“We have come hither from Silvanost, city of a thousand white towers,” said the bard with a flourish, “our fortunes to win in the new realm of the west.”
“Well, you’ve a long way to go if Qualinost is your goal,” Verhanna said.
“It is, noble warrior. Will you share meat with us? Your partner precedes you.”
She dismounted, shaking her head at Rufus. He winked at her as Diviros’s sister handed Verhanna a trencher of savory pork. The captain stabbed the cutlet with her knife and bit off a mouthful. It was good, sweet flesh, as only the Silvanesti could raise.
“What sets you wandering the lonely fields by night, Captain?” asked Diviros, once they were all comfortable around the campfire. He had a thin, expressive face and large amber eyes, which gave emphasis to his words.
“We’re on an elf hunt,” blurted Rufus between mouthfuls.
The bard’s pale brows flew up. “Are you, indeed? Some dire brigand is haunting these environs?”
“Naw. They’re a couple of woods elves wanted for slaving.” Food had restored the kender’s natural garrulousness. “They ambushed some of our warriors, then used magic to get away.”
“Slavers? Magic? How strange!”
Rufus launched into an animated account of their adventures. Verhanna rolled her eyes, but only when Rufus nearly revealed Verhanna as the daughter of the Speaker of the Sun did she object.
“Mind your tongue,” she snapped. She didn’t want her parentage widely known. After all, traveling across the wild country with only a chatty kender for company, the princess of Qualinesti would make an excellent hostage for any bandit.
Planting his hands on his knees and glancing at his family, Diviros told his story in turn. “We, too, have seen wondrous things since leaving our homeland.”
Rufus burped loudly. “Good! Tell us a story!”
Diviros beamed. He was in his element. His family sat completely still as all eyes fastened on him. He began softly. “Strange has been the path we have followed, my friends, strange and wonderful. On the day we left the City of a Thousand White Towers, a pall of darkness fell over the land. My beautiful Selenara was sore afraid.”
The bard’s wife blushed crimson, and she looked down at the tortoiseshell comb in her hand.
Diviros went on. “But I reasoned that the gods had draped this cloak of night over us for a purpose. And lo, the purpose was soon apparent. Warriors of the Speaker of the Stars had been turning back those who wished to leave the country. His Majesty feared the nation was losing too many of her sons and daughters to the westward migration, and he—But I digress. In any event, the strange darkness allowed us to slip by the warriors unseen.”
“That was lucky,” Verhanna said matter-of-factly.
“Lucky, noble warrior? ’Twas the will of the gods!” Diviros said ringingly, lifting a hand to heaven. “That it was so was shown five days later as we traversed the great southern forest amid a tempest of thunderbolts, for there we beheld a sight so strange the gods must have preserved us that we might be witness to it!”
Verhanna was growing weary of the bard’s elaborate storytelling and showed it by sighing loudly. Rufus, however, was in awe of so spellbinding a speaker. “Go on, please!” he urged, a forkful of pork halted midway to his mouth.
Diviros warmed under the kender’s intense regard. “We had stopped by a large pool of water to refresh ourselves. Such a beautiful spot, my little friend! Crystalline water in a green bower, surrounded by a snowy riot of blooming buds. Well, as we were all partaking of the icy cold liquid, a monstrously large bolt of lightning struck not a score of paces from us! The flash was brighter than the sun, and we were all knocked completely senseless.
“It was Selenara who roused first. She knows well the sound of a child in distress, and it was just such a sound that brought her awake—a mewling noise, a crying. My good wife wandered up the wooded hillside into a large meadow, and lo! there a great oak tree had been hit by the lightning, blasted into more splinters than there are stars in the heavens! Where the broad trunk had split open, she found the one who cried so piteously.”
Diviros paused dramatically, gazing directly into Verhanna’s impatient eyes. “It was a fully grown male elf!”
Rufus and his captain exchanged a look. Verhanna set aside her empty trencher and asked, “Who was it—some traveler sleeping under the tree when it was hit?”
The bard shook his head solemnly, and once more his voice was low and serious as he replied, “No, good warrior. It was clear that the fellow had been inside the tree and that the lightning had released him.”
“Bleedin’ dragons!” sighed the kender.
“My good spouse ran back to the pool and raised us from our stupor. I hurried to the shattered tree and beheld the strange elf. He was slick with blood, yet as my wife and sister washed him, there was not a cut, not even a scratch, anywhere on him. Moreover, there was an oval hollow in the tree, just large enough for him to have fitted in with his legs drawn up.”
Verhanna snorted and waved a hand dismissively. “Look here,” she said kindly, “that’s quite a tall tale you’ve spun, bard, but don’t carry on so hard that you begin to believe it yourself! You are a tale-spinner, after all, and a very good one. You almost had yourself convinced.”
Diviros’s mobile face showed only the briefest flash of annoyance. “Forgive me. I did not intend to deceive, only to relate to you the marvel we encountered in this elf who seemed born from a tree. If I offended, I apologize.” He bowed again, but Kivinellis blurted, “Tell them about his hands!” Everyone stared at the child, and he retreated once more behind his mother’s back. Rufus hopped up from the log he’d been sitting on.
“What about his hands?” asked the kender.
“They were discolored,” Diviros said casually. “The elf’s fingers, including his nails, were the color of summer grass.” His tawny eyes darted to his son, and the quick look was not kind.
“What happened to the green-fingered elf?” Rufus wondered aloud.
“We cared for him a day or two, and then he wandered off on his own.”
Verhanna detected a note of resistance in his voice. In spite of Rufus’s obvious enjoyment of the story, the bard was suddenly reluctant to speak. The captain had never known a bard to be reticent before an attentive audience. She decided to press him. “Which way did this odd, green-fingered fellow go?”
There was a momentary hesitation, barely discernible, before Diviros answered, “South by west. We have not seen him since.”
The Speaker’s daughter stood. “Well, we thank you, good bard, for your tale. And for our dinner. We must be off now.”
She tugged Rufus to his feet.
“But I haven’t finished eating!” protested the kender.
“Yes, you have.”
Verhanna hustled him to his horse and sprang to her own saddle. “Good luck to you!” she called to the family. “May your way be green and golden!”
In a moment, they’d left the group of elves staring in surprise after them.
Back on the trail, cloaked by the robe of night, Verhanna brought her horse to a stop. Rufus bounced up beside her. The kender was still babbling about their abrupt departure and the premature end of his meal.
“Forget your stomach,” Verhanna ordered. “What did you make of that strange encounter?”
“They had good food,” he said pointedly. When she raised a warning eyebrow, Rufus added hastily, “I thought the bard was all right, but the others were a little snooty. Of course, a lot of the elder folk are like that—your noble father excluded, my captain.” He flashed an ingratiating smile.