Dragons of Winter Night - Margaret Weis [91]
“Yes, Theros,” the kender replied meekly, squirming in the man’s silver hand until the smith set him down. Somewhat shaken, Tas readjusted his pouches and tried to regain his injured dignity.
The companions followed the tall, dark-skinned smith along the outskirts of the silent elven encampment, moving as quietly as possible for two armor-clad knights and a dwarf. To Laurana, they sounded as loud as a wedding party. She bit her lip to keep silent as the knights clanked and rattled in the darkness, while Flint fell over every tree root and splashed through every puddle.
But the elves lay wrapped in their complacency like a soft, fleecy blanket. They had safely fled the danger. None believed it would find them again. And so they slept as the companions escaped into the night.
Silvara, carrying the dragon orb, felt the cold crystal grow warm as she held it near her body, felt it stir and pulse with life.
“What am I to do?” she whispered to herself distractedly in Kaganesti, stumbling almost blindly through the darkness. “This came to me! Why? I don’t understand? What am I to do?”
4
River of the Dead.
The legend of the Silver Dragon.
The night was still and cold. Storm clouds blotted out the light of the moons and stars. There was no rain, no wind, just an oppressive sense of waiting. Laurana felt that all of nature was alert, wary, fearful. And behind her, the elves slept, cocooned in a web of their own petty fears and hatreds. What horrible winged creature would burst from that cocoon, she wondered.
The companions had little trouble slipping past the elven guards. Recognizing Theros, the guards stood and chatted amiably with him, while the others crept through the woods around them. They reached the river in the first chill light of dawn.
“And how are we to get across?” the dwarf asked, staring out at the water gloomily. “I don’t think much of boats, but they beat swimming.”
“That should not be a problem.” Theros turned to Laurana and said, “Ask your little friend,” nodding at Silvara.
Startled, Laurana looked at the Wilder elf, as did the others. Silvara, embarrassed at so many eyes upon her, flushed deeply, bowing he head. “Kargai Sargaron is right,” she murmured. “Wait here, within the shadows of the trees.”
She left them and ran lightly to the riverbank with a wild, free grace, enchanting to watch. Laurana noticed that Gilthanas’s gaze, in particular, lingered upon the Wilder elf.
Silvara put her fingers to her lips and whistled like the call of a bird. She waited a moment, then repeated the whistle three times. Within minutes, her call was answered, echoing across the water from the opposite bank of the river.
Satisfied, Silvara returned to the group. Laurana saw that, though Silvara spoke to Theros, the girl’s eyes were drawn to Gilthanas. Finding him staring at her, she blushed and looked quickly back at Theros.
“Kargai Sargaron,” she said hurriedly, “my people are coming, but you should be with me to meet them and explain things.” Silvara’s blue eyes—Laurana could see them clearly in the morning light—went to Sturm and Derek. The Wilder elf shook her head slightly. “They will not be happy about bringing these humans to our land, nor these elves either, I am afraid,” she said, with an apologetic glance at Laurana and Gilthanas.
“I will talk to them,” Theros said. Gazing across the lake, he gestured. “Here they come now.”
Laurana saw two black shapes sliding across the sky-gray river. The Kaganesti must keep watch there constantly, she realized. They recognized Silvara’s call. Odd—for a slave to have such freedom. If escape was this easy, why did Silvara stay among the Silvanesti? It didn’t make any sense … unless escape was not her purpose.
“What does ‘Kargai Sargaron’ mean?” she asked Theros abruptly.
“He of the Silver Arm,” Theros answered, smiling.
“They seem to trust you.”
“Yes.