“You’re too late,” Mathi lied. “He already knows.”
For the first time since meeting the kender, Mathi had the pleasure of seeing Rufe be genuinely surprised.
“He knows? And he still lets you ride with him? I thought he would tear the points from your ears for deceiving him.”
“General Balif is an unusual fellow,” Mathi said. “After all, he’s working for your people now.”
That the kender could not deny. He nodded sagely as though he believed her. He was about to leave when Treskan joined them. Keeping an eye on Lofotan and the general, he asked Rufe if he had penetrated the human camp yet.
“A few times.”
There’s a certain item he had, the scribe said carefully. It was taken from him while he was held in the humans’ camp. He wanted it back.
“What?” the kender wanted to know. Treskan described the talisman in some detail.
“Oh yeah, I remember that dingus. What’s so important about it?”
“I want it. It’s mine. Get it back as soon as possible, and I will give you-” Treskan stopped, stumped. What could he offer someone who was proud to own nothing but could get virtually anything his heart desired?
Mathi came to the rescue. She said, “What do you want, Rufe?”
“Pancakes.”
Used as she was to Rufe’s obscure reasoning, Mathi had to ask again. The answer was the same.
“Pancakes, with green berry syrup, butter, and cheese.”
“All right,” said Mathi slowly. “Treskan will make you pancakes.”
“I will?”
“I want to be paid in advance,” Rufe insisted. “Going in that camp is risky.”
The elves had flour in their supplies and maybe syrup, but Silvanesti did not eat dairy products as humans and kender did. Finding cheese and butter might be hard. Once again Mathi wished Artyrith were still there. He undoubtedly could produce pancakes from a glutton’s dream.
She explained their culinary dilemma. Rufe relented. “Have ’em by tonight,” he said.
Rufe wandered off in his aimless way, shrugging his shoulders now and then as if arguing with himself then agreeing to what he had said. Mathi and Treskan tethered the horses. Lofotan had ordered him to stand guard over them, but he had other things to do, such as finding ingredients for pancakes. Mathi suggested that he inquire with the Longwalker or the other kender. If anyone had butter and cheese in the wilderness, they would.
It was dark by the time he found all the ingredients. When the time came to cook Rufe’s bribe, there was no one around. He found Mathi seated under a lofty beech tree, dozing. He woke her quietly. She reacted by seizing his hand so swiftly, Treskan barely saw her move. She opened one eye.
“What is going on?” she said in a hushed tone.
“Nothing. I found what I need for Rufe’s pancakes, but everyone seems to be gone.”
All day the woods had seen a constant though erratic procession of kender passing back and forth. Mathi, exhausted by her long ride and their escape from the nomads’ camp, learned to ignore the restless wanderfolk as she would the pounding surf or raucous street noises. Once she was awake, the absence of kender and the silence was startling-and a bit ominous.
Releasing Treskan, she rolled to her feet. Mathi sniffed the wind. She smelled smoke. Wandering forward, she used her nose to track the aroma. The forest, so comforting by daylight, took on a strange atmosphere by night. The massive tree trunks and heavy canopy of leaves overhead made the forest floor prematurely dark. No stars or moons shone through the roof of green. When night fell, it fell hard.
She followed an erratic course in and out among the trees, turning this way and that, grasping the invisible lifeline of smoke. Treskan trailed her, puzzled but unquestioning. Mathi decided the odor was coming from a number of small twig fires, not a great pyre like what the nomads used. Treskan pointed out a glimmer of light among the trees ahead. The odor of burning grew stronger as they tracked to the light. Soon they heard the drone of voices and the snap of burning twigs.
A hollow between two rows of oaks was filled with seated kender. In the center of the smooth, shallow trench, a fire blazed. Seated around it were the Longwalker, Balif, and Lofotan.
Treskan opened his mouth to hail them, but Mathi stopped him. Something was happening, something unusual. The kender were all sitting still, facing the Longwalker and his guests. And they were listening. Mathi had never seen kender sit and listen to anyone before.
