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Ferris waited idly in a small, green pasture, watching his squad lounge in the shade of the trees along the large creek on the eastern border of the field. The sky was cloudless; he looked up at the sun, and judged that it was close enough to straight overhead to meet the specifications of his orders. They weren’t typical orders, but they were his to carry out, and so he needed to tell his men it was time for action, that their unusual assignment, one that had taken them away from the routine life on their regular army base, would finally produce some results. It had only been a few days prior that his squad had been detached without explanation from the main army in the capital and sent on the week-long journey to reach the Forest Wardens, who had explained the role that Ferris and his men were now assigned to carry out.

It didn’t seem like an extraordinary assignment to Ferris, not one that really called for a squad to be sent all the way across the small, proud nation of Hydrotaz to perform, but he was trained to follow orders, and as far as these orders went, there seemed to be no challenge at all. The major in charge of the Forest Wardens had assured him that it was an easy assignment before he had sent Ferris’s squad up to the specified location, the pasture next to the forest. So Ferris and his men had left the Wardens the previous afternoon, and marched north to their position, then camped out of sight of the forest, and waited until mid-morning to move towards the tree line.

His men respected him, and obeyed him, and Ferris appreciated that. He was the youngest son of a family in the minor nobility, with no prospects of significant inheritance, and so his family had purchased a commission for him and wished him well in the army. He had done well, studied briefly at the academy, then taken a field post, and earned an early promotion, though still in charge of just a single squad. Without any war, or prospect of war, his opportunities for advancement would be slow in an army that was already overstaffed with older officers who saw no need to retire. His squad had served near the capital, finding excitement only when they supplemented the border patrol or the coast guard by hunting down smugglers, until they had been reassigned to this mission with the Forest Wardens, who were the specialized, detached portions of the army who served along the western border. So far during the assignment, the main thing Ferris had discovered was that he felt uncomfortable around the Eastern Forest. He’d gone a few yards in, a time or two, to get a feel for the woodlands. It felt overwhelming and oppressive, and judgmental in a way that made him feel he was lacking in something the forest wanted; he’d been glad to get out of the trees and move back into open lands.

As far as Ferris knew the overall plan, the Wardens should have launched a surprise attack into the southern portion of the forest shortly after the break of dawn, drawing the attention of all the elves who patrolled the Eastern Forest border with Hydrotaz’s lands. By drawing the elves away to the battle, the Wardens should have made the northern sector of the edge of the forest safe and free for Ferris and his men to begin their assignment — starting a fire to burn the forest, trying to drive it back and claim land from the trees and the elves so that the people of Hydrotaz could cultivate more acreage.

If not the poorest, Hydrotaz was one of the poorest cities of the Ten Kingdoms culture around the Inland Seas. Hydrotaz was the farthest from the ocean, had one of the smallest territories, and was bounded in by the Dark Swamp, the East Sea, and the Water Mountains, as well as the kingdom of Graylee. Taking land from the Eastern Forest presented the best option the Prince of Hydrotaz had for acquiring more territory.

Hydrotaz and Graylee were different in their wealth, side by side though they were, but they were alike in their lack of regard for the elven race that lived in the forest. Elves were forbidden in both realms, except as slaves, and any elf found at large in either kingdom was subject to death, imprisonment, or enslavement. Few elves traveled in any of the human lands, and they did occasionally trade or travel through most of them, especially Estone to the north of the Eastern forest, but no elves ever entered Hydrotaz, except in chains; given the elves’ prowess at battle, few of them were ever taken captive in battle, and given their sylvan lifestyle, they never wandered into the human lands.

It was time to get moving, Ferris concluded. “Adole, Mitchell, it’s time,” he called as he stood up, his raspy voice carrying across the meadow. All the men started to rise, and the two of them he named promptly picked up their axes and sacks of supplies before they crossed the creek and disappeared into the forest ahead of the others, one a tall, thin scarecrow of a man, the other a short, rotund clown who usually kept the squad laughing with his pratfall jokes. Ferris was glad he had a disciplined group to work with — he wouldn’t have to waste any breath or time re-explaining assignments to anyone of the men he’d been on duty with for the past few years, including the past few days dedicated to the fire-starting assignment. All his men had heard the assignment explained numerous times, they understood it, and now that the time for action had come, they’d carry it out efficiently and swiftly, provided the diversion down south had truly drawn all the elves way from this sector.

Ferris watched briefly until Adole and Mitchell were quickly out of sight in the forest gloom, then turned to help the rest of his squad prepare to follow them in. Adole and Mitchell were solid, reliable men; they were sprouting gray at their temples, signs that they were career members of the army; they were men he could count on. He knew that they would blaze a trail, notching a tree trunk every twenty feet or so, as they headed straight into the forest, moving inward for fifteen minutes, then stopping. They were supposed to gather tinder, start a fire in the forest, and erect a tripod over the fire.

Ferris and the rest of the men would follow them into the forest, traveling more slowly as they carried the needed tools for their assignment — in this case, a large iron pot and heavy bags filled with lumps of pitch, accompanied by four archers. They all prayed that the archers would not be called upon for their primary purpose — to try to defend them from attack by the elves, because none of them had any illusions about the probability of surviving an attack by forest elves defending their home territory; hopefully the feint down south was successful in drawing the elves away from this seldom-visited portion of the border, so that there would be no elves present to attack them.

Presuming the elves did not attack, the squad would arrive at Adole and Mitchell’s fire, finding it blazing away, and then place an iron pot upon the tripod, so that they could fill it with the pitch they carried. When the pitch liquefied from the heat of the fire, the squad members would begin to take it around the forest in their vicinity, smearing it on tree trunks and setting them aflame. They hoped to set numerous trees on fire, and then begin their retreat back out of the forest, setting more trees ablaze on their way out; a successful fire would hopefully burn out thousands or even tens of thousands of acres of land that could eventually be cultivated and claimed as territory of Hydrotaz instead of the forest elves.

Ferris was the first of his men to cross the stream. His eyes shifted rapidly, looking at the tree trunks around him for signs of blaze marks that would show which way the first two soldiers had gone, then his gaze quickly lifted upward into the trees, looking for indications that the elves might be up among the branches, arrows already aimed with deadly accuracy at Ferris’s men. He spotted a blaze, and began to move towards the bright white notch in the tree trunk, then took a look upward. There was nothing in the tree limbs, not even a squirrel or a bird. He stumbled over a tree branch on the forest floor, making him look back at ground level as his arms flew up to catch his balance, then he resumed moving forward, searching for the next blaze. No one laughed at his stumble, the way the members of his squad usually jibed one another; they were all fully aware of the importance of scanning the trees, and were as likely to stumble themselves before they got to the fire that they hoped to find inside the forest.

Ten minutes later they spotted a bright set of flames within the gloomy forest, and Ferris breathed a sigh of relief at the sight. He urged his squad forward and had them begin to quickly manhandle the iron pot onto the tripod, fingertips getting scorched without sympathy as everyone hurried to get the pitch melted and spread upon the trees. Seven men knelt with arrows drawn on their bows, searching the tree branches in all directions as the first bubbles began to rise through the pitch, and the other soldiers in the squad began to fill rough wooden ladles with pitch, then carried it out into the nearby forest.

The firemen traveled in pairs, one carrying the pitch, the other carrying a burning branch. Ferris remained by the fire, tending it, feeding new pitch into the pot, watching in all directions, sending men back out into the woods again and again with new supplies of pitch, running in directions that he hoped would establish the widest front for the fire to spread throughout the forest.

Within half an hour thick smoke began to roll along the ground, and a wide semicircle of numerous tree trunks were vibrantly lit with flames that danced high into the upper branches. “Fall back! Everyone back to the center and prepare to depart!” he called loudly. The fire start had been a success, he judged, and he thanked his stars that the forces down south had so effectively removed the elves from his remote corner of the forest, allowing his squad to live.

The iron pot was still half full with boiling pitch, but the smoke and the increasing heat made the site no longer tenable for the squad to use, and they had a fire burning brightly throughout the forest. They would have to abandon the pot and tripod Ferris quickly concluded, with no safe way to carry such searing hot pieces of metal out of the woods. He did a quick head count of the men around him, and determined that the whole squad was together. “Lead us out, Adole!” he called out, and with that the squad of armsmen began their withdrawal from the successful mission, confident that they were going to make Hydrotaz a little bit bigger.

Kestrel sat in the forest, watching a cricket crawl along the branch next to him. It was unusual to see a cricket so high up in the tree, above the litter on the forest floor where most crickets resided, but the insect provided a distraction from his troubled thoughts. Crickets were considered an enjoyable snack by most elves, an easy source of nutrition with a nutty, earthy flavor that appealed to the elven palate. His hand darted out and grabbed the unfortunate climber, then popped it in his mouth, as he sat atop his favorite chestnut, stewing over the recent orders that had arrived, calling for every elf of fighting age, every elf but him, to hurry south towards the double border, when a large force of men from Hydrotaz were invading the forest.

Kestrel had been excluded from the call to arms, and told to remain on duty in the central portion of the border, the area where the red stag deer maintained his dominance over the other local deer, an antlered patriarch whose large size and deep reddish-brown color set him apart from the rest of the herd; the red stag stood out so much that the elves used him as a reference point, naming that area of the forest after him, just as the one-eyed puma to the north and the tusked boars to the south provided other area references in the Eastern Forest closest to Hydrotaz.

There hadn’t been a war with the men of Hydrotaz in thirty years, and that had only been a minor skirmish back in the days before Kestrel was born. All the young starry-eyed elves in the western section of the Eastern Forest had longed for the prospect of glory and violence that came with fighting in a war, and now, based on the reports from down south, at last it was about to happen — for everyone except him.

Kestrel’s unhappy heritage, the fractional strain of human blood that tainted his appearance, made him suspect with regards to a war against the humans. When the time had come to engage in battle, the leaders of the elven forces had made the snap decision to not trust him in the fray, and had kept him away from the battle, where he couldn’t potentially betray his elven comrades. And so he stewed, and contemplated how to address his frustration. He’d end up in a fight with someone, sooner or later, he was sure. He’d just wait for the elven militia members to come back to their homes after the battle, and when the first one of them made some cheap, cutting remark about Kestrel missing the fighting, he’d end up in a fight that would let him land several satisfying blows on some too-smug elf.

Cheryl had seen the hurt in his eyes when he’d been dispatched up to the red stag patch of woods, and had tried to comfort him, but he’d wanted no pity, and had brusquely left her behind when he’d stormed out of the guard lodge and left everyone behind. He felt badly for having been rude to Cheryl, and he knew he needed to apologize. Their relationship was on undecided ground as it was, as Kestrel competed with every other full-blooded elf in the western end of the forest to capture the affection of the lovely girl. Kestrel couldn’t compose bad poetry that compared her red hair to the flowers that blossomed in the spring, nor could he offer her combs of honey that the bees magically led some elves to find and confiscate, nor could he offer her riches and prestige, especially not prestige with his shameful heritage. He knew that all of those elements were part of the wooing campaigns that were vigorously exercised by his competitors for her affection.

But he could make her laugh, and he could listen to her talk about her dreams, and he could empathize with her, in a genuine way, as they shared the same dream of a peaceful glade in a distant forest, where they would be isolated from the worries and petty jealousies of the world. And he was the fascinating, unusual member of the elven race who could successfully appeal to the human race’s deities, which made him a fascinating subject that Cheryl liked to scrutinize, as she bombarded him with questions about the how and the why and the feel of those inscrutable communications.

There was no commitment between them, but it felt like more than friendship.

Suddenly, Kestrel’s nostril flared with the faint scent of wood smoke, and his mind almost seized up in panic at the possibility that there might be a fire in his sector of the forest. Kestrel hastily rose from the fork in the tree where he comfortably sat, and began to climb higher, up to where the thin, high branches of the chestnut swayed and bent dangerously, even under his light elven build — light for a human, though Kestrel was comparatively heavy for an elf. Once he was in the topmost branches, Kestrel was above nearly every other tree in that portion of the forest, for the chestnut grew atop a small upward buckle in the ground, giving it an advantage over the others. That was why he had settled into the chestnut for his assignment, that and the fact that it gave him a perfect view of the wide forest track that qualified as the only road in that sector of the forest

Far to his right Kestrel saw smoke rising from the forest, a considerable, roiling mass of dark smoke that filled his heart with pain and fear as it rose in a pillar. Although he knew the elven commanders hadn’t known what they were doing when they had dispatched him to this distant patch of forest, far removed from the battle, it turned out that they had made a brilliant assignment, for only Kestrel had any hope of fighting the forest fire before it became a threat to the safety of the elven woods.

Kestrel shut his eyes and grabbed tightly to the tree branches around him as he considered what he needed to do. There was heavy smoke rising from a location deep in the forest. Kestrel couldn’t imagine how a fire could have started there — the sky was clear, without any possibility that lightning had struck, and he couldn’t imagine any other likely cause of a fire. But the smoke from the fire was clearly evident, and posed a clear threat to the inhabitants of the forest.

The young elf kept his eyes closed and his mind clear as he began to prepare himself to call upon the powers of the human gods, asking them to come to his aid to help alleviate the crisis in the forest. Kestrel understood the irony of the situation, that as much as he wished to deny his human heritage, it was that particular heritage that made him so unique among the elves, and gave him his unrealized value to the society of the Eastern Forest elves. If not for Kestrel, the elves would only be able to call upon the lesser powers of their own deities. Beyond Cheryl, Kestrel had never told others about the ability he had. Now though, in the case of the growing fire, Kestrel was sure that he needed to ask for the human gods’ assistance, because he knew that the elven gods did not have sufficient power to suffocate the conflagration.

Kestrel began to create the necessary images in his mind, the vision of stark white surroundings that allowed him to focus on the great deities. He needed to decide quickly which of the human powers he would call upon. His closest, strongest relationship was with the Air goddess, Kai, who reached out to him and touched his dreams on occasion. But Kai’s abilities didn’t seem suited to the task of dousing the fire; that would seem better suited to Shaish, the water goddess. Plus, Kai was paired with her mate, Growelk, the fire god, and Kestrel wondered if she would help him fight her own husband’s element. But the water goddess, Shaish, was distant from Kestrel; he seldom prayed to her, and never knew his prayers to be answered, so to call upon her seemed pointless.

His mother hadn’t taught him to reach the human gods; he had been instructed in the worship of and prayer to the elven entities. But he had been curious about the human gods, the heritage that he wished he didn’t have, and that he was too often reminded of. He had secretly taken the instructions for elven worship and applied them to the human deities, reaching out into the emptiness. He had found no success for the longest time, and would have given up, except that there was no harm suffered from spending his time trying again at random moments when he had nothing else to do, and he felt an intangible pull that urged him to keep trying, to try to find the positive elements of his humanity. Finally, in a lonely dusky hour at sunset, when he had sat alone in his tree and closed his eyes and let his consciousness rise from his physical world, he had felt a brush of divinity upon his mind.

Kestrel had obligingly opened his mind and heart, and promised his humble devotion to the otherworldly entity that was examining him. It had been Kai. She had found his elven mentality exotic, an interesting change from the pure humans that she normally interacted with — toying with them, granting their prayers, punishing their misdeeds. She had accepted his worship and granted him status as one of her own, knowing that he had the potential to play a unique role if circumstances required.

And so, as he confronted the dangerous smoke in the woods, Kestrel had to make a choice. In the end, he decided to rely on Kai, and hope that the air goddess would intervene on his behalf either directly somehow, or as an intercessory with Shaish, persuading the other goddess to use her powers to quench the flames.

“Powerful goddess, answer to my prayers, provider of movement and breath, I beseech your help. You have helped me in the past, and I have felt the warmth of your attention. The flames in the forest threaten my home and my friends; please extinguish this fire. Save the forest where I live — protect us, please,” Kestrel prayed to the air goddess, then repeated his prayer twice, sure that more was better than less when trying to ask a favor of an immortal being.

“You have been faithful to me, and so I will intercede on your behalf. But know that someday, I will ask for a demonstration of your devotion to me in return. There are troubling signs of evil abroad in the world, and I will call upon you to carry out duties for me,” Kestrel was startled to hear the words, implanted in his consciousness in a dreamlike manner. He’d never heard a response from the goddess so directly during his waking hours, and his spirit twisted with a twinge of uneasiness over the prospect of owing a favor to a goddess.

“I will do your work, great goddess,” he whispered in acknowledgement, then began to descend from the height of the tree, dropping down from branch to branch, then landing on the soft forest floor. He began to run through the woods in the direction of the fire, eager to see how Kai would prevent a greater conflagration.

He ran directly towards the fire, directed not only by the smell of the smoke, but also by the unerring sense of direction his elven heritage provided. He stretched his legs as he ran, dodging between trees, cutting along game tracks, startling the smaller inhabitants of the forest as he sped past them. As he ran he sensed that the gloom within the forest was growing deeper, a darkness whose cause he could not detect through the thick canopy overhead until he heard a rumbling, rolling, peal of thunder nearby, followed immediately by another and another. Within the next two hundred yards of his sprint he heard raindrops begin to hit the leaves of the trees.

The raindrops were large and heavy, and the number of them falling increased with extraordinary speed, so that within moments it felt as though the atmosphere contained more water than air. Kestrel’s pace slowed as he began to slip upon the muddy surface of the track he followed, and he resorted to holding one hand cupped over his nose and mouth, protecting himself from drowning in the rain that poured down upon him and every other thing in his sector of the forest.

Kestrel continued to follow his instinct as he skidded in the direction of the fire. He could no longer smell the smoke, nor could he see anything more than a few feet in front of him, and even though he slowed down further, he still was unable to prevent disaster from striking when he fell headlong into a ditch. He saw the ditch only as he took the very step that fell downward into the cavity. The fall was an experience he couldn’t avoid, even as he saw and felt it happening around him, every motion predictable and unavoidable as he landed awkwardly on his arm that he extended too late to break his fall. He felt a searing pain when his arm bent unnaturally beneath his body, and then he felt his body teeter and slide sideways, slipping into the already deep water that was running in the ditch. Kestrel despondently sat up, in the center of the ditch, the current already strong enough to press against him. Now, he was not only soaked by the rain, but covered in mud from his fall, cradling his wounded arm against his chest, feeling nauseating waves of pain reach up to his shoulder and his chest from the damaged limb.

After long moments of holding back tears and curses, Kestrel awkwardly rose, holding his arm carefully against his chest, trying fruitlessly to immobilize it as he regained his bearings.

Once he knew what direction to move in, he climbed cautiously up out of the waterway and began to gingerly trot onward towards the fire. His right hand carefully probed his left arm, finding the location in his forearm that made him wince most strongly from the throbbing pain, while he continued to move towards the fire. As he continued onward, he came to realize that the rain was lessening — he could see farther afield through the trees, and he could breathe more easily.

Several minutes later, as the sickening odor of wet ashes nearly overwhelmed him, he came to a series of blackened tree trunks, evidence of the fire, and a few steps later he stopped, just as the rain stopped. Ahead of him the canopy stopped — there was a steaming, open, blackness — a large, newly opened hole in the heart of the forest. Steam and smoke rose in hellish plumes from innumerable locations within the opening, but nowhere could he see flames burning brightly.

“Remember sweet mortal, you are in my debt, and the price to be paid may be steep,” he heard the words of Kai’s immortal voice — commanding, frightening, yet also enticing — sound within his head, and as their reverberations ceased, the dark clouds overhead thinned and departed with extraordinary speed, so that bright sunshine began to fall upon the forest again. He stood with his mouth hanging open in amazement at the display of raw power the goddess had provided, staring upward at a sky that went from turbulent deluge to cloudless dome within seconds, then he lowered his gaze and looked at the world around him.

In the bright sunlight Kestrel could see the full extent of the fire’s destruction. It was painful to see, but not as painful as he had expected it to be when he had first seen the pillar of smoke rising above the forest. There were trees intact on all sides of the blackened glade, showing that the opening was merely an isolated intrusion within the wider ocean of trees, which promised that men would not be likely to quickly move into the space — men would have to come through trees to try to get to the opening, and when men knew elves were nearby, they seldom ventured into trees, he knew.

Was there some relationship between this fire and men, he suddenly wondered. There was no other good explanation for how the fire could have started in such perfect weather. All the men were supposed to have been down south fighting in the great invasion that the other elves had gone to, but perhaps some had been up here at the same time.

He felt another painful twinge in his arm, and looked down at it, having forgotten about his injury momentarily in the double shock from goddess’s message and his view of the scorched parcel. There was an unnatural bend, a wrenching visual confirmation of the terrible pain he felt. He was going to have to leave his assignment in the red stag’s portion of the forest to return to town and have his arm treated by a healer. Mastrin, his commander, would have something to say about abandoning his post, but Kestrel would accept a tongue-lashing in return for relief from his pain. If everything went smoothly, he might even be able to return to finish out his shift.

He took a last panoramic look around the burn site, examining the charred remains and the trees that still stood on the far side of the new opening in the forest, and as he looked, a swarm of sparrows went swooping across the open space, already investigating the prospects for finding something nutritious among the ashes. Kestrel felt better; he knew the birds wouldn’t find anything at the moment, but given just a few weeks, greenery would start to sprout and forest life would begin the process of reclaiming its property.

Kestrel gauged his position, then calculated the direction he needed to travel to return to his elven home, where he could report on the fire and have his arm tended to. Perhaps, by the time he was back on base, there would even be some early reports on the state of the southern battle with the humans, he speculated. He plunged back into the greenery of the unsinged forest, leaving the blackened land behind, and journeyed towards the east.

The trip back to town was not as easy as he had expected. The torrential rains that had extinguished the fire had not only filled the ditch Kestrel had fallen into, but they had filled every brook, stream, swale, creek, and other potential conveyor of surface water, sending torrents of runoff flowing away from the fire site. Black water, loaded with ashes and debris, swept away from the fire, departing rapidly, and raising the level of several small streams so high that Kestrel decided to detour around them rather than try to cross them.

The trip took longer than he expected, so that Kestrel didn’t arrive at the outskirts of the provincial capital of Elmheng, until dinner time; even on the edges of the city the streams were running high, and he observed some homes being evacuated, while some were already deluged with water that had risen out of the stream banks. There were no walls or gates or guards, as he had heard existed around human cities, so he walked unimpeded, except by his pain, to the fence around his base, and then to the commander’s center, where Mastrin’s office was located on the third floor.

“The commander has gone to his home for the evening meal,” the guard at the door, an acquaintance of Kestrel’s, had informed him. “You better get to the medic to have him look at that thing before you do anything else,” Backsin advised Kestrel, looking at the swollen, red arm which still exhibited its gut-wrenching bend.

“I’ll see the doc in just a couple more minutes,” Kestrel agreed with a grimace. He knew he needed to see the doctor, but he felt obligated to make his report first. In so doing he would not only complete his mission to the commander, but would also have a chance to catch a glimpse of the commander’s daughter, Cheryl, under circumstances that might allow him to appear heroic.

He left Backsin and trotted down the street to the officers’ quarters, then walked up the wooden steps to the high front porch that looked down on the foot traffic in the street below. Kestrel hesitated for a long moment as he stood at the door, his hand raised to knock, letting his injured arm hang limp without support. Then he took a deep breath and knocked rapidly for a few seconds, until he stepped back from the door and waited.

Seconds later he heard footsteps inside, heavy boots striding across the floor inside, then watched the door open and Commander Mastrin appeared, a napkin in his hand as he swung the door inward.

“Kestrel?” he questioned, surprised to see the young elf on his doorstep. “What brings you here? Shouldn’t you be on duty?”

“Sir,” Kestrel began. He knew what his message was, but until the moment he faced the commander he hadn’t practiced putting his thoughts into words. At the moment he finally saw his commander, with his mind increasingly clouded by the pain from his arm, he felt at a loss to explain his reason for appearing there.

“There was a great fire in the forest,” he began, knowing that the fire was the focus of his mission.

“It’s been a pretty clear day here,” Mastrin answered. “Was there a lightning storm we didn’t know about? I can’t imagine a fire starting under a clear sky.

“I can believe you had some rain out your way though. We’ve seen that the streams from your sector have risen pretty fast — been flooding out a few ground-dwelling cabins as a matter of fact; hard to imagine a fire with all the rain that must have fallen. Did it get too wet for you to stay on duty?

“What happened? Did you slip and fall out of your tree? That’s a nasty injury — go see the doctor and have it taken care of, then come see me first thing tomorrow morning. We’ll discuss your absence from your post then,” Mastrin told Kestrel, as they both heard the sound of light footsteps behind the commander.

Cheryl appeared, her face looking over her father’s shoulder. Her quizzical expression changed to one of pleasant recognition, and she raised her left hand, the hand closest to the heart, the gesture used by elves to greet those they felt closest to.

Kestrel instinctively tried to raise his own left hand in response, pleased by Cheryl’s use of her heart-hand to greet him in the presence of her father.

Just the very beginning of the sudden movement on his part made the broken bone ends in his arm grate against one another, and he momentarily saw a red haze of pain in front of his eyes. He clutched the arm against him with his right arm, and felt embarrassed as he realized a moan of pain had escaped his lips.

“Daddy, he’s hurt!” Cheryl gasped sorrowfully. “Have someone take care of him!”

“I’ve just told him to go see the doctor,” her father said patiently. “You go back to the table and I’ll join you in a bit,” he dismissed his daughter, who dutifully turned and left, with a last glance over her shoulder at Kestrel and a wave of her fingertips.

“Get on to the doctor, and come see me first thing tomorrow,” Mastrin repeated, then he closed the door and left Kestrel alone on the porch.

The weary elf turned and gingerly descended the stairs down from the porch, each step jarring his worsening arm, and his fatigued journey to the doctor’s office took twice as long as usual. When he arrived at the office, the doctor was absent, eating dinner, but a nurse let him lie down on a bed in an examination room after wrapping the injured arm tightly against his chest to reduce the possibility of further movement.

The doctor returned an hour later, just after sunset, and came into Kestrel’s room smelling of ale.

“You did a number on this,” he murmured as he bent over Kestrel and look at the injury. “You should have come seen me right away. Look how swollen this is; you must have waited hours to have it treated.”

“I was out by the red stag’s woods when I fell, and I had to return to town,” Kestrel explained.

“You must have had quite a little bit of rain up there,” the doctor said conversationally as he unwrapped the bindings to look at the arm more closely. “The streams are way out of their banks.”

“Here,” he turned and pulled a dark brown glass flask off a shelf, and poured some liquid into a wooden cup. “Drink this, all of it, in one gulp,” the doctor told Kestrel as he handed him the cup, and turned away to pull something else out of a cabinet.

Kestrel couldn’t see what color the liquid was inside the dark cup, but he dutifully held it to his lips and started to swallow, then felt the burning pain in his throat and coughed energetically, setting the half-full cup down, while he tried to clear his throat and catch his breath.

“I said swallow the whole thing,” the doctor said, then turned and looked at him speculatively. “I forgot you’ve got some human blood; it may affect you a little differently that the rest of us.”

“What is it?” Kestrel asked.

“It’s whiskey. It helps kill pain. It does a little more than that for humans though, the way chairstem weed affects us,” the doctor answered. He picked up the cup and handed it back to Kestrel. “Go on, finish it — drink down the whole thing.”

Kestrel looked at the cup in his hand. His throat burned, and his head already felt touched with a feeling of lightness. “Are you sure this is worse than the broken arm?” he asked.

“Drink it,” the doctor gruffly ordered, and with a deep breath, Kestrel obediently swallowed the rest of the whiskey, then gagged for several seconds.

“Now lie back down,” the doctor told him, and he began to attach straps to the sides of the cot Kestrel lay on. The boy felt dizzy and closed his eyes as his head and his stomach reacted to the alcohol in his system.

“Nurse,” the doctor called, and the man from the front office cheerily came into the room with them. “Help me strap him down, and give him that leather bit,” the doctor said.

“What are you going to do?” Kestrel opened his eyes and asked as he felt the straps tightened across his legs and his chest.

“I’m going to have to reset your arm. It’s going to hurt — a lot,” the doctor said. “These straps will keep you from flailing around.”

Another strap went across his forehead, and then one held his good right arm in place beside his body. The doctor and nurse were proceeding with rapid, practiced efficiency.

“Here. Bite down on this when he starts,” the nurse said, and placed a toughened piece of leather between his teeth.

Kestrel was dazed by the alcohol and by the rapidity with which the two men were working around him, treating him as a commodity to be processed in an efficient manner. They tightened the last strap, so that only his left arm was free.

The doctor laid hold of the injured arm with a gentleness that was a dramatic change from the previous handling Kestrel had encountered, and slowly raised it into the air. Kestrel looked up at it with his blurry vision and saw for the first time that a frame of some kind had been attached to the ceiling overhead. A strap from the frame hung loose, and the doctor looped it around his patient’s wrist. He looked down at Kestrel. “We’re going to start in a moment; do you want one more shot of the whiskey?”

Kestrel shook his head no, and suddenly felt a stomach-churning wave of pain engulf him as the doctor tightened the strap and yanked hard on his arm. Kestrel felt the bone-ends grate against one another, and he distantly heard the nurse urging him to bite down on the leather bit. There was a sound, an inhuman moan that was rolling out of his own throat, he realized, as the pain continued. Then there was another sudden jolt in his arm, and the pain began to subside.

Kestrel blinked away the tears in his eyes and looked up at his arm overhead. The doctor was bandaging a pair of splints to his forearm, he realized.

“You’ve been a brave fellow,” the nurse said consolingly. “It’s all done already, just like that.” The nurse’s hand fumbled at Kestrel’s mouth for a moment, then removed the bit and threw it aside.

The doctor continued to wrap bandages. “That was very smooth. We seldom get a setting as perfect as that! You shouldn’t have any problems once the bones knit back together; there’ll just be a bump, but nothing that will affect your use of the arm. It may even be stronger in a few days after it grows together!” He finished his bandaging, as the nurse began to remove the straps across Kestrel’s body, and then they lowered the arm, and placed it in a sling, which they strapped against his chest.

“Here you go. Head home, and sleep on your back the next few nights,” the doctor said, as the nurse left the room to return to his desk out front. “With that human blood you may not heal as quickly as a normal elf — it may take you an extra week or more to finish. Chew on this to relieve your pain in the morning,” he added as he handed Kestrel a small bag of herbs.

“You may have a headache from the whiskey,” he told Kestrel. “Don’t get used to drinking that if you can avoid it. You’ll be much better off.” He placed a hand beneath Kestrel’s right arm. “Are you ready to go, or would you like to collect your wits here?”

“I’ll go now,” Kestrel mumbled indistinctly, still disoriented by the whole experience. He stood on wobbly legs, then tottered out the door. “Thanks, doc,” he turned to say, then wandered down the hall and out of the office, back into the clear, crisp air under the dark sky.

Kestrel walked cautiously through the dark streets, trying to maintain his balance as he kept placing one foot in front of the other, his focus diminished by both the pain and the whiskey. There were other people on the street, and he studiously avoid bumping into them, as all of them navigated effortlessly, their elven ability to see in the dark enabling them to go about their way at night, one of the many reasons the humans seldom made serious efforts to militarily invade the forest homes of the elves.

Kestrel arrived at his home after only a short walk. It was his town home, an apartment with two rooms on the undesirable ground floor of a building in town. Elves preferred elevated locations — homes on upper floors were highly preferable, and when Kestrel returned to what he thought of as his real home, he would go to the grove of hickory trees not far from the red stag woods, where he had a small shelter constructed in the upper branches of a large tree, as was typical of most elves.

Once inside his featureless town apartment he removed his shoes and unbuckled his belt, then laid down on his mattress, lying in the uncomfortable and unusual position of face upward, and quickly fell into a light sleep, but seldom slept well during the night; he often began to roll onto his side, only to experience intense pain that abruptly brought him back to a state of consciousness. The cycle repeated itself uncomfortably several times throughout the night as he sought to revert to his natural sleeping position, and by the time dawn’s first light began to noticeably brighten the bedroom’s interior, he was exhausted from the poor sleep.

