by Dragon Lance
Kith-Kanan, wedged ten feet off the ground into the fork of a linden tree, was motionless. He willed the deer not to smell him, not to see him. Then, as slowly as possible, the prince drew his bow and swiftly let fly. His aim was true. The hart leaped away, but only for a few yards before it collapsed into the leaves.
Kith-Kanan let out a yell of triumph. Eight months in the wildwood, and this was his first hunting success. He skittered down the tree and ran to the fallen deer. Yes! The arrow had hit the beast right in the heart.
He dressed the carcass. As he slung it over his shoulder, Kith-Kanan realized that he couldn’t stop grinning. Wouldn’t Anaya be surprised?
The air was chill, and under his burden Kith-Kanan panted, sending little puffs of vapor from his nostrils and mouth. He walked quickly, making a lot of noise, but it didn’t matter now. He had made a kill! He’d been walking for some time when the first flakes of snow began to fall. A sort of steady hiss pervaded the forest as the light flakes filtered down through the bare tree limbs. It wasn’t a heavy fall, but as the prince’s trek continued, the brown leaves on the forest floor gradually acquired a thin frosting of white.
He climbed the hill to the clearing, meeting Mackeli on the way.
“Look what I have!” Kith-Kanan exclaimed. “Fresh meat!”
“Congratulations, Kith. You’ve worked hard to get it,” the boy said, but a frown creased his forehead.
“What’s the matter?”
Mackeli looked at him and blinked. “It’s snowing.”
Kith-Kanan shifted the weight of the carcass to a more comfortable position. “What’s wrong with that? It is winter, after all.”
“You don’t understand,” said the boy. He took Kith-Kanan’s quiver and bow, and together they proceeded up the hill. “It never snows in our clearing.” They gained the crest of the hill. The clearing was already lightly dusted with snow.
With a stone axe, Kith-Kanan removed the rib section and gave it to Arcuballis. The griffon had been brought to the hollow oak, and a roof of hides had been stretched from the overhead limbs to keep the rain off the mount. The noble eagle head of Arcuballis protruded from the crude shelter. The beast repeatedly ruffled its neck feathers and shook its head, trying to shake off the snowflakes. Kith-Kanan dropped the meat at the griffon’s feet.
“This is no weather for you, eh boy?” he said, scratching the animal’s neck through its thick feathers. Arcuballis made hoarse grunting sounds and lowered its head to its meal.
Kith-Kanan left his dagger and sword in a covered basket inside Arcuballis’s shelter. Brushing the snow off his shoulders, he ducked into the tree. It was snug and warm inside, but very close. A small fire burned on the hearth. As the prince sat crosslegged by the fire and warmed his hands, Mackeli scuttled about in the stores of nuts and dried fruit overhead.
After a short time, the bark-covered door swung open. Anaya stood in the doorway.
“Hello!” Kith-Kanan cried cheerfully. “Come in out of the cold. I had good hunting today!”
Anaya pulled the door closed behind her. When autumn arrived, she had changed from her green-dyed buckskins to natural brown ones. Now, coated with snow, she looked small and cold and unhappy. Kith-Kanan went to her and pushed back the hood from her head. “Are you all right?” he asked quietly, searching for an answer in her eyes.
“It’s snowing in my clearing,” she said flatly.
“Mackeli said that this is unusual. Still, remember that the weather follows its own laws, Anaya.” Kith-Kanan tried to soothe the hopeless look on her face; after all, it was only a little snow. “We’ll be fine. Did you see the deer I took?” He’d hung the quarters of meat outside to cool.
“I saw it,” she said. Anaya’s eyes were dull and lifeless. She pulled free of Kith-Kanan’s arms and unlaced her rawhide jacket. Still standing by the door, she looked at him. “You did well. I didn’t even see a deer, much less take one. Something is wrong. The animals no longer come as they used to. And now snow in the clearing...”
The keeper threw her jacket on the floor and looked up at the chimney hole. Dry, cold flakes fell in, vanishing in the column of rising smoke before they reached the fire. “I must go to the cave and commune with the forest. The Forestmaster may know what has happened,” she said, then sighed. “But I am so tired now. Tomorrow. I will go tomorrow.”