“And so Silvanos, called the Golden-Eyed, became Speaker of the Stars and Father of all his Country,” Balif was saying. “Our elder race has grown wise and strong during his reign and will grow wiser and stronger still.”
“Do all the elder folk bend a knee to the Golden-Eyed?” asked the Longwalker.
From where she stood, Mathi could swear Balif’s eyes twinkled. “All with wisdom do. No chief is loved by all.”
“True enough,” said the kender. He glanced over both shoulders at the crowd behind him. “This lot don’t love me. They don’t even like me very much.”
“Sure we do!” piped a voice from the darkness. “As long as you give us drink!”
There was much laughter. Mathi saw Balif had passed around the supply of the nectar that Artyrith had acquired in Free Winds. Kender drank from everything from cups made of rolled tree bark to battered gold goblets liberated, no doubt, from people they met on their travels.
“But what about you, Serius Bagfull? How did you become Longwalker of your people?” Balif asked. He held out a simple, clay cup for Lofotan to fill from a nearly empty skin of nectar.
“I was named such by the Eye.”
“Eye?”
The kender nodded. Fire highlighted his long nose and prominent cheekbones. “As I entered this world, the Eye spoke to me and said I would be the Longwalker of my people.”
“I don’t understand,” said Balif.
“Tell the story!” someone called. Others echoed the cry, but some of the kender objected just as loudly. Serius Bagfull, Longwalker of the wanderfolk, looked embarrassed.
“It is not a tale we tell to those not like us,” he admitted. “But the honorable general has agreed to aid us, so can we not repay him by sharing the story?”
Another mixed chorus of yeas and nays filled the clearing. The Longwalker held up his hands for quiet and received it.
“Sometimes I must act like a chief,” he said apologetically. “If you all do not mind!”
Only crickets sang in the woods. Treskan went down on one knee, opening the case of his writing board with one hand. Hand poised, he prepared to record everything the kender said.
“Time was and time is, as old ones say. Time was there were no wanderfolk in this land but in a place far gone, as far away as the opposite side of a circle. There were lots of us there, lots and lots-too many in fact, and no one had room enough to wander without bumping into another coming from another place. It was a bad time, and the people made trouble for each other out of spite and boredom. They stole-”
“Found!”
“Borrowed!”
The Longwalker cleared his throat. “They hurt each other, even killed one another. The People cried out to our makers for help, but the gods were not listening to our pleas. To get their attention, an especially clever girl named Fina decided to make a lodestone so large, it would pull the gods down from the sky. Then they would have to listen to our pleas.”
Treskan squinted in the poor light, scribbling it all down. He muttered to Mathi that kender as a race were obsessed with natural magnets. Some of them went on quests for decades, collecting every bit of lodestone they could find, filch, or finagle. Outsiders assumed kender had some daffy purpose for collecting magnets. For the first time, the origin of their obsession was revealed.
“Fina convinced her kinfolk to scour the countryside for lodestone. She collected enough to fill forty barrels. She and her cousin Rufus hauled them to the top of Mount Aereera, which was the highest peak in the l
and. They built a great pile of lodestone, and sure enough, after a day or so, clouds began to gather over the mountain. Lightning came down and struck the mountain all around them, turning the rocks to lodestone as well. The pull became so strong, nothing could resist it.”
“And the gods came down?” said Lofotan. He sounded a bit drunk and quite insolent. The Longwalker did not seem to mind.
“Not the gods. The Eye.”
All through the crowd of kender the word Eye was repeated with great reverence. Hearing the chant made the hair on Mathi’s neck prickle.
“What is the Eye?” Balif asked.
“The handiwork of the Makers,” the Longwalker replied. “A great oval stone in the sky, faceted like cave crystal, and the color of smoke.”
Treskan dropped his stylus. Mathi stooped to retrieve it for him.
