Kagonesti lh-1 Page 2

  "You ask who I am, Pathfinder? I am known by many names in the world, but you may call me Darlantan."

  "Yes, Lord," Kagonos replied, dropping instinctively to his knees. The Elderwild had never bowed to anybody or anything in his life, yet now as he knelt he did so not only willingly, but with a sense of profound joy.

  "I name you, Kagonos, as the true Pathfinder of the Elderwild. Your people shall need you in the centuries to come. If they are to survive, it will be because you have shown them the way."

  "But… but how will I find the path?"

  "Have faith, my brave son. I do not charge you with an easy task-it will be more difficult than you can ever know. But I know that you have thought of leaving your tribe, of becoming a lone elf in these mountains. A hermit."

  "Yes, Lord. My time to do this is-was-soon." Even as he spoke, Kagonos realized that he would not become a lone elf. Had not Darlantan told him that his destiny lay with his tribe?

  "I believe you to be worthy, Pathfinder. But know this: If you are to lead your people through the age to come- an age when the House Elves will grow mighty, will seek to seduce your tribesmen into their cities, an age when danger will soar from the skies on wings of red and green and blue-you must be faithful to me, and to me alone."

  "You have my pledge, Lord."

  "As Pathfinder, you are a leader greater than a chief, a spiritual counselor above any shaman. Your task will take all of your life, all of your soul. Take no wife, for she would distract you from the importance of your tasks. And never venture to the cities of the House Elves, for they will know you, and seek to enslave you."

  "As you command, Lord."

  Darlantan looked down, and for the first time Kagonos saw a hint of sadness in those golden eyes-the eyes that were the same as the ram's eyes, though everything else about this mighty creature had changed.

  Following the glance, the elf saw one of the triple- spiraled horns lying on the stones at his feet. Like the ram, the horn had changed-though it retained its original shape.

  Kagonos hefted the coiled object, feeling from its lightness that it was hollow. The wide end flared into an open bell, and the pointed end was carved, or somehow shaped, into a mouthpiece. Without being told, the elf knew he should raise it to his lips.

  Placing the narrow tip between his teeth, Kagonos blew a long breath, feeling the mournful notes emerge from the horn, hearing the music keening through the mountain valley, a portent of danger and fear-yet a song that ended with a high note of hope and triumph. He had never played an instrument such as this, yet the notes came to him with intuitive clarity, and he raised his song with the fluid grace of his thoughts.

  "This Ram's Horn is my gift to you," Darlantan said. "It will be heard by me, or my people, and if there is a way that we can aid you, we will.

  "Play it in times of joy or sorrow, and it will speak to your people of hope and promise and pride. Play it in times of danger, and it will show you the path to safety.

  "I shall keep the other horn," Darlantan continued. "And forever may these two spirals be a symbol of the bond between our peoples. Their sound is a thing beholden to your people and to mine, heard by none except a silver dragon or a wild elf."

  'This is a precious thing," Kagonos declared. "But why do you bestow it upon me?"

  "You are the Pathfinder," replied the dragon, and his powerful voice took on a firm sense of command. "Your people shall depend on you-and this horn is a sign of your high station. Even the shamans will hear your song of faith, and through it they shall better know their gods. Return with it to your tribes, to the council of High- summer. When the Elderwild hear your song, they will know the truth."

  "I shall do this thing-though I still do not understand why."

  "That is of no matter. You need most to remember the two Ram's Horns, Pathfinder. When either is played alone it may bray a song of hope and friendship, a lasting bond between our peoples. Either horn may cry for aid or offer comfort, and their songs will ring through the centuries of our lives.

  "And someday in the future, perhaps, the two horns may be played together. The song they raise will be an anthem of hope and promise for the future of the world."

  PART 1

  Kagonos

  3357 PC

  Khalkist Mountains

  Chapter 1

  Meeting at the edge of the sky

  The wooden skis rasped across the snow, barely marking tbe icy crust. Kagonos worked his way between frosted pines, carefully remaining below the knifelike crest of the high ridge. On the sunny northern slope the surface already grew soft and slushy, threatening a deadly avalanche, but here on the southern face the snow remained hard, crisp.

