elders had perished, either in the battle against the dragonarmies or in the mines at Pax Tharkas. And for this reason, Goldmoon and Riverwind had forgiven him when they returned to Que-Shu after the war and had named him lorekeeper of the tribe. He had remained at their side for more than thirty years now, and though he was stooped and frail with age, many of the Que-Shu believed he would still be there, thirty years hence.
Riverwind tarried at Far-Runner’s side for some time, resting a gentle hand on the ancient man’s arm as they spoke in hushed tones, then at last he stepped onward, to the last man in the row.
That man could have been the chieftain himself, years younger-he was tall and thin like Riverwind, and had the same sharp, hawklike features. His hair was black, though, instead of Riverwind’s white, and he was only starting to show signs of the wrinkles that lined the chieftain’s face.
“Let me guess,” Catt said. “Your brother?”
“Yes,” Brightdawn answered. “That’s Wanderer.”
“He’s a stony looking fellow,” Kronn observed. Riverwind smiled as he spoke to his son, but Wanderer’s expression remained dour.
Moonsong sighed. “He wasn’t always that way,” she said. “He used to smile a lot, once-before the Chaos War, anyway.”
“What happened?” asked Catt and Kronn at once.
“That’s the worst part,” Brightdawn said. “No one’s sure.” Seeing the puzzled looks on the kender’s faces, she shook her head. “Have you heard tales about the shadow-wights? Of their powers?”
Kronn nodded gravely. “I have. From what I hear, a shadow-wight doesn’t just kill you-it destroys you. If you look into its eyes, there’s nothing there, but it can catch you with its gaze, and tear out your soul. Bit by bit you cease to exist, until nothing remains. Not even-” He gasped in horror, his hand going to his mouth.
“Not even in the minds of those who loved you,” Moonsong said gravely.
“Wanderer has a son,” Brightdawn added, her voice heavy with sorrow. “Cloudhawk. He’s three years old. And no one, not even Wanderer, can remember the mother.”
“A shadow-wight killed her?” Catt asked, her eyes wide.
“Like I said,” Brightdawn repeated, “no one knows.”
Wanderer stepped forward, unbuckling the bone-lattice plate he wore upon his breast, and held it out to Riverwind. “I return this to you, Father,” he said tonelessly.
Riverwind took the breastplate and held it a moment, turning it over in his hands, then gave it back to his son. A murmur rippled through the crowd. Wanderer’s eyes widened, but he said nothing.
“I will only be staying in Que-Shu one night,” Riverwind said. He nodded back toward Kronn and Catt. “I have promised our guests my help. We will be leaving on the morrow.”
The villagers began to grumble, disbelief in their voices. The curious glances they cast at the kender grew hard, suspicious. The Honored Ones-even old Far-Runner-stared at Riverwind as the rain hammered all around them.
“You mean to help them?” Graywinter asked, his serpent tattoo swelling as he puffed out his chest. There was no mistaking the distaste in his voice.
“No, not just us,” Catt answered. She stepped forward and bowed before the elders. “He’s coming to Kendermore to help the kender nation fight the ogres and the dragon.”
Scattered laughter rose among the crowd. The Honored Ones regarded Catt sourly. “Madness,” said Hobblestep, shifting on his crutch. “You can’t be serious about such a mission, my chief. Ogres? Dragons?”
“We’ve been trying to dissuade him,” Moonsong said.
“I have sworn to help,” Riverwind stated simply. “I leave with them tomorrow.”
“But, my chief,” Swiftraven blurted. “Why should you help them? They’re just kender.”
“Hey!” Kronn said peevishly.
“Just kender?” Riverwind demanded. He stalked over to the young warrior, who lowered his eyes self- consciously, and glowered at him. “Perhaps you’re right, Swiftraven,” he said after a moment. “Not worth the bother. Let the kender die. That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”
“I-” Swiftraven stammered. “No… I don’t…”
Riverwind turned away from him in disgust, walking back to his son. Of all the Plainsfolk, Wanderer alone seemed untroubled by his father’s words. His face was impassive.
“Where is your mother?” Riverwind asked.
“She waits for you in the chieftain’s lodge,” Wanderer replied, glancing toward a wooden longhouse at the far side of the arena.
Riverwind nodded, taking a deep breath to calm himself. His face stern, he turned to face the nervous crowd. Thunder roared.
“Go home,” he told them. “All of you. Get out of the storm.”
He walked past the still-amazed Honored Ones, bound for the chieftain’s lodge. The villagers dispersed, running for shelter as the rain of the Hianawek overtook Que-Shu.
She had not changed as much as her husband, but age had not left Goldmoon of Que-Shu untouched. She was plumper than she had been in her youth. Her long braided hair was more silver now than gold. There were crow’s feet around her pale blue eyes and worry lines around her mouth.
“You are still beautiful,” Riverwind told her as he stepped into the chieftain’s lodge.
Goldmoon looked up from where she sat, smiling. “And you still flatter me too much.”
She rose from her sitting-blanket, pushing herself gracefully to her feet, and stepped forward to meet him. They embraced, but when his lips sought hers, she turned, allowing him to kiss her cheek only.
“You weren’t at the Ceremony of Greeting,” Riverwind chided gently.
“I’m sorry,” said Goldmoon. “Did I miss something? I thought it might not be good for my illness to be out in the rain.”
“Illness?” Riverwind paled with worry “What has-”
“Don’t fret so,” she scolded him gently. “It isn’t serious. Merely a cold, but I don’t want it to grow worse-nor would I want you to catch it.”
He gazed at her a moment, his eyes filled with pain. Then, before she could turn away, he kissed her full on the lips, hard and fierce. When they parted, she looked at him with piercing eyes.
“I can tell by your face,” she said. “You aren’t staying. Why?”
He shook his head. “When I was in Solace, two kender came to the inn. There is trouble in Kendermore- ogres, and a dragon. I told them I would help them.”
“Kender?” she asked.
“Two children of Kronin Thistleknot. All grown now, and kender through and through.”
“And you promised to help them?”
Another woman might have wept, might have begged him not to go. Goldmoon only studied his face, nodding. There was sorrow in her gaze, but there was also understanding. “If you must,” she murmured. “It will not be the first time I have waited for your return.”
Thunder bellowed, and brilliant light blazed outside the lodge’s narrow windows. The flash drew Goldmoon’s attention, and she did not see the grimace that twisted her husband’s face. When she turned back to him, he was composed and stoic once more.
“When do you leave?” she asked.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “In the morning.”
She nodded, then reached out and took his hand. Her grasp was strong, sure. His breath quickened as she raised his fingers to her lips.
“What fools we would be, then,” she murmured, “to let this night go to waste.”
They went to the bedroom then, husband and wife. The storm raged on, but they paid it no heed.
The folk of Que-Shu rose early the next day. It was a clear morning, with a chill in the air that spoke of summer’s end. The villagers set about mending what the storm had broken. The wind had torn tents from their moorings, and debris was scattered through the streets. As the sun rose above the Eastwall Mountains, however, the folk began to set aside their work and gather at the gates to see their chieftain off on his journey.
Kronn and Catt were the first to arrive. The Plainsfolk muttered darkly at their approach, making warding
