The History of Krynn: Vol V

by Dragon Lance

  More Kagonesti, about four dozen in all, still climbed into the trees that were out of sight to either side. Though elven eyes were keen in the darkness, even the Kagonesti could not see all the way across the darkened camp, so it was hard to know how many of these had taken up their positions.

  Ashtaway knew that the bakali would have discovered the ravine to the lake shore. He had suggested that a small force try to block that escape route, but Iydaway and Faltath had both vetoed that idea, pointing out – justifiably – that the warriors in that party would have little chance of surviving the battle. The tribe would attack from the woods and hope to kill as many of the enemy as they could before the rest made their escape.

  Faltath hooted softly, like a contented owl, but the sound carried obvious urgency to Ash’s ears. The Kagonesti were tightly wound, ready to fly against their enemies like the arrows that would signal the start of the attack. Yet Ashtaway still found himself vaguely reluctant to initiate the ambush, for reasons that he couldn’t understand. Certainly he had no hesitation about slaying bakali. Indeed, his sincere hope was that none of the scale-skinned humanoids would escape the killing ground of the former village.

  Shaking his head, biting back an unbidden cough of anger, Ashtaway forced aside his indecision. Pursing his lips, he made ready to whistle the distinctive cry of the whippoorwill. The sound would not be unnatural in the summer dawn, though the birds themselves would not speak out for another hour or so. That minor inaccuracy was enough to conceal the code from the dimwitted lizardmen.

  Before Ash could signal, a shaft flew from a nearby tree. A bakali shrieked as more arrows sliced into the lizardmen. But now the scaly defenders leapt to their feet, racing madly about the camp.

  A heartbeat passed as four dozen bowstrings quivered under full tension, four dozen sleek-shafted arrows sighted upon their targets. The missiles flew, and immediately the bakali camp echoed with shrieks and yowls of pain. Many lizardmen thrashed madly, while others lay still – slain in their sleep, or the first few moments of wakefulness. A hundred or more of the reptilian invaders raced about, weapons raised, staring frantically into the enclosing forest.

  Another volley of arrows sifted silently into the horde, and then another. Helpless against the attack, which came from three sides, the mob of bakali milled about, small groups rushing toward individual trees. Some lizardmen dropped to all fours and galloped toward the vallenwood occupied by Ashtaway. He shot one, his arrow joined by a volley from several surrounding trees. The small band of attackers, in unison, flopped to the ground and lay still.

  Ash looked for another target. Some of the lizardmen had begun to back toward the ravine leading to the lake shore, and the others instinctively followed. Silver arrowheads shot from the woods around the ravine, but Ashtaway wasn’t certain the retreat could be stopped by arrows alone. Still, the tribe sought to attack without taking losses themselves, so the Pathfinder had urged the necessity to stand off and shoot for as long as possible. Thus far, it seemed no Kagonesti had been hurt, while numerous bakali lay still and bleeding on the soot-covered ground.

  Abruptly the darkness was shattered by the cry of a diving hawk. Faltath, who, like Ashtaway, could no longer find a bakali in arrow range, leapt from the lower limbs of his vallenwood and started across the clearing, longsword upraised in his clenched fist. The warrior’s cries took on a fiercely triumphant sound as he sprinted toward the enemy.

  Other elves echoed the bold shrieks – Ashtaway didn’t hear himself crying out until he noticed the tautness of his lips and mouth – and in one savage wave the tribe converged on the retreating lizardmen. Even Iydaway sprang like a young warrior, cawing wildly. The bakali pounced over each other in sudden panic, surging into the narrow ravine that seemed to offer the only possible escape.

  Ash struck down a crocodile-faced warrior with his axe, and it seemed as though he had stepped directly from the earlier battle into this one. His weapon rose and fell like an intelligent thing, choosing its targets quickly and then striking with unerring accuracy. Part of Ashtaway’s attention remained on Iydaway as he sought, with limited success, to prevent the Pathfinder from throwing himself fully into the melee. Fortunately, so pervasive was the panic among the lizardmen that the elven warriors faced only a few hurried return blows.

