Mortalis

enough to wander into their territory.

Yes, the land was settling again, at long last, into peace, and that fact only made Bradwarden's song all the sweeter.

'And if they do come south,' Roger put in at length, 'then I'll find them and steal all their weapons, and won't they be easy to chase off then!'

'Unless they have Craggoth hounds,' Juraviel said to the boastful man somewhat sternly; and the mention of the powerful powrie hunting dogs reminded Roger of a not-so-pleasant experience.

Bradwarden howled with laughter and Roger's lips got very tight, but Juraviel held the man's gaze with equal intensity; his expression alone poignantly asked Roger who it was that he was trying to impress.

'Well, enough o' the boastin',' Bradwarden said, and he lifted his pipes back to his lips, but paused and nodded to Juraviel. 'Ye goin' to tell us what's bringin' ye back here, elf? Or are ye waitin' for us to beg ye? '

'I have become the mentor to another ranger,' Juraviel admitted.

'You are bringing another ranger here?' Roger quickly put in, his tone making it seem as if he was not too thrilled about that prospect.

'She is just a child,' he explained, 'and her path, I assure you, will bring her nowhere near Dundalis.'

Roger nodded grimly, but his look turned perplexed. 'She?'

'Why are you so surprised? ' Juraviel replied. 'Do you not believe that a woman can be a ranger? '

'Ho, ho, what!' Bradwarden howled, doing his best Avelyn Desbris imitation. 'But wouldn't Pony be kickin' yer skinny backside if she ever heard ye talkm' like that!'

Roger shrugged, conceding the point.

'Indeed, Jilseponie would have been a fine candidate for our training,' Juraviel agreed. 'Had we known her potential when she walked down the road from the ruined Dundalis, we might have changed her life's path considerably.'

This whole topic seemed like a minor point, and nothing to debate, but Juraviel noted that Roger didn't appear very pleased by it all. The elf understood Roger Lockless, particularly the man's minor failings, well enough to recognize the source of that look. 'You, too, Roger Lockless, might have found yourself in Caer'alfar, had your situation merited it.'

'I could still go and learn,' the young man insisted.

'You are at least five years too old,' Juraviel explained. 'Lady Dasslerond would have no part of bringing an adult human into our land for such training.'

'Then you teach me,' Roger said, only half kiddingly, 'while you are here, I mean.' 'The training takes years.'

'Then just teach me select parts of it,' Roger went on. 'Teach me that sword dance that Elbryan and Pony…' His voice trailed off, his mouth hanging open at the sight ofJuraviel, whose lips were thin, and his expression stern, seemingly bordering on the verge of an explosion. 'I'm thinkin' he's sayin' no,' Bradwarden remarked dryly. Roger looked to Bradwarden for support and smiled sheepishly. 'So are ye goin' to tell us, elf?' the centaur prompted. 'Ye got yerself a new ranger-to-be, but that's not a reason for ye to come all the way out here to tell me about it.'

'She is a rider,' Juraviel said, his glare still locked upon Roger, 'and I must secure a mount for her.' He understood that the young man hadn't intentionally said anything wrong, but the mere mention of bi'nelle dasada, the secret elven fighting technique, opened a wound. It was Elbryan's teaching of the secret dance to Jilseponie that had so angered Lady Dasslerond, and, Juraviel believed, that was why Lady Dasslerond felt justified in keeping their child and raising it as a son of the Touel'alfar. Lady Dasslerond's anger, Juraviel believed, was the primary reason guiding her handling of the boy, her keeping Juraviel away from him, her keeping Jilseponie ignorant of his existence. Even more than that, Lady Dasslerond held Juraviel ultimately at fault for Elbryan's teaching Jilseponie the sword dance. Whatever feelings he might have for Elbryan or for Jilseponie, Juraviel couldn't deny the truth of Elbryan's betrayal. The ranger had given something away that was not his to give, and in doing so, he had, to Lady Dasslerond's way of thinking, threatened the very existence of the Touel'alfar.

'We've more than a few fine ponies runnin' about,' Bradwarden started to answer, but then a wry grin crossed his face. 'Ye're not thinkin'…' he guessed.

