Chris Pierson - Spirit of the Wind

“One of the Councillors, Pudgel Goosedown, came up with these,” Paxina said. “He said he got the idea from the gnomes-apparently, catapults are all the rage at Mount Nevermind.” As she spoke, one of the catapults misfired, slamming its dummy into a wall. “We’re still trying to get the kinks worked out,” she added.

Wincing, Riverwind followed her past the catapults, and on down the street.

They followed Elbowpoke Way as it wound through town, past many more deadfalls and trip wires, until finally they reached the middle of Kendermore. The kender had been very busy here. Dozens of houses had been leveled to create a large, empty quadrangle. “And this,” Paxina declared, “is where it all comes together.” She made a grand, sweeping motion with her arm, indicating the houses along the edges of the yard. “The day before the attack, we’re going to soak all of those with oil and pitch. When the horde gets here, we’ll have a good, old-fashioned bonfire. Goodbye ogres.”

Riverwind nodded solemnly, struggling to take it all in. There didn’t seem to be a single part of Kendermore that hadn’t been turned into some sort of death trap. “I hope it works,” he asked said solemnly.

“If it does,” Paxina replied blithely, “boy, are we going to have a whopper of a story to tell!”

Smiling, Riverwind glanced around the courtyard. At the far side, a crowd of kender were gathered around one of the tunnel entrances, bidding one another farewell as they waited for their turn to leave the city. “And the Flight?” he asked. “I haven’t seen Catt in a few days. Things are going as we hoped?”

“Better, actually,” Paxina answered. “We should be down to the last ten thousand by sunrise on the day after Mark Year. Not bad, eh? Whoever’s left behind will join the fun here. When the call went out for volunteers, we got more than we needed. A lot of my people really want to stick around and see the end of Kendermore.”

They stood together, admiring the kender’s handiwork, for a few minutes. Then Paxina cleared her throat awkwardly, breaking the silence. “So,” she said. “what about you and Kronn?”

“We leave for Blood Watch tomorrow,” Riverwind said. “You’d get lost in the tunnels without Kronn,” Paxina said. “I’m glad you’re taking him with you. I’d go too-if I didn’t have my own job to do.”

Riverwind nodded. Paxina had taken charge of the defenses after the death of Brimble Redfeather. She would stay and fight, stay and die if need be.

“Are you sure you want to stay behind?”

“Yes,” she replied earnestly. “Kendermore is my home. Besides,” she added with a smile, “I’m not afraid.”

When Riverwind came home that night, he found Brightdawn and Moonsong waiting for him. They stood in the front hall, side by side, their arms folded across their chests. Stagheart was behind them, still haggard and weak from his wounds.

The old Plainsman looked at his daughters and immediately understood the look in their eyes. “No,” he said before they could open their mouths to speak. “You’re leaving with the Kender Flight.”

“That’s our choice to make,” Brightdawn answered curtly. “Just like it’s yours to go to Blood Watch.”

When Moonsong spoke, her voice was more gentle. “Father,” she said, “all the healers in Kendermore are staying. Anile told me. The people who’ve already left don’t need us-but the ones who stay behind will. My place is with them-I can’t just leave.”

“You shouldn’t have come in the first place,” Riverwind said wearily. “You should have stayed in Que-Shu.”

“Be that as it may,” Moonsong declared, “I am here.”

“I will stay with her,” stated Stagheart, his face a mask of pride and regret. “I failed to protect her before; I will not make that mistake again.”

Riverwind sighed. “Very well,” he said. “Your mother would do the same, Moonsong, if she were in your place.” He turned to face Brightdawn. “And you? You’re not a healer.”

She gazed at him, her eyes fierce and clear. “I will go with you to Blood Watch.”

The old Plainsman slumped, bowing his head. Tears burned in his eyes. “Child,” he whispered, “please..

“Listen to me,” Brightdawn said fiercely. “Do you remember when we left Que-Shu? I told you I didn’t know what my place was in this world. I know, now-it’s with you, Father.”

Riverwind stood silently for a moment, trembling. Brightdawn stepped forward and rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. After a moment, he looked up at her and smiled, his eyes full.

“Goldmoon and I raised you to do what you knew in your hearts was right,” he said softly. “I will not tell you otherwise now.”

There were no more words. He gathered his daughters in his arms, unable to hold back his tears.

The hot wind ruffled Riverwind’s feathered headdress as he stood with Kronn and Brightdawn in the center of town, outside an entrance to the tunnels. Before them was a crowd of kender, who had set aside their work to bid them farewell. Paxina, Catt, and Giffel stood at the front, Moonsong and Stagheart beside them. Moonsong held little Billee Juniper in her arms.

They had already said their farewells-Brightdawn holding Billee and embracing Moonsong, Kronn taking his sisters’ hands and promising to return, Riverwind kissing Moonsong, Catt, and Paxina goodbye. Now the Lord Mayor bowed to them, smiling.

“Kendermore thanks you,” Paxina said softly.

Gravely, Riverwind bowed to her, then turned and walked down the stairs into the tunnels. Brightdawn and Kronn followed. They did not look back.

Time became meaningless for Riverwind, Kronn, and Brightdawn as they traveled toward Blood Watch. There was no day or night in the tunnels; there was only walking, constant and endless. Occasionally, they would reach a fork or intersection in the passage, and they would have to stop while Kronn consulted an old, yellowed map of the tunnels and determine which direction to take. Other times, their torches would begin to gutter out, and they would pluck new ones from the wall sconces and light them with the charred stubs of their dying brands. For the most part, however, the catacombs stretched arrow-straight ahead of them, a long throat of stone leading to the dragon’s belly. Minutes melted into hours, hours pooled into days.

Then, after what seemed like years-but was actually only several long days-the tunnel began to change.

It was barely noticeable at first-a slight warping of the walls, a twisting of the floor-so no one spoke of it, each assuming it was simply a trick of the imagination. After several more miles, however, the passage’s deformity grew more pronounced. The stone was cracked in some places, and in others it ran like melted wax. The stench of hot metal mixed with the old, familiar tang of brimstone. Faint wisps of black smoke hung in the air, writhing as they passed. It grew steadily warmer, and soon the three travelers were slick with sweat, panting for breath as they struggled on.

“This is Malystryx’s doing,” Riverwind said, his voice hoarse from hours of disuse.

“No kidding,” Kronn answered. “Actually, I’m not too surprised-we must be almost to the Hollowlands by now. She’s been using her magic to shape the land above us-it only stands to reason that the tunnels would have been warped too.”

“How bad do you think it’ll get?” Brightdawn asked.

The kender shrugged. “You tell me. I haven’t been down this way in years.”

Suddenly Riverwind began to cough, choking and gasping in the smoky air. His steps slowed, then he stopped, doubling over and hacking violently. Brightdawn ran to his side and grabbed his shoulders. “Father?” she asked, her voice rising with alarm. His face was dark red, and contorted with pain with every wracking cough. “What’s wrong? What can I do to help?”