  Several of the scale-skinned creatures suddenly stopped their flight and barked furiously. They charged en masse, viciously hacking their swords into a Kagonesti warrior, slaying the wild elf as Faltath and Ashtaway leapt forward. The hulking warrior bore one of the monsters to earth, twisting its head in his hands, while Ash chopped savagely into first one, then the other bakali’s face. Groaning piteously, the two reptiles fell. Whooping Kagonesti warriors stabbed the writhing forms as Ash continued forward.

  The ravine provided an easy route to the lake shore, and Ashtaway worried now that many bakali would escape. The creatures teemed onto the trail, crowding down the narrow gully. Still more of the lizardmen halted their flight, turning to meet the pursuing elves with their weapons, and the Kagonesti realized that something must be halting the enemy’s retreat.

  He thrust at two monsters with one swinging slash, and they both cowered away. Whatever held up the flight, Ash knew that it wasn’t a sudden development of courage. Demoralized by surprise and the slaughter of so many of their fellows, the craven bakali sought only escape.

  The ringing of steel clanged through the night, in a sound more brash than any light Kagonesti longsword. Puzzled, Ash stepped back from the melee, struggling to hear.

  From somewhere up ahead, bakali screamed in panic, and their terror was mingled with many a dying gurgle. That steel blade rang again, and the mob of lizardmen actually surged back, toward the weapons of the waiting Kagonesti.

  “By the Oath and the Measure!” came a cry from the darkness, in a language barely recognizable to Ashtaway.

  But he recognized the heavy, nasal tone – a human! A human stood in that ravine, blocking the flight of the terrified lizardmen.

  Bakali crowded into the gully, clawing at each other, trying to hack and prod through the press. Behind them the Kagonesti closed in, blades slashing.

  Perhaps there would be no escape for the hateful creatures, Ash thought with grim satisfaction. But it was knowledge underlaid by a deep and substantial fear – a fear triggered by this inexplicable arrival of a human.

  Trotting along the top of the ravine now, Ashtaway struggled to penetrate the darkness with his keen eyes. Below him, dozens of bakali squirmed and struggled, some trying to press down the floor of the ravine while others scrambled, with equal vigor, to get back to the clearing in the vallenwoods. None of the lizardmen so much as tried to climb the rough, crumbling walls, though any wild elf could have scampered up and down in a dozen places.

  Ash stepped with care as he worked along the upper edge of the ravine, knowing that a misplaced foot could send him sliding into the midst of the bakali. At the same time, he hurried as quickly as he dared, trying to imagine what he would find.

  The terror of the fleeing lizardmen was an almost palpable force, rising out of the narrow ravine like a stinking cloud. Ash again heard the human’s voice bellow amid the clanging of steel. The elf came around the bole of a large tree and saw him: a strapping fellow bearing a great sword in both hands, standing in the narrowest part of the ravine. Swinging the weapon through a dazzling series of slashes and parries, he completely blocked the escape route of the panicked lizardmen.

  Now several of the bakali tried to scramble up the steep walls of the gorge, falling backward after they got a short distance above the ground. One made it far enough to snap at Ashtaway’s foot, but the Kagonesti chopped downward with his axe and sent the monster tumbling into the press of its comrades.

  Even through the darkness a flash of recognition struck Ash – something about the human’s huge, golden-hafted sword seemed vaguely familiar. The man stood with unfaltering courage, shieldless, clutching the hilt of his weapon in white-knuckled
fists. Sheer rock walls rose to the man’s right and left, and the sweeps of that mighty sword came within inches of each cliff. A lizardman dove to his belly and tried to squirm past the knight. The creature died quickly, its heart pierced by a blow from above. Two more of the scaly humanoids hurled themselves at the lone fighter, but the man cut them down so quickly that the two stabs seemed almost simultaneous to Ash’s astonished eyes.

