Paul Thompson - The Qualinesti

The bard shook his head solemnly, and once more his voice was low and serious as he replied, “No, good warrior. It was clear that the fellow had been inside the tree and that the lightning had released him.”

“Bleedin’ dragons!” sighed the kender.

“My good spouse ran back to the pool and raised us from our stupor. I hurried to the shattered tree and beheld the strange elf. He was slick with blood, yet as my wife and sister washed him, there was not a cut, not even a scratch, anywhere on him. Moreover, there was an oval hollow in the tree, just large enough for him to have fitted in with his legs drawn up.”

Verhanna snorted and waved a hand dismissively. “Look here,” she said kindly, “that’s quite a tall tale you’ve spun, bard, but don’t carry on so hard that you begin to believe it yourself! You are a tale-spinner, after all, and a very good one. You almost had yourself convinced.”

Diviros’s mobile face showed only the briefest flash of annoyance. “Forgive me. I did not intend to deceive, only to relate to you the marvel we encountered in this elf who seemed born from a tree. If I offended, I apologize.” He bowed again, but Kivinellis blurted, “Tell them about his hands!” Everyone stared at the child, and he retreated once more behind his mother’s back. Rufus hopped up from the log he’d been sitting on.

“What about his hands?” asked the kender.

“They were discolored,” Diviros said casually. “The elf’s fingers, including his nails, were the color of summer grass.” His tawny eyes darted to his son, and the quick look was not kind.

“What happened to the green-fingered elf?” Rufus wondered aloud.

“We cared for him a day or two, and then he wandered off on his own.”

Verhanna detected a note of resistance in his voice. In spite of Rufus’s obvious enjoyment of the story, the bard was suddenly reluctant to speak. The captain had never known a bard to be reticent before an attentive audience. She decided to press him. “Which way did this odd, green-fingered fellow go?”

There was a momentary hesitation, barely discernible, before Diviros answered, “South by west. We have not seen him since.”

The Speaker’s daughter stood. “Well, we thank you, good bard, for your tale. And for our dinner. We must be off now.”

She tugged Rufus to his feet.

“But I haven’t finished eating!” protested the kender.

“Yes, you have.”

Verhanna hustled him to his horse and sprang to her own saddle. “Good luck to you!” she called to the family. “May your way be green and golden!”

In a moment, they’d left the group of elves staring in surprise after them.

Back on the trail, cloaked by the robe of night, Verhanna brought her horse to a stop. Rufus bounced up beside her. The kender was still babbling about their abrupt departure and the premature end of his meal.

“Forget your stomach,” Verhanna ordered. “What did you make of that strange encounter?”

“They had good food,” he said pointedly. When she raised a warning eyebrow, Rufus added hastily, “I thought the bard was all right, but the others were a little snooty. Of course, a lot of the elder folk are like that—your noble father excluded, my captain.” He flashed an ingratiating smile.

“They were afraid of something,” Verhanna said, lowering her voice and tapping her chin thoughtfully. “At first I thought it was us, but now I think they were afraid of Diviros.”

The kender crinkled his nose. “Why would they be afraid of him?”

Verhanna wrapped her reins tightly around her fist. “I have an idea.”

She turned her horse back toward the bard’s campfire. “Get your knife out and follow me!” she ordered, putting her spurs to work.

Her ebony mount bolted through the underbrush, its heavy hooves thrashing loudly. Puzzled, Rufus turned his unwieldy animal after his captain, his heart pounding in excitement.

Verhanna burst into the little clearing in time to see Diviros shoving his small son into the back of one of their carts. The bard whirled, eyes wide in alarm. He reached under the cart and brought out a leaf-headed spear-hardly bardic equipment. Verhanna shifted her round buckler to catch the spear point and deflect it away. Diviros planted the heel of the spear shaft against his foot like an experienced soldier and stood while the mounted warrior charged toward him.

“Circle around them, Wart!” the captain cried before ducking her face behind the rim of her shield. Verhanna and Diviros were seconds from collision when the young elf boy stood up in the cart and hurled an earthenware pot at his father. The thick clay vessel thudded against Diviros’s back. He dropped his spear and fell to his knees, gasping for air. Verhanna reined in her mount and presented the tip of her sword at his throat.

“Yield, in the name of the Speaker of the Sun!” she declared. Diviros’s head dropped down in dejection, and he spread his hands wide on the ground.

Rufus clattered up to the cart. The boy scrambled over the baggage and bounced up and down in front of the kender.

“You’ve saved us!” he cried joyously.

“What’s going on here?” Rufus asked, his confusion evident. He looked up at Verhanna. “Captain, what in darkness is going on?”

“Our friend Diviros is a slaver.” Verhanna prodded Diviros with her sword tip. “Aren’t you?” The elf didn’t answer.

“Yes!” the boy said. “He was taking us all to Ergoth to be sold into slavery!”

The two elf women were released from their cart, where Diviros had bound and gagged them. Gradually the whole story came out.

The Guards of the Sun, under Kith-Kanan’s orders, had so disrupted the traffic of slaves from Silvanesti to Ergoth that slave dealers in both lands were resorting to ruses like this one. Small groups of slaves, disguised as settlers and held by one or two experienced drivers, were being sent on many different routes.

Verhanna ordered Diviros bound. The elf women did her bidding eagerly. Once the erstwhile bard was secured, Rufus approached her and said, “What do we do now, Captain? We can’t keep trailing the Kagonesti with a prisoner and three civilians in tow.”

Disappointment was written on Verhanna’s face. She knew the kender was right, yet she burned to bring the crafty Kagonesti slavers to justice.

“We can resume the hunt,” she said firmly. “Their trail was leading west, and we’ll continue in that direction.”

“What’s in the west?”

“Pax Tharkas. We can turn Diviros over to my father’s guards there. The captives will be taken care of, too.”

She looked up into the starry sky. “I want those elves, Wart. They ambushed my soldiers and made a fool of me with their smoke phantom. I want them brought to justice!” She drove her mailed fist into her palm.

They bundled Diviros into one of the carts and set Deramani, the older elf woman, to watch him. The younger woman, Selenara, volunteered to drive their wagon. Rufus tied Diviros’s horse to the other cart and climbed in beside Kivinellis. Once Verhanna was mounted, she led the caravan out of the clearing and headed west.

The elf boy told Rufus and Verhanna that he was actually an orphan from the streets of Silvanost. Then he proceeded to shower them with questions about Qualinesti, Qualinost, and the Speaker of the Sun. He’d heard tales of Kith-Kanan’s exploits in the Kinslayer War, but since the schism between East and West, even the mention of Kith-Kanan’s name was frowned upon in Silvanesti.

Verhanna told him all he wanted to know—except that she was the daughter of the famous Speaker.

Then Rufus posed a question to Kivinellis. “Hey, was that story about the elf coming out of the tree true?” he asked.