Kith-Kanan sat by the fire and pulled Anaya gently down beside him. When she put her head in his lap and closed her eyes, the prince leaned back against the side of the tree, intending to keep an eye on the fire. He continued to stroke Anaya’s face. In spite of her distress over the snow, Kith-Kanan couldn’t believe that anything was really wrong. He had seen snow in the streets of Silvanost after many years of none. As he’d said, the weather followed its own laws. Kith-Kanan’s eyes closed, and he dozed. The fire shrank in its circle of stones, and the first flakes of snow reached the floor of the tree, collecting on Anaya’s eyelashes.
Kith-Kanan awoke with the slow realization that he was cold. He tried to move and discovered he was buried under two bodies – Anaya on his left and Mackeli on his right. Though asleep, the need for warmth had drawn them together. Furs were piled up around them, and as Kith-Kanan opened his eyes, he saw that more than half a foot of snow had collected in the tree. The snowfall had extinguished the coals of the fire and drifted around the sleeping trio.
“Wake up,” he said thickly. When neither Anaya nor Mackeli moved, Kith-Kanan patted his wife’s cheek. She exhaled sharply and turned over, putting her back to him. He tried to rouse Mackeli, but the boy only started to snore.
“By Astarin,” he muttered. The cold had obviously numbed their senses. He must build a fire.
Kith-Kanan heaved himself up, pushing aside the inch of snow that had fallen across his lower legs. His breath made a long stream of fog. There was dry kindling in one of the wattle baskets, against the wall and out of the way of the falling snow. He dug the snow out of the hearth with his bare hands and laid a stand of twigs and bark shavings on the cold stones. With a flint and strike stone, he soon had a smoldering pile of tinder. Kith-Karen fanned it with his breath, and soon a crackling fire was burning.
It had stopped snowing, but the bit of sky he could glimpse through the chimney hole was gray and threatening. Reluctantly the prince eased the door open, even against the resistance from the two feet of snow that had drifted against the tree.
The clearing had been transformed. Where formerly the forest had been wrought in green and brown, now it was gray and white. An unbroken carpet of snow stretched across the clearing. All the imperfections of the ground were lost under the blanket of white.
A snuffling sound caught his ear. Kith-Kanan walked around the broad tree trunk and saw Arcuballis huddled under its flimsy shelter, looking miserable.
“Not like your warm stall in Silvanost, is it, old friend?” Kith-Kanan said. He untied the griffon’s halter and led it out a few yards from the tree.
“Fly, boy. Warm yourself and come back.” Arcuballis made a few faltering steps forward. “Go on. It’s all right.”
The griffon spread its wings and took to the air. It circled the clearing three times, then vanished upward into the low gray clouds.
Kith-Kanan examined the venison haunches he’d hung up the day before. They were frozen solid.
He untied one and braced it on his shoulder.
Back inside the tree, it was already much warmer, thanks to the fire. Anaya and Mackeli were nestled together like spoons in a drawer.
Kith-Kanan smiled at them and knelt to saw two cutlets from the venison haunch. It was hard going, but soon he had whittled the steaks out and had them roasting on a spit over the fire.
“Mmm.” Anaya yawned. Eyes still closed, she asked, “Do I smell venison roasting?”
Kith-Kanan smiled again. “You certainly do, wife. I am making our dinner.”
She stretched long and hard. “It smells wonderful.” She yawned again. “I’m so tired.”
; “You just lie there and rest,” he replied. “I’ll provide for us this time.” The prince gave his attention to the venison cutlets. He turned them carefully, making sure they were cooked all the way through. When they were done, he took one, still on its stick, and knelt by Anaya. “Dinner is served, my lady,” he said and touched her shoulder.
Anaya smiled and her eyelids fluttered open. She raised her head and looked at him.
Kith-Kanan cried out in surprise and dropped the steak onto the wet ground.
Anaya’s dark hazel. eyes had changed color. They had become. vividly green, like two shining emeralds.
Chapter 17
QUARTERED WITH A GENTLEMAN
Rain, driven sideways by the wind, tore at the elves who stood on the stone pier at the river’s edge. The far bank of the Thon-Thalas could not be seen at all, and the river itself was wild with storm-tossed waves. Through this chaos wallowed the great barge, drawn as before by a giant turtle.
