Kagonesti

Chapter 27

The wizard spat a word, and the strands of gooey rocb fell from Iydahoe's arms and legs. Two burly legionnaires took his weapons, then seized his arms, hauling him bodily onto the driver's deck of the wagon. One of them pulled back the canvas flap while the other roughly shoved the wild elf into the shadowy interior, slamming him into a sitting position on a wooden bench.

The wagon interior was lit by two flickering lanterns, though the shadows were thicker than they had been in the glare of the wizard's light spell. Still, Iydahoe remembered that the wagon had seemed utterly lightless outside-it was obviously well screened against observation. Kagonesti eyes adjusting quickly, Iydahoe looked at the wagon's interior, which proved surprisingly spacious. The two legionnaires, swords drawn, laid the elf's axe, quiver, and bow down somewhere out of sight. Now they stood beside Iydahoe's chair, each with a firm hand on the wild elf's shoulder. The wizard Feigh stood somewhere behind them. Before him, Wellerane, the cleric, pursed his lips into a faintly disapproving frown-whether because of Iydahoe or the legionnaires, the elf didn't know.

Beyond the priest, in the rear of the wagon, Bakall squatted on the floor. The young elfwoman who had gathered the flowers beside the trail was partially concealed by a gauzy curtain, but she sat quietly beside the young wild elf.

Iydahoe tried to catch his tribemate's eye, to compel Bakall to look for an avenue of escape, but the younger elf seemed disinterested-he barely took note of Iydahoe's arrival. Instead, his eyes remained fixed on Wellerane, as if the Kagonesti couldn't wait to hear what the priest would say next.

The warrior turned his angry eyes toward the House Elf, but he was unable to forget that Wellerane's intervention had given him another precious hour of life. He only wished that he could put that time to better use. Although the House Elf's face was unlined, the cleric's eyes were wizened, giving a suggestion of many centuries of age. He wore a plain blue tunic, adorned only by a platinum chain, which held a collection of tiny disks. These circlets, also of platinum, jingled slightly when the cleric spoke or gestured. The sound they made was soothing, mellow.

"I am a priest of the goddess Mishakal. In her name I ask you to tell me of your life, to purge yourself of transgressions."

"Who is Mishakal?" Iydahoe was not about to tell this House Elf anything. "Is she the concubine of the King- priest?"

The Kagonesti intended to shock Wellerane, but the cleric's only reaction was a curious raising of his slender eyebrows. "Mishakal is not a person of any kind. She is a goddess, wondrously kind, marvelously wise. It is she in whose honor we travel to Istar."

"How can an elven goddess know honor in the heartland of evil humankind?" Iydahoe challenged.

The cleric sighed. "1 cannot say that Istar is a place worthy of her goodness, but Mishakal is not merely a goddess of Silvanesti. Her words are for humans and dwarves, kender-and even our cousins, the Kagonesti."

Behind Iydahoe, the wizard Feigh snorted contemptuously. The wild elf felt the tightening grips of the two legionnaires holding his arms, sensing that Wellerane's words distressed these humans.

"Why do you ride with legionnaire butchers?"

"The Kingpriest likes to hear us sing." For the first time, the elfwoman spoke, and Iydahoe had no difficulty believing that her voice could produce very beautiful music. "Every year, a chorus from Silvanesti travels to Istar, to raise our voices in the Evening Prayer. We will sing in the temple itself, at the very heart of the great city."

Only then did his eyes travel to the golden-haired elf- maiden. She leaned forward, peering around the gauzy screen to look at him with frank curiosity. Her eyes were greener than any Kagonesti's, but flecks of darker color suggested a depth of understanding beyond that of the typical House Elf. In the firm set of her chin, the frank and appraising expression in her eyes, Iydahoe sensed that she was a female of great determination and courage. She showed no fear of him, but neither did she seem upset by his arrival. He recalled that her name was Vanisia-it seemed a wonderful and appropriate thing to call her- and that she had earlier gathered flowers by the trail.

