He recognized the hawklike features, the feathered ceremonial cape of the Pathfinder-but why would Iydaway expose himself? Other Kagonesti-a half dozen young warriors-rose behind Iydaway. Resolutely, the small band of elves started from the ravine into the smoky clearing. They had not yet been observed by the plundering lizardmen, but Ash knew they would inevitably be seen- probably in a matter of seconds.
Ashtaway released his grip on the branch, rolled to the side, and plunged downward with dizzying speed. Shouts of triumph rose from below, bringing a grim smile to the falling elf. With precise timing he seized a lower limb, arresting his fall and swinging himself back into the concealment of the vallenwood greenery.
Again he raised his head and taunted his enemies with the cawing of a crow-the most insulting sound in the long list of Kagonesti malignery. As if they sensed his scorn, the bakali grew frantic, howling and snapping ferociously. Several of them threw spears into the tree. One of the weapons thunked into the bark near Ashtaway, and the elf quickly pulled it free, hurling it firmly toward the chest of its caster.
But now whoops and shrieks rose from across the clearing, and Ash knew that Iydaway's small band had been discovered. 'Why?' he groaned aloud. Why did his uncle risk his life like this?
Dropping lower. Ash got a look at the courageous, futile charge-six Kagonesti warriors and an old man, brandishing a mixture of swords, axes, and spears, charging into a camp occupied by perhaps a hundred savage lizardmen. Howling madly, the elves attacked with such valor that, at first the bakali scrambled to get out of the path of these mad fighters.
Iydaway was not as quick as he had been three centuries before, but the Pathfinder still flew over the ground with grace and balance. The old elf feinted a charge directly across the camp, then turned and led his small party toward the smoldering wreckage of a large, ceremonial hut.
The bakali closed in, and two of the younger warriors halted, meeting the charging lizardmen with steel swords, holding them at bay while Iydaway and the other warriors raced toward the ruined hut. Reaching the smoldering wreckage, the venerable elf plunged into the hot coals, kicking his feet through the ashes on what had once been the floor of his home.
Ashtaway cried out in fury as he saw the pair of rear warriors fall, rended savagely beneath the talons and fangs of the bakali. Dropping to the ground in the midst of his enemies, Ash struck this way and that with his axe, carving painful wounds into several of the lizardmen before he again leapt upward and pulled himself to the minimal safety of a tree branch.
But now, at least, he had begun to guess at his uncle's motives. There was only one possession of the tribe that was truly irreplaceable, a treasure that would always be passed from generation to generation. It had been entrusted to Iydaway before Ash had been born, and often the young warrior had watched as his uncle made music or ritual with the celebrated artifact.
Now, the young warrior knew that Iydaway had gone to retrieve the Ram's Horn.
One of the Kagonesti protecting Iyda fell, pierced by a bakali spear, while the three who remained fought desperately to screen the elder. None of the lizardmen seemed willing to brave the heat of the coals in pursuit. They would wait for the old warrior to burn, or to emerge from the ruins into range of their weapons. One, then another of the warriors fell, cruelly slashed. Many more bakali had gathered in a ring around the base of Ash's tree, fully encircling even the vast sweep of the vallen- wood's branches.
Ashtaway moved with the speed of thought, flying like an arrow from the limb, driving his head into a lizard- man's back. The creature went down, its spine shattered, and the Kagonesti rolled away from the body, bouncing to his feet beyond the enclosing ring of bakali.
Racing toward the ruins of his uncle's lodge, Ash chopped down the only reptilian warrior who tried to stand in his path. He saw the last warrior of the Pathfinder's escort die, pierced by a stone-tipped spear. Iydaway, a blackened shape in his hand, abruptly threw his hatchet, dropping one of the lizardmen standing warily beyond the coals. Ash shrieked like a hunting hawk, racing at the other two, madly brandishing his bloodied axe. A crowd of howling lizardmen pursued the fleet Kagonesti.