The more Sithas saw of the growing storm, the more he was convinced it was not natural. His suspicion fell upon the waiting humans from Ergoth. Their emperor was known to have a corps of powerful magicians in his service. Was this premature, violent storm the result of some dire human magic?
“Surely, Highness, you should not risk this crossing!” warned the commander of the escort standing with Sithas.
The prince held his sodden cloak closed at his throat. “The ambassador from Ergoth is waiting, Captain,” he replied. The turtle turned end-on to the storm waves, which crashed in green torrents over its high-domed shell. “It is important that we show these humans we are masters of our own fate,” Sithas continued levelly. “Praetor Ulwen does not expect us to venture out in the storm to meet him. If we don’t, when the storm ends he can rail long and loud about the timidity of elves.” Sithas blotted water off his face with his wet cloak. “I will not cede that advantage to the humans, Captain.”
The dark-haired Kagonesti did not look convinced.
The barge was close now. The thick wooden hull squeezed a swell of water between itself and the shore. This swell, some ten feet high, fell over Sithas and his escort, drenching them further. The guards cursed and muttered, shuffling about the pier. Sithas stood imperturbable, his pale hair running in rivulets down the back of his emerald cloak.
The ferry master shouted from the deck, “I can’t moor in this swell, Highness!”
Sithas looked to the captain. “Follow me,” he advised. Turning back the flaps of his cloak, Sithas gathered up the lower edge, so as not to entangle his legs. With a running start, he leaped the gap between the pier end and the heaving barge. The prince hit, rolled, and got to his feet again. The soldiers gaped in amazement.
“Come on! Are you fighters or farmers?” Sithas called.
The captain squared his shoulders. If the heir to the throne was going to kill himself, then he would die, too. Once the captain was across, he and Sithas stationed themselves to grab the hurtling warriors as they, too, landed on the barge.
The ferry’s deck rose and fell like the chest of a breathing beast. When everyone was safely aboard, the ferry master blew his trumpet. The implacable mammoth turtle paddled away from shore.
Rain swirled and lashed at them. The scuppers ran full, and all sorts of loose debris sloshed back and forth on the ferry’s deck. The ferocious pounding near the shore lessened as the raft gained the deeper water in the center of the river. Here the danger was from the churning current, as the wind drove the surface water against the natural flow of the river. The thick chains that secured the barge to the towing turtle snapped hard, first the port, then to starboard. The giant reptile rolled with these blows, which sometimes lifted one of its thick green flippers out of the water. As if resenting this challenge to its strength, the turtle put its head down and pulled even harder for the western bank.
The captain of the escort struggled forward to report to Sithas. “Sire, there’s a lot of water coming into the boat. Waves are breaking over the sides.” Unperturbed, the-prince asked the ferry master what they should do.
“Bail,” was all he had to say.
The soldiers got on their knees and scooped water in their helmets. A chain was formed, each elf passing a full helmet to the leeward side and handing an empty helmet back to the first fellow bailing.
“There’s the shore!” sang out the ferry master. When Sithas squinted into the rain, he could make out a gray smudge ahead. Slowly the shoreline grew more distinct. On the slight hill overlooking the boat landing stood a large tent. A flag whipped from the center peak of the tent.
Sithas spat rainwater and again clutched his cloak tightly at his throat. In spite of their request to be met and conducted into the city here the humans sat, encamped for the night. Already they were leading the speaker’s son around by the nose. Such arrogance made Sithas’s blood burn. Still, there was nothing to be gained by storming into the ambassador’s tent in a blind rage.
He stared at the swimming turtle and then farther ahead at the gently sloping riverbank. With a firm nod to himself, Sithas teetered across the pitching deck to where the soldiers still knelt, bailing out water with their helmets. He told them to hold fast when the barge reached the shore and to be prepared for a surprise. When Sithas informed the ferry master of his idea, that tired, storm-lashed fellow grinned.
