Kagonesti

Chapter 5

More than two hundred of tbe tribe's braves had fallen during tbe battle. The slain Elderwild were buried collectively in a large cairn atop the hill, individual stones standing on end to mark each warrior. The surviving elves tumbled the dead ogres down the hill, then dragged them across the lake so that their rotting corpses wouldn't pollute the water with the coming of spring.

Afterward, Kagonos led the surviving warriors down the frozen stream, through the deep cut in the side of the mountain. The band of warriors moved quickly, in several long files, following the course of high, barren valleys until they reached the lower vale where the tribes had gathered. At the outskirts of the pastoral valley the

Pathfinder met several white-haired archers-braves too old to march to war, but who stood ready to guard their loved ones in the absence of the main body of Elderwild warriors. The older elves watched their tribemates' return, and tears streamed from their eyes as they saw the ragged gaps in the long columns.

Still, the survivors stood tall, marching proudly as the sentries fell into ranks behind them. They returned to the encampment, where hundreds of tents and huts had been erected along the shore of a deep lake. The warriors came to tell of a victory-but also with a toll that tonight would bring grief to many families.

Barcalla, Felltree, and the other chiefs went to their sections of the camp, while Kagonos sat alone before a small fire. Cries-hopeless, keening songs-began to rise from many of the lodges, as the names of the dead were tolled.

Kahanna, a young elfmaiden who had been sweetly, innocently in love with Dall, brought the Pathfinder cakes of com and venison wrapped in crispy leaves, then hurried away as if she didn't want to intrude on his mourning. Kahanna had served Kagonos for many decades, tending to most of his household needs. Now he felt a sting of guilt-surely the young maid must grieve for the loss of her lover. Yet, because Kagonos was the Pathfinder, she bit her tongue and held back her own tears.

Dimly he heard the sounds of the shamans chanting, working the healing magic that might save a limb, or prevent a deep wound from festering. The worst of the wounded received the benefit of these merciful spells, and many lives were saved. But the tribal priests were too few, their powers too limited, to hold against the tide of suffering and death.

For the first time since the battle, he unlashed the Ram's Horn, raising the trumpet to his lips. For the hours of sunset and twilight he played a song of mourning. The notes carried clearly through the camps of the four tribes and rose through the forests into the mountain heights as well. In that music was comfort for all who grieved, and a measure of hope for those Elderwild who tumbled toward despair.

Finally the chiefs joined Kagonos at his fire, and they shared a silent pipe. Only after the last of the tobacco smoke had wafted into the wind did the Pathfinder look around the gathered elves. A part of him saw them as strangers, unknown to him. They needed him, he knew- but did he need them?

The answer to the unspoken question didn't matter. Kagonos must decide what to do now, and he knew this was a decision he could not make by himself.

Abruptly the Pathfinder remembered something that Darlantan had told him. He stood and turned his back to the fire, eyes seeking the eastern horizon. Then he raised a finger and pointed. The chiefs gasped collectively as a crimson orb climbed slowly into view, rising above the ridge and ascending into the darkening sky. Another moon, this one of brilliant, crystal white, followed the first. The third moon, the black one, was invisible when it came after-but the Pathfinder sensed its stark and ominous presence. And now he understood Darlantan's truth: even gods could be punished.

"The war is finished. The gods have banished their own kin, those who gave the dragongems to Silvanos. We see them entombed before us."

"The dragons-even the blues-have gone?" Barcalla asked hesitantly. "You know this from these moons?"

"Yes-but we must be certain. Tomorrow the tribes shall march from here."

"Where do we go?" asked Feldree.

"We shall march to the camp of Silvanos. There we will see what the future holds."

From the top of a foothill ridge the wild elves could see the ogre army streaming toward the north-a ragged, panicked mob, leaving chariots, foodstuffs, and weapons strewn in its wake. The midday sky was clear, free of clouds-and of dragons. Along the southern horizon, four hours' march away, the army of the House Elves sprawled in a vast encampment across the plain.

Watching the flight of the ogre survivors, Kagonos finally knew that more than just the battle had been won. With dual victories, in the mountains and on the plains, the elves had prevailed over their enemies in the Dragon War.

Still, he felt a curious numbness as he led the Elderwild tribes toward the camp of Silvanos. From the crest the march took the rest of the afternoon, and with each step it seemed that the mass, the numbers of the House Elves, grew steadily larger. Cheers rang out as the wild elves approached, and the Pathfinder knew that their greeting would be warm.

