“This is not a pleasure ride!” he snapped. “You are in the field, and the enemy could be near! Deport yourselves like warriors!”
He ordered the soldier who’d charged the pony to report exactly what had happened.
“Sire, I saw something large and dark move. I called out, and it didn’t answer. When I challenged it again, it looked like it was trying to avoid being seen. So I couched my lance and went after it.”
“You did correctly,” Kith-Kanan replied. “You say it was a pony?”
“Yes, sire. Its mane was clipped short, and there was a brand on its left flank—a hammer and square.”
“The royal brand of Thorbardin,” Kemian observed. “The pony came from Pax Tharkas.”
Kith-Kanan agreed. “It must be one of the stolen ones. Why is it free, I wonder?” he mused. It didn’t make sense for two escaping prisoners to abandon one of their mounts. The animal must have gotten away by accident.
“Luck is with us!” he announced. “Our quarry has lost half its mobility. If we ride without pause, we should overtake them!”
The elves hurried to their mounts. Kith-Kanan scanned the sky. The sun was subsiding in the west, throwing long shadows across the western peaks. They moved on, traveling into the setting sun, which made seeing distant objects difficult. However, the lost pony was a good omen. Drulethen could hardly be in full possession of his powers if he let a small horse get away.
A leaden sensation hit Kith-Kanan’s stomach like a hammer blow and his hands clenched the reins. Suppose the pony hadn’t bolted. Suppose Dru simply didn’t need it anymore. Because Ulvian wasn’t with him. Because Ulvian was already dead.
Kith-Kanan’s heart argued against it. The sorcerer had no reason to dispense with the prince yet. They had found no body, no sign of struggle, along the trail. Ulvian must be alive.
“Sire?”
Kith-Kanan turned to Kemian Ambrodel. “Yes?”
“The peak, sire. It’s in sight!”
Kith-Kanan looked up. Glowering down at them from its towering height, Black Stone Peak rose above the surrounding mountains. Clouds clung to its lower slopes, but the spire itself was washed by the orange sunset. No details were visible at this distance; the peak was at least twenty miles away.
“Keep the warriors moving,” Kith-Kanan said. The sight of the black pinnacle steeled his courage. For all their differences, there was a bond of blood between the Speaker and his son. If Ulvian had come to harm, Kith-Kanan would have sensed it. His son must still be alive. While he lived, there was hope. Separating him from the clutches of the sorcerer Drulethen, however, promised to be a difficult and dangerous task.
14 — The Clash of Stars
Verhanna, Rufus, and Greenhands broke camp in early morning while heavy fog in the higher parts of the Kharolis still clung to the trail. It hampered their progress greatly. Fearing unseen crevices and crumbling paths, the trio crept slowly ahead, keeping their backs to the slope of Mount Vikris, the second highest peak in the mountain range. As the day wore on, the fog worsened, until the warrior maiden finally called a halt sometime in midafternoon.
“We’ll walk into a ravine if we continue,” Verhanna said, vexed. “It’s better to wait out the fog.”
“We don’t get stuff like this in the Magnet Mountains,” Rufus observed. “No, sir, we never get fog like this.”
“I wish we weren’t getting it here,” was her waspish reply.
Greenhands passed his fingers through the drifting mist, closing them quickly as if snatching something. Bringing his hands to his face, he opened his fingers and studied them closely.
“What’re you doing?” Verhanna asked.
“I cannot feel this gray thing around us, yet it dampens my hand,” he said, puzzled. “How is that?”
“How should I know?”
As he turned his serene gaze on her, perhaps to respond to her rhetorical question, Verhanna stepped away from the steep wall of the mountain and peered upward into the murk. “I wish there was some wood about. We could go on if we could make torches.”
There was no wood, so there was nothing to do but wait out the confounding mist. Patience had never been one of Verhanna’s virtues, and she chafed at the delay. Greenhands perched on the ground, his back propped against a square boulder. Rufus took a nap.
Eventually the sky darkened and the air cooled. The fog fell as a heavy dew, soaking the travelers, their horses, and all their baggage. Rufus’s hat sagged around his ears. Verhanna wiped futilely at her armor, muttering dire predictions about rust. Only the green-fingered elf remained unconcerned. His long hair hung in thick, damp strands, and water dripped from the hem of his poncho.
“Let’s move,” Verhanna said at last. “As I figure it, we’re only a couple hours’ ride from Pax Tharkas.”
Once more Greenhands took the lead. He seemed to know where he was going, though he’d never been this way before. Verhanna and Rufus let their mounts pick their way several paces behind him. The violet dusk quickly changed to purple twilight. Solinari, the silver moon, rose above the mountains. The top of the pass was in sight, no more than twoscore paces ahead.
The warrior maiden jiggled her reins, urging her horse to a faster walk. Greenhands was nearly to the top of the pass. His right foot came down on the ridge of rock and dirt that marked the highest point in the pass, and he abruptly stopped. Verhanna pulled up beside him.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Wait,” he replied. “It’s coming.”
“What now?”
She looked up and down the pass, alert for stampedes or rampaging goblins or anything.
Greenhands’ placid expression had changed to one of great excitement. His eyes danced as he pointed upward and said, “Look!”
The starry vault of the sky was crisscrossed by brilliant streaks of light. Dazzling fireballs began at one horizon, streamed upward to the zenith of heaven, and vanished in explosions of color. From every corner, to every corner, the sky was gridded with fiery trails that left ghostly glowing imprints on the watchers’ eyes.
Rufus halted on Greenhands’ other side. “Shooting stars,” he breathed, awestruck.
The celestial pyrotechnics raged on, utterly silent and blindingly brilliant. At times, two streaming fireballs would collide, making a doubly bright burst. Tiny streaks and broad, cometlike meteors were bom, chased each other, and died in every color of the rainbow. Red fireballs left yellow trails. Blue-white comets fell toward the ground, only to burst soundlessly overhead.
“What does it mean?” Rufus wondered, rubbing his neck, stiff from staring up so long.
“Who says it means anything?” replied Verhanna.
“Perhaps it’s an omen, or a warning from the gods, my captain.”
Greenhands smiled. “Do not always look for the worst, little friend. Perhaps this is simply the gods making merry. Maybe the gods need amusement, too. This might be a celebration, not a dire warning of doom.”
No one disputed his words, but Verhanna and Rufus shared a vague feeling of apprehension. This seemed but one more of the inexplicable, and therefore frightening, phenomena that had afflicted their world lately.
“Well, I can see the lamps of Pax Tharkas from here,” said Verhanna. “We’ll be there soon, and you can hunt for your poppa all over the camp.”
Greenhands pointed away from the site of the fortress. “No, this way,” he said and set off on the steep southern trail.
Verhanna maneuvered her horse in front of him. “Look here,” she fumed, “we’ve followed you across nowhere long enough. There’s nothing up this way. If your father is anywhere in these mountains, Pax Tharkas is the place to look. Besides, we’re low on food and water.”
“He is near,” said the green-fingered elf. Greenhands moved to go around the horse. Verhanna let her mount drift forward, cutting him off again. Finally the strange elf put his arms under the black charger’s belly.