they walked among the ranks of their allies. Though every one of them had lost a brother, cousin, or friend in the fight, the survivors remained determined to present a proud and honorable face to their kinsmen from the city houses.
The cheers rose to a crescendo as Kagonos led his fighters among the tents of Silvanos's entourage. Before him crackled a huge fire, sending tendrils of flame dozens of feet into the night sky, and it was around this blaze that the leaders of the House Elves had gathered.
Despite his mental preparation, Kagonos was startled when, as he neared the fire, Silvanos himself came forward to greet him. As before during their occasional meetings, the Elderwild was struck by the youthfulness of the great leader and statesman. Since the first great council of the Sinthel-Elish, more than six hundred years ago, Silvanos had been the unquestioned leader of all the House Elf clans. He was, in some senses, the king of Silvanesti- but in every other sense he was very much more than a king.
Though his hair was as silver as spun wire, Silvanos's proud face was free of lines. His wide green eyes glowed with a depth of wisdom that never failed to unsettle the forest-dweller, and there was something about Silvanos's stature-removed from mere height or broad shoulders- that gave to the elven ruler an undeniable sense of destiny and power.
'Greetings, kinsman,' declared the great leader. Silvanos halted and bowed deeply to Kagonos. The Elder- wild returned the bow to the exact same depth.
'And to you, kinsman,' the Pathfinder replied. 'I see that your efforts were met with victory.'
'And yours,' Silvanos replied. 'Quithas brought the Bluestone to the battlefield in the very blink of time that remained to us, before the blue dragons would have wreaked terrible havoc. Now the spirits of those serpents are entrapped in the stone, and it will be' buried-as were the stones of the reds, greens, blacks, and white dragons before them.'
'Then it was worth the cost of gaining it,' Kagonos stated grimly.
'Before the battle, Darlantan told me of the stone's location, of the nature of your attack. Tales of your courage and triumph will be told through the ages.'
The elven lore masters, Kagonos thought with surprising bitterness, will sing of your battle, of Quithas's flight. But they will have little to say about us.
Shaking his head, the Pathfinder fought off the resentment, the anger that had begun to seethe within him. Surely, after a victory like this, they could set aside their differences for a time. Then he thought of Dall, of Kyrill, and he was not so sure.
The esteemed ruler allowed his eyes to flicker across the column of Elderwild survivors, many of whom were bandaged or obviously wounded. 'The cost to your tribe has been dear-I'm sorry for that.'
'We all pay the prices we must,' Kagonos replied, discomfited by his kinsman's sympathy. It was far easier for him to regard the House Elves as dangerous rivals than as friends. Now he could not relax from a sense of impending danger. However, decorum called for some sort of response.
'I am sure that many of your own tribe will not share the celebration of victory,' he offered, with a stiff nod of his head.
'As you say, the price…' Silvanos was quiet, pensive for a moment. 'But perhaps, kinsman, with today's victory further bloodshed can be banished to some point far in the distant future.'
'There can be no greater reward-nor one more honestly earned,' Kagonos agreed.
A file of warriors came toward them, led by a tiny, bareheaded elf whose unusually broad face was split by a great smile. He reached up to clap Silvanos on the shoulder in a surprisingly casual manner, and then turned to study Kagonos. The wild elf looked back stiffly, wondering if the short elf could actually be as friendly and guileless as his beaming expression indicated.
'You have not met my right hand, General Balif,' Silvanos said, smiling without apparent discomfort at his lieutenant's bold friendliness.
'You and your warriors are a tribute to the elven peoples,' Balif said, startling the Elderwild Pathfinder by reaching out and taking both of his hands. 'Know that, in the new realms we open in the east, the forests will always be open to the wild elves.'
'I thank you,' Kagonos replied, liking Balif in spite of his un-elven lack of reserve. He turned back to Silvanos with a raised eyebrow. 'What are these new realms?'
'Balif will take a number of the houses and settle the forest lands of the eastern shore. The ogres don't live there, and there are barely a few tribes of human savages in the woods. Balifor will become the second great nation of elves.'
Another House Elf, this one dressed in a golden helm, stepped forward to the ruler's side. Kagonos recognized Quithas, and the Elderwild's scalp bristled with instinctive antipathy.
Taller than the average elf by more than half a foot, his dark eyes glittering on each side of his hooked, hawklike nose, Quithas looked down at Kagonos.
Kagonos thought that the elven war leader looked darker and far more bitter than he had during their last meeting, which had occurred just two days before. Now Quithas fixed his gaze on the steel-headed war-axe at the wild elf's belt, then raised his gaze to stare into the Pathfinder's face.
'Dare you come here with my weapon?' he demanded.
'It is my trophy now-remember?' Kagonos retorted.
'So now you come to seek rewards for your contribution?' spat the general. 'As if our sacrifices have not been enough, you seek the treasures of the House Elves?'
'The sacrifices have been made by all tribes,' Silvanos interjected smoothly, ignoring the taut lines of anger suddenly etched into Kagonos's face. 'General Quithas, perhaps you should see to the arrangements for the victory feast.'
Now it was the city elf's face darkened by fury, but he dared not challenge his ruler. Quithas turned and stalked away, while Silvanos shook his head sadly. 'His son was slain in the charge that broke Talonian's line-while Quithas himself was off retrieving the Bluestone. I fear…' The great ruler's voice trailed off, sad and pensive.
'Sacrifices have been made even by the gods,' the patriarch noted abruptly. 'Did you see the moons these last two nights?'
Kagonos nodded.
Those are the remains of the three gods-those immortals who gave us the means to win this war.'
'Why were they punished thus? Do the other gods favor evil?'
'I believe they regret that we mortals have gained the power of magic. Perhaps they should, though we shall endeavor to keep its use under control. But enough of that-suffice to say that the cost has been high to all.'
Silvanos sighed, and for the first time Kagonos realized that the elven patriarch was actually subject to mortal failings. 'It grieves me to see such divisions among our people, my friend,' he told Kagonos. Though he did not want to hear the words, the Elderwild found it impossible to tear his attention away from the patriarch's charisma.
'We are all one folk, under the war paint and the golden cloaks,' Silvanos continued. 'I would like us to know that oneness through all aspects of our lives on Krynn.'
'The hatreds of the House Elves will ever divide us,' Kagonos suggested. 'Those like Quithas, who cannot grasp the Tightness of freedom.'
'Do not confuse living in a city with slavery,' Silvanos chided. 'We, too, are free-in many ways freer than you of the woodland shall ever be.' Kagonos thought there was a trace of genuine regret in the ruler's voice, though the Elderwild was truly mystified by Silvanos's concepts of freedom. How could any walled enclosure hope to offer the breathtaking and unfettered life that he knew in the forest?
'Tonight is not the night for such discussion,' the Elderwild chief noted awkwardly. 'We have won a victory- and must mourn our dead.'
'Indeed. Death has touched us all. I grieve beside you over the loss of your brothers. They died as brave warriors, as elven heroes, and their courage will be a source of pride for many generations-in the cities as well as the forest.'
Kagonos tried to suppress his astonishment-the only communication between the two armies had been the flight of Quithas, when he retrieved the stone. Certainly that dour elf had not carried word-had not even known — of the Pathfinder's personal tragedy.
'The grief you struggle so hard to conceal-it shows in your eyes, for one who knows what to look for,' said