But what lay behind that warmth?

It all depended on Silvanos, Kagonos knew. So much about the ruler of the House Elves was a great mystery to the Pathfinder, and it was not without trepidation that he took his warriors and their families among the much more numerous elves of the city-dwelling clans.

The House Elves had made their encampment on the heights overlooking the Vingaard River, within sight of the battlefield-but far enough away to avoid the stench of rotting ogre corpses. In the light of the setting sun Kagonos saw hundreds of vultures wheeling over the scene of carnage, while clusters of the birds already gathered on the ground, flocking like maggots around the multitude of gruesome remains.

The elven camp, conversely, was a riotous gathering of colored tents, crowded horse corrals, and brilliant banners trailing in the breeze. Many of these pennants blazed incredibly bright in the light of the setting sun, as if the flags themselves were living tongues of flame.

In the center of the gathering snapped the white crown pennant of House Silvanos, and Kagonos guided his column toward the patriarch's circle. Nearby waved the green-and-white birch branch that signaled the tents of the great Lord Balif and his attendants. The wild elf knew that it was Balif, even more than Quithas, who had planned and executed Silvanos's most stunning victories. Balif was the true war leader of the Silvanesti, a fact that Silvanos never failed to acknowledge. Now cheers and the sounds of a boisterous toast rose from that great captain's compound, and Kagonos guessed that Balif had played a part in yet another historic victory.

Nearby fluttered another banner, this one all too familiar to Kagonos-a golden field emblazoned with the crossed claws of Quithas's rampant steed. The Elderwild chieftain sensed with a sting of lingering hatred that the general of Silvanos's cavalry had not only survived the battle, but had showered himself with glory.

Now, as they welcomed the arrival of the Elderwild, the elves of Silvanos came forward with shouts and cheers, forming two broad columns to either side of Kagonos's march. The numbness in the chieftain's breast expanded into a sort of vague disbelief as he heard the cheers, felt the exultancy of victory surging over him, offered by the warriors who were of his race but not of his people.

Even in looking at Silvanos's troops, Kagonos could see the differences. The House Elves wore armor of silver, and all of them bore swords or daggers of keen steel. Their faces were unpainted, their boots firm and stout-at least bv comparison to Elderwild moccasins-and their blond hair was bound carefully against their necks.

Most of the warriors, by now, had set their armor aside in favor of cloaks and tunics of bright silk and dyed cotton, while jewelry of silver and gold dangled or gleamed from wrists, necks, ears, and fingers. On many of the hjgh-ranking elves, gems-diamonds, emeralds, rubies, garnets, and many others Kagonos didn't even recognize-sparkled in a brilliant affirmation of an individual's wealth, status, and power.

The elves of Kagonos's band, conversely, allowed their darker hair to flow freely across their shoulders, blowing in the wind with the same lack of constraint as the folk themselves cherished so deeply. The Elderwild were still painted in their swirling battle colors, with each tribe displaying the symbol that identified it-the antlers of the Whitetails, the curling wave of the Bluelake, or the hawk's beak sigil of the Black Feathers. Many wild elves displayed spirals of varying length, and while some of the warriors still showed the hollow circles of unblooded braves, these circles would be altered to spirals at the earliest opportunity. Of course, the paint would be washed off at the conclusion of the victory celebration, but during preparation for battle it served as a key indicator of an individual's station within the war party and the tribe. Now those symbols marked them as a proud and distinct people, obviously very different from the light-skinned House Elves.

The column oЈ Elderwild marched steadily, warriors raising their heads and throwing back their shoulders as they walked among the ranks of their allies. Though every one of them had lost a brother, cousin, or friend in the fight, the survivors remained determined to present a proud and honorable face to their kinsmen from the city houses.

The cheers rose to a crescendo as Kagonos led his fighters among the tents of Silvanos's entourage. Before him crackled a huge fire, sending tendrils of flame dozens of feet into the night sky, and it was around this blaze that the leaders of the House Elves had gathered.

Despite his mental preparation, Kagonos was startled when, as he neared the fire, Silvanos himself came forward to greet him. As before during their occasional meetings, the Elderwild was struck by the youthfulness of the great leader and statesman. Since the first great council of the Sinthel-Elish, more than six hundred years ago, Silvanos had been the unquestioned leader of all the House Elf clans. He was, in some senses, the king of Silvanesti- but in every other sense he was very much more than a king.

