Firstborn

18 — In the Forest, Year of the Ram (2215 PC)

The changes in the keeper continued. Anaya’s toes and fingers, then the points of her elbows, became light green. She felt no pain and suffered no loss of movement, though it did seem she was becoming less sensitive all the time. Her hearing, formerly so acute, became duller and duller. Her eyesight lost its uncanny focus. Her stealthy tread grew slow and clumsy. At first she was short-tempered with the changes, but her spirits gradually lightened. Things the Forestmaster had told her during her long sojourn away from Kith-Kanan were now making more sense, she said. These changes, Anaya believed, were the price of her life joined to Kith-Kanan’s. While she might bemoan the loss of her preternatural agility and hunting skill, her new life did make her very happy.

The winter was long and, as the forest was no longer Anaya’s to command, very hard. She and Kith-Kanan hunted almost every day that it wasn’t actually snowing, They had some success; there were rabbits and pheasants and the occasional deer to be had. But they more often ate Mackeli’s nuts and berries. As their bellies shrank and their belts tightened, conversation diminished, too. When the wind howled outside and the snow drifted so high the door became hard to open, the three sat within the hollow tree, each wrapped in his or her own thoughts. Days went by without any of them speaking a single word.

Mackeli, too, was changing, though his metamorphosis was more easily understood. He had reached the time in a young elf’s life when the physical limitations of childhood give way to an adult physique. Compared to the great life span of an elf, these changes take place rather quickly. Even without an abundance of food, he grew taller, stronger, and restless—and often rude, as well. The boy’s impatience was so high that Kith-Kanan forbade him to accompany them hunting; Mackeli’s fidgeting scared off the already scarce game.

While his wife and friend changed in outward, tangible ways, Kith-Kanan grew, too, but inside. His values had changed since coming to the forest, certainly, and now his entire attitude toward life was undergoing fundamental change. All his life he had played at being prince. Since his brother Sithas was the heir, Kith-Kanan had no real responsibilities, no true duties. He took up warrior training and hunting as hobbies. He taught Arcuballis tricks and practiced aerial maneuvers. These activities had filled his days.

But it was different now. He could glide through the forest, silent as a wraith. He didn’t have to rely on Mackeli’s gathering skills or Anaya’s hunting any longer. In fact, more and more, they relied on him. This was a good life, the prince decided, and he could now bless the day his father had taken Hermathya from him. Though he had cared for her, Hermathya was much better suited to his twin—both of them so correct, proper, and dutiful. And with his forgiveness of his father came a sense of loss. He found himself missing his family. Still, he knew that his life was in the forest, not the city.

Another, more natural, change had come to Anaya. She was pregnant. She and her husband had been staring dreamily into the fire one night when she had told him. At first Kith-Kanan was stunned. His astonishment gave way to a great, heartfilling joy. He embraced her so hard that she squealed in protest. The thought that a new life, one he had helped create, was growing inside of her made Anaya that much more precious to the prince. It made their life together that much richer. He showered her with kisses and declarations of his love until Mackeli grumbled for them both to shut up, since he was trying to sleep.

The day came, not too long after, when the first icicles began to melt off the oak’s bare branches. The sun came out and stayed for a week, and all the ice melted and ran off the tree. The snow retreated to the deep shadows around the rim of the clearing.

They emerged from the tree, blinking at the bright sunshine. It was as if this was the first sunny day they’d ever experienced. Anaya moved stiffly, rubbing her arms and thighs. Her hands and feet were fully colored green by this time.

Kith-Kanan stood in the center of the clearing, eyes shut, face turned to the sky. Mackeli, who was nearly as tall as Kith-Kanan now, bounded around like a deer, though certainly not as gracefully.

“We’ve never had such a winter,” Anaya stated, gazing at the snow still hiding at the base of the trees.

“If the weather holds, the hunting will be good,” Kith-Kanan noted confidently. “All the hibernating animals will be coming out.”

“Free! Ha, ha, free!” Mackeli rejoiced. He grabbed Anaya’s hands and tried to dance her around in a circle. She resisted and pulled her hands away with a grimace.

“Are you all right?” asked Kith-Kanan worriedly.

