They each woke at the same time early the next morning, when two squirrels began loudly chittering at one another in the branches just above them. Both elves slipped down to the ground and separated to attend to their needs, then reunited and began trotting along the road at a vigorous pace, determined to cover as much distance as possible. That night they stopped at an inn just past sunset, comfortable with one another after occasional conversations during their journey. They discovered that they had no message to demonstrate their right to receive free housing at the inn, so they pooled their resources and shared a room and a bed, sleeping back to back with no thoughts of harm in the arrangement. Their third night on the road they stayed in a tree again, and late on the fourth day of their trip, they returned to Center Trunk just as the guards were closing the gates to the base for the night.
During their journey, when they slowed down to rest and talk, or when they went to bed at night, they talked about their lives since the tournament.
“So you’ve been training every day on these human weapons?” Vinetia asked the night they were in their room at the inn, their backs pressed against one another as they lay on the mattress. “Do you think they’ve ordered you back to Center Trunk to start teaching the rest of us how to fight like the humans?”
“There are better teachers than me,” Kestrel replied. “They need to bring my instructor back to Center Trunk if they want someone to help the guard learn to fight that way.”
“The reports from the survivors of the battle at the fire say there was that kind of fighting going on. Maybe it’s something we all need to learn if this isn’t going to be the usual type of war,” Vinetia had mused.
“Maybe,” Kestrel doubtfully agreed.
“What will you tell Colonel Silvan about spying?” Vinetia had asked the next day.
“I’ll tell him my trainers say that I’m not ready, and I don’t know if I want to be one,” he replied.
“What if they tell you it’s the best way for you to help get revenge for this attack?” Vinetia pressed. “What if you can help find out about the next attack before it happens? You could save others from suffering Lucretia’s fate.”
Her comment touched on the main point that Kestrel was stuck on as he debated his future. He hadn’t asked to be trained as a spy; he didn’t envision himself as a spy. He thought he was a normal elf guard, despite his mixed heritage; he could pass as an elf much more easily than he could pass as a human. But he realized that Silvan might have some compelling argument that he wouldn’t be able to deny, and that was what he feared — that he would be persuaded to agree to try to be a spy for the elves.
So when the two of them arrived in Center Trunk, he decided to go with Vinetia to her squad’s barracks, and spend the night there, rather than report to Silvan’s office so late at night, so that he could put off for a few more hours the conversation that he feared to participate in. He fell into an empty bunk and slept in his clothes, then arose groggily in the morning at the sound of others starting to stir, and slipped away from the barracks quarters.
He knew he had to go see Silvan, much as he dreaded the thought. With slow steps he walked through the morning air that was dense with mist, shrouding his view as he journeyed around the base, and he walked past his destination once before he realized that he had missed it in the fog. Minutes later he was on the steps, then up the stairs to the doorway to Silvan’s office, where Giardell was already standing on duty.
“Guardsman Kestrel, reporting for duty,” he spoke to Giardell, “as ordered by Colonel Silvan.”
“The colonel’s not here yet,” Giardell replied, looking at Kestrel in a manner that weighed his appropriateness for an audience with the spy master of the elves. “He won’t be here for a bit more this morning. Why don’t you go to the baths and clean yourself up so you’ll be more presentable?”
It was a question, but clearly a strong suggestion, and Kestrel decided to act on it. At the very mention of the word bath he had imagined how refreshing it would feel to soak in hot water.
“I’ll go do that. Which way are they?” he replied, and listened to the directions Giardell gave.
“Tell the colonel I was here early and I’ll be directly back,” Kestrel asked, and then he was down the hall and down the stairs, leaving Giardell to muse whether the youngster was up to the challenge that Silvan had planned for him.
When Kestrel returned to the office door an hour later, he looked and felt better. Giardell left him standing in the hallway while the guard went into the office, then returned and motioned for Kestrel to enter.
Inside, Silvan sat at his desk, crisp, clean and alert to start the day, making Kestrel glad that he had taken his bath and improved his own state before the meeting.
“Welcome back, Kestrel. You’ve been hard at work in Firheng, I understand,” Silvan began.
“Yes sir, I tried to do everything they taught me,” he answered cautiously.
“And you’ve heard about the disaster we’ve suffered?” Silvan questioned.
“The fire and the battle?” Kestrel clarified. “Yes.”
“Vinetia filled you in? That’s good,” Silvan responded. “We lost an enormous number of guard members, probably the worst loss in the lifetime of anyone alive today. We weren’t prepared for that type of attack, and our lack of knowledge and preparation hurt our people badly.
“I understand you lost a couple of acquaintances too, Kestrel. I’m sorry about that,” he added.
“A couple?” Kestrel asked. “Vinetia told me about Lucretia; was there someone else?”
Silvan paused and closed his eyes, while his fingers rubbed circles around his temples. “I’m sorry, I forgot that you wouldn’t have any way of knowing. The majority of our casualties came from the Elmheng contingent of guards; you probably knew several of them, but I was thinking of Commander Mastrim.”
Kestrel’s vision grew blurry, and his throat felt thick. “Commander Mastrim?” he echoed in disbelief.
Silvan let only a momentary pause pass. “The Commander died bravely, and helped save the lives of others. When it became apparent that our guards were in a tight situation, Mastrim led a charge directly into the humans. He and virtually everyone with him were killed, and the rest were captured and taken away to be made slaves. Mastrim sent the rest of our guards back into the forest, and at least a few were able to work their way around the fire and bring us back news of the defeat. The rest perished.”
Kestrel was taking deep breaths, trying to overcome the shock he felt. Mastrim was dead, which was terrible. Now Cheryl and her mother were alone in Elmheng without him. And others had died as well; Backsin and many of his other friends in Elmheng were probably victims of the human attack; he hadn’t thought about the losses. The idea of a battle had been abstract and nebulous, other than the report of Lucretia’s death; now it grew oppressively real.
“It is a terrible thing,” Silvan said. “Even here in Center Trunk, the people know it is a terrible thing to lose so many of our guards in a war, especially a war we didn’t even know was coming, because we didn’t have agents among the humans to give us warning.”
“Are they going to attack again? Are they going to burn down more of the forest? Do you want me to go pray to Kai to make the rains come again?” Kestrel asked.
“We don’t understand what they plan to do,” Silvan answered. “After they won the battle, and after the forest fire had consumed itself burning all those trees, they took their great machines, and their army, and their captives, and they left. They’re completely gone, and we don’t know where or why or for how long.