Though his hair was as silver as spun wire, Silvanos's proud face was free of lines. His wide green eyes glowed with a depth of wisdom that never failed to unsettle the forest-dweller, and there was something about Silvanos's stature-removed from mere height or broad shoulders- that gave to the elven ruler an undeniable sense of destiny and power.

"Greetings, kinsman," declared the great leader. Silvanos halted and bowed deeply to Kagonos. The Elder- wild returned the bow to the exact same depth.

"And to you, kinsman," the Pathfinder replied. "I see that your efforts were met with victory."

"And yours," Silvanos replied. "Quithas brought the Bluestone to the battlefield in the very blink of time that remained to us, before the blue dragons would have wreaked terrible havoc. Now the spirits of those serpents are entrapped in the stone, and it will be" buried-as were the stones of the reds, greens, blacks, and white dragons before them."

"Then it was worth the cost of gaining it," Kagonos stated grimly.

"Before the battle, Darlantan told me of the stone's location, of the nature of your attack. Tales of your courage and triumph will be told through the ages."

The elven lore masters, Kagonos thought with surprising bitterness, will sing of your battle, of Quithas's flight. But they will have little to say about us.

Shaking his head, the Pathfinder fought off the resentment, the anger that had begun to seethe within him. Surely, after a victory like this, they could set aside their differences for a time. Then he thought of Dall, of Kyrill, and he was not so sure.

The esteemed ruler allowed his eyes to flicker across the column of Elderwild survivors, many of whom were bandaged or obviously wounded. "The cost to your tribe has been dear-I'm sorry for that."

"We all pay the prices we must," Kagonos replied, discomfited by his kinsman's sympathy. It was far easier for him to regard the House Elves as dangerous rivals than as friends. Now he could not relax from a sense of impending danger. However, decorum called for some sort of response.

"I am sure that many of your own tribe will not share the celebration of victory," he offered, with a stiff nod of his head.

"As you say, the price…" Silvanos was quiet, pensive for a moment. "But perhaps, kinsman, with today's victory further bloodshed can be banished to some point far in the distant future."

"There can be no greater reward-nor one more honestly earned," Kagonos agreed.

A file of warriors came toward them, led by a tiny, bareheaded elf whose unusually broad face was split by a great smile. He reached up to clap Silvanos on the shoulder in a surprisingly casual manner, and then turned to study Kagonos. The wild elf looked back stiffly, wondering if the short elf could actually be as friendly and guileless as his beaming expression indicated.

"You have not met my right hand, General Balif," Silvanos said, smiling without apparent discomfort at his lieutenant's bold friendliness.

"You and your warriors are a tribute to the elven peoples," Balif said, startling the Elderwild Pathfinder by reaching out and taking both of his hands. "Know that, in the new realms we open in the east, the forests will always be open to the wild elves."

"I thank you," Kagonos replied, liking Balif in spite of his un-elven lack of reserve. He turned back to Silvanos with a raised eyebrow. "What are these new realms?"

"Balif will take a number of the houses and settle the forest lands of the eastern shore. The ogres don't live there, and there are barely a few tribes of human savages in the woods. Balifor will become the second great nation of elves."

Another House Elf, this one dressed in a golden helm, stepped forward to the ruler's side. Kagonos recognized Quithas, and the Elderwild's scalp bristled with instinctive antipathy.

Taller than the average elf by more than half a foot, his dark eyes glittering on each side of his hooked, hawklike nose, Quithas looked down at Kagonos.

Kagonos thought that the elven war leader looked darker and far more bitter than he had during their last meeting, which had occurred just two days before. Now Quithas fixed his gaze on the steel-headed war-axe at the wild elf's belt, then raised his gaze to stare into the Pathfinder's face.

"Dare you come here with my weapon?" he demanded.

"It is my trophy now-remember?" Kagonos retorted.

"So now you come to seek rewards for your contribution?" spat the general. "As if our sacrifices have not been enough, you seek the treasures of the House Elves?"

"The sacrifices have been made by all tribes," Silvanos interjected smoothly, ignoring the taut lines of anger suddenly etched into Kagonos's face. "General Quithas, perhaps you should see to the arrangements for the victory feast."

Now it was the city elf's face darkened by fury, but he dared not challenge his ruler. Quithas turned and stalked away, while Silvanos shook his head sadly. "His son was slain in the charge that broke Talonian's line-while Quithas himself was off retrieving the Bluestone. I fear…" The great ruler's voice trailed off, sad and pensive.

