Brandella had told Kishpa that she was tired and going home. If there was one thing he knew about the woman, it was that lies did not come naturally to her lips. Distrust, however, came rather easily to him. The mage had begun trailing her at a safe distance. But Scowarr saw Kishpa leaving the celebration and rushed to join him. Tve got one for you," the funny man chimed. "Have you heard about the mage who always says no?" "No." "Caught you!" the human declared. Kishpa saw Brandella making a sharp turn away from the path that led to her home, and he frowned. "Don't like that one, huh?" asked Scowarr. Kishpa didn't answer. He quickened his pace, making a sharp right turn and following after Brandella. "Here's another one, " Little Shoulders persisted, keeping pace with the mage.
"Not now," Kishpa snapped, waving Scowarr away.
"What did I do?" Scowarr asked, his countenance a study in injured innocence. The little human could have had kender blood, the mage thought.
"I'm sorry," Kishpa sighed. "I have something personal to attend to. Go back to the beach, and enjoy yourself."
Scowarr scooted around the mage and halted in front of him. His smile was ingratiating. "How can I have a good time if my favorite wizard is angry with me?"
Kishpa stopped reluctantly. "I'm not angry with you," he said with considerable irritation as he watched Brandella turn yet again. It appeared as if she was taking a very roundabout route to Reehsha's shack. Why would she do that? he wondered. He sidestepped Scowarr and lengthened his stride, the funny man dogging him. The mage hadn't gone far, however, before a shrill cry brought him to yet another abrupt stop.
"It's Yeblidod," said Scowarr, looking back over his shoulder.
The dwarf's woman came to them on unsteady legs and with eyes swollen from crying.
"Kishpa, come back," she begged. "Come back to the beach and help my Mertwig."
"New trouble?" the mage asked.
"He needs you," Yeblidod said. She pulled at his robes, grabbed at his arms, wailing in her fear and pain. Although Kishpa was desperate to follow after Brandella, he did not have such a hard heart that he could refuse his old friend's wife. Casting a troubled glance in the direction in which Brandella had gone, he sighed deeply and retraced his steps with Yeblidod.
"I can't just leave without saying good-bye," Brandella said mournfully, staring out into the glimmering sea. She and Tanis had been sitting so quietly that a small flock of gulls had come to rest on the sand at their feet, obviously hoping the two had brought food to share.
Tanis knew there might be little time left, but he also knew how hard it was to part from those you love without saying farewell. He thought about Kitiara's abrupt departure. The gulls' hard, black eyes reminded him of the angry gleam in Kit's eyes as she'd stormed away.
Brandella saw the sadness in his face and seemed to know him for a kindred spirit. "Is it the leaving that hurts the worst, or is it the lack of a good-bye?" she asked plaintively.
"Both." He laughed harshly, thinking of the good-bye slap he'd received from Kit. "But it's better, in the end," he added thoughtfully, "to tell someone how you feel and to be told the same. Without those words to hold onto-for good or ill-you're just adrift."
Brandella pulled her shawl tighter against the twilight chill. "Are you adrift?" she asked.
His silence appeared to be answer enough. Brandella' made a sudden move to take his hand, then seemed to rethink the movement and merely sat quietly.
The weaver was like no woman he had ever known, Tanis thought, but she could not be his. It was driving him mad.
She broke the awkward silence, asking, "What should I do?"
Swallowing hard, he suggested, "Leave Kishpa a note. That way he'll always have your words. Hell have something to hold on to."
She thought about it for a moment and then slowly, sadly, said, "Yes, that may be best. Otherwise, I might not be able to part with him at all."
At that moment, Tanis remembered the enchanted writing instrument that Kishpa had given him. A band of sligs had been after it, the mage had said. He was right: they wouldn't find it here. He fished it out of the inside pocket of his tunic and handed it to her. "This was once Kishpa's," he said with feeling. "He gave it to me so that I might leave it in this time and place. From his hand to my hand to yours, I give it to you to write him his farewell."
She took it lovingly. It was wooden and plain, but that didn't seem to matter to Brandella. Her Kishpa once had possessed it.
"Thank you," she said, fighting her emotions.
Embarrassed, the half-elf said, "I ask but one thing. When you finish your note, leave the writing instrument behind. Don't take it with you."
"I will do as you ask," she said, throwing her arms around the half-elf in gratitude, the movement scaring off the half-dozen seagulls at their feet.
The smell of her hair, and the touch of her hands on his back, made Tanis light-headed.
A moment later she pulled away awkwardly. "Are you all right?" he asked in a whisper.
She nodded her head but did not meet his eyes. "I will go and write the note now."
He agreed too heartily, he thought. "Yes. Good. When it is done, meet me by the east gate of the village."
She had barely left his side when he called to her, "Please hurry!" He wasn't sure if he said it because he feared time was running out or because he simply needed to see her again as soon as possible.
Scowarr didn't follow Kishpa and Yeblidod. He had watched Tanis, Kishpa, and Brandella, and had seen every move they had made. The funny man was a jester, but no fool; he sensed trouble was brewing, and he figured that as the savior of Ankatavaka, he had a duty to try to stop it. The arrival of Yeblidod had been his great good fortune. But Kishpa would not be put off for long. Scowarr figured to handle this himself, now, quickly, before the great victory of which he was so grand a part was marred by betrayal and murder.
Scowarr followed the path that Brandella had taken, hoping that his worst fears would not be realized. When he circled around Reehsha's shack, he discovered that they had.
23
Tanis's defence of Mentwig had swayed mаnу of the elves of Ankatavaka. But Canpho had seen that Kishpa was unmoved; the mage had so little concern for the dwarf that the red-robed wizard had left without saying so much as a kind word about his old friend. With the celebrants arguing among themselves, each taking sides, the healer decided to settle the issue of Mertwig's guilt or innocence once and for all.
"I am sending a runner after Piklaker, the artist," Canpho said. "When he is brought back, he will tell us all how he was paid for his work. If he was paid in stolen goods, Mertwig will be punished. If he took a promise of work for payment from the dwarf, then it will go hard with the dwarf's accuser. So shall it be."
Everyone seemed pleased with Canpho's decision. All, that is, except Mertwig. "Unthinkable!" he cried, sputtering in his rage. "My honor remains in question? Am I to be considered a criminal until I am proven innocent on the morrow? The insult is too great!"
Yeblidod had sensed that Mertwig was in more trouble than he could handle. With her world seemingly crumbling around her, she had slipped away and run after Kishpa. He had always been her husband's friend. Surely he would not let Mertwig down now when he was needed most.
When Yeblidod returned a short while later with Kishpa in tow, Mertwig still stood railing against the injustice of Canpho's decision. Many among the elves had turned against the dwarf, but Kishpa had it in his power to rally the people behind his friend. But only if he so chose.