“I am stiff and sore,” she complained. She stopped rubbing her arm and stood up straight. “I’ll work the cold out of my bones, don’t worry.”

The novelty, but not the pleasure, of the first spring day wore off, and the trio returned to the tree to eat. In honor of the fine day, Kith-Kanan cut down their last haunch of venison. Kith-Kanan had been teaching Arcuballis to hunt for game and bring back what it caught. The griffon could cover a much wider range than they, and it grew more adept with each hunt. The last time the creature had brought back the very deer Kith-Kanan was carving.

Now, Kith-Kanan took Arcuballis from its hide tent and, with whistles and encouraging words, sent the beast off on another expedition. When the griffon was lost from sight, the elf prince built a fire outside, not an easy task with all the damp wood. He sliced off a sizeable roast from the hard, smoked haunch. While it cooked, Mackeli came out with his usual fare; arrow root, walnuts, dried blueberries, and wild rice. He looked at the brown assortment in his basket, then at the deer roast, sizzling and dripping fat into the fire. He squatted by Kith-Kanan, who was turning the meat on a rough spit.

“Could I have some?” asked Mackeli tentatively. Kith-Kanan gave him an astonished look. “It smells awfully good. Just a small piece?” the boy pleaded.

Kith-Kanan sliced off a thin strip of cooked meat, speared it with his dagger, and put it in Mackeli’s basket. The elf boy eagerly picked it up with his fingers—and promptly dropped it again. It was quite hot. Kith-Kanan gave him a sharpened twig, and Mackeli snagged the piece of meat and raised it to his mouth.

A look of utter concentration came over his face as he chewed. Kith-Kanan inquired, “Do you like it?”

“Well, it’s different.” The slice was gone. “Could I have some more?” The elf prince laughed and cut a larger piece.

Anaya came out of the tree, dragging their furs and bedding into the sun. The red and yellow lines she had painted on her face enhanced the already startling green of her eyes. The elf woman glanced over at the two males, crouched by the fire, and saw Mackeli nibbling a slice of venison. She ran over and slapped the meat from his hand.

“It is forbidden for you to eat meat!” she said heatedly.

“Oh? And who forbids me? You?” demanded Mackeli defiantly.

“Yes!”

Kith-Kanan rose to pull them apart, but as one Mackeli and Anaya shoved him back. He sprawled on the wet turf, astonished.

“You did not kill the animal, Keli, so you have no right to eat it!” Anaya said fiercely.

“You didn’t kill it either! Kith did!” he countered.

“That’s different. Kith is a hunter, you’re only a boy. Stick to your nuts and berries.” The “boy” Anaya snarled at was now a head taller than she.

“Are those eyes of yours blind?” Mackeli argued. “Nothing is as it was. The spirits of the forest have turned their backs on you. You’ve lost your stealth, your keen senses, and your agility. You’ve turned green! I’ve gotten bigger and stronger. I can shoot a bow. You.” Mackeli was sputtering in his rage “—you don’t belong in the forest any longer!”

Within the sharply painted lines, Anaya’s eyes grew large. She made a fist and struck Mackeli smartly on the face. He fell on his back. Kith-Kanan realized things had gone too far.

“Stop it, both of you!” he barked. Anaya had advanced over Mackeli, ready to hit him again, but Kith-Kanan pushed her back. She stiffened, and for a moment he thought she would take a swing at him. After a moment, the anger left her and she stood aside.

The prince helped Mackeli to his feet. A smear of blood showed under the boy’s nose.

“I know we’ve been cooped up together too long, but there’s no reason for fighting,” Kith-Kanan said severely. “Mackeli is reaching his adulthood, Ny, you can’t hold him back.” He turned to the boy, who was dabbing at his bleeding nose with his sleeve. “And you have no right saying things like that to her. Not even the Forestmaster herself has said Anaya doesn’t belong in the wood any more. So guard your tongue, Keli. If you wish to be a warrior, you must learn self-control.”

Suddenly they heard a pair of hands clapping behind them and a voice exclaiming, “Well said.”

Kith-Kanan, Anaya, and Mackeli turned abruptly. A score of men holding swords or crossbows flanked the hollow tree. Standing by the door, dressed in elegant but impractical crimson, was the half-human Voltorno—as strong and healthy as ever, from the look of it.