Kestrel groggily sat up, his eyes more closed than open, and tried to motivate himself to get out of bed. Once he swung his feet to land on the floor, he managed to stand up, and thereafter he awkwardly cleaned himself up, ate a stale slice of bread for breakfast, then ambled back through Elmheng’s rustic provincial streets to the commander’s office. Elmheng was the administrative center of the elves’ dominion in the western portion of the Eastern Forest that abutted Hydrotaz and the Water Mountains to the north, a lightly populated region, where little excitement typically shook the daily order.

An invasion by the men of Hydrotaz was a strange bolt of surprising excitement however, and even though he had been excluded from it, Kestrel was as eager to learn about the situation at that battle as he was to report on his own activity the day before.

At the front door of the commander’s building he reported to an orderly, who sent him to wait in a lobby with a few other members of the forest guard. One was called into Mastrin’s office, then several minutes later another was, while additional junior members of the guard came and sat down as well, each waiting for their turn to talk to the commanding officer. Kestrel was the third person to enter the office from the lobby.

Inside he found Mastrin and a junior officer who seemed to be present mainly to take notes. “Well now Kestrel, looks like the doc put some serious time in to fix you up,” Mastrin said as Kestrel stood at attention before him, until the commander released him.

“Tell me what brought you back from the western boundary yesterday,” Mastrin advised him.

“I was on station in the late morning, when I noticed a large amount of dark smoke coming from a spot in the forest not far from where I sat,” Kestrel explained.

“There were no clouds in the sky or any lightening or any reasonable cause of such a fire,” he added, anticipating the question about to be asked, as the aide’s pen scribbled notes on a piece of paper.

“How is the battle going down south?” he interrupted himself suddenly, no longer able to bottle up his curiosity.

“There wasn’t really much of a battle,” Mastrin answered conversationally, much to Kestrel’s relief; he had feared he would be told to stick to his own story. “The humans started early in the morning with a lot of noise and an advance along a wide front. They caught our attention obviously. But they moved slowly and cautiously, didn’t penetrate deeply, only cut down a tree or two, then slowly moved around like they were shifting positions, before they withdrew by late morning.

“It makes me think it was just a feint to distract us from something else, which is why I’m interested in hearing your story. Please proceed,” the commander said as his aide sat patiently.

“The smoke was thick, and I judged it to be a pretty bad fire. I felt that it needed to be put out right away, immediately,” he emphasized, “before it started burning up a big chunk of woodland, so I started to pray,” he hesitated for just a second, knowing that he was about to remind everyone of his mixed ancestry, “to the human goddess Kai, and asked for her help to douse the flames.”

He took a deep breath, as the pen continued to scratch for a few more minutes, then paused. Kestrel knew that there was a general suspicion that he could pray to the human deities, but no one knew that he could ask for and receive such direct interdiction — he hadn’t known it himself. It was almost as if he had the power of a human priest, and he knew that more suspicions were going to be raised against him than praises would be sung for what he had just achieved on behalf of the elves.

“And soon after that, a big rain storm came. I had climbed down out of my tree and was running through the woods towards the fire to check on it when the skies just opened up and dumped water like a river was falling,” he noticed that both Mastrin and the aide were looking at him, and the pen was frozen in immobility.

“Just like that, the goddess answered your prayer?” Mastrin asked.

“Yes sir,” Kestrel answered.

“Did you make any sacrifice or promise?” his commander pressed him.

“No sir; maybe yes sir,” Kestrel answered, recollecting the goddess’s promise to collect payment from him in the future.

“Which is it? What did you give her?” the aide blurted out, drawing a sharp look from Mastrin. The junior officer looked down and began to take notes suddenly.

“I didn’t promise anything, but the goddess said I would owe her,” Kestrel explained.

“Not the conversation I expected, and certainly worthy of some theological discussion by the wise ones, I’m sure, but probably this isn’t relevant to the military matters at hand,” Mastrin said. He paused, and seemed to be judging Kestrel as he silently looked at his young guardsman. “This probably doesn’t need to be in the record; strike it and keep the notes clean,” he directed the aide. There was a flurry of scratching on the aide’s pad.

“So go on with your story about the fire,” the commander redirected his attention to Kestrel.

“I slipped in the mud as I was running, and landed on my arm, but I got up and continued to the edge of the fire scene. By then the rain was ending, and the fire seemed to be out.

“It was contained to a couple of hundred acres, but the forest is intact on all sides of it,” Kestrel finished. “I decided I should return and report, but all the flooding made me have to detour, so I was late getting back last night, sir,” he concluded his report and stood at attention as the pen continued to scratch for another few seconds.

“It seems to me that there may be some connection between this fire and the invasion. Was that your thought too?” Mastrin asked.

“I wondered sir; there didn’t seem to be any natural explanation for the start of the fire, and then from what you said about the action in the south, there really wasn’t any good reason for it,” Kestrel replied. “And I apologize for leaving the forest unprotected. I can resume my spot immediately if you want me to.”

“Not with that wing,” the commander told him. “Nothing to apologize for; I think you did right. I’ve already redistributed the guards to patrol the forest, so you can plan to stay here a day or two to heal up. Did the doctor tell you how long you’d need?”

“He said that my human blood might make me heal slowly; it may take a fortnight,” Kestrel said, dragging his nasty heritage out into the conversation again.

“I suppose it might; he’d know better than I would,” Mastrin agreed; he knew about Kestrel’s human heritage, and felt a slight uneasiness about it, but he knew that Kestrel had been a reliable and effective member of his guard unit, especially in the case of the fire, and he knew that the boy seemed to have a healthy friendship with his daughter, one that Mastrin was willing to tolerate and observe for the time being.

“Tell you what — you go on over to let Cheryl see you to know you’re alive and taken care of, and that I’m not a human brute who has slaughtered you, then just be available the next few days. We should get a report back this afternoon from the patrol out looking at your fire spot, so you may want to hear their report later today,” Mastrin spoke in a casual manner that Kestrel suspected hid some machinations.

“We’ll write up a report after we hear the patrol’s information,” the commander told his aide. “Go along Kestrel, you’re dismissed,” he motioned towards a door, and the young elf left the room hurriedly, relieved at the lack of any reprimand or punishment. And then he forgot about all that and began to look forward to seeing Cheryl.

His timing was going to be perfect, Kestrel concluded as he walked through town to the commander’s home. It was late morning; by the time he sat down and saw Cheryl, it would be almost lunch time, and her mother, always a perfect hostess, would invite him to join them for a meal, so he would get more time with Cheryl at the table.

He soon arrived at the high-positioned porch, the height that reflected the elves’ desire to be up off the ground — in the trees, or in something that could approximate a tree’s height if at all possible — and knocked on the door.

Footsteps sounded inside, and Cheryl’s younger sister Crozanna answered the door. Her eyes widened at the sight of the sling that cradled his arm. “Were you hurt in the battle yesterday?” she asked earnestly.

“No,” Kestrel said with a sigh, “I fell in the mud.”

Crozanna giggled. “Would you like to see Cheryl?” she asked mischievously.

“If she has time,” Kestrel tried to answer politely.

“Let’s go see. Come on in,” the young sister spoke, throwing the door wide open, and ushering Kestrel into the house. He’d been a visitor on numerous occasions before, enough that Crozanna felt comfortable casually providing entry to him. She led him right, along a hall, towards a parlor he had shared with Cheryl many time before on visits.

When he rounded the corner, he saw Cheryl sitting in her usual easy chair, looking placid and beautiful as ever, then his vision encompassed the rest of the room, and he saw Malsten, the son of the dry goods store owner, sitting on the opposite chair where he had expected to sit.

“Kestrel’s here to see you Cheryl,” Crozanna chirped brightly, apparently enjoying the opportunity to be an agent of chaos by bringing two suitors together to visit with her sister at the same time.

Malsten scowled deeply as Cheryl popped up from her chair, a look of concern and pleasure on her face. “Oh Kestrel, it’s so good to see you,” she spoke warmly. “Are you going to be okay? What did the doctor say? How were you injured?”

“He fell in the mud,” Crozanna volunteered brightly.

Malsten let out a muffled laugh. “You can go now Crozanna,” Cheryl directed, with a hint of steel in her meaningful glance.

“Please come in and sit down,” Cheryl told Kestrel, who remained standing in the doorway, wishing there was a way to escape from the uncomfortable scene. “Tell us what happened,” she added, as her fingers gently brushed his hand when he passed her to take the proffered seat.

He smiled a warm smile to her, touched by the kind gesture

“What happened yesterday Kestrel?” Cheryl asked again.

“There was a big fire in the forest, but the rains came along and put it out,” the elf guard replied. He was not going to make any mention of the human deities involved, not in front of Malsten.

“Those rains must have been something; we had flooding so bad the water got up into a couple of dozen homes. My dad was selling every mop and bucket he had, plus a whole bunch of other stuff to folks who have to clean up their homes,” Malsten announced, proud of the business success his family had enjoyed as a result of the misfortune of others.

“How is your arm? What did the doctor say?” Cheryl pretended not to hear Malsten.

“It’s broken. He reset the bones last night. Everything should be fine in just a few days,” Kestrel answered. “I reported the fire to your father this morning. He said there’s a patrol looking at the fire location this morning, so there may be more news about it this afternoon,” he told the girl, even though he knew the topic would be of little interest to her. He wanted to talk to her about the human goddess, about Kai, and the direct communication he had with the omnipotent being; he wanted to hear her thoughts, but Malsten’s presence stifled any such conversation.

Just then Cheryl’s mother appeared in the doorway. “Well, hello Kestrel,” she said in a kindly voice. “We’re just about to have lunch. Let me add a plate for you,” she told him.

“No, I can’t stay. I just wanted to stop by to let Cheryl know my arm will be fine. I need to go,” he said as he stood, unwilling to spend time sharing Cheryl’s company with another suitor. “I thought I’d go see if I could help any of the flood victims clean up their homes,” he shot a deadly glance at Malsten as he spoke, but the merchant seemed oblivious to any sense of shame.

“Well, that’s a very nice idea! Don’t strain your arm now. You need to heal,” Cheryl’s mom sounded just like a mom as she counseled him. “Malsten, let me walk you to the meal table, and Cheryl you can see Kestrel to the door,” she directed, giving Kestrel the satisfaction of seeing Malsten shoot a deadly glance back at him.

Cheryl and he walked silently to the door, and stepped out onto the porch. “Mother’s right, you need to be careful with that arm,” Cheryl instructed him as she shut the door behind him. She stood very close, and her hand reached out shyly to hold his. “Malsten just arrived a few minutes before you did,” she apologized. “I didn’t know you were going to come over this morning.”

“It’s not a problem. I just wanted to see you,” he fibbed, “so I got what I wanted. I’ll be around town for a few days while I heal, so I’ll see you soon. I want to talk,” he told her earnestly, squeezing her hand, then releasing it. “Go enjoy your lunch, and maybe Malsten will sell you something for a discount,” he kidded.

“Be nice,” Cheryl chided him, but the sparkle in her eyes was one of laughter, and Kestrel remembered her smile as he turned and walked down the steps to return to the street.

Kestrel did go to try to help a family that had been flooded out by his rainstorms, but everyone soon agreed that his one-armed status limited his utility. After a couple of hours carrying small items around as needed, Kestrel left the flood victims, and went back into town to the military base, where he waited for the return of the patrol from the red stag woods sector.

During the mid-afternoon the two elf patrol entered the gates of the base, and Kestrel followed them into the commander’s building and office without interference.

Mastrin had a different aide accompanying him, Kestrel noticed as he entered a small conference room, one that was adjacent to the office he had spoken in earlier in the day. “Welcome back, guardsman,” Mastrin acknowledged him, then turned to the patrol members, two senior and reliable members of the guard based in Elmheng. “Tell us what you found, if anything,” the commander ordered.

“Well, we found quite a mess,” one of the two elves offered. “The rain up there must have been extraordinary, as if we didn’t know that from the way the streams ran. The mud was something to trek through. There was a fire, and it burnt a good size opening in the forest. It must have been pretty hot; even the biggest trees don’t have any standing trunks left except around the edges of the fire. Things must have been burning along pretty dangerously until those rains put the fire out, thanks be to the spirits.”

Mastrin looked at Kestrel, but said nothing.

“Was there any clue as to how it started?” he asked.

The second guard spoke up. “Not direct evidence, maybe, but we found three metal rods, and a large metal kettle, all made from the blood metal, iron. They’d gotten so hot in the fire they were all deformed — bent and curled. That had to be man work,” he asserted.

Mastrin nodded his head. “That seems right.”

“And we saw some movements in the fringe of the woods on the far side when we first stepped into the opening,” the guard added. “It may have been men. We shouldn’t have shown ourselves so openly, I realize, but we just weren’t expecting men to be inside the forest that far.”

Mastrin nodded again, thoughtfully.

Kestrel,” he looked at the young guard, “I’d say your suspicion was right. The battle down south was just a diversion, designed to empty all of our forces out of the northern border so that the humans could sneak in and start the fire. If it hadn’t been for those rains, we might have lost a fairly big chunk of woodlands.

“Alright men, thank you for the report. You’re dismissed. Kestrel, stay for a moment,” the commander set folks in motion, and waited until the door was closed before he spoke again.

“So you called the human goddess to help you foil a plan of the humans; is that how it seems to you?” he asked quizzically, studying Kestrel closely.

The young elf sat silently for several seconds, trying to find some alternative, some explanation that didn’t sound so preposterous. Nothing came to mind.

“Yes sir,” he said reluctantly.

“Whatever that goddess intends to get from you is going to be a memorable repayment for a favor like that. I hope you’re ready when the bill comes,” the commander said softly. “You’re dismissed. Come back and report to me tomorrow after lunch.” He set Kestrel free, and left the room himself, his aide trailing behind him, leaving the small conference room empty in the afternoon sunlight that filtered into the room through the tree leaves outside the window.

Ferris was rehearsing the report he was going to deliver to his commander, and focused on steeling himself for the abusive response he was sure to suffer. His squad had done everything perfectly to set fire in the forest; they’d known their assignments, and had carried them out flawlessly, without the loss of or injury to a single man — something he was especially proud of.

They’d exited the forest safely, and marched rapidly away from the woodlands for over an hour; Ferris didn’t feel easy being near the forest, and the presence of the fire only heightened his nagging sense of discomfort. Then they had stopped and turned to watch the results of their handiwork.

And they’d seen a deluge materialize from an empty sky shortly after they’d begun to celebrate the ominous pillar of smoke that began to rise from forest. The rainstorm had been unnatural. It had been very specific in its location — as close as they were, Ferris and his men had only felt a few stray drops of the rain. The storm had been uncanny in its character — the water that had fallen had been so dense and heavy in the air that from a distance, the area beneath the clouds had appeared to be a solid column. Steam had risen in copious amounts as the waters had struck the flames and the embers beneath.

The squad stood and watched the half hour of furious down-pouring, and then the abrupt dissipation of the storm; in a matter of moments the rains ceased and the clouds dissipated. “Who made the goddess so mad?” someone in the squad has asked of no one, using a stage whisper that rattled everyone as they all acknowledged the obvious supernatural origin of the phenomena they had witnessed.

Ferris had debated what to do, and decided to stay the night as he pondered his course of action — a return to the forest, a return to the capital, or a return to the Forest Wardens. The next morning he detailed two men to go back into the forest, to follow the tree blazes back to the site of the fire, and to bring back a report on what they found.

The men were gone less than three hours, and came running out of the woods like a yeti was in pursuit. Their report was deflating; the fire was out, extinguished thoroughly by the deluge from the sky before it did more than burn a small hole in the forest, and the elves were already at the site as well. It was the sight of the elves exploring the charred ruins of the trees that had sent the two scouts fleeing in panic, running at full throttle the entire distance back to the squad.

Ferris had idly entertained the thought of trying to restart the fire, if the iron bars and kettle could be found among the ashes, hopeful that perhaps some success could have been attained, but the presence of elves dashed those hopes thoroughly. The elves would be more than angry at the attempt to burn their forest; Ferris was thankful that his two scouts had returned alive and uninjured. He made his decision — to take his squad back to the capital city and report to his commanders there, as a way to avoid letting the Forest Wardens potentially order him to immediately return and commit suicide by attempting to start another fire.

So his men ambled south along dusty country lanes, and Ferris fretted over the consequences of the failed assignment when they reached the gates of Hydrotaz, the capital city, early two evenings later. “You’re dismissed to quarters. Report to the practice yard at third bugle call tomorrow morning, and don’t get thrown in jail,” he had released his men from their labors, then gone on to the office tower where he wrote out his report carefully, and submitted it to the evening watchman, with a pledge to return first thing the following morning for a report in person.

Kestrel reported to his commander early the next afternoon.

“Here is a report,” Mastrin told him, handing him a sealed wooden tube that presumably held papers. “You are going to be the courier for this; I’d like you to take it to Center Trunk,” he told Kestrel, referring to the far-off capital of the eastern elves. Kestrel had never ventured more than a few miles from Elmheng in his life, making the prospect of such a journey seem filled with potential excitement.

“It’s a report on your fire and your rain,” Mastrin explained, dimming some of the adventure Kestrel had imagined. “I haven’t put anything in writing about your brush with the deities, but I want to make sure you speak about that with Colonel Silvan. It doesn’t need to be in writing at this point, but the colonel will be interested in your story. When you reach the receipts desk at the Center Trunk department of the headquarters building, make sure you tell them you are to hand it over directly to Silvan yourself. Wait as long as it takes,” Mastrin emphasized. “This blue ribbon on the end of the tube shows that it’s meant for direct delivery, so they can’t argue with you.”

He felt guilty for sending the boy on this mission. His conscious weighed heavy, but he had concluded that Kestrel’s uniqueness — unique in multiple ways — had to be shared with someone in command of the elf defenses against humanity. He trusted Silvan to have the judgment and scruples to use the knowledge and the boy fairly. Kestrel’s story had set Mastrin’s mind adrift in speculation about all the implications of what the boy might face in the future.

“How long will the journey be?” Kestrel asked cautiously. “I’ve never been there before.”

“Never been to the big city before?” Mastrin asked with forced jocularity. Now that he had handed the report to Kestrel to take to Center Trunk, he had a foreboding sense that he had sealed the boy’s fate. “You’ll think it’s a wonderful place. It’s big — the trees are big, and it’s spread out from morning to night. There’re more elves than you thought lived in all the land, all gathered in one place.

“It’s about a two day trip, maybe three, if that arm slows you down. You don’t have to hurry,” Mastrin said reassuringly.

“It’s okay if I stop to say goodbye to Cheryl?” Kestrel asked.

“Certainly, certainly,” Mastrin affirmed.

“On your way, you can stay in any inn you want to. Just show them the ribbon on the tube; it entitles you to shelter. The innkeepers know they have to give you a spot — it’s the law, so don’t let them give you some sad story about how full they already are.

“Take care, Kestrel,” Mastrin stood and walked around the desk to shake the boy’s hand firmly. “Safe travels in your journey. May all the gods, ours and theirs, look upon you kindly.”

“Thank you, sir,” Kestrel replied, uncertain about his commander’s surprisingly friendly expressions, out of character from his usual military mien. He left the office and walked over to see Cheryl, carrying the message tube carefully in his unencumbered hand.

She greeted him at the door. “Kestrel? Again in the middle of the day? Please come in,” she ushered him into the parlor. I’m sorry that Malsten isn’t here to enjoy your company,” she laughed as they were seated. She sat on the divan with him, he noted exuberantly, though she kept an appropriate distance by sitting at the far end of the piece of furniture.

“Your father has sent me to Center Trunk,” Kestrel blurted out. “I wanted to see you before I go.”

“That’s such a long way!” Cheryl exclaimed. “Have you ever gone there before?”

“No, never. I’ve never gone nearly so far away,” Kestrel admitted.

“How long will it take?” she asked.

“Your dad said to take two or three days to get there, so I’ll need a couple of days to get back too, plus whatever time I spend there,” Kestrel estimated. “About a week all told.”

“It will be such an adventure!” Cheryl told him, her eyes shining.

“Have you ever gone there?” Kestrel asked.

“No. We were up in Firheng when I was a baby, but I don’t remember. Elmheng is the only town I’ve known,” she replied. “They say the trees are so large in Center Trunk.”

There was a silent pause, as Kestrel desperately tried to think of some topic to discuss.

“I better go. I don’t want your father to think I’ve been dawdling,” he at last said awkwardly. “I’ll miss you,” he told her as he stood. He hesitated just a moment more, then leaned towards her to kiss her, only to find that she was rising from her seat as he was lowering his head, and their foreheads knocked sharply.

“Ouch!” each exclaimed as they stood rubbing their foreheads, Kestrel blushing with embarrassment, until Cheryl removed her hands from her forehead and placed them on his cheeks. They looked into one another’s eyes, then Cheryl stood up on her toes, and their lips touched each other’s firmly, in a warm kiss.

“There, that was better,” Cheryl spoke first.

“I’ll miss you,” Kestrel answered breathlessly.

“You better! Don’t you get distracted by all the girls in Center Trunk!” Cheryl scolded him.

“They have girls in Center Trunk?” Kestrel asked, his eyes growing wide in mock surprise.

“Bad, bad boy!” Cheryl shrieked with a grin as she pushed him.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Kestrel said at last, after a long hug, and then he was out the door.

“What do you have for a traveler?” he asked the cooks in the commissary ten minutes later, and five minutes after that he had a sack of supplies and was on his way on the eastern road towards the capital city. He only had to trot along the lightly traveled road for three hours to be beyond the farthest distance he had ever traveled towards the east. Three hours more beyond that the sky was nearly dark, and Kestrel roused himself from his speculation about the meaning of his kiss with Cheryl as he was passing through a small village, one that he concluded was the logical choice for spending the night.

“I’d like a room for the night,” Kestrel told the innkeeper after he entered a dinghy clapboard building with a green shingle hung outside, displaying a crude painting of an oak tree, the universal sign of hospitality. Inside, the atmosphere seemed less than hospitable, as a local militia group occupied the tavern room, asserting its dominance in a drunken and noisy manner. Alec watched a serving girl hesitate and take a deep breath as she stood in the kitchen doorway with a wooden pitcher of ale. She plunged into the public room with a determined look on her face, shifting her hips to avoid groping hands from certain tables as she poured more drink for the customers and collected their coins.

“I’ve got no rooms left,” the man at the counter said gruffly. Kestrel thought his tone sounded peremptory, as if the man thought he was the final word on the matter, and it rubbed Kestrel the wrong way after traveling so far that day. He had looked forward to the opportunity to rest, especially to taking the sling off his healing arm.

Consequently, Kestrel took his tube and placed it firmly on the countertop, displaying the ribbon prominently. “You can find a room for me, can’t you?” he asked bluntly.

The expression on the proprietor’s face was momentarily inscrutable, then showed a craftiness that made Kestrel uneasy. “You’ll have your room, just like the regulations say,” the man told Kestrel.

“Orris, Captain Orris, come here,” the innkeeper barked loudly into the tavern, causing heads to turn.

A beefy man among the militia group rose and came sauntering over to the counter; he wore a deep red robe over his shoulders. “What is so important that you’d call me away from my ale and men?” he asked with an easy smile.

“The courier here wants to have your room. You’ll need to move your things out so that he can have it,” the innkeeper explained.

“I’m not asking for his room in particular!” Kestrel protested. “I just know the regulations say you have to give me a room.”

Captain Orris was studying Kestrel closely. “What happened to your arm? Did you get hurt in the battle?”

Kestrel blushed, feeling defensive. “No,” he mumbled, “I fell and hurt it.”

“Come on in here and have a drink with my boys before you go up to your room,” Orris wrapped his arm around Alec’s shoulder and directed him into the tavern room. Kestrel wanted to resist, but was at a loss for a polite way to refuse the seemingly friendly overture.

“Boys,” Orris greeted one of the tables as he planted Kestrel among the men, “this important messenger needs to kick me out of my room here at the inn, so he can rest that injured arm he got when he fell down.”

“He’s got awfully rounded ears; is he even an elf?” a militia member across the table asked.

“Why didn’t you fight in the battle, straight eyes?” another member asked.

Kestrel felt a sharp elbow jab his injured arm, causing him to flinch in pain. He stood up abruptly, but Orris placed a ham hand on his shoulder and forced him back down.

“You need to stay and have a drink with us, to show there’s no hard feelings,” the captain said.

Why are your eyebrows so straight?” Orris asked. “Are you mixed blood?”

Here it comes, Kestrel thought to himself, despairing over the manner in which his heritage had arisen to haunt him once again.

“Look at the size of those ears!” an unidentified voice called.

Sensing that he was about to be assaulted while injured and outnumbered, Kestrel felt a sudden sense of outrage at the injustice of the situation, and rashly decided he would manage to inflict some pain on his assailants before they completely overwhelmed him.

The desperate elfling rose with an explosive thrust of his body off the bench, and aimed his head at Orris’s unprepared chin, jarring the commander with a vicious thrust that cracked his jaws together, and tumbled him backwards, unconscious. Kestrel pulled his injured arm in close to his chest, then threw his heavier part-human weight at the guard who sat next to him, the one who had elbowed him seconds before, and knocked the man to the floor, both of them falling. Kestrel landed on top, driving the air from his opponent’s lungs, then rolled quickly to the floor.

In his roll he jarred his arm; he winced in pain as he started to rise to his knees, then saw a booted foot approaching, and turned his head just in time to avoid receiving the kick squarely in his face. After that the only thing he could do was curl up tightly in a defensive ball as kicks and punches rained upon him, drawing blood and leaving bruises until someone took mercy on him and put an end to the lopsided beating.

Several minutes later, Kestrel was unconscious, lying on the floor, and the innkeeper at last had a twinge of concern that he might be guilty of failing to honor his obligation to assist the messenger who carried the tube with the blue ribbon. He ordered two of his stable hands to carry Kestrel upstairs to the room that was rightfully his, where they carelessly threw him on the floor, obeying their instructions to not get blood on the bed, then carried out the belongings of the still unconscious militia captain.

When the beaten messenger awoke the next morning, the sun was well above the horizon, and he listened to the bustle of business on the ground floor below him as he felt every ache and injury he had suffered the night before. He rolled onto his knees, then held that position as waves of pain penetrated his consciousness from every part of his body. He held the position and thought not about the pain, but about the insults he had heard the night before. He’d heard them all before, and heard others as well, more creative ones.

He gave a painful smile as he realized he was judging his assailants by their lack of imagination in the insults they had hurled at him, not by the thrashing they had given him. With effort and groans, he rose to his feet, then spotted his message tube on the floor and groaned again before he painfully bent over and picked it up. He left his room, limping down the hallway and down the stairs, purposefully leaving the door to his room open, then leaving the front door of the inn open as well as he went past the unmanned front desk and back out into the road that would lead him gladly away from the village where his luck had been so dismal.

Kestrel told himself he’d come back and settle the score with the innkeeper and the militia someday. He knew he never would carry out any vengeful deeds, but it felt like a release of his pent-up aggravation to make the promise to himself, and the release of the anger helped him start his legs moving forward at a slow trot, a painful pace that he knew was not going to propel him very far over the course of the day.

After only two hours he stopped in a village and bought three apples from the greengrocer’s shop, then continued his plodding progress throughout the afternoon, passing the scattered traffic that headed west along the deeply shaded road. He stopped before sunset in a village with an inn, both to assure his chances to reserve a room while open rooms were available, and to let his body rest and recover.

“You’ve had a rough journey,” the grandmotherly woman at the inn commented as she assigned him to a room, tossing a key to him.

“More than I expected,” Kestrel agreed.

“There’s a hot spring outside of town where the water helps heal,” the woman offered. “It’s at the foot of the hills south of the village.

“You ought to go there and soak in the water,” she told him bluntly. “You’ll feel better.

“You might even look better,” she added with a wink.

“You really ought to go,” the lady spoke loudly as Kestrel thanked her non-committally, and started to walk towards his room.

There was a force of command in her voice that startled him, and he turned to look at her questioningly. As he glanced at her his eyes widened, and he felt frozen in place, astonished, fearful, and amazed, as he suddenly perceived that the woman at the counter was not what he had thought at all, not simply a village woman peddling local lore — she was Kere, the Elven goddess of fortune, who his mother had taught him to pray to and beware of. He felt guiltily aware of the attention he had paid the human gods, and he hoped that Kere did not know of his religious promiscuity.

“It took you a little longer to realize than it should have, Kestrel,” she told him, as his aching joints painfully obeyed his will and creakingly bowed him down to his knees. “You’re so seduced by the human goddess that you pay no attention to we simple Elfish deities, is that it?”

“Great lady, no,” Kestrel protested. “I’m just so tired and sore I wasn’t paying attention,” he tried to excuse himself. Kere was the most powerful and unpredictable of the Elven gods. His mother had alternately warned him to beware of her treats while also offering unceasing devotions to the singular goddess who could pluck any mortal out of the fabric of everyday life and subject them to hideous defeat or glorious success — or both.

Kestrel had always imagined the goddess as a glamorous, regal figure. The grandmotherly woman, short, squat, and solid, who was coming around the desk to approach him, did not match his imagination in any way. Yet as he watched the goddess approach, he knew that the sense of divinity he felt and the aura of power that he saw were true indications of the sacred entity whose presence overwhelmed his senses.

“You are so unusual, little one. You are clearly one of ours, and yet you are clearly one of theirs as well. I’ve known a few other subjects who were mixed race, but they have always been only subject to one set of gods or the other. Not you though,” the goddess said, and she placed her hand on his head as she spoke. It was a touch that made Kestrel wince in anticipation, until her fingers actually rested on his scalp, and it suddenly felt more like a benediction that a punishment.

“You will be subject to whimsies of fortune that are not my doing, Kestrel,” Kere told him. “I will aid you when you are within my power, if you deserve assistance. In return, when you find another one like you, a girl who also is of mixed blood, you must rescue her and take her with you until you can save her.”

“If I rescue her won’t I save her?” Kestrel asked, confused by the words of the goddess. “What girl do you mean?” he asked a moment later. “Will she be at Center Trunk when I get there?”

“Your appointment with Moorin is far in your future, at a far-away place, if you live long enough to get to that portion of your destiny,” Kere replied, “not that you should be questioning anything that a goddess tells you. Now, go to the hot springs and heal yourself, then come back here to spend a restful night.”

“What will I do then?” Kestrel asked.

Why elfling, you will do what you are ordered to do, I’m sure,” the goddess answered with humor in her voice once again. “Now go, work hard, and remember to carry out your first appointment,” Kere replied. She removed her hand from his head, then vanished from his view.

Kestrel knelt on the floor for long moments of astonishment after he was left alone, wondering if what he had just experienced was real, or some type of waking dream, the product of a damaged brain.

It wasn’t imagination, he knew; the goddess Kere had appeared to him, had spoken to him, had commanded him. He knew the touch of a divine being, and Kere was just as much a goddess as Kai was. But there was a difference, a dissimilarity in the way he felt the goddesses perceived the elves and humans; he sensed that each deity had a different perception of the role of their subservient races that they ruled, and Kere’s was the warmer regard. Regardless of those differences though, the sacred power of both of the great ones was undeniable.

He rose obediently and walked slowly to the door of the inn, then headed to the dusty crossroads at the center of the settlement, and took the road that led south. Five minutes later the road began to turn to the left, circling beside a small hill, and Kestrel turned off the road onto a well-trod path that he hoped led to the healing spring he was directed to visit. Enclosed within the thick underbrush, the air was even more still than out on the road, warmer and thicker than it had been on the road through the woods.

As he pressed through the underbrush. Kestrel heard a scream ahead of him, and abruptly stopped. With his good hand he awkwardly pulled his belt knife free and advanced to the edge of an opening, where he discovered an elf standing over a girl, who was sprawled on the ground at the edge of a pool of water, screaming and crying. The elf was large, built at least as unusually bulky as Kestrel himself was built, looking strong as a bull, and taller than Kestrel. His face was savagely contorted with powerful emotion.

“You’re mine now Moorin, and you might as well accept that you’re going to get the punishment you deserve,” the man shouted angrily at her as he kicked her ribcage viciously. “There’s no one around this time to protect you.”

