Firstborn

10 — Four Days on the Trail

Kith-Kanan and Anaya paused in their pursuit of Voltorno’s band. The half-human and his followers were headed almost due south, straight for the seacoast. Kith-Kanan was surprised when Anaya called a temporary halt. He was ready for anything, from a stealthy approach to a headlong, pitched battle. True, his feet ached and his hands were covered with cuts, but the knowledge that this Voltorno held not only Mackeli but his griffon steeled the prince to go on.

When he asked if she’d sensed Mackeli was near, Anaya said, “No. I smell animals nearby. It’s time to hunt. You stay here and don’t move around. I will return soon.”

Kith-Kanan settled down with his back against a tree. In short order, he fell asleep. The next thing he knew, Anaya had tossed a brace of rabbits in his lap.

“You snore,” she said irritably. “I could have had us venison, but your roaring chased the deer away. All I could get were these rabbits.” She frowned at the scrawny little animals. “These must have been deaf.”

Quickly Anaya gutted and skinned the animals, then speared them over a twig fire. Kith-Kanan was impressed; her deftness was amazing. She dressed each rabbit in two strokes and started a fire with one nick of her flint against a blue fieldstone. Kith-Kanan doubted he could strike a spark at all against such a common, frangible rock.

She bent to tend the fire. Kith-Kanan watched her back for a moment, then he put down the rabbit. Quietly he unbuckled his sword belt and let it down soundlessly to the ground. He added his dagger to the pile. Then, using the steps Mackeli had taught him, he crept up behind Anaya.

She straightened, still with her back to him. When he was two feet from her, she whirled, presenting the point of her knife to his face.

“You smell better without the metal, but you still breathe too loud,” she said.

He pushed the flint knife aside and finished the step that brought them nose to nose. “Perhaps it’s not my breathing you hear, but my heart. I can hear yours, too,” he said teasingly.

Her brows knotted. “Liar.”

Kith-Kanan put a finger to her cheek and began tapping lightly. “Is that the rhythm?” he said. It was, and the look of consternation on Anaya’s face was delightful to him. She pushed him away.

“We’ve no time for games,” she said. “Pick up your metal. We can walk and eat at the same time.”

She moved on through the trees. Kith-Kanan watched her curiously as he buckled his swordbelt. Funny-looking Anaya, with painted face and most of her hair cropped shorter than his. He found himself taking pleasure in watching the easy way she wove through her forest home. There was a certain nobility about her.

The corvae circled ceaselessly, bringing Anaya news of the humans. Kith-Kanan and Anaya had followed them hotly all day, while the humans moved in a more leisurely manner. The prince felt ragged with fatigue, but he would not show weakness as long as Anaya remained bright and quick. Trouble was, she didn’t show any signs of tiring.

It was well past midday, and for the fourth time she had held up her hand and bid Kith-Kanan be still while she scouted ahead. Sighing, he sat down on a lichen-spotted boulder. Anaya vanished into the pallid green saplings as Kith-Kanan took out his dagger and absently began cleaning his fingernails.

Seconds lengthened into minutes, and the prince began to think Anaya was taking too long. Her reconnaissance forays never took more than a minute or two, sometimes only a few seconds. He slipped his dagger into the top of his leggings and listened hard. Nothing.

A crow alighted at his feet. He stared down at the black bird, which regarded him silently, its beady eyes seeming quite intelligent. Kith-Kanan stood up, and the crow flapped into the air, circled around, and settled on his shoulder. He spared a nervous glance at the bird’s sharp, pointed beak so close to his face. “You have something to show me?” he whispered. The crow cocked its head first left, then right. “Anaya? Mackeli?” The crow bobbed its head vigorously.

Kith-Kanan set out along the same path Anaya had gone down just a few minutes earlier. The crow actually directed him with pokes of its sharp beak. One hundred paces from a large boulder, Kith-Kanan heard the clinking of metal on metal. Ten steps more, and the faint whiff of smoke came to his nose. The crow plucked at his ear. Its beak stabbed painfully, and Kith-Kanan resisted the urge to swat the bird away. Then he saw what the crow was warning him about.

