who detected the fire.
“We’re fortunate that the rainstorm happened at the right time, in the right place,” Silvan added. Three code words in the message had indicated that there was much more information available from this courier, information that the commander had not wished to put in writing. Silvan was extremely interested to learn what the hidden news was, and he scrutinized the messenger closely, noting the boy’s obvious mixed blood, a heritage of humanity written noticeably in the body structure and the face, especially his ears. The codes had not indicated any treachery or dishonesty in the boy however; the information would not reveal that the boy was a traitor, or any additional negative aspect of the fire that Silvan needed to know, and the colonel was glad of that; there was something appealing about this youth. “What can you tell me about this situation?”
Kestrel thought back — back through the journey and the sprite and the healing spring, back through the Goddess Kere, and the militia ruffians, back to the broken arm and the fire and the Goddess Kai. It had been less than a week ago that all those incredible events had begun to descend upon him. How much of it was he supposed to tell this officer, he wondered. Commander Mastrin had trusted this officer, had told Kestrel he was a trustworthy person to whom Kestrel could reveal his full story; or at least, Mastrin had thought Kestrel could reveal all of his story that the commander knew about. The rest of the story, the encounter with Kere and the sprite, seemed even more fantastic and unbelievable than the first part, and Kestrel’s mind whirled with conflicting considerations of what to reveal while retaining some credibility.
“The rainstorm was more than good luck,” Kestrel replied. He would tell his story and judge his listener as he went along, he decided.
“I said a prayer to the human goddess, Kai, asking for help, and she created the storm that put the fire out. She made it rain, such a rain as you’ve never seen!” Kestrel spoke enthusiastically momentarily.
“You prayed to a human goddess? Where did you learn to do that?” Silvan asked.
“I taught myself,” Kestrel answered. “My mother taught me to pray to the Elven gods and goddesses, and that’s what I did. But as I grew older, I just felt a calling to try something different, so I started trying to pray to the human gods; and Kai responded. So when I spotted the fire, well, the smoke from the fire, and when I prayed to Kai, she answered me. She told me I would be in her debt, and someday I would have to repay her favor.”
“The human goddess worked against the humans’ own plan to burn the forest? She did it for you?” Silvan sounded skeptical.
“Yes,” Kestrel affirmed.
“Did you pray to her in the humans’ language?” the colonel asked.
“No, I don’t know their language,” Kestrel told him. “I just used my own words and prayers.”
“So the human goddess counts you as one of her own. That’s interesting, in the extreme,” Silvan said softly. “Well, don’t let me interrupt your story,” he said. “Go on.”
Kestrel continued, telling of his broken arm, and his meeting with Mastrin that had sent him on his way to Center Trunk.
“And so then you had a quick, uneventful trip through the eastern forest to Center Trunk,” Silvan finished the story for Kestrel, and looked back down at the paper report. The candles were burning low in their holders.
The boy looked at the officer, his tongue frozen as his mind scrambled to find the proper answer.
“There were one or two things that happened on the way,” Kestrel answered.
“Oh? Such as?” Silvan felt obliged to ask, as he studied the paper and let the wheels in his mind turn, absently evaluating the usefulness of a half-human/half-elf guard who communed with human gods.
Kestrel told the story of his beating by the militia. He noted that Silvan’s attention to him grew as the story unfolded, and he detected a sympathetic expression on the officer’s face.
“You seem to be in good shape for having been beaten so badly,” Silvan commented.
He was going to tell the story of the visit from Kere, Kestrel decided, since Silvan was paying attention.
“There is a healing spring outside a small village on the way here. The goddess Kere told me about it and told me to go there,” Kestrel said, watching Silvan as he spoke.
The colonel sat silently, staring first at the wall behind Kestrel, then directly at Kestrel. “The goddess of fortune spoke to you, gave you direction?”
Kestrel nodded.
“Did you hear her in your heart?” Silvan asked.
“With my ears,” Kestrel corrected. “At first she was a little old lady at the inn. She gave me a room assignment, then sent me to the spring. When I got there she was a beautiful girl.”
“Kere took a direct interest in you? She declared you one of her chosen?” Silvan was sitting forward.
“She said she would protect me when I deserved it, when I was within her area to protect,” Kestrel tried to remember exactly what the goddess had told him. “She said I would have a mission to rescue someone, a girl who had mixed blood like me.
“At first I thought she meant the sprite, but then I remembered the part about mixed blood,” Kestrel explained. “She never said I was one of her chosen; she said I was unusual to be under both sets of gods.”
One of the two candles guttered out, and the room grew even dimmer and murkier. Kestrel found it harder to see Silvan’s features.
“What sprite are you talking about?” Silvan asked. He was leaning far forward on his elbows, but the candle light reflecting brightly off his eyes was the clearest thing Kestrel could see.
The story of the wolf, and the healing spring, and the confrontations and conversations in the hotel room followed, interrupted frequently by many questions from Silvan.
The second candle flickered, them died, and the two men sat in the office in the darkness, each of them silent. Kestrel heard a scraping noise, and saw a shadow arise from behind the desk, there was a thud and a gentle curse, then the sound of movement. The door to the hallway opened, letting in a stream of dim light, but within a moment the light was blocked by the shadow of the guard in the hallway, filling the doorframe.
“You’ve been in consultation for a long time sir, is everything alright?” the guard asked.
“It’s fine Giardell. Would you fetch a fresh candle for us?” Silvan asked. The guard left, and Silvan returned to his desk.
“Kestrel, I’d like you to stay here in Center Trunk for a few days as my guest while I check on a few things; enjoy the city. I imagine we’ll have you serve as a courier to take a message back to Elmheng,” Silvan explained. “When we have some light I’ll write orders and a chit to arrange for lodging and board for you here in the city.”
They waited until Giardell returned with a lantern, allowing Silvan to write temporary orders for Kestrel to have free reign of the city. “Giardell, take Kestrel down to the checkpoint and have a guard show him to his quarters, then return here,” Silvan directed. “Thank you Kestrel, for the delivery of the message and the rest of your story. I’ll have something to discuss with you in a few days. Enjoy your free time — the city celebrates the king’s birthday for the next couple of days, so have a good time.”
Giardell returned to Silvan’s office soon thereafter, after he had handed Kestrel off to another guard at the front door to the building. “Giardell, send a pair of guards back along the trail to Elmheng, and check on reports of our courier coming through in the past couple of days. Have the reports brought back here immediately. The boy has some interesting stories, but I’d like to hear some corroboration,” he spoke with his usual understatement, letting the guard know that something extraordinary had happened on the trip.
Kestrel followed his guide to a plain building, one built of brick and stone, with a first floor set only a few feet above the ground. “Any vacant room is yours,” the guide told Kestrel. “The chow line in the commissary will be open for just a few minutes longer, in the low building across the way,” he motioned. “If you want something to eat, get over there and show them your chit from the spies.”
“Spies?” Kestrel asked in surprise. “Colonel Silvan is a spy?”
“I think the polite word is ‘intelligence,’” his guide replied.
“Who does he spy on? The humans?” Kestrel asked in astonishment.
“You’ll have to ask them; I don’t know, and I don’t want to,” the guide said with a hint of disdain. “I’m happy to carry a bow and shoot at whoever they tell me to. Which is why I’ll be in the archery contest during the festival tomorrow. Do you need anything else?” he asked, clearly prepared to part ways with Kestrel.
“No. Thanks,” Kestrel lamely replied, then watched the guard quickly leave the building.
Kestrel went to the upper floor of the building, found no obvious empty rooms, then came back downstairs and settled for a lower room that at least was on a corner, with windows on two sides. With his bag lying on his
