more wistful sound. 'But I fear we may not be so lucky when the lizardmen come again. If Ashtaway had not been returning from his hunt, we would be weeping for many more of our people tonight.'
'The bakali never came before! Why do you say that they will come again?' persisted Faltath, who had earlier counseled attack. He was a huge elf, nearly as big as a human, and had been Ashtaway's main rival in the arts of the hunt and battle during his early years. Though they had become different as they matured, Ash still admired Faltath's strength and his determination when faced with a course of action. The big warrior's face was obscured by spiraling whorls of black ink, so that his eyes flashed from the middle of an apparently spinning vortex. Now they glowed with anger, an accusation against any brave unwilling to join his proposed attack.
'Because that is the way of wars,' Iydaway responded, 'of all great wars, at least. And the war that plagues Ansa- lon now is such a war. This I know. It is a great monster whose reach has been sweeping ever closer, until today we were grazed by a single talon on the far fringes of its great body, well removed from its dark and bloody heart.
'Yet the talon has learned that it can reach us, and when next it strikes it will be with the full force of a paw, or a mighty leg. The next time perhaps the bakali will have time to surround us, or they may come with ogres, even dragons. Then the killing will fall upon us.'
'Dragons do not care about the forest floor,' argued Faltath, his fist clenching around the heavy hilt of his longsword.
'This is not true, not anymore,' Ashtaway declared. He told of the battle between the twin red dragons and the armored knights. His wonder at the knightly courage choked his voice, and for the first time he profoundly regretted his silence, knowing that he should have warned the humans of the impending attack. Understanding that the other braves regarded the presence of the knights to be as great a threat as the red dragons, he tried to reach them with his eyes, to show them that, somehow, these humans were different from the land-stealing men who had been the lifelong enemies of the tribe.
As he spoke, his listeners remained silent. 'Not only were human riders patrolling this part of the forest, but the dragons who flew overhead were also searching the ground. If they had spotted the village, it is foolish to think that they would not attack, simply because they haven't done so before.'
'But the lizardmen must be taught a lesson, just as we would slay the humans if we found them near the village!' Faltath argued furiously. 'We know that Ashtaway fought and killed many bakali, while the rest of us fled! How can we let them think we run with our women and children at the first sight of an enemy, not daring to exact revenge?'
'We cannot let them think this,' Iydaway declared bluntly, momentarily silencing the belligerent warrior. Faltath eyed the Pathfinder carefully, waiting to hear his next suggestion.
'The lizardmen must be punished for their attack. But we, the Kagonesti of the Bluelake, must also find a new home. It is clear that the war will no longer leave us in peace-and it is equally clear that, though this is not our struggle, it has the power to sweep us into its grip and destroy us.'
'How will the bakali be punished?' demanded Faltath, as if he had not heard the rest of the elder's pronouncement.
'We will make an attack, savage and unrelenting, that slays many and drives the rest from our village. They?hall know it as a place of defeat and death-but even so, we shall no longer live there.' 'But… where do we go?' asked Ampruss. 'We shall move south, past even the village of the Silvertrout, into the heart of the woodlands between the two great mountain ranges of the world. There we shall find a new lake, and there we will make our new home.' 'It is decided, then,' said Faltath bluntly. 'We march to the south, but not until we have slain many, many bakali.' 'Indeed,' Iydaway said. 'And that is enough talking for me. I shall leave it to you warriors to plan the attack.'
Chapter 13
Ashtaway looked to his right. Across the space between the lofty vallenwood trees. Faltath, his tattooed face locked in a grimace of fury, signaled that he was ready. With a look to the left, Ash saw Balkas, a young archer with a patient and deadly eye. The bowman had an arrow drawn back to his cheek, and Ashtaway knew that his tribemate already had a bakali in his sights. 'The braves are almost ready,' Ash whispered to Iydaway, knowing that the warriors on the flanks were still moving into position. The Pathfinder nodded. 'Soon,' he replied, his words as soft as the night breeze. Ash deeply regretted his uncle's presence in the tree, with the battle so imminent. The Pathfinder had been a mighty warrior in his day, but Ashtaway would have been much happier if the old elf had consented to wait with the other elders, safe in the forest grotto, until the attack was over. He knew better than to argue with the stubborn Pathfinder, however-all he could do was resolve to keep an eye out for him as much as possible.
The ruined village sprawled below them. Lodges and huts still smoldered, but no trace of their wooden frameworks jutted from the soft ash. The central circle, beside the greatest vallenwood, was strewn with rubble and debris. In the fullness of the predawn dark, the shapeless bundles that were sleeping bakali lay haphazardly about the village, exhausted from their battle and its subsequent revelry. The lizardmen were not totally careless. They had posted several guards around the periphery of their captured glade, but these sentries had been no match for Kagonesti stealth. Now, each of those guards was dead, throat slit by an elven warrior.
More Kagonesti, about four dozen in all, still climbed into the trees that were out of sight to either side. Though elven eyes were keen in the darkness, even the Kagonesti could not see all the way across the darkened camp, so it was hard to know how many of these had taken up their positions.
Ashtaway knew that the bakali would have discovered the ravine to the lake shore. He had suggested that a small force try to block that escape route, but Iydaway and Faltath had both vetoed that idea, pointing out- justifiably- that the warriors in that party would have little chance of surviving the battle. The tribe would attack from the woods and hope to kill as many of the enemy as they could before the rest made their escape.
Faltath hooted softly, like a contented owl, but the sound carried obvious urgency to Ash's ears. The Kagonesti were tightly wound, ready to fly against their enemies like the arrows that would signal the start of the attack. Yet Ashtaway still found himself vaguely reluctant to initiate the ambush, for reasons that he couldn't understand. Certainly he had no hesitation about slaying bakali. Indeed, his sincere hope was that none of the scale-skinned humanoids would escape the killing ground of the former village.
Shaking his head, biting back an unbidden cough of anger, Ashtaway forced aside his indecision. Pursing his lips, he made ready to whistle the distinctive cry of the whippoorwill. The sound would not be unnatural in the summer dawn, though the birds themselves would not speak out for another hour or so. That minor inaccuracy was enough to conceal the code from the dimwitted lizardmen.
Before Ash could signal, a shaft flew from a nearby tree. A bakali shrieked as more arrows sliced into the lizardmen. But now the scaly defenders leapt to their feet, racing madly about the camp.
A heartbeat passed as four dozen bowstrings quivered under full tension, four dozen sleek-shafted arrows sighted upon their targets. The missiles flew, and immediately the bakali camp echoed with shrieks and yowls of pain. Many lizardmen thrashed madly, while others lay still-slain in their sleep, or the first few moments of wakefulness. A hundred or more of the reptilian invaders raced about, weapons raised, staring frantically into the enclosing forest.
Another volley of arrows sifted silently into the horde, and then another. Helpless against the attack, which came from three sides, the mob of bakali milled about, small groups rushing toward individual trees. Some lizardmen dropped to all fours and galloped toward the vallenwood occupied by Ashtaway. He shot one, his arrow joined by a volley from several surrounding trees. The small band of attackers, in unison, flopped to the ground and lay still.
Ash looked for another target. Some of the lizardmen had begun to back toward the ravine leading to the lake shore, and the others instinctively followed. Silver arrowheads shot from the woods around the ravine, but Ashtaway wasn't certain the retreat could be stopped by arrows alone. Still, the tribe sought to attack without taking losses themselves, so the Pathfinder had urged the necessity to stand off and shoot for as long as possible.
