Kagonesti lh-1

by Douglas Niles

  Shaking free of the enclosing boulders, the ogre climbed out of the narrow cave entrance, stabbing its sword at the dodging, dancing elf. Kagonos chopped, bashing away the thrusts of the off-balance ogre, while the beast limped on the weakened knee, fury undiminished.

  Once on the open ground of the hilltop, the ogre stood tall, seizing the hilt of the sword in both its mighty hands. Kagonos realized with a jolt of surprise that he had never seen such a huge specimen of the brutal warriors-the monster loomed half again as high as the elf, and the

  Eiderwild's arms could not have come close to encircling the girth of the mighty beast's muscular shoulders.

  The ogre, too, seemed to sense its immense physical advantage. The thick lips curled upward in a cruel sneer, while the yellow tusks gleamed-as if anticipating the taste of its victim's blood. With a grunting curse, the brute raised the sword over its head, bringing the weapon down in a crashing blow.

  Feinting to the right and then rolling left, Kagonos saw a boulder crushed to gravel as the monstrous blade smashed into the ground to the elf's side. Bouncing to his reet, the Pathfinder slashed at the ogre's unprotected rlank. The monster spun with surprising agility, however, and Kagonos tumbled backward, barely avoiding a wicked sideways slash as he landed heavily on the rocks.

  The ogre lunged closer as Kagonos frantically rolled to the side again, then reversed his evasion as the monster once more chopped savagely in the direction of the elf's feint. The diversion gave him enough time to leap to his feet, though the wild elf was again forced to dance sideways to avoid the brute's pressing attack.

  For a moment, the two combatants circled each other. Countless savage melees raged around the hilltop as individual ogres and elves remained locked in mortal combat, while the cries of wounded ogres and the clash of steel against bronze rang through the air. Kagonos knew that none of his tribesmen could come to his aid. The ogre sensed this and lunged eagerly after the light-footed elf.

  Kagonos feinted left, this time following with a tip of his head to the right and then a full-fledged dive back to the left. The ogre was shrewd enough to anticipate the first fake, committing all of its force to a crushing blow against the rocks where it expected the elf to go.

  The warrior's evasion was so successful that Kagonos bounced to his feet behind the monster's right shoulder. Sensing disaster, the ogre tried to spin, but it was no match for the wild elf's speed. Kagonos hacked with the blade of his axe, chopping into the monster's neck. With groan, it stumbled to one knee, struggling to rise as blood spilled down its chest in a growing apron of gore.

  The Pathfinder chopped again, reversing his weapon to drive the spike of his axe head into the base of the ogre's skull. The monster stiffened soundlessly, twisting away from the blow to sprawl, dead, on the rocks of the hilltop.

  Kagonos didn't waste time looking around the perimeter, where he could hear that numerous individual battles still raged. Instead he all but dove through the mouth of the unconcealed cave, tripping on the loose rock in the entryway and then crouching in sudden caution. He realized belatedly that, had a second ogre been hiding in the shadowy interior, the sun-blinded elf would have been an easy kill.

  The only sounds came to him from the desperate skirmish outside. Though the cave's interior was shrouded in shadow, Kagonos trusted the sensitivity of his ears in assuming that he was alone within the darkened interior. Besides, any lurking ogre would have been shrewd enough to attack him immediately, not giving him the time to adjust to the darkness.

  Probing with his left hand and feeling cautiously along the floor with his feet, Kagonos worked his way along a shadowy passage. Elven eyesight is keen in the dark, and he quickly discerned additional details about his surroundings. Several small passages branched to either side, but all of these would have been a tight fit for even a slender ogre. The wild elf, assuming that the brutes would have spurned these tight squeezes in favor of the more spacious central corridor, continued to advance.

  Heart pounding, Kagonos darted around a corner, seeing nothing but the continuance of the winding passage. Where was the Bluestone? He scarcely dared to breathe, so intent was he on the search-and so acutely conscious of the importance of the potent artifact.

  Abruptly a flash of azure light caught his eye, and Kagonos knelt among the rubble within a narrow alcove. Desperately he clawed at the stones, pulling large rocks free with sharp tugs, excavating a steadily growing hole. The faint but noticeable illumination grew stronger, clearly blue. There was no doubt in his mind that he had found it: the thing that had made this attack necessary, and whose recovery would provide the means to win the Dragon War.

  Grunting from the strain, he pulled a large boulder out of the way, and finally the treasure lay revealed. Kagonos paused, vaguely surprised-and disappointed. He had expected to find a magnificent jewel, smooth and bright, gleaming from a multitude of facets like the gems he had seen cut and polished by the jewelers among the House Elves.

  Instead, he found himself looking at a stone of irregular shape, dirty and scuffed-an oblong rock that was nevertheless as large as his head. Though the azure illumination glowed from within the rock, the surface itself was dull, stained, and pockmarked. The Bluestone was a jagged, knobby stone that lacked the polish and glimmer of the carefully sculpted jewels used by elves and ogres for ornamentation. No jeweler had touched tool to this stone, and in places dirt and a crust of lichen tried to obscure its inner heart.

