“It was not my plan to attack thousands by myself. Come.”
Lofotan led them through a maze of tents populated by snoring, snorting nomads. They hid once or twice from prowling sentries then slipped through the palisade to freedom. On open ground, Lofotan broke into a run. Mathi and Treskan were not fleet enough to keep up with an elf of Lofotan’s size. Stumbling, Treskan pleaded to Lofotan to slacken his pace.
“Do you want to linger near their camp? Their dogs may pick up our scent again.”
With Taius free she doubted that. He smelled too strongly of beast. Given a choice, the hounds would chase him and not a human or a near-elf such as Mathi. Still, Lofotan’s point was well made. Speed would put more safe ground between them and the nomads. She jogged after the spry warrior.
Back in the myrtle thicket, they found Balif awake, still chained to the tree. Rufe slept soundly a few feet away.
The general greeted him courteously.
“My lord, you seem … yourself.”
“So I am. I cannot explain it.” Even shackled, the elf was extraordinarily poised. “You’ve had quite an adventure tonight.”
Ruefully Mathi agreed. She related her experiences in the nomad camp, leaving out their exposure as half-breeds. Treskan let her do all the talking.
“They didn’t question any more closely than that?” said Balif.
“No, my lord.”
She described the cage and her fellow captive. “This Taius claimed he had served under you in the Forest War,” Mathi said.
“I remember a warrior named Taius. A very brave soldier of noble countenance.” His countenance was no longer so noble, but he was civilized enough not to attack Mathi on sight.
Then, not knowing exactly why she did so, she related to Balif the story of Taius’s true nature. The general listened calmly.
“He’s not as far along as some others,” Balif said. Sooner or later the transformed beasts always reverted to their animal origins, Balif said. Vedvedsica’s spell, though powerful, could not overcome nature forever.
Taius retained a fading veneer of civilization, the general continued. If he lived long enough, he would forget everything and be nothing but a beast. The worst creatures were the ones who had almost forgotten their elf lives. They were beasts in every way, but their minds still held memories of their former lives. Because of that they were filled with rage over their situation.
Vedvedsica had exploited that rage, Mathi knew, by urging them to find and kill Balif.
Lofotan appeared. He looked haggard but alert. “We should move,” he said. “By daylight we shall be too exposed here.”
Balif agreed. Lofotan had packed the baggage onto the horses while Mathi and Treskan were captive. All they had to do was release Balif, rouse the kender, and go.
Lofotan unwired the links and removed Balif’s chains. Rubbing his wrists, the general stood. Mathi stooped to pick up the costly bronze links.
“Mathani.”
She straightened, coiling the chain in her hands.
“Mathani, your gown.”
She realized that her garment was still torn open. Mathi waited for the questions and the denunciations that would follow. She looked at Balif blankly, leaving to him the final challenge.
Lofotan returned. “We must hurry!”
Balif gazed intently at her. Without a word, he took the cloak he’d been sitting on and draped it around Mathi’s exposed back. He walked on and swung into the saddle. Lofotan kicked Rufe awake. Yawning, the kender scratched his ribs, got up, and walked off alone in the predawn darkness.
Why didn’t Balif, general of the Speaker’s army, denounce her as an impostor? Did he take Mathi for a half-breed, as the nomads had? The existence of half-humans was officially denied in Silvanost on the grounds that such pairings could not be fruitful. Secretly, half-humans were subject to summary arrest, exile, or imprisonment without trial. Balif was known to be a tolerant elf. Perhaps his own condition made him more sensitive to the question of who was an elf and who wasn’t.
Puzzling over it, Mathi got on her pony. She had just settled in the saddle when Treskan came furtively to her side.
“My talisman. I must have it back,” he said in a low voice.
“Forget it.”
“One of the nomads-Vollman? — must still have it. I have to have it back, or I am lost!”
Mathi looked around. Rufe-where was he? He was the perfect one to steal back a trinket, but where could one find a kender when the kender was on the loose, not wanting to be found?
CHAPTER 13
Balif’s party rode south, away from the nomad war band. For reputedly empty territory, they ran into plenty of people on the move-centaurs and kender, mostly. The few small groups of humans they spotted were mixed men, women, and children. The elves were unable to approach them, as the family bands fled at the sight of riders.
Balif dictated notes to the Speaker from the saddle. He was calm, insightful, and accurate in his judgment of the situation. There was no law in the eastern province. Human war bands crossed the territory with impunity, and they were trying to drive out anyone not part of their own tribe. The wanderfolk were numerous but not a serious threat to Silvanesti hegemony. They were simply migrants, living off the land, bothering no one but belligerent nomads and hysterical officials such as Governor Dolanath.
Mathi noticed that the general did not use the official Silvanesti name for the east, Silvanoth, and that he played down the potential problems the kender presented. She asked Balif about that point.
“The wanderfolk are not warriors or nation-builders. They are no threat to the Speaker’s rule or the elven nation. In fact, they may prove to be a useful buffer against the humans and centaurs,” he said.
“Those little oddlings useful?” Lofotan commented sarcastically.
“Would you buy a house infested with cockroaches?” asked Balif. Lofotan avowed he wouldn’t unless the pests were exterminated. “Not an easy thing to do. Smoke, poison, and traps will get many, but the house may never be free of them. Do you understand?”
Lofotan easily saw a connection between cockroaches and kender, but Mathi felt she understood better. If the east were thickly populated with kender, it would put off the nomads from settling there in large numbers if at all. They were perfectly willing to fight the elves for the land, but the kender wouldn’t fight; they would just dwell there, doing all their infuriating kender things.
“Wanderfolk are bigger than insects,” Lofotan mused. “Maybe the humans can eradicate them.”
Balif said, “We must not let that happen.”
Before his majordomo could question the wisdom of that, Balif trotted ahead, signaling an end to the conversation. Treskan hurried after him, eagerly scratching down every word the general had said.
As they drew near the forested region just inland from Golden-Eye Bay, they found signs of conflict: patches of burned grass, broken spears, and shattered arrows. The heads had been carefully salvaged, but there was no mistaking the ruined shafts of either. When the first tall trees came into sight, a delegation of kender emerged from the woods and approached them.
“Greetings, illustrious General,” said the lead kender, holding a green sapling with a scrap of white cloth tied to the tip.
“General? What general?” Lofotan said warily.
“This is the storied commander of the elder folk, is he not?” The kender with the sapling pointed at Balif.
“You have us confused with others.”
“The Longwalker told us of your coming.”
Balif said, “The Longwalker deserves his name. Is he here?”
The kender wagged his head back and forth. “I don’t see him.”
Behind the flag bearer were five more kender, all bearing wounds of various sorts. The leader said, “Where is your army?”