“The green-fingered one reasoned that, with his strength, he could rope the beast and pull its head inside, where I would chop it off with my sword. I got the rope we’d gathered for you, Speaker, and tied off the end to a wall bracket in the great chamber. The warriors and the kender teased the monster into attacking, and Greenhands caught him in his snare.” He paused to draw a ragged breath.
“We pulled the monster in, even though it fought hard against us,” Kemian continued. “I’ve never seen so strong an elf, sire. Greenhands hauled in that wyvern as if it were a river trout. I stepped forward to finish the job with my sword, but—” he passed a hand over his chest—“the monster pinned me against the wall with its head. It meant to crush the life out of me and was doing just that when Greenhands took the sword from my hand and chopped the beast’s head off. Two strokes was all it took, I swear. Then I swooned from pain.”
Verhanna took up the water bottle Rufus had left and wet Kemian’s lips. “Thank you, lady,” he whispered. “You’re very kind.”
“That’s not something I hear very often,” she replied tartly.
Kemian coughed. Agony contorted his face. “Sire,” he gasped, “is he really your son?”
“Yes. He is the child of my first wife, whom I lost many, many years ago.”
Kemian grasped Kith-Kanan’s hand. “Then you have a fine son, Majesty. With guidance, he would make a fine Speaker of the Sun.”
It was the same thought that had just occurred to the Speaker. By common law of primogeniture, the eldest son was to inherit a monarch’s crown. Even though Ulvian was born first, Greenhands had been conceived several centuries earlier. It was a legal and ethical riddle to try the brains of the wisest thinkers in Qualinost.
Verhanna interrupted his thoughts. “Father, I agree with the general. Greenhands is brave and good and has powers beyond what you have already seen.” She recounted the experiences she and Rufus had had with Greenhands—his control of the herd of elk, her healing, their meeting with the centaurs.
The centaurs! She jumped to her feet, letting go of Kemian so quickly he slid sideways to the ground. He moaned, but Verhanna was already stepping over him and bawling for Greenhands. He and Rufus were standing at the edge of the ashes, all that was left of the wyvern’s pyre.
“I’m calling you!” she said, planting her hands on her hips. “Why don’t you answer?”
Rufus pointed to the object of their rapt attention. Half-buried in the cinders was the scorched skull of the monster. All the flesh had been burned away, and the horny yellow beak had turned a sickly gray from the heat.
“We was thinking that would make a great trophy,” Rufus said.
“And on what pack mule were you planning to put that thing?” she asked pointedly. The skull was four feet long.
“I can carry it,” Greenhands said softly, and Rufus beamed at him.
“Leave it. It’s just carrion.” Verhanna took hold of Greenhands’ arm, pulling him away from the ashes. “Do you still have the horn that centaur gave you?”
“It’s there.” He indicated the rocks where their gear had been placed before the fight.
“Use it,” she said. “Summon the centaurs.”
“Why, my captain?” Rufus scratched his freckled cheek.
“We need mounts, don’t we? Centaurs have four legs, don’t they? If they’re agreeable, we’ll ride them right into Qualinost!” She grinned. “What an entrance we’ll make!”
Rufus grinned back at her. So taken was he with her idea that he ran to the rocks and fetched back the ram’s horn.
He inhaled deeply. Fastening his lips on the horn tip, the kender blew till his red face turned purple. A horrible wail escaped from the open end of the horn. Everyone on the plateau stopped what he was doing and put his hands over his ears.
“Enough!” said Verhanna, snatching the horn from Rufus’s lips. He staggered away, winded from his effort.
She handed the ram’s horn to Greenhands. He raised it high and blew.
A deep, steady tone issued from the horn. The unwavering bass note bounced against the mountains and echoed back like a phantom reply.
“Again,” Verhanna demanded.
The second note took wing before the first had died. The two sounds chased each other all through the Kharolis and back again. Greenhands lowered the horn, and the two calls finally faded away into the distance. Everyone waited, but nothing happened. There was no answering sound.
Verhanna was disappointed, but before she could order Greenhands to sound the horn again, Kith-Kanan came up to them. “Son,” he said quickly, “Hanna said you were able to heal a goblin bite she received. Do you think you could do as much for Lord Ambrodel?”
“If you wish it, Father,” was Greenhands’ reply.
They went to the general, and Greenhands sat down on the ground beside him. Kemian watched him expectantly, a fevered gleam in his gray-blue eyes.
Greenhands touched his fingertips lightly to each side of the warrior’s head, cocking his own as if listening to something. “You must take off the metal he wears,” Greenhands murmured, pulling his hands back. “It blocks the power.”
“What power?” demanded Ulvian, who had joined them. Verhanna punched him in the arm to silence him.
Rufus deftly untied the armor that Kemian still wore and tugged it free. He removed every bit of metal the general had, even snipping the copper buttons from his haqueton. Those buttons found their way somehow into the kender’s pockets.
“Now it begins,” Greenhands said. He placed his hands flat against Kemian’s ribs. After a few moments, it became obvious the breathing of the two elves was synchronous. Kemian’s was short and ragged because of his injury; Greenhands also breathed in small gasps. The green-fingered elf slowly closed his eyes. Kemian’s eyelids fluttered down also.
Their breathing came faster. All the color drained from Greenhands’ face, and beads of shiny sweat broke out on his brow. At the same time, a flush of red blood came to Lord Ambrodel’s face. His body went limp, his head lolling to one side. The green-fingered elf stiffened abruptly, his back and neck rigid. Now his breath came in harsh, loud gasps for air.
Verhanna cared greatly for Greenhands and hated to see him in pain. Her guilt was compounded by knowing that he had suffered for her also, when he’d saved her from the festering goblin bite.
Kemian cried out. His shout was echoed by Greenhands. The sound rose in intensity and was suddenly cut off. Greenhands’ head hung down. His hands slid off the now sleeping general. He wrapped them around his own chest and moaned. Kith-Kanan and Verhanna gently lowered him to the ground.
“Rest easy,” Kith-Kanan said, smoothing Greenhands’ sweat-soaked hair from his brow. “Rest easy, Son. You’ve done it. You’ve healed Kemian.” The general’s chest rose and fell in deep, untroubled breaths.
It was early afternoon by the time the party was ready to go. Kemian and Greenhands had slept for several hours. Lord Ambrodel awoke fully recovered, and his healer had only some soreness and stiffness remaining. No centaurs had come to aid them, so they set out with ten riding and ten walking. Two horses were used for baggage only. Verhanna mounted up with Kemian and eight warriors. In spite of her protests, her father had chosen to walk, along with Greenhands and Ulvian.
“But you’re the Speaker!” she protested.
“An even better reason to go on foot. My subjects should always know that I am willing to do without so that they may live better. Besides, down here I can talk with my sons.”
Verhanna looked at Greenhands and Ulvian, who walked on each side of their father. Neither of them had spoken to the other. In fact, Ulvian seemed to be assiduously avoiding his newly revealed half-brother. With a last shake of her head, Verhanna reined about and galloped to the head of the little column, taking her place by General