“The Eye came down to the lodestone mountain. Though it was not bright, it burned the sky as it came. It drove Fina and Rufus off Aereera. They ran and behind them the slopes of the mountain ran like water. Great crowds of the People stood waiting for the two to return. When they saw the Eye descend, they fled for safety, but no place was safe. Houses burned, forests went up like kindling, and stone mountains melted like lead in a crucible. Fina herself was burned to ashes, but Rufus escaped.”
“How?”
“While running through the valley of Nepsas, below Mount Aereera, he saw a wide cleft in the rocks. He crawled in. There was a deep passage through the ground there, and many hundreds of the People followed him to escape the wrath of the Eye.
“The Eye pressed against the doors of the cleft, but the stone was so hard, it could not melt it. It tried so hard and so long that it wore out its anger at having been pulled down from the sky. The unseen fire faded away, leaving a cool and calmer Eye hovering over the mouth of the cave.
“‘Since you seek the world’s protection, go forth and find it,’ said the Eye. The crack in the ground deepened. Rufus and the People in the cleft went down and down, then up and up. It took so long for them to find the up from the down that babies were born along the way, and the babies of babies. I, myself, was born in the cleft. I have the mark of it, see?”
The Longwalker parted the seams of his dusty robe, revealing a large, angular scar on his chest. It could have been made by anything, and the kender chief did not elaborate on how he got it.
“One day while we were climbing up, the Eye spoke through the hollow core of the world and said, ‘You have taken a long walk, my children. Let the first one out into the new day lead you into the light.’
“I was the first of the People to see the sky of today. I am the Longwalker. I led the people out of the down and into the up.” He paused as if finished.
Balif was listening raptly, a fist pressed against his lips. “This happened in your lifetime? How long ago?” he murmured.
Serius tugged a tuft of weathered hair. “When this was long and glossy.” Kender didn’t observe calendars. Assuming the Longwalker was a spry age for a kender-seventy-five or eighty-it sounded as if the wanderfolk had arrived in the past forty years or so.
“We were not the same folk when we came out of the up as when we went into the down,” the Longwalker continued. “The people of the land around the circle were bigger and less handsome-not as big as you elder folk, I guess.”
“Who else would your ancestors be?” Lofotan said. “Not humans!”
Treskan said a single word. Mathi did not understand it, and she repeated it more loudly than the scribe intended. “Gnomes? What are gnomes?” she said. “The parent race of the wanderfolk?” Balif said thoughtfully
“Maybe. Don’t know.” The Longwalker sat down. “The stories say we were bigger, and passing through the down made us better sized.”
Treskan wrote wildly. His stylus flew across the sheet, leaving a slanting trail of ink scratches that Mathi could not fathom. He seemed awfully excited about hearing a silly traveler’s tale.
“So we have come to this land in search of breath and space. It’s a good land. We’ll stay.” Smiling, the kender chief qualified his last statement by saying, “With the help of our friend the famous general.”
“Is that story true?” demanded Lofotan.
Serius Bagfull grinned. “How could it be?”
With that, Treskan snapped his stylus in two. He stared helplessly at the broken instrument. How would he write his chronicle?
“Hey, boss.”
Rufe appeared like a mirage beside him. Treskan lost his composure. After frantically recording the entire fantastic story related by the Longwalker, only to hear it pronounced untrue, he had broken his last writing instrument. He cursed loudly, but less elegantly than the departed Artyrith.
“Easy, boss.”
“What are you playing at?”
“Found your whatsit,” Rufe said.
“Wonderful! Where is it?”
“Not here. In the nomad camp where I saw it.”
Anger rose and fell on the scribe’s face like a fever. He resisted an urge to take Rufe by the throat and shake him. “How do I get it back?” he asked slowly.
“Come with me. I’ll get it for you. You come too,” he said to Mathi.
“Me?” said Mathi. “You don’t need me. It’s not my trinket.”
“He’s clumsy and blind in the dark. You see like a cat. You come, or I don’t go,” Rufe said flatly.
Mathi looked to Balif, seated comfortably between the Longwalker and Lofotan. To be polite, it was Balif’s turn to tell a story, so he had launched into the tale of Karada, the woman who led the nomads out of fear and obscurity to their current state of power. The general was a fine storyteller. No one would willingly leave that spot for some time.
