“What do you suppose will happen when the men find out what they’ve captured?” he said. “What’s to stop them from seizing this loot for themselves?”
“You will. Remind them who they are and what they’re fighting for. Their pride will stop them.”
He appraised her anew. “For an unschooled woods-runner, you have insight.”
The double-edged compliment drew a snort from the half-elf.
Omitting only the troops that were needed to guard the nomad prisoners, Tylocost assembled his army. All eyes widened as the men beheld the piles of looted treasure the elf had left uncovered.
“Here are the stolen treasures of your country!” Tylocost shouted, his voice ringing through the nomad camp. “The gods have seen fit to reverse the tide of war and return it to you. Now we have a grave duty. We must secure this hoard for Lord Tolandruth until the rightful owners can he found.”
A rumble of talk sounded from the assembled men. One called out, “Can’t we make use of just a little of it, General? I got a homemade spear and brass pot for my head. There’s real blades and armor there!”
Tylocost looked thoughtful, as though the notion had not occurred to him. “That does sound fair,” he allowed. “I’ll appoint a quartermaster to distribute the arms appropriately.”
There were nods and grins all around.
Tylocost added, “The rest of this booty shall be sacred. No one is to touch it, on pain of death.”
The men nodded. Theft by a soldier in the field was punishable by hanging, and every man present remembered the fate of the deserters at Juramona.
Guards were posted to watch over the valuables. Tylocost called for volunteers with riding experience. These men were mounted on captured Ergothian horses and ordered to find Lord Tolandruth’s army and report what they’d captured. Heavy wagons would be required to move the weighty treasure, and until they arrived Tylocost and his troop would remain to safeguard it.
Daybreak arrived, cloudy and warm. The ravine seemed airless, cut off by the hills from the usual summer breezes. Face red with heat, Tylocost soaked a kerchief in water and knotted it around his neck.
“Hey, gorgeous, whatcha doin’?”
The unfamiliar, high-pitched voice brought Tylocost whirling around in surprise. He saw a kender perched atop a pile of treasure. The little fellow was idly twirling the elf’s floppy hat. No one had seen him arrive, much less climb up the mound of booty, so his appearance prompted much consternation and drawing of swords.
“Who in Chaos are you?” Tylocost demanded. “And give me my hat!”
“Curly Windseed. Fine. It’s too big for me anyway!” the kender replied rather confusingly. His brown hair was clipped short and a fringe of straight bangs fell into his light blue eyes.
He sent the hat spinning through the air to its rightful owner. Tylocost caught it deftly and ordered him off the treasure pile.
“This is the property of the Ergoth Empire,” the Silvanesti added.
“So this is Ergoth? Good!” the kender pronounced, leaping nimbly to the ground. “You know, gorgeous, you could use a new hat. For a fee, I could find you a really good one.”
Before Tylocost could deliver a scathing reply, he heard himself hailed. A soldier was running toward him through the piles of stolen goods.
“Strangers are in camp!” the soldier cried. “Kender!”
Tylocost muttered, “Of course. There’s never just one aphid on the roses.”
“Friends of yours?” Zala asked Curly Windseed.
“Sure. Well, some of them. I don’t much like Duck; he cheats at games. And Rambletoe snores like a donkey. Downy’s okay-Downy Redfoot, that is. She-”
Tylocost gave a frustrated snarl and stalked away to order his troops to assemble. Zala was fascinated. A few minutes with a kender had shattered the Silvanesti’s impeccably cool demeanor.
Soon, ten kender had gathered around Curly Windseed. Tylocost pegged them as wanderers, poking their noses where they weren’t wanted, and ordered them sent on their way.
Zala wondered at their attire. All the kender were armed with short swords and dressed in scale shirts and matching green leggings.
“Why are you dressed alike?” she asked Curly.
Idly poking through a crate of stolen goods, he said, “Because we’re scouts.”
“For the Queen’s Own Royal Loyal Militia,” another kender put in.
Zala whirled on Tylocost, exclaiming, “These are the allies Lord Tolandruth sent for!”
The elf sneered in disbelief, but Curly confirmed that they had indeed been led here by their queen, Casberry of Hylo, and a towering, blonde human woman whose name he couldn’t remember.
“Kiya!”
Curly shook his head at Zala. “No, that’s not it.” He and his comrades began arguing amongst themselves over the giant’s proper name.
Tylocost put a hand to his forehead. “Lord Tolandruth must be mad, sending for these pests.”
Zala reminded him how easily the kender had penetrated the stockaded camp, with the Ergothians awake and vigilant. If Lord Tolandruth could harness the natural abilities of the kender, it could only help their cause, she said.
Another runner arrived, bringing additional news: more kender were coming, following a strange wooden fetish borne on the shoulders of two brawny humans. The fetish was attended by a Red Robe wizard.
This was incredible, even for kender. Tylocost and Zala hurried through the nomad camp. At the north end, by a broken-down section of the stockade, they found the kender-and Kiya.
The Dom-shu looked sunburned and weary. Beside her was a man of middle years, wearing a dusty, faded crimson robe. His hands were bound in front of him, with Kiya holding a rope attached to his bonds. Behind them stretched a long, straggling column comprising a couple hundred armed humans and a substantial sprinkling of kender. The procession was indeed headed by two brawny, sweat-slicked men bearing on their shoulders an elaborate sedan chair of cedar and gold. A tiny figure sat in the chair. As the runner had said, the figure appeared to be carved from dark hardwood, weathered by long exposure to sun, wind, and rain. It was draped in shiny purple cloth.
Kiya hailed Tylocost. “By the gods, I never thought I’d be glad to see your face again!” she said.
“And you smell as delightfully as I remember,” the elf retorted. “What is this menagerie, woman?”
“What Husband requested. This is the army of Hylo-and may Corij have mercy on us all!”
She jerked the rope and brought her prisoner forward.
“This fellow claims to be Helbin, chief of the Red Robe wizards in Daltigoth, but will say no more about his business. He’s certainly a wizard all right, so watch him.”
“I demand to be taken to Lord Tolandruth,” Helbin said irritably.
Ignoring the wizard for now, Tylocost asked Kiya, “What is that peculiar fetish at the head of your army? It’s hideous!”
Kiya looked blank. “Fetish?” The truth dawned on her, and she threw back her head and laughed. “Come. I’ll introduce you!”
When they drew nearer, they could hear a faint rasping coming from the figure.
“It’s alive!” Zala exclaimed.
“Very.” Kiya rapped a fist against the chair rail. “Your Majesty! You have visitors!”
The wizened doll opened one eye. “Hmm? Is it noon already?”
“May I present Queen Casberry of Hylo,” Kiya said. “Your Majesty, this is the famous general from Silvanost, Janissiron Tylocostathan, known as Tylocost.”
Casberry leaned forward, staring hard at the elf. “Whew!” she exclaimed. “How did you survive such a beating? What a face they left you with!”
Her bluntness made Zala blink. The elf replied genially, “Bold words indeed from a carved totem.” He bowed in the best courtly Silvanesti fashion. “Your Majesty is a tribute to her embalmer.” It was clear these two were not going to get along.
Kiya explained they had gone first to Juramona, but learned Tol had moved on. They had been following the track of Tylocost’s column, knowing it would lead them to Tol eventually.
Queen Casberry wanted breakfast. The little group made their way to the center of the former nomad camp, where Tylocost’s men had kindled a cookfire. Kiya, still leading the sullen Helbin, asked Zala about Tol. The half-elf
