Dragonlance 10 - The Second Generation (46 page)

What he discovered brought him no comfort, only increased dread. From the point beyond the churned up mud, no tracks proceeded onward down the road.

Gil had made it this far, and no farther. But what in the name of all that was holy had happened to him?

Tanis went back over the ground, expanded his search into the trees. His patience was rewarded. Horse's hooves had been led off the main road and into the woods. The hooves were flanked by the draconian claw marks.

Tanis swore bitterly. Returning to his own horse, he tethered the animal on the roadside, then removed his longbow and quiver of arrows from his saddle. He slid the bow over his shoulder and slung the quiver on his back. Loosening his sword in its sheath, he entered the woods.

All his old skills in hunting and stalking came back to him. He blessed the foresight—or had it been that vision at Storm's Keep?—that had prompted him to wear his soft leather boots, bring along the bow and arrow that he rarely carried in these days of peace. His gaze swept the ground.

He moved through the trees and brush without a sound, treading lightly, careful not to snap a stick, cause a branch to rustle with his passing.

The woods grew deeper, denser. He was a long way from the road, tracking four draconians, and he was alone. Not a particularly wise move.

He kept going. They had his son.

The sound of guttural voices, speaking a language that made flesh crawl and brought back unpleasant memories, caused Tanis to slow his pace. Holding his breath, he crept forward, moving from tree trunk to tree trunk, nearing his prey.

And there they were, or most of them, at least. Three draconians stood in front of a cave, conversing in their hideous tongue. And there was the horse, Gil's horse, with its fine leather trappings and silken ribbons tied in its mane. The animal was shivering in fear, bore marks of having been beaten. It wasn't a trained warhorse, but it had apparently fought its captors. One of the draconians was cursing the animal and pointing to a bleeding slash on a scaled arm. But there was no sign of Gil. He was probably in the cave with the fourth draconian. But why? What terrible things were they doing to him? What had they done?

At least Tanis could take cold comfort from the fact that the only blood visible on the ground was green.

He chose his target, the draconian standing nearest to him. Moving more silently than the wind, Tanis lifted his bow, fitted an arrow to it, raised the bow to his cheek, and pulled. The arrow struck the draconian in the back, between the wings. The creature gave a gurgle of pain and astonishment, then toppled over dead. The body turned to stone, held the arrow fast. Never attack a Baaz with a sword if you can help it.

Swiftly, Tanis had another arrow nocked and ready. The second draconian, its sword drawn, was turning his direction.

Tanis fired. The arrow hit the draconian in the chest. It dropped the sword, clutched at the arrow with its clawed hands, then it, too, fell to the ground.

"Don't move!" Tanis ordered harshly, speaking the Common language he knew the creatures understood.

The third draconian froze, its sword halfway drawn, its beady eyes darting this way and that.

"I have an arrow with your foul name on it," Tanis continued. "It's pointed straight at what you slime call your heart. Where is the boy you took captive back there? What have you done to him? You have ten seconds to tell me, or you meet the same fate as your comrades." The draconian said something in its own language.

"Don't give me that," Tanis growled. "You speak Common better than I do, probably. Where is the boy? Ten seconds is almost up. If you—"

"Tanis, my friend! How good to see you again," came a voice. "It's been a long time." An elf, tall, handsome, with brown hair, brown eyes, wearing black robes, emerged from the cave.

Tanis fought to keep the bow raised and aimed, though his hands trembled, his fingers were wet with sweat, and the fear tore him up inside.

"Where is my son, Dalamar?" Tanis cried hoarsely. "What have you done with him?"

"Put the bow down, my friend," Dalamar said gently. "Don't make them kill you. Don't make me."

Blinded by tears of rage and fear and helpless frustration, Tanis kept the bow raised, was ready to loose the arrow, not caring what he hit.

Clawed fingers dug into his back, dragged him to the ground. A heavy object struck him. Pain burst in Tanis's head and, though he fought against it, darkness closed around him.

Gil was riding through a particularly dark and gloomy portion of forest, thinking, uncomfortably, that this would be a perfect place for an ambush, when a griffin sailed down through an opening in the trees and landed on the road directly in front of the young man. Gil had never before seen one of the wondrous beasts, who were friends to the elves and no other race on Krynn. He was alarmed and startled at the sight. The beast had the head and wings of an eagle, but its rear portion was that of a lion. Its eyes were fierce; its wickedly sharp beak could—according to legend—rip through a dragon's scales.