  Yet in this they could not succeed, for the Bluestone pulsed with a light that would not be quenched. Carefully, reverently, Kagonos reached down and took the stone, surprised by its unnatural warmth. The hair on his scalp prickled upward as the stone's aura seemed to crackle in the air around him.

  How many elves of his tribe had died that he might now hold this stone in his hands? He thought, with a bitter pang, of Dall, of his own inability to save his brother's life. It was a failure that would haunt him, he knew, for the rest of his years. Had it been worth the price-of Dall, and of all the other wild elves who would never descend, alive, from this bloodstained hilltop?

  Countless ogres had died, too, in the fight. Would those monstrous warriors feel as though their lives had been wasted? The Elderwild shrugged away the question, telling himself that the thoughts of his enemies were of no concern to him. Still the wonder remained, tugging at his thoughts.

  Cradling the precious artifact in his arms, Kagonos emerged from the narrow cave mouth.

  Vaguely he heard the cries of battle still ringing around the camp and realized that the ogres had been prepared to flee and leave this precious artifact behind.

  "Let them go," he said quietly, waving his hand dismis- sively toward the knot of terrified survivors. Scowling in perplexity, but not questioning their Pathfinder's command, the Elderwild warriors fell back. Like creatures of one mind, the ogres stampeded away from the cairn, scrambling over the crude wall and plunging through the deep snow.

  Kagonos held the heavy gemstone, awestruck at its reputed power. Would they get it to Silvanos in time? He didn't know how the power of the stone was invoked, but he felt certain that the stone had to be nearby when the blue dragons arrived. If such an ambush could be arranged, the artifact would imprison the souls of the dragons within the stone-and the last wing of the Dark Queen's serpents would be vanquished. But it would take the rest of the day to march down from this mountain, and another day or more to reach the elven army on the plain.

  Unless a faster means could be found.

  Instinctively the elf raised his eyes to the sky. A speck appeared, soaring closer with powerful wing strokes, and with bittersweet satisfaction Kagonos saw that the transportation of the gem, at least, would be taken care of by an emissary of Silvanos.

  The flying creature was a griffon, and the trailing golden hair of the rider clearly marked him as an elf. The great eagle wings spread into a soaring dive, while the beaked mouth of the griffon opened in a wide, shrieking cry. The animal's hindquarters, muscular and feli
ne, covered with sleek brown fur, absorbed the shock of the landing as easily as a pouncing lion's. The griffon's forelegs, feathered and taloned like the limbs of a great eagle, came lightly to rest on the rocks. The creature pranced back and forth between these avian feet, allowing its powerful hind legs to absorb most of its weight.

  Even before Kagonos saw the rider, he knew who it was. The wild elf struggled to swallow the hatred that had lingered from centuries before, though his emotions surged as strongly as if the enchanted arrow had pierced Darlantan's body only a week ago.

  "Greetings, Quithas," Kagonos said stiffly. He did not bow.

  The elven warrior, his golden hair flying in the breeze, his golden breastplate sparkling in the sun, dismounted and swept his eyes over the bloody hilltop. With loathing, the Pathfinder recognized the crossed claws of the griffon emblazoned on the gilded shield.

  "Silvanos placed his army in considerable danger, based on the word of the dragon Darlantan. I hope that you have made the risk worthwhile."

  "We did-if you can get him this gemstone before it's too late."

  "You killed many ogres, I see-somewhat surprising, given your primitive weapons and tactics," Quithas remarked, as if he hadn't heard the wild elf.

  "We regained the Bluestone-the gem that was lost by the House Elves. Now, take it to Silvanos before it is too iate."

  The timing is good," Quithas allowed, reaching out and taking the gem. He barely looked at it before tucking it into a deep saddlebag. "The blue dragons winged into sight this morning, but that silver wyrm-Darlantan- ent aloft to fight them. I should think he would be able to delay their attack until my return."

  Abruptly the golden-haired elf spun around to face Kagonos. Face flushed, Quithas dropped his eyes to the stiver axe, now cleaned, that swung at the wild elf's hip. The Pathfinder was strangely unsettled by the dramatic alteration in the House Elf's mood.

  "I see that you taunt me with my axe. One day we will not be allies, Wild Elf. Then 1 shall kill you and take it back."

  Without a backward glance the elven commander leapt again into the saddle of his proud flying steed. Sensing its master's tension, the griffon sprang upward, and the eagle wings quickly caught the wind and carried it aloft. Watching him shrink into the distance, Kagonos cursed Quithas for his arrogance, yet wished him all the speed in the world on his mission. Darlantan was powerful, but how long could he do battle with a host of blues, the immortal children of Takhisis?

  "My Pathfinder…" The voice belonged to Felltree, the young chieftain of the Black Feather tribe. Kagonos knew that he had displayed a great deal of courage in the past. Now Felltree's voice was tight, his eyes wet with unshed tears.

  Then, in a withering storm of despair, Kagonos knew why. The warrior bore a bleeding, lifeless form in his arms. The Pathfinder didn't need to look closely to recognize the body of his brother Kyrill.

  Chapter 5

  Council on the higb Plains

  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.