Ahead on the ground was a net, spread flat and covered with leaves. He knew the type; he’d often set such traps himself, for wild boar. Kith-Kanan squatted by the edge of the net and looked for trip lines or snare loops. He couldn’t see any. Circling to his left, he followed the perimeter of the trap until the ground dropped away into a dry wash ravine. From there the smell of wood smoke was stronger. Kith-Kanan skidded a few feet down the bank and crept along, his head just below the level of the ground. Every now and then he would peek up and see where he was going. The third time he did this, Kith-Kanan got quite a shock. He put his head up and found himself staring into the eyes of a human—a dead human, lying on his back with his eyes wide and staring. The human’s throat had been cut by a serrated knife.

The man wore rough woolen clothing, the seams of which were white with dried salt. Another sailor. There was a tattoo of a seahorse on the back of the dead man’s hand.

Rough laughter filtered through the trees. As Kith-Kanan climbed out of the ravine and made for the sound, the crow spread its wings and flew away.

More ugly, cruel-sounding laughter. Kith-Kanan moved to his right, keeping a thick-trunked pine tree between him and the source of the sound. He dropped down to the ground and looked around the tree.

He saw six men standing in a glade. A smoky little fire burned on the right. On the left, wrapped in the folds of a heavy rope net, was Anaya. She looked defiant and unharmed.

“Are you sure it’s female?” queried one of the men who held a crossbow.

“It ’pears to be. ’Ere, tell us what you are!” said another. He poked at Anaya with the tip of his saber. She shrank from the blade.

“What’ll we do with her, Parch?” asked a third human.

“Sell ’er, like the other. She’s too ugly to be anything but a slave,” noted the crossbowman. The men roared with coarse laughter.

Through the loops in the net, Anaya’s eyes shone with hatred. She looked past her tormentors and saw, peeking around a tree, Kith-Kanan. He put a hand to his lips. Quiet, he willed her. Keep quiet.

“Smells a bit, don’t she?” sneered the crossbowman called Parch, a lanky fellow with a drooping yellow mustache. He put down his weapon and picked up a heavy wooden bucket full of water. He flung the water on Anaya.

Kith-Kanan thought quickly. The leader, Voltorno, didn’t seem to be present; these men acted callous and loud, like many soldiers did when their commander was absent. Retreating a few yards, the prince started around the glade. He hadn’t gone more than a half-score steps when his foot snagged a trip line. Kith-Kanan dodged a spike-studded tree limb that was released, but the noise alerted the men. They bared their weapons and started into the woods, leaving one man to guard Anaya.

Standing with his back hard against a sticky pine, Kith-Kanan drew his sword. A human came crunching through the fallen leaves, appallingly noisy. The salty-fishy smell of his sailor’s jersey preceded him. Kith-Kanan timed the man’s steps and, when he was close, sprang out from behind the tree.

“By the dragon’s beard!” exclaimed the man. He held out his saber warily. Without any preliminaries, Kith-Kanan attacked. Their blades clanged together, and the human shouted, “Over here, over here!” Other shouts echoed in the forest. In moments, Kith-Kanan would be hopelessly outnumbered.

The human’s saber had little point for thrusting, so the elf prince jabbed his blade straight at the man, who gave ground clumsily. He was a seaman, not a warrior, and when he stumbled over a stone as he was backing away, Kith-Kanan ran him through. This was the first person he’d ever killed, but there was no time for reflection. As quietly as he could the prince ran to the glade. The other men were converging on their dead comrade, so that meant only one man stood between him and Anaya.

He hurtled into the glade, sword upraised. The guard—the one called Parch—gave a shrill cry of fright and reached for his weapon, a crossbow. Kith-Kanan was on him in a flash. He struck the crossbow from Parch’s hands with a single sweep of his sword. The man staggered back, groping for the dagger he wore at his waist. Kith-Kanan advanced on him. Parch drew the dagger. Kith-Kanan easily beat aside the far shorter weapon and left poor Parch bleeding on the ground.

“Are you all right?” he shouted to Anaya as he hacked open the net. It spilled open, and Anaya nimbly leaped out.

“Filthy humans! I want to kill them!” she snarled.

“There’s too many. Better to hide for now,” Kith-Kanan cried.

She ignored him and went to the fire, where her flint knife lay on the ground. Before Kith-Kanan could protest, she drew the sharp stone across her arm, drawing scarlet blood. “They will die!” she declared. And with that, she dashed into the woods.

“Anaya, wait!” Kith-Kanan frantically followed her.