  The lean, sinewy wild elf skied with steady urgency. Despite the chilly air, Kagonos wore only a pair of leather keepings and a buckskin vest. At his side he carried the tfcree-spiraled Rams Horn, suspended by a sturdy thong. Strong moccasins, lined with fur, protected his feet. Currently devoid of warpaint, Kagonos's skin was a rippling surface of gleaming, almost metallic bronze, shiny with a sheen of sweat and oil. His black hair fell in a long, thick coil down his back, wrapped into a single braid with a feathered thong.

  Hissing softly, the skis glided down the incline into a deep, wide ravine. With a leaping turn at the bottom, the wild elf aided his momentum with plunging stabs of his poles, smoothly coasting halfway up the opposite slope. Kicking hard, still poling, he pushed himself quickly through the last, steep stretch.

  Beyond the ravine, the wild elf picked up speed. Climbing gradually, he remained near the summit of the ridge, skimming over the snow with the combined force of his kicking feet and steadily poling arms. When he reached a clump of rocks that had been blown free of snow by the steady wind, Kagonos paused. He kicked off his skis and dropped to his belly, ignoring the icy surface against his naked arms. Crawling slowly, he worked his way between the boulders, carefully raising his head just high enough to see into the broad valley beyond.

  His caution may have been extreme-the nearest ogres were at least a dozen miles away. Still, there was no other way Kagonos could have approached this lofty horizon. To the wild elf, there was no such thing as "unnecessary" caution, for once one became used to taking chances, discovery and disaster were inevitable.

  His hazel eyes flashed at the sight of the huge army sprawling across the plain in an irregular column. For many days the Dark Queen's horde had followed the fringe of the Khalkist foothills, closing in on the army of Silvanos, which remained out of sight somewhere to the south. The ogres were creatures of lofty places and would have preferred to march in the heights, Kagonos knew-it was only the commands of their dragon masters that brought them down from the mountain summits.

  Of those masters, it was hard to believe that only one clan of evil remained to menace the world. For more than a century and a half Kagonos and the Elderwild had been unwilling participants in the battles against the five children of Takhisis, Queen of Darkness. These dragons-of green and black, of blue and white and red-had plundered Ansalon for most of those decades, bringing death and destruction to elvenkind and humanity.

  The tide of evil had been stemmed, finally, when three gods had conspired to bestow potent gifts upon the elves. These artifacts were the five dragongems-magical stones of life-trapping. During the most recent years of the war, Silvanos and his legions, aided by warriors mounted on flying griffons, had created clever traps. In their great, flying wings, evil dragons had fallen to the elven ambushes, until the greens, reds, whites, and blacks had all been ensnared, their lives trapped within the potent gemstones- the stones then buried in the depths of the Khalkist Mountains.

  Finally only the blue dragons remained, and the great leader Silvanos had planned for his final victory. Before the battle could be joined, however, disaster had struck in the form of an ogre raiding party-the Bluestone was stolen! Vanishing into their mountain fastness with their priceless trophy, the ogres had taken from Silvanos his only effective means of fighting the b
lue dragons.

  Recriminations had been many, with the House Elves of Silvanos blaming humans, and the humans-so recently escaped from ogre-bound slavery-quick to turn the blame against the elves. Word had reached the Elderwild through several routes-a trader of beads and steel arrowheads had come from Xak Tsaroth, trembling with predictions of doom, and several wild elves had come north, refugees from the House Elf compounds, carrying the tale ot consternation among the Elderwild's kin.

  Kagonos believed that the ogres were more to blame then either humans or elves, for they were the ones who had actually stolen the precious artifact. He had been amused to hear the tales of bickering and blaming, none or which changed the central fact that the Bluestone was missing.

  The blue serpents, in many ways the most evil and malicious of the five children of Takhisis, had plundered, raided, and ravaged all the north coast of Ansaion during the winter. Now, with summer arrived, even one knew they were winging toward the central plains. When they arrived, the damage they might do would be beyond measure-and without the Bluestone, the forces of Silvanos had no way to stand before the potent, massive wyrms. The great elven army would be dispersed, Silvanos's power broken, and the survivors of his legion scattered across Ansaion.