Abruptly the wagon sagged under a sudden weight.

Vanisia gasped, and Iydahoe twisted in shock, surprised to see that another House Elf now occupied the wagon with them-an elf who had not entered through any way the warrior could see. Adorned in plain clerical robes, the newly arrived priest stood to the side of Iydahoe and bowed serenely to Wellerane.

Feigh gasped and raised his hands as the men holding Iydahoe raised their swords toward the strange elf. Though startled by the stranger's arrival, the Kagonesti was also amused by the expression of terror on the wizard's face.

Wellerane quickly held up a hand as the magic-user began chanting the words to a spell. "Hold your casting, sorcerer!" the priest commanded, so sharply that Feigh halted in midphrase, turning to glower at the priest.

Apparently, the newcomer was known to the elfwoman and the cleric, for both of them bowed deeply before him. Iydahoe took a closer look at the regal figure. The white clerical mantle resembled Wellerane's except for the color. The new elf was older, with strands of silvery hair dangling from both sides of his balding scalp. At his breast he wore a medallion depicting a platinum dragon where the cleric of Mishakal displayed his disks.

"Loralan!" Wellerane gasped, finally raising his eyes. "How do you come from Silvanesti so quickly?"

"I travel swiftly, for I have little time. Indeed, we all have little time." The stranger's words sent a tremor of apprehension along Iydahoe's spine, though only later would he grasp their meaning.

Feigh snorted again, but the wizard's sound carried a subtle undertone of fear. "Teleportation is a wizard's skill, Priest! What black magic do you work here?" he demanded.

Loralan ignored the wizard, instead fixing his eyes on the kneeling cleric. "I have come for you, my loyal friend and companion. It is our time."

"Time?" Wellerane was mystified. "But I journey to Istar with the chorale! I must-"

The elder priest held up a hand, and Wellerane fell silent. "It takes more than thirteen days to reach the city-by that time there will be no Istar to greet you. But enough-I cannot speak any more of this. It is time for you to go."

"But Vanisia-my daughter! She must come with us!She, too, is a faithful priestess of Mishakal. In time, she will be a true and mighty cleric!"

Loralan sighed, his eyes wrinkling in sadness. "I know that you speak the truth, but as I said, there is no time."

Wellerane blinked in confusion, looking at Vanisia. The elfwoman stared back, her eyes growing wide in terror, and perhaps the beginnings of comprehension-a glimmering of understanding that went far beyond the grasp of the thoroughly mystified Iydahoe.

Abruptly, both Loralan and Wellerane were gone. They didn't leave, didn't even move-nevertheless, they were no longer in the wagon with the others. Vanisia gasped, then moaned softly. Bakali blinked and shook his head, as if awakening from a dream. Iydahoe tensed, certain that they needed to take their chance to escape now, or it would be too late.

"Go! Take him out to the stake. We'll burn them both, now!" hissed Feigh. The wizard seized a stout staff and raised it menacingly, ready to smash Iydahoe's head. Only then did the wild elf see that the wizard's eyes were wide with terror. The disappearance of Wellerane had shaken him badly.

"No!" It was Vanisia who spoke. Trembling, her own eyes darting around as if she expected to see the priest hiding somewhere just out of sight, she nevertheless found the strength to challenge the furious wizard.

"How dare-!" Feigh's rebuke was interrupted by his scream. The staff in his hands twisted into a long, living snake, the tail coiling around the magic-user's waist while the wedge-shaped head strained at the man's face. With both hands the shrieking wizard held the jaws inches away from his cheek.

With the quickness of thought, Iydahoe's hand lashed out and seized a surprised legionnaire around the neck. A sharp tug brought the man down, and the wild elf slammed his head against the wooden floorboard.

