Dru was shaking and drenched with sweat, but his voice was triumphant as he said, “Where’s the amulet?” Ulvian stammered that Feldrin kept the onyx talisman in a golden box. The sorcerer dashed into the ruins of the master builder’s hut.
A profound silence had fallen over the construction camp. Ulvian blinked and gazed across the wrecked site. The walls of the citadel were lined with workers, all staring at him. Already some were leaving the parapet, no doubt to hurry to Feldrin’s rescue.
Dru was tearing through the broken bits of hut, muttering. Ulvian called out, “We must flee! The workers are coming!”
The sorcerer didn’t even respond, but kept up his frantic digging. Feldrin groaned once more, louder. Ulvian picked his way through the chunks of lifeless golem. He pushed a heavy slab of clay off the dwarf and knelt beside him.
“I regret this, Master Feldrin, ” said the prince. “But injustice requires strong deeds.”
The dwarf coughed, and blood appeared on his lips. “Don’t go with Drulethen, my prince. With him lies only ruin and death….”
“Aha!” shouted the sorcerer, falling to his knees. He flung aside a bit of canvas, revealing the gilded box. No sooner did Dru stoop to pick it up than he shrieked in pain and dropped it again.
“You filthy worm!” he howled at Feldrin. “You put my amulet in a charmed case!” But Feldrin had lost consciousness and was beyond Dru’s maledictions.
“Come here!” the sorcerer barked peremptorily. “Pick up the box.”
Ulvian glared at him. “I’m not your servant,” he retorted.
The first band of workers from the citadel appeared at the end of the wrecked street. They were armed with hammers, staves, and mason’s tools. Eight men went to lift the dead horse off the fallen Merith. The warrior got stiffly to his feet and pointed expressively toward Feldrin’s tent.
“There’s no time for false pride now!” Dru spat. “Do you think those fools are going to pat us on the back for what we’ve done? It’s time to flee, and I can’t touch that wretched box. Pick it up, I say!”
Reluctantly Ulvian did so. Then he and the shaken sorcerer ran for the corral near the foot of the eastern slope. The prince snared two horses, short-legged mountain ponies, and boosted the weakened Dru onto one of them. Bareback, the pair rode hell-for-leather out the gate, scattering the other animals as they went. By the time the outraged workers reached the corral, not a single horse remained, and the only sign of the fugitives was a rapidly rising cloud of dust.
Merith stood by a crackling fire, which blazed in a wide stone urn outside Feldrin Feldspar’s hut. In spite of his badly bruised left leg, he had insisted on standing guard personally outside the master builder’s home. The entire camp was silent, and nothing stirred but the wavering flames before him. The lieutenant kept his cloak close around his throat to ward off a persistent chill.
The clip-clop of horse’s hooves alerted him. Quickly he stepped back from the fire, back into the deep shadows cast by the hut’s overhanging roof. Drawing his sword, he set his shield tightly on his forearm. The hoofbeats drew nearer.
A tall figure, mounted on a rather tired-looking sorrel, emerged from the night. The newcomer’s face and figure were obscured by a long, monkish robe with a deep hood. The rider approached the fire and dismounted. He peeled off a pair of deerskin gloves and held his long, tapered fingers to the heat. Merith watched carefully. Short plumes of warm breath issued from the stranger’s hood. Though he waited long minutes, the newcomer made no threatening moves. Warming his icy hands and body seemed to be his greatest concern. The lieutenant stepped out of the shadows and faced the robed figure.
“Who goes there?” he demanded.
“A weary traveler,” answered the stranger. He spoke through the lower edge of the hood, and his words were muffled. “I saw your fire from a distance and stopped to warm myself.”
“You are welcome, traveler,” Merith said warily.
“A naked sword is a strange welcome. Are you troubled by bandits hereabouts?”
“Not bandits. A single elf did all this. A sorcerer.”
The hooded one jerked his hands back from the fire. “A sorcerer! Why would a sorcerer trouble a lonely outpost such as this?”
“The evil one was a captive here, a prisoner of the King of Thorbardin and the Speaker of the Sun,” Merith explained. “Through treachery, he regained his powers, wrecked the camp, and escaped.”
The visitor passed a hand across his hidden brow. Merith caught the glint of metal at the fellow’s throat. Armor? Or just a decorative torc?
The stranger asked how the sorcerer had escaped. The elf warrior told him briefly about the golem, though he didn’t mention Ulvian’s part in the affair. The visitor asked endless questions, and Merith found the late-night conversation tired him. His leg ached unmercifully, and his heart was heavy with the news he must send to his sovereign. The hooded stranger must be a cleric, he decided. Only they were so talky and inquisitive.
Weariness was banished instantly when Merith saw a pair of horses appear at the far end of the path. One of the riders was wearing armor. Merith lifted his sword and shield. The hooded stranger waved at him soothingly.
“Put down your weapons, noble warrior. These are friends of mine,” he said. In a swirl of dark robes, the hooded one turned and hailed the two mounted fellows.
“Is something the matter, sire?” called the armored rider.
“Sire?” wondered Merith.
The stranger faced Merith and tossed back his hood. Pale hair gleamed in the firelight. It was Kith-Kanan himself.
“Great Speaker!” Merith cried. “Forgive me! I had no idea—”
“Be at ease.” Kith-Kanan waved, and Kemian Ambrodel and his father, Tamanier, rode up to the crackling fire.
“Are there just the three of you, Majesty?” asked Merith, scanning the path for more riders. “Where is your entourage?”
“I have a small party at the high end of the pass,” Kith-Kanan explained. “I came down with the Ambrodels to find out what had happened. Even in the dark, the camp looks like a cyclone hit it.”
Merith told the story of Drulethen, Ulvian, and the golem in detail, this time leaving out nothing. “I led a band of fifty trusted workers along the trail Prince Ulvian and Drulethen made,” he finished, “but we couldn’t hope to catch up on foot.”
“Never mind, Lieutenant. Is Feldrin Feldspar well?” asked the Speaker.
“He has some broken ribs, but he will survive, sire.” Merith managed a smile.
Kemian relieved the younger warrior and sent Merith to bed. Once the lieutenant was gone, Kith-Kanan shed his monkish habit, revealing full battle armor.
“I had a premonition something evil would happen,” Kith-Kanan said grimly. “Now it is up to me to set things right. Tomorrow Lord Kemian and I will take the escort cavalry and go after Drulethen.”
Tamanier said, “And Prince Ulvian?”
The silence in the camp was unbroken except by the soft snapping of the fire in the urn before them. The Speaker stared into the flames, the light giving his face and hair a ruddy glow. When the castellan was certain his sovereign wasn’t going to answer, Kith-Kanan looked up and said evenly, “My son will face the consequences of his deeds.”
12 — The Green and Golden Way
The high plains in summer were a harsh place. Dry and barren, they were frequently swept by grass fires that would burn right up to the stony bases of the Kharolis Mountains before dying out from lack of tinder. Yet as Verhanna, Rufus, and Greenhands ascended the sloping plain toward the distant blue peaks, the grassland was not only green, but also covered with flowers.
“Aashoo!” The kender sneezed loudly. “Where did all dese flowers come fum?” he muttered through a clogged nose. The air was thick with blowing pollen, released by the thousands of wild flowers. Verhanna wasn’t much bothered by it, though she was startled by the vigor and variety of the flowers around them. The plain was an ocean of crimson, yellow, blue, and purple blossoms, all nodding gently in the breeze.