Douglas Niles - Kagonesti

"This knight called Huma must be a great man," Ashtaway suggested, "for his presence to cause the Queen of Darkness such concern."

"I am told that he is," Lectral agreed. "And, no doubt, if there was any way through the mountains, the knights would make every effort to strike at Sanction. I suspect her fears on that score are groundless, but she will nevertheless make effort to patrol these forests, just to make sure."

"I wonder what it is that brought the knights into the woodland. The force was too small for a battle such as you describe. This is far from their domain, as well," the elven warrior mused.

Lectral shrugged a great shoulder. "Humans think that all Krynn is their domain-but who can guess why they ride where they will?"

"My fellow warriors have slain many humans. When they fight us, they seem crude and vicious, not at all courageous. Though I admit that these knights were different-"

"Isn't this enough talk of war?" Hammana interrupted. She looked at Ashtaway pointedly. "Can you find some food?"

"Perhaps you might look along the valley below here, just to the north of my cave," Lectral suggested. "I caught the scent of deer only yesterday. It may be that you will find food for your village-and, perhaps, a haunch that you could spare for your silver friend."

"I go there immediately," Ash declared, rising to his feet with dignity. "And if I meet with fortune, know that I will soon return."

"Splendid," Lectral said, pleasantly blinking his large yellow eyes, allowing Hammana to massage a blend of herbs into a raw patch between his nostrils. "I shall take a nap while you hunt, and dream of awakening to the smell of venison."

With a deep, reverent bow, Ashtaway stepped to the mouth of the cave. By the time he started down the trail, the crippled dragon had already drifted off to sleep. Hammana, however, looked after him-and in her eyes he saw the glow of pride… or something more.

True to Lectral’s word, Ash found deer in the marshy dale. The warrior stalked during a long, moonless night, bringing down two plump does with a single arrow apiece. In the dawnlit hours he left one whole carcass before the cave in repayment for Lectral's suggestion. Hammana announced that she would stay with the dragon for a few days, and Ash promised to carry word of her decision to her father, Wallaki.

Pledging to return soon, Ashtaway hoisted the other deer to his back and started toward the village. The gutted doe was heavy, but the weight felt good on the wild elf's shoulders-and even under the load he maintained a steady, loping jog along the forest floor. The village beside the Bluelake was close, barely a dozen miles away, and he looked forward to returning there by midafternoon. His arrival, he knew, would be greeted with great happiness among all the villagers-it had been many months since a Kagonesti warrior had returned to the village with such a prize.

Ashtaway's supple moccasins glided softly across the carpet of pine needles, moss, and soft loam. He drew his breaths in long, rhythmic inhalation-once for each four steps-and then exhaled in the same measured pattern. Sweat slicked his bronzed, tattooed skin, but the cool wind of his movement evaporated it quickly, bringing welcome relief from the oppressive summer heat.

He ran with trancelike concentration on his silent, measured progress, yet at the same time his mind remained alert to the forest all around. He listened for the cry of the hawk, or the cawing of angry crows-for any of the usual sounds of woodland life. As he drew nearer the Bluelake, with the morning's mist burned away by the climbing sun, he grew mildly concerned by the extent of the silence around him.

One possibility, he knew, was that the creatures sensed him, and in their fear they held close to their dens and nests. But Ashtaway knew a great deal about the sensory capabilities of his fellow forest-dwellers, and he felt fairly sure that most of them were not aware of his stealthy passage. After all, he ran facing into the little breeze there was, ensuring that his scent did not precede him. Too, his footsteps were as silent as a stalking cat's, such that even animals who might be cowering nearby would not hear him go past.

His conclusions did not cause him an overwhelming sense of concern, though they did serve to heighten his alertness. After all, the scarcity of game had not been the only effect of the war. Perhaps another flight of dragons had soared overhead during the night. If the creatures had flown over this stretch of forest, the lingering awe of their presence might be enough to hold the lesser creatures trembling in their nests for a day or more-even lesser creatures like elves or humans, Ashtaway reflected wryly.

The warrior was grateful that his village, though spacious and open on the ground, was screened from the sky by its verdant canopy of vallenwoods. The elves were careful to leave no sign of their presence along the shore, where the Bluelake sparkled at the foot of the steep bluff. Even alert dragons, flying slowly, would be unable to spot the Kagonesti community from the air.

Now, as he jogged beneath the fine weight of venison and diligently probed his surroundings with eyes, ears, and nose, another part of his mind reflected on the battle between the knights and the red dragons. It remained much on his mind, and not just because of the valor displayed by the doomed Knights of Solamnia. There was also the indication, by the presence of both the human and dragon combatants, that the scourge of war might be drawing nearer to the Kagonesti wilds than ever before.

He recalled Lectral's words about Sanction. That smoldering city, nestled in the valley between three rumbling volcanoes, had seemed to him a hellish place on the lone occasion when he had observed it. At that time Ashtaway had discovered a winding, narrow valley leading up to the saddle between two of the smoking mountains. The finding of paths had long been a skill of his people, and Ash had initially been pleased in his discovery, for the mountainous trail was apparently known to no other. His disappointment had been keen when he learned that it led to such a useless place.

The miles passed beneath his leather soles, half a dozen, then ten, and soon he knew that the village was near. His heart lightened, anticipating the joy that his burden would bring to his villagemates. His uncle Iydaway, Pathfinder of the tribe, had grown too old for the hunt himself-but Iyda would no doubt compose a song for the occasion, probably to play on the Ram's Horn around the feast fire tonight. Old Iydaway had been a great hunter and warrior in his prime, and now the venerable Pathfinder took great pride in the accomplishments of his elder nephew, even going so far as to give Ash his keen steel axe blade upon the young warrior's initiation to manhood.

Now, the Kagonesti hunter thought with a thrill of pleasure, his uncle would be very pleased-

Abruptly Ashtaway froze, his reveries interrupted by an acidic, reptilian smell. Bakali! The lizardlike humanoids served the Dark Queen with ruthless loyalty in her war, and twice before Ashtaway had fought-and slain-individual bakali who had wandered too far from their tribes. In each of those occasions he had been repelled by the characteristic stench now wafting through the woods before him.

Yet the scent reaching his nose was far more powerful than he had felt even when in the clasp of a bakali's slime- coated limbs. There must be a large number of the lizard- men-a war party-that even now could be encircling the Kagonesti village.

Ashtaway lowered the deer to the ground and shrugged his bow off his shoulder in one smooth, soundless gesture. Nocking an arrow, he resumed his advance as soundlessly as before. Still he moved with fluid grace, but the sinew of his muscle rippled through his skin, as taut as his bowstring. Even as he took each step with precise care, his eyes flashed constantly to the left and right. His nostrils twitched, desperately sampling the air for further information about the menace.