The other guard slashed with his blade, but fear made him wild, and Iydahoe ducked away from the attack. A bronzed body flew past as Bakall sprang, knocking the second legionnaire against the side of the wagon. Seeing his axe on the floor, Iydahoe picked up the weapon and bashed it into the man's helmet. With a grunt of surprise, he dropped, senseless, to the floor. Next the wild elf raised the weapon toward Feigh, who had collapsed to a sitting position and still grappled, screaming, with the snake. The animal contorted its bulging, scaly skin, drawing tighter around the now-gasping wizard's waist.

"Wait. Do not kill him." Vanisia spoke softly, more beseeching than commanding, and Iydahoe realized with shock that he did not want to disobey the young priestess.

"Why not?" he demanded after a moment.

"All living creatures are the children of Mishakal. She desires that we not harm each other."

"No goddess of elves would deign to notice these shortlived scum!" snapped the warrior with a great deal more vehemence than he actually felt.

"Please!" Vanisia spoke the one word, and with her eyes on him there was no way Iydahoe could work the violence that still seethed in his heart.

"More humans are coming." Iydahoe couldn't believe that the noise of the fight hadn't already drawn additional guards. "We have no time!"

'This wagon is shielded from noises beyond-and likewise, nothing from within can be heard in the world outside. We do have a little time," Vanisia said. Her trembling had ceased, and she spoke calmly and forcefully. Iydahoe suddenly had the feeling that she was not as young as she looked.

Bakall, shamefaced, held a sword ready to stab the terrified wizard. The priestess spoke that strange word again, and the snake once more became a mere shaft of wood. Feigh hurled it from him as if the touch of the wood stung his hands.

"It is a good thing he thought to strike you with Weller- ane's staff," Vanisia said seriously.

Iydahoe studied the wizard. Feigh's eyes flashed hatred, and he remembered the wizard boasting about the destruction of the Kagonesti villages. Only then did he remember the pouch at the magic-user's side. Swiftly the wild elf reached down, roughly snapping the strap that held the stuff. Raising the flap, he took a few of the diamondlike flakes and sprinkled them over his leg.

The leg vanished.

The Kagonesti almost fell to the side, so surprising was the disappearance of his limb. Yet it was still there. He kicked outward, and Feigh grunted as the elf's toe slammed into his leg. The sensation of invisibility was deeply disturbing-but at the same time it might have its uses.

"It may be possible to slip past the guards. Get our weapons," he said to Bakali, nodding at the bows and quivers while his eyes remained fixed on the cowering magic-user.

Iydahoe saw movement in the corner of his eye as the elfmaid came along with Bakali. The warrior realized with a shock that she had declared her allegiance with them. If she hadn't enchanted the staff, Iydahoe might already be burning. Now, without Wellerane to protect her, the legionnaires would make short work of the priestess. Or her end might not be so short, he thought with a glimmer of darker dread.

"You must come with us," he said, surprised by how easily the words flowed out.

"I know," Vanisia said. She stood, adorned in her robe and platinum medallions. A curling seashell, rimmed in gold, served as the clasp of her belt. She wore ornate, golden sandals, which would be impractical for walking, but there was nothing to do about that now. "I'm ready."

"There's no place on Ansaion where your kind will be safe!" sneered Feigh, sensing that he was about to be spared.

"You're wrong." Iydahoe looked at the man, and he saw the burned bodies of four villages, the trampled huts, the slain warriors and women and babes. His hands were trembling as a red haze lowered across his eyes.

The steel axe moved more quickly than the striking snake. In an instant, the wizard's head thumped to the floor, rolling thickly to the back of the wagon. Vanisia, her hand pressed to her mouth, stared in horrified silence at the gory object.

As the bleeding corpse slumped to the floor, the wild elf felt a curious emptiness-the killing had not cleansed his soul of the horror or the fear, but a great enemy of his people was dead, and the one man who might have tracked their escape was no longer a threat.

"He had to die. He was an enemy of the tribe," Iydahoe told Vanisia. With a shudder, she stepped past the bleeding corpse as the brave held out the pouch of magic dust.

"Come," he said. "You are a wild elf now."