The Qualinesti

by Paul B. Thompson

  His warning came too late. Verhanna had been distracted by the first goblin and had turned her back on the other. The second creature, who wore the human skull on its pointed head, dropped its mace in favor of using its teeth and claws. Grabbing her with its taloned hands, he yanked the captain off her horse.

  Rufus drew his knife and half fell from his mount. The goblin sank its fangs into Verhanna’s shoulder. She yelled loudly enough to rattle the leaves on the trees, and together she and the goblin toppled to the ground. The creature wrapped its arms and legs around her, entwining its rubbery black toes together. As Verhanna tried to pry it off, they rolled over and over in the leaves, locked in deadly embrace.

  When the goblin presented its back to him, Rufus rammed his iron blade into its body – once, twice, thrice. The ferocious creature howled and let go of Verhanna. It turned on the little kender, murder in its bulging red eyes. Rufus held out his short blade and looked startled. How would it feel to be torn to bits by a filthy, heat-crazed goblin?

  Wounded but not out of the fight, the captain flung herself at her sword where it lay in the dead leaves. As the wounded goblin gathered itself to leap on the kender, Verhanna beheaded it with one two-handed blow. Then the blade fell from her hands and she collapsed.

  Just then the goblin that Rufus had knocked out with a pellet stirred noisily in the leaves. The kender quickly dispatched it by cutting its throat, then rushed to Verhanna.

  “Captain, can you hear me?” he shouted.

  “Of course I can hear you, Wart,” she muttered. “I’m not deaf.”

  Indignation spread over the kender’s mobile face. “I thought you were dead!”

  “Not yet. Help me up.”

  Rufus pulled on her arm until Verhanna was able to sit up. Aside from the bite wound on her right shoulder and a few cuts and bruises, she didn’t seem to be seriously injured.

  “Where’s the woman and her baby?” she asked, pushing her tumbled brown hair out of her eyes. Rufus looked toward his horse; there was no sign of the woman. In the confusion of battle, she must have fled. He didn’t blame her. For a moment, it had looked like the goblins were going to get the best of them.

  “She skedaddled,” he reported, wiping the noxious goblin blood from his knife blade. “No sign of her or the baby.”

  “That’s gratitude for you,” grumbled Verhanna, wobbling to her knees. “Ugh! These goblins are the filthiest creatures I know.”

  Studying her shoulder dispassionately, the kender said, “Your wounds should be washed, but we haven’t any water.”

  “Never mind. We’ll be at the Astradine soon.”

  The captain put a hand on her scout’s shoulder and heaved herself to her feet. The two of them remounted their horses, and Verhanna took one last look at the bloody scene before they moved on.

  Her shoulder burned as if a glowing coal had been set under the skin. Verhanna held her reins limply in her left hand, favoring her injured side.

  “Wait a minute,” said Rufus. “This isn’t the way we came in.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He scratched his head and looked all around. There was nothing but trees and brush in all directions. “Blind me with beeswax! Which way do we go?” Shielding his eyes with his hands, the kender squinted into the hazy sky. The immobile sun gave no clue which direction they should take.

  “Can’t you find the trail?” Verhanna asked hoarsely. “That’s what I pay you for, to be a scout.”

  Rufus leapt to the ground. He sniffed the dead leaves and dry moss. He turned his head, straining for any sound. Finally, in desperation, he shouted, “Ho, Kivinellfis! Can you hear me? Where are you?” In spite of repeated calls, there was no answer. At last the kender turned to Verhanna and shrugged helplessly.

  “Wart,” she said weakly, “you’re fired.”

  Verhanna’s eyes rolled up until only the white showed. Without another sound, she toppled from her saddle and landed squarely on the kender.

  Mashed flat on his back, with only his head showing under the prostrate warrior maiden, Rufus groaned loudly. “Ow! Feels like a bear fell on me!”

  There was no response from his captain. Finally he managed to haul himself out from under her and rolled her over. Verhanna was still breathing, but her face was deathly pale and her skin blazed hotter than the calm, radiant air.

  *

  Rufus set to work. He hadn’t lived so long by his own wits without learning a thing or two about sickness. His captain had been poisoned by the filthy goblin’s fangs, and unless he could cool her off, the raging fever would be the death of her.