  Movement to the side caught the elf’s attention, and he turned to see Faltath following him. The elven brave’s longsword was streaked with bakali blood. Behind the inward spirals of his facial tattoos Faltath’s eyes were alight with the glory of battle. Every Kagonesti brave knew that heady rush of battlefield energy, but somehow the appearance was magnified by the intensity of the sword-wielder’s fury.

  Ashtaway gestured silently as his villagemate joined him. The human swordsman continued to battle, though he stepped backward in the face of the lizardmen’s relentless pressure. The ravine widened gradually as he retreated, and even that long-bladed sword would not long be able to block the passage.

  “A human … he dies well,” Faltath observed.

  “Perhaps he shall not die,” Ash suggested, watching the other Kagonesti.

  Faltath snorted contemptuously. “Even if he kills a hundred bakali, a single Kagonesti arrow will see that he does not return to the plains.”

  Ashtaway nodded, not surprised by the reply. He was surprised, however, by a feeling within his own breast – an urge to help this human, to give him a chance to live. The notion was contradictory to everything in his life, and at first he couldn’t explain it. Then he remembered.

  “The wyrm of fire!” he whispered, shaking his head in awe. “I saw this same man stand before a red dragon, facing the creature with that sword. I thought he perished in the fireball.”

  There was no shred of doubt in his mind. The heavy sword had the same golden hilt, unique among the knights he’d seen, and this fellow fought with the same unbending stance, with identical fury and concentration. Ash vividly remembered the scene of the dragon attack, and tried to imagine how this man could have survived. Too, he felt his growing guilt over his failure to warn the knights of danger, and made a silent, grim promise that – for this man, at least – he would try to rectify that mistake.

  “The dragon he killed – the beast fell on top of him before the other serpent breathed. Could it be that he was protected from the fire by that corpse? And that he then crawled free of the mire?”

  Faltath’s laugh was bitter and cold. “If he did, then he has already lived longer than any man has a right. Let him be content with that.”

  Suddenly Ashtaway needed to know more – what had the man done then? How had he come to the Bluelake? And why now did he risk his life in such a mad, pointless fight?

  “He must not be killed!” he declared, ignoring the scowl of suspicion that darkened Faltath’s features. “I’m going to help him!”

  The bakali pressed against the walls to either side of the gorge. The knight held at bay those monsters directly before him, but now he had a hard time fully blocking the ravine. He was forced to step back quickly in order to protect his flanks – but each retreat carried him farther along the ever-widening channel.

  Ashtaway skirted the rim of the ravine until he had passed the valiant knight. Picking a smooth patch of dirt for his landing, the elf sprang lightly to the floor of the gorge. He landed almost soundlessly, the din of the panicked lizardmen surely swallowing any slight noise – but the knight nevertheless whirled, bringing his sword around to meet the threat he had somehow sensed behind him.

  Ignoring the threatening parry, the Kagonesti sprang toward the bakali and swiftly killed two with sure-handed strikes of his axe. Smiling grimly, the knight pivoted back to meet the scaly warriors. For long, bloody minutes the pair stood firm, blocking the channel with their courage and skill.

  The rest of the tribe closed in on the rear of the fleeing horde, with many elves advancing along the tops of the ravine. These showered the lizardmen with arrows, logs, rocks, and anything else that came to hand.

  Finally, crouching and tense, Ashtaway dimly realized that there was no one left to fight. The elf and the human knight looked around in amazement until their eyes met in frank appraisal.

  The human, impatient in the way of his race, spoke first. “Thank you. I think the buggers would have had me there if you hadn’t dropped in when you did.”

  Ash nodded, squinting as he concentrated on the words. The dialect was thick to his ears, but discernible – it was similar to the Qualinesti trading tongue that he had learned early in his life.

  “You fellas put up quite a fight,” the man continued, wiping his blade with a square of dirty cloth. He seemed uncomfortable by Ash’s silence, as if it would soothe him to have the night filled with sounds. “Do you understand a word I’m saying?” he finally demanded, exasperated.