  Reflecting on the potential for disaster, Kagonos wondered about his own, private knowledge-the secret he now carried to the top of the mountain. It did not seem possible that he and his braves could change the course of fate, yet he had to hope that they might do just that.

  The elf squinted into the distance. Tall, billowing clouds rose into the skies over the plains, towering like mighty marble columns. Sunlight reflected from these alabaster pillars with a brightness that almost forced the wild elf to look away. But still he stared, shifting his eyes only slowly among the great cumulus.

  Finally he blinked, satisfied-for the moment, at least- that the blue dragons did not soar above the marching army. They would come, he knew, and probably soon, but he drew some satisfaction from the knowledge that they had not yet arrived. The two armies on the ground were still many miles apart, so it seemed that the battle would not occur for several days.

  He thought for a moment of the Elderwild tribes, gathered only a day's march from here in a deep, sheltered valley. His people had come when Kagonos had summoned them with the Ram's Horn. As always, even the chiefs of the different tribes turned to their Pathfinder for hope in time of danger-yet never in their history had the threat of destruction been so imminent and so complete. For the most part, since the Dragon War had raged, the Elderwild had dwelled in small bands, rarely venturing from beneath the protection of their treetop canopies. Only the command of the great horn could bring them into a large gathering, and only the secret knowledge Kagonos now possessed could have motivated him to make that summons.

  Of course, the elves of Silvanos had developed another tactic during the course of the war-one that enabled them to dwell in large tribes, and even to defend themselves against the dragons. They had fortified their great cities as bastions against evil. When a dragon flew against one of these walled enclaves, it was forced to do so without the ogres who formed the other potent club of the Dark Queen's hordes. Thus unsupported, the tough- scaled serpents proved slightly vulnerable to elven arrows-to the extent, at least, that the steel-tipped weapons fired in volley struck the dragons as a barrage of vexing stings. Ultimately, though cities had been ravaged and many elves slain within them, the evil wyrms had learned to avoid the House Elf strongholds. The great serpents were basically cowards and preferred to work their villainy in ways that brought little risk to themselves.

  Looking toward the vast plain, Kagonos could not see Silvanos's army, but he knew that his golden-haired cousins were there. All the houses had gathered for this final confrontation, and the wild elf knew that a great deal of the future history of Krynn, for good or ill, would be decided on that barren flatland sometime within the next few days.

  However it came out, Kagonos thought wryly, the histories would ensure that Silvanos got most of the credit. The Pathfinder had personally met the lord of his kin on a few occasions, and always Silvanos had impressed him as an elf of wisdom, patience, and almost palpable leadership. Although, remembering his pledge to Darlantan, the wild elf had never visited any of those crystal cities, many stories reached him from those Elderwild fortunate enough to escape the bonds of House Elf servitude. The city clans hailed Silvanos as the font of all wisdom, the holder of highest elven honor. His virtues-of honor, grace, and patience-were raised as the ideal for all his subjects.

  "Claim as well that he invented tood or sleep," Kagonos had muttered on hearing these tales, and that opinion had not shifted in the years since. Perhaps he wasn't being entirely fair-after all, Silvanos was undeniably a leader who was wise and just. His feat in uniting the squabbling houses of elvendom-all the tribes save the Elderwild- was certainly no little accomplishment, though Kagonos still could not understand the benefits of this great melding. After all, why would any chieftain choose to subordinate himself to a greater chief?

  Yet another thing about Silvanos he respected very much. The elven leader was strong, both in his own physical presence and in the use of his mighty army. Strength was a thing Kagonos understood and valued. Indeed, it seemed possible that Silvanos's strength might be the hammer that finally smashed dragons down from their cruel mastery of the world. That was a result the Elder- wild could only embrace.

