The warrior woman stalked back to camp. At the edge of the sleeping mob, near the unconscious Kemian Ambrodel, she dropped down and slept.
Ulvian had also been surprised by his father’s announcement. This unknown bumpkin, a son of Kith-Kanan? It was a startling bit of news. But the prince had too many worries of his own to waste much effort wondering how he had come to acquire a half-brother. He, too, lay down to sleep, but sleep was longer in coming. His mind was filled with thoughts of what his immediate future might hold. Some hours later, Prince Ulvian awoke with a start.
“Who is it?” he said. “Who’s calling?”
He glanced around. The sun was low in the western sky, and its orange rays showed him the kender nearby. Rufus was curled into a ball, fast asleep, giving vent to his unique, high-pitched snores. The rest of the group also slumbered on. Just above them floated smoke from the funeral pyres, like a cloud of remembered evil. Ulvian grimaced at the smell and wondered how they had all managed to sleep in such a vile place.
Once more the prince heard the voice. It was soft and low, a feminine voice, he thought. It seemed to be coming from the direction of the largest fire, at the base of the peak. Ulvian rose and walked in that direction. Heat shimmered off the bed of coals. The voice, a faint whisper barely louder than the hiss of the dying flames spoke to him.
A stack of charred wood collapsed, sending sparks up into the cold, twilight sky. Ulvian listened to the voice and answered, “How can I reach you? The fire is still hot.”
The voice told him. The words entered his head like smoke wafting into his nose. The words were caressing, the tone melodic and resonant. His tired, aching limbs seemed imbued with strength. Belief flooded his mind. He could do it. The voice said so, and it was true.
Looking into the charred remains ahead, from where the voice seemed to emanate, Ulvian strode into the cinders. His bare feet pressed down on glowing coals, yet he did not cry out. So great was his desire to find the source of the silver-toned voice that he no longer took notice of where he walked. In the center of the pyre, he found it. Thrusting his hand into the ashes and charred bones of the wyvern, the prince found the onyx amulet. Heat had fused the two pieces together. Now they could never be taken apart.
The voice spoke again, and Ulvian nodded. Though the amulet was still hot, he put it into his pocket and walked out of the fire. In minutes, he had fallen asleep once more. Though smeared with soot, neither his hand nor his feet were burned.
16 — Four-Legged Cousins
Verhanna stirred from her slumber. Opening her eyes, she saw Greenhands sitting cross-legged on the ground a few feet away. The morning sun was in her eyes, and she lifted a hand to shade them. Greenhands was looking across the broad vista of mountain peaks.
It took the Qualinesti princess a moment to recall the events of the past days. The cold funeral pyres remained as mute evidence of what had transpired. She also recalled the news she had received regarding the white-haired elf before her. Her half-brother.
He turned to her, and she quickly looked away, embarrassed that he’d noticed her scrutiny.
“Hello, my captain,” he said equably. “You have slept long—a night, a day, and a second night.” Wind stirred his long hair. His green eyes were darker somehow, more muted than their usual vivid hue.
“By Astra!” Verhanna got to her feet and hurried to Rufus. She poked him in the back with the toe of her boot. The kender screwed up his wizened face and groaned.
“Go ’way, Auntie! I wanna sleep,” he grumbled.
“On your feet, Wart!”
Rufus’s blue eyes popped open.
The warrior maiden and kender circled through the scattered sleepers, waking them. Kith-Kanan sat up, coughing and shaking his head. “Merciful gods,” he muttered. “I’m too old to sleep on bare ground.” Verhanna grasped Kith-Kanan’s arm and helped him stand. He was very stiff from having slept in the open. “Is there anything to eat?” he asked. “I’m hollow.”
Rufus approached Kemian cautiously. The general had been seriously injured by the wyvern, and the kender feared that he’d find him dead. But Kemian drew breath steadily. His brow was cool and dry, and after Rufus awakened him, his eyes were clear.
“Water,” he said hoarsely. Rufus put a wicker-wrapped bottle to the elf’s lips.
Gradually the whole party arose. They stood around, a bit dazed, taking in their situation.
Kith-Kanan saw Greenhands, still seated serenely on the ground. He stood when Kith-Kanan approached him. The Speaker held out a hand. His son looked at it uncomprehendingly, and Kith-Kanan showed him how to shake hands.
“My son,” he said proudly. “You did well.”
Greenhands’ brow wrinkled in thought. “I only wanted to save you,” he replied. “I did not mean to kill.”
“Shed no tears for Drulethen, Son! His heart was as black as the onyx talisman he prized. He chose his path, and he chose his destruction. Be at peace. You have done a noble deed.”
The elf didn’t look convinced. In fact, he had a look of such sadness that Kith-Kanan put an arm around his shoulder and asked him what troubled him so.
“Before I found you, I often felt the presence of my mother,” he replied. “She would guide me and help me. I have sat here a long time, reaching out to her, but she does not answer. I do not feel her near any longer.”
“She must know that you’re with me now. You’re not alone,” Kith-Kanan said gently. “When your mother…left me, it took me a long time to get used to not having her by my side. But we are together now, and there are many things I need to know about you and how you came to be here.”
A disturbance erupted on the other side of the plateau. Kith-Kanan left his newfound son and hastened to the point of trouble. All the warriors were clustered in a group. They parted for the Speaker. In the center of the knot, he found Ulvian being restrained by two warriors. Verhanna and her kender scout faced them.
“What is this?” asked Kith-Kanan.
“My loving sister seeks to deny me a horse,” Ulvian said, straining against his captors. “And these ruffians have laid hands on me!”
“There are twenty people, and only twelve horses,” Verhanna snapped at him. “You’re still a convict, and by Astra, you’ll walk!”
“Release him,” Kith-Kanan said. The elves let go of Ulvian. A smug sneer appeared on the prince’s face, but his father erased it by adding, “You will walk, Ullie.”
The prince’s face turned red under his dirty blond beard. “Do you think I can walk all the way to Qualinost?” he exploded.
“You’re going back to Pax Tharkas!” Verhanna put in.
“No,” said the Speaker. The single quiet syllable silenced both siblings. “The prince will accompany us home to Qualinost.”
“But, Father—!”
“That’s enough, Hanna!” She flushed at this mild rebuke. “Has anyone seen to Lord Ambrodel?”
“He’s doing OK, Your Worship,” interposed Rufus. “But with those busted ribs, he can’t ride.” The kender suggested they make a stretcher from whatever they could find inside the cave. The stretcher could be dragged behind a horse.
Kith-Kanan gave orders for this to be done. Two warriors went in search of poles and cloth while the others collected their scattered gear and loaded for home.
The Speaker and his daughter went to see Kemian. The general was white-faced with pain, but he saluted gamely when his sovereign arrived. Kith-Kanan knelt beside him.
“The kender says you’ll be all right,” he said encouragingly. “Though he’s not a healer, he does seem to have some knowledge of these things. How do you feel, my lord?”
Through clenched lips, Kemian replied, “I am well sire.”
“Do you feel well enough to tell me what happened in the cave? How did you get hurt, and how did Greenhands manage to kill the wyvern?”
The injured elf coughed and almost fell back in pain. Verhanna got behind him to bolster him up. Kemian gave her a grateful glance over his shoulder, then launched into his account of the death of the sorcerer Drulethen.