The elder warrior snatched up his weapon and leapt into step beside his nephew, sprinting for the largest of the village vallenwoods. Ash didn't risk a glance backward, but as he slowed his pace to match lydaway's he knew that the enraged bakali had begun to close the gap.
Their pounding feet carried them across the empty ceremonial circle at the center of the village. Since a mighty vallenwood stood beside this circle, steps had been pegged into the trunk and a platform of branches had been erected some twenty feet off the ground. It was one of the few Kagonesti sites that had not yet felt the scorching flames of plunder.
At the foot of the tree, Ash whirled, crouching with his axe upraised. He heard Iydaway scramble up the wooden steps as the young elf slashed his weapon through the air, so fast that the steel edge vanished in a blur. The bakali had learned to respect that razorlike surface. In one mass, the pursuing warriors skidded to a halt, the mob expanding to encircle the tree and try to rush at Ash from the flanks.
Ashtaway gave his uncle two heartbeats to get up the steps, knowing that a moment longer would give dozens of lizardmen time to overwhelm him. Springing upward and back, still slashing with his long-shafted axe, the warrior retreated up the steps. The wooden pegs were too narrow to support more than one foot at a time, but he held his balance long enough to reach the first of several handy branches.
A bakali leapt at the elf's foot, but tumbled back with a bloody gash in its forepaw. Others barked and howled at the rear of the mob before turning about and racing to a nearby lodge. Drawing partially burned sticks from the blaze, the lizardmen waved them through the air until yellow flames crackled and trails of smoke dwindled in the air. Bearing their makeshift torches, the creatures hastened back to the tree.
By this time Ash had joined his uncle on the ceremonial platform. Above them the bole of the tree rose into the limitless heights, challenging the clouds and leading through innumerable pathways into a dozen neighboring trees. Still clutching the blackened horn, Iydaway started upward. His nephew followed, waiting only long enough to cut the lashing of the platform and drop the heavy wooden structure onto the dozen or so bakali foolish enough to stand directly underneath.
Chapter 12
'Your warning gave us time to flee the village,' Iydaway explained. 'We made many of the lizardmen pay for their cruelty, but brave elves gave their lives in that cause.' 'I found Warrican at his post, slain by surprise attack,' Ashtaway said. 'Palqua and Thyll held at the mouth of the ravine for a long time. They gave the rest of the villagers time to reach the foot of the bluff and make their way along the shore.' The two Kagonesti padded silently along the forest floor, a mile from the ruined village. They made their way toward a grotto in the heart of the vallenwood forest. Years ago it had been selected as the tribe's gathering point in the event of disaster.
'And more died to regain the Ram's Horn,' Ashtaway noted. 'Is it so precious, Uncle, that six warriors should perish to save it?'
Iydaway sighed and shook his head. The spiraling tattoos on his cheeks and chin masked his grief, but Ash knew that the question had hurt the elder warrior, and with that knowledge came regret that he had asked it. But his uncle held up a hand as if to dissuade the younger elf's guilt. The leafy pattern inked onto lyda's palm had a soothing effect on Ash, and again he breathed deeply as he awaited a reply.
'It is not, in truth, worth the sacrifice of a single life- at least, not that we can say with certainty,' Iydaway declared, his voice rhythmic, almost songlike. 'But in the same truth it may be worth the saving of a hundred lives, of the whole tribe. And then who knows? If I had known that those young braves would die-or that I would live- would my decision have been the same?'
Ash waited, knowing that this was not a question he could answer.
'In truth, I had to go and get the horn. As long as I live, it is not a thing I can abandon. Were you to throw it into the deepest sea, I should be compelled to dive in after it, drowning in the attempt to plunge the depths. Should you cast it into the fiery crater of one of the Lords of Doom, I must need pursue it, walking through fire as long as blood flowed in my veins. I am the Pathfinder, and such is my destiny and my fate-a destiny that I willingly bear.'
