Kagonesti

centuries can never master. Too, she is an elf of wondrous beauty, with many other talents as well. But I do not know how I should survive without her to tend to my needs.'

Ash might have pointed out that Wallaki had survived quite nicely while his daughter had been caring for Lectral, but he did not. Instead, he spoke with respect. 'Perhaps two doeskins and the down of fifty geese would make your loneliness more comfortable,' he suggested.

Wallaki nodded. 'That would help. But see these old fingers? They are too gnarled for proper fletching. I can still shoot, but I have no arrows.'

'You will soon have one hundred of the finest shafts that I can feather,' Ash promised, bowing his head. The dowry price was very high-and he was elated to pay it.

'Ah… that will do much to soothe my despair!' It was all the old shaman could do to keep from cackling in delight.

'We shall be wed with the autumn harvest,' Ash told the beaming priest. The Pathfinder rose and bowed respectfully before he went to spread the word through the rest of the village.

Ashtaway stood beside the slowly roasting pig, far enough away so that he didn't get burned-but close enough for his silhouette to darken against the backdrop of brightness, as he looked across the faces of his people. The young Pathfinder felt a vague, unidentifiable sense of disquiet, wondering what unease lurked at the back of his mind. He wished that Iydaway could be here-and he wondered what his uncle would say about his break with tradition.

Then he realized another thing: He wished that Lectral, too, could share in this feast-that they could really celebrate the end of the Dragon War. But did he dare to hope that Huma's victory over Takhisis would occur, that the scourge of evil dragonkind might be lifted from Krynn?

'What is it, my Pathfinder?' He felt a gentle hand in his and looked down into Hammana's bright, penetrating eyes.

'I'm thinking of a friend,' he said quietly.

'I think our friend will come.'

Ashtaway patted her hand, appreciating her optimism even as he couldn't share it. But she was no longer looking at him-instead, she raised a hand and pointed toward the forest encircling the village.

'Look!'

Shiny silver rippled through the trees, and Ashtaway and Hammana raised shouts of greeting as a broad snout poked out of the forest. Kagonesti voices shouted in alarm, mothers sweeping children into their arms as warriors raced toward the dragon that had suddenly appeared in their midst.

Ashtaway raised the Ram's Horn to his lips and blew a joyful blast. 'Hold!' he cried, as the warriors turned to look at him. 'This is a friend-a very welcome friend!'

Stepping forward, Hammana at his side, he advanced to greet the mighty dragon.

The serpent, dragging his injured hind leg, limped into the clearing and coiled himself, smiling gently, at the edge of the village. Remembering Ash's tale of the great silver dragon, Lectral Hornbearer, the Kagonesti gradually overcame their awe and came forward to regard the dragon, who returned their dignified inspection with a serious and serene expression.

Children stared at the dragon wide-eyed, but without fear. Some even ventured to approach, and soon Lectral was entertaining them by lifting them up on his broad snout and letting them slide, squealing, down his smooth, curling tail.

'It is a time for changes of many kinds,' Ashtaway observed solemnly.

'Aye, and friendships of many kinds as well,' the dragon replied as a giggling tot tumbled from his tail into the dirt. Children clamored for more turns, but Lectral gently disengaged himself-after each of the youngsters had had a ride-and limped to the central clearing. The Kagonesti hurried about, cleaning dirt off the children, getting ready for the feast.

'It is good to see you so happy,' said Lectral. 'For this alone I would have come to the village.'

Ashtaway didn't miss the dragon's meaning. 'There is another reason that you came, then?'

'Yes. It is to make my farewells to you and Hammana, who have cared so well for me.'

'Farewells? But surely you're not going anywhere? Not with the battle won, perhaps even the war! You must stay with us and celebrate the peace!'

'Alas, I cannot,' sighed Lectral with genuine regret. 'For, as you suspect, the war is won. But the price of that victory is the departure of me, and my kind.'

'What do you mean?'

'They are winging to me, tonight. I came here to say good-bye to you and await Saytica-for the two of us will fly together.'

Saytica, Ash remembered, was one of Lectral's female offspring-now a huge silver dragon in her own right. Her proud father had boasted that she was one of the foremost fighters in the dragon wing defending Palanthas.

'You're going to fly? Fly where? And how?' Ashtaway couldn't believe what he was hearing. He gestured at the scarred mass of the dragon's once-mighty wings. 'Saytica may be a mighty dragon-but do you think she's going to carry you?'

Lectral smiled tolerantly, even puffing a brief snort of amusement.

'As to the where: We go to a place called the Isle of Dragons, a place beyond Ansalon. We-the dragons of silver and gold-are going there, and there we shall live out our days, and our generations.'

'How do you know this?' Ashtaway challenged.

'Peace is a thing of which even the smallest birds take note-it has been the song on the wind for these past days. It is a music that spreads across the world, a tale of hope and mystery that an ear as sensitive as mine cannot help but sense.'

The dragon smiled more broadly, mocking himself.

'Of course, it helped this morning that one of Saytica's children-a nestling, barely, but a fast flyer-came to my cave and told me to make ready.'

'But Lectral-without wings, how will you fly?'

If the dragon had heard the question, he made no indication of the fact.

'They say that the Isle of Dragons is a splendid place, idyllic, bountiful to a dragon's needs,' Lectral continued, his voice soft, dreamy. Ashtaway sensed that the great serpent did in fact relish the prospect of a pastoral life there.

The Pathfinder raised the horn to his mouth and began to play. He didn't think about the notes, but let the music rise from somewhere within his soul. Lectral half-closed his eyes, listening dreamily, while the rest of the Kagonesti sighed softly with the poignancy of the melody.

The notes of the horn, this time, were fuller and more profound than could possibly have resonated in that slender tube. Ashtaway recognized great, keening chants in the rich melody and understood that the instrument played a song of dragons. He did not, could not, know that these sounds had not rung from the horn in more than two thousand years, but he sensed their historic portent as he heard them now.

Lectral raised his own horn, and these notes joined Ash's in rising toward the sky, singing through the night. The elf had a strong feeling that Father Kagonesti himself hovered there, looking down at his people, his tribe. Ashtaway wondered what Kagonos thought about the changes in the world-and in the Pathfinder-that had come about during this portentous season.

In a flash of insight, he knew that the Elderwild was pleased.

At last, the big silver dragon lowered his horn and raised his eyes to the canopy of leaves over their heads. 'They come,' he said softly.

Limping awkwardly, the great serpent hobbled through the village, and made his way between the vallenwoods that stood at the top of the lakeside bluff. Emerging from the trees, he looked toward the northwest, where Lunitari had just settled below the horizon. The Kagonesti came behind, reverently gathering along the crest of the precipice, looking across the star-dappled pattern of the Blue- lake.

The tribe settled into silence as the wild elves waited, following the direction of Lectral's gaze. Ashtaway still played, and still the notes of the horn keened impossibly deep and broad, and now the song expanded to fill the night.

The dragons came into sight first as silhouettes against the starlight, but as they flew lower the metallic glow