Kagonesti

Chapter 25

The Istarians spent four years on the building of their road. It was not an easy task. The woods were thick, the ground rough. Even worse, many workers died, pierced by black arrows released with deadly accuracy by an unseen archer in the forest-a bowman who melted into the woods, disappearing before any humans could locate him. Despite this harassment, the broad track was finally, inevitably completed.

For nine more years, caravans traveled back and forth between Istar and Silvanesti. Though Iydahoe never let one of these pass unmolested, his arrows were little more than pinpricks in the flanks of a great, all but unfeeling, behemoth.

During those years, Iydahoe perfected his skills as a hunter-of game, and of humans. The warrior labored to vanquish his fear of failure. Though he was the lone hunter of the tribe, he kept the others fed, and he taught the older youths, such as Bakall, Dallatar and Kagwallas, many things about the taking of game. Eventually the three of them did most of the hunting, allowing Iydahoe to devote his attentions toward his vengeance against Istar.

True, the Kingpriest sent companies, even full legions, on sweeps through the forest, but the village grotto was so well concealed that the humans never came close to finding it. Sometimes Iydahoe worried about the gray-robed wizard, wondering if the mage was powerful enough to find the tribe through some arcane means. A small part of the wild elf longed to see the man again, to punish him for all the hurts the elves had suffered.

He continued to ambush the caravans whenever he found them. Still, the amount of damage Iydahoe could do by himself was sorely limited, and he began to wonder whether Bakall was ready for his initiation as a true warrior. The youngster was unusually serious and intent, and seemed to be a good candidate for the tattoos of adulthood.

Indeed, all the younger Kagonesti had quickly learned the skills of the wild elves-at least, those that Iydahoe and Hawkan could teach. The older boys had been forced to act like men, the adolescent girls taking on the roles of the tribe's women-though, as yet, none of them had married. Ambra, however, showed every sign of becoming a desirable young elfmaid, and Iydahoe had noticed Bakall, Kagwallas, and Dallatar all preening and boasting for her benefit.

The combination of Iydahoe's hunting skills and Hawkan's knowledge and guidance had allowed them to build lodges and feed the twenty-two elves who made up the tribe. Iydahoe's energetic scouting, fueled by the bitter hatred that always simmered near the surface of his consciousness, ensured that any humans who dared encroach near the tribal grotto met swift and violent deterrence.

One of his earliest targets had been an Istarian arms trader on his way to Tarsis, a prize that had yielded several thousand razor-sharp steel arrowheads. The younger members of the tribe, boys and girls both, had become expert fletchers. Iydahoe himself stained the shafts with a mixture of charcoal and the snail-dye that the tribe used as ink. The black arrows had marked each of his kills during the last thirteen years.

On an afternoon in late fall, Ambra and Kagwallas were busy feathering more missiles for Iydahoe, while the warrior himself lashed the steel arrowhead onto each shaft after the younger elves had finished with it.

Dallatar, ever ready with a joke, approached. Ambra didn't see the frog in his hands until he dropped it in her lap, then laughed as she leapt to her feet and cast the animal aside.

The others laughed, too, while Ambra blushed furiously and then lunged for Dallatar-who skipped lightly out of her reach.

"Iydahoe! I have news!" Bakali jogged into the grotto, observing the antics of his tribemates with a disapproving frown. Ever serious, Bakali still scowled as he squatted beside Iydahoe and Hawkan.

"A big caravan comes," he announced breathlessly. "It has moved past the borders of Silvanesti and now has turned up the Istar road."

"How big?" wondered the warrior.

"Many hundreds of horses, and twenty great wagons." Bakali hesitated, then blundered ahead. "Warrior Iydahoe, cannot this be my time to help you in the attack?"

Iydahoe looked at his father, certain that Hawkan would say Bakali was still too young-but the shaman lqoked down at his mossy blanket, where he busily studied the shards of the Ram's Horn. The warrior knew that the decision was his.

He looked at the young elf. Bakali was lanky and tough, though he had not filled out his adult sinew. He was also quick, keen-eyed, and very patient-the most important attributes of a Kagonesti brave.

"Very well. If the shaman will mark your tattoos, you may join me in the ambush."

"I have collected more snails over this past season," Hawkan said with a nod. Iydahoe knew that the black dye used in the tattooing process was obtained from these dirt-dwelling slugs. "I have enough to mark Bakall as a warrior."

