"We've more than a few fine ponies runnin' about," Bradwarden started to answer, but then a wry grin crossed his face. "Ye're not thinkin'…" he guessed.
"A proper mount for a ranger," Juraviel said determinedly. Roger looked from one to the other, as if trying to decipher their meaning, but then his eyes widened and he stared at Juraviel. "Symphony? " he asked. "You mean to take Symphony away? But-"
"Easy, lad," Bradwarden intervened. "I'm thinkin' that none're takin' Symphony unless Symphony's wantin' to go."
"True enough," Juraviel agreed, "and I am sure that if Symphony is not agreeable, Bradwarden will help me to find another fitting mount." "Good rider, this one? " the centaur asked. "To-gai-ru," Juraviel answered. Bradwarden whistled in admiration.
"Like the pinto horses?" Roger asked. "The ones the AUheart knights ride?"
"To-gai," Bradwarden confirmed. "And they're ponies, not horses, though they're big ones at that, eight hundred pounds o' muscle and on the 146 R. A. SALVATORE top side o' fourteen hands. If ye're lookin' to get one of those for yer young ranger, then ye're lookin' in the wrong place."
Juraviel nodded and then decided to let the matter drop; he and Bradwarden could take care of the horse business later on. "Play your pipes, Forest Ghost," he said with a smile. "I have heard enough of the events; now I wish to hear what is in Bradwarden's heart."
The centaur smiled and began his melody once again, while Juraviel reclined on the grass beside Roger. The young man was soon fast asleep, but Juraviel stayed up long into the night, staring at the stars and drinking in Bradwarden's song.
"You were telling Bradwarden that you expect Jilseponie to return to Dundalis soon," Juraviel prompted Roger when the two were walking back through the forest toward Dundalis the next morning. The day was hot and sunny, with not a hint of a wind. Bradwarden had gone off at daybreak to scout the horse herd for Juraviel, and to see if he could find Symphony.
"She may already be there," the young man replied with obvious excitement; and Juraviel, too, was thrilled at the prospect of seeing his dear friend once more. There was something else edging Roger's voice, Juraviel recognized, something beyond simple happiness and excitement.
"Have you seen her at all of late? " Juraviel asked.
"Not since last summer," Roger replied, "not since the day Bradwarden and I brought-Elbryan-I mean…"
"The day you brought Nightbird's casket from Palmaris," Juraviel finished for him. "I watched you begin your journey up the northern road."
"That was the worst journey of my life," Roger said, his voice slightly quavering. "I still can't believe…"
"He is at rest in the grove?" Juraviel asked. "Beside his uncle Mather?"
Roger^hodded, and the elf immediately turned aside from the trail back to Dundalis, heading instead for the grave of his friend, with Roger close behind.
The temperature seemed cooler in the sheltered grove in the forest north of Dundalis. Juraviel, who knew the place well, led the way along the manyforked and confusing trails, for though the grove was not very large, there was a bit of magic about it, a minor illusion placed by Lady Dasslerond herself, using her powerful emerald, when she had come to bid farewell to Mather Wyndon several years after his death.
Juraviel picked the trail with certainty, moving among the somber trees; and soon the pair came to the place, with its side-by-side cairns. They stood solemnly for a long while, staring and remembering-and for Juraviel, who had lived for more than two centuries, that meant remembering two friends, two rangers.
"Tempest was buried there with Mather Wyndon for years until Elbryan earned it from the spirit of his uncle," the elf remarked at length. Roger cleared his throat uncomfortably, and Juraviel let his look linger on him until Roger offered an explanation.
"We weren't sure which tomb should get the sword," Roger explained. "To me, it was Elbryan's-Nightbird's-weapon, but Bradwarden thought it better if Tempest went back to rest with Mather."
"But the bow, Hawkwing, is with Nightbird?" Juraviel asked somewhat urgently, for that bow, the last the elf's father had ever crafted, had been made specifically for Nightbird.
"With Elbryan," Roger confirmed.
"Fair enough," the elf said, and Roger seemed to relax.
Just for a moment again, Juraviel had to stare long and hard at Roger to get him to open up with his feelings. "I keep thinking that perhaps if I, or we, had found our way into St. Precious earlier-soon enough to get the weapons and deliver them to Nightbird-that the fight at Chasewind Manor might have turned out differently," Roger explained.
"I tried to do just that," Juraviel admitted, hoping to alleviate Roger's guilt. "I was within the abbey when the alarm sounded, when Jilseponie began her determined march across the city. I could not find them, sword or bow."
"They were both within St. Precious," Roger said. He was nodding and did seem relieved. "We found them afterward, locked in a secret place by Father Abbot Markwart. Brother Braumin brought them to Jilseponie, but she bade him to send them north with the caisson, to be buried with Nightbird. I just wish Nightbird had them in his grasp when he went into Chasewind Manor after Pony."
"It was a confused moment," Juraviel agreed. "Much was misplaced." The way he said that and the look he gave to Roger seemed to throw the young man off balance.
"Well, we found them at least," Roger insisted-too eagerly, Juraviel noted. The elf knew then that Roger was hiding something, and, given the man's demeanor when he spoke of Jilseponie's impending arrival and the rumors Lady Dasslerond had told him that the woman's cache of gemstones had not been recovered from Chasewind Manor, Juraviel had a pretty good idea what that might be.
"Yes, and you dispensed them properly," Juraviel agreed. "And never did I doubt that Roger Lockless and Bradwarden would act in any way that was not in the best interests of all."
"We did not know if the Touel'alfar would want them back," Roger explained.
Juraviel looked down at the cairns, at the burial places of two great rangers and of two marvelous elven weapons. He suspected that these cairns might be disturbed in the not too distant future, as a new ranger, heir to the bloodline of Mather and Elbryan, came to claim his territory and his birthright. The boy would have to do battle with the spirit of Mather to win the right to wield Tempest, and likewise would have to face his own father for the right to carry Hawkwing. Lady Dasslerond had better train the child well, Juraviel thought.
"You did well in the aftermath of the tragedy," Juraviel said at length. "It was a confusing time, and much, I suspect, was misplaced." There, the elf thought, he had left Roger an opening.
But Roger didn't take the bait, just shrugged his shoulders.
Belli'mar Juraviel could accept that. To Roger's understanding-to the understanding of all of them, Jilseponie included-the gemstones were neither the province nor the interest of the Touel'alfar. When Jilseponie had thought that she and Elbryan might be killed at St.-Mere-Abelle, she had begged Juraviel to take the cache of gemstones stolen by Avelyn Desbris, the source of Markwart's anger at the pair, and carry them far away to Andur'Blough Inninness. Juraviel had steadfastly refused, insisting that the gemstones were a problem for the humans, not the elves.
How ironic that seemed to the elf, given one of his missions to this place.
"Come," he bade Roger. "I will take you to the northern slope that over- looks Dundalis and you can go see if there is any word from Jilseponie. Bradwarden and I will meet you on the hillock tonight that we might enjoy together a fine meal, fine conversation, and the centaur's song."