  “Yes. Come with me.” Ash started down the ravine, noting for the first time that dawn’s pale blossom had begun to spread across the sky. Shrugging, the knight fell into step behind him. They descended the stone steps near the end of the rocky cut, as the walls that had bracketed them gradually gave way to the rolling earth of the surrounding forest.

  So effective had been their blocking maneuver that none of the lizardmen had escaped. Several braves probed through the gory mess in the ravine, chopping or stabbing wherever they found a sign of life. The others, Faltath in the lead, gathered on the lake shore at the mouth of the gully.

  When Ash and the knight walked toward them, a grim silence fell across the warriors of the tribe. Hazel eyes glared, unblinking, and the Knight of Solamnia stood a little straighter, walked a little more firmly. Ashtaway noted the change in the man’s demeanor, not surprised to observe that the fellow had a strong underpinning of pride.

  Faltath stepped forward, speaking rapidly to Ash in the tribal tongue of the wild elves. “It is bad enough that you do not slay this human. Why did you tell me that he should remain unharmed by the others of the tribe? Do you deny that he is a human?”

  “He is a human.”

  “Perhaps you have forgotten the tales of our fathers – of the humans who scoured the forest for our people? Who slew them without compunction, that they could torch the woodlands and create their abominable fields?”

  “I remember the tales,” Ashtaway replied. “But I remember other, older stories as well – legends of another dragon war, when elves and knights fought together to bring evil to its knees. I am wondering if Krynn is not facing another such time. We know that a deadly war rages, and that we are no longer free from its reach.”

  None of the Kagonesti replied. For several minutes, the braves scowled at the knight, who stood rigidly beside Ashtaway. The elven expressions remained unchanging, but Ash knew that they were considering his arguments. Finally he judged that enough time had passed for him to continue.

  “This knight, in particular, slew many of our enemies. His actions in battle ensured that our victory would be complete – more complete than we could have hoped. I offer him my protection – it is the very minimum of the debt we owe him.”

  Ashtaway said the words bluntly, and no physical reaction showed on the faces of the warriors. Still, he was somewhat surprised at his own temerity. His fellow braves, impassive though they were, must be shocked, Ash knew – by offering his protection, the elf had declared to his lifelong companions that they would have to kill him before they would be able to harm the human.

  Another long silence followed. The human’s eyes flicked from Ash to the rest of the tribe, and the elf sensed the man shifting his weight from foot to foot – so gradually that the movement was practically imperceptible. The Kagonesti was grateful that the fellow had the good manners not to interrupt the meditative silence of the band.

  “You, Ashtaway, have earned a great measure of this victory for our tribe. We should respect your words, and your wishes. But now tell us: Is there something about this human
that leads you to extend him your protection?” Balkas, the eagle-eyed archer, scowled in concentration as he spoke to Ashtaway. Clearly the young warrior was puzzled, but Ash was gratified to see that he was also willing to listen and consider.

  “In the forest camp I told you of the dragons I had seen, and their battle against human knights. This man was the leader of those knights, and though I thought I saw him perish in flames, he still lives. I would find out his story. And, too, it seems that a man who has faced dragons and countless bakali deserves a better death than an arrow in the back.”

  “Shoot him from the front, then,” growled Faltath menacingly.

  The knight understood the warrior’s hostility and stiffened reflexively. Yet he made no move to draw his weapon or to speak. Instead he waited with patience that, Ashtaway guessed, must require a great amount of effort from the human. After all, everyone knew that mankind’s world was a place of frantic pace and impatient activity. The Kagonesti had no regrets about his decision. With every passing moment, the feeling that this human was worth Ash’s protection grew stronger.

  And even the angry Faltath, Ash knew, would not challenge the protection extended by his friend. Because of Ash’s simple statement, any aggression against the man would constitute a great taboo against the tribe’s traditions and customs.

  “Let us return to the village,” Ash suggested. “There we can make a dawn fire and smoke the pipe of victory.”

  “That is a good idea,” Balkas agreed, stepping forward and scrutinizing the man. The elf lapsed into the tongue of the traders. “I would like to know what it is about you that has caused my old friend to act like a madman.”