"Sacrifices have been made even by the gods," the patriarch noted abruptly. "Did you see the moons these last two nights?"

Kagonos nodded.

Those are the remains of the three gods-those immortals who gave us the means to win this war."

"Why were they punished thus? Do the other gods favor evil?"

"I believe they regret that we mortals have gained the power of magic. Perhaps they should, though we shall endeavor to keep its use under control. But enough of that-suffice to say that the cost has been high to all."

Silvanos sighed, and for the first time Kagonos realized that the elven patriarch was actually subject to mortal failings. "It grieves me to see such divisions among our people, my friend," he told Kagonos. Though he did not want to hear the words, the Elderwild found it impossible to tear his attention away from the patriarch's charisma.

"We are all one folk, under the war paint and the golden cloaks," Silvanos continued. "I would like us to know that oneness through all aspects of our lives on Krynn."

"The hatreds of the House Elves will ever divide us," Kagonos suggested. "Those like Quithas, who cannot grasp the Tightness of freedom."

"Do not confuse living in a city with slavery," Silvanos chided. "We, too, are free-in many ways freer than you of the woodland shall ever be." Kagonos thought there was a trace of genuine regret in the ruler's voice, though the Elderwild was truly mystified by Silvanos's concepts of freedom. How could any walled enclosure hope to offer the breathtaking and unfettered life that he knew in the forest?

"Tonight is not the night for such discussion," the Elderwild chief noted awkwardly. "We have won a victory-and must mourn our dead."

"Indeed. Death has touched us all. I grieve beside you over the loss of your brothers. They died as brave warriors, as elven heroes, and their courage will be a source of pride for many generations-in the cities as well as the forest."

Kagonos tried to suppress his astonishment-the only communication between the two armies had been the flight of Quithas, when he retrieved the stone. Certainly that dour elf had not carried word-had not even known — of the Pathfinder's personal tragedy.

"The grief you struggle so hard to conceal-it shows in your eyes, for one who knows what to look for," said the great patriarch gently. "I have seen that look many times today. My own nephew, Palthios, was killed leading a charge against the ogre flank; my brother's eyes were as haunted as yours. And General Quithas's loss was his only son, his only child. For a time I thought the darkness in his mind would consume him."

Numbly Kagonos nodded, wondering if Quithas might not yet yield to that ultimate despair. The Pathfinder was aware that some portion of himself was terribly racked by grief. Yet why was it, then, that he barely sensed the feeling?

"I invite you, as I have before, to come to the new land of Silvanesti with us," Silvanos declared earnestly. 'There, amid the splendid valley of the Thon-Thalas River, we shall create the greatest city the elves have ever known, and we hope that your tribe shall stand at our side as we do so."

"We have no need of a new land, not now-not when the war is won, when all Ansalon beckons."

"But think of the might we could gather, centered in Silvanesti! All the elves together. Your people, too, as one of the great houses! We shall name you House Servitor, and your people will know lives of productivity and beauty!"

"That is no life for an Elderwild!" Kagonos's voice grew sharp with scorn. "House Servitor, you say-will you make us lackeys to your lords?"

"No-of course not. But tell me, Kagonos-why have vou never accepted my invitations?" asked the great leader, ignoring the hostile tone of the Pathfinder. "Come, 2: least, to visit one of my palaces! Stay as my honored rjest."

It is impossible," Kagonos said with a firm shake of his head

But, why?"

A vow-a pledge I made centuries ago." Kagonos recalled the scene as if it had been yesterday-the Grand- atrer Ram, suddenly become the dragon Darlantan, com- =-2rdinn his obedience and loyalty, compelling him to ocvv: wo rules. In obedience-and, fully in keeping with the Pathfinder's own wishes-he had never taken a wife, and he had never journeyed to a House Elf city.

Vaguely, he felt the patriarch's gaze on him, and when he looked at Silvanos he saw more, even greater, sadness. Instinctively, with a chill, he knew why.

"Darlantan?" asked the Elderwild. Suddenly the numbness was gone.

"He awaits you beside the river," Silvanos said. "He bade me speak to you first, before you went to him. You will find him there, where the twin cottonwood trunks cross."

The Elderwild squinted into the patriarch's face, certain that Silvanos knew more than he was telling-and equally certain that he would learn no more in this conversation.