Treskan sadly pocketed the pieces of his writing instrument. He begged Mathi to accompany them.
It was a fool’s errand and a good way to get killed. Still, she had made a pact with Treskan, and he had kept his part faithfully. Perhaps she could leave word for her brethren along the way. They had to know about Balif’s unfolding curse.
“Lead on,” she told Rufe.
Treskan embraced her, and he was dissuaded from kissing her only by threat of violence.
CHAPTER 14
Treasures
Together Mathi and Treskan got their horses from the picket. Mathi prepared to saddle hers, but Rufe insisted they not take the time. A rough blanket and a rawhide halter would do, he said. The kender sat in front of her, and together the trio trotted off into the twilight. On the way Rufe explained his plan to get the talisman back. Upon hearing it Mathi hauled back on the reins and stopped.
“That’s the maddest thing I ever heard!”
“Oh, I’ve heard plenty of madder things,” Rufe replied cheerfully. “Trust me, boss. I know how this goes. Do it my way and all will be well.” Treskan was speechless with astonishment.
I must be mad to even contemplate this, Mathi thought. Putting my fate in the hands of this kender, this criminal gang of one … when that phrase came to mind, she brightened. Rufe was a gang of one. He had reduced the garrison of Free Winds to impotence all by himself. Maybe there was some crazy logic to his scheme after all.
They rode many miles under cloud-swept skies, galloping then walking, galloping then walking. After three repetitions of that pattern, Rufe grabbed the reins from Mathi.
“Now we walk, quiet as can be,” he whispered.
They had left the woods long before, dashing across the windy, open grassland northeast of the forest. It was a high, flat plateau, higher than the Tanjan valley or the old forest. The glow of many campfires dotted the horizon. Rufe, Treskan, and Mathi got down and started for the distant nomad camp, leading their ponies by their halters.
Though he had called for quiet, Rufe chattered on about humans and elves, ways to confound either, and what worked with one group but not the other. Humans, he said, were always fooled by boldness. If they thought it was impossible to walk out of a gate unseen, then the way to confound the
m was to walk out that very gate. He had walked in and out of the nomad camp unmolested simply by skipping along and singing off key. The nomads who saw him took him for a human child and did not bother him.
Elves, on the other hand, readily succumbed to subtlety. With their greater senses, they believed they could not be surprised by stealth, so Rufe always resorted to stealth to deceive elves. At Free Winds Rufe came and went from the fortress at will by clinging to the backs of the guards, often hidden under their cloaks. By such simple methods, he reduced Dolanath to hysteria and had his run of the place.
Mathi listened with half an ear. The rest of her was alive to her surroundings. She was no scout trained to creep up on hostile camps, so she relied on her native skills long buried beneath a shell of elflike flesh. The shell was slowly eroding, and the night took on new dimensions as she walked. Sounds and smells were stronger than ever. Subtle changes in cloud colors meant things to her she had forgotten. Every step, every breath, every beat of her heart held meaning. Mathi had lost those sensations, but they were creeping back. She wondered if they would bring her to life or reduce her to madness.
Listening to the kender’s lecture, Treskan asked, “Have you always been a thief?”
“Thief?” Rufe stopped dead. “I beg your pardon! I’m no thief, no sir, not me!”
“Shh, please! Lower your voice!”
“I won’t be called a thief by anyone!” said Rufe shrilly.
“All right! I apologize! Now lower your voice before the nomads hear us!”
Rufe stamped his small foot. “Thieves take things for their own gain. They make their living stealing the property of others. I’ve never done that, no sir, not ever! Anyone who says I have done so had better be prepared to deal with Rufus Reindeer Racket Wrinklecap!”
“You do know an awful lot about how to deceive gullible people,” Mathi said, trying to divert the little man’s ire.
“That’s different,” he returned proudly. “A lone traveler like me wouldn’t last a week in the wide world unless I took advantage of the quirks of my fellow creatures.”
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