Douglas Niles: Kagonesti

"It's out, Grandfather. Rest now-do you need more water?"

The ram shook its head. "That's better. I fear some enchantment, some lethal elixir was laid upon the arrowhead-else it would not have felled me so readily."

With a grunting effort, the mountain sheep rolled onto its stomach, legs curled underneath. Already the bleeding from the arrow-wound had slowed to a trickle, and the animal's breathing grew stronger, more regular.

But was it an animal at all?

"I have seen you before, Pathfinder," spoke the sheep. This time those luminous eyes-the orbs that twice before had touched Kagonos from mountainous heights- seemed to penetrate through to the wild elf's soul, and he could only nod at the words.

"You travel the mountains with the grace of one who belongs here. You seek the trails, and you discover them- places where neither elf nor man, not even ogre, have trod before. You are a worthy chieftain of the Elderwild."

"I thank you, Grandfather-but I am no chieftain. Indeed, there are some in my tribe who think me mad, others who wait only for the time I depart my people and go to live in the hills. Perhaps my true worth may be measured in the tending of you. Can you tell me who you are?"

"Outside. Now I must come out of here," the sheep declared, standing weakly and taking several steps from the mountainous niche. The ram settled to rest on a smooth patch of shale, looking at Kagonos with a suggestion of amusement.

The wild elf gasped and stepped backward, startled by something he couldn't explain-the ram was changing!

Silver gleamed where that white pelt had been, as if a shimmering cascade of metal coins had suddenly spilled forth. At the same time the creature grew with impossible speed, extending incredibly. A long, sinuous tail curled outward, shining silver like the rest of the suddenly huge body. The already broad skull lengthened, the snout growing fearful, into a monstrous maw that bristled with sharp, curving fangs. The twin horns fell from the ram's head, tumbling onto the shale as the last vestiges of the mighty sheep vanished, replaced by leathery-but still silvered-wings and powerful, crouching legs. Hooked talons, like silver sword blades, curved from the massive fore and rear paws.

By the time the transformation was complete the serpentine body coiled in a great arc, half-encircling the dumbstruck wild elf. Kagonos felt no fear-just an incredible sense of awe, a knowledge that he beheld a miracle. He sensed, too, that his life from this point on was irrevocably changed.

"You ask who I am, Pathfinder? I am known by many names in the world, but you may call me Darlantan."

"Yes, Lord," Kagonos replied, dropping instinctively to his knees. The Elderwild had never bowed to anybody or anything in his life, yet now as he knelt he did so not only willingly, but with a sense of profound joy.

"I name you, Kagonos, as the true Pathfinder of the Elderwild. Your people shall need you in the centuries to come. If they are to survive, it will be because you have shown them the way."

"But… but how will I find the path?"

"Have faith, my brave son. I do not charge you with an easy task-it will be more difficult than you can ever know. But I know that you have thought of leaving your tribe, of becoming a lone elf in these mountains. A hermit."

"Yes, Lord. My time to do this is-was-soon." Even as he spoke, Kagonos realized that he would not become a lone elf. Had not Darlantan told him that his destiny lay with his tribe?

"I believe you to be worthy, Pathfinder. But know this: If you are to lead your people through the age to come- an age when the House Elves will grow mighty, will seek to seduce your tribesmen into their cities, an age when danger will soar from the skies on wings of red and green and blue-you must be faithful to me, and to me alone."

"You have my pledge, Lord."

"As Pathfinder, you are a leader greater than a chief, a spiritual counselor above any shaman. Your task will take all of your life, all of your soul. Take no wife, for she would distract you from the importance of your tasks. And never venture to the cities of the House Elves, for they will know you, and seek to enslave you."

"As you command, Lord."

Darlantan looked down, and for the first time Kagonos saw a hint of sadness in those golden eyes-the eyes that were the same as the ram's eyes, though everything else about this mighty creature had changed.

Following the glance, the elf saw one of the triple- spiraled horns lying on the stones at his feet. Like the ram, the horn had changed-though it retained its original shape.

Kagonos hefted the coiled object, feeling from its lightness that it was hollow. The wide end flared into an open bell, and the pointed end was carved, or somehow shaped, into a mouthpiece. Without being told, the elf knew he should raise it to his lips.

Placing the narrow tip between his teeth, Kagonos blew a long breath, feeling the mournful notes emerge from the horn, hearing the music keening through the mountain valley, a portent of danger and fear-yet a song that ended with a high note of hope and triumph. He had never played an instrument such as this, yet the notes came to him with intuitive clarity, and he raised his song with the fluid grace of his thoughts.

"This Ram's Horn is my gift to you," Darlantan said. "It will be heard by me, or my people, and if there is a way that we can aid you, we will.

"Play it in times of joy or sorrow, and it will speak to your people of hope and promise and pride. Play it in times of danger, and it will show you the path to safety.

"I shall keep the other horn," Darlantan continued. "And forever may these two spirals be a symbol of the bond between our peoples. Their sound is a thing beholden to your people and to mine, heard by none except a silver dragon or a wild elf."

'This is a precious thing," Kagonos declared. "But why do you bestow it upon me?"

"You are the Pathfinder," replied the dragon, and his powerful voice took on a firm sense of command. "Your people shall depend on you-and this horn is a sign of your high station. Even the shamans will hear your song of faith, and through it they shall better know their gods. Return with it to your tribes, to the council of High- summer. When the Elderwild hear your song, they will know the truth."

"I shall do this thing-though I still do not understand why."

"That is of no matter. You need most to remember the two Ram's Horns, Pathfinder. When either is played alone it may bray a song of hope and friendship, a lasting bond between our peoples. Either horn may cry for aid or offer comfort, and their songs will ring through the centuries of our lives.

"And someday in the future, perhaps, the two horns may be played together. The song they raise will be an anthem of hope and promise for the future of the world."

3357 PC

Khalkist Mountains

The wooden skis rasped across the snow, barely marking tbe icy crust. Kagonos worked his way between frosted pines, carefully remaining below the knifelike crest of the high ridge. On the sunny northern slope the surface already grew soft and slushy, threatening a deadly avalanche, but here on the southern face the snow remained hard, crisp.

The lean, sinewy wild elf skied with steady urgency. Despite the chilly air, Kagonos wore only a pair of leather keepings and a buckskin vest. At his side he carried the tfcree-spiraled Rams Horn, suspended by a sturdy thong. Strong moccasins, lined with fur, protected his feet. Currently devoid of warpaint, Kagonos's skin was a rippling surface of gleaming, almost metallic bronze, shiny with a sheen of sweat and oil. His black hair fell in a long, thick coil down his back, wrapped into a single braid with a feathered thong.