Paul Thompson - The Qualinesti

The kender realized he didn’t know which way was north and which was south. And he wasn’t entirely certain he could trust such a silly trick.

“What choice have you got?” Rufus asked himself aloud. None, he answered himself silently.

He tied Verhanna’s horse’s reins to his saddle. Then he set about uncovering his captain. She was noticeably cooler, thanks to his treatment, but still gravely ill. He had a dragon’s own time getting the unconscious woman out of the hole. Grunting with effort, he braced her up in a sitting position on the ground.

Verhanna’s fever-fogged eyes opened. “Wart,” she muttered. “I thought I fired you.”

“You haven’t paid me yet, my captain. I can’t leave till I get my gold!”

With much wobbling, Verhanna rose to her feet. Rufus boosted her into her saddle, his head and both hands pushing on her backside. In another time and place, it might have been a comical scene, but now Verhanna’s life was literally hanging by a thread—a woolen thread from a kender’s hat.

The warrior maid drooped over her horse’s neck. Leaving her mount tied to his saddle, Rufus took his horse’s reins in hand and began to lead them out. The track they’d been on with the carts lay to the north, so he chose a direction and hoped it was right. His eyes were glued to the sliver of lodestone he held in his other hand. He walked and walked and walked. So intent was he on keeping to his course that it was some time before he noticed it was getting harder and harder to see.

“Just my luck!” the kender exclaimed. “I’m going blind!”

But Rufus was not going blind. The sun, so long fixed overhead, was finally moving. Already it was low in the sky off to his left, sinking through the trees and confirming his route as northerly. Never unhappy for very long, the kender found himself feeling rather satisfied. He had chosen the right path. His lodestone pointer worked.

A few minutes later, he came to the track through the forest they’d left earlier. Rufus danced with joy. He was the best scout in the whole world! He climbed onto his mount and thumped his heels cheerily against its sides, turning its face toward the setting sun.

There was no sign of the two carts or the former slaves, but Rufus was immensely relieved to be on the path again.

Crickets and birds, silent during the three days of noon, sang again as shadows lengthened on the trail. Rufus stopped now and then to see how his captain was doing. Her breathing was shallow and quick, and her face was too warm again. That was bad. How he wished he was in Balifor, where he knew several healing shamans! There was one on Peacock Street who had—

Water. The kender’s button nose twitched. He smelled water. In a few seconds, the horses detected it, too. The tired, parched animals shambled faster, eager for a refreshing drink. Agreeing with them completely, Rufus let them have their heads.

The trees thinned and finally disappeared. In the last of the daylight, the kender saw that a wide bed of mud lay before him. The horses walked laboriously across the mud, pulling their hooves free with loud sucking noises. Evidently the river had shrunk during the long heat wave. Rufus wondered if there was any water left. If so, he couldn’t see it. A thick scroll of fog shrouded the center of the river.

As they entered the fog, Rufus heard a splashing sound. He looked down. The horses had found the water. They waded in up to their bellies. Rufus leaned over and drank some of the sweet liquid from his cupped hand. Then he stood in his saddle and clambered over to Verhanna’s mount.

Her hands and feet trailed in the cool stream. Standing with one foot in her stirrup, the kender scooped up a hatful of water and held it to her lips. Only partly conscious, she drank.

Sounds from the opposite shore caught Rufus’s attention—voices, axles creaking, horses whinnying, Incapable of ignoring something that sounded so interesting, Rufus slipped into the water and swam quietly toward the noises.

As the kender rose out of the river, his soaked topknot fell across his face. He pushed it aside. Only his head showed above water, and the fog hung close around him. When he felt the oozy bottom under his toes, he walked slowly to shore.

The figures in the fog resolved themselves into tall people, elves or humans, who were trying to push a heavily loaded wagon out of the mud. They had foolishly steered the conveyance too close to the water’s edge, and now it was held fast by the thick muck. As far as Rufus could see by the light of their torches, they were unarmed. Mostly they were muddy, and from the sounds they were making, disgusted with their plight.

He decided they must be immigrants bound for Qualinesti. Perhaps there would be a healer among them. He’d have to go back and get his captain.

When he returned to his horses, he remounted and started for the far shore, toward the immigrants. The very center of the stream was too deep for the animals to walk, but the Thoradin-bred chargers swam the short distance easily. Kender, horses, and the unconscious warrior maiden splashed ashore.

“Hullo there! Rufus! Rufus Wrinklecap!” called a high voice. The startled kender saw a small fellow break away from the others.

“Kivinellis? Is that you?” The elf boy yelped with delight and waved Verhanna’s dagger over his head. The other elves froze in their tracks.

Rufus clapped the boy on the back, saying, “Good to see you! My captain’s wounded. We had a fight with some goblins, then got lost in the woods.”

He peered over the boy’s head at the people beside the wagon. None of them looked familiar.

“Where’re Diviros and the women?” he asked quickly. “Who are these folk?” The Kagonesti at the wagon broke ranks and came toward him.

“Oh, these are my friends,” said Kivinellis. “When you and the warrior lady rode off, Diviros got his legs untied and jumped down from the cart. I chased him, but he ran into the woods and I was afraid to follow. Me and the womenfolk came to the river ’cause you didn’t come back.”

The Kagonesti settlers were close now, so Rufus hailed them. “Hello! My captain is sick with a goblin’s bite. Is there a healer among you?”

One Kagonesti male, his face painted with a host of black and white dots, turned away from the kender and called over his shoulder, “They have come, just as you said!”

Puzzled, Rufus said to Kivinellis, “Who’s he talking to?” The fair-haired elf boy merely shrugged.

A soft yet penetrating voice pierced the night. “Bring the woman to me.”

A male voice, Rufus decided. A little farther up the riverbank.

Two sinewy Kagonesti lifted Verhanna from her horse and carried her ashore. Rufus and Kivinellis followed, and the boy explained that his female companions had gone on to Qualinost with another group of wagons. He had decided to wait at the river ford for a while to see if Verhanna and the kender turned up.

“Where are they taking my captain?” asked Rufus, loud enough for the elves to hear.

His answer came striding out of the dark. A head taller than the Kagonesti, the newcomer was also an elf, though fairer in complexion. His face wasn’t painted. Yellow hair hung loose around his wide shoulders. A rough horsehair blanket, with a hole cut in the center for his head, covered his chest and arms. His legs were sheathed in leather trews.

He stopped where the grassy shore met the mud flats. “I can help you,” said the stranger. His words were softly spoken, yet carried easily to Rufus.

“Are you a healer?” asked Rufus.

“I can help you,” he repeated.

The tall, yellow-haired elf went to the Kagonesti and took Verhanna from their arms. He carried the strapping warrior woman effortlessly, but with great gentleness. He turned and started away from the river.