His horse was terrified; horseflesh is one of a griffin's favorite meals. The animal neighed and reared in panic, nearly throwing its rider. Gil was a skilled horseman; such exercise having been advocated as good for his health, and he immediately reined in the horse and calmed it down with soothing pats on the neck, gentle words of reassurance.

The griffin's rider—an elder elf clad in rich clothing—watched with approval. When Gil's horse was under control once again, the elf dismounted and walked over. Another elf—one of the oddest—looking elves Gilthas had ever seen—waited behind. This strange elf was clothed in practically nothing, leaving bare a well-muscled body decorated with fantastic, colorfully painted designs. The elder elf introduced himself.

"I am Rashas of the Thalas-Enthia. And you, I believe, must be Prince Gilthas. Well met, grandson of Solostaran. Well met."

Gil dismounted, said the polite words as he'd been taught. The two exchanged the formal kiss of greeting and continued through the ritual of introduction. During this proceeding, the griffin glared around, its fierce-eyed gaze penetrating the forest shadows. At one point, it gnashed its beak, its claws churned the ground, and its lion tail lashed about in disgust.

The elf accompanying Rashas spoke a few words to the griffin, which twisted its head and flexed its wings and seemed to—somewhat sullenly—settle down.

Gil was watching the griffin, trying to keep his horse calm, casting oblique glances at the painted elf servant, and attempting, at the same time, to make the correct, polite responses to the senator. Small wonder he became confused. Rashas noticed the young man's difficulty. "Permit me to apologize for frightening your horse. It was thoughtless of me. I should have realized that your animal would not be accustomed to our griffins. The horses of Qualinesti are trained to be around them, you see. It never occurred to me that the horses of Tanthalas Half-Elven were not."

Gil was shamed. The griffins had long been friends of the elves. To be unacquainted with these magnificent beasts seemed to him tantamount to being unacquainted with one's own kind. He was intending to stammer an apology for his father, but to his astonishment found himself saying something quite different.

"Griffins come to visit us," Gil said proudly. "My parents exchange gifts with them yearly. My father's horse is well-trained. My own horse is young—"

Rashas politely cut him off.

"Believe me, Prince Gilthas, I do understand," he said earnestly, with a glance of cool pity that brought hot blood to the young man's face.

"Believe me, sir," Gil began, "I think you mistake—" Rashas continued on, as if he hadn't heard, "I thought it might be enjoyable, as well as enlightening, for you to take your first glimpse of Qualinesti from the air, Prince Gilthas. Therefore, on impulse, I flew to meet you. I would be greatly honored if you were to ride back with me. Don't worry, the griffin can easily carry us both."

Gil forgot his anger at the insult. He gazed at the wondrous beast with awe and longing. To fly! It seemed all his dreams were coming true at once! But his elation quickly evaporated. His first concern must be for his horse.

"I thank you for your kind offer, Senator—"

"Call me Rashas, my prince," the elf interrupted.

Gil bowed, acknowledging the compliment. "I could not leave my horse alone, unattended." He patted his horse's neck. "I hope you are not offended."

On the contrary, Rashas appeared pleased. "Far from it, my prince. I am glad to see you take such responsibilities seriously. So many young people do not, these days. But you won't have to miss out on the trip. My Kagonesti servant here"—Rashas waved a hand in the general direction of the strange-looking elf—"will return the horse to your father's stables." Kagonesti! Now Gil understood. This was one of the famed Wilder elves, fabled in legend and song. He had never seen one before. The Kagonesti bowed, indicating silently that nothing would give him greater pleasure. Gil nodded awkwardly, all the while wondering what he should do.

"I see you hesitate. Are you not feeling well? I have heard it said that your health is precarious. Perhaps you should return home," Rashas said solicitously. "The rigors of the flight might not be good for you."

That remark, of course, decided the matter.

His face burning, Gil said that he would be pleased to accompany Senator Rashas and the griffin. Gil gave over the care of his horse to the Kagonesti servant without another thought. Only when he was securely mounted on the griffin did it occur to the young man to wonder how the senator had known Gil had decided to travel to Qualinesti. And how had Rashas known where to meet him? It was on the tip of Gil's tongue to ask, but he was in awe of the elder elf, in awe of Rashas's elegant and dignified air. Laurana had trained her son well, taught him to be diplomatic. Such a question would be impolite, would imply that Gil didn't trust the elf. Undoubtedly there was a logical explanation.