  Among their camp gear was a short-handled spade. The kender used it to rake away the layers of leaves that covered the forest floor. Within seconds, he was down to black soil. Below the dry top layer, he knew the earth would be moist and cool. Disregarding his parched throat and sweat-stung eyes, Rufus dug a shallow hole six feet long, two feet wide, and eight inches deep. It was hard going. The forest soil was a tangle of roots, rocks, and chunks of decayed wood. The captain was his friend though, and Rufus intended to do everything he could to save her. An hour after she’d fallen from her horse, the hole was ready for her.

  Dropping his shovel, the kender dragged the much larger half-elf woman to the shallow pit and rolled her in so she lay on her back. Collapsing over her unmoving form, he panted and puffed with the exertion. This was hard work, especially since it was like toiling in a blast furnace. Not, of course, that Rufus had ever toiled in a blast furnace...

  After a bit, he set about heaping damp dirt around her and scattering leaves on top of her. Her face he left uncovered. Steam rose from the ground, drawn out either by the hot, dry air or Verhanna’s fever. Finished at last, Rufus sat down near his captain’s head and waited.

  He prayed to the Blue Lady to heal Verhanna; to be fair, he also addressed the goddess of healing by her Qualinesti name, Quen. Perhaps if he prayed to both her incarnations, she would be more likely to heal his captain.

  Verhanna shifted restlessly under her covering of leaves and moist soil. The kender patted her forehead distractedly and pondered his situation. If Verhanna died, should he return to Qualinost with the news, or go on with the hunt for the Kagonesti slavers? And if she lived, how could they go on? How could anyone find his way cross-country without the sun or moons or stars to guide him?

  The kender chewed his lip while his mind raced. Briefly he wished that he was back in the Magnet Mountains. At least there he knew his way around. Of course, life there hadn’t been nearly so exciting. Since meeting his captain, he had fought slave-traders and goblins, met the Speaker of the Sun, and had a chance to investigate the city of Qualinost. Unbidden, his hands explored the multitudinous pockets of his tunic and vest for all the trinkets he’d collected. Instead of rings or beads or writing styluses, Rufus’s nimble fingers brought out a walnut-sized piece of lodestone. Surprise lifted his eyebrows. He’d forgotten he had that.

  Something about lodestones made his nose itch. Rufus scratched. No, that wasn’t it. Something about lodestones made his brain itch. Yes, there was something important about the little rock. Lodestones, mountains, and mines. What about mines? He’d once sold some stones to a band of dwarf miners. In Thorbardin, the dwarves had mines that ran for miles under the ground, where the tunnels and shafts and galleries were quite confusing. How did they navigate? They never saw the sun or stars down there.

  Now the kender’s ear itched. He swiped at it with one hand; then both ears started itching. It grew unbearable.

  Grabbing the wide brim of his blue hat, Rufus yanked it from his head. Two ravelings from the sewn headband were hanging down and tickling his ears. He started to break off the annoying threads.

  Threads!

  In an instant, he remembered what he’d been trying to remember about lodestones. A dwarf had told him once, “To find your direction underground, hang a sliver of lodestone from a thread. It will always point north and south.” Rufus had scoffed at the dwarf’s ta
le. After all, how could a dumb piece of rock know directions?

  Verhanna moaned loudly, interrupting the kender’s darting thoughts. Recalling again what he had finally remembered before about the lodestone, Rufus brought out his knife and whittled the small stone, trying to get it long and narrow, like a pointer should be. His blade grew dull and several fresh nicks appeared, but before long, he had the stone roughly spindle-shaped.

  Carefully he pulled a long raveling from his hatband. The woolen strand was about six inches long. He tied it around the center of the stone and let the black rock dangle from his fingers. The whittled stone turned round and round, then gradually slowed and stopped.

  The kender realized he didn’t know which way was north and which was south. And he wasn’t entirely certain he could trust such a silly trick.

  “What choice have you got?” Rufus asked himself aloud. None, he answered himself silently.

  He tied Verhanna’s horse’s reins to his saddle. Then he set about uncovering his captain. She was noticeably cooler, thanks to his treatment, but still gravely ill. He had a dragon’s own time getting the unconscious woman out of the hole. Grunting with effort, he braced her up in a sitting position on the ground.