The girl was named Moorin, the name that Kere had told him was the name of the girl he would have to rescue. He hadn’t expected to see the girl already, but he knew that he had to do as Kere had told him — he didn’t want to make the goddess of fortune angry with him, nor did he want to see anyone get beaten in an unfair battle, as he himself had just been pummeled the night before. He looked at the size of the man, and considered his own battered condition, then decided that a surprise attack was his best, frankly his only, option.

Kestrel charged out of the bushes and dove at the man, aiming to tackle him below the shoulder and drive him into the water. Because of his injuries he couldn’t muster the ability to sprint as quickly as he wanted; but he was only five steps away from the attacker when the man realized he was present. Kestrel left his feet and jumped at the man, determined to drive him away from the endangered girl.

And then the man vanished and Kestrel went flying through empty air and into the pool all alone.

The pool was deep and cold, causing Kestrel to sputter and swallow a great mouthful of water in surprise at the disappearance of his anticipated adversary. He thrust up to the surface of the water, then stroked blindly until he reached the edge of the pool. He reached up and grabbed a double handful of the weeds growing on the edge of the bank, and coughed explosively until he cleared his chest of its watery contents. When he was finished coughing he opened his eyes and focused on the girl he had attempted to rescue.

She was sitting up, casually straightening her clothing. She grinned at Kestrel. “You ought to take your clothes off before you dive into the water. Just a hint of friendly advice,” she told him, and suddenly Kestrel was once again astonished to discover that he was conversing with Kere.

“Is this more along the lines of your expectations for a goddess?” she asked as her hands gestured up and down her curvaceous figure.

“Goddess? What happened?” Kestrel asked.

“I wanted to test you, to see if you would honor my command. It was a harmless, simple opportunity for you to decide what to do, and I’m so happy to see that you passed the test!” she told him in her now alluring voice.

“Is this what you really look like?” Kestrel asked as he propped his elbows up on the grassy bank and looked up at the goddess.

“For you, for now, this is how I appear, though appearance is of little consequence to a god, unless seduction is called for — which it is not right now,” she added sternly. “Now, get out of the pool and go past it to the hot springs just beyond, and soak until you feel better.”

She stood up, then reached down and easily pulled Kestrel out of the water. “And elfling, you ought to take your clothes off before you get in the water next time. It will be much more comfortable!” she grinned at him again, then vanished instantaneously.

Kestrel stood with his jaw hanging open in astonishment. He had encountered a goddess twice in less than an hour. Kere, his mother’s own chosen deity, the capricious goddess of fortune, had spoken to him directly, favorably. He began to walk towards the hot springs, not even conscious of the water dripping off of him, and when he got to the steaming water of the narrow, spring-fed pool that was partially wedged between two high, stony shoulders, he disrobed without considering anything other than the need to obey Kere.

The water was very hot on one side of the pool, but only moderately warm on the other side, where Kestrel settled into a niche between two rounded boulders, and sat back with his eyes closed, half asleep as felt the magical properties of the briny spring water wash away his aches and pain. He nodded into a semi-comatose state, and sat for long minutes in blissful peace, until he heard a rustling noise nearby.

When he opened his eyes he saw a beautiful girl on the brink of dipping her toes in the water. She was extraordinary in her beauty — while Kere had been gorgeous in her most recent incarnation, this girl was beyond comparison in the symmetry of her features, the perfection of her complexion, the proportions of her figure. Yet she was only three feet tall, roughly, and her skin was blue, which Kestrel realized meant that she must be a sprite.

He sat stock still in the water, only his head visible between the boulders, and watched the smaller being in enchantment. Never in all his life had he ever expected to see one of the mystical figures whose mischievous deeds and good services were talked about by people who were virtually guaranteed to never know anything firsthand about the small races. The lesser beings — the sprites, the water imps, the leprechauns — were known to inhabit all the lands, but to possess the ability to fly, disappear, and to hide at the drop of a hat.

The sprite was looking at the water apprehensively, and unconsciously stroking one arm as she stared down at the water. Her behavior puzzled Kestrel, but he was content to sit silently and watch the sprite carry out her internal debate. She was beautiful, and his observation of the mobile expressions that passed across her lovely face as she studied the spring water only added to his enchantment.

Kestrel watched and the sprite stood indecisively for several minutes, until there was a momentary rustle in the bushes nearby and a wolf jumped out of the greenery, clamping its fangs upon the screaming girl’s thigh, then disappearing back into the forest. Kestrel sat stunned at the suddenness of the violent assault.

The girl screamed again at some distance, and Kestrel realized that he could perhaps rescue her. He stroked across the water, and picked up his knife from the pile of clothing he had left on shore, then ran into the underbrush, spotted the wolf’s trail, and sprinted in the direction that that animal had carried the female sprite away.

There were drops of blood on the ground, and Kestrel made a sharp right turn to follow the wolf’s track through the forest. The sprite had only been taken moments earlier, but Kestrel was concerned that the wolf would not wait long before proceeding to devour the small girl, unless he could intercede and rescue her — in order to hopefully carry her back to the healing waters of the hot spring.

Could this be the rescue Kere had commanded him to carry out? he momentarily wondered. No, he told himself, the goddess had told him the girl he would meet would be like him, of human-and-elf mixed race.

He stopped, as he saw movement just ahead of him. He had started from the hot spring at the foot of the first of a series of foothills, and the wolf’s trail had led into the hills, following the valley that meandered between rising bluffs of stone and soil. Now, he saw, the wolf had placed the sprite down on the ground in a well-worn patch of dirt that was surrounded by large boulders, trees, and three wolf pups, all of whom were eagerly approaching the meal their mother had brought them.

With a shout, Kestrel picked up a stone and heaved it at the mother wolf while he ran forward towards the small family pack. The mother yelped at the stone struck her in the ribs, and the pups all turned tail and disappeared among the rocks that sheltered their den. Kestrel reached the sprite and hovered over her protectively as the she-wolf snarled at him and bared her fangs. Kestrel held the knife in front of himself defensively as he reached down and grabbed the sprite with one hand, lifting her up and pulling her against his own body beneath one arm, his injured arm that was too weak to hold her for very long.

He started to carefully back away from the wolf, swinging his knife in front of him, hoping that he could quickly remove himself from the vicinity of the wolf’s ill-will and then shift the sprite to his strong arm. After only five steps he had to put the girl down and re-lift her into place, then resume back-pedaling away from the wolves, watching carefully as the she-wolf maneuvered herself into position between him and her pups, then warily stood her ground as Kestrel opened the breach between them, continuing to walk backwards until he could no longer see the wolf through the bushes and weeds that grew on the forest floor.

Once he felt safe from the wolf he shifted the limp body of the sprite in his arms, and started walking forward, back to the spring, looking down at the small woman he held. Her right thigh was badly mauled, and her left hand had been bitten too. Her right arm had a terrible rash on it as well, and it struck Kestrel that the rash had been what he had seen her rubbing before the wolf had snatched her.

She was unconscious, which struck the elf as a good thing. She wasn’t aware of the pain of her wounds, and she wasn’t aware that she had traded one frightening experience for another, being held and carried about by one of the members of the large races.

When they reached the edge of the hot spring, Kestrel laid the girl down, then paused for a moment before he carefully undressed her, leaving her torn clothes dry on the bank of the spring as he lifted the girl into the water with him, and laid her across his lap once he returned to his sitting shelf among the boulders in the cooler portion of the spring.

Up close, the girl’s beauty continued to entrance him with its perfection. He studied her face, her features, her hair — everything about her while they soaked together in the water. Kestrel was feeling much better as a result of the energy of the spring water, and he silently thanked Kere, the elven goddess, for commanding him to find the spring and soak. Not only had the goddess’s order led him to healing his own injuries, but it had also allowed him to intercede on behalf of the tiny being whose body was cradled against his. And he wondered if that had been part of the plan.

Time passed further, and Kestrel was aware of the sun starting to set in the west. He needed to return to his inn for the night, he decided, but the sprite created a dilemma for him. He didn’t know what to do with the girl. She was still unconscious, and he didn’t want to just leave her lying at the spring-side, likely to become a meal for some other passing predator. Her wounds had gradually healed as she had sat on his lap in the water, and he judged that she was healthy and ready to leave the spring water behind. And he had afterall fought for her, and deserved the right to retain her in his own company while she was unconscious, he rationalized. It was remarkable! He had a sprite — he had seen, fought for, and held one of the mythical, mystical beings. He should retain possession of her in his company, at least until she was awake once again, and could leave his company safely.

Kestrel carefully waded through the spring pool to the bank on the far side, where their clothes lay in heaps, and he carefully replaced the underclothes and dress on the sprite, hoping that he was doing it right. He then dressed himself, watching the sprite as he did so, then, when she remained soundly asleep, he picked her up and held her in his arms as he started to walk back towards the village.

She felt heavier than he expected; he was used to lifting the light bodies of elves, who had bones and flesh that were so light they seemed prepared to float away, while his partially-human arms were comparatively brawny in contrast. But despite her race’s legendary ability to fly, the sprite had more substance than the elves did, and his arms, one still supported partially in a sling, began to grow tired, so that he shifted his bundle and carried the small body as though it were a child, her head resting on his shoulder.

As he drew near the village, and the sprite remained asleep, he began to consider what to do with his ward. He pondered trying to smuggle her up to his room in the inn, where he could watch over her until she awoke and could return to safety.

But smuggling an entire person, even a small one, through an inn, was a daunting challenge, one that would require some type of distraction or prop. He considered his sling; it wasn’t contributing any useful support to his largely-healed arm any longer, and it was a fairly large piece of cloth. He put the sprite down, removed his sling, then unfolded the fabric, before he picked the sprite back up and draped the former sling over her.

The cover was sufficient. It was obvious he was carrying something the size of an apparent child, but no one could tell he had a mythical, blue-skinned being in his arms. He could simply walk straight into the inn and up the stairs to his room, stopping for no one, and quickly deposit the sprite there, he decided. It was straightforward, and he could think of no better solution as he reached the step at the entrance to the building.

With a deep breath Kestrel barged into the entry hall, keeping his head low and avoiding eye contact with any other person as he plowed forward and up the stairs. He heard an inquiring shout behind him, which he ignored as took the steps two at a time in his anxiety, no longer aware of the tiredness in his arms from carrying the sprite. He saw the door to his room, pressed his key into the lock, gave a turn as he heard footsteps behind him, then shoved the door open with his shoulder and entered his room, slamming the door shut behind him just seconds before there was a pounding knock.

“Who are you and what are you doing in my inn?” a man’s voice called loudly from outside the door.

Kestrel was on the edge of panic, driven by the fear and excitement that roiled within him. His forehead was beading up with dripping sweat, and he knew without looking that the shirt beneath his armpits was dark with perspiration caused by the situation. Both the excitement and fear of holding a sprite, as well as the concern over the angry innkeeper outside his room combined to make him question how he could have possibly gotten into such a situation.

He hastily placed the sprite on the narrow bed in the dingy, narrow room, then pulled the blanket up over her. With a deep breath, he turned back to the door, where the innkeeper was pounding once again. He wielded the message tube with its now slightly-dingy blue ribbon in front of him as he opened the door. “I’m delivering this message,” he blurted out immediately. “I’m on my way to Center Trunk.”

The innkeeper paused, a beefy man with a florid face. His mouth hung open, then abruptly snapped shut, as he swallowed the coarse comment he had been about to utter, and considered the authority the blue-ribboned tube gave Kestrel. “How’d you get the key to the room?” he asked after re-thinking his approach.

“A woman at the desk gave it to me,” Kestrel asked.

“What woman?” the innkeeper asked. “My daughter says she didn’t give out any keys.”

“An older lady — she gave me the key when I stopped by this afternoon, and she sent me down to the hot springs to heal in the waters,” Kestrel replied.

“What old lady? And those myths about the spring water healing are just hot air — there’s no truth to them,” the innkeeper said dismissively.

“Anything else, or can I rest now?” Kestrel asked. The innkeeper seemed calmer, and Kestrel was anxious to close the door so he could examine his sleeping sprite.

“What were you carrying?” the innkeeper asked.

“What a messenger does is no concern to you. Good night,” Kestrel abruptly answered, shook his messenger tube in the man’s face, then pushed the door shut, and let out a sigh of relief several seconds later when he heard the man’s footsteps fade down the hall.

He felt himself shivering with excitement, his nerves stretched to their limit by all that was taking place, and he sat down carefully on the bed, next to the small form beneath the cover. He reached cautiously for the edge of the thin blanket and pulled it down, peeling it away and exposing the unconscious sprite to his curious gaze.

Even away from the magical spring, her beauty appeared just as unimpeachable as it had before. Her skin was so smoothly unblemished in its appearance that he felt compelled to touch it, to confirm that the porcelain perfection held the softness of flesh beneath it.

He gently placed his fingertip against her cheek, marveling at how soft the flesh felt beneath his outsized finger, and then suddenly he gasped and pulled his finger back, as if it had been burnt. The sprite’s eyes had opened.

The sprite sat up, a wild look in her eyes, starring at Kestrel, then around the room, then back at Kestrel. She gave a shriek, a loud, shrill scream that belied her tiny size, then disappeared from the room, the mattress rebounding ever so slightly as her small form evaporated.

Kestrel sat still in amazement, then let his hand gently trace over the shadow of an impression of the spot where she had laid on the mattress only moments ago.

There were hurried steps thundering out in the hallway, just before more blows hammered on the door. “What in blazes is going on in there? Open the door immediately!” the innkeeper’s voice demanded.

Kestrel no longer worried about the man seeing his captive mystical creature, and opened the door wide with relief, then stepped aside to allow the suspicious hotel operator to step into the tiny room. From his spot by the doorway the man could see all aspects of the room in intimate detail; the narrow bed and the single chair were the only items of furniture, and Kestrel’s small pile of belongings sat in one corner.

The innkeeper expected to find a damsel in distress. He wanted to find such a girl. He needed to find her, so that he could explode in rage and vent his frustrations by thrashing Kestrel soundly. Unfortunately, there was no girl in the room, and no evidence that one had ever been there with Kestrel.

“What was that scream? Was it you?” the man asked Kestrel, wheeling on his heels to face the innocent messenger.

“What scream?” Kestrel asked with a blank face.

“That scream; the scream: we heard it all the way downstairs!” the innkeeper replied in exasperation.

“I wonder if it came from outside, maybe?” Kestrel asked.

“No! It was inside; it was up here,” the man insisted.

“You better go check the other rooms. Do you want me to help you with your search?” Kestrel felt an impulsive need to bait the man.

“I know how to check my own rooms, thank you!” the innkeeper spoke indignantly, knowing that he had lost his expected battle before it had even begun. Seeing no way to gracefully declare victory or even acknowledge defeat, he stepped backwards into the hallway and pulled the door abruptly closed behind him, nearly hitting Kestrel as he slammed in into its frame in the wall.

Kestrel leaned back against the door and smiled a quiet smile of satisfaction, so pleased with the innkeeper’s discomfort that he almost forgot momentarily about the sprite he had lost.

As he stood there, his mind wandering back to amazement at the thought that he had encountered and saved the life of a sprite, he was startled by the sudden return of the sprite, standing on top of his mattress, her eyes blazing and a small, needle-sharp knife in one hand.

She jabbed fiercely at him, making him twist out of the way of her ill-intent.

“What are you doing?” Kestrel cried.

“I’m getting revenge!” the sprite answered savagely, slashing with her knife as Kestrel grabbed the thin pillow off the bed to protect himself from her attack. The knife looked too small to inflict fatal damage unless it struck him just right, but there was clearly much opportunity for painful injury to result from the sprite’s determined efforts.

“You’ve got no reason to seek revenge against me!” the elf protested.

“No reason?!” the sprite’s eyes were practically burning with emotion as she echoed him.

“You raped me!” she spit the words at him.

“What?” Kestrel’s voice rose an octave in shock at the accusation.

The sprite stabbed at him again, her blade penetrating the pillow and cutting into his shirt.

“You heard me! You know what you did! Now I’m going to have an ugly baby, as ugly as you, and it will forever be an outcast for looking so ugly!” she emphasized her last sentence by leaping off the bed, jumping high and coming down at him knife first, so that he dropped his ineffective pillow shield, now shredded, and grabbed her with both hands, holding her at arm’s length as she swung wildly.

“I did not rape you!” he protested in shock as they slid to the floor. He rolled over and above her, holding her down against the floor.

“You did! I know you did. I woke up on your bed with you right over me like you are now, leering at me, and I found my dress was on backwards. You undressed me, used me, then tried to cover it up by putting the dress back on me, but you couldn’t even do that right,” she continued to try to slice him, and he changed his tactic, releasing one hand’s grip on the sprite’s body to grab her knife-wielding hand. He seized the knife and took it from her.

“I undressed you to put you in the healing spring waters after I rescued you from the wolf that was going to feed you to her cubs for dinner!” Kestrel said heatedly. “I undressed you, carried you into the spring water so that you could heal from the wounds the wolf gave you. Then I dressed you and carried you back here because I didn’t want to leave you alone unconscious where the wolf might get you again.”

Kestrel saw confusion on the sprite’s face, and then the fire went out from her eyes. “That’s really what happened?” she asked.

He nodded. “You can release me. I won’t try to harm you,” the small blue being said with a sudden sincerity that Kestrel believed.

Cautiously, Kestrel released the girl and stood up. She lay on the floor looking up at him, propped up on her elbows, then abruptly disappeared again.

Kestrel looked at the empty space beneath him, then looked at the tiny knife in his hand. She was gone again, but he had proof — in a sense — that he had encountered a sprite. He looked down at the cut in his shirt, and looked at the knife in his hand; they were proof to him that he wasn’t just dreaming.

There was another knock on the door. “Is there a woman in there with you?” the innkeeper was upon Kestrel’s threshold once again, though his voice seemed less confrontational than before.

Kestrel opened the door wide once again, giving the innkeeper another look at the room where he stood alone. “Shall I report this harassment to the army officials?” Kestrel asked.

“My daughter swore she heard a woman’s voice arguing,” the despondent innkeeper explained. “But I see there’s no one here but you, obviously. I apologize. Please come down to the dining room and have a meal on the house.” The man was defeated and throwing in the towel on his efforts to catch some improper behavior by Kestrel.

“Thank you; I’ll be down to eat shortly,” Kestrel said as he shut the door, then sat down on his bedding, still trying to comprehend all that had happened.

The sprite returned, once again popping into the room in a previously empty space in front of Kestrel.

“I’m sorry I almost killed you,” she said, standing warily just outside Kestrel’s reach.

“You didn’t almost kill me, but you tried,” Kestrel replied.

The blue figure squinted at Kestrel for a moment as though she were about to argue, then seemed to remind herself of some other priority she had to attend to. “My father says that I have to apologize, and I owe you a great favor for having saved my life at the spring with the wolf.

“You don’t owe me a favor,” Kestrel replied. “You would have helped me if you had seen the wolf attack me.”

“No I wouldn’t,” the sprite answered hastily. “I never help your race unless I have to, and now I have to.”

“I don’t need any help,” Kestrel told her, not pleased with the sprite’s attitude. “You can go your way and we’ll say everything is even.”

“No, we won’t. My father is the king of the sprites, and he said I have an obligation I must fulfill. I am obliged to help you. So I am going to tell you a secret word you can use to call me when you need help, and I will come to your aid.”

“What’s the point? You’re only doing this because you’re told to; it’s not coming from your heart because you feel gratitude for my help,” Kestrel answered.

“My name is Dewberry. When you need me, call me with your voice and your heart and mind all together,” the sprite instructed in a no-nonsense manner. “You can do this three times, and I will come to your aid three times. After that I am free; my duty to you is met, and I’ll not respond to your requests any longer.”

“It’s a pretty name. My name is Kestrel,” the elf told the sprite.

“That doesn’t matter to me. Just remember to use your heart, your mind and your voice all together to call me when you need me. Now I’m done here,” she answered.

“Wait!” Kestrel called hurriedly. “Before you go, tell me why you were standing at the spring when the wolf caught you.”

“I had a rash on my arm,” the sprite hesitated. “And I thought the water would cure it. But I knew the water at that spring makes members of my race fall asleep, and I didn’t know what to do. We all know about that spring; it not only heals, but it gives us wonderful dreams, an exhilarating sensation, one of the best things a sprite can feel.

“Not that it’s really any of your business,” she added, then disappeared from the room.

Kestrel sat down on his bed, and felt his head spinning as he tried to reconcile Dewberry’s outward beauty with the very ungracious personality she had displayed. It seemed a contradiction to Kestrel, and a sad one at that. Cheryl was not as pretty as Dewberry, but was so much nicer that she was far preferable, he concluded as his mind wandered until he decided he was hungry enough to go to the public room and take advantage of the innkeeper’s offer.

His meal that night was quiet, as he sat alone at one end of a table in the half-empty public room and ate the unmemorable food. He spent a quiet night in his small inn room, and left early in the morning, determined to travel as far and as fast as possible on the third day of his messenger duty.

That day was uneventful. Only a brief rain shower in the late afternoon broke the monotony of the long trail Kestrel ran through the forest. After the rain, the trail grew wider, and traffic grew heavier, indications that Kestrel was approaching his goal, confirmation of which came two hours before sunset when he entered the teeming metropolis of Center Trunk, the largest city of the elves of the Eastern Forest, thought to be the largest elven city of all.

The blue ribbon on his message tube provided the means for Kestrel to learn where he needed to end his journey. A policeman on patrol responded to Kestrel’s request for directions; one look at the blue ribbon and he described the landmarks Kestrel should look for on his way to the headquarters building of the guard services.

Lamps and candles were being lit when Kestrel passed through the guarded gate and asked for directions to see Colonel Silvan. He found his way inside the gated military enclave inside the city, and along a short route of internal roads and passages to a narrow, tall building, where he entered and walked past a woman on the first floor to find and climb the stairs that led to a third floor office with a guard posted at the door.

“I’m here to see Colonel Silvan,” Kestrel reported to the guard, an elf who appeared to be a spit-and-polish model of what every soldier should be; he felt suddenly nervous about his role as a messenger for the first time.

“Where from?” the guard asked, nodding towards the ribbon-sealed tube.

“Elmberg,” Kestrel answered promptly. “Commander Mastrin sent me.”

The guard held his hand out for the tube. “I was told to deliver this directly to Colonel Silvan myself,” Kestrel protested.

“I understand,” the guard spoke, for the first time giving a hint of some personality, as he acknowledged his recognition that he was putting Kestrel in a quandary. “Handing the message to me is as good as giving it to Silvan. I won’t open it personally, but the Colonel will want to read it before he interviews you.”

Kestrel weighed the aspects of the situation, and concluded that he had no choice but to turn his small piece of cargo over to the doorkeeper.

“Remain here,” the guard spoke as soon as he held the tube, in a careless tone that nonetheless indicated that he would tolerate no disobedience from Kestrel. He opened the door behind him and slipped into the room, so that Kestrel stood alone in the short hallway on the third floor.

He felt as though he waited an interminable time. He passed through nervousness, restlessness, then boredom, before he was startled by the sudden opening of the door and the return of the guard. Kestrel watched expectantly as the guard pulled the door closed behind him, then resumed standing at attention once again, without any acknowledgement of Kestrel’s presence.

After a moment of expectancy, and then confusion, Kestrel decided to ask what to do.

“You remain here and wait,” the guard answered without deigning to direct his eyes toward Kestrel. A servant came along the hall silently lighting candles mounted in scones on the wall, then passed from view when his duty was complete.

Resigned, as well as frustrated and angry, Kestrel continued to stand in his spot in the darkening hallway for nearly another hour, until a door a few feet away opened suddenly, and a kindly, grandfatherly appearing elf, one who had more hair growing out of his ears than on the top of his head, glanced down the hallway. “Come in here Kestrel,” he said, then disappeared, leaving Kestrel with the impression that the man had hardly looked at him at all.

Kestrel looked at the motionless guard, but received no hint of direction. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped over to the open door, then entered the room behind it. The room was even darker than the hallway, with only two dim candles in hurricane glasses set on a desk, where the old man already sat, patiently watching Kestrel as he examined the room. “Take a seat here,” the man gestured to a chair in front of the desk, then picked up a roll of paper, and smoothed it out flat, laying in on the desktop and placing small weights on the four corners to hold the paper flat.

The rolled character of the paper told Kestrel it was the contents of his message tube, the cylinder that had brought him to Center Trunk, through his unlikely adventures along the course of the journey.

Kestrel was seated, and his eyes looked up from the paper to the officer, who was studying him closely, he realized.

“My apologies for asking you to wait for so long,” the officer said, though Kestrel wasn’t sure if he was apologizing for making him wait, or for making him wait for such a long time. “I’ve read the extraordinary report you’ve brought. It’s an interesting and disturbing story that your commander tells. I’d like to hear your version of it, if you’ll be so kind,” the grandfather spoke in a gentle voice; Kestrel appreciated the kind way in which the order was given, and he wanted to cooperate.

“Are you Colonel Silvan?” Kestrel asked, just to confirm the identity of the man he was with.

“I am Colonel Silvan,” the officer agreed. “I’m disturbed by this report of coordinated attacks by Hydrotaz’s forces, using a feint to try to distract us from the fire that was set. The report indicates that you were the guard who detected the fire.

“We’re fortunate that the rainstorm happened at the right time, in the right place,” Silvan added. Three code words in the message had indicated that there was much more information available from this courier, information that the commander had not wished to put in writing. Silvan was extremely interested to learn what the hidden news was, and he scrutinized the messenger closely, noting the boy’s obvious mixed blood, a heritage of humanity written noticeably in the body structure and the face, especially his ears. The codes had not indicated any treachery or dishonesty in the boy however; the information would not reveal that the boy was a traitor, or any additional negative aspect of the fire that Silvan needed to know, and the colonel was glad of that; there was something appealing about this youth. “What can you tell me about this situation?”

Kestrel thought back — back through the journey and the sprite and the healing spring, back through the Goddess Kere, and the militia ruffians, back to the broken arm and the fire and the Goddess Kai. It had been less than a week ago that all those incredible events had begun to descend upon him. How much of it was he supposed to tell this officer, he wondered. Commander Mastrin had trusted this officer, had told Kestrel he was a trustworthy person to whom Kestrel could reveal his full story; or at least, Mastrin had thought Kestrel could reveal all of his story that the commander knew about. The rest of the story, the encounter with Kere and the sprite, seemed even more fantastic and unbelievable than the first part, and Kestrel’s mind whirled with conflicting considerations of what to reveal while retaining some credibility.

“The rainstorm was more than good luck,” Kestrel replied. He would tell his story and judge his listener as he went along, he decided.

“I said a prayer to the human goddess, Kai, asking for help, and she created the storm that put the fire out. She made it rain, such a rain as you’ve never seen!” Kestrel spoke enthusiastically momentarily.

“You prayed to a human goddess? Where did you learn to do that?” Silvan asked.

“I taught myself,” Kestrel answered. “My mother taught me to pray to the Elven gods and goddesses, and that’s what I did. But as I grew older, I just felt a calling to try something different, so I started trying to pray to the human gods; and Kai responded. So when I spotted the fire, well, the smoke from the fire, and when I prayed to Kai, she answered me. She told me I would be in her debt, and someday I would have to repay her favor.”

“The human goddess worked against the humans’ own plan to burn the forest? She did it for you?” Silvan sounded skeptical.

“Yes,” Kestrel affirmed.

“Did you pray to her in the humans’ language?” the colonel asked.

“No, I don’t know their language,” Kestrel told him. “I just used my own words and prayers.”

“So the human goddess counts you as one of her own. That’s interesting, in the extreme,” Silvan said softly. “Well, don’t let me interrupt your story,” he said. “Go on.”

Kestrel continued, telling of his broken arm, and his meeting with Mastrin that had sent him on his way to Center Trunk.

“And so then you had a quick, uneventful trip through the eastern forest to Center Trunk,” Silvan finished the story for Kestrel, and looked back down at the paper report. The candles were burning low in their holders.

The boy looked at the officer, his tongue frozen as his mind scrambled to find the proper answer.

“There were one or two things that happened on the way,” Kestrel answered.

“Oh? Such as?” Silvan felt obliged to ask, as he studied the paper and let the wheels in his mind turn, absently evaluating the usefulness of a half-human/half-elf guard who communed with human gods.

Kestrel told the story of his beating by the militia. He noted that Silvan’s attention to him grew as the story unfolded, and he detected a sympathetic expression on the officer’s face.

“You seem to be in good shape for having been beaten so badly,” Silvan commented.

He was going to tell the story of the visit from Kere, Kestrel decided, since Silvan was paying attention.

“There is a healing spring outside a small village on the way here. The goddess Kere told me about it and told me to go there,” Kestrel said, watching Silvan as he spoke.

The colonel sat silently, staring first at the wall behind Kestrel, then directly at Kestrel. “The goddess of fortune spoke to you, gave you direction?”

Kestrel nodded.

“Did you hear her in your heart?” Silvan asked.

“With my ears,” Kestrel corrected. “At first she was a little old lady at the inn. She gave me a room assignment, then sent me to the spring. When I got there she was a beautiful girl.”

“Kere took a direct interest in you? She declared you one of her chosen?” Silvan was sitting forward.

“She said she would protect me when I deserved it, when I was within her area to protect,” Kestrel tried to remember exactly what the goddess had told him. “She said I would have a mission to rescue someone, a girl who had mixed blood like me.

“At first I thought she meant the sprite, but then I remembered the part about mixed blood,” Kestrel explained. “She never said I was one of her chosen; she said I was unusual to be under both sets of gods.”

One of the two candles guttered out, and the room grew even dimmer and murkier. Kestrel found it harder to see Silvan’s features.

“What sprite are you talking about?” Silvan asked. He was leaning far forward on his elbows, but the candle light reflecting brightly off his eyes was the clearest thing Kestrel could see.

The story of the wolf, and the healing spring, and the confrontations and conversations in the hotel room followed, interrupted frequently by many questions from Silvan.

The second candle flickered, them died, and the two men sat in the office in the darkness, each of them silent. Kestrel heard a scraping noise, and saw a shadow arise from behind the desk, there was a thud and a gentle curse, then the sound of movement. The door to the hallway opened, letting in a stream of dim light, but within a moment the light was blocked by the shadow of the guard in the hallway, filling the doorframe.

“You’ve been in consultation for a long time sir, is everything alright?” the guard asked.

“It’s fine Giardell. Would you fetch a fresh candle for us?” Silvan asked. The guard left, and Silvan returned to his desk.

“Kestrel, I’d like you to stay here in Center Trunk for a few days as my guest while I check on a few things; enjoy the city. I imagine we’ll have you serve as a courier to take a message back to Elmheng,” Silvan explained. “When we have some light I’ll write orders and a chit to arrange for lodging and board for you here in the city.”

They waited until Giardell returned with a lantern, allowing Silvan to write temporary orders for Kestrel to have free reign of the city. “Giardell, take Kestrel down to the checkpoint and have a guard show him to his quarters, then return here,” Silvan directed. “Thank you Kestrel, for the delivery of the message and the rest of your story. I’ll have something to discuss with you in a few days. Enjoy your free time — the city celebrates the king’s birthday for the next couple of days, so have a good time.”

Giardell returned to Silvan’s office soon thereafter, after he had handed Kestrel off to another guard at the front door to the building. “Giardell, send a pair of guards back along the trail to Elmheng, and check on reports of our courier coming through in the past couple of days. Have the reports brought back here immediately. The boy has some interesting stories, but I’d like to hear some corroboration,” he spoke with his usual understatement, letting the guard know that something extraordinary had happened on the trip.

Kestrel followed his guide to a plain building, one built of brick and stone, with a first floor set only a few feet above the ground. “Any vacant room is yours,” the guide told Kestrel. “The chow line in the commissary will be open for just a few minutes longer, in the low building across the way,” he motioned. “If you want something to eat, get over there and show them your chit from the spies.”

“Spies?” Kestrel asked in surprise. “Colonel Silvan is a spy?”