You!” hissed Anaya.

“Stand very still,” cooed Voltorno. “I would hate to perforate you after such a touching performance. It really was worthy of the finest playhouse in Daltigoth.” He nodded, and the humans fanned out carefully, surrounding the trio.

“So you survived your wound,” Kith-Kanan said tersely. “What a pity.”

“Yes,” he said with calm assurance. “We had a first-rate healer on the ship. We returned to Ergoth, where I made known your interference in our operation. I was commissioned to return and deal with you.”

Voltorno flipped back his hip-length cape, exposing a finely wrought sword hilt. He walked to Anaya, looking her up and down. “Bit of a savage, isn’t she?” he said with a sneer to Kith-Kanan and turned to Mackeli. “Could this be our wild boy? Grown a bit, haven’t you?” Mackeli kept his hands at his sides, but he was breathing hard. Voltorno shoved him lightly with one gloved hand. “You’re the one who shot me,” he said, still smiling pleasantly. “I owe you something for that.” He pushed Mackeli again. Kith-Kanan gathered himself to spring on Voltorno. As if he were reading the prince’s mind, Voltorno said to his men, “If either of them moves, kill them both.”

The half-human grasped the gilded hilt of his sword and drew the slim blade from its scabbard. He held it by the blade; the pommel bobbed just inches from Mackeli’s chest. The boy stared at the sword hilt as he backed away. Mackeli’s heels crunched in some of the late snow until his back bumped a tree at the edge of the clearing.

“Where will you go now?” asked Voltorno, his gray eyes gleaming.

Kith-Kanan freed his dagger from his belt when the bowmen turned their attention to the half-human. The elf prince realized that only one of them was behind him, about eight feet away. He nudged Anaya lightly with his elbow. She didn’t look at him, but nudged him back.

Kith-Kanan turned and hurled the dagger at the bowman. The good elven iron punched through the man’s leather jerkin. Without a word, he fell back, dead. Kith-Kanan broke left, Anaya right. The humans started yelling and opened fire. Those on the left shot at Anaya. Those on the right shot at Kith-Kanan. The only thing they hit was each other.

About half of the group went down, shot by their own comrades. Kith-Kanan dived for the muddy ground and rolled to the man he’d killed with his dagger. The human’s crossbow had discharged on impact with the ground. Kith-Kanan pulled a quarrel from the dead man’s quiver and struggled to cock the bow.

Anaya also threw herself on the ground, drawing her flint knife as she fell. She was a good ten yards from Mackeli and the archers, who were reloading their weapons. Mackeli reacted to the confusion by trying to snatch Voltorno’s sword, but the half-human was too quick for him. In no time Voltorno had reversed his grip and thrust his weapon at Mackeli. The boy ducked, and Voltorno’s blade stuck in a tree.

“Get them! Kill them!” Voltorno shouted.

Mackeli ran in and out of the trees along the clearing’s edge. Quarrels flicked by him.

Across the clearing, Anaya crawled away in the wet turf, using her toes and elbows. As the archers concentrated their fire on Mackeli, she rose and threw herself at the back of the nearest man. Her moves were not as graceful as they once were, but her flint knife was as deadly as ever. One of the men, wounded by a quarrel, managed to sit up and aim his crossbow at Anaya’s back. Luckily, Kith-Kanan picked him off before he could shoot.

Mackeli had plunged into the woods. Several of the surviving humans ran after him, but Voltorno called them back.

Anaya also made it to cover in the woods. She ran only a dozen yards or so before dropping to the ground. In seconds, she was buried in the leaves. Two humans tramped right past her.

Kith-Kanan tried to cock the bow a second time. From a sitting position though, it wasn’t easy; the bow was too stiff. Before he could get the string over the lock nut, Voltorno arrived and presented him with thirty inches of Ergothian iron.

“Put it down,” Voltorno ordered. When Kith-Kanan hesitated, the half-human raked his sword tip over the prince’s jaw. Kith-Kanan felt the blood flow as he dropped the crossbow.

“Your friends have reverted to type,” said Voltorno with contempt. “They’ve run off and left you.”

