found him, unconscious and covered in blood. We bound his wound as well as we could, and brought him to Kendermore through the tunnels. It took eight of us to carry him here.”
“They took her,” Stagheart wept as Swiftraven smoothed back his damp, brown hair.
Drawing a long, slow breath to calm himself, Riverwind knelt by the bedside. “Stagheart,” he said, at once gentle and insistent. “What happened?”
Stagheart’s eyes rolled, showing nothing but white, then his gaze settled on Riverwind. “My chief,” he breathed. “I have failed you.”
“Tell me,” Riverwind said.
The two men held each other’s gaze for an excruciating moment, then Stagheart grew calm. Drawing upon some deep well of strength within himself, he began to speak.
“We left Que-Shu a month ago,” he said. “Moonsong had a… a nightmare. She dreamt that Brightdawn was in danger, that she needed her, so she pleaded with Goldmoon to let us go after you. We rode south to New Ports, found a ship to bear us across the New Sea-”
“Then crossed the desert in Khur, crossed the Bay of Balifor, and headed inland, toward the Kenderwood,” Kronn finished proudly. “The same route we took.”
“Kronn,” Riverwind snapped.
“No, he’s right,” Stagheart said. A smile flickered across his face, then vanished. “When we reached the Kenderwood, though, it had been burned. Whole towns destroyed.”
“You should have turned back,” Riverwind said.
“I told Moonsong just that,” Stagheart agreed. “But she would hear nothing of it. She wouldn’t leave….”
His voice broke, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Riverwind laid a hand on his arm, and after a time Stagheart grew calm again. He went on. “We’d bought a map in Port Balifor. It showed the way to Kendermore. We followed a trail, and as we neared Kendermore we reached a firebreak. Beyond, the forest was untouched by fire-but it was ailing, brown, and foul. Still we went on. We were so close-even I didn’t think of turning back.
“By the time I saw the ogres, it was too late to run. They came out of the forest on all sides. I tried to protect her, my chief. I swear. I must have slain half a dozen of them. I did everything I could to keep them away from her-but it wasn’t enough. Then one of them stabbed me.” He gestured feebly at the bloody bandages girding his stomach. “It is… hard to remember everything that happened after that. I fell, and they left me for dead on the ground. Then they took her. She tried to run, but they were all around her. I tried to rise, but my wound… I no longer had the strength. I lay on the ground, calling her name. I don’t know how long. Then I gave in to despair and blacked out.”
He paused, drawing a deep, shaking breath. “When I woke again, I was here, in this room, and Swiftraven was with me. I asked for you so I could tell you of my failure before I died.”
“You’re not going to die,” Swiftraven said firmly. He looked to Arlie, silently beseeching.
“He’s right, actually,” the old herbalist agreed. “I’ve looked at the wound. It’s grievous but not fatal. You must rest and heal, but you’ll live, Plainsman.”
“No!” Stagheart shouted. His body jerked with the force of his rage. When he calmed down, he looked directly at Riverwind. “I have failed, my chief. Your daughter is lost, and I am to blame. Bring me a dagger, and let me end my shame.”
Riverwind, however, was staring into the distance, thinking. His grip tightened on Stagheart’s arm, his knuckles whitening. He looked at Arlie Longfinger. “How old is his wound?” he asked.
“Only a few hours.”
A fire kindled in Riverwind’s gaze. He rose and started toward the door. “There’s still a slim chance,” he said. “Giffel, where did you say you found Stagheart?”
“Chesli’s Creek,” the tall kender answered. “Why?”
Kronn gasped suddenly, his eyes wide. “You’re not going after her-”
“You’re damned right, I am!” Riverwind snapped. “She might still be alive. Giffel, I need you to take me to Chesli’s Creek. If I can locate the ogres’ trail…”
“Okay, then I’m going too,” Kronn declared. He rose.
“Very well,” Riverwind agreed. “Come. There’s no time to lose.”
Kronn, Giffel and Riverwind started toward the door. Before they could leave the room, however, Swiftraven rose from his brother’s side. “No, my chief!” he called.
The old Plainsman stopped, his hand on the latch of the door. He turned to glower at Swiftraven.
The young warrior did not quail. He stood firm, his head upraised. “Do not go, my chief,” he said. “The kender need you here to help prepare for the siege. You cannot risk your life this way.”
“Boy, you presume too much,” Riverwind growled. His eyes blazed. “Moonsong is my daughter. Would you have me do nothing, knowing those beasts out there have her?”
“No, my chief,” Swiftraven replied gravely. “But you do not need to go. I can follow the ogres’ trail as well as you. Better, perhaps. Let me go in your place.”
Riverwind and Swiftraven looked at each other. With a great effort of will, the old Plainsman nodded. “Very well, Swiftraven. Go. Find my daughter.”
“Brightdawn should know about this,” Kronn said as Swiftraven strode toward the door. “She’s at your house, Riverwind. Pax and Catt can go get her, bring her here before we leave.”
Swiftraven, however, shook his head. “No, Kronn. We’ve lost enough time-we can’t afford to lose any more.” He paused, though, then reached over his shoulder and slid an arrow out of his quiver. He offered the shaft to Riverwind. “It is the way of the Que-Teh to leave a token for those we love when we go to war,” he said. “My chief, will you give this to Brightdawn after I have gone?”
Nodding, Riverwind accepted the arrow. “I will.”
Beaming with pride, Swiftraven turned back to the sickbed. “Farewell, my brother,” he said. “I will bring Moonsong back to you.”
Moving with swift purpose, he marched out of the room, Kronn and Giffel on his heels.
Chesli’s Creek had been a clear, babbling nil five miles
The blight Malystryx had brought upon the land had changed the clear waters to a narrow, brown drizzle that trickled from one stagnant pool to another. The greenberry bushes that grew along its grassy banks were leafless skeletons that rattled in the hot wind. A fawn, scrawny and shivering with sickness, dipped its head to lap at the fetid water. Warped by the dragon’s curse upon the Kenderwood, it was blind in one eye and barely had the strength to stand.
On a low rise that once had been an islet in the middle of the stream, a large, lichen-crusted rock split down the middle. With a soft click it swung open, revealing a shaft and earthen staircase that led down into the ground.
Swiftraven emerged stealthily from the rock, an arrow nocked on his bow, and quickly looked around. As Kronn and Giffel climbed out of the shaft behind him, the young warrior’s gaze focused on the fawn. It looked at him, quaking, but did not flee. Instead, it kept its head low, bleating softly.
Without hesitating, he pulled back his bowstring and shot the fawn through the heart. It groaned thankfully for the end to its pain, slumped to the ground, and died.
Kronn looked at Swiftraven and nodded silently. Behind them, Giffel bent down by the false rock and pushed it shut. It clicked closed, once more nothing more than another boulder in the increasingly barren, rock-strewn landscape. He hurried over to the others, pulling his battak-a studded dub with a short blade at its tip-from his belt. “All right,” he whispered. “In case… well, just in case, there’s a small stone next to the boulder there. Twist it to open the shaft.”
Swiftraven had another arrow ready. His eyes flicked from tree to tree, constantly searching for movement. “Where did you find my brother?”
“This way,” Giffel answered. “It’s not far.” He crossed the ruins of the creek, and the others followed, tense and alert. They moved through the dead forest like ghosts, making no more sound than the wind. Giffel threaded through the barren undergrowth for five hundred paces, then stopped and pointed.
A small clearing lay before them, with a worn, exposed rock in its midst. Beside the stone, the dark stain of