“I think the polite word is ‘intelligence,’” his guide replied.

“Who does he spy on? The humans?” Kestrel asked in astonishment.

“You’ll have to ask them; I don’t know, and I don’t want to,” the guide said with a hint of disdain. “I’m happy to carry a bow and shoot at whoever they tell me to. Which is why I’ll be in the archery contest during the festival tomorrow. Do you need anything else?” he asked, clearly prepared to part ways with Kestrel.

“No. Thanks,” Kestrel lamely replied, then watched the guard quickly leave the building.

Kestrel went to the upper floor of the building, found no obvious empty rooms, then came back downstairs and settled for a lower room that at least was on a corner, with windows on two sides. With his bag lying on his cot, he left the building and walked across the dim yard inside the military base to where he hoped to find some dinner — food of any sort was appealing in his state of hunger.

Kestrel sat alone at a table in the empty commissary room chewing desultorily on the food that the server provided as he wondered at the notion that he had been sent to carry a message to a spy, and had sat in a room with one, talking candidly, revealing all of his new secrets. He would surely be seen as some kind of freak, a part-human, part-elf plaything of the supernatural powers, unstable and dangerous, Kestrel surmised about himself.

He wondered darkly how long he would be held in Center Trunk while the spies tried to decide what to do with him. There was no telling what he was going to face, and the unpleasant irony of his situation was that he had gotten himself into it by successfully putting out the forest fire that the humans had started. He rose with a sour disposition and returned to his room, where he settled into an uneasy sleep in the strange quarters that were to be his home for some time to come.

When Kestrel awoke in the morning, he felt tired. His sleep had been fitful, disturbed by dreams that he had turned into a spy himself, sneaking round among the humans to find out what plots they had planned to launch against the eastern elves. He shook his head, which failed to clear any of the cobwebs away, then lazily trudged to the commissary, where he was one of the first to have a plate of hot food.

He looked around and saw a table of four soldiers wearing red hats, but they glanced at him with a cold, unfriendly stare that drove him away. Instead, he sat alone, and listened to the conversation of a different nearby table, where a half dozen guards of both genders discussed plans for the festival day.

“We have to work late shift on duty,” one complained, nudging his partner. “There’s no point in us starting the archery competition.”

“We’ll shoot a couple for you — the ones that miss!” another guard jeered.

Kestrel listened with interest. He was a good marksman among the elves of Elmheng; his human heritage gave him strength to draw a stronger bow than the other elves, giving him an advantage that grew in value when the distance to the target increased. He had no plans for the day, or for the next several days, and felt a sudden, impulsive boldness sweep through him. “Can I go with you?” he called to the adjacent table.

All heads in the other group turned to look at Kestrel, and he saw nothing in their expressions warmer than curiosity, though there was no outright hostility as the guards examined his humanesque features.

“Who are you?” one of the guards asked.

“Kestrel, from Elmheng,” he replied. “I came here as a courier and have to wait for my new assignment.”

There was a round of glances exchanged. “Are you human?” one of the women at the table asked.

“Partly,” Kestrel answered. “Mostly elf,” he added.

“A bow isn’t a human weapon; they use swords,” another guard chimed in.

“And I’m an elf,” Kestrel clarified.

“Let him come along,” the woman decided.

“Got a taste for something exotic, Vinetia?” one of the other guards chided her immediately. “You have to take him as your doubles partner.”

“Oh for the love of branch and leaf — grow up, Hitchens!” Vinetia growled. “Are you any good?” she spoke directly to Kestrel.

He studied her, a stout elf guard who was studying him in return. “I think I‘m pretty good,” he answered.

“I’ll trust you on that, for now,” she answered ominously.

“Vinetia, look at it this way, even if you don’t win the competition, the two of you can still try to win the scariest couple contest,” one of the other guards jibed, but Kestrel could hear the humor in the man’s voice, and recognized the camaraderie of squad members who had served together.

Everyone started to rise, and Kestrel stood as well. “Go on, go get your bow and arrow. I’ll meet you outside the commissary,” Vinetia told him, starting Kestrel off on a jog back to his room to retrieve his weapon. Minutes later he was among the group that left the guard compound to walk through the city towards the competition grounds.

Center Trunk felt vast to Kestrel, after having spent his life in Elmheng. The walk to the competition grounds took him through both busy commercial areas and crowded residential areas, where he realized more elves lived than he had ever seen together before. The end of the stroll across the city was a large field where few trees grew. Ropes and barriers created numerous separate competition areas, and several competitions were already underway around the periphery of the field, with the twang of bow strings constantly sounding throughout the area.

“We register here,” Vinetia told Kestrel as she grabbed his arm and led him towards a line that waited at a table. “We’re going to register as individuals, and as a team,” she told him. “That lets us compete both ways — so if one of us has a bad match, we can stay in competition, provided the partner has a decent match.”

“How big is the field for a match?” Kestrel asked her.

“For these qualifying matches this morning there will be twenty five shooting in each match, and the top five will go on to the next round,” Vinetia explained as they inched forward. “The ones who don’t qualify get a second chance, but only the top competitor from the consolation matches goes on.

“Then this afternoon, everyone who made it through the morning goes through the second round — along with their partners, if they have one, where the organizers move the targets back further, and the game starts to get challenging. Only the top three of each match move on, and eventually the tournament comes down to a final field of a dozen or so, where we get a winner to be the princess’s champion for the year,” she summed up as they reached the table and completed their registration, the official at the table giving Kestrel an unfriendly look before distributing colored arm bands that denoted their competition fields and starting times.

“Is there a place to practice?” Kestrel asked, concerned that he hadn’t used or even checked his equipment in several days.

“No time for that, rookie,” his partner told him. “We did that this morning before breakfast. You’ve got to do your homework in advance.”

“You go that way, I’m over here,” Vinetia gave Kestrel a gentle shove. “After the match, let them know you’re my partner, and meet me over there,” she pointed to a solitary linden tree. “That’s where our squad usually meets; if there’s a fight, which has been known to happen, stick with our side — the judge has a son in our squad,” she winked at him, then sent him on his way. “There’s the red flag flying over at the far field — that’s you! Get over there and hit your targets!”

Kestrel hustled across the competition spaces to get to the target range where the red flag was flying, and arrived barely in time, as some competitors were already shooting their first arrows.

“Hurry up, hurry up,” a proctor told him as he raced down to a vacant spot at the end of the line. “If you don’t get you first shot off before one of the others fires his second shot, you’ll be disqualified.”

Kestrel hurriedly pulled an arrow from his quiver as he ran to his spot, and dumped his equipment on the ground. He saw a competitor already sighting his second shot, and he realized he would have to get a shot off without any hope of scoring the target. He raised his bow, placed his arrow on the string, took cursory aim at his target, and released his shot. A split second later he saw the second arrow fly from the competitor’s bow.

“You got it off; you’re in the competition,” the proctor told him, standing behind him. “For now. You’ve only got eight shots in this competition, and you’ve just wasted one of them,” he nodded across the green space that separated the competitors from their targets. Kestrel turned and saw that his arrow was stuck in the ground just in front of the target.

Kestrel realized that his circumstances were dire; losing one out of eight shots in a competition was a difficult handicap to overcome against good marksmen. He examined his bow, tightening the string slightly and adjusting the mark he used to sight his target, then carefully looked through his arrows, selecting one that he knew was his straightest, truest shaft. He carefully took his time aiming his second shot, and when he released it, he watched with satisfaction as the bolt flew straight and true towards the center of the target, where it landed with a resounding thud. He was holding his breath he realized, and he exhaled in relief at the success of the shot that gave him a chance to get back into the competition.

He picked out another reliable shaft, tinkered with his sight bead slightly, then released his third shot, one that landed just a finger’s-breadth away from his first. He looked down the long line of the targets that the other archers were shooting at, and saw several that already had three shafts in the center. Despite his two successful shots, he still had no margin for error.

His next two arrows were also in the center of his target, but also depleted his limited supply of high quality shafts. His last three shots would be made with his supply of cheap, second-quality arrows that each had flaws of some sort. He picked a green arrow with faulty fletchings, which we worked to try to bolster, then let his shot go. The sound of the flight as the bolt left his bow indicated that the arrow would not fly true, but it only deviated slightly to the left, and landed just outside the center ring.

Most of the other competitors were finished. He looked at their targets and calculated the scores of the best of them. If he could put his last two shots in the center, he would become the fifth qualifier from this group. With the arrows he had left, that would be a tough task. The faulty arrows were more than adequate to hit a large target, such as a turkey or deer in the forest, but for the fine control needed in this competition they put him at a disadvantage.

He pulled another arrow out at random, inspected it, bent the yellow shaft slightly to try to correct its flaw, then tweaked the fletching as well. He guessed that it would drop more than it should, so he raised his aim slightly, then let it fly, and held his breath as he listened to it and watched it wobble though the air before landing just inside the center circle.

There was a small audience gathered behind him, watching him finish as the last competitor, and he heard snippets of their conversations despite his effort to stay focused on his game. “That was a great shot,” one voice said. “Too bad he’s as ugly as those arrows he’s using,” someone responded. “He hardly looks like an elf.”

Kestrel selected the arrow for his last shot. The shaft was warped; the fletchings had a gap on one side, and the head was wobbly loose. He’d never gone into a competition with such awful arrows before, and once he finished his shot he’d go in search of better arrows for his next round of competition. Always be prepared, one of his instructors back at Elmheng had told him, and he regretted that he hadn’t followed that advice for this competition.

He tinkered with the arrow, then placed it on the string, and drew the string back. He tried to guess how the shaft would deviate from a true flight, and then adjusted his aim. With one last moment of delay, he pulled his fingers off the string and released the arrow.

The shot tried to stay on course. He could see that the arrow wanted to fly towards the center of the target. It seemed to jump and swoop through the air as it pulled itself back into the path it needed to fly. Then just before it found the target it lurched downward and struck the target just below the center. The group behind him let out a collective groan, and then Kestrel released his own breath noisily. He was out of the competition. Just like that. He thought about all the things that could have changed his fate — if he had shot his first arrow competitively, if he had brought better arrows, if he had practiced before the competition, but mostly if he had brought better arrows.

Someone slapped him on the back. “Shoot like that in the consolation round and you’ll have a chance,” a voice said, and then the group wandered away.

Kestrel walked up to the target and collected his arrows, then returned to pick up his bow and quiver. “When will the consolation round begin?” he asked a proctor.

“In about a half hour, over where the green striped flag is flying,” the proctor answered.

Kestrel began running towards where the green flag was waving in the breeze, scanning the field in search of vendors with arrows for sale. He spotted a table with a collection of arrows strewn across it, and veered in that direction. He jostled through the crowd in front of the table and examined the assortment of shafts closely. He picked up two arrows that seemed of the highest quality, looked along their lines, ran his fingers long the feather fletchings, and tugged at the bindings.

“How much for these two arrows?” he asked the woman who stood behind the table.

“They’re not for sale to you,” she said bluntly. “We don’t sell to the likes of you. Now move along and let the paying customers handle the merchandise,” she ordered.

Kestrel felt himself turn white as the blood drained from his face. It was a situation he had faced before, and he knew he had no recourse. He put the arrows back down on the table with a mixture of anger and remorse, then turned away from the table and began to stalk towards the green and white flag. He’d only gotten fifty yards away from the arrow vendor when there was a sudden eruption of screams from the table.

“It’s a sprite!” he heard someone shout. He turned and saw a flash of blue momentarily, then the sprite disappeared. A second later there was a noise behind him and he turned as he felt the sprite stuff two arrows into his quiver, while the elves around him began to shout.

The sprite disappeared once again, as Kestrel whirled around in a full circle, confused by the noise and commotion that surrounded him. He looked in all directions trying to spot the sprite — he’d only had a momentary glimpse of the small blue body, but he had no doubt that it had to be Dewberry, who for some reason had tracked him to the elven festival.

There was no sign of the sprite any longer amid the chaos in the field. With a shove of his shoulder, Kestrel broke through the crowd that surrounded him and ran in a beeline towards the field where the consolation contest was about to begin. The number of competitors was numbing, he admitted to himself as he arrived and took a spot along the line of archers. Only one winner would be taken from the whole field, he realized, knowing that he had to achieve his best effort in order to capture this second chance.

He began looking through his quiver, examining the two arrows that Dewberry had hastily deposited there. They were the exact two arrows he had wanted to buy from the bigoted arrow vendor, beautifully straight shafts that promised to fly through air on a true and reliable line to the target. Together with his other good shafts he now had seven good arrows, enough to let him be competitive in the upcoming challenge.

There were directions being shouted by a proctor at the far end of the line, but Kestrel couldn’t understand the words that floated down to his group of competitors, many of whom were busily chatting with each other, ignoring the proctor.

“What is he saying?” Kestrel asked the woman next to him in line.

“The usual: ten arrows, top score wins,” the woman replied.

“Thanks,” Kestrel replied, worrying anew at the realization that the greater number of arrows negated the sprite’s kind deed. He knew he would still have to rely on faulty arrows to succeed in this win-or-go-home competition.

A loud drum sounded, and a dozen arrows flew at the target. Kestrel calmly aimed his first arrow and let it fly, scoring a solid center score, then he took one of the shafts that Dewberry had given him and shot it as well. The sound of its flight was a silent whisper that was pure pleasure, and it flew in a straight trajectory that ended in the center of Kestrel’s target. He shot two more bolts from his stock of good arrows, and both went comfortably into the center. So far he had taken four shots and scored four direct hits in the center; looking down the line he saw only two others who had done so well.

He pulled out the other shaft that the sprite had pilfered on his behalf, and sent it directly at the center of the target as well, landing so close to his first shot that the shafts touched one another. He fired his last two reliable shafts as well, and then stopped to evaluate his position.

Kestrel had scored seven out of seven in the center of the target; he saw no one else with more than six center hits. That gave him an advantage, but the advantage would disappear once he had to start trying to adjust and anticipate the unpredictable behavior of his secondary shafts.

“There! Him! He’s the one. The ugly one that looks like a human stole my arrows,” a raucous voice shouted nearby.

Kestrel turned to see the vendor from the arrow table stalking towards him, with a pair of local constables.

All the contestants nearby stopped their shots to watch the unfolding drama.

“He sent the sprite to steal my arrows,” the vendor said as the trio reached Kestrel’s position.

“I did not send a sprite to steal any arrows,” Kestrel replied.

“Really? You dragged us over here to accuse someone of directing a sprite-based criminal ring?” the senior constable asked the vendor in an ominously low voice.

“Do you want to have her put in the cells for demeaning your name?” the other constable turned to Kestrel and asked.

“You can’t be serious!” the vendor screeched. “You can’t let a human half-breed get away with this thievery!”

“Lady, put a wad of leaves in your mouth and stop interrupting this match,” the first constable spoke sternly. “We apologize to all of you for bothering your competition,” he said as he began to drag the arrow seller away.

Rattled and relieved, Kestrel turned and faced the target, his face blushing a bright red. He kept his head down, aware of the scrutiny that was centered on him. He selected the best arrow he had left, then rose and tried to focus on the target.

His shot flew wildly towards the target before it finally hit the outer ring weakly.

There was a murmur from people behind him, and he realized that he was once again the last contestant left to finish. A number of targets had already been taken down from archers who were out of the running, leaving only four targets standing. Kestrel looked at them, and realized that he needed to get one more arrow in the center to tie, and both of his last two in the center to win outright.

The yellow shaft came out of the bag next. He had anticipated its drop in flight correctly in the last round of the competition, and he was sure it was still the right way to aim the arrow. He corrected slightly, moving his aim just slightly lower, and a hair to the right, then released the shot. It flew in virtually the same path it had used before, and stuck securely in the center of the target.

He was at least in a tie! There was a slight stirring behind him, but no applause, suggesting that his audience was primarily the other participants he was competing with.

He pulled out another slightly bent shaft, the one that had flown to the left last time. He gently rubbed the wood, then gave it a slight bend, hoping to improve it. He held it up for inspection, and felt the eyes of the other archers examining it closely. He placed in on his string, then gave it one more adjustment. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, then opened them and aimed at the right edge of the center, and calmly released his hold on the string and the arrow, and let his hopes fly through the air.

The arrow started straight, then began to drift left, as he had expected. He watched the ongoing sideways motion as the bolt flew towards the target, and by the time it arrived it was only slightly left of the center of the center portion of the target, scoring a victory for him, and first eliciting a sound of groans, and then a slight smattering of polite applause, except for one enthusiastic pair of hands clapping loudly.

“That’s my partner!” Vinetia told anyone who was listening. “What are you doing here in the consolation flight when you’re shooting like that?” she pointed at the thick cluster of arrows in the center of his target.

“Not that you even needed to be here, since I qualified cleanly in my flight,” she told him, walking with him to the target to retrieve his arrows. “Let’s get to the linden tree and meet the rest of the squad; we’ve got time before the next round.” Together they walked away from the field where the green-striped flag was being taken down from the pole.

“Did you hear about the failure who got kicked out of the field?” one of the other squad members was saying as they walked up to the small group minutes later. “Some arrow seller said a sprite was stealing arrows from her and giving them to a human!” There was a moment of uneasy silence, and then heads turned to look at Kestrel.

“For my next trick, I’ll have the sprite steal some jewels!” he said hurriedly, hoping to deflect scrutiny with laughter.

Vinetia slapped his back hard, and the squad laughed.

“There were a couple of witnesses who claimed they saw a sprite too,” someone else added.

“I’ll make my sprite wear a mask so she can’t be identified,” Kestrel responded, and the group laughed loudly.

“My partner may be ugly, but he’s funny,” Vinetia said. “And he’s good with his bow! He’ll shoot us through the next round easily.” Together they all walked back to their post where they ate a late lunch in the commissary hall.

“I’d like to go find a couple of better arrows,” Kestrel told Vinetia as they pushed away from the table after their meal.

“Lucretia, I’ve got to go run an errand. Will you take Kestrel to the armory so he can restock his quiver?” his partner asked another elf guard.

Lucretia looked at Kestrel coolly. “Of course,” she agreed. “Let’s go this way,” she spoke and began to walk out the rear door of the hall, leaving Kestrel to catch up.

Kestrel remembered that Cheryl had warned him not to look at the girls of Center Trunk. Lucretia was undoubtedly exactly the type of girl Cheryl had warned him not to look at, he was sure. He snuck glances at her as they began their journey, evaluating her, trying to guess whether she was the steady mate of some fortunate elf.

They walked without speaking until they reached the armory, where Lucretia, a slender, classically beautiful woman, suddenly spoke to Kestrel at last. “Are you good with a sword?” she nodded towards the rack of blades on one side of the practice room.

“I had a little training, not much. Just the same as everyone else, I guess,” Kestrel answered.

“It’s a human weapon; I just thought you might be naturally good,” she said. “The arrows are in there,” Lucretia pointed to an adjacent hall, where Kestrel went and found a large assortment of shafts. He carefully selected a half dozen more, and was trying to decide whether to add one more when the blue sprite suddenly appeared in front of him, standing on a bench so that she was nearly looking at him eye-to-eye.

“Dewberry!” Kestrel felt his voice rise an octave in excitement. “What are you doing here?”

“Did those arrows help?” the sprite asked.

Kestrel took a deep breath, trying to overcome the shock of the sprite’s arrival. “They helped a lot. I won the competition thanks to having them.

“Why did you give them to me?” he asked.

“I’ve been watching you,” the sprite’s attractive face showed a faint sign of embarrassment. “My fiance said that I hadn’t been gracious in how I treated you, considering you saved my life, healed me, and took care of me without ever taking advantage of me in any way.

“And,” she spoke slowly, “I decided he was right. So I decided to watch you, to see if I could do something to help you, as an apology.”

Kestrel thought back to their last exchange, when Dewberry had been so combative and unpleasant. “Thank you Dewberry,” he decided not to upset her by agreeing that she had been disagreeable. Her procurement of the arrows apparently amounted to a peace offering, and he was appreciative that it had been such a practical gesture.

With her elevated height on the bench, he could closely study the perfect features of her face, and marvel again at how beautiful she was. “You’re engaged to be married? And you said last time your father is the king of sprites? Will you be the queen someday?”

“No, my older sister will be. I’m going to marry a prince of the water imps. It will be a great alliance for our peoples, and he is a good mate for me — he says I’m beautiful!” she gave a little self-conscious laugh.

“You are beautiful,” Kestrel said enthusiastically.

“Kestrel!” a voice called loudly from the doorway. Both he and Dewberry turned to see Lucretia staring at them.

“I have to go. I still owe you the three favors I promised,” she said, and then vanished.

“You do have sprites!” Lucretia shouted excitedly. “I saw one with you! You are their master! By Morph and Tamson and Kere! That’s incredible! I’ve never seen a sprite before!”

“Sshhh,” Kestrel held his hands out in front of him, waving them rapidly back and forth. “Lucretia, it’s not like that at all. She was just being friendly. I am not the master of any sprites!” he spoke loudly, hoping to alleviate any harm Lucretia’s comment might have caused if Dewberry had overheard and felt sensitive.

“I saw what I saw,” she said as they came together.

“There’s an explanation for this,” Kestrel said.

“Well make it speedy, because we need to get back to the next round of competition,” Lucretia replied. They began to walk out of the armory. And so Kestrel began to tell his story, as Lucretia listened, fully absorbed, neither of them paying any attention to anything around them until they found themselves at the competition fields once again, though the story was only halfway finished.

“There’s the squad,” Lucretia pointed as they arrived at the linden tree.

“Don’t tell anyone about this Lucretia, please,” Kestrel begged. “I have enough trouble fitting in with these human features; if people start calling me a sprite-friend I’ll never be treated fair.”

“If you promise to go to dinner with me and finish the story tonight,” I’ll keep your secret,” Lucretia agreed.

“Where have you two been and what are you so buddy-buddy about?” Vinetia asked suspiciously. “I specifically sent Lucretia with you because I knew she’d be too cool to be your pal,” a statement that drew a stare of disbelief from Lucretia.

“Now, get to your competition; your flight starts in five minutes over under the red and yellow flag,” she directed Kestrel.

“Where are you going to compete?” he asked in return.

“I’ll be over there, under the blue flag,” she replied. “I start a half hour after you. Come see me after you win your competition.”

“I will,” Kestrel promised, as he started to walk away. He bumped through a cluster of people, then turned and saw Vinetia and Lucretia with their heads together, conversing intently.

A few minutes later he arrived at his competition field, wondering what had passed between Lucretia and Vinetia, and also thinking of Cheryl, strangely enough, comparing her features to Lucretia’s.

“Take your marks, competitors,” the proctor for his match called. Kestrel stepped up to the line and looked to both sides. There appeared to be about twenty marksmen arranged to compete. “This is a twelve arrow competition, and the top three will move on to tonight’s qualifying round,” the proctor announced. Kestrel heard him clearly; this group of competitors was serious about their archery, not inclined to chatter or socialize.

“Commence!” the proctor called, and a drum sounded loudly. The competition was on.

Kestrel took an arrow and faced his target. The targets were at a greater distance than they had been in the morning, which would play to his strength, he knew. The arrow he held was one of the two that Dewberry had given him, and he aimed it carefully before he released it. His human strength propelled his arrow on a flat, true trajectory the full length of the field to an easy mark in the right half of the center portion of his target.

He adjusted his next shot slightly left, then released the arrow, which flew a true line as well, scoring another center shot. Thereafter it was just a matter of mechanical repetition, as he selected arrows, drew his string, and fired. He shot twelve good arrows that all scored in the center except one that strayed slightly low. After his shooting finished, he broke his focus, and looked to his left and his right, noting the targets of the other shooters; none were finished yet, as they labored to make the long shots that were more challenging for them, and none had less than two arrows outside the center.

Kestrel felt a modest smile crease his face, as he finally achieved an easy round of competition. He stood patiently and waited until the rest of the competitors were determined and the three winners announced. He asked a proctor for instruction on when his next match would be, then walked over to the blue flag competition where he saw Vinetia shooting competitively, but scoring just behind the top three archers in her field while she had three arrows left. Kestrel waited patiently as Vinetia took her time lining up her final three shots, which were good, but not high-scoring enough to raise her to the next stage of competition. She stood with her head bowed, leaning on her bow for a long pause after her last shot, then turned and saw Kestrel standing behind her.

“How’d we do?” she asked, walking back towards him.

“We’ve moving forward,” he replied, as they turned and went out onto the field to retrieve her arrows. “There’s another match this afternoon.”

“That will be the last one for today,” Vinetia confirmed. “Congratulations on the victory, by the way,” she added.

“Thanks. Those extra arrows made it easy,” Kestrel said as they finished pulling the arrows from the target.

“No, I meant congratulations on securing a dinner with Lucretia,” Vinetia replied. “I didn’t have you pegged as the one who could charm her instantly. There’ll be some jealous bucks in the squad.” They began to walk back to the linden tree, where a few others were already gathered and discussing their successes and failures. Only one other team from the squad had qualified, and Kestrel was lauded for his prowess that reflected well on all of them. When Lucretia arrived she gave him a significant glance, but then went to talk to her partner, who had also qualified.

“Let’s head to the next competition,” Vinetia tugged on Kestrel’s sleeve a few minutes later.

“Are we on the same field this time?” he asked curiously.

“We are, and we will be next round too, then after that partners don’t count for reaching the finals,” Vinetia answered.

They walked across the now familiar field once again, Kestrel relaxed enough to pay attention to the vendors and entertainers who took advantage of the growing crowd of spectators at the competition to ply their wares. The goods and activities were much more elaborate than anything he had seen at Elmheng, reminding him anew that despite the comfort he was starting to feel, he was still nonetheless in a large city that was foreign to him.

“We’re here,” Vinetia told him as they approached another field. The targets were extended once again at a longer distance from the archers’ line. “Can you hit at that range?” Vinetia asked as she examined the field.

“Those are still in my range,” Kestrel replied.

“Okay; then I’m along for the entertainment value,” Vinetia answered.

Every other competitor’s spot filled up, and Kestrel looked up and down the line. The group of twenty was a collection of both male and female contestants, not all of them wearing guard uniforms. The average age appeared older than previous fields had; he realized he might be the youngest competitor in the group, but he felt no nervousness.

The proctor began to announce the rules — ten shots, four qualifiers to advance. The drum beat, and arrows began to fly.

Kestrel calmly fired his first shot, and watched as it struck the precise center of the target. He turned and selected a second shaft, then fired it as well. It drifted slightly to the right, and landed on the border between the center and first ring around it. He shook his head in frustration, then placed a third arrow on the bowstring, and took his time aiming, trying to imagine how much effect the slight breeze might have in pushing his shots. He added a tiny amount of extra tautness to the string to increase the force of his shot, then released the shot and was satisfied with another successful bullseye.

His fourth and fifth shots were also in the dark green center of the target. He looked at Vinetia’s target; she had two arrows planted in the center, and two others bracketing it on either side. She caught his eye and grinned. “You don’t worry about me; just keep muscling those shots of yours into your target,” she advised.

Kestrel shot three more arrows, and landed two of them in the center, one just outside. Six of his eight shots were center shots; he needed to continue to apply the maximum amount of force to his shots to maintain accuracy over the long distance to the target, he knew. He took his time with his ninth shot, as he felt some fatigue started to set into his arms, and hit the center for the seventh time. With his last shot, he once again pulled out a gift from Dewberry, took careful aim at the target, pulled his bow string as far as he could, then steadied a slight quiver in his arm and released the arrow. It flew so straight that its head shared a hole with his very first shot after it solidly thunked the target, and the two shafts rested against one another.

He lay his bow down, pleased with the results of the shot and the competitive round. Eight arrows were in the center, and the two misses were less than an inch away. He looked at the targets of the other competitors, and saw that all had missed at least three shots already, and most were still shooting.

After the atrocious beginning he had suffered in the morning, he had managed to recover and succeed to such a degree that he and Vinetia were guaranteed a chance to shoot again on the final day of competition. The success felt good.

There was a fuss raised nearby, just as Vinetia came to stand next to him, her own last shot taken. “There’s the Princess Elwean and the royal retinue!” she said excitedly, pointing to the center of the rising hubbub that was strolling through the competition grounds.

“You two come along,” a proctor said urgently, tapping them on their shoulders.

“What for?” Vinetia asked suspiciously.

“We’re going to present the winners from this round of competition to the royals,” he looked at Kestrel with barely concealed dismay, as another proctor brought a third archer alongside them. They hurried over into the path of the royal party, and waited humbly until the royal group stopped close by and an aisle opened in the crowd.

“Your majesty, may we present three of your subjects who have earned the honor of competing in tomorrow’s ongoing tournament? Their archery skills are a testament to the highest ideals of the elven nation,” a herald announced, then paused, and looked at Kestrel as a muted titter ran through the audience.

“All of us are pleased to see how widespread the reputation of our competition has spread,” the king said graciously, drawing a smattering of appreciative applause, “And we look forward to seeing who will win the honor of wearing the princess’s colors for the next year.” His motion towards his daughter drew all eyes towards the younger woman on his right side.

She was not a beautiful person, not the way Dewberry or Lucretia was, but there was an indefinable appearance that made it difficult for Kestrel to move his eyes away from her. And she wore a strange black ribbon on her arm, he noticed, as did the king as well.

The herald ushered them to the side, their moment of glory over, and the procession moved onward, as Kestrel continued to examine the princess’s profile, and then hastily averted his eyes when she turned her head and seemed to stare directly back at him.

“She’s royalty, she’s pure-blooded elf from the time of the first tree, she’s too old for you, she’s a young widow and will stay in mourning for at least another year, and you are going to have dinner with Lucretia, so don’t be stupid,” Vinetia whispered harshly in his ear.

“She looked right at me!” Kestrel said breathlessly.

“Because you’re so ugly! She’s embarrassed to think that you might wear her colors for a year,” Vinetia growled, but smiled to relieve the sting of her words, which nonetheless resonated with Kestrel.

“Why did she and the king have those black strips on their sleeves?” he asked.

“That’s the royal way of showing mourning,” the female guard explained. “The king’s chamberlain died last week. They’ve had three people close to the king die in the past year, a lot of odd accidents.”

“Let’s go back to the linden tree and learn how the others did,” she added. They returned to their targets and retrieved their arrows, then walked across the field.

“You scored well enough to qualify on your own, didn’t you?” Kestrel asked as they walked. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” she said modestly. “But I wouldn’t have been in this round if you hadn’t carried our team through the last round.”

They reached the meeting spot a few minutes later, the first ones there, and unburdened themselves of their gear. Kestrel felt warm and sleepy in the late afternoon sun, so he sat down against the tree trunk with his eyes closed, and began to nap until he heard others arrive and talk to Vinetia. He opened his eyes and watched them chat until the last pair from their group arrived.

It turned out that Kestrel and Vinetia were the only ones to make it to the second day of competition, and it was considered a success for the squad to have anyone get that far; no one else had in the past several years. “He’s good enough to be guaranteed winning in the next round too,” Vinetia said proudly. “He’ll be in the finals, before the king and everyone, while the princess prays to Tamson that he not win and wear her colors!”

“Let’s go drop our things at the base and go out for dinner at the fair. What are we going to have tonight Lucretia?” asked a guard who Kestrel didn’t know.

“You can have whatever you want. I’ve already got plans tonight,” the blonde guard said with reserve, drawing hoots and questions from the others, but offering no clues.

When their trip across the city was finished, Vinetia pulled Kestrel aside. “Lucretia says that you are to meet her down in front of that leathermonger’s shop,” she pointed to her right down the road, “in an hour.”

Kestrel nodded his head, then impulsively grabbed her hand in his. “Thank you for taking me as your partner this morning, Vinetia. I know you’re good enough you could have gone with no partner at all.”

“You made it an interesting day, but don’t go soft on me now; we’ve still got tomorrow to get through,” she answered. “Have fun tonight, but not too much fun!” she warned, then they parted ways. Kestrel went to his room and put on his clean shirt, having sweated profusely throughout the afternoon competitions, then fidgeted for a while until he decided to walk down to the meeting place. As he went down one set of steps he heard several pairs of feet walking along his hallway, but he continued on and arrived at the appointed location several minutes early.