“We’ll do it, sire!” he said and put his trumpet to his lips. On his first attempt, instead of a blaring call, water spurted out. Cursing, he rapped the trumpet’s bell on the bulwark and tried again. The command note cut through the noise of the storm. The turtle swung right, pulling the barge to one side of the pier ahead. The trumpet sounded again, and the turtle raised its great green head. Its dull orange eyes blinked rapidly, to keep the rain out.
There were a half-dozen caped figures on the dock, waiting. Sithas assumed they were the Ergothian ambassador’s unfortunate guards, ordered to wait in the rain should the elves deign to show up. When the barge turned aside, they filed off the dock and tried to get in front of the approaching ferry. The turtle’s belly scraped in the mud, and its shell humped out of the water a full twenty feet high. The humans scattered before the awesome onslaught of the turtle. The elf warriors on deck let out a cheer.
The ferry master blew a long rattling passage on his horn, and the turtle dug its massive flippers into the riverside mud. The bank was wide and the angle shallow, so the great beast had no problem heaving itself out of the water. The driving rain rapidly cleansed it of clinging mud, and the turtle crawled up the slope.
The bow of the barge hit bottom, and everyone on board was thrown to the deck. The ferry master bounced to his feet and repeated the surging trumpet signal. All four of the turtle’s flippers were out of the water now, and it continued up the hill. As Sithas got to his feet, he resisted an urge to laugh triumphantly. He looked down at the human guards, who were running from the sight of the turtle.
“Stand fast!” he shouted decisively. “I am Prince Sithas of the Silvanesti! I have come to greet your ambassador!” Some of the gray-caped figures halted. Others continued to run. One human, who wore an officer’s plume on his tall, conical helmet, tentatively approached the beached barge.
“I am Endrac, commander of the ambassador’s escort. The ambassador has retired for the night,” he shouted up at Sithas.
“Then go and wake him! The storm may last another day, so this is your master’s best chance to reach the city without suffering an avoidable, but major delay.”
Endrac threw up his hands and proceeded up the hill. He was not much faster than the turtle, weighed down as he was by armor. The giant turtle ground its way up, inexorable, dragging the barge behind it. The warriors were plainly impressed by the feat, for the barge obviously weighed many tons.
Torches blossomed on the top of the hill, all around the elaborate tent of the Ergothian ambassador. Sithas was gratified to see all the frantic activity. He turned to the ferry master and told him to urge the beast along. The elf put the tru
mpet to his lips once more and sounded the call.
They were quite a sight, rumbling up the hill. The turtle’s flippers, each larger than four elves, dug into the soft ground and threw back gouts of mud against the hull of the barge. The chains that shackled the beast to the boat rattled and clanked rhythmically. The giant grunted deep in its chest as the effort began to tell on it.
The ground flattened out, so the ferry master signaled for the turtle to slow down. The barge tilted forward on its flat bottom, jarring the elven warriors. They laughed and good-naturedly urged the ferry master to speed up again.
The ambassador’s tent was only a few yards away now. A cordon of human soldiers formed around it, capes flapping in the wind. They stood at attention, spears against their shoulders. The turtle loomed over them. Endrac appeared.
“You there, Endrac!” Sithas shouted. “You’d best disperse your fighters. Our turtle hasn’t eaten lately, and if you provoke him, he might eat your men.”
Endrac complied, and his soldiers moved with grateful speed out of the turtle’s way.
“There now, ferry master, you’d better rein him in,” cried Sithas. A quick blast on the trumpet, and the turtle grunted to a stop.
A human in civilian dress appeared at the door of the tent. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.
“I am Sithas, son of Sithel, Speaker of the Stars. Your ambassador sent word he wished to be met. I have come. It will be a grave insult if the ambassador does not see me.”
The human drew his cape around himself in a quick, angry motion. “A thousand pardons, noble prince,” he said, vexed. “Wait but a moment. I will speak to the ambassador.”
The human went inside the tent.
Sithas put one foot on the port set of chains that ran from the ferry to the halter encircling the turtle’s shell. The links were as thick as the prince’s wrist. No one but an elf could have walked the fifteen feet along the swaying length of chain in the rain, but Sithas did it easily. Once he reached the turtle’s back, he was able to move briskly over the shell to the beast’s head. The turtle, placid as all his kind were, paid no mind as the elf prince stepped gingerly on its head.