That night, the tribe gathered solemnly as the old shaman took a sharp porcupine quill and inserted bits of the black ink under Bakall's skin. He marked his chest with twin circles and his face with an oak leaf to match Iydahoe's. Bakall bore the painful procedure without complaint, and when Hawkan had finished, the young initiate raised up a steel sword and whooped, promising to continue the vengeance against Istar.

Iydahoe led Bakall onto the ambush trail two mornings later. Each of them carried a quiver full of black-shafted arrows. They made their way to a place Iydahoe had chosen years before.

Not once did the warriors pause to reflect on the fantastic odds against them. Indeed, Iydahoe had grown used to attacking enemies who outnumbered him, relying on stealth and his knowledge of the forest to escape after inflicting as much damage as possible.

Based on his experience, Iydahoe expected that the two of them would shoot many arrows from ambush, hoping that each missile claimed a legionnaire's life. Then he and Bakall would melt into the forest, leaving only enough of a trail to lead pursuers in a direction opposite that of the village in its tiny, hidden grotto.

They found the caravan on the road, and for a full day the two elves observed the long column from hilltops, lofty trees, even thickets of thorns within a hundred feet of the road. They watched the golden-cloaked riders file past, heard the creaking of wagons, the snorting of the laboring horses. The commander of the Istarian legionnaires rode a gleaming white stallion with gilded bridle to match his tunic. His broad buttocks rested in an appropriately resplendent gem-studded saddle. The officer's eyes looked neither to the right nor to the left, his chin held proudly outthrust, as if by his presence itself he dared the forest and its denizens to throw a challenge at the invincible might of Istar.

That challenge, Iydahoe thought grimly, would soon be forthcoming.

By late afternoon, they had taken shelter in a dense, nearly lightless thicket fifty feet from the trail. The two Kagonesti lay flat on their bellies and watched the column file past. From here they could get an accurate count of its numbers and even discern details about individual riders.

About a hundred mounted legionnaires led the way, riding two abreast. All these riders, the elves noted, were dressed in bright ceremonial colors and bore themselves with a rigid pride that seemed more suited to a parade ground than a forest path. Never mind the pretty posture, Iydahoe silently counseled the humans-soon you will be glad to get out of here with your lives!

Abruptly the nature of the procession changed, following the long file of immaculate horsemen. Now the Kagonesti watched ornate, gilded wagons trundle past, each pulled by a pair of sleek white horses. The drivers of these wagons, Iydahoe saw, were House Elves-Silvanesti. Each was a warrior, with a steel breastplate and a sword close at hand. Doubtless the elves had bows and arrows within ready reach inside the wagons' covered beds.

The wild elves' questions about the contents of those wagons were answered, startlingly, as beautiful female voices rose in song. The sweet melodies were carried from wagon to wagon until nearly a score of the lurching conveyances had rumbled past. Then more legionnaires brought up the rear, another hundred in immaculate uniforms and riding proud, prancing horses.

As the Kagonesti watched the humans make their evening camp, Bakali trembled with excitement, and Iydahoe touched the younger Kagonesti's shoulder, silently counseling him to be patient. Iydahoe looked at the whole circles, so recently tattooed across his companion's chest, and felt a momentary pang of bitterness. Bakall was so young, lacking a full ten years on the traditional adulthood age of the Kagonesti warrior. Yet he was about to embark on his first attack.

The great column of Istar made too tempting a target for Iydahoe to ignore. The company obviously made its way northward from Silvanesti to the fabled city of Istar itself. Already the column had passed the thorn-hedge border in departing the elven realm, and for days it had hastened along the winding woodland trail as if the legionnaires and their captains sensed the danger that even a single Kagonesti might provide.

For the thousandth time, Iydahoe remembered, vividly, the massacre that had occurred fourteen years earlier. As always, the familiar rage welled up, the bitter fury that had made it so easy for the young warrior to look at the symbols of Istar, and then to kill and kill again.

In those intervening years, the deaths of a hundred elves of his tribe had been repaid by Iydahoe two or three times over-and he was only beginning to collect a deep and bloody debt. His arrows had slashed from the forest into Istarian road-building and trading parties. Logging camps had been burned, individual lumbermen discovered horrifyingly posed, their throats slit into garish, bleeding grins.