Lucretia arrived just a few minutes later, changed out of her uniform into a becoming outfit that Kestrel knew would make him the envy of every male elf who saw them together.

“I imagine you don’t want others to overhear the rest of your story,” Lucretia commented as she took his arm and led him into town, “so I thought we could go back to the fair, get some food from the vendors, then wander off to a secluded bower where we won’t be interrupted.”

Her plan made sense to Kestrel, so they began to stroll through the city again. “Where are you from?” Kestrel asked her as they walked.

“I’m from a village out in the far eastern frontier of the kingdom. There are a few elven villages further east than we are, but not many,” she replied.

“And what’s past that?” he asked.

“Woods. Trees, forest. Emptiness. No one knows how far it goes on. They say there’s a great lake on the other side, but it would take weeks and weeks to get there; there is a story that centaurs live on the other side of the lake; folks believe it — that’s why we don’t like to ride horses, you know. We certainly don’t have any humans around our part of the Eastern Forest,” she told him with a sidelong glance, “or sprites or water imps or gnomes or yetis. Just elves…boring elves.”

“Which is part of what makes you so interesting,” she added, glancing at him again. “How much human blood is in your veins? I’ve never seen anything but pictures of humans.”

“My grandfather was human, but I never met him,” Kestrel said. “I came close to humans when I looked at the forest fire remains about a week ago.”

“When was that?” Lucretia asked, as they arrived at the edge of the festive gathering.

“That’s when my whole adventure began. I was on my way to Center Trunk with the report about the fire, to give to Colonel Silvan, when I met Dewberry and you’ve heard that part of the story already,” he answered.

“You work for the spies?” she studied him with more than a sideways glance this time, and their stroll halted as they faced one another.

Kestrel remembered the reference the guide had made the night before. He too had known Silvan was a spy.

“I just carried a message to the colonel. I didn’t know he was a spy,” he answered.

They began to walk again. “He’s not just a spy; he’s the head of the spies. He reports directly to the king when he wants to,” Lucretia said, as they reached a vendor’s tent where baked potato skins were filled with minced venison and herbs. Kestrel stood in line and bought two, while Lucretia bought two skins of fruit juice.

“Follow me,” she spoke peremptorily, and began to dart through the crowd, then left the festival grounds and entered a seeming labyrinth of hedges and ornamental trees, until Lucretia ducked through a narrow gap between two bushes. Kestrel followed her in and found a cozy opening, about the size of a room, comfortably floored with a layer of soft, dry leaves, where Lucretia already sat, her legs extending off to one side as she patted a spot to indicate where he should sit next to her.

They exchanged foodstuffs and said nothing for a minute as they each began to eat their food.

“Okay,” Lucretia spoke first, “so you told me you were in your room when the sprite woke up and disappeared. What happened then?”

And so Kestrel resumed his tale, telling of Dewberry’s reappearances and the confusion they had created for the poor innkeeper. “So she granted you three wishes?” Lucretia asked.

“That’s sort of what she said,” Kestel agreed. He had finished his food, and lay comfortably on his back, and Lucretia lay on her stomach next to him. “But bringing the arrows to me today may have counted as one of those.”

“It shouldn’t, not if you didn’t specifically ask her for them,” the elf maiden said emphatically.

“What would you wish for if she could do anything you asked?” she asked.

“I’d wish to look like everyone else,” Kestrel said.

Oh no, you shouldn’t!” Lucretia said insistently. Kestrel heard others wandering among the bushes nearby, but as the sun began to set, he focused all his attention on the attractive girl beside him. “You do look different from everyone else, but that’s not bad,” she told him.

“What would you wish for?” Kestrel asked her, as there was a disturbance in another bower nearby.

“Adventure. Excitement. Something different. Life was so boring in my village that I came to Center Trunk to be in the Guard, but there’s still no great adventure here,” she answered. “Not even small adventures like meeting a sprite, not for me!

“And not adventures like winning the princess’s colors in the archery competition tomorrow!” she added with a smile.

There was filtered light nearby, noticeable in the increasing darkness, and as Lucretia and Kestrel drifted closer together in their conversation, as Kestrel was thinking vaguely of Cheryl while wondering if he was going to kiss Lucretia, as her hand reached up and touch his oversized ears, gently tracing the pattern of whorls in a way that was exciting, not embarrassing, the light approached their sheltered green nook. Their bushes began to flail, and then both of them sat up and shielded their eyes as a trio of lanterns, carried by men, came into their intimate, green nook.

“Kestrel?” an elf’s voice sounded from behind one of the lanterns.

Kestrel stood up, and gave his hand to Lucretia to help her up as well. “Who’s asking, and what are you doing here? How did you find us?” he asked.

“Colonel Silvan asked that you come to his office immediately,” the voice said. Kestrel’s eyes were adjusting to the glare of the lanterns, and he could see the three guards who were holding them.

“Immediately? Can’t this wait until the morning?” Kestrel asked in astoundment, his unexpectedly intimate evening with Lucretia apparently ended for no imaginable reason.

“The colonel’s waiting for you. We’ll escort both of you back to the base,” Kestrel turned to look at Lucretia with unfeigned confusion, and saw an expression of the same incomprehension on her face.

“Are you one of their spies?” she asked him. “I thought you told me you just carried a message to the colonel.”

“That’s all I did,” Kestrel affirmed.

“Let’s get moving please,” the spokesman for the trio of escorts suggested.

Kestrel reached out for Lucretia’s hand and they squeezed their fingers together as they walked through the bushes, passing other couples who were also seeking privacy among the bushy environs, and who shied away from the harsh, bright lanterns.

There was no conversation among the group as they crossed the festival grounds and walked across the city, though Kestrel and Lucretia held onto one another’s hand throughout the journey. When they reached the gates to the guard base, the escorts halted.

“Miss, you’ll need to come with me for a brief conversation. Kestrel, we’ll take you up to the colonel’s office,” the spokesman said.

“What is there to say to Lucretia? She should be free to go!” Kestrel said insistently, maneuvering his body between her and the three others, shocked at this new twist.

“We mean her no harm, Kestrel,” one of the other agents spoke firmly. “We just have reason to believe that you have told her parts of your story that we believe should be kept very confidential for the sake of all parties involved. Lucretia will only have a few minutes to chat with us, and then she’ll be on her way.

“You’ll go to the colonel, receive your next assignment, and that’ll be that. There’s no sinister harm or plan,” he explained in a patient tone.

Kestrel turned to look at Lucretia. She nodded, then raised up on her toes and kissed him lightly on the lips. “We’ll talk tomorrow; I’ll see you in the morning. Thanks for giving me so much adventure today!” she murmured with a crooked smile, then released his hand and left with the escort who had not spoken.

“What is this all about?” Kestrel asked the other two as they began to walk towards the same administrative building he had visited just the night before.

“Colonel Silvan is waiting to talk to you personally. You’ll learn whatever he has to say to you in just a minute,” the escort replied stoically.

They walked silently across the base and returned to the building that was the headquarters for the head of the elven spy network. Kestrel and his escorts climbed upwards, and found Giardell, the model elven guard, once again on duty outside Silvan’s door. “We’re delivering the agent as ordered,” Kestrel’s escort reported to Giardell with a salute, and then departed.

The hallway was once again dimly lit by wall-mounted candle sconces. Once again, Kestrel stood uncertainly, waiting for an interview. He thought about Lucretia’s kiss, and he thought about Cheryl back in Elmheng. His evening spent in the bower with Lucretia had not led to anything improper, anything that would have been embarrassing to describe back home, but that was perhaps only because the two of them had been interrupted before something had happened.

He would see Lucretia again in the morning; he had time to think about what he was doing before he saw her.

“Kestrel!” he heard his name called sharply, and realized that it had been called more than once while he had been lost in thought about the two girls. Giardell had called, and was motioning slightly to the doorway where Colonel Silvan’s head was visible, the wavering reflection of a candle shining off the top of his bald pate.

“Will you come in please, Kestrel?” the colonel asked.

Kestrel nodded at Giardell and entered the office, before Silvan closed the door and circled around behind his desk for a seat. He motioned for Kestrel to sit in the same chair he’d occupied the previous night.

“Well Kestrel, I’m sure you’re anxious to know why you’ve been called here so suddenly,” Silvan said.

“Yes sir, I am,” he replied immediately.

“Last night I told you to go out and enjoy the city; I didn’t expect you’d create circumstances for the city to enjoy you! Here you are in the city for twenty four hours and already drawing attention to yourself. Do you know what I hear the city rumors say?” the colonel asked.

“No sir,” Kestrel replied.

“There’s a human who has a sprite familiar who is going to win the archery contest and marry the princess! Can you believe that? Now who do you suppose they are talking about?” Silvan asked.

Kestrel stared at the colonel in disbelief. “None of that is true sir!” he cried.

“Yet that’s what some people are saying,” Silvan answered mildly. “Every one of the facts is wrong, except possibly the part about you winning the competition. But people will talk, and rumor will always tell a better story than the truth, and tell it quick. Even though, in this case, the truth of your story would satisfy the street crowds well enough.

“I didn’t expect you to call attention to yourself so effectively Kestrel. You may have an assignment coming up for me, and you can’t be effective if you’re a public figure.”

Intuitively, Kestrel grasped something of what Silvan was leading to. “You want me to be a spy!”

“Kestrel, I want to decide if there’s a way you can serve the elven cause. Until I make that decision, I don’t want to see the opportunity lost because you become too prominent,” Silvan said. He was suddenly business-like, as he withdrew a round cylinder from a desk drawer. Kestrel recognized it for what it was: a blue-ribbon messenger tube. “You are ordered to leave Center Trunk at dawn tomorrow and to carry this message to Commander Cosima in Firheng. Giardell has a supply bag ready and waiting for you outside the office.”

“But the tournament tomorrow!” Kestrel protested.

“You will miss the tournament. Your friend Lucretia has been informed by now that she should report your withdrawal from the tournament and make your farewells to your comrades for you,” Silvan calmly agreed.

“Can I say good bye to Lucretia?” Kestrel asked, morosely, knowing that he had no recourse to the direct order that he had just been given.

“Lucretia has been told that she will not see you again, and she is not to ever discuss with anyone any of the stories you have told her about your experiences. That is an order given to her, Kestrel,” Silvan emphasized.

“I don’t want to be a spy,” Kestrel tried to protest. “Why Firheng?”

“I am just using you as a courier at this point. No one has decided that you have to be a spy, and no one will force you against your will to carry out any spy activities,” Silvan answered. “Is there anything else?”

There was. There was so much more Kestrel wanted to know, and so much he wanted to protest, but he couldn’t put it all into words. He was frustrated by the way such a glorious day had been ripped from the calendar of his life before it had even finished, and been made into a distant and pointless memory.

He was standing and saluting, he realized. “I’ll see you again, Kestrel, and you’ll understand more next time,” the colonel was saying. “And we will have a discussion.”

“Thank you sir,” he said, still not able to verbalize, or even understand, all that he felt. He left the room in a daze, then paused in the hallway as he tried to get his bearings.

“Do you want these?” Giardell asked after a moment of observing the immobilized, uncomprehending look on Kestrel’s face as he struggled to cope with the unseen wall his life had been dashed against. Giardell hold up the knapsack of supplies and materials that were prepared for Kestrel.

“Thank you,” Kestrel said automatically as he stepped over and accepted the offered items. He placed the straps over his shoulder, then went down the hall and out the door without a backwards glance.

Silvan’s door opened, and he came out into the hallway to stand by his guard. “I didn’t expect to have to set him in motion so quickly; I had thought we’d have a little more time to prepare him,” the officer said.

“His actions didn’t leave you any choice sir, not that the lad had any ill-intent,” Giardell replied. “If he had simply gone about the festival listening to the minstrels or playing the games or chasing the doxies, none of this would have happened.”

“He’s going to need time to forgive us for what we’re doing to him,” Silvan mused.

“Maybe you could send his girlfriend, Lucretia, up to see him at Firheng?” Giardell suggested.

“That might be worth thinking about in a month or so, although I’d prefer that he make a clean break with everyone in Center Trunk besides us,” Silvan nodded. “We’ll see how his evaluations come in from Cosima, and then decide.” Silvan left the guard and returned to his room, as he pondered the plot he was setting in motion.

Kestrel awoke just after sunrise, already late for his departure to Firheng. He had slept poorly throughout the evening, and he awoke without energy or enthusiasm. He stood by the window of his room and opened the bag that Giardell had given him the night before. The knapsack provided two changes of shirts, roughly five days’ worth of food, a knife, and a sturdy coil of rope, plus a small leather bag that contained a generous cache of small coins, enough to take him through a few situations.

His attention to the contents of his luggage was distracted by a movement out the window. He glanced and saw Vinetia and Lucretia talking intently as they walked along the boulevard of the military camp. He hurriedly stuffed his assigned materials into the bag, pulled the bag, his bow and his arrows over his shoulder, and rushed out the door of his room. He went down the hall and exited on the wrong side of his dormitory, then raced around the length of the building to see the two elven maids sauntering away from him.

He stopped and thought about Colonel Silvan’s comments the night before. Lucretia knew that she was not going to see him again, which was probably what she was telling Vinetia as they walked. For Kestrel, the obvious proper choice was to let the two of them walk away from him, unaware of his proximity. But the thought of doing that left him feeling sorely pained. With a rash decision, he began to run down the lane after them.

“Wait up!” he called when he had closed more than half the distance.

Both girls turned in response to the call, and he saw the surprise on Lucretia’s face, and the puzzled look on Vinetia’s face as she looked at him and then at her companion. “I thought you told me we weren’t going to see him today!” she cried.

“I can’t compete today,” Kestrel said breathlessly as he joined them. They had stopped walking, and the three of them stood together in the middle of the empty lane on the quiet military base, where only a few scattered noises indicated that some others were awake on the second morning of the festival. “I’m late getting started on my mission,” he held up the tube with the blue ribbon. “And I saw you walking by.”

He looked back and forth from one to the other. “I’m sorry I can’t stay today. I didn’t know they’d have an assignment for me so soon,” he explained.

“Are you a spy?” Lucretia asked.

“I’ve only carried a message here, and now I’m taking one away. I don’t think that makes me a spy,” he answered.

“Well, whatever it makes you, it makes me mad! I was counting on seeing you win the championship today,” Vinetia told him, with a rough thump on his arm.

“You’ll have to go out and win it instead,” Kestrel said affectionately.

“When will you be back?” Lucretia asked.

“I don’t know,” Kestrel said. “I hope soon.”

The three of them stood there silently, Lucretia and Kestrel studying each other’s faces.

“I’ve got to go,” he said at last. “Thank you for being so good to me yesterday, and taking me with you.”

“Kestrel, let me know when you return,” Lucretia said in reply.

“I will,” he promised, and then after another pause, he stepped backwards, turned around and started to walk away. Should he have kissed her or hugged her, he wondered. With Vinetia at the scene he had felt awkward. He looked over his shoulder and saw that the women had also started to walk away, and Lucretia was likewise looking back at him. They grinned at one another, then Lucretia stopped, and waited as Kestrel came running back to her and awkwardly enveloped her in a hug.

“How can I hug you back with all this gear you’re carrying?” she complained. “Be careful out there.”

“I will,” he answered. “I hope you find some adventure soon.”

“Yesterday showed me that it lurks around in some surprising places, so maybe I will,” she smiled in response.

“I’ll see you again someday, I promise,” he pledged as he started to back away, and then they parted again.

Kestrel did not turn around again, but kept on walking in the direction of the gate, and when he reached it, he stepped off the base and back into the city, back out among the civilian population of Center Trunk, most of which seemed to still be sleeping off the celebration of the previous night of the festival. The streets were empty and easy to negotiate, so that he made quick progress as he jogged his way north out of the city and towards the long road that led through the forest to Firheng, and then on further north to the human land of Estone.

His journey to Firheng was much less eventful that his journey to Center Trunk had been. He spent four days of travel, one of them through constant rain, but was never injured, never beaten, and never confronted with any supernatural or extraordinary events. The forest was a different one; with many more evergreens in the north, and Kestrel understood the appropriateness of Firheng’s name.

“Messenger Kestrel arriving with a message tube,” he told the sentry at the gate of the administration building, “here for Commander Cosima,” when he arrived in mid-afternoon.

“Go inside, turn down the right hand hallway, knock at the third door on the right,” the sentry said after inspecting Kestrel casually.

Kestrel did as told, and found a guard posted at the door he expected to enter. “Is this Commander Cosima’s office?” Kestrel asked the man.

“It was at the start of the day, and as far as I know, it still is,” the sentry replied with a grin. “Go on in and see the executive aide.”

Inside the door was a large room, one that was long, with many windows along one side, and at the far end of the room was a desk, where a dark-haired elf matron sat. She looked up at Kestrel, then smiled a cheery smile that seemed to erase her age and enhance her beauty.

“How may I help you?” she asked in a kindly tone as Kestrel walked towards her. He hadn’t thought of her as pretty when he had first seen her, but since she smiled he couldn’t help but see her as an attractive woman, one who might be about the age of his own mother if she had lived longer.

“I have a message tube to deliver to Commander Cosima,” Kestrel replied.

“He’s over at the armory; why don’t you take it over there to him?” the assistant suggested.

“I could do that,” Kestrel agreed, somewhat at a loss. The security at Firheng was much more relaxed than it had been at Center Trunk, but then, he reflected, security at Elmheng had been non-existent as well.

“The armory is against the west wall of the post,” the assistant reported, seeing the look of confusion on Kestrel’s face.

“Gion,” she called towards the doorway. The guard looked in at her. “Would you guide this messenger over to the armory so he can deliver his message to Cos?” she asked sweetly.

“Belinda, I’ll do it for you, if you think you’ll be safe here without a guard,” he laughed, and she laughed with him.

“Come on messenger,” Gion motioned towards Kestrel.

Kestrel looked towards Belinda. “Thank you,” he said, heading towards the door.

“You can leave your things here if you don’t want to carry them. I’ll keep an eye on them until you get back,” she advised him.

Kestrel unconsciously gave a sigh of relief, then shrugged out of his backpack, and left his bow and arrows as well, waved thanks, then trotted out the door to find and follow his guide.

“Looks like you’re going to fit in,” Gion said conversationally as they left the building and turned right.

Kestrel looked at him inquisitively.

“Well, Belinda gave you the seal of approval, said she’d watch your things for you. Cosima will do whatever she tells him to; whether he knows it or not — she runs this place, you know,” Gion explained. “So if you want something, just let Belinda know, and she’ll take care of it for you.”

They continued to walk through the camp, about the size of Elmheng’s, and reached the armory after only a few minutes. “There’s the commander,” Gion pointed across the room, where several pairs of guards were practicing using large combat staffs to battle one another.

Having completed his assignment, Gion left Kestrel at the armory so that he could return to his guard post, and Kestrel stood by the door alone, watching the swift movements of the poles that the combatants poked, swung, and levered at one another as they practiced their weapon work. Kestrel had never seen staffs used in combat before, and he found the work being done fascinating, as the blurred movements produced clacking noises and furtive motions.

“You, come over here,” one slender staff wielder called as he pointed his pole at Kestrel.

“I’m here to see Commander Casimo,” Kestrel explained, as he stopped at a safe distance from the contests on the practice pads.

“I’m Casimo,” the slender man said, stepping off the pads towards, Kestrel, then holding his hand out.

Kestrel started to place his message tube in the man’s hand, but Casimo slapped it away. “No, no, you can surely shake hands hello first,” he laughed. Kestrel hesitantly stuck his free hand at the man, and felt a hearty shake and a firm grip.

“Very good! Now, give me the message tube, then take my staff and get out there to start practicing,” the commander shocked Kestrel by telling him, holding his staff out towards the newly arrived messenger.

Kestrel cautiously took the staff as Casimo twisted the tube open and began to walk over towards a window as he pulled the paper from the tube. Kestrel looked at the practice mats, where a partner awaited him while other pairs continued to whack and clack their staves against one another’s weapons.

He approached the elf who was awaiting him, but he no sooner got within range than the end of the other elf’s staff poked out at his feet and tripped him up, so that he landed on his back.

“Come on,” his putative partner said, extending a hand to help him up. “That was just for fun; I couldn’t resist.” Kestrel grasped the extended hand and felt himself lifted upright.

“I’m Arlen,” the elf told Kestrel, who examined the man as he held his hand. Arlen looked at least ten years older than Kestrel, and was built stout and solid. His eyes were purple, and Kestrel stopped looking at anything else or thinking about anything else as he stared at the extraordinary color of Arlen’s irises.

“You’ve not seen anything like these before, I take it?” Arlen asked as they released each other’s hands.

“No, never,” Kestrel affirmed.

“You’ve never been up north here, or over near the Water Mountains?” Arlen checked.

“Never,” Kestrel agreed again.

“Not many southerners do come up to our part of the kingdom, though of course we seldom leave it to come down south — why should we when we’ve got the best part of the forest to live in, eh?” Arlen said. “Now, are you ready?” He took a stance that looked dangerous to Kestrel.

“I’ve never used one of these before,” Kestrel spoke hastily, holding the staff uncertainly before him.

“I can see that,” Arlen laughed. “Why don’t you go over there?” he pointed with his staff, “and put on some padding.

“You’re going to need it.”

Kestrel strapped on the padding with those ominous words ringing in his ears, then returned to the practice mat. He glanced over and saw Casimo still standing in the light of the window, reading Silvan’s message. With a sigh he took a defensive position, and spent most of the next hour getting knocked down, over and over again.

“That’s enough for today,” Arlen said at last, music to Kestrel’s ears.

“I’ll be sore tomorrow,” Kestrel said as he started to unstrap his pads.

“Not as sore as you think,” Arlen commented. “I never actually hit you hard. That was part of today’s lesson — it only took gentle taps in the right places to knock you down. You’ll learn how to do that yourself — how to leverage the impact of your blows to get the biggest impact for your effort.”

“Come with me Kestrel,” Casimo called from the doorway, “after you put your equipment away.”

Kestrel obediently went to the racks where he hung up the pads, and returned the practice staff to a slot on the wall, as others continued to energetically practice their skills with the simple wooden poles.

“See you tomorrow Kestrel,” Arlen said cheerily as Kestrel walked out the door with Casimo. Kestrel waved uncertainly and then fell in step besides the commander.

“Have you ever been to Firheng before?” Casimo asked as they began to walk.

“Never, sir,” Kestrel replied.

“I’ve been to Elmheng a time or two — that’s where you’re from, isn’t it?” the commander asked.

“Yes sir. I was only in Center Trunk for a day before I came here. The rest of the time I lived in Elmheng,” Kestrel affirmed.

“We don’t get many trainees from Elmheng, none at all in the past years that I can recollect. Isn’t that odd?” Casimo mused. “It’s practically as close to human territory as we are; you’d think the two would produce the same number of recruits.”

“This is our headquarters, as you know,” Casimo explained as they began to climb the steps of the building Kestrel had visited before. “Belinda will get you settled into quarters and arrange for meal chits. You’re welcome to leave the base anytime you’re not engaged in activities,” he said.

“You’ve already met our new member, I take it?” the commander said to Belinda as they entered her office, and stopped in front of her desk.

“Yes, and he seems like he’s going to be a delightful boy to work with,” she replied, giving another of the dazzling smiles that Kestrel found so enticing.

“So you’ve already sweet-talked Belinda and swept her off her feet, have you?” Casimo turned to Kestrel. “That was excellent tactical judgment. You’re going to be a success, I can tell. Come on in and we’ll talk a little bit, then you can flirt with Belinda and get your plum housing assignment arranged.”

The two elves walked into the office behind Belinda, through the door she guarded, as she smiled and winked in a friendly manner at Kestrel, as if to let him know that Casimo’s sense of humor was nothing to worry about.

Kestrel took a seat, wondering what the threads of the afternoon were going to tangle him up in, suddenly convinced that nothing said or done so far during his visit to Firheng was without purpose and that his visit to the outpost would be longer than he anticipated; his return to Elmheng began to seem like a very distance hope in his future. “Am I being assigned here?” he blurted out his question.

Casimo studied him momentarily, then smiled a smile that was both conspiratorial and sympathetic. “If you’re bright enough to ask that question, you’re bright enough to know there was no point in asking.”

Kestrel sighed, wondering what Silvan had in mind. “How long does he want to keep me hidden here? When can I go home to Elmheng?” he asked.

“My report from Colonel Silvan says that I am supposed to put you through both the first and second stage training courses we carry out, immediately and simultaneously; it’s going to be a while before you’ll be done here, and where ever you go after that, I’m pretty sure it won’t be just Elmheng,” Casimo told him. “On the positive side, and there is one, if the Colonel wants us to devote that much attention to you, he must have some very significant plans for you, and some high expectations.

“As you undoubtedly know,” Kestrel saw Casimo watching him closely now, no pretense of casual attitude about Kestrel’s presence at his camp.

“I only met Colonel Silvan less than a week ago; I just talked to him twice,” Kestrel replied. “And I am just an ordinary, everyday guardsman from Elmheng; this is my first trip away from there.”

Casimo’s eye’s narrowed. “Colonel Silvan is shrewd, and canny, and he plays his cards close to his chest, but I wouldn’t second-guess him for a minute. Whatever it is, he sees something in you that he intends to use.

“Now go out there and ask Belinda what arrangements she has made for you. Show up first thing tomorrow morning at the armory, and we’ll start your training.”

“What am I going to be trained in?” Kestrel asked.

“In the armory, you’ll be trained in the use of the staff and the sword. Your classroom work will be human language and culture, and human geography,” Casimo said as he stood up.

“Oh no, he really does think he can make me a spy!” Kestrel felt a knot of fear sink to the pit of his stomach.

“That’s why you’re here, Kestrel. It’s what we do better than anyplace else in the kingdom. We’ll give you as many tools as we can to fit into the human world, and looking at you, it’s obvious why Silvan is interested in you. There are a few issues to deal with, but those aren’t my responsibility,” Casimo told him as the commander walked around the desk.

“But for the things I can teach you, I will make you as good at the human arts as any human you’ll run into,” he added as they reached the door, Kestrel in a daze, and entered Belinda’s office.

She was no longer behind her desk, but stood near the door to the hallway. “That was lucky timing,” she told them. “I was about to finish up.” She walked back to her desk and picked up an envelope, on which Kestrel saw his own name prominently scrawled in a looping, feminine hand. “Come with me and I’ll show you where you’re staying and where you can have meals,” she beckoned him. “Will you need anything else?” she asked Casimo.

“Make sure you show him where the infirmary is. He’s going to want to visit there the next few days until he gets his training under control,” the commander added, and then they were out the door.

“You know where the armory is now,” Belinda pointed behind them in the direction that Casimo had led Kestrel from. “This is the infirmary, where I’m sure you’ll never need to visit,” she emphasized the word ‘never’ as they passed a tall, single-story building with large windows. “And this is the visitors’ quarters,” she motioned to a tall, round building with stairs on the exterior, climbing to doors that were as much as four stories high above the ground.

“You’re in luck; attendance is low right now so we’ve got two rooms on the top floor,” she informed him, referring to the higher rooms that elves preferred as a replica of staying among the lofty branches of a tree.

“Here’s a meal pass,” she handed him a small wooden tablet with colorful markings. “You can use here on base at the commissary,” she motioned down the street, “or you can use it in town at most of the food vendors, especially the ones closest to the base.”

Now, I have to hurry home and fix dinner for my husband, so I’m afraid I have to leave you here,” she said as they stood in front of the stairs to the guest quarters. “You run up there and get a room for yourself!” she smiled her dazzling smile once again.

“Belinda,” Kestrel said before she could turn away. “How long will I be here?”

“Most of our guests are here for about a half year,” she said, “but it varies from person to person.

“However long it is, we’ll do everything we can to make your stay a good one,” she assured him, then turned and walked away. Kestrel watched for over a minute as she went to the gate and left the base, then he turned and climbed the stairs up to the top floor, where he selected a room on the east side of the building to be his new home.

It was a large room, with a bed, table, and four chairs, as well as a stand and a hutch. He pulled one of the chairs out through the doorway and sat on his small porch, looking out across the wall of the military base at the city beyond, where he watched people go about their business on the streets. He momentarily detected a faint smell, one that was unfamiliar and made him wrinkle his nose, but then the wind shifted and he only sniffed fresh air once again.

He didn’t know what to do, or what to say, or even what to think. Somehow, in delivering a message to Firheng, he had become a candidate to be a spy, something that he would never consider on his own, something he had never even really heard anything about before he arrived in Center Trunk just a few days ago. Had Commander Mastrin suggested it to Silvan in the first message that Kestrel had carried, or had Silvan come up with the idea on his own? Nothing made any sense to Kestrel. He watched the shadows across the city lengthen as the sun set at the end of the day, then he climbed down the stairs and went to eat dinner at the commissary, and returned to his room for a fitful night of questions and sleep.

The next morning Kestrel awoke as the sun rose in the east and its rays shone into his room. He groggily left his bed and went to the commissary for juice and a meat roll, then returned to the armory, where he heard the sound of clashing weapons already in action as he opened the door.

“Welcome back, sunshine!” Arlen said brightly when he recognized Kestrel standing at the door. “Go put on pads, then come over here to start,” he directed.

And with that, Kestrel’s education began. He suffered several days of painful instruction in the use of the staff and the sword before he began to establish some basic sufficiency with the two weapons. Elves seldom used the weapons, which required close proximity to an opponent, and which penalized the slight frames and weight that characterized elves, but Kestrel’s partial human heritage and his sturdier build helped him to adjust to both weapons, and to show enough promise with them that he didn’t despair of becoming competent eventually.

Learning the human language was a much more difficult lesson, however. It sounded fluid and musical to Kestrel, and he actually looked forward to speaking the long, languid consonant-rich words, but his mouth resisted making the shapes and sounds.

“Make a ‘ssshhh’ sound, not a ‘cckkk’ sound,” Artur, his instructor repeatedly said during lessons, as he tried to learn the pronunciation.

After a week at Firheng, Belinda told him he was entitled to write one message a week to be sent through the couriers of the guard, and after careful consideration, he wrote a message to Cheryl at Elmheng, and left it with Belinda for delivery. The following day she informed him that it had been examined — she didn’t say by whom — and determined to tell too much about his future prospects as a spy. He rewrote the letter with little real information left in it, and submitted it again for dispatch.

The letter to Cheryl was a composition that made Kestrel uneasy with guilt. He felt guilty that he had come so close to kissing Lucretia on the same day he had met her, and he felt conversely guilty that when he had to pick to write a first message, he had chosen to write it to Cheryl instead of Lucretia. When his second opportunity came to write a message, he wrote it to Lucretia, and then felt uneasy that he might have misinterpreted how closely they had come to one another during their one-day acquaintance.

He flipped back and forth, week by week, writing to Cheryl and Lucretia, though no response came back from either; he had been told that none would be allowed during his first three months of training, so that he would focus on his classes and weapons. He was left to wonder how his news was received by the respective recipients. Writing the letters was cathartic; even though he wasn’t able to write down his feelings or express uncertainty about going through spy training, in the process of considering his messages he was able to focus his thoughts on the doubts he held, and to consider how he was going to address those doubts when the day came for him to do so.

After two months of training, he received a surprise. During the first two months, he had done nothing but train. Every hour of every morning was spent in the armory with the two human weapons, learning the techniques and gaining familiarity with them. Every afternoon was spent with his tutor, Artur, who drilled the human language into his brain and his mouth.

“Congratulations,” Arlen told him at the end of one morning’s training. “Kestrel, you’ve made it through two months of training. You haven’t flunked out of the system. In fact, you’re doing much better than most of our students do at this stage; it helps that you’re built like a moose, or maybe I should say human.

“So today we are going to reward you by adding another lesson to your curriculum,” Arlen said as they stripped off their pads. “Something that I guarantee you’ve never done before, or even thought about.”

Kestrel’s response was a feeling of curiosity and excitement. He trusted Arlen, who had been a hard, but fair and patient, teacher. “Let’s go,” Arlen said, leading the way out of the armory.