'A proper mount for a ranger,' Juraviel said determinedly. Roger looked from one to the other, as if trying to decipher their meaning, but then his eyes widened and he stared at Juraviel. 'Symphony? ' he asked. 'You mean to take Symphony away? But-'

'Easy, lad,' Bradwarden intervened. 'I'm thinkin' that none're takin' Symphony unless Symphony's wantin' to go.'

'True enough,' Juraviel agreed, 'and I am sure that if Symphony is not agreeable, Bradwarden will help me to find another fitting mount.' 'Good rider, this one? ' the centaur asked. 'To-gai-ru,' Juraviel answered. Bradwarden whistled in admiration.

'Like the pinto horses?' Roger asked. 'The ones the AUheart knights ride?'

'To-gai,' Bradwarden confirmed. 'And they're ponies, not horses, though they're big ones at that, eight hundred pounds o' muscle and on the 146 R. A. SALVATORE top side o' fourteen hands. If ye're lookin' to get one of those for yer young ranger, then ye're lookin' in the wrong place.'

Juraviel nodded and then decided to let the matter drop; he and Bradwarden could take care of the horse business later on. 'Play your pipes, Forest Ghost,' he said with a smile. 'I have heard enough of the events; now I wish to hear what is in Bradwarden's heart.'

The centaur smiled and began his melody once again, while Juraviel reclined on the grass beside Roger. The young man was soon fast asleep, but Juraviel stayed up long into the night, staring at the stars and drinking in Bradwarden's song.

'You were telling Bradwarden that you expect Jilseponie to return to Dundalis soon,' Juraviel prompted Roger when the two were walking back through the forest toward Dundalis the next morning. The day was hot and sunny, with not a hint of a wind. Bradwarden had gone off at daybreak to scout the horse herd for Juraviel, and to see if he could find Symphony.

'She may already be there,' the young man replied with obvious excitement; and Juraviel, too, was thrilled at the prospect of seeing his dear friend once more. There was something else edging Roger's voice, Juraviel recognized, something beyond simple happiness and excitement.

'Have you seen her at all of late? ' Juraviel asked.

'Not since last summer,' Roger replied, 'not since the day Bradwarden and I brought-Elbryan-I mean…'

'The day you brought Nightbird's casket from Palmaris,' Juraviel finished for him. 'I watched you begin your journey up the northern road.'

'That was the worst journey of my life,' Roger said, his voice slightly quavering. 'I still can't believe…'

'He is at rest in the grove?' Juraviel asked. 'Beside his uncle Mather?'

Roger^hodded, and the elf immediately turned aside from the trail back to Dundalis, heading instead for the grave of his friend, with Roger close behind.

The temperature seemed cooler in the sheltered grove in the forest north of Dundalis. Juraviel, who knew the place well, led the way along the manyforked and confusing trails, for though the grove was not very large, there was a bit of magic about it, a minor illusion placed by Lady Dasslerond herself, using her powerful emerald, when she had come to bid farewell to Mather Wyndon several years after his death.

Juraviel picked the trail with certainty, moving among the somber trees; and soon the pair came to the place, with its side-by-side cairns. They stood solemnly for a long while, staring and remembering-and for Juraviel, who had lived for more than two centuries, that meant remembering two friends, two rangers.

'Tempest was buried there with Mather Wyndon for years until Elbryan earned it from the spirit of his uncle,' the elf remarked at length. Roger cleared his throat uncomfortably, and Juraviel let his look linger on him until Roger offered an explanation.

'We weren't sure which tomb should get the sword,' Roger explained. 'To me, it was Elbryan's-Nightbird's- weapon, but Bradwarden thought it better if Tempest went back to rest with Mather.'

'But the bow, Hawkwing, is with Nightbird?' Juraviel asked somewhat urgently, for that bow, the last the elf's father had ever crafted, had been made specifically for Nightbird.

'With Elbryan,' Roger confirmed.

'Fair enough,' the elf said, and Roger seemed to relax.

Just for a moment again, Juraviel had to stare long and hard at Roger to get him to open up with his feelings.