In the misty light of dawn, Iydahoe watched the column of legionnaires break camp and file onto the broad trail. He was almost ready to strike. Finally the last of the column moved onto the trail, and the two elves emerged from cover to work their way to the top of a nearby ridge and then jog easily through the more open forest there. They roughly paralleled the course of the caravan, and Iydahoe knew that they would soon pass it and regain a position for ambush. Calling on his memory of the geography, he had decided on the perfect place to make the attack. It had the further advantage of being one place on this road where he had never before struck, so perhaps the humans would be less vigilant than when they trooped past the scenes of his earlier ambushes.

'Those singers?" asked Bakali, loping easily behind the older warrior. "Who do you think they were? Certainly not humans, were they?"

Iydahoe reflected on the glorious sound and shook his head. "They must be elves. A long time ago I heard that some Silvanesti might journey to Istar to sing. Why they would go, I can't imagine."

"Perhaps they were prisoners," the younger brave suggested.

"Perhaps." But Iydahoe was not convinced. "I can't believe that anyone-especially an elf-who was held against his will would be able to create such beautiful music. No-I don't think they were prisoners."

"But then why?" pressed Bakali.

Iydahoe's silence was his only reply, and his companion understood that the older brave had nothing more to say on the subject. For more than an hour they maintained the steady trot, moving swiftly along the ridgetop, until Iydahoe judged it was time to curve back toward the trail.

Now he led Bakali through slopes laden with sumac, already turned crimson as a harbinger of the coming season-Yule, as it was known to the humans. They skirted a rocky bluff, then found themselves on the height of a promontory, perhaps sixty feet above the trail. A sheer precipice of cracked and treacherous limestone formed an impassable barrier between the two warriors and the trail they could see winding directly below them. A hundred feet away, a similar cliff rose to an even greater height, and between them these rocky faces formed a canyon through which the Istarian procession would have to pass.

"This will give us vantage to shoot many arrows and still make our escape," Iydahoe declared, and Bakali nodded approvingly-as if he, himself, had sought those exact advantages in the site of their ambush.

Taking shelter in a shaded nook that afforded them a good view of the approaching trail, the two wild elves settled down to wait. They carried some dried venison jerky and ate with the accompaniment of a few swigs from their water sacks. All the while they kept their gazes on the approaching path, staring with the patience that was such a vital characteristic of their kind.

"There!" whispered Bakall, pointing at a golden cloak that shimmered through the trees. Chagrined, Iydahoe realized that his young companion had seen the enemy first.

The captain of the legionnaires led his riders toward the steep, cliff-walled gorge, then reined in his horse and brought the whole procession to a halt. The elves watched him scrutinize the heights to each side of the trail, and Iydahoe sensed that the commander had some misgivings about the route. Obviously, he was not a fool.

Turning to his following riders, the man spoke some orders, and four men dismounted. Two went to each side of the trail, disappearing into the woods-though Iydahoe easily guessed their mission. Each pair of scouts had no doubt been ordered to inspect the looming heights, seeking just the sort of ambush that the two elves intended.

Nevertheless, the Kagonesti warrior was not worried. The bluff's top was rough, with too many hiding places to yield to anything but a sweep by a whole company of men. He took care to see that the two braves were fully concealed in the depths of a cedar bush. The scouts would not discover them unless they actually parted the branches, and there were far too many bushes up here for the two men to make such an exhaustive search.

As silent and still as the rocks around them, the two warriors waited for the scouts. True to Iydahoe's guess, the men appeared about an hour later, carefully working their way along the bluff top. Though they could have dropped the pair with two quick shots, the Kagonesti held their bows in reserve, not wanting to spoil the ambush before it had time to develop.

Grumbling angrily, the two men stalked past within a dozen paces of the hiding elves, but didn't come near the cedar bush. Iydahoe sneered at the carelessness, listening with amusement to their litany of complaints.

"Stinkin' elves, anyway," one groused. "Why we got to risk our lives to guard a wagonload of Silvanesti wenches?"

"Because the Kingpriest likes to hear them sing," declared the other, in a tone of rebuke. "Are you going to argue with him?"

"Me? Are you nuts? Not now, especially-when everyone's talking about this great cleansing he's going to do. He'll banish evil from the world, they say."