Ferris spent a great deal of time thinking as he began the march back northeast across Hydrotaz, his squad and other squads of the nation’s forces accompanied by Graylee’s forces. He had spent his whole life warily thinking of Graylee as the large, potentially hostile neighbor on the west, and to now have their forces easily walking through Hydrotaz, observing the villages, learning the roads, consuming Hydrotaz’s resources in the process, made his hackles rise. It would all be great, he hoped, when the time came in battle against the elves, and Graylee’s militia would shed blood and die on behalf of Hydrotaz’s cause.

But in the meantime, Ferris stuck to his squad, and stewed. He had been soundly criticized by Nicholai, the seneschal of the palace, for the failure of his squad’s effort weeks earlier to start their own fire in the Eastern Forest, and he had stoically accepted the criticism, because no one who had not been there could understand the unholy appearance of the storm that had appeared from nowhere and doused the forest fire before its flames could kindle and consume a broad swath of territory.

That failed fire had been the justification for this new alliance with Graylee. Ferris knew that the details of such an alliance must have been negotiated over many weeks or months; the terms of the treaty had to have been the subject of discussion long before he reported on the failed fire effort, which had merely provided a convenient excuse for the new seneschal of the prince to announce the treaty.

And so, several weeks after Ferris’s report, Graylee had rolled wagons filled with the components of large siege engines across the border between the two nations, and put them in motion towards the forest boundary, teamed with the infantry formation that Ferris marched in. He wasn’t aware of any good way to use a trebuchet against a forest, but given his poor reputation, he had to bite his tongue and march along towards the forest, as he pondered the many ways that the whole campaign could end in disaster.

The column of men and materiel had come to a halt less than an hour short of the forest boundary, set up camp, and started the assembly of the siege engines. Squads of men had been sent out to over a dozen locations along a wide front with the forest, armed with shovels and picks, under orders to build defensive mounds to protect the crews of the trebuchets at the locations where the massive constructions were going to be stationed. Ferris’s men had been assigned the northernmost of the sites, and had spent two days building their improvised fortifications.

The constructed machines had been rolled to the redoubts, within clear view of the forest, and Ferris expected to receive an order to proceed with an attack of some sort. Instead, his squad, and every other group of infantrymen, had sat for a day without action. Ferris had fumed, knowing that they were giving the elves time to bring archers and forces to the edge of the forest, losing the advantage of surprise, and guaranteeing his men would be subject to a withering fire of arrows from the elves when the time came to storm the forest.

Then supplies had started to arrive for the trebuchet the second day of the entrenchment. A large metal pot, twice as large as the one Ferris’s men had carried into the forest, showed up, along with casks of solid pitch, and several large stones. Orders were given to start the fires to melt the pitch before dawn on the third day of the entrenchment.

When dawn’s rosy light began to shine, the large wooden buckets at the end of the trebuchets’ arms were filled with stones, and an hour after that, the steaming pitch was ladled over the stones, set aflame, and fired into the forest.

Ferris watched in amazement as the stones carried the burning pitch high into the sky in the blink of an eye, and he estimated they flew a half mile deep into the forest. He had never dreamed that the bulky machines could hurl their loads so far among the trees; he thought of how fearfully his squad had raced along the forest floor to get the same penetration into the woods, scared of being shot with accurate elven arrows at any second. Smoky trails above the forest showed the flight of the stones.

His men hastily rewound the trebuchet, reloaded the bucket, and fired another load of the incendiary material into the forest. He began to re-evaluate their situation, and suspect that success would be theirs today, provided another freak storm didn’t extinguish this fire as one had squelched his squad’s effort. With multiple fires being set, the vast amount of acreage that the Graylee incursion could gain for Hydrotaz suddenly grew into a considerable new holding, perhaps even a new duchy along the border, he estimated.

Then the elves came out of the woods. The elves who had expected to remain hidden among the trees to defend their home had come out of the trees to come within range of the trebuchet crews, and started firing their arrows at the men, who took refuge behind the fresh defensive mounds, and who fired arrows back. There were hundreds of elves coming forward, a mass of warriors whose arrows would have wiped out any effort to invade the forest in a traditional manner. The presence of the siege machines, and the effectiveness with which they were flinging fire into the forest, was forcing the elves into a battle they didn’t want, out in the open where they were suffering from arrows being fired back from the human lines.

Smoke was starting to rise to visible heights from deep in the forest, and Ferris realized that the elven forces were now trapped between the fire behind them in the forest and the human forces in front of them, men who were safely protected behind earthen berms.

“All forces take up bows and start firing at the elves,” he directed his men. “The fire is started,” he pointed at the smoky columns that were rising and darkening in the eastern sky. “The elves are our targets,” he commanded, as his men obediently left the pitch fire untended and gleefully took up their bows. Their stronger arms and sturdier bows were launching arrows further than the elves could fire their bolts, and even though the human shots were less accurate, they were falling with fatal effectiveness among the elves out in the open.

The elves were also coming to a realization of their dire situation, and reacted by sending one determined sortie forward on a virtual suicide mission to try to disable the trebuchets and their crews, while the rest of the elves retreated to the safety of the not-yet-burning trees on the forest fringe. Ferris and his men let the elves come towards them; he knew that in close combat the strength and skills of the men would be a huge factor in their favor.

Over the course of the day, the elves were slaughtered and routed, as the men in front and the smoke and fire behind eventually converged and overwhelmed them. Up and down the line knots of elves were trapped, converged upon by early afternoon. Most elves were killed, but a few were taken captive, facing the prospect of eventually being sold as slaves in faraway lands.

Ferris thought the prospect of subjecting anyone to slavery was the least promising aspect of the entire day’s battle, but he was so satisfied with the outcome, and the correction of the previous failed attempt to set a fire, that he still ranked the day as one of the best he’d ever known, and he sang victory songs with his men as they drank around the fires in the camp that night.

The day of Hydrotaz’s victory was also the day that Arlen took Kestrel to learn the new element of his curriculum, the surprise that Kestrel had never considered before.

“Welcome to the stables,” Arlen said as he rolled open a wide, tall door on a wooden structure Kestrel had never visited, or even seen, during his time in Firheng.

Opening the door both revealed a dark interior partitioned into many smaller cubicles, as well as allowed a redolent wave of organic odors to roll outward and envelope the two elves standing at the entry.

“What is this place?” Kestrel asked as he tried to adjust his senses to the smell. It was one he had a faint recollection of, from the evening of his first day in Firheng, when he had sat on his porch and the breeze had brought a momentary whiff of the scent of the stables to his nose.

“This,” Arlen said as he led the way into the stables, “is where we keep the horses.”

Kestrel followed his instructor into the building, his eyes adjusting to the gloom within, and he suddenly realized that three of the cubicles held massive animals within, creatures that were each as large as a moose, though shaped with a more graceful profile.

Kestrel had heard of horses. They were a creature domesticated by men, used for transporting men and goods, he generally understood. Elves did not use horses; elves disdained the animals. Their own fleet-footed nature and the lack of fodder in the heavily shaded forests, made elves see horses as unnecessary and wasteful. Alternately, according to elven lore, there were centaurs who lived far to the east, sentient creatures who looked upon mounted horses as an injustice, an abominable form of slavery and in respect for the mythical centaurs’ feeling, elves stayed away from the animals.

But now, regardless of the reason elves shunned the creatures, as he looked upon the horses he approached, Kestrel began to re-evaluate his opinion of the animals. They looked graceful, and he was sure he saw intelligence in the large eyes that calmly examined him.

“Good,” Arlen said. “I can tell you’re going to get along with our fillies.”

“What’s a filly?” Kestrel asked, as he stood before the gate to one horse’s paddock.

“A filly is a female horse,” Arlen answered. “Go ahead,” he urged, “you can touch her. Pet her neck.”

Cautiously, Kestrel reached his hand over the gate and tentatively touched the large animal before him, then began to gently stroke the coat along her neck.

“Let’s go for a ride,” Arlen spoke softly, standing next to Kestrel, who had focused so closely on the animal that he hadn’t noticed Arlen’s approach.

“Go get a blanket,” Arlen motioned, and Kestrel followed him over to where they each began to gather the materials they needed to take the horses for a ride. Nearly half an hour later they had two horses saddled and ready to go, as Arlen led the way out a back door in the stables, to a yard that Kestrel realized on one side was walled up against the exterior of the city.

Arlen opened a heavy gate in that wall, and they each walked their horses out into the open verge that stood between the forest and the exterior wall. “This is how you mount a horse,” Arlen demonstrated by climbing into and out of his saddle twice, then held the halter of Kestrel’s horse as he awkwardly lifted himself up into his saddle.

“Now we’re ready to go,” Arlen announced, as Kestrel sat ahigh in wonder and surveyed the landscape from his elevated perch. “You’ll have to hold the reins,” Arlen reminded Kestrel, who grabbed the leather straps, and they set in motion along a trail through the forest.

The first several minutes of the ride were exhilarating, as Kestrel swayed back and forth to the rhythm of his mount, and continually reached forward to pat the horse in a friendly manner that was meant to be reassuring for both the mount and the rider. He uncertainly handled the reins to make his horse follow the lead of Arlen’s ride, and felt increasing confidence in his abilities.

By the time they returned to the city wall, Kestrel was feeling chafed and sore in his thighs. He awkwardly dismounted, and gingerly walked his horse back into the stables. The process of removing the saddle was agonizingly prolonged, it seemed, and by the time they were finished, Kestrel could only think about the pain he felt.

“You can probably skip your afternoon lessons,” Arlen said helpfully. “Go into town and soak in the hot baths for a long time, then do some stretching.

“Everyone feels sore the first few times, but your body will adjust,” he added.

“We’ll start doing this every other day, and you’ll be added to the rotation for cleaning out the stables for the rest of your stay. The rest of us appreciate you volunteering to do that!” he grinned, as the two of them walked away from the stables.

Kestrel did as Arlen suggested, relieved to sit in the warm water of the baths for a long stretch of the afternoon. He slept poorly that night as he turned and turned again, trying to find a comfortable posture, but in the morning he managed to practice his staff and sword tolerably well, and the following day he was ready once again to go to the stables and work with the small herd of horses. He found the animals to be so enjoyable he quickly adjusted to the change in his schedule, adding horsemanship to the combat skills and human language and social lessons he was working on daily.

Two weeks after he began his work in the stables, Belinda sent a message asking him to come to her office, a message he received as he finished his work at combat and weaponry. He’d seen very little of Belinda since the start of his stay in Firheng, and he gladly took advantage of the request to skip his language lesson that day.

He’d been in Firheng for over two and a half months, he realized, as he tried to calculate how long it had been since he’d visited the office building where Belinda and Casimo worked. “Hello Kestrel,” Belinda said with one of the bright smiles that marked her in his memory. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen you here.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “It seems like the training keeps me so busy I don’t have time to visit.” It was true; he’d gotten to know a few of the other students slightly, but socialization just didn’t seem to take place or be encouraged among the elves who were learning the crafts involved in being a spy. One or two had left the camp in the time Kestrel had spent there, and one or two had arrived, but there were no activities in which they all interacted or gathered with one another. The lifestyle of the students was a lonely one, and Kestrel wondered if it was just a result of the rigors of training, or a deliberate part of preparing them for a lonely life afterwards. He didn’t like the implications if the latter were the case, as he continued to internally struggle with the overall question of whether he would ultimately accept the assigned role of being a spy.

“You have been doing more training, faster, than any student I can ever remember,” Belinda agreed. “Do you enjoy it?”

Kestrel thought about the question. “I think I do, mostly,” he answered truthfully.

“That’s good to know, mostly,” she laughed back at him. “Well, I mustn’t keep you waiting. You have a messenger here to see you, waiting for you in the commander’s office. You can go on in.”

“A messenger? From where?” Kestrel asked in shock, not taking a step forward. He had no anticipation of a message, no reason to think anyone would need to communicate with him for any reason. No messages had come back in response to his missives to Cheryl or Lucretia, and even if any had been sent, they would arrived via a courier carrying routine mail, he was sure.

“You’ll see. Just go on in, Kestrel,” the woman at the desk gently urged.

He stepped forward and turned the door handle, then looked at Belinda momentarily before he pushed the door open and stepped into the spacious room. The curtains were closed, dimming the space as he closed the door behind him, and for a moment he could barely make out the outline of a figure standing nearby, devoid of details. Then his eyes adjusted, and he instantly recognized that the messenger waiting for him, grinning at him, was Vinetia, the guard from Center Trunk who had been his partner for one day in the great archery tournament during the festival in the city.

Kestrel held his arms open and rushed to the girl, embracing her tightly, with more emotion than he would have expected from himself. The isolation he had experienced during his time in Firheng overwhelmed him, as he stood still with Vinetia in his arms.

“It’s good to see you too!” the girl told him at length, moving him to release his grip and step back. She was smiling broadly, but there was fatigue beneath the smile, shadowing her face. It was a face that had grown thin, and her uniform hung loosely from a figure that was much more slender than Kestrel remembered, he realized as he hugged her.

“Why are you all the way up here?” Kestrel asked her, as they took the two chairs that were placed side-by-side.

“Orders, of course,” she said brashly. “Your spy folks ‘offered’ me the privilege of delivering a message to you, and I decided to take it. I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again otherwise,” she reached into a satchel and pulled out a sturdy message tube, one without the official blue tape seal across the end, which she handed to him.

He looked at her inquiringly.

“I don’t know anything about what it says,” Vinetia replied. “I was as surprised as you are that they assigned me to bring the message to you. I thought I was going to ship out with the rest of the squad to Elmheng.”

“Why would you go to Elmheng?” he asked as he began to open the tube.

“Because,” Vinetia said. She looked at him, “You know,” she added, then studied his face. “You don’t know, do you?

“We lost a huge battle with the humans on the western edge of the forest, right about where your fire was. They brought some weapon that threw the fire far into the forest, behind the guards who were there to protect the fringe,” Vinetia explained. “There was a huge fire; it wiped out miles of forest. And virtually all our guards who were there to fight got trapped by the fire, cut off from escape.

“We lost hundreds of people,” she said softly. “We lost Lucretia,” she added after a pause, with tears in her eyes.

“How, how was Lucretia there?” Kestrel asked in horror, his own eyes watering.

“She volunteered to go on an exercise to Elmheng. She said it would be something different — you know how she was about wanting to try new things,” Vinetia told him. “And while she was there the humans approached the forest with their army, so all the guards in Elmheng and all the militia in the western forest were sent to face them.

“We don’t really know much else. There weren’t many survivors, so we don’t know the whole story. The humans burned a huge portion of the fire, they killed off virtually every defender we had in the west, and then they just withdrew. It doesn’t make much sense,” Vinetia told him.

“How did Lucretia die?” Kestrel asked, not really wanting to know gory details, but wanting, hoping, to learn that she died gloriously in battle, without pain.

“I don’t think they actually found her body. A lot of guards were burned to death, a lot were killed in battle, hacked to pieces, and some were taken prisoner and taken away,” the messenger answered.

Kestrel’s eyes wandered about the room, then came to rest on the paper in his hand. He looked down and started to read.

He looked up again just seconds later. “It says that I’m supposed to return to Center Trunk with you immediately and report to Colonel Silvan,” he told her, holding up the short, succinct report.

“That’s all? Report to Silvan? I came all the way up here just to bring you back?” she asked.

“My training isn’t finished,” Kestrel said.

“That must not matter,” Vinetia answered. “Maybe this war with the humans is involved. They may have some plan for you.

“Do you want to start this afternoon, or wait until tomorrow?” she asked him.

“I can leave any time. What about you?” he asked. “You just got here; do you want to rest this afternoon and start fresh tomorrow?”

“No, I want to get back. I want to get to the front and get revenge for Lucretia and everyone else we lost,” Vinetia said fiercely.

“I need to tell some folks I’ve been reassigned,” Kestrel thought out loud. “Would you like to wait in my quarters while I make the rounds to let my instructors know that I’m leaving?”

“Will I be able to wash up there?” Vinetia asked.

“Yes, absolutely,” Kestrel agreed. They stood and left the office.

“Belinda, I’ve received orders to return to Center Trunk,” Kestrel told the woman at the desk outside the commander’s office.

“Oh Kestrel! That’s unusual,” Belinda replied, a look of concern on her face. “I didn’t expect we’d lose you so soon.”

“Vinetia and I are going to return to the capital this afternoon. I’d like to tell the commander personally. Do you know where he is?”

“He’s either at the armory, or the depot, checking on supplies,” Belinda answered. “I’m going to miss you; we never really had a chance to get to know one another, did we?” she asked.

“No, I am sorry we didn’t,” Kestrel agreed sincerely.

“Will you return?” Belinda asked.

“I have no knowledge,” Kestrel shook his head. “I didn’t know I was coming here when I was assigned, and I didn’t expect these orders to go back to Center Trunk. They just keep me in the dark.”

“You two have a safe trip, and I’ll inform the commander if you don’t find him to tell him yourself,” she said, then stood and came around the desk to hug him, surprising him with the unexpected affection.

Together Kestrel and Vinetia left the office, and Kestrel took Vinetia to his lodging, leading her up to the top floor. “You’ve had a nice place here, haven’t you?” she asked as they entered the doorway and she looked around.

“So, have you been sleeping with the commander’s secretary?” she asked bluntly, surprising him with the directness of the question.

“No, I’ve hardly seen her. I met her the day I first arrived, and she was friendly, but then I didn’t see her again until today, and she was friendly again,” he explained.

Vinetia sat on Kestrel’s bed and started to remove her boots. “Well, maybe it was smart not to get involved in company politics, sleeping with her, but it sure looks to me like the door was open for you.” She stood and unbuckled her belt, letting her pants drop.

“I’m going to bathe. You can watch if you want to, or you can go make your reports,” she told him as he looked at her in surprise. “I expect I’ll be on the front lines in another fortnight or less, and there won’t be time or opportunity for modesty if we’re fighting, so that’s how I’m going to treat life from now on.”

“I’ll go now. I’ll be back,” Kestrel said, hastily backing out of his room as he saw Vinetia start to lift her blouse up over her head. He turned and ran down the stairs, then paused to clear his head of all the drama that cluttered it, and considered what to do next. He decided to try the armory first, to find Commander Casimo and possibly Arlen as well.

Neither of his hoped-for targets were at the armory, so he decided to go to the stables next, to meet Arlen there, and he was fortunate to find his teacher with his horse already saddled. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to come today,” Arlen said.

“I just got new orders to return to Center Trunk,” Kestrel said breathlessly after running to reach the stables quickly.

“Center Trunk?” Arlen looked at him quizzically. “Kestrel, what are you going to do in Center Trunk? They don’t have any trainers there, and you’re not ready to go out on a mission.

“Don’t get me wrong, you’re doing very well. You’re one of the best students I’ve had, and with just a few more weeks you’ll be ready. But you’re not ready to go out now,” Arlen said intensely, his hand holding onto Kestrel’s.

“I don’t know what my orders will be, or why they’re bringing me back to Center Trunk,” Kestrel said. He wondered how far he was from being ready in Arlen’s eyes; he felt that he had made great progress in the past several weeks, and was possibly able to compete with humans using their own weapons. “I’ll let them know what you said if they give me an assignment,” he assured Arlen.

“There’s been a human attack out west, past Elmheng,” Kestrel told Arlen. “The humans burned a lot of forest and killed a lot of our guards. You may see more students coming up here for training if this turns into a nasty war.”

Arlen’s eyes widened. “All the more reason for you to finish your training before you do anything stupid. We’re going to need well-trained agents — you come back here and finish up,” he squeezed Kestrel’s hand. “Now I suppose you’re going to tell me you won’t be cleaning out the stables your next turn either? This is tragic!”

Kestrel smiled at Arlen’s reversion to his typical comical persona. “If I come back here, I promise I’m taking my turn cleaning out the stables,” he pledged, then departed to go to the depot, hoping to find Casimo. The commander was not there either, and so Kestrel went to see his language tutor.

“You can’t pass as a native human with your accent right now, but you could make yourself understood if you had to,” the man told him. Artur was considered the best human-speaker among the elves at Firheng, though Kestrel had sometimes idly wondered how that compared to elves who traveled to Estone and spoke the human language as a matter of trade.

He doubled back past the office building, where Casimo was still not present, then at last he returned to his own quarters, where he was relieved to see Vinetia fully dressed, and ready to go. He took time to pack his meager belongings, then joined Vinetia in the doorway as he looked around his apartment for the last time. “Let’s go by the commissary and get some food to take with us,” Kestrel suggested.

They went and gathered bread and fruit, then left the base and walked through the city, neither of them saying anything to the other. Kestrel’s mind was whirling with thoughts of Lucretia; he wanted to ask Vinetia more about the missing guard, but the hardened attitude that Vinetia had displayed in his room deterred him from raising Lucretia, or any other topic.

They passed through Firheng, and Kestrel reflected on how little he knew about the city where he had just spent so many weeks living. He hadn’t met any civilians, and only occasionally ventured off the base to buy food from the street vendors. He couldn’t call Firheng home, but he felt like he was leaving home, compared to Center Trunk, and a future that might or might not be there, and that might expect him to become a spy, something he would have never planned for himself.

He might be assigned to return to Elmheng, he speculated, walking along the forest road with Vinetia without paying any attention to the world around him. He might once again see Cheryl, and he could ask if she had ever received any of his letters.

He could see her father Mastrim again, and he could ask the commander if his message had specifically told Colonel Silvan to consider Kestrel as a candidate to become a spy. That message, those adventures, had been so long ago, it seemed! His life had become nothing but one continuous training session in Firheng, and it was hard to believe that he had been touched by the human goddess, conversed directly with the elven goddess, rescued and talked to Dewberry the sprite! That brief episode of life filled with adventure was one that had disappeared, buried under the layers of language and combat and horses that had been pushed into his life.

The sun had nearly set, he realized with a startled assessment of the world around him. The road ahead was dim, particularly for his eyes, which were not as sharp as those of a full-blooded elf like Vinetia. “How much longer would you like to travel tonight?” he asked.

She stopped and sighed. “We’re not going to make it to a village tonight; we started too late.”

“We could climb a tree and settle in for the night,” Kestrel offered, suggesting the traditional elven resting place.

“Perhaps we should,” Vinetia agreed, and in her voice Kestrel heard less of the afternoon’s hard edge.

He let her select the tree they would climb, and then they ascended the elm, reaching a level at which the forking branches were high above the ground but still sturdy enough to support their weight as they settled into two forks close to each other. They passed a few food items back and forth and grew comfortable as a glimmer of moonlight filtered through the leaves above.

“How did you do in the archery tournament after I left?” Kestrel ventured to ask, when he judged the time might be suitable for conversation.

“I lost in the qualifying round in the morning,” she replied. “I was up against tough competition.

“But both the champion and the runner-up were the two you beat in the last round you shot in. You could have been champion if you had stayed,” Vinetia told him with some enthusiasm. “And everyone in our squad knew it, and the top two finishers knew it as well. The second place archer came up and told me that himself after it was over.”

“There was quite a little stir you know, you showing up for one day out of the blue, burning through the competition, then disappearing,” she went on.

“Lucretia tried to maintain her cool exterior, and no one really figured it out, but I know the two of you had something you shared. You got to hug her goodbye in a way that wasn’t just polite that morning you took off; she didn’t warm up to strangers in a hurry or give out hugs randomly. She knew you were leaving before anyone else,” Vinetia told him.

“We talked over the midday break, when she took me back to the armory to get more arrows,” Kestrel replied. He didn’t want to lie to the girl in the tree with him, but he couldn’t tell the whole truth, the truth about how Lucretia had discovered him talking to Dewberry the sprite. “And then we were having dinner together when Colonel Silvan’s guards came and found me and took me away to receive orders, so she knew about that. That’s when I was ordered to come up here to Firheng, something I never expected,” Kestrel explained.

“Isn’t that something,” Vinetia said. “An elf like you is attractive to her, after all the really good-looking elves busted their backs trying to get her attention, and failed.

“You’re not really that bad looking,” she added. “Just different. You’re an elf all the way through; no human could handle a bow the way you can.” She yawned. “I miss her. I never really said goodbye because we thought she was just on a short training mission to Elmheng; no one dreamed she was going off to war.

“That’s why I want to get to the front, so I can kill as many humans as I can and get revenge,” she said, then yawned again.

“I’m sorry,” Kestrel said softly. “I’m still getting used to the idea she’s dead. I know it must hurt you to have lived with it for all these days. Go to sleep Vinetia, and tomorrow we’ll make some progress towards getting you back to Center Trunk and on your way to getting revenge.” He listened, but heard no reply except the very gentle sound of Vinetia’s breath, as she fell asleep in her fork in the tree. He let his own head rest against his part of the trunk, and slowly fell asleep as well, thinking about Lucretia, the lovely maiden elf guard who had sought adventure and escape from predictable boredom. He hoped she had been exhilarated by the action in battle, and had died a quick, painless death.

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.

“They could come next month, but probably not too much later than that because they’ll be getting into the rainy season and winter. Or they may come back in the spring and start a real offensive against us — they may burn a trail of conquest all the way to Elmheng for all we know,” the colonel told Kestrel.

“We need your help Kestrel, even more than Commander Mastrim or I realized. We need you to go over to the human side and spy on them for us, so we can find out what their plans are,” Silvan said.

“I’m not ready to be a spy, my instructors said so,” Kestrel automatically replied.

“We’re not talking about immediately; we’ll send you back to Firheng for more training, before we send you out to the humans. My gut tells me that they will not attack again before the spring. We’ll have time to train and transport you so that you can infiltrate their army, learn what they have planned, and bring the information back to us.”

“I’m not ready, and I’m not human,” Kestrel repeated and enhanced his refusal.

“You are our best hope of preparing for the next attack, so that we can get revenge for the deaths of Lucretia and Mastrim. We don’t want to see others die just as pointlessly,” Silvan said intently. “I know this is asking a lot of you Kestrel, more than is fair to ask. But I believe you can do this, and you have the friendship of two sets of gods. You will be protected.”

“I’m not human,” Kestrel returned to his strongest argument. “My ears may not look perfect among elves, but they look even less like human ears, and my eyebrows are still strong for a human.”

“We can change that,” Silvan said haltingly. “We believe we can change your appearance. You’ve already got a build that’s almost human. You would fit in as if you were one of them.”

Kestrel’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “What do you have in mind?” he asked suspiciously, worried about what Silvan would propose.

“We have a doctor who can cut your ears so that they look human,” Silvan said. “They’ll grow back to about the shape they are now, but it will take a couple of years. You’ll have plenty of time to move about among the humans before there’s a problem.”

Kestrel flinched at the thought of someone carving his flesh, cutting away pieces of his ear as though it were a piece of clay to sculpt into shape. He knew that ears could regenerate, unlike among humans; one of his friends had lost part of an ear, and it had regrown within a few months. It hadn’t taken two years.

“Are you sure they’d grow back? I’m elven enough?” he asked.

“We think so,” Silvan said. “Honestly, Kestrel, we won’t know for sure until we go through with this, but we believe that since you’re three quarters elf, and your ears are mostly elven, they should grow back.”

“And if they don’t, I can just keep spying for you anyway?” Kestrel asked cynically.

“That thought has crossed my mind,” Silvan admitted. “But I really don’t think it will happen. I think that in two years’ time Lucretia or Mastrin wouldn’t even know anything had even been done to you.”

“How will the doctor cut it?” Kestrel asked, realizing that he was considering the question.

“We’ll knock you out so that you’re insensible — probably with ale, lots of ale,” Silvan explained. “And then it will be a very quick matter of a few snips and sewing some of the flesh back in place so that it grows back the right way. You could go back to Firheng right away, and the ears could heal while you continued your practices and studies.

“In a couple of months you’d be ready to go on some training excursions, and then you’d have the chance to go out on your own to help us protect the Eastern Forest,” Silvan finished.

“May I think about it?” Kestrel asked, fearful that he was going to say yes, fearful that he was going to be turned into a human, and never return to being an elf. Even with his semi-outsider status as a mixed breed member of the society, he felt a devotion to the Elven race and culture, and Silvan made everything sound a little too simple.

“Of course Kestrel. We’re asking a lot of you. Take some time to think about it, but don’t forget how much good you could potentially do. We might be able to turn the tables and defeat the very forces that killed Mastrin and Lucretia,” Silvan pressed him. “Why don’t you come back tomorrow morning and let me know what you’ve decided.

“You probably haven’t toured the city ever, have you?” Silvan asked. “Here,” he scribbled a note hastily, and gave it to Kestrel, standing to reach across his desk. “Give this to Giardell, and he’ll arrange for you to have a guide give you a tour of the city today, so you can relax and enjoy seeing the sights.”

“Thank you, sir,” Kestrel replied, standing, ready to leave the office and the sight of the wise face across the desk, the face that made the arguments that compelled him to want to agree to do everything asked of him.

He walked to the door and let himself out, then handed the note to Giardell. “The colonel said to give this to you,” he explained.

Giardell read it momentarily, then handed it back. “Go down to the first floor and go to the last door on the left, on the street side of the building. Give the note to Alicia and tell her she’s assigned to take you on a tour today.”

“Just like that?” Kestrel asked, surprised at the ease of the delegation of the duty.

“Just like that, you’ll be on your way to being led around the city by someone who was born and raised here. She’ll show you things you’ll never think to ask to see,” Giardell confirmed.

“A whole day’s worth? How much is there to see?” Kestrel skeptically quizzed.

“You’ll find out if you go see Alicia,” Giardell told him. First floor, last door on the left,” he gave a motion as if he were brushing Kestrel away, but it felt as though it were a friendly gesture, urging him to go off to have fun.

Kestrel turned and walked down the hallway, wondering how much fun he could have as he contemplated a future with painful bodily mutilation, cultural alienation, and a dangerous immersion in the land of a foreign race.

Downstairs he proceeded to the proper door and knocked. There was a moment of silence, then the sound of movement, and then a muffled voice called, “Come in.”

“So you’re Kestrel?” the girl in the room asked. She was sitting behind a desk, a desk that was covered in paper, and she looked as though she were engaged in an effort to organize the mounds of information before her.

“Yes; how’d you know?” he asked.

“Colonel Silvan asked if I could lead someone named Kestrel around the city today,” she said matter-of-factly. She shuffled another pile of papers, then stood and looked at him directly. “Of course I told him yes — who’s going to say ‘no’ to the colonel? And then you’ve walked in, a stranger, so it seems logical that you’d be Kestrel.”

She had dark hair, unusually dark for an elf, and it was piled high atop her head in a style that Kestrel had seldom seen before. She was dressed in a uniform, a military jacket over a blouse, along with a matching skirt, something else that Kestrel had rarely seen. All in all, her appearance was of someone who seemed naturally inclined to work behind a desk, and who would want to work behind a desk.

“If you’ve got work to do, we don’t have to go,” Kestrel motioned to the piles of paper.

“I better go,” she said, without warmth. “The colonel must have asked me for a reason.

“Where do you want to go?” she asked, stepping around her desk towards him.

He shook his head at the question, thinking to himself that if he knew what there was to see, he wouldn’t need a guide. “I’ve only seen this base and the field where the archery competition was held,” he told her. “Anything else would be new to me.”

“Let’s go to the palace,” she said decisively, and she walked past him to the door, then out of the room without a backward glance, leaving Kestrel to hastily exit the room as well, closing the door behind him as he hurried down the hallway to catch up.

Kestrel had never had a tour before, and hadn’t known what to expect, but the next hour was not what he would have guessed a tour could be. He and Alicia walked side by side through the streets of the city, and never spoke a word to each other. Kestrel tried to ask questions about their surroundings twice, but received no answer from his guide, and so he passively walked beside her, looking about at the buildings and trees and people that were traveling through the city in the morning. He let his mind wander just as his body wandered, and his imagination worked to assign duties and missions to the people he saw. Some were easy, such as the woman carrying two large loaves of bread, or the small boy lugging a large pail of water away from a well.