“Good,” Kith-Kanan replied. “At least they will be safe.”

“Perhaps. You, my friend, are anything but safe.”

The eight surviving humans crowded around. Voltorno gave them a nod, and they dragged Kith-Kanan to his feet, punching and kicking him. They brought him to the far side of the clearing where they’d first come in and where they’d dropped their baggage. Voltorno produced a set of arm and leg shackles, then chained Kith-Kanan hand and foot.

Anaya burrowed away from the clearing, worming through the leaves like a snake. In times past, she could have done so without disturbing a single leaf on the surface. Now, to her ears, she sounded like a herd of humans. Fortunately Voltorno and his men were busy on the other side of the clearing.

When she was quite far away, she parted the leaves with her hands and crawled out. The ground was cold and wet, and Anaya shivered.

She wanted to return at once and free Kith-Kanan, but she knew she’d never trick the humans again. Not alone. She would have to wait until it was dark.

A twig snapped behind her, on her right. She kicked the leaves off her legs and faced the sound. Hugging a tree five yards away was Mackeli.

You’re noisy,” she criticized.

“You’re deaf. I stepped on four other twigs before that last one,” he said coolly.

They met each other halfway. The hostility of the morning was gone, and they embraced.

“I’ve never seen you run like that,” she avowed.

“I surprised myself,” admitted Mackeli. “Being more grown up does appear to have advantages.” He looked clown at his sister. “I’m sorry for what I said,” he added earnestly.

“You only said what I’ve thought a thousand times,” she confessed. “Now we have to think of Kith. We can go in after dark and take him.”

Mackeli took her by the shoulders and dropped to the ground, pulling her down beside him. “Shh! Not so loud, Ny. We’ve got to be smart about this. A year ago, we could have crept in and freed Kith, but now we’re too slow and loud. We have to think better.”

She scowled. “I don’t have to think to know that I will kill that Voltorno,” she insisted.

“I know, but he’s dangerous. He used magic when he fought Kith before, and he’s very clever and very cruel.”

“All right then, what should we do?”

Mackeli glanced quickly around. “Here’s what I think…”

When he’d finished ransacking the tree-home, Voltorno supervised his men in setting up traps around the clearing. Where the foot path had been worn in the grass, they strewed caltrops—small, spiky stars designed to stop charging horses. Against the hide leggings Anaya and Mackeli wore, they would be deadly.

In the grass around the tree, they set saw-toothed, spring-loaded traps, such as humans sometimes used to catch wolves. String triggers were strung, a pull on which would send a crossbow quarrel whizzing. Even by the last of the afternoon light the traps were hard to see. Kith-Kanan shuddered as he watched these diabolical preparations and prayed fervently that Anaya’s nose for metal had not deserted her completely.

Night fell, and the cold returned strongly enough to remind the raiders that summer wasn’t around the next sunrise. Kith-Kanan shivered in the chill while he watched Voltorno’s men wrap themselves in Anaya’s warm fur.

Voltorno brought a tin plate of stew and sat on a log in front of the prince. “I was a bit surprised to find you still here,” the half-human said. He drank beer from a tin cup. In spite of his thirst, Kith-Kanan’s nose wrinkled in disgust; it was a drink no true elf would touch. “When I returned to Daltigoth, I made inquiries about you. A Silvanesti, living in the forest like a painted savage. I heard a very strange tale in the halls of the imperial palace.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Kith-Kanan, staring at the fire built some distance in front of the hollow oak. “I don’t believe the humans would allow you into the imperial palace. Even human royalty knows better than to let street garbage into their homes.”

His face contorted in anger, Voltorno flipped a spoonful of hot stew into Kith-Kanan’s already much-abused face. The elf prince gasped and, despite his bound hands, managed to rub the scalding liquid onto the shoulder of his tunic.

“Don’t interrupt,” said Voltorno nastily. “As I was saying, I heard a strange tale. It seems that a prince of the Silvanesti, the brother of the current heir to the throne, left the city under a cloud. He bared a weapon in the hallowed Tower of the Stars or some nonsense like that.” Voltorno laughed. “It seems the prince’s father married the son’s sweetheart to his brother,” he added.