  Verhanna’s fever-fogged eyes opened. “Wart,” she muttered. “I thought I fired you.”

  “You haven’t paid me yet, my captain. I can’t leave till I get my gold!”

  With much wobbling, Verhanna rose to her feet. Rufus boosted her into her saddle, his head and both hands pushing on her backside. In another time and place, it might have been a comical scene, but now Verhanna’s life was literally hanging by a thread – a woolen thread from a kender’s hat.

  The warrior maid drooped over her horse’s neck. Leaving her mount tied to his saddle, Rufus took his horse’s reins in hand and began to lead them out. The track they’d been on with the carts lay to the north, so he chose a direction and hoped it was right. His eyes were glued to the sliver of lodestone he held in his other hand. He walked and walked and walked. So intent was he on keeping to his course that it was some time before he noticed it was getting harder and harder to see.

  “Just my luck!” the kender exclaimed. “I’m going blind!”

  But Rufus was not going blind. The sun, so long fixed overhead, was finally moving. Already it was low in the sky off to his left, sinking through the trees and confirming his route as northerly. Never unhappy for very long, the kender found himself feeling rather satisfied. He had chosen the right path. His lodestone pointer worked.

  A few minutes later, he came to the track through the forest they’d left earlier. Rufus danced with joy. He was the best scout in the whole world! He climbed onto his mount and thumped his heels cheerily against its sides, turning its face toward the setting sun.

  There was no sign of the two carts or the former slaves, but Rufus was immensely relieved to be on the path again.

  Crickets and birds, silent during the three days of noon, sang again as shadows lengthened on the trail. Rufus stopped now and then to see how his captain was doing. Her breathing was shallow and quick, and her face was too warm again. That was bad. How he wished he was in Balifor, where he knew several healing shamans! There was one on Peacock Street who had —

  Water. The kender’s button nose twitched. He smelled water. In a few seconds, the horses detected it, too. The tired, parched animals shambled faster, eager for a refreshing drink. Agreeing with them completely, Rufus let them have their heads.

  The trees thinned and finally disappeared. In the last of the daylight, the kender saw that a wide bed of mud lay before him. The horses walked laboriously across the mud, pulling their hooves free with loud sucking noises. Evidently the river had shrunk during the long heat wave. Rufus wondered if there was any water left. If so, he couldn’t see it. A thick scroll of fog shrouded the center of the river.

  As they entered the fog, Rufus heard a splashing sound. He looked down. The horses had found the water. They waded in up to their bellies. Rufus leaned over and drank some of the sweet liquid from his cupped hand. Then he stood in his saddle and clambered over to Verhanna’s mount.

  Her hands and feet trailed in the cool stream. Standing with one foot in her stirrup, the kender scooped up a hatful of water and held it to her lips. Only partly conscious, she drank.

  Sounds from the opposite shore caught Rufus’s attention – voices, axles creaking, horses whinnying, Incapable of ignoring something that sounded so interesting, Rufus slipped into the water and swam quietly toward the noises.

  As the kender rose out of the river, his soaked topknot fell across his face. He pushed it aside. Only his head showed above water, and the fog hung close around him. When he felt the oozy bottom under his toes, he walked slowly to shore.

  The figures in the fog resolved themselves into tall people, elves or humans, who were trying to push a heavily loaded wagon out of the mud. They had foolishly steered the conveyance too close to the water’s edge, and now it was held fast by the thick muck. As far as Rufus could see by the light of their torches, they were unarmed. Mostly they were muddy, and from the sounds they were making, disgusted with their plight.

  He decided they must be immigrants bound for Qualinesti. Perhaps there would be a healer among them. He’d have to go back and get his captain.

  When he returned to his horses, he remounted and started for the far shore, toward the immigrants. The very center of the stream was too deep for the animals to walk, but the Thoradin-bred chargers swam the short distance easily. Kender, horses, and the unconscious warrior maiden splashed ashore.

  “Hullo there! Rufus! Rufus Wrinklecap!” called a high voice. The startled kender saw a small fellow break away from the others.

  “Kivinellis? Is that you?” The elf boy yelped with delight and waved Verhanna’s dagger over his head. The other elves froze in their tracks.