A hoarse scream sounded from his left. Feet churned through the leaves, running. A human, still holding his saber, ran toward the prince, his bearded face a mask of fear. Kith-Kanan stood in his way. The man traded cuts with him briefly, then threw his sword away and ran for his life. Confused, the Silvanesti trotted in the direction from which the bearded man had come, then stumbled upon the corpse of the man who had poked Anaya with his saber. No wonder the bearded human had been terrified. This other man’s throat had been cut from ear to ear. Kith-Kanan clenched his teeth and moved on. He found another human, killed in the same manner.

The woods had fallen quiet, and the elf prince stepped carefully, suspecting an ambush. What he found instead nearly stopped his heart. Anaya had caught a third human and killed him, but not before the man had put a crossbow quarrel into her hip. She had dragged herself a few yards and had come to rest with both arms around an oak sapling.

Before Kith-Kanan knelt by her, he shoved his sword in its scabbard and gently pulled the blood-soaked deerskin away from her wound. The head of the quarrel had missed her hip bone, thank E’li, and was buried in the flesh between her hip and ribs. A nasty wound, but not a fatal one.

“I must take the arrow out,” he explained. “But I can’t pull it out the way it came in. I’ll have to push it through.”

“Do what must be done,” she gasped—her eyelids squeezed shut.

His hands shook. Though he had seen hunters and soldiers injured before, never had Kith-Kanan had to deal with their wounds personally. He tore the leather fletching off the arrow and placed his hands on it. Steeling himself, he pushed on the nock end. Anaya stiffened and sucked air in sharply through her clenched teeth. He pushed until he could feel the iron arrow head in his other hand, beneath her body.

She didn’t utter a sound, which made Kith-Kanan marvel at her courage. Once the quarrel was free, he threw it away. Then he unslung his waterskin and gently washed the wound clean. He needed something to bind it with.

Under the green leather tunic Mackeli had fashioned for him, he still wore his shirt of linen. At last Kith-Kanan pulled off his tunic and tore the fine Silvanost linen into strips.

He tied the longest strips together to make a bandage, then began to wind it around Anaya’s waist. Kith-Kanan split and tied the ends of the bandage, then gently hoisted Anaya in his arms. She was very light, and he carried her easily back to the glade. There he laid her in a patch of soft ferns, then dragged the dead men into the covering of the woods.

Anaya called for water. He put the skin to her lips, and she drank. After a few gulps she said weakly, “I heard them say Mackeli and your flying beast had been taken ahead to the ship. They knew we were following them. Their master, Voltorno, is half-human, and by means of magic he knew we were coming after them.”

“Half-human?” Kith-Kanan asked. He had heard whisperings of such crossbreeds, but had never seen one.

“Voltorno had his men stay behind to trap us.” Kith-Kanan put the skin to her mouth again. When she had finished, she added, “You must leave me and go after Mackeli.”

He knew she was right. “Are you sure you will be all right by yourself?”

“The forest won’t hurt me. Only the intruders would do that, and they are ahead of us, carrying Mackeli. You must hurry.”

With little delay the elf prince left the Kagonesti the waterskin and laid one of the men’s abandoned cloaks over her. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised. “With Mackeli and Arcuballis.”

The sun was sinking fast as Kith-Kanan plunged into the brush. He made great speed and covered a mile or more in minutes. There was a salty smell in the air. The sea was near.

Ahead, moonlight glinted off metal. As he ran, Kith-Kanan spied the backs of two men dragging a smaller person through the brush. Mackeli! He had a halter tied around his neck, and he stumbled along behind his much taller captors. The prince shouldered the crossbow and put a quarrel in the back of the human who was leading Mackeli. The second man saw his partner fall and, without pausing, he grabbed the halter rope and ran, jerking Mackeli forward.

Kith-Kanan followed. He leaped over the man he’d shot and let out the wailing cry elven hunters use when on the chase. The weird cry was too much for the man leading Mackeli. He flung the rope away and ran as hard as he could. Kith-Kanan loosed a quarrel after him, but the human passed between some trees and the shot missed.

He reached Mackeli, pausing long enough to cut the strangling rope from the boy’s neck.

“Kith!” he cried. “Is Ny with you?”

“Yes, not far away,” Kith-Kanan said. “Where’s my griffon?”

