Paul Thompson - Dargonesti

I trust you are well, Princess. Though it saddens me to say it, I sometimes feel all our fighting was for naught, as we are ruled by Uriona anyway. At least the succession is assured and the line of Silvanos will continue. I remain

Your friend ,

Samca

A shudder ran through the Qualinesti princess. Perhaps Uriona’s prophecy had been right all along-at least in part. She had indeed been crowned in the Tower of the Stars, and now occupied the most ancient elven throne in the world.

Vixa put a hand to her head, attempting to massage the ache from her temples. The pain would not go away. It had been with her, off and on, for a week.

She called her lieutenant. “I’m turning over command to you,” she told him, writing out her orders on a scrap of parchment. “As of today, you lead the Wildrunners.”

The Kagonesti was stunned. “By why, lady? Is your health still poor?” he asked.

“No, but I can’t stay here. If I do, I’ll go mad.”

She packed a single cloth bag with a few necessities, as Kerridar stood by helplessly, at a loss to explain his commander’s sudden departure. “What shall I tell the Speaker? What shall I tell your mother?” he asked weakly.

“I’ve left letters for them. They’ll understand.” She didn’t intend to bandy words with Kerridar all day. “I’ll probably return some day to visit, but I’ll never command the Wildrunners again. You’re a good soldier, Kerridar. I’ve been proud to serve with you.”

She gripped his hand, ignoring his bewilderment. Vixa tied her bag to her saddle and mounted. The chestnut horse fretted in a circle. “Good-bye, Kerridar,” she called.

“Fare you well, Lady Vixa. Astra go with you!”

She rode for days, stopping only for the horse’s sake. The rest periods had to be brief, because whenever she stopped, the ache in her head grew unbearable. Once she was moving again, the pain would subside. She avoided roads and villages, not wanting to meet anyone. By the evening of her third day of travel, she arrived at the ocean shore. There was nothing before her now but sand and rolling waves.

She unsaddled the horse and took the bridle from its head. “You’re free, too,” she said, giving the animal’s rump a slap. The chestnut cantered away, snorting and shaking its head at the unaccustomed lack of restraint.

Her headache had gone away, as she knew it would. In its place were unintelligible whispers. She couldn’t understand the words, but she knew what they signified. The voices wanted her to come into the water. Vixa dropped her bag on the sand and, like a sleepwalker, headed for the surf. As she went, she shed her clothing.

Though summer was more than a month away, the water felt warm and indescribably good. She dove headfirst into the waves, swimming out beyond the line of breakers. A last glance back at the beach, and she sank beneath the surface. She kicked her feet until they were feet no more. Never had the transformation been so effortless and so welcome. Faster and faster she coursed through the depths. Now she could understand the voices. They said, “Come, Sister. Come home. Come home.”

Before she’d gone half a dozen leagues, she was surrounded by dolphins. The sea brothers greeted her by name as they cavorted around her.

“Why did you call me?” she asked in the water-tongue.

“Our brother, our chief, commanded it,” they replied.

Her heartbeat quickened. “Naxos?”

“Naxos, yes. Our brother, our chief,” said one mottled gray dolphin. “He sent us to tell you that we have left the city. We have no home but the sea now. Come with us, Sister! Be consort to our brother, our chief!”

“What has become of the Quoowahb of Urione?”

“They have a new master, but we are free. Come with us, Vixa Dryfoot!”

The pain and fatigue of her journey dropped away like a soiled cloak. Happiness filled her heart. Naxos was calling her. She would be free to roam the oceans, to live in peace. She would not have to fight wars or serve any master but nature itself.

She turned her dolphin body away from the land. “Take me to Naxos,” she said to her brothers.