But others were mysteries to him, such as the quartet of guards in splendid uniforms, marching in precise step along one narrow side street, no evidence of military or regal service needed in the area, or the elves carrying bundles of firewood towards a pile of timber on a street corner.

The day grew warmer as they progressed, and the sun rose higher in the sky above. Alicia stopped suddenly, and Kestrel stopped too, wondering what the reason was for the halt to their urban march. They were in a nondescript residential area, Alicia having swerved off a main boulevard for the first time.

“You go over there; I’ll be in here for a little while,” she gestured to a small courtyard as she directed him, then pointed at an adjacent building as she talked about herself.

“Is everything okay?” Kestrel asked.

Alicia didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she placed her hands behind her head, and within her hair, so that after a few moments of deft finger movements, the pile came off in her hand, revealing a daringly short haircut for a female elf, one that was little more than twice the length of Kestrel’s own. He stared at her in amazement, seeing her in a completely different way, her eyes suddenly appearing large and captivating, her ears prominently revealed, the delicate whorls enticing. She then pulled on one sleeve of her jacket, and tugged it off before she switched hands and juggled her hairpiece so that she could pull herself free from the other jacket sleeve as well.

She wore a sheer white blouse beneath the jacket, and her further transformation made Kestrel’s eyes bulge from his head in astonishment at the suddenly attractive profile she showed. “It’s too hot to walk through the city dressed like this,” she explained, her arms spread wide, each hand holding one of her removed items.

“This is my father’s building; I’m going to go in here and change into some cooler clothes, and then we can carry on,” she added, and as she did, Kestrel noticed the moisture on her blouse as it clung to her body, evidence of her warmth.

“I’ll wait there,” he agreed, dumbfounded, and ambled towards the courtyard as she turned her back to him and went into the building nearby. The neighborhood wasn’t seedy, but it wasn’t far from it, Kestrel judged, observing both the lack of maintenance of the buildings as well as the dress and the attitudes of the passers-by.

He sat on a stone bench and watched the leaves in the bushes tussle in the breeze, his eyes half closed, when he heard a sudden high-pitched scream, one that jerked him to his feet, and sent him running in panic towards the source, the building where Alicia was changing outfits.

He crossed the threshold of the doorway she had entered, and saw a dim, narrow passageway. He had no clue which direction to move towards, when he heard another scream, in a voice he thought was Alicia’s, coming from the upper floor of the building, somewhere in the back. He charged up the steps, and saw shadows in motion as he reached the upper hallway.

He ran down the hallway to the open door, where he saw the source of the shadows; two men were shoving and abusing Alicia, who was nearly undressed, pushing her back and forth forcefully between one another as though she were a plaything, a toy they could bat around the way a cat played with its prey at times.

Glancing around, Kestrel noticed a broom leaning against the wall next to the door he occupied. Without hesitation he grabbed the broom, and began to wield it as though it were a battle staff, rushing at and jabbing the handle at the two ruffians, knocking their heads, poking their stomachs, whacking their knees. The two were unprepared for the assault, one which Kestrel launched with ease, without even consciously considering the moves he was making. The stick flowed fluidly back and forth, even as the two assailants changed the direction of their action and came towards Kestrel, leaving Alicia slumped and dazed on the floor where they abandoned her.

The frontal assault on Kestrel never reached him. He furiously began to bludgeon the two men as they attempted to fight him, and their courage broke after only a few moments of focused attack. With arms covering their heads, they fled around Kestrel and out the door, the sounds of their stomping boots echoing down the hallway. Kestrel began to chase them, then heard Alicia softly moan as he departed the room. He stopped, turned, and re-entered the chambers where she lay on the floor. There was blood running from her nose, and she wore a pair of skivvies, but there was not much else covering her skin.

“Hello the house!” Kestrel shouted loudly as he dropped the broom stick and strode over to her location, but he heard no response, no indication of assistance nearby. Kneeling, he looked at her closely, but saw no other signs of outward damage to her body. He held her limp wrist and found her pulse, which was strong and steady, while he considered what to do for her. He didn’t know the locations of doctors or clinics anywhere in the city, and the infirmary at the base was an hour away, if he could carry her that far, and if he could find his way back.

He needed something to magically heal her, something like the healing spring he had stopped at on his initial trip to Center Trunk, the one where he had met Dewberry. Those waters could surely cure her injuries, he was sure.

Could Dewberry help him, he asked himself speculatively. He’d not seen the sprite since he’d seen her with Lucretia, but she had once upon a time offered to give him assistance. And this situation was beyond his own ability to handle.

He recollected the instruction she had given him when they had spoken in his room in the village inn. He had to call her name with his heart and his voice and his mind, all together, three times, in order to summon the sprite to come to his aid. He’d never thought he’d really ever try to receive her assistance, but then he’d never thought she’d ever come to him again, until she had shown up and stolen the needed arrows for him at the archery contest.

“Dewberry!” he called aloud, softly, as he thought of the sprite’s name and image, and longed for her assistance with all his heart. “Dewberry,” he repeated again with the same effort, and then seconds later, he uttered and wished and thought for a third time, and was rewarded with a slight popping noise and the sudden appearance of the beautiful blue enchanted being.

“Dewberry! You came!” he said with disbelief and delight, despite the circumstances.

“You called, as required by the ancient rules, and I responded, elf-rescuer,” the sprite answered, hovering aloft in the air, and looking down at the unconscious elf maiden. “And it appears I’m just in time to prevent you from despoiling a sleeping beauty. Is this a habit of yours? I thought better of you, but I remember that you had me unconscious and unclothed at one time too.” She spoke in an idle and speculative tone as she approached Alicia to look at her.

“Look at me!” Kestrel said sharply. “Do I look like I’m trying to take advantage of her?” he asked as the sprite turned and approached him. “I found two ruffians attacking her, and I chased them off, then called you for help,” he explained.

There was the sound of a sudden gasp from Alicia, and both the sprite and the elf turned to look at her, but there was no evidence of any change in her state.

“What help do you think I can give? I’m not a doctor,” the sprite said pertly.

“The springs, the healing springs where we met,” Kestrel began.

“You want me to take the two of you to the springs?” Dewberry asked.

“Can you?” Kestrel replied. He had only expected to ask the sprite if she could deliver some of the water to him, wondering if a small dose of the water would be sufficient to heal the wounds Alicia had. If the two of them could be transported to the spring, so that his guide could be immersed in the water, he was sure she would heal.

“I’ll need help. Wait here just a moment; and don’t do anything to the girl while I’m gone. In fact, why don’t you get some clothes for her to wear when she awakens?” Dewberry said, resting her hand on his forearm for a moment, then disappearing.

Kestrel looked around and discovered the skirt and the blouse that Alicia had discarded. They were wadded up and thrown in a corner of the room. He fetched them, then stood uncertainly by Alicia, and wondered about his next problem.

Alicia was going to awaken, healed, in a strange spring far from Center Trunk, and would need assistance from sprites to travel back to the capital city. She would react, he was sure of that. The Alicia he had met in the office had seemed stolid and unimaginative, and he felt that that personality would not over-react to the extraordinary circumstances. Yet the Alicia who had removed her wig and stripped off her jacket in the street might be a different personality altogether, and might react differently.

Whichever reaction he had to deal with, he decided he would rely on the authority of Colonel Silvan to deal with the aftermath; the colonel knew of his encounter with sprites, and could order the girl to be quiet once she was healed and they returned to the base. As he sat and contemplated that, Dewberry returned, and then moments later the room was filled with the gently puffing sound of sprite arrivals as five other sprites appeared as well.

Kestrel stood, and studied the herd of small people intently. They were easily discernible as individuals, he noted. The shades of blue they displayed were spread across a wide spectrum, their sizes were noticeably different, and there were clearly males and females present.

“Kestrel elf, this is my affianced,” Dewberry, placed her hand on the shoulder of a sprite that was almost a greenish turquoise in color. Though no taller than Dewberry, her fiance had remarkably broad shoulders, and shoulder-length hair. His fingers were webbed, Kestrel saw, and as he turned his head, his hair moved momentarily away from his neck, allowing Kestrel to see gills. Dewberry had told him that she was engaged to a prince of the water imps, and he saw that there were differences between the two races.

“I am Jonson, and I thank you for the salvation you gave Dewberry. We are all in your debt,” Jonson said gracefully, bowing deeply at the waist.

“Her friendship has already more than repaid the debt, and I appreciate the assistance you are here to offer,” Kestrel replied.

“He’s so gracious. And you said he was a pig!” another sprite said mischievously, grinning wickedly.

“That is my brother, to whom you need paid no attention,” Dewberry said airily. “None of us listen to him!

“And these others are Jonson’s brother and sister,” Dewberry motioned to two others, whose hands were also webbed, Kestrel noticed in passing, “and my particular friend,” she motioned to the last, “Reasion.

“Reasion is the sweetest of all the sprites in the world,” Dewberry grinned at her smaller friend, who appeared to blush a deeper blue.

“Reasion is an unique name,” Kestrel commented.

“Thank you all for coming,” Kestrel said. “Now what are we going to do?”

“Three of us will form a ring about each of you, with hands held, and our bodies pressed against your bodies, and in that manner, you will be transported with us to the spring. Then when your friend is healed, we will bring you back here,” Dewberry answered. “Can you raise your friend, so that we can gather round her?”

With a sense of awkwardness, increased by the hovering audience of sprites, Kestrel carefully lifted Alicia’s limp body upright, then let three of the sprites surround her and wedge her into a small circle between their bodies, so that they held her upright. Kestrel gathered Alicia’s clothes up in a ball pressed against his chest, then felt the warmth of the sprite bodies snuggle against him, and before he knew it would happen, he felt a churning sensation within his stomach and inside his head, then there was blackness and cold and airlessness, and then he was standing in the small glade on the edge of the spring.

“Thank you,” Kestrel spoke gratefully, as his cluster of sprites moved away from him. He dropped Alicia’s clothes, then took the weight of her body as her sprites left her. She was a slender maiden, as most females elves were, a body that was easy for Kestrel to lift and move about, even as he was careful about where he let his hands rest upon her. He turned his head as he slipped her skivvies down her legs, then undressed himself, self-conscious of the sprites that were watching, and took Alicia’s body into the water with him. She floated behind him as he maneuvered over to the same comfortable spot he remembered sitting in before.

“Friend Kestrel?” Jonson came over near him and spoke.

“Yes, Jonson?” Kestrel looked inquisitively at the imp.

“We suffer when we touch this water you know,” the small being began. “Well, not suffer so much, but we lose consciousness.”

Kestrel nodded in agreement.

“But all of us would like to enjoy the restoration the water provides to our bodies. It feels so good to us — one of the best experiences a sprite or an imp can have,” Jonson said. “And it gives us wonderful dreams; so we wonder, would you watch over us until we reawaken if we join you in the water?”

“I don’t know if I can hold everyone all at the same time in the water, but I don’t mind watching over you,” Kestrel replied. “Dewberry and I did fine when she was here before.”

The sprites began to disrobe at the edge of the pond, heedless of any personal embarrassment, then began to float through the air and hovered around where Kestrel sat. Only Reasion was an exception, keeping underclothes on while moving towards the water.

There was a gasping, and then sputters, and Kestrel felt Alicia’s body, resting beside his, start to shake. Her eyes opened, and she looked about wildly, saw the flock of naked sprites floating above her, and screamed softly. The sprites instantly disappeared, as Alicia reached for Kestrel and grabbed onto him clinging to him tightly.

“What’s happening? Where are we? Is this a nightmare?” she looked up into his face.

“Everything is okay,” Kestrel said hastily. “We’re fine. We’re in a pool of healing water, from a special spring.

“You were in your father’s apartment, and two men attacked you,” he explained. “When I heard you scream and came to see you, you were unconscious, and I couldn’t awaken you. I didn’t know where to find a doctor in the city, but I knew about this healing spring, so I called the sprites and asked them to help me bring you here to be healed.”

The sprites suddenly reappeared in the air around them. “That was embarrassing!” Dewberry said angrily, as Kestrel hastily clamped his hand over Alicia’s mouth to prevent her from screaming once again.

“Do you know that we all transported to the court because your girlfriend’s scream scared us?” the sprite asked crossly.

“And do you know that none of us are dressed?” she further asked. She didn’t wait for an answer. “It’s one thing to go skinny-dipping with friends, but showing your skin at court is not amusing!”

Kestrel looked down into Alicia’s eyes, and saw the amazement in her eyes. “We’re sorry,” Kestrel apologized. He removed his hand from Alicia’s face. “This is such an amazing thing, for an elf to be with sprites and imps, and she had no idea of what was happening,” he tried to sound reasonable.

“And I’m not his girlfriend. I just met him this morning, and was giving him a tour,” Alicia spoke firmly.

“Really? You just happen to be laying naked on top of him in a spring so that you can give him a tour? A tour of what?” Dewberry asked skeptically. “But you’re not his girlfriend?”

Alicia firmly pressed herself away from Kestrel in response, and looked angrily at the sprite.

“Are we going to get in the spring or not?” Jonson spoke, interrupting the brewing argument between the two females.

“Yes,” Kestrel responded gratefully, wanting to avoid upsetting Alicia. “I thought that as you got in the pool one by one, you would pass out, and then I could put you over on that ledge,” he pointed as a small sandy beach area to his left, “where you could safely lie in the water until we take everyone out.”

“And then you two could continue your ‘tour’,” Dewberry acerbically added.

“That’s a good plan,” Jonson said, working with Kestrel to cut off the obvious enmity between his fiance and Kestrel’s companion. “Dewberry, you go first,” he directed.

The female sprite obediently dropped down in front of Kestrel. “I know you’ll treat me well,” she murmured to Kestrel, “you did last time.” She leaned forward and surprised him by placing a kiss on his lips, both of her tiny dark blue lips fitting in the crease between his, then she dropped down into the water, and immediately fell into unconsciousness as Kestrel’s arms rose to support her.

He waded through the water to the sandy ledge, and gently deposited the sprite on the clean, soft sand, the shallow water lapping against the side of her body, then proceeded to assist the other sprites, one by one, as they likewise immersed themselves in the water and passed out. Kestrel gently laid each of then beside one another, a neat row of small blue bodies glistening in the sunlight and the water as they slept and reinvigorated.

“What exactly are you Kestrel?” Alicia’s voice sounded from behind him, and he turned to see that she was out of the water, back on land, where she had discerned her pile of clothing and was donning her apparel quickly. “Are you a human, an elf, or a warlock with mastery over sprites?”

He sighed, and sat down on the sandy shelf with the sprites, as Alicia came strolling around the edge of the water, and sat down cross-legged on the grass near him.

“I’m just an ordinary elf, who is trying to figure out some unusual circumstances,” he answered after a long moment’s pause.

“You’re hardly ordinary if Silvan is interested in you; you’re definitely not ordinary if sprites rely on you to babysit them while they sleep. You may not be ordinary if you fought off two elves to save me when you had no real reason to care about me,” the girl replied.

“Those don’t sound ordinary,” he agreed after a moment’s reflection, “but I’m me; those are just what’s going on around me,” he told her.

“How do you know and befriend sprites?” Alicia asked. “That doesn’t strike me as ordinary.”

“I met Dewberry here,” he answered, “right here at this pool. I was healing in the water when she came, and a wolf seized her. I rescued her and healed her in the water, and after we straightened things out, I think we have become friends, a little.”

“She kissed you, right there in front of her fiance. I think she was jealous a little when she thought I was your girlfriend,” Alicia answered.

Kestrel laughed. “No, she’s a princess of the sprites, and her fiance is a prince of the water imps. They’re royalty, hardly likely to be jealous of a big, ugly human-elf mess like me.”

“You’re not really ugly, I think,” Alicia told him. “Once I got used to you I thought you were sort of good looking, in a human kind of way, which I know doesn’t make sense.

“Where is this spring? Are we near your home?” she asked.

“This is a spring outside a village between Elmheng and Center trunk; I don’t know its name,” Kestrel replied.

“I’ve never heard of a spring with miraculous healing water; how did you know about it?” Alicia tried to pin him down.

“An old lady in the village told me about it,” he answered, unwilling to mention Kere’s name.

So you do have some discretion, he heard the goddess’s voice call softly. He looked around, but could not see and physical manifestation of her. Good for you; there may be hope for you after all, young elfling.

“What’s the matter?” Alicia asked, seeing his sudden distraction.

“Nothing. Just a fly buzzing around, I guess,” he said, baffled by the sudden intervention of the goddess in his life after weeks without evidence.

“What would happen if the water was drunk, or just poured over an wound?” Alicia asked speculatively, looking at Kestrel with a directness that unnerved him.

“I don’t know; I didn’t think about drinking it, but originally I thought I might just ask Dewberry to bring some of the water to me at your father’s apartment, when you were unconscious, before I knew she and her friends could carry us here,” Kestrel told her, sharing in her speculation about the medicinal use of the water.

At last she lapsed into silence, apparently thinking about the water, while Kestrel concluded that the sprites had probably been allowed to soak in the spring water long enough. He hadn’t thought to ask them how long was an appropriate bath, but he thought they had probably had enough to satisfy them.

He stood and began to transfer the sprites to the shore, one at a time, gently placing each on a patch of soft grass, conscious that Alicia was watching him, dressed as she was now, while he remained dripping nude. He had seen her unclothed earlier, he realized, but it felt unfair nonetheless. “Would you look somewhere else please?” he finally asked her as he went back to the water to pick up the fourth sprite, actually a water imp, Jonson’s sister.

“Of, of course,” she agreed in some embarrassment, and turned away. “How far is the village?” she asked a moment later.

“What village?” Kestrel asked in confusion.

“The closest village, the one you were at when you heard about this spring,” Alicia answered with a shortness to her tone that sounded more like the soulless woman he had started the morning with.

“The road to the village is back along the stream,” Kestrel gestured towards the water that flowed away from the source of the spring. “Follow the stream until it comes to the road, then take the road north towards the village. It’s not far.

“Why do you ask?” he voiced his curiosity.

“I thought I might go get a skin or a flask or a gourd or something so that we could take some of this water back to the city with us, for tonight,” she answered, in a gentler tone.

“Why? What are you doing tonight?” Kestrel asked, as he lifted the last sprite from the water.

Alicia looked at him, then looked away again hastily. “Oh, I just meant if our feet are tired from too much walking, or just for anything that might happen; nothing in particular,” she replied, but her words had a cadence of dishonesty to them, and Kestrel decided that whatever she planned to do, it was none of his business if she didn’t want to share it.

Before he could say anything further, Dewberry’s friend Reasion awoke. The blue sprite sat up and looked around with a slightly dazed look on her face. Reasion had a more androgynous figure than Dewberry, and cheeks that were merry little apples in shape, giving her a perpetual happy expression. Without a word of comment, Reasion flew through the air to retrieve a pile of clothes.

He woke Dewberry next.

“I feel wonderful!” she said with emphasis on each word, letting the sounds explode out of her mouth with delight. She stood and looked at her pile of clothes on the far side of the pool of water, then rose and flew through the air to where they were, and dressed herself.

Sensing that the time at the spring was coming to an end, Kestrel swam lazily across the pool of water and grabbed his own clothes, then carried them above his head as he waded back to where Alicia sat. He dressed as the other sprites and imps began to awaken, and within a half hour the whole group was dressed.

“Dewberry,” Kestrel called as the whole group prepared for the end of the outing, “is there some way to carry some of this water back to our city?”

“Let me go get a skin for you,” Dewberry’s brother spoke suddenly, and he popped out of existence.

“I feel better than I’ve felt in months,” one of the imps said. “We’ll have to come back and do this again sometime! Kestrel, will you keep an eye on us again?”

“I would be delighted!” Kestrel grinned at the thought.

“Just remember, he’s my elf first, so you need my permission to use him,” Dewberry said possessively, floating over to wrap her arms around one of Kestrel’s arms. “Except you of course, Reasion,” she smiled at her friend.

It suddenly occurred to Kestrel that he hadn’t heard Reasion say a word, and wasn’t even sure if the sprite was a male or female. “Dewberry,” he said quietly, “is Reasion a boy or a girl?”

Dewberry drifted over to lean upon his shoulder. “Reasion is neither. My friend is the sweetest and truest of all the sprites, but a unique individual in many ways. Reasion has no gender, and has no voice. In fact, although I call Reasion ‘her’ in my own mind, and maybe aloud from time to time, there’s no truth to that.

“We don’t even know Reasion’s mother,” Dewberry added. “She was left as a baby in a basket at the gate to the palace, and my father of all people chose to adopt the baby as a resident of the palace, a playmate who has grown up with me.”

Her brother returned just then with the skin, a smaller skin than the elves typically used. “I think it will hold enough,” Alicia said as she examined it. “We don’t even know for sure if this will do any good for us away from the spring.” She took it to the edge of the water and plunged it in, pressing the air out and pulling it open to draw in the healing liquid, then plugged it closed.

After that the sprites and imps arranged themselves in circles around the elves, and transported them back to the bleak apartment in Center Trunk.

“This was great fun,” Jonson told Kestrel as they returned and ended their traveling embrace.

“I don’t know why we don’t get along with the elves better, and do more things with them,” his sister spoke up in agreement.

“Perhaps because we’re at war with them from time to time at the edge of the swamp,” her other brother suggested, “where the bad elf Chandel tries to hunt our people for sport.”

“No, this works for all of us because there’s something special about Kestrel,” Dewberry interrupted them. “He has the grace of the gods upon him. I trust him. And if he trusts another elf,” she looked over at Alicia, “I’ll trust that elf too. Like that other maiden you were with last time I saw you, the one with light hair. I could tell she was trustworthy,” she said to Kestrel.

“Thank you Dewberry. This was a good way to use one of my three favors! It worked out well for everyone,” he said.

“Oh, this doesn’t even count as a favor. You ended up doing as much for all of us as we did for you,” she responded carelessly. “You just call me again when you need me.”

“I suppose we have to go back to court and get teased now,” she sighed soulfully, turning to the other members of her posse.

“Let’s go to the western mountains instead,” her brother suggested. “I haven’t been there in ages.”

“Do you remember what happened the last time you were there?” Dewberry responded.

“Oh I know, but they’ve surely forgotten that by now, and besides, I feel so good from the spring water I’m sure I’ll be better behaved!” And with that promise he blinked away, and so did the others, one by one, leaving Alicia and Kestrel alone in the apartment just a moment later.

Phew!” Alicia said as she leaned back against the wall. “Who will ever believe this?”

“Alicia, please don’t tell anyone about this,” Kestrel asked earnestly. “Most folks won’t believe it, and Colonel Silvan wouldn’t want more stories about me and sprites circulating around the city, I’m sure.”

Alicia stood straight as she pushed away from the wall, and she walked over to Kestrel. She looked directly in his eyes, and he thought he detected a warmth and kindness that he hadn’t seen her exhibit at any prior time during the day. “I won’t do anything to hurt you Kestrel, don’t worry. Your little blue amoretto was right in saying there’s something trustworthy about you.”

That seemed to break some barrier between the two of them, and they enjoyed the rest of the day, full of banter and pleasure in one another’s company. They went on to see the palace, and walked all the way around the perimeter of the grounds, viewing the towers and the trees from multiple angles.

After that it was very late in the afternoon, and they agreed that they both were famished, having missed lunch, so they stopped at a cafe and ate ravenously. Alicia insisted that Kestrel try a variety of local ales, to sample the flavor of different brews, and she began to lead him from tavern to tavern during the early evening, though she seemed to drink very little herself.

Somehow the conversation seemed to focus on Lucretia and Cheryl. “They were both such good people; Lucretia was gorgeous too, and somehow that’s something I associate with people who have a high opinion of themselves. I never would have expected her to talk to me the way she did after she saw Dewberry,” Kestrel told Alicia as he drank his third ale. “Then she talked, and she was full of questions, and I learned she was such a good person really, someone who just wanted to taste more of life, and see excitement.”

“Was she prettier than Cheryl?” Alicia asked.

In his state of growing inebriation, Kestrel pondered his answer as though his life depended on the answer he gave. “Lucretia was glamorous pretty; Cheryl is warm and friendly pretty,” he intoned solemnly. “No man wouldn’t say Cheryl isn’t pretty, but they’d all appreciate Lucretia more on first glance.”

“What about me? Would you say I’m pretty?” Alicia asked as he sipped more ale.

He sputtered in his mug, then wiped his face on his sleeve.

“I’ll take that as a polite no,” Alicia said laughingly.

“You? You’re very pretty, in an exotic way,” Kestrel answered. “Most men aren’t going to forget those eyes of your once they’ve seen them,” he said, then laughed as she coyly batted her lashes.

“You’re not just saying that because you’ve seen every square inch of my skin there is to see, and had your hands on a fair amount of it too?” she asked with a wicked sparkle in her eyes.

“No, heavens no!” he protested. “Although that may have helped some, for a little while,” he added after consideration.

“No, when I first saw you with that big, impressive uniform, and that hair thing, I didn’t think you were drop dead gorgeous, but even then you were nice to look at,” he explained. “And now, wow!” he looked into her eyes. “You’re something special! Every elf here is jealous that I’ve got you here at our table all to myself, I’m sure,” he said valiantly.

“Why did you wear all that stuff this morning?” he asked.

“I didn’t want men to have the wrong impression of me. I want them to take me serious when I work, so I try not to dress like a pretty maid,” she answered.

“Well, if there are any of them bothering you, let me know before I leave, and I’ll straighten them out for you,” he offered immediately.

“Thank you, Kestrel. That’s very gallant of you,” she said gently, placing her hand atop his on the table, and squeezing it with friendly gratitude.

Kestrel was not used to drinking ale; it was something that he rarely did, and he began to feel woozy as soon as he drank his first mug. Before long it grew difficult for him to easily follow the conversation as Alicia talked to him about Colonel Silvan, and how brilliant the man was.

“I do anything he asks me to, anything!” she said emphatically, as they sat in their fourth tavern of the evening, drinking once again. “He only wants what’s best for elvendom.”

It was the first time Kestrel had thought about Colonel Silvan in hours, the first time he remembered the request that he allow his ears to be butchered.

“I’m afraid he’s asking too much of me,” Kestrel said. “I don’t know if I can do the things he wants me to.”

“You can Kestrel,” Alicia said comfortingly, placing both her hands atop his on the table top. “He wouldn’t ask anything of you that he didn’t believe you could succeed at. And look at all you did today! You single-handedly beat two elves at once, using just a broomstick! You healed me of my wounds, you carried out favors for sprites and imps; you can do so much! You could do great things to help every elf in the kingdom if you listened to Silvan!”

“You think so?” Kestrel asked carefully as another mug of ale arrived at the table. “I’m afraid of what he wants of me.”

“Do you trust me?” Alicia asked suddenly.

“I do,” Kestrel said sincerely, and felt a glow of warmth when she squeezed his hands tightly in appreciation.

“Then trust Silvan. Do what he wants. Let him use you to protect us from these new human tactics,” she urged.

Kestrel closed his eyes, and felt his head spinning. He opened them again, and saw Alicia’s large eyes staring intently at him. “Alright, I’ll do it,” he agreed.

“Good choice!” she replied. “Here drink up your ale,” she nudged the new tankard towards him. “I’ll be right there with you,” she said as he tilted the latest mug of ale upward and threw his head back, letting the bitter brew flow readily down his gullet.

He felt dizzier as he finished the ale, and dropped the mug on the table.

“Here, help me lift him up and carry him out,” he heard Alicia tell someone, and then arms were grabbing him and raising him from the tavern bench.

“You can trust me, Kestrel. I’m the best surgeon Silvan has,” he heard a voice say. He vaguely understood it was Alicia talking to him, and then he knew nothing as he passed out, intoxicated from too much ale.

He slept in a drunken stupor, one filled with nightmares of knives and great pain and voices speaking distantly. But he never awoke completely, intoxicated as he was from the great quantities of ale that Alicia had urged him to drink.

When Kestrel awoke he couldn’t see, and he couldn’t move his head, which was enveloped in something that seemed to include a dull cloud of pain. He found that not only was there a wrapping around his eyes, but his head was held immobilized by blocks and straps, and his arms, legs, and torso were all strapped down as well.

“Where am I?” he asked aloud. “Is anyone there? Let me free!”

“I’m here Kestrel; relax, my dear,” he heard Alicia’s voice.

“What’s happening?” he asked, confused by a foggy, incomplete collection of memories.

He felt hands gently touch his head, then fingertips barely tapped his face, until there was a change in the weight of the bandages he felt on his face. The light penetrating to his eyes increased as well.

“You’re in my clinic,” Alicia spoke softly and distractedly. Another layer of bandaging lifted from his face, and then the swaths of cloth on top of each eye were lifted away.

He blinked his eyes open, feeling their crusts give way to his efforts, then suddenly he grunted in surprise as drops of water fell onto his eyes. “What are you doing?” he sputtered.

“Close your eyes,” Alicia said, and then a cloth dabbed and wiped at his eyes.

He looked up and clearly saw her, hovering directly over him. “What’s happening?” he asked plaintively.

She looked down at him with an expression of complete concentration, then delicately removed a bandage from his forehead.

“Outstanding!” she whispered. “Let’s look at the real challenge.”

Her hands began to remove bandages from the sides of his head. “Alicia, set me free; tell me what happened. I don’t understand,” Kestrel begged. “Please release me. Untie me.”

“I will, sweetie, I will,” she muttered absently as she focused on his head, her face only inches above his. More bandages came away, and she raised her head, smiling down at him beatifically. “This is extraordinary, Kestrel,” she said, her gaze at last moving to his eyes.

“Here,” she did something that removed the blocks from the sides of his head, then unbuckled a number of straps across his chest, then from his arms. He heard a movement behind him, and a man in a uniform suddenly came into his field of vision, carrying a disk.

Alicia thrust her arms beneath Kestrel’s back and raised him up to a sitting position. “Go get Silvan,” she said to someone, then took the disk from the orderly and held it up in front of Kestrel’s face.

It was a mirror, a highly polished disk of metal.

“Look at how well it worked!” Alicia said, one hand holding the disk as the other hand pointed to the features on his head. “Look at these eyebrows!” her finger stroked the nearly horizontal stripes that now replaced the previous rising arches that had framed his eyes.

“And look at these,” her hand gently grabbed his chin and turned his head slightly to the side, then her fingers drew a lingering trail up to his ear on the side if his head, a small ear with a rounded top, devoid of the whorls and ridges that were the classic ornamentation of elven ears. He had human ears on his head, and human eyebrows. She had made him look completely human.

“Does this hurt?” she asked as her fingers gently traced and probed every crevasse and rise on his ear.

“No,” he mumbled, staring at the mirror in horrified amazement.

“It was that spring water! It made the incisions and changes heal overnight! That was so amazing when you took me to the spring. I almost gave away the plan, when I realized what the water would allow us to do,” she spoke directly to Kestrel.

His legs were still strapped to the table but his hands were free. He looked down and saw a tray of knives beside the mat he lay on.

With his right hand he grabbed the mirror out of Alicia’s hand and smacked it hard against the throat of the orderly who stood beside her. His other hand reached out and grabbed her hair, jerking her violently against him, in front of him, while his right hand darted and snatched up the largest knife on the tray and brought it to rest against her bare throat, pressing tightly against the pale white skin.

“What have you done to me?” he wailed in anguish. “You’ve turned me into a monster! I look just like a human now!

“Oh Alicia, how could you do this to me? I thought I could trust you after all we went through yesterday! I thought you would look out for me, the way I tried to take care of you,” he felt tears of anger and sadness falling freely down his cheeks as he resisted the impulse to press and slice with the blade, to empty her body of life in retribution for the damage she had done to his.

“She cares for you so much that she would let no one else do anything at all on the surgery table,” Kestrel looked up at the sound of Silvan’s voice in the hallway, Giardell and another guard standing in front of him.

“Unbuckle the straps on my legs,” Kestrel hissed at Alicia.

“I can’t. The blade is too tight,” she gasped at him.

He slightly released the pressure he exerted on the knife, and twisted her lower down his body, so that she could reach the straps that still held him to the operating table.

