At the front door of the commander’s building he reported to an orderly, who sent him to wait in a lobby with a few other members of the forest guard. One was called into Mastrin’s office, then several minutes later another was, while additional junior members of the guard came and sat down as well, each waiting for their turn to talk to the commanding officer. Kestrel was the third person to enter the office from the lobby.
Inside he found Mastrin and a junior officer who seemed to be present mainly to take notes. “Well now Kestrel, looks like the doc put some serious time in to fix you up,” Mastrin said as Kestrel stood at attention before him, until the commander released him.
“Tell me what brought you back from the western boundary yesterday,” Mastrin advised him.
“I was on station in the late morning, when I noticed a large amount of dark smoke coming from a spot in the forest not far from where I sat,” Kestrel explained.
“There were no clouds in the sky or any lightening or any reasonable cause of such a fire,” he added, anticipating the question about to be asked, as the aide’s pen scribbled notes on a piece of paper.
“How is the battle going down south?” he interrupted himself suddenly, no longer able to bottle up his curiosity.
“There wasn’t really much of a battle,” Mastrin answered conversationally, much to Kestrel’s relief; he had feared he would be told to stick to his own story. “The humans started early in the morning with a lot of noise and an advance along a wide front. They caught our attention obviously. But they moved slowly and cautiously, didn’t penetrate deeply, only cut down a tree or two, then slowly moved around like they were shifting positions, before they withdrew by late morning.
“It makes me think it was just a feint to distract us from something else, which is why I’m interested in hearing your story. Please proceed,” the commander said as his aide sat patiently.
“The smoke was thick, and I judged it to be a pretty bad fire. I felt that it needed to be put out right away, immediately,” he emphasized, “before it started burning up a big chunk of woodland, so I started to pray,” he hesitated for just a second, knowing that he was about to remind everyone of his mixed ancestry, “to the human goddess Kai, and asked for her help to douse the flames.”
He took a deep breath, as the pen continued to scratch for a few more minutes, then paused. Kestrel knew that there was a general suspicion that he could pray to the human deities, but no one knew that he could ask for and receive such direct interdiction — he hadn’t known it himself. It was almost as if he had the power of a human priest, and he knew that more suspicions were going to be raised against him than praises would be sung for what he had just achieved on behalf of the elves.
“And soon after that, a big rain storm came. I had climbed down out of my tree and was running through the woods towards the fire to check on it when the skies just opened up and dumped water like a river was falling,” he noticed that both Mastrin and the aide were looking at him, and the pen was frozen in immobility.
“Just like that, the goddess answered your prayer?” Mastrin asked.
“Yes sir,” Kestrel answered.
“Did you make any sacrifice or promise?” his commander pressed him.
“No sir; maybe yes sir,” Kestrel answered, recollecting the goddess’s promise to collect payment from him in the future.
“Which is it? What did you give her?” the aide blurted out, drawing a sharp look from Mastrin. The junior officer looked down and began to take notes suddenly.
“I didn’t promise anything, but the goddess said I would owe her,” Kestrel explained.
“Not the conversation I expected, and certainly worthy of some theological discussion by the wise ones, I’m sure, but probably this isn’t relevant to the military matters at hand,” Mastrin said. He paused, and seemed to be judging Kestrel as he silently looked at his young guardsman. “This probably doesn’t need to be in the record; strike it and keep the notes clean,” he directed the aide. There was a flurry of scratching on the aide’s pad.
“So go on with your story about the fire,” the commander redirected his attention to Kestrel.
“I slipped in the mud as I was running, and landed on my arm, but I got up and continued to the edge of the fire scene. By then the rain was ending, and the fire seemed to be out.
“It was contained to a couple of hundred acres, but the forest is intact on all sides of it,” Kestrel finished. “I decided I should return and report, but all the flooding made me have to detour, so I was late getting back last night, sir,” he concluded his report and stood at attention as the pen continued to scratch for another few seconds.
“It seems to me that there may be some connection between this fire and the invasion. Was that your thought too?” Mastrin asked.
“I wondered sir; there didn’t seem to be any natural explanation for the start of the fire, and then from what you said about the action in the south, there really wasn’t any good reason for it,” Kestrel replied. “And I apologize for leaving the forest unprotected. I can resume my spot immediately if you want me to.”
“Not with that wing,” the commander told him. “Nothing to apologize for; I think you did right. I’ve already redistributed the guards to patrol the forest, so you can plan to stay here a day or two to heal up. Did the doctor tell you how long you’d need?”
“He said that my human blood might make me heal slowly; it may take a fortnight,” Kestrel said, dragging his nasty heritage out into the conversation again.
“I suppose it might; he’d know better than I would,” Mastrin agreed; he knew about Kestrel’s human heritage, and felt a slight uneasiness about it, but he knew that Kestrel had been a reliable and effective member of his guard unit, especially in the case of the fire, and he knew that the boy seemed to have a healthy friendship with his daughter, one that Mastrin was willing to tolerate and observe for the time being.
“Tell you what — you go on over to let Cheryl see you to know you’re alive and taken care of, and that I’m not a human brute who has slaughtered you, then just be available the next few days. We should get a report back this afternoon from the patrol out looking at your fire spot, so you may want to hear their report later today,” Mastrin spoke in a casual manner that Kestrel suspected hid some machinations.
“We’ll write up a report after we hear the patrol’s information,” the commander told his aide. “Go along Kestrel, you’re dismissed,” he motioned towards a door, and the young elf left the room hurriedly, relieved at the lack of any reprimand or punishment. And then he forgot about all that and began to look forward to seeing Cheryl.
Chapter 5 — Cheryl’s House
His timing was going to be perfect, Kestrel concluded as he walked through town to the commander’s home. It was late morning; by the time he sat down and saw Cheryl, it would be almost lunch time, and her mother, always a perfect hostess, would invite him to join them for a meal, so he would get more time with Cheryl at the table.
He soon arrived at the high-positioned porch, the height that reflected the elves’ desire to be up off the ground — in the trees, or in something that could approximate a tree’s height if at all possible — and knocked on the door.
Footsteps sounded inside, and Cheryl’s younger sister Crozanna answered the door. Her eyes widened at the sight of the sling that cradled his arm. “Were you hurt in the battle yesterday?” she asked earnestly.
“No,” Kestrel said with a sigh, “I fell in the mud.”
Crozanna giggled. “Would you like to see Cheryl?” she asked mischievously.
“If she has time,” Kestrel tried to answer politely.
“Let’s go see. Come on in,” the young sister spoke, throwing the door wide open, and ushering Kestrel into the house. He’d been a visitor on numerous occasions before, enough that Crozanna felt comfortable casually providing entry to him. She led him right, along a hall, towards a parlor he had shared with Cheryl many time before on visits.
When he rounded the corner, he saw Cheryl sitting in her usual easy chair, looking placid and beautiful as ever, then his vision encompassed the rest of the room, and he saw Malsten, the son of the dry goods store owner, sitting on the opposite chair where he had expected to sit.
“Kestrel’s here to see you Cheryl,” Crozanna chirped brightly, apparently enjoying the opportunity to be an
