and when she did, a frail mist began to build around them. At first Kall thought it was the fire, but the fog was cool and smelled of an herb he could not place. The mist thickened, drifting against the wind to veil their hiding place. It pushed into the ranks of the marching goblins, obscuring them from view. Panicked grunts drifted out of the cloud, and the druid smiled grimly.
From the underbrush she plucked her spear. It was lighter and sleeker than it had first appeared, with a wicked barbed point. Below the blade dangled a cluster of oak leaves and what looked like tiny silver bells on a cord. Raising her weapon to her shoulder, the girl cast it into the fog. A soft, singing chime echoed within the mist—the same sound Kall had heard from the hut—followed by a solid thud and a goblin scream.
The girl drew out another spear, turned to him, and mouthed something. Kall shook his head to show he did not understand. The girl spoke again, just as silently, and Kall stared at her. Tossing her hood back impatiently, she stood and crept around the tree, using the trunk to guide her steps.
She led him to a large boulder nestled between two more of the great oaks, like a stone in a giant's sling. In the lee of the stone and the trees, they were much less exposed.
The girl wedged two fingers inside a pouch clipped to her belt. She pulled out two cream-colored stones.
Kall was not the expert in gems his father was, but he could tell immediately the stones had no value—they had likely been picked from a riverbed or the forest floor. But she held them as close as Kall had kept his sword. She took his hand, put one stone in his palm and kept the other for herself.
Put it in your pouch, she said. Her sudden voice in the dark startled him. I forget, sometimes, who bear the stones and who do not.
"What are they?" asked Kall.
The stones are enchanted to give me speech your ears can hear, the druid explained. It need not touch your flesh. Only keep it near you, and we can speak.
Kall slid the stone in his pouch. "Who are you?" he asked.
Cesira, the woman said. Or the Quiet One of Silvanus, as the Starwater Six—the druids—are fond of calling me.
Kall jumped, startled, as mist rose around him again, plucking at his waist. Then he saw the antlers and realized the herd had regrouped—and not just the males. The frail mist coalesced under his hand and became a gray-black doe. Without thinking, Kall reached out to touch its fur, but his hand passed right through the doe's lithe body. He pulled back in shock.
Around him, other females appeared from nowhere, some with tiny fawns, all as translucent as the one that stood beside him. Its large black eyes regarded him steadily.
"Are they ghosts?" Kall whispered.
Cesira shook her head. They are Quessilaren—nearly gone, but for small herds that dwell here and on distant Evermeet. The females run between this world and the Border Ethereal for protection, never belonging wholly to either.
"Are they dangerous?"
Not at all. They've befriended the wild elves and a handful of us. I and the other apprentices watch over them, when we can. Cesira held up her spear. When a buck is killed by the goblins, we burn the carcass, but for this. She let the spear point catch the moonlight. What Kall had at first taken for bells actually looked to be bits of hollowed-out antler.
The chimes they make are as sweet a music as any human will ever hear outside the elf courts, she said. Her expression hardened. We feel it fitting for the goblins to hear it before they die.
Kall said nothing, unsure how to react to the passion in the young girl's eyes. Lightning split the sky, turning her skin silver.
Come. Cesira said. We should move—
"Look out!" Kall dived at her, crushing his shoulder into the dirt as a hand axe sailed over their entwined bodies.
A lone goblin crashed through the trees after its wild throw. It saw them, helpless in the underbrush, and charged.
Kall rolled off the druid, scrambling to get his sword. He braced the blade as Cesira wrenched the creature's leg, sending it sprawling onto the sword's point. The goblin crumpled as Kall pulled the weapon free, and the pair ran, retreating deeper into the forest.
Wait. Panting, Cesira pulled Kall up short.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
She nodded curtly, but her eyes were wide. You should wipe the blood from your weapon, she said.
Kall looked down at his sword. A red stain ran halfway up the blade. He drew it across the grass.
I didn't see the axe, Cesira said.
"I know."
She scowled. That doesn't mean—
"I was just as scared," he interrupted, and they gazed at each other in silence. "I want to go back," Kall said. In his heart, he did not mean to Garavin's hut.
She seemed to realize it, and softened. You can't. That path is closed.
Her voice was gentle, but the words felt like a slap. Kall's anger returned. "You know nothing about me!" he snapped.
I know much of you, Kall.
"How do you know my name?"
Garavin, she said simply. Go back to him. Dig holes and make tunnels. It's hardening work, work you'll need. In a year or two you'll be fighting goblins. Dig holes, make tunnels. .. She paused. And come to see me, at the boulder.
"Why?" Kall asked, confused. In the dark and the mist her profile wasn't easy to discern, but he knew she was looking at him.
You helped me, she said. The words clearly came hard to her. I can help you.
They didn't speak again. She took him back to the boulder between the trees, so he would know how to find it again.
They found Morgan and Laerin leaning against the rock, arguing.
"If he'd've been some frock-heavy, perfumed Waterdhavian snotling, you wouldn't've thought twice about keeping them!" Morgan accused.
"Yet clearly he's not," came Laerin's gentler reply. He noticed Kall and Cesira, and smiled. "Nor is he quite a boy, after what he's been through. Well met, Kall."
Kall nodded to the half-elf. Cesira climbed the boulder and sat cross-legged atop it.
You're both late, she said.
"Our fault completely," said Laerin. "We lost Kall's trail thanks to your superior forest skills .. . and Morgan dropped the emeralds."
"Found 'em again, didn't I!" Morgan huffed. He reached inside a pouch and pulled something out in his fist. He hurled the object—a small, dirt-encrusted bundle of linen—at Kall.
Kall recognized it at once. It was the same bundle he'd unearthed with his father's sword from the cemetery in Esmeltaran. One end was torn open. Kall could see twin points of green glittering against the white linen: two more emeralds—flawless stones matching the gem in his father's sword.
"You stole them?" he asked incredulously.
Don't let their doltish appearances fool you, said Cesira. These louts are well known—and wanted—burglars in the finer districts of Waterdeep, Arabel, and gods know where else.
"Those baubles would have kept us comfortable for several winters," Morgan complained.
"He's right," Kall said, fingering the stones. He fought down his instinctive anger at Morgan's theft and instead looked at Laerin. "Why didn't you keep them?"
"Because you're going to need them," Laerin said. He nodded at Cesira. "They speak, much like your lady's stones."