Iydaway paused, shaking his head sadly. Ash was surprised to see tears in his eyes. When the old elf spoke, his voice had returned to its natural tone.
'To answer your question, if I had known that my protectors would perish in the attempt, I would have ordered them to remain behind.'
'And perished by yourself,' Ash confirmed.
'And the horn would still be lost to the tribe,' agreed the elder.
Ashtaway took the sooty spiral and tried to wipe it clean with his hands, succeeding only partially. Still, the shine of the smoothly curled horn seemed to gleam through the dirt, as bright as sunlight in the shadowed forest depths.
'Is it truly made from the horn of a great ram?' Ash asked skeptically. Though he had enjoyed the music of the horn at village ceremonies and knew that his uncle cherished it above any other object, the young warrior realized that he knew very little about the treasured item. At the same time, with a shiver of portent, he remembered that he had to tell the Pathfinder about Lectral.
Iydaway shrugged. 'That is what Callista Pathfinder, my granduncle, told me, and his predecessor-the Pathfinder Barcalla-told him. The legend declares that, in the Age of Dreams, the Elderwild Kagonos carved it from the horn of the Grandfather Ram-the creature he met, as you know, among the highest peaks of the Khalkists.'
'Uncle, I heard the second Ram's Horn.' Iydaway's eyes widened, but he made no reply. With careful attention to detail, Ashtaway told the tale of his summons from Lectral, and the subsequent encounter with the wounded dragon. Iydaway nodded sagely, clearly unsurprised by the information-a fact which, in itself, surprised Ash a great deal.
'It is fitting that you were the one who heard,' Iyda said, smiling gently.
'Myself-and Hammana,' Ash noted.
'Yes, and Hammana. That part puzzles me.'
'Her healing has been a great help to Lectral-some of his wounds might otherwise have killed him.'
'Indeed.' Iydaway walked in silence for a time. When he spoke, his question took Ashtaway by surprise. 'Does it seem as though the mantle of Pathfinder is a burdensome thing, Nephew?'
'No-well, perhaps yes. It is an important task, I know. And no wild elf should find it difficult to stay away from the House Elf cities. But for a man to go through life without taking a wife… that, it seems, might be a lonely choice.'
'The Pathfinders of the wild elves, from Father Kagonesti on, have been solitary elves, true. Perhaps, because of this, we have not felt that lack as much as another might.'
'I know that they have been great leaders, Uncle, and a strong bond to unite all the tribes.'
'Indeed, it was Father Kagonesti who gave birth to our freedom. Without our first Pathfinder, there would be no tribes today.'
'And you, Uncle, have shown the tribes the way to survive the Dragon War. Finding the paths deep in the forests, seeking these glades where the trees shield us from the sky… we owe you much.'
'Ah… but that is a sadness, that we must forever hide from the sky. At least we, at the Bluelake, have the best of the deep forest-for our shore gives us a glimpse of open waters and sky.'
'When the war ends, then perhaps we'll seek the high valleys again, where the wild elves lived for hundreds of years,' Ash mused. He himself had always loved the heights and had spent much of his youth exploring the mountains within a fifty-mile radius of the Bluelake. Yet, despite these sojourns, Ash was not by nature a solitary elf and always rejoiced when he returned to the company of his villagemates.
'It will be the task of the Pathfinder to lead us there,' Iydaway agreed. 'Though I have found the path may best be chosen through discussion among the people, perhaps spiced with a bit of persuasion by myself. In this, I am different from Callista or Barcalla. My predecessors-following the example of Father Kagonesti-would show the path and expect the tribe to follow. For me, it is better when we talk first, then move.'
Ashtaway nodded thoughtfully, curious that his uncle chose to explain this philosophy to him.
The two Kagonesti continued in silence, remaining alert for pursuit. Once they heard the hoot of an owl and looked up to see a tattooed warrior waving them on. A few minutes later, they joined the rest of the tribe in the shadowed depths of the vallenwood grove. A pool of still water reflected the darkening sky, and Ash's heart broke at the sight of the many frightened faces peering out from behind the mighty trunks.
The elves would not risk many fires tonight, but they felt secure for the moment from bakali pursuit. A dozen warriors stood duty in the woods, posted in pairs and observing from the treetops fully a mile away from this secret grotto.
The rest of the tribe, save for the nine warriors who had fallen during the battle, now awaited the communal decision as to their next course of action.
Ashtaway quickly sought out Wallaki, Hammana's father. The old shaman, a respected figure in the tribe, had been given a straw mat underneath a lush vallenwood, where he would be as comfortable as possible. Resting a small gourd over a patch of glowing coals, Wallaki mixed some kind of medicinal brew with herbs and water. The shaman raised his darkly tattooed face hopefully as Ash approached, though his eyes seemed to search beyond the warrior's shoulder.
'I–I had hoped…' The shaman's voice choked, and Ash was grateful that he could ease his fears.
'Hammana is safe, not near the village,' Ash said, explaining the summons that had drawn the two of them into the foothills. 'Now she remains with Lectral, healing his wounds, which are many and deep.'
'Hammana tends a silver dragon?' The shaman nodded without surprise, studying the strong-smelling brew that bubbled over his fire. 'That is a wondrous thing for anyone, and the highest honor of all to a Kagonesti healer! But are you sure she is safe?'
'Safer than beside the Bluelake,' Ash said wryly. 'But,n truth, Lectral is a fine dragon, and grateful for her attentions. And though he cannot fly, he can certainly protect her from any other threats that might lurk in the woods.'
That is very well, then,' Wallaki agreed, before turning back to his potion and beginning a mystical chant.
Ashtaway joined the warriors who gathered around the Pathfinder and his spiral Ram's Horn. Iydaway played the instrument slowly, mournfully, the music cushioning and echoing the grieving of the tribe for its lost warriors. He ceased playing long enough to recount the story of Ashtaway's attack, and other warriors-who had seen parts of the battle from distant treetops-chimed in with further praise. Ash sat tall and proud, deeply wanned by the praise of his comrades. Warrican's father recounted a list of the dead, and after each name, the warriors chanted a pledge, promising that the deaths would be avenged.
Finally the Pathfinder lowered his horn. The other braves waited expectantly until he spoke. 'Our homes are destroyed, and the hated enemy camps in the ruins of our lodges. Some of us have died, but many more still live. Now we must decide what to do.'
'Let us return to the lake shore during the night. We'll kill the lizardmen and reclaim our village!' spat a young warrior, Ampruss, whose father had been one of the first warriors to fall.
'Already the bakali have given me cause to grieve,' argued Maggera, newly widowed mother of Ampruss. 'Let us escape with those lives we have saved.'
'Perhaps we can muster other tribes to aid our attack,' suggested an older warrior. 'The Whitetail village is but two days away, the Silvertrouts barely another day beyond. Shall we get them to help?'
'It would take too long,' Ash suggested. 'These bakali came to raid our village. I don't think they want to live there.'
'We should attack quickly! The lake shore has been our home for a full century,' stated Faltath, a veteran warrior and lifelong friend of Ashtaway. 'Are we such cowards as to be driven away by a single attack?'
'It is not a matter of cowardice, but perhaps destiny,' Iydaway demurred. All the other arguments ceased as the Kagonesti waited for the honored Pathfinder to continue.
'We know that war has blackened the northern plains and extended far into the mountains and forest lands as well. The dragons of the Dark Queen fly ever farther, it seems, always seeking to extend the range of her deadly servants.
'Now we can go back to the village and kill many bakali,' Iydaway continued, the firm resolve in his voice indicating that he, personally, would derive great satisfaction from this bloodletting. Then his tone took on a sadder,
