Paul Thompson - Firstborn

“Is there nothing you want to take with you?” Kith-Kanan wondered.

Mackeli surveyed the inside of the tree. The flint tools, gourd bottles, clay-daubed baskets, none of them were worth taking, he said. Still, they needed food and water, so they loaded a pair of wicker baskets with meat, nuts, berries, and water, balancing the weight so Arcuballis could carry it all. Alone of the three of them, the griffon was still heavily asleep. When Kith-Kanan whistled through his teeth, Arcuballis raised its aquiline head out from under one wing and stood on its mismatched feet. Kith-Kanan gave the beast some water while Mackeli tied the food baskets to the back of the saddle.

A sense of urgency spurred them on. Mackeli chattered incessantly about the things he wanted to do and see. He scrubbed the residue of paint from his face, announcing that he didn’t want the city-dwellers to think he was a savage. Kith-Kanan tested the harness fittings under the griffon’s neck and chest, and Mackeli climbed onto the pillion. At last, though, Kith-Kanan hesitated.

“What is it?” the boy asked.

“There is one thing I must do!” He cut across the flower-choked clearing to the slender oak that had been Anaya. He stopped two yards away and looked up at the limbs reaching toward the sky. He still found it hard to accept that the woman he loved was here now, in any form. “Part of my heart stays with you here, my love. I have to go back now; I hope you understand.” Tears welled in his eyes as he took out his dagger. “Forgive me,” he whispered, then reached up and quickly sliced off a four-inch green shoot, well laden with bright green buds. Kith-Kanan cut a small slit in the tough deerhide of his tunic, directly over his heart, and put the shoot there.

The elf prince gazed up at the young tree, then looked around at the clearing where they had been so happy. “I love you, Anaya,” he said. “Farewell.” Turning, he walked quickly back to the griffon.

Kith-Kanan swung onto Arcuballis’s back and settled himself into the saddle. He whistled and touched the griffon with his heels, signaling the creature to be off. As the griffon bounded across the clearing, its strong legs tearing through the new growth, great torrents of petals and pollen flew into the air. At last the mount opened its wings and, in a stupendous bound, leaped into the air. Mackeli yelped with delight.

They circled the clearing, gaining height with each circuit. Kith-Kanan looked down for a few seconds, then he lifted his face and studied the clouds. He turned Arcuballis’s head northeast. They leveled out at a thousand feet. The air was warm, and a steady wind buoyed Arcuballis, enabling him to glide for long stretches with hardly a wingbeat.

Mackeli leaned forward and shouted in Kith-Kanan’s ear, “How long will it take us to get there?”

“One day, perhaps two.”

They passed over a world rapidly greening. Life seemed to be bursting from the ground even as they flew by. The lower air was full of birds, from tiny swallows to large flocks of wild geese. Farther below, the forest thinned, then gave way to plain. As the sun reached its zenith, Kith-Kanan and Mackeli saw the first signs of civilization since leaving the wildwood. There was a village below, laid out in a circle, with a sod wall surrounding it for protection. A pall of smoke hung over the village.

“Is that a city?” asked Mackeli excitedly.

“No, that’s barely a village. It looks like they’ve been attacked.” Worry and the edge of fear set Kith-Kanan’s heart to pounding as he hauled back on the reins. Arcuballis tipped over in a shallow dive. They flew through the smoke. Coughing, the elf prince steered the griffon in a slow circle around the despoiled village. Nothing moved. He could see the bodies of the fallen lying atop the wall and in between the huts.

“It’s terrible,” Kith-Kanan said grimly. “I’m going to land and take a look. Be on guard, Keli.”

Arcuballis touched down lightly outside the wall, near one of the rents that had been torn in it. Kith-Kanan and Mackeli dismounted. Mackeli had a crossbow, salvaged from Voltorno’s band, and Kith-Kanan had his compound bow. His scabbard hung empty by his side.

“You see what they did?” Kith-Kanan said, pointing to the gap in the sod wall. “The attackers used grappling hooks to pull down the wall.”

They stepped over the rubble of dried sod and entered the village. It was eerily quiet. Smoke eddied and swirled in the shifting wind. Where once people had talked and argued and laughed, there was now nothing but empty streets. Broken crockery and torn clothing were strewn here and there. Kith-Kanan turned over the first body he came to—a Kagonesti male, slain by sword. He could tell the elf had died not very long before, a day or two at most. Turning the fellow facedown once more, Kith-Kanan paused and shook his head. Horrible. During the Call he had sensed from Sithas that there was trouble in the land, but this? This was murder and rapine.

As they continued through the silent village, all the other dead they found were Kagonesti or Silvanesti males. No females, no children. All the farm animals were gone, as was practically everything else of value.

“Who could have done this?” Mackeli asked solemnly.

“I don’t know. Whoever it was, they didn’t want their identity known. Do you notice, they took their own dead with them?”

“How can you tell?”

Kith-Kanan pointed at the scattering of dead villagers. “These fellows didn’t just lay down and die. They died fighting, which means they must’ve taken a few of their enemies with them.”

On the west side of the village, they found a mass of footprints—horses, cattle, and people. The raiders had taken their elven and animal captives and driven them out onto the great plain. Mackeli asked what lay in that direction.

“The city of Xak Tsaroth. No doubt the raiders will try to sell their prizes in the markets there,” said Kith-Kanan grimly. He gazed at the flat horizon as if he might catch a glimpse of the bandits who had committed this outrage. “Beyond Xak Tsaroth is the homeland of the Kagonesti. It’s forest, much like the wildwood we just left.”

“Does your father rule all this land?” Mackeli said curiously.

“He rules it by law, but out here the real ruler is the hand that wields the sword.” Kith-Kanan kicked the dry plains soil, sending up a gout of dust. “Come, Keli. Let’s go.”

They trudged back to the griffon, following the outside curve of the village wall. Mackeli dragged his feet and hung his head. Kith-Kanan asked what was troubling him.

“This world beyond the forest is a dark place,” he said. “These folk died because someone wanted to rob them.”

“I never said the outside world was all marble cities and pretty girls,” Kith-Kanan replied, draping an arm across the boy’s shoulders. “Don’t be too discouraged, though. This sort of thing doesn’t happen every day. Once I tell my father about it, he will put an end to this brigandage.”

“What can he do? He lives in a far away city.”

“Don’t underestimate the power of the Speaker of the Stars.”

It was twilight of the second day when the white tops of the city towers first appeared. Arcuballis sensed the end of their journey was near; without Kith-Kanan’s urging, the beast quickened its wingbeat. The land raced by. The broad Thon-Thalas, mirroring the deep aquamarine of the evening sky, appeared, approached, and then flashed beneath the griffon’s tucked-in feet.

“Hello! Hello down there!” Mackeli called to the boaters and fishers on the river. Kith-Kanan shushed him.

“I may not be coming back to the warmest of welcomes,” he cautioned. “There’s no need to announce our return, all right?” The boy reluctantly fell silent.