Gil settled back to enjoy the ride.

As long as he lived, Gil would never forget his first glimpse of the fabled elven city of Qualinost. A first glimpse, yet a familiar sight to the young elf.

Rashas turned to witness the young man's reaction. He saw the tears sliding down Gil's cheeks. The senator nodded approval. He even prevented Gil from wiping the tears away.

"The beauty fills the heart to bursting. The emotion must find an outlet. Let it fall from your eyes. Your tears do you no shame, my prince, but rather great credit. It is only natural that you should weep at the first sight of your true homeland."

Gil did not miss the senator's emphasis on the word true, and could only agree with him. Yes, this is where I belong! I know it now. I've known it all my life. For this is not my first sight of Qualinost. I've seen it often in my dreams.

Four slender spires made of white stone, marbled with shining silver, rose above the tops of the aspen trees, which grew thick within the city. A taller tower, made of gold that gleamed in the sunlight, stood in the city's center, surrounded by other buildings formed of glittering rose quartz. Quiet streets wound like ribbons of silk among the aspen groves and gardens of wildflowers. A sense of peace settled over Gilthas's soul—peace and belonging. Truly, he had come home.

The griffin landed in the center courtyard of a house made of rose quartz, decorated with green jade. The house itself seemed delicate, fragile, yet it had, so Rashas boasted proudly, withstood the tremors and fiery winds of the Cataclysm. Gil gazed at the spires, the latticework, the fluted columns and slender arches, and mentally compared this with his parent's manor house. That house, which Laurana had named "Journey's End," was rectangular, with sharp angles, gabled windows, and a high-pitched roof. Compared to the graceful, beautiful elven homes, Gil recalled his house as bulky and solid and ugly. It seemed… human.

Rashas thanked the griffin politely for its services, gave it several fine gifts, and bid it farewell. Then he led Gilthas into the house. It was more lovely inside than out, if that were possible. Elves love fresh air; their houses are more window than wall, as the saying goes. Sunlight, streaming through the latticework, danced among the shadows to form patterns on the floor, patterns that seemed alive, for they were constantly shifting with the movement of the sun and clouds. Flowers grew inside the house, and living trees sprang up from the floor. Birds soared in and out freely, filling the house with music. Lullabies whispered by gently splashing water from indoor fountains formed a soft counterpoint to the birdsong.

Several Kagonesti elves—tall and heavily muscled, with strange markings on their skin—greeted Rashas with bows and every appearance of deference.

"These are my Wilder elves," Rashas said to Gil in explanation. "Once they were slaves. Now—in accordance with modern decrees—I am required to pay them for their services." Gil wasn't certain, but he thought uneasily that Rashas sounded rather put out. The elder elf glanced at him and smiled, and Gil concluded the senator had been jesting. No one in this day and age could possibly approve of slavery.

"Only myself and my servants live here now," Rashas continued. "I am a widower. My wife died during the war. My son was killed fighting with the armies of Whitestone, armies led by your mother, Gilthas." Rashas gave the young man a strange look. "My daughter is married and has a house and family of her own. Most of the time, I am alone.

"But today I have company, an honored guest staying with me. I hope you, too, my prince, will consider my house your own. I trust you will grace my dwelling with your presence?" The senator appeared eager, anxious for Gilthas to say yes.

"I am the one who would be honored, Senator," Gil said, flushing with pleasure. "You do me too much kindness."

"I will show you your room in a moment. The servants are making it up now. The lady who is my guest is most anxious to meet you. It would be impolite of us to keep her waiting. She has heard a great deal about you. She is, I believe, a close friend of your mother's." Gil was mystified. Following her marriage, his mother had retained few friends among the elves. Perhaps this person had been one of his mother's childhood companions. Rashas led the way up three flights of gracefully winding stairs. A door at the top opened onto a spacious hallway. Three doors opened off the hall, one at the far end and two on each side. Two of the Kagonesti servants stood outside the far door. They bowed to Rashas. At a signal from him, one of the Wilder elves knocked respectfully on the door.