  Wriggling back from the ridge, the elf tucked his moccasins into the bindings of his skis and once again started along the icy crust. He continued to work his way steadily upward, poling strongly toward a steep-sided dome crowning the end of this winding elevation. A quick glance at the sun showed him that he still had plenty of time, but now there was a new urgency to Kagonos's rhythmic strides.

  Soon he reached the base of the great summit, and- still gliding smoothly among the trees-checked the encircling woods for signs of a potential trap. Not only did he see no evidence of a current trespasser, but the snow hadn't been disturbed since long before the crust had formed. This place would work well.

  At the base of the precipitous slope, the Elderwild removed his skis, lashing the boards and poles to his back-they would be of no use on the steep climb, but they would greatly speed his descent. He started upward with the same grace and fluidity that had marked his progress across the snow. Even when he was forced to grip an outcrop crusted over with glare ice, his fingers and toes were firm, his attachment to the mountainside never wavering.

  In an hour, Kagonos had reached the rounded summit, and here he walked carefully across the windswept, rocky ground. To three sides the soaring peaks of the Khalkists challenged the sky. In the fourth direction sprawled the barren plains of Vingaard, where it was left to the mortal armies of elf and ogre to do the challenging.

  The Elderwild circled the promontory, confirming that no marks had been made in the snow anywhere atop the mountain. On the lofty slopes overlooking the plain Kagonos moved from barren rock to patches of stony ground, ensuring that he never silhouetted himself against the snow for the benefit of a distant watcher below.

  Returning to the point of his original ascent, Kagonos at last raised the horn to his lips. Closing his eyes, turning the mouth of the instrument toward the highest peaks of the range, he blew a long, clamorous blast. The wind took his song, carried it upward and away-but only to those ears sensitive enough to hear it. Patiently the elf stared eastward, visually tracing the long, twisting valley leading toward the heights.

  The Pathfinder's hazel eyes darkened as he squinted across the miles. Raising a hand to his forehead, he shaded his vision against the bright sunlight, his focus extending far, far into the distance.

  Minutes passed, and then silver glinted, blinking the reflection of sunlight with each powerful stroke. Darlan- tan's mighty wingspan stretched outward in a broad embrace of the air, shimmering even across a score of miles. The silver dragon flew low, ensuring that he was not visible to anyone beyon
d the confines of this high valley.

  Kagonos smiled tightly as he watched the gleaming serpent glide along the curve of the descending vale. Flying, he thought, must be the only type of movement more serene, more fluid than skiing As always, the majesty of the airborne serpent all but took his breath away. ТЪе elf's throat tightened with the familiar, warm emotion as Darlantan drew nearer to the mountain and gamed speed.

  Finally those wings hooked outward, rigid sails in the wind, as the momentum of the dragon's flight swept him upward. Always Darlantan kept the bulk of the mountain between himself and the ogre armv-the monstrous troops would not observe his presence on their flank.

  Nearly stalled in the air, the dragon reached out with huge paws, driving his wings powerfully downward for one last stroke as he settled gently to the rocks of the domed mountaintop. He shook his head and snorted a blast of frigid air, as if clearing the reverie of flight from his ancient, wise brain.

  "Greetings, Pathfinder." Darlantan nodded elegantly, dipping his head as the silver scales rippled along his serpentine neck. "I am glad that you summon me."

  Darlantan's body shimmered and twisted, shrinking more quickly than the elven eye could follow, and in a blink Kagonos was looking at a long-bearded, spry old human, who wore a bright cotton tunic that matched the pure white of his flowing beard. His eyebrows and the thick mane of his hair were tinted with silver, and his eyes-gleaming from deep-set sockets-were a vibrant, fiery yellow. Though the wrinkles across his forehead showed a visage that could be stern, now Darlantan's face beamed as he reached out to clasp his friend's hand.

  'Tell me," Kagonos asked. "Why do you take the shape of a man when you could be something so much more handsome-an elf, perhaps?" He was used to Darlantan's shapeshifting by now-during previous meetings the silver dragon had appeared as a man, an ogre, an elf, a bear, an eagle, and a host of other creatures. Still, the Elderwild knew that Darlantan favored the shape of this human sage, and had never figured out why.