  Rufus clapped the boy on the back, saying, “Good to see you! My captain’s wounded. We had a fight with some goblins, then got lost in the woods.”

  He peered over the boy’s head at the people beside the wagon. None of them looked familiar.

  “Where’re Diviros and the women?” he asked quickly. “Who are these folk?” The Kagonesti at the wagon broke ranks and came toward him.

  “Oh, these are my friends,” said Kivinellis. “When you and the warrior lady rode off, Diviros got his legs untied and jumped down from the cart. I chased him, but he ran into the woods and I was afraid to follow. Me and the womenfolk came to the river ‘cause you didn’t come back.”

  The Kagonesti settlers were close now, so Rufus hailed them. “Hello! My captain is sick with a goblin’s bite. Is there a healer among you?”

  One Kagonesti male, his face painted with a host of black and white dots, turned away from the kender and called over his shoulder, “They have come, just as you said!”

  Puzzled, Rufus said to Kivinellis, “Who’s he talking to?” The fair-haired elf boy merely shrugged.

  A soft yet penetrating voice pierced the night. “Bring the woman to me.”

  A male voice, Rufus decided. A little farther up the riverbank.

  Two sinewy Kagonesti lifted Verhanna from her horse and carried her ashore. Rufus and Kivinellis followed, and the boy explained that his female companions had gone on to Qualinost with another group of wagons. He had decided to wait at the river ford for a while to see if Verhanna and the kender turned up.

  “Where are they taking my captain?” asked Rufus, loud enough for the elves to hear.

  His answer came striding out of the dark. A head taller than the Kagonesti, the newcomer was also an elf, though fairer in complexion. His face wasn’t painted. Yellow hair hung loose around his wide shoulders. A rough horsehair blanket, with a hole cut in the center for his head, covered his chest and arms. His legs were sheathed in leather trews.

  He stopped where the grassy shore met the mud flats. “I can help you,” said the stranger. His words were softly spoken, yet carried easily to Rufus.r />
  “Are you a healer?” asked Rufus.

  “I can help you,” he repeated.

  The tall, yellow-haired elf went to the Kagonesti and took Verhanna from their arms. He carried the strapping warrior woman effortlessly, but with great gentleness. He turned and started away from the river.

  “Where are you going?” called the kender. He pushed between the Kagonesti and splashed through the mud till he was dogging the tall elf’s heels. Kivinellis remained with the Kagonesti, conversing with the wild elves. Where a line of locust trees bordered the grassy bank, the stranger lowered Verhanna to the ground.

  “A goblin bit her,” Rufus said, panting. “The wound’s poisoned.”

  The stranger’s long fingers probed Verhanna’s shoulder. She gasped when he touched the wound itself. Sitting back on his haunches, the tall elf regarded her with rapt attention.

  “What’re you waiting for? Make a poultice. Work a spell!” The kender wondered if this fellow was really a healer.

  The stranger held up a hand to quell the impatient Rufus. By the light of Krynn’s stars and two bright moons, the kender could see that his fingers were dark, as if stained with dye. Rufus’s penetrating vision could just make out that the stain was green.

  Green. Green fingers. In a flash, Rufus remembered Diviros’s queer tale of the lightning splitting the oak and a fully grown elf falling from the broken tree – a fully grown elf whose hands were green.

  “It’s you!” the kender exclaimed. “The one from the shattered tree! Greenhands!”

  “I have been waiting for you,” said Greenhands. “Through days of red rain and endless sun.”

  He bent down and slipped his arms around Verhanna. Taking her limp form into his embrace, Greenhands closed his right hand over the ugly, swollen wound on her shoulder. Rufus could see the muscles in the tall elf’s neck tighten as he drew Verhanna closer to him, as if he were embracing a lover.

  “What’re you —?”

  She groaned once, then cried out in torment as the stranger dug his odd, grass-colored fingers into her wound. Verhanna’s eyes flew wide. She stared over the strange elf’s shoulder at Rufus. What was in her eyes? Terror? Wonder? The kender couldn’t tell. She uttered a long, tearing wail, and Greenhands suddenly joined his voice with hers. The combined scream hammered painfully at the listeners, wrenching their hearts as it agonized their ears.