"Don't believe everything 'they' say," cautioned the older legionnaire. "But remember, the elven chorus has been a hallmark of the Evening Prayer in his palace every night, and if s time for a new bunch of elves to get up there. And, besides, who do you think could sing as pretty?"

"Or look as pretty," the other allowed with a rude chuckle. "I tell you, there's a few of them little vixens I wouldn't mind one bit if…"

The men's lackluster search took them out of earshot before the elves could hear more. Another hour passed, with the two elves remaining as still as before. Finally the riders began to move forward, and they knew that the scouts must have signaled from the other end of the gorge.

Carefully, Iydahoe and Bakali moved into position. The first hundred riders filed into the shallow canyon, and the wagons trundled into view behind. Iydahoe saw the curtain tugged back on the compartment of the lead wagon, and he was startled as an elven maiden, golden hair flying in the breeze, leapt onto the ground.

"Vanisia!" came a stern voice from within, but the girl avoided the summons. A male elf, wearing the blue mantle of a priest, stuck his head out of the wagon and gestured the maiden back.

With a carefree laugh, she knelt beside the path and quickly picked a cluster of bright blossoms. Her face flicked upward before she jumped back to the wagon, and in that instant Iydahoe was stunned by an image of perfect, exquisite beauty. Not since he had shyly watched Moxilli, alive and carefree about the Whitetail village, had his heart pounded to the kind of excitement that suddenly rose, unbidden, within him.

"Now?" asked Bakall, holding his taut bowstring against his cheek and waiting for Iydahoe's command. With a start, the brave realized that the legionnaires had advanced to well within arrow range.

"Now," he agreed.

Both Kagonesti shot. Their sleek arrows flashed into the gorge, dropping the captain and his nearest attendant from their saddles. Consternation erupted as men shouted, horses bucked, and dozens of swords slid from oiled scabbards.

But already the elves had fired second and third volleys. The legionnaires milled about in panic, seeking escape from the deadly hail that had already dropped a half dozen from their saddles. The wagons blocked escape to the rear, and the facing walls of the gorge prevented any sideways movement, so the lead riders put their spurs to their steeds and charged headlong into the continuing canyon.

Iydahoe shot again and again, each missile claiming the life of a panicked rider. In earlier ambushes, he had vividly remembered the massacre of his village, drawing on the hatred fueled by that butchery to commit himself to his own killings. But by now the murderous tactic had become virtually automatic, with all his thoughts focused on the locating of his next target.

The wagons rocked forward, creaking and bumping over the bodies of slain legionnaires as their drivers hurried them through the gorge. The first wagon compartment's curtain pulled back, and again Iydahoe saw that beautiful image-the elfmaiden Vanisia staring upward, wide-eyed. Oddly, she seemed more curious than afraid.

Abruptly she was pulled back into the wagon, her place taken by the dour figure of the elven cleric. Iydahoe looked back to the legionnaires, having little interest in killing a Silvanesti when Istarians were within range of his bow. Carefully he released another shot.

The cleric raised a hand, and Iydahoe gaped in shock as his arrow suddenly became a long-stemmed flower, fluttering gently against the chest of the human it had been intended to kill. Bakall's shot, too, vanished into the shape of a harmless blossom!

Again and again Iydahoe released further arrows, altering his aim, seeking difficult targets, but each time the elven priest chanted his arcane command, and the arrow was rendered not only harmless, but beautiful.

Furious, Iydahoe changed his aim, this time drawing a bead on the cleric himself. But while the arrow started on a true flight, it suddenly swerved upward. Aghast, the Kagonesti saw white wings sprout from the shaft. Then, miraculously, the arrow was a bird, a snowy dove winging upward and away. Two more shots he released, and two more doves flew away.

The cleric fixed a burning stare on the cliff where the wild elves were concealed. His chant grew in strength, tugging at Iydahoe with a strangely compelling pull. Thwarted, the warrior backed away from the edge of the cliff.

"Come on. Let's give them the false trail," he hissed, turning to Bakali.

But the young warrior did not accompany him! Astonished, Iydahoe saw Bakali rise and step forward, exposing himself to plain view at the edge of the cliff. Then, before Iydahoe could do anything to stop him, the young warrior turned his face to the cliff and began to descend- straight toward the milling mass of the legionnaires and their Silvanesti allies!