“Voltorno has him. He put a spell on your beast to make him obey.”

Kith-Kanan gave Mackeli the dagger. “Wait here. I’ll come back for you.”

“Let me go too! I can help!” the boy said.

“No!” Mackeli looked stubborn, so Kith-Kanan added, “I need you to stay here in case Voltorno gets past me and comes back this way.” Mackeli’s belligerence vanished, and he nodded. He positioned himself on guard with his dagger as Kith-Kanan ran on.

The boom of the surf rose above the sound of the wind. The forest ended abruptly atop a cliff, and Kith-Kanan had to dig in his heels to avoid plunging over the precipice. The night was bright. Solinari and Lunitari were up; moonlight and starlight silvered the scene below. With his keen vision, Kith-Kanan could see a three-masted ship wallowing in the offshore swells, its sails furled tightly against the yards.

A path led down the cliffside to the beach below. The first thing Kith-Kanan saw was Arcuballis, picking its way along the narrow path. The griffon’s glow stood out strongly against the fainter ones of its captors. A red-caped figure—presumably the half-human Voltorno—led the griffon by its bridle. A human trailed restlessly behind the beast. Kith-Kanan stood up against the starry sky and loosed a quarrel at him. The man felt the quarrel pass through the sleeve of his tunic, and he screamed. Right away a swarm of men appeared on the beach. They moved out from the base of the cliff and showered arrows up at Kith-Kanan.

“Halloo,” called a voice from below. Kith-Kanan cautiously raised his head. The figure in the red cape moved away from the captive griffon and stood out on the beach in plain sight. “Halloo up there! Can you hear me?”

“I hear you,” Kith-Kanan shouted in reply. “Give me back my griffon!”

“I can’t give him back. That beast is the only profit I’ll realize on this voyage. You’ve got the boy back, leave the animal and go on your way.”

“No! Surrender Arcuballis! I have you in my sight,” Kith-Kanan warned.

“No doubt you do, but if you shoot me, my men will kill the griffon. Now, I don’t want to die, and I’m certain you don’t want a dead griffon either. What would you say to fighting for the beast in an honorable contest with swords?”

“How do I know you won’t try some treachery?”

The half-human flung off his cape. “I doubt that will be necessary.”

Kith-Kanan didn’t trust him, but before the elf could say anything more, the half-human had taken a lantern from one of his men and was striding up the steep path to the top of the cliff, leading the griffon as he came. Arcuballis, usually so spirited, hung its head as it walked. The powerful wings had been pinioned by leather straps, and a muzzle made from chain mail covered the griffon’s hooked beak.

“You have bewitched my animal,” Kith-Kanan said furiously.

Voltorno tied the bridle to a tree and set the lantern on a waist-high boulder. “It is necessary.” As the half-human faced Kith-Kanan, the elf studied him carefully. He was quite tall, and in the lantern’s glow his hair was golden. A fine, downy beard covered his cheeks and chin, revealing his human heritage, but Voltorno’s ears were slightly pointed, denoting elven blood. His clothes and general bearing were far more refined than any of the humans with him.

“Are you sure you have enough light to see?” Kith-Kanan asked sarcastically, gesturing at the lantern.

Voltorno smiled brilliantly. “Oh, that isn’t for me. It’s for my men. They would hate to miss the show.”

When Kith-Kanan presented his sword, Voltorno complimented him on the weapon. “The pattern is a bit old-fashioned, but very handsome. I shall enjoy using it after you’re dead,” he smirked.

The sailors lined the beach below to watch the duel. They cheered Voltorno and jeered Kith-Kanan as the two duelists circled each other warily. The half-human’s blade flickered in, reaching for Kith-Kanan’s heart. The elf parried, rolled the slim Ergothian rapier aside, and lunged with his stouter elven point.

Voltorno laughed and steered Kith-Kanan’s thrust into the ground. He tried to stomp on the prince’s blade, to snap the stiff iron, but Kith-Kanan drew back, avoiding the seafarer’s heavy boots.

“You fight well,” Voltorno offered. “Who are you? Despite the rags you wear, you are no wild elf.”

“I am Silvanesti. That is all you need to know,” Kith-Kanan said tightly.

Voltorno smiled, pleasantly enough. “So much pride. You think I am some renegade.”