“Sounds like a very sad story,” Kith-Kanan said, betraying as little emotion as he could. His shoulders ached from being forced to sit hunched over. He shifted his feet a bit, making the chains clatter as he did.

“It has the quality of an epic about it,” Voltorno agreed, stirring his stew. “And I thought to myself: what a prize that son would make. Imagine the ransom the elf prince’s family would pay!”

Kith-Kanan shook his head. “You are gravely mistaken if you think you can pass me off as a prince,” he said. “I am Silvanesti, yes—a warrior whose nagging wife drove him into the forest for peace and quiet.”

Voltorno laughed heartily. “Oh, yes? It’s no use, my royal friend,” he said. “I’ve seen portraits of the royal house of Silvanesti. You are this errant son.”

A shrill shriek pierced the night air. The humans reached for their arms, and Voltorno went quickly to steady his men. “Keep your eyes open,” he cautioned them, “this could be a trick to divert us.”

A flaming brand hurtled through the air, tumbling end over end and trailing sparks and embers. It hit the grass twenty feet from the tree. It tripped a trigger string, and a crossbow fired with a dull thud.

“Aahwoo!” came a wailing cry from the dark trees. The humans began to mutter among themselves.

A second flaming brand flew into the clearing, from the opposite side of the forest. Then a third, some yards from the second. And a fourth, some yards from that.

“They’re all around us!” one man cried.

“Quiet!” said Voltorno.

Carefully avoiding the wicked caltrops, he strode out on the central path. The men clustered together near him in a fighting circle facing outward from their campfire. From his staked position, Kith-Kanan smiled grimly.

A figure appeared at the end of the path, carrying a burning branch. Voltorno drew his sword. The figure stopped where the caltrops began, some four yards from the half-human. The torch Voltorno held lit Anaya’s face. Her face and hands were painted black. A single red stripe ran vertically from her forehead, along her nose, over her chin, and to the base of her neck.

Voltorno turned to his men. “You see? It’s just the girl,” he crowed. He faced Anaya. “Where’s the boy? Hiding?” he asked with a sneer.

“You have come into the wildwood once too often,” Anaya intoned. “None of you will leave it alive.”

“Someone shoot her,” Voltorno said in a bored tone, but the humans were mesmerized. None of them moved. Taking a slow step toward her, the commander declared, “It’s you who will die, girl.”

“Then enter the forest and find me,” she said. “You have bows and swords and iron blades. All I have is a knife of flint.”

“Yes, yes, very boring. You’d like us to flounder around in the woods at night, wouldn’t you?” remarked Voltorno, moving another step closer to her.

“It’s too late,” she warned. “One by one, you shall all die.” With that, Anaya slipped away into the night.

“Such melodrama,” grumbled the half-human, returning to the fire. “I guess one can’t expect more from a pair of savages.”

“Why didn’t you use your great magic, Voltorno?” Kith-Kanan asked sarcastically.

Quite earnestly, one of the terrified humans began to explain. “Our master must be very close to the one he.” This helpful information was abruptly cut off as Voltorno backhanded the speaker. The human fell back, his face bleeding.

Now Kith-Kanan understood. Voltorno’s repertoire of magic was probably quite limited. Perhaps he had only the spell of befuddlement he had used in his duel with Kith-Kanan. And he had to be very close to the one he wished to enchant, which was obviously why he had been sidling closer to Anaya.

The next morning Kith-Kanan awoke stiff and groggy. The chill had penetrated his bones, and his chains didn’t allow him to rest comfortably. He was trying to stretch the ache from his legs when a shriek of pure horror rang through the clearing. Kith-Kanan jerked toward the sound.

One of the human guards was staring down at the bedroll of one of his comrades. His face was bone-white and his mouth slack. He would have given vent to another scream, but Voltorno arrived at his side and shoved him away.

Voltorno’s face registered shock, too, as he looked down at the bedroll. The human who had screamed now babbled, “Master! They cut Gernian’s throat! How?”

The half-human rounded on the frantic raider and commanded him to be silent. All the humans now ringed their dead companion. Each of them asked themselves the same questions: How had Anaya and Mackeli killed the man without being seen by the watch? How had they gotten through the traps? Voltorno was rattled, and the humans were close to panic.