“It is easy to see which race you have chosen to serve,” Kith-Kanan said.

“The humans, for all their crudity, have appreciation for talent. In your nation I would be an outcast, lowest of the low. Among the humans, I am a very useful fellow. I could find a place for you in my company. As I rise, so could you. We would go far, elf.”

Voltorno spoke in an increasingly obvious lilt. His words rose and fell in a sort of sing-song intonation that Kith-Kanan found peculiar. The half-human was only a few feet from Kith-Kanan, and the elf prince saw that he was making small, slow gestures with his free hand.

“I owe my allegiance elsewhere,” Kith-Kanan stated. His sword felt heavy in his hand.

“Pity.” With renewed vigor, Voltorno attacked. Kith-Kanan fought him off clumsily, for the very air was beginning to seem thick, impeding his movements. As their blades tangled, Kith-Kanan lost his plan of defense and Voltorno’s steel slipped by his hilt and pierced his upper arm, The half-human stepped back, still smiling like a beneficent cleric.

The weapon fell from Kith-Kanan’s numb hand. He stared at it in dawning horror. His fingers had no more feeling than wood or wax. He tried to speak, but his tongue felt thick. A terrifying lethargy gripped him. Though in his mind he was yelling and fighting, his voice and limbs would not obey. Magic…it was magic. Voltorno had bewitched Arcuballis, now him.

Voltorno sheathed his own sword and picked up Kith-Kanan’s. “How splendidly ironic it will be to kill you with your own sword,” he noted. Then he raised the weapon.

And it flew from his hand! Voltorno looked down at his chest and the quarrel that had suddenly appeared there. His knees buckled, and he fell.

Mackeli stepped out of the dark ring of trees, a crossbow in his hands. Kith-Kanan staggered back away from the half-human. His strength was returning, in spite of the wound in his arm. Like a river freed from a dam, feeling rushed back into his body. He picked up his sword and heard shouts from the beach. The humans were coming to aid their fallen leader.

“So,” said the half-human through bloody lips, “you triumph after all.” He grimaced and touched his fingers to the quarrel in his chest. “Go ahead, end it.”

Already the humans were running up the steep path toward them. “I’ve no time to waste on you,” spat Kith-Kanan contemptuously. He wanted to sound strong, but his narrow escape had left him shaken.

He took Mackeli by the arm and hurried to Arcuballis. The boy hung back as Kith-Kanan removed the muzzle from the griffon’s beak and cut the leather pinions from its wings. The fire was returning to the griffon’s eyes. The creature clawed the ground with its talons.

Kith-Kanan touched his forehead to the beast’s feathered head and said, “It’s good to see you, old fellow.” He heard the commotion as the humans came roaring up the cliffside. Mounting the griffon, Kith-Kanan slid forward in the saddle and said, “Climb on, Mackeli.” The elf boy looked uncertain. “Hurry, the spell is broken but Voltorno’s men are coming!”

After another second’s hesitation, Mackeli grasped Kith-Kanan’s hand and swung into the saddle behind him. Armed sailors appeared on top of the cliff, and they rushed to Voltorno. Behind them came a tall human with a full, red-brown beard. He pointed to the elves. “Stop them!” he cried in a booming voice.

“Hold on!” shouted Kith-Kanan. He slapped the reins across Arcuballis’s neck, and the griffon bounded toward the men. They dropped and scattered like leaves in a whirlwind. Another leap and Arcuballis cleared the edge of the cliff. Mackeli gave a short, sharp cry of fear, but Kith-Kanan yelled with pure joy. Some of the humans got to their feet and loosed arrows at them, but the distance was too great. Kith-Kanan steered Arcuballis out over the foaming surf, turned, and gained height. As they swept past the site of the duel, he saw the red-bearded fellow raise Voltorno to his feet. That one wasn’t going to die easily, the prince noted.

“It’s good to see you!” Kith-Kanan shouted over his shoulder. “You saved my life, you know.” There was no response from Mackeli and Kith-Kanan asked, “Are you well?”

“I was weller on the ground,” Mackeli said, his voice high with anxiety. He tightened his fierce grip on Kith-Kanan’s waist as he asked, “Where are we going?”

“To fetch Anaya. Hold tight!”

The griffon gave voice to its own triumphant cry. The trilling roar burst over the wildwood, announcing their return to the waiting Anaya.