For thirty seconds nothing happened until she had set him free, then he maneuvered down off the table, holding her in front of him and holding the knife against her throat, as he backed into a corner.

“Look at that,” the unknown guard said as Silvan and his escort entered the room. “Make him look like a human and he starts to act like a human too.”

“You piece of dung!” Kestrel shouted in fury, and he used his human combat training to flip the blade away from Alicia’s throat, towards the guard who had spoken. The blade whirled momentarily through the air, then landed solidly in the guard’s shoulder, making his scream in pain.

Kestrel wrenched the crook of his elbow up around Alicia’s throat in place of the blade.

“She was as careful and gentle as I’ve ever seen her,” Silvan said, coming a step closer. “She clearly felt very close to you and wanted to make the operation as successful and painless as possible.”

“She tricked me! She was another one of your spies! Another manipulator!” Kestrel shouted back.

“I really care for you Kestrel,” Alicia spoke up suddenly, her voice only a croak as he kept pressure on her throat. “You made yesterday unlike any day of my life. You were not at all what I expected, and you reacted so wonderfully, so thoughtfully and kindly, toward me and towards the sprites and the imps. If I weren’t married, I might have tried to seduce you a time or two!

“I gave you the best opportunity anyone could ever ask for to pass as a human, so that you can help Silvan save us from the next attack,” she pleaded. “I know it seems like a trick, but I did what I could to do everything in my power for you!”

“Let her go Kestrel,” Silvan said firmly. “She’s not the one you’re angry at; I am. This is all my doing. You know that. Let her go. I told you this was my plan yesterday; you know it wasn’t her fault,” he repeated, and Kestrel saw what seemed to be genuine concern in Silvan’s eyes, anguish over the danger he had put his subordinate in.

“He cares for you almost as much as he cares for her,” Giardell spoke for the first time. “Kestrel, I’ve listened to him anguish over this plan, and I know he has your safety high on his list. Let Alicia go, Kestrel, and let’s all work together to move this forward.”

Kestrel gave a great wail of frustration and resignation, then released his hold on Alicia and shoved her forcefully away, into Silvan’s arms, who grabbed her and enfolded her in a tight hug.

“Get her out of here. I never want to see her again!” Kestrel said bitterly, lowering his head and wiping tears from his face.

“Kestrel, please, know that I want to help you. Don’t feel this way, please, my friend,” Alicia broke free of Silvan’s grasp and walked back towards Kestrel, her hands held together in a pleading gesture before her.

Kestrel’s hand shot out and slapped her cheek, the sound as loud as the crack of a whip, and a red handprint immediately forming on her skin. “Get out!” He shouted. “Go away!”

She stared at him in shock, and in sadness, as her hand rubbed her cheek, and tears started to fall down her face. “I’m sorry, Kestrel,” she told him, then turned and walked back to Silvan, who tenderly kissed her before she left the room.

“She’s married to you!” Kestrel said suddenly in a blinding moment of intuition. “You used your own wife to seduce me into being one of your agents!”

“We are married, but if anything, I think you nearly seduced her away from me,” the colonel replied.

“Kestrel, I know how dramatic this is. Your life had just been turned upside down, I know. You’ve had the most eventful past twenty four hours I can imagine any elf living through,” Silvan said, gently perching himself on the edge of the table Kestrel had been strapped to. Giardell hovered very close by, while the guard Kestrel had injured had been taken away by other attendants, leaving just the three of them in the room.

“You know how desperate our situation could become if the humans decide they want to really wipe us out. They could just keep flinging fireballs at our trees, and then advancing and taking our land, and starting flinging more fireballs at us again — over and over and over,” Silvan warned.

“They’ve shown that they’ve got a new weapon that gives them new tactics, new ways to defeat us handily. You’ve already lost friends to them.

“We must find out what their plans are, so that we can be ready to defend ourselves next time. And try as I have, scratch my head as much as I have, I can come up with only one feasible plan for protecting our people — that’s to send you among the humans to ferret out their secrets,” the colonel spoke passionately as Kestrel slumped disconsolately in his corner, his back sliding down the wall until he was sitting on the floor.

“I’d like to send you immediately back north to Firheng, so that you can finish your training, and we can prepare to transport you to the human lands,” he went on.

“What it I go and decide I’ll just be a human?” Kestrel asked, frustrated by the trap that enclosed him. “I’ll look human, I’ll talk human. I can just live among them and not have to worry about being used by my own people.”

“And not have to worry about Cheryl and Vinetia and Arlen and Belinda. You can forget them all. You can forget Alicia, for that matter, who spent so many hours operating on you, soothing your brow, dabbling the magic water on you to take away the pain, even dripping it into your mouth so you wouldn’t be hung over,” Silvan said a little more sharply.

“For my part, I think she became a little too attached to you through yesterday’s adventure and the operation. I’ve often worried that she made a mistake when she agreed to marry me, someone old enough to be her father. But she is so extraordinary that I couldn’t bring myself to be noble enough to ignore the foolish hero-worship in her eyes,” the colonel continued reflectively, “and so we are married.

“Remember Kestrel, this is not permanent. Your ears will slowly grow back to their natural form. You’ll have the adventure and satisfaction of carrying out this assignment for a few months, and then you’ll have to come back to us. You won’t be able to pass for a human any longer,” Silvan slid off the table and walked over to Kestrel, then slowly knelt, to look at him eye-to-eye.

“Come on. The shock is over. You’re strong enough to do this. And you’re still the only elf I know with a personal relationship with two sets of gods and friendship with one of the lesser races — maybe two of the lesser races if I understood Alicia to say that you took care of water imps too.”

Silvan stood, then reached his arm down and held his hand out to Kestrel, waiting for long moments as the humanized elf looked at the hand, then pressed his palms against the floor and pushed himself up without assistance.

“Giardell will take you to get a cowl you can wear on your trip back to Firheng. Keep the hood up and keep away from folks and you shouldn’t have any problems along the road,” Silvan told him, also standing erect. “We can give you an escort, if you’d like to have an elf or two with you to help vouch for you along the way. That might not be a bad idea. Would you like for your friend Vinetia to travel with you again? We can have her ordered over here in less than an hour.”

“No,” Kestrel said sharply. “I don’t want her to see me like this. I don’t want anyone to see me this way. I’ll wait here for the hood, and a sack of supplies,” he answered.

“I’d like to wait alone,” he added, as the others stood silently observing his anguish.

“Good luck Kestrel,” Silvan said, walking towards the door. “I’ll send orders up to Firheng for you in a few weeks. I know you’re going to help us, all of us. And when you come back with your ears regrown to their usual elven shape, who knows, you may find out you’re so good at this work that you’ll be willing to go back sometime.”

“Don’t bet on it,” Kestrel muttered as the Colonel and his guard left the room. He sat on the table, then reached for the mirror he had used to disable the guard, and held it up to carefully study his new features. Alicia had done a superb job, he agreed. He saw no trace of elven heritage in his face, and he wondered at how quickly it had been erased by the woman who had duped him into passing out for his own operation.

Giardell returned minutes later, and Kestrel hastily dropped the mirror. He took the cowl and sack of supplies without comment. Giardell had brought Kestrel’s own bow and quiver of arrows as well, somehow fetched from his room, and he put them on as well.

“I’ll walk you out,” Giardell told him when Kestrel appeared ready.

It only took a few moments to reach the doorway, where Kestrel discovered he was in the very building that held Silvan’s office, the building where he had first met Alicia just the morning before. He wordlessly took Giardell’s offered hand and shook it, then began to walk alone down the road, his hood pulled up over his head, presenting a forlorn image as he trudged away on his lonely journey.

“He’s such a good boy,” Alicia told Silvan as they watched him from the window of the colonel’s office on the fourth floor. “I hated to do that to him, to go through all those charades; the cold character, the fake assault in the apartment, pretending to be unconscious. In the end, it was the things we didn’t try to set up, the atmosphere set up by the sprites and the spring, that made him trust me.”

“You know how important he is, how important his mission could be,” Silvan told her, draping his arm around her shoulder to comfort her. “And you did such beautiful work on him. He’ll appreciate someday how realistic you made his human visage.”

“I hope so,” his wife responded. “I’ll miss him if he doesn’t give me a chance to be his friend again someday.”

Silvan gave her shoulder a silent squeeze, then they walked away from the window, and Kestrel walked on to his uncertain future.

Kestrel didn’t talk to another elf along the journey to Firheng. He avoided villages, and slept in trees. He ate the supplies he had been given, along with crickets and game he caught along the way, and he stewed in bitterness and regret.

He had lost all sense of identity and hope. He had been raised as an elf, among elves, and only thought of himself as an elf, despite the human heritage he carried and was taunted for. But now, Alicia had erased the physical ties that bound him to elfdom, and set him adrift. He contemplated what to do. He was unescorted, free to do what he wanted, and while he ran along the road he carefully plotted scenarios in which he just disappeared, never arriving at Firheng at all. He could disappear in the forest, and leave all the elves and the humans behind, he realized. He had his bow and arrows; he had the skills he had learned at Firheng. He could easily survive in the wilderness. Or he could take his human identity and just head straight to the human lands, and live among them, not as a spy, but just as a displaced person — someone forced to go where his identity allowed.

But he knew he would do neither, nor would he reverse course and go back to Center Trunk and force Alicia to reverse the operation she had performed on him, though he thought about that too. He thought about Alicia, cold, then warm, then deceitful, and ultimately, unobtainable Alicia, married to the man who had ordered her to seduce him and mutilate him. He cried at night, silent tears of sorrow and longing for Cheryl and Lucretia and Alicia, as he wished the world was a different place.

Finally, on his third night of traveling, as he settled into a nest high in a tree, he called out to Kere, the elven goddess of fortune.

“What can I do for you, grandchild?” the goddess was suddenly present, sitting on the branch above him, faintly visible in the moonlight and the starlight as an elderly woman, the same visage she had used when she had greeted him in the village inn weeks before, back at the beginning of his adventure.

“Can you take me back in time and give me an opportunity to do things differently?” he asked.

I am the goddess of fortune, not chaos,” she replied scornfully. “You should not wish to change any significant thing in your life, elfling Kestrel,” she added. “When you look back on all of this, it will look obvious and necessary and valuable.

“Embrace your opportunities Kestrel,” Kere told him, reaching down to pat the top of his head. “You have things you must do for your people, our people, the elves. And you have things you must do for me. I suspect that your other deities even have expectations of things you will do for them,” she added, alluding to the human gods.

“So go to Firheng, and do everything they tell you, learn everything they teach you, and follow every one of the orders they give you. That will lead you to your fortune, and a future that will satisfy you,” Kere told him. “Be at peace, grandchild,” she added, and then touched his head again, giving him a feeling of contentment, before she disappeared.

With that holy command ringing in his ears, Kestrel doggedly walked through the rain all the following day, his hood up again to both protect and hide his head. He reached the gates of Firheng in the early evening, and walked to the training base, where he entered Cosima’s office and found Belinda at work at her desk.

“I’m here to see Commander Cosima,” he told her, keeping his hood up and extended so that his features were hidden in deep shadows.

Belinda looked up from her desk, and studied the dark opening in the cowl, studying the dim features within closely. “Kestrel? Is that you?” she asked in a quizzical tone.

“Hello Belinda,” he replied, dreading the reaction he expected when she saw his features. “Yes, it’s me. I’m back to finish my training.”

“Well, let me see you!” she urged. “You’re inside out of the rain now; pull your hood down.”

He hesitated. “I’m different now, Belinda,” he warned her.

“Oh, you sound the same, like the same modest young guardsman we met before,” she dismissed his concern.

He raised his hands and pulled the hood back, feeling drops of rainwater become displaced and tumbling downward as he revealed his features. Belinda looked at him intently as the exposure revealed the new, humanized, Kestrel.

She slowly stood as she gazed at him intently, then silently walked around the desk to stand directly beside him, carefully circling from his right side to his left, her eyes only inches from his head as she examined him. “Magnificent!” she breathed at last.

“What an extraordinary job they did on you! your surgeon did the finest work I’ve ever seen; you could walk down any street in any human city, and not draw a second glance, except from the girls who thought you were so handsome,” she told him. “May I?” she asked, raising her hand to touch him.

He nodded in confusion, and her fingertips gently began to trace the contours of his eyebrows and his ears, then she raised up on her tip toes and began to gently kiss his ear lobes.

There was the sound of a door latch, and she drew back, as Commander Cosima came out of his office, looking down at some papers in his hand. “Belinda, could you?” his question stopped, unfinished, as he looked up and saw Kestrel’s human features.

“Is this our returning agent?” he asked rhetorically. “I almost don’t recognize you, yet of course I do.

“Welcome back Kestrel,” he said. “You’ve had a short trip, but clearly a profitable one.

“How extraordinary,” he breathed softly as he walked up beside Belinda and made Kestrel uncomfortable with his close scrutiny. “Who performed the operation?” he asked.

“Alicia, Silvan’s wife,” Kestrel answered, as his two inspectors bent so close that he could clearly hear them both breathing.

“You should give her your most profound thanks,” Cosima told him. “Her work is going to make your life very secure among the humans; no one will ever suspect your loyalties.

“It’s been years since we’ve had anyone so perfect, hasn’t it, Belinda?” he asked.

“Perfect,” she softly agreed. “Yes. It’s been years.”

“Well, go take your old quarters; they’re still available. Report to training tomorrow at the usual time,” Cosima advised Kestrel. “And of course, for your sake, I’d advise you to stay within the base as much as possible. Don’t go out into the city without your hood up or at least a hat — and only after dark.

“We look forward to preparing you,” Casimo told him, then turned to Belinda, to begin to go over the papers he carried from his office, as Kestrel left under Belinda’s watchful gaze.

The next day he nervously returned to his training, but was immediately put at his ease by Arlen’s cheerful greeting. “I didn’t realize I had trained you so well you’d start to look like a human! I must be the best arms trainer in the kingdom!” Arlen had said as he greeted Kestrel with a warm hug, and then immediate resumption of training.

“So, did you use any of your training on your little pleasure trip” Arlen asked him as they fenced with one another.

“A time or two,” Kestrel said, then briefly explained using a broom stick as a fighting staff to save a woman under attack.

“A pretty woman?” Arlen asked with gleaming eyes.

“Yes, she is,” Kestrel immediately answered.

“Was she thankful for your great service? Did she succumb to your charms and reward you with her virtue?” Arlen pressed him.

“No. She was married,” Kestrel replied.

“And she didn’t even have a sister to introduce you to? What a tragic waste of valor! You’ll have to achieve better results next time!” Arlen told him, and asked no more questions, as their sparring activity increased in intensity.

His weaponry skills improved to the point of drawing praise from Arlen, and they moved on to more difficult tasks, such as the use of weapons from atop the back of a horse. In the meantime, Kestrel’s language skills continued to improve, but not to the degree that his physical abilities did. His instructor even began to sleep in Kestrel’s quarters with him as the intensity of his training mounted, and Kestrel found that the expectations for him were highly discussed among the staff of the training facility.

“You’ll be going out on an assignment, a test run, next week,” Casimo announced a month after his return. “We’ll see how you put everything together.”

“Where will I go? How long? Will anyone else go with me?” he bombarded the commander with questions.

“All in good time, Kestrel. Just keep practicing,” Casimo replied.

The next night his language instructor was ill, and didn’t come to Kestrel’s quarters after dinner. Kestrel sat on his small porch, resting, relieved to have the unexpected window of a few hours of relief from the constant training, when he heard a noise within his room. He stepped inside to investigate.

Inside his room, sitting on his bed, were Dewberry and Jonson. “You are never alone!” Dewberry scolded him, as Jonson inspected him closely.

“You look just like a human!” Jonson pronounced.

“I’m supposed to look like a human. And they never leave me alone because they’re trying to train me to be able to go spy on the humans,” Kestrel explained. He sat down on the thin mattress with his two blue guests.

“Why are you here?” he asked. “Is everything okay?”

“We will be getting married the day after tomorrow,” Dewberry announced.

“Congratulations!” Kestrel spoke sincerely, while wondering what relevance that could have to him.

“And we want to go back to the healing spring and soak in the water again one more time before our wedding. Would you come be our assistant and protector?” Dewberry asked with such a pleading tone and posture that Kestrel knew she was hamming it up.

“I will,” Kestrel immediately agreed. “On one condition.”

“A condition? How preposterous! Don’t you know that it’s the female’s duty to set conditions!” Dewberry grew suddenly mock combative, striking a fighting pose and beginning to swing punches at Kestrel, causing both he and Jonson to laugh.

“What condition did you have in mind?” Jonson asked, as he rose and grabbed his betrothed around the waist.

“I want to take a couple of skins with me so that I can fill them with the water from the spring and bring it back here,” Kestrel replied.

“See! I told you women set better conditions! That’s no challenge at all!” Dewberry answered. “Go get your skins and let’s get going!”

Kestrel rose and searched in his closet until he found three empty skins, whose straps he draped over his shoulder, then stood and waited as Dewberry and Jonson hugged him tightly.

“I am pretty sure that just two of us can move you,” Jonson said, giving Kestrel a moment of doubt just as he felt the same sensations he had experienced before, the blackness and the queasiness, and then everything was alright as they stood on the bank of the spring waters. Kestrel undressed and got in the water, then received each of the sprites as they too entered the water, and he laid them down on the sandy shelf, where they quietly lay in their state of refreshing repose, while Kestrel carefully filled each of his water skins. He laid the stoppered skins down on his pile of clothes, then lay down in the water next to the sprites, and watched the sunset create a changing tableau of colors in the sky.

He thought about his month of looking like a human. He had grown to accept it, but still regret it. The emphasis at his training base was all directed towards the value he would give to the elven leaders, and the ability he would have to learn about the human plans to attack the elves; through the constant reinforcement of the message that he could singularly aid his people, he now accepted the duty he needed to fulfill. But he still mourned the loss of his elven appearance, and the deception Alicia had used to trick him into the operation still rankled. He had enjoyed her company for those few hours together, and the betrayal that he felt from learning her truth was still a cold ember in his heart.

When the last of the colors were gone and stars twinkled brightly overhead, Kestrel lifted the sprite and the imp from the water, and laid them on the ground, then gave their bodies a few minutes to adjust before he shook them awake.

“Gads! How long did we soak?” Dewberry asked, sitting up.

Minutes later they all were dressed, and the two blue beings took Kestrel back to his dark room.

“Good night friend Kestrel,” Jonson told him.

“Kestrel, after our wedding we’ll be on our honeymoon for two weeks,” Dewberry explained.

“Don’t think she’s going to come see you then!” Jonson laughed raucously.

“Best wishes, Dewberry. I know you two will make each other happy,” Kestrel told the small blue body, giving her a gentle hug and a delicate kiss.

And then the two were gone, and Kestrel thought he was alone.

“Kestrel? How did you get in there?” he heard Belinda’s voice call from his porch.

“Belinda? What are you doing here?” Kestrel asked.

“I’m going to be your language tutor tonight,” she spoke in the human language as she stepped into the room. “I’ve been waiting here for hours, and I just gave up. I was starting to go down the steps when there were suddenly voices in your empty room.” She looked around in the darkness.

Kestrel put his water bags down, then fumbled at his bedside table to strike a spark and light a candle. He quickly got the wick glowing, then placed the glass cylinder around the flame and looked at Belinda.

She was sitting in a chair in the corner, near where the instructor’s cot was set up, and she was staring at him intently.

“Well? How did you do it? How did you suddenly appear in your room?” she continued to ask in human. She placed a large bag on the table beside her.

“I would rather not say,” Kestrel replied, after several seconds in which he failed to come up with any better answer.

“In the human tongue, please,” Belinda corrected him.

“Why won’t you tell me?” she asked.

“Please, Belinda, ask me no more questions about this. I cannot answer,” Kestrel responded in the human tongue. He looked at her in the candlelight; she had removed her light overcoat, and beneath it wore a revealing nightgown.

“You can put the light out if you don’t need it,” she told him, realizing that she was the subject of his intense gaze. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have worn this.”

“How do you speak human?” Kestrel asked as he blew out the candle, but continued to sit on the bed, befuddled by the unexpected circumstances.

“I’m one of the best human speakers in Firheng,” she answered. “My husband was a human. Is a human,” she corrected herself. “You didn’t know that?” she asked.

“No,” Kestrel replied. “How did you marry a human?”

“My father was a trader when I was growing up, and I went with him to Estone on several trips. I met a human, we fell in love, and we parted, because both our families disapproved,” she said. “But Ranor was determined. He came to Firheng, found me, and took me back to Estone with him.

“We were married as soon as we got there, and then he brought me back here, and settled in to live among the elves here, working as my father’s trading partner.

“After a while, the guards decided they could trust him not to be a human spy, and a while later they decided they could trust him to become a spy for the elves,” she continued her story. “And he agreed, because he wanted to do anything to help the elves, because he loved our race.

“He went out for several months on a long mission, and he learned a great deal of useful information. Then he went out on another mission the following year, and brought back more information, and the spymasters were delighted.

“So he went out on his third mission; he missed our fifth wedding anniversary, and when he came back, he was delivered on the back of a horse. The humans had figured out what he was doing. They cut off his ears, and they blinded him. They cut off his hands, poisoned him, and bashed in the back of his head, then sent him back as a warning,” she spoke in a husky voice, and Kestrel knew she was crying.

“And he’s been a vegetable ever since. I take care of him at our home, and we have aides who help watch him. One of them is with him tonight,” she finished her tragic tale, and let silence envelope the room for a long time.

“You look so much like the way he used to look,” she said at last. “I get chills when I see you now, now that you’re humanized.

“I want to help you. I want you to speak the human language perfectly, so that nothing happens to you like happened to Ranor. So tonight, I am your new instructor to help you work on your language skills,” she told him.

“I’m so sorry,” Kestrel said at last, horrified by the story he had heard.

“Don’t be sorry, be smart,” she answered. “I want you to learn to do this right. Work hard at it.”

“I will,” Kestrel pledged solemnly.

He heard her rise from her chair and climb into her cot. “Now, in human, tell me about the girl who came to see you last month, the one who brought the message for you to return to Center Trunk.”

And so they lay in the darkness in their separate beds, conversing in the human language. Belinda gently corrected his pronunciation from time to time, until at last she said “good night, Kestrel,” and their conversation was over.

That night, Kestrel dreamed in human languages for the first time. He dreamed he was caught and was being tortured by the humans. He called upon Dewberry to help him, but she told him she was on her honeymoon and couldn’t be interrupted. He screamed from the pain, until Belinda woke him up. She was on his bed, shaking his shoulders. “Wake up, Kestrel, please. It’s only a dream, dear,” she told him. When he awoke at last he sat upright, and she hugged him tightly.

They slept together the rest of the night, Belinda in his bed, her body pressed against his, and he had no further dreams.

When he awoke in the morning, Kestrel knew he was late for the start of his training. He sat up and looked at Belinda, her head still on his pillow, her eyes blinking sleepily.

“I have to go to training,” he told her, standing up and hastily pulling on clothes. “Belinda,” he said seriously, picking up one of the skins of water from the healing spring.

“This water has healing powers. It comes from a special spring. Give a little of it to your husband today; give him some every day, and see if it helps. I don’t know if it will, but it might. It can’t hurt anything,” he said awkwardly.

Belinda looked at him skeptically. “Just try it,” he urged. “I know the water helped me, but I soaked in it. I don’t know for sure that just drinking it will be as powerful, but I think it will help.”

“I’ll try it, as you suggest,” she replied, reaching for the skin with one hand as the other hand modestly pulled the blanket up to cover her.

Then he was gone to practice for the day, thinking about her story about her husband. His language instructor was able to teach him in the afternoon and was back in his quarters that evening. Kestrel didn’t see Belinda again until the following week.

After more days of further training, Kestrel was called to Cosima’s office, and when he arrived, Belinda was working at her desk. “Good morning,” she said demurely. “You’re to go on into the commander’s office.”

He gave a perfunctory knock, then opened the door and entered.

“Kestrel, today is the start of your first assignment away from Firheng,” Cosima said as soon as Kestrel was settled into a chair. “You and Arlen and Artur are going to ride horses to the edge of the Water Mountains. We’ve had reports of a yeti that is coming down out of the mountains and terrorizing the elves that are settled in the area.

“Check into the matter, then come back here and make a report,” he finished the explanation.

“Just check a Yeti? No human activity?” Kestrel asked in surprise.

“There may be some human interaction. You’ll be near the Estone border, but it’s not a heavily populated area, so you might or might not see humans; for that matter, you might or might not see elves. Just see how you handle traveling and using your weapons and language on the road, away from the comforts of Firheng,” Casimo told him. “Go pack anything you need, then report to the stables.”

An hour later the three soldiers were atop horses and riding away from the city; Kestrel had grabbed a change of clothes, his weapons, and one of the bags of healing water. “You’ll speak to me only in human languages, and translate our conversations to Arlen so he knows what we say,” Artur explained to Kestrel as they rode along the empty trail.

Although he knew that according to elven traditions he wasn’t supposed to, Kestrel enjoyed riding atop a horse. The trio made good time thanks to the horses, and the animals were intelligent companions. Within three days they were in rugged foothills, the outcroppings of the Water Mountains, and trying to decide how to find a yeti.

They found a cabin in a clearing, and stopped to watch for signs of life. There was no smoke rising from the chimney, and the doors were shut, but there were chickens running in the yard, and after several minutes of observation, they were rewarded when they saw a figure leave the cabin and walk across the yard to the shed.

“He’s a human,” Kestrel stated the obvious. “Are we too far north?”

“Maybe, or he may have settled a little south of usual. There’s no real border out here,” Artur commented.

“Alright Kestrel. You go approach the shed, talk to the man. Let him know you’ve heard there’s a yeti, and find out if he’s heard anything about it in this area. Then come back and tell us what you’ve heard,” Artur instructed.

Kestrel dismounted, and approached the shed, leading his horse. “Settler! Hello! I’m a visitor,” he called loudly.

A man’s head popped out of the shed, and he heard a noise as a bolt was thrown on the door to the cabin. The man had a bow and arrow already sighted on Kestrel. “Come no closer!” he called out.

“I’m not here to harm anyone!” Kestrel protested hastily. “I’m here with a couple of companions. We were sent out here to check on reports of a yeti in the area, bothering settlers. We’ll be on our way after we talk to you. Do you know of any yeti problems in this area?” he asked.

The man remained behind the shed door, and kept his bow pointed at Kestrel. “About ten miles north of here, across the river. They’ve talked about the yeti up there. Now if that’s all, I’ll ask you to peacefully leave us alone.”

Kestrel turned his horse and walked away, back to Arlen and Artur. “He says there’s talk of a yeti a few miles north of here,” Kestrel explained to both of them, in both languages. Translation skills came relatively easy for him now, and Artur was pleased with his progress.

They rode north until they reached a river. The faint trail they followed reached a bluff that looked out over the river, and they followed the trail as it followed the river bank, moving west towards the mountains. The trail descended to a spot that plausibly provided an opportunity to ford the river, and they rode their horses through the wide, rippling spot in the river. It was a larger stream than Kestrel had ever seen before, and neither Artur nor Arlen knew what river it was.

“Can’t we just run across?” Kestrel asked, referring to the elven ability to run atop water for short distances. Sprinting at their highest running speeds, and with their light frames, agile elves could cross over a hundred yards of water surface before they sank. It was an ability they delighted in, and was often a fiercely competitive sport to see who could reach furthest across a lake or pond before going under.

“We can. The horses can’t,” Arlen pointed out the obvious to the sheepish Kestrel, and so they forded slowly through the cold water that flowed from the mountains.

That night they settled into a camp spot, but made no fire. Kestrel was assigned first watch. Two hours into his shift he heard an unearthly scream, and the horses nickered uneasily. The scream came from some distance away, and Kestrel stood up, unsure of what to do. The scream seemed too far away to be in their immediate vicinity, yet it was close enough to hear.

He decided to awaken Arlen, the armsman who knew something about the yeti. Arlen had described the monsters to Kestrel during their ride. “The creatures are immensely tall, incredibly strong, cunning and deceitful, and full of hatred. You seldom manage to avoid a fight with one if it knows you’re around. They don’t like to let any challengers survive in their territory, and they each claim a very large territory,” the elf had told Kestrel, who had translated for Artur.

Arlen sat up in the darkness in response to Kestrel’s prod, but before Kestrel could even explain the reason for the untimely awakening, there was another scream, and then immediately a third scream, a different voice, one that sounded full of fear, not anger. “It sounds like you’ve found our yeti, Kestrel,” Arlen said softly. “And it sounds like he’s on the attack. Can you tell what direction the screams came from?”

“Yes, over there, away from the moonrise,” Kestrel pointed west.

“Awaken Artur, and get your weapons. We’ll see if we can do something tonight,” Arlen directed him as he rose from his bedroll.

Kestrel awoke the linguist, then gathered up his bow and arrows, his staff, and his sword, then went to wait by the horses.

“Come over here, Kestrel. We’re going to go on foot,” Arlen said, standing next to Artur, and holding a small lantern. “The horses won’t be able to travel quickly in the forest at night, and it’s not far anyway if we can hear the screams. We’ll use the lantern to try to find the path. I’ll take the lead, Artur will follow, and you bring up the rear. Let’s go,” he commanded as they started heading west, relying on the lantern to show them a narrow forest path that went in that direction.

Five minutes later there was another yeti scream, much closer now, as well as the sound of breaking timbers. They redoubled their pace for three more minutes, then stopped suddenly when a woman’s scream came from their left, very nearby. Kestrel looked and saw a light visible less than a hundred yards away, and Arlen started leading them through the brush and the forest, crashing through the undergrowth on a pathless charge towards the yeti’s apparent location.

Within a minute the trees abruptly halted on the edge of a small opening in the forest. A small shed was on fire on one side. Its blaze illuminated three things that stood out in Kestrel’s mind: a body lay still in the ground nearby, a cabin had suffered such a violent assault one wall had been virtually torn away, and a huge creature, a dark malevolent entity, was entering the cabin, threatening a woman who pitifully attempted to protect a pair of small children using only a stick.

Kestrel pulled his bow and strung an arrow, then released a shaft that hit the yeti in the back. He’d pulled his string taut, and the force of one of his shots, at such close range, should have been enough to deeply penetrate the flesh of any living creature. The yeti roared its displeasure and turned away from the small family, then plucked out the arrow that had barely penetrated its fur near its kidney, as it spotted the three elves on the edge of the clearing.

“Okay, you’ve made it mad. Now what do we do?” Artur asked.

“Yeti’s have the toughest hide I know of,” Arlen answered quickly. “They’re vulnerable in the groin, the eyes, the mouth, and not much anywhere else.

“Spread out. I’ll try to attract him towards me,” Arlen said as the yeti began to leave the cabin and approach them. “Kestrel, you try to put an arrow in him wherever you can. Artur,” he added as he started to go right, “see if you can go help that woman get her kids somewhere safe, out of that cabin, so they’re not trapped in there.”

Kestrel strung another arrow, and took aim at the yeti’s groin, then released the arrow and immediately pulled another arrow from his quiver, and let it fly too.

The yeti screamed in pain as the first shaft hit it. The arrow was close to the target, hitting the inside of the upper thigh, while the second arrow arrived a second later only to bounce off the monster’s hip. The yeti paused as it reached down and pulled the successful first arrow free from its flesh, screaming its outrage upon the removal. It looked up at Kestrel, and started limping towards him.

The monster demonstrated that despite its injury it could cover ground quickly. Kestrel had time for only one more arrow shot he realized, and he strung a new shaft, took aim at the open mouth that was screaming furiously, and let the arrow go.

Just as he released the shot, Arlen jumped at the beast, cracking his staff against its head, trying to distract it from Kestrel. The yeti’s head jerked in response to the strike, and Kestrel’s arrow feebly scratched its cheek before dropping to the ground.

Arlen backed up quickly, as the yeti turned towards him, but in the process he somehow tangled his feet, and fell backwards. The yeti kicked at the fallen elf, punting him several yards away, but was diverted from further attack when Artur threw a rock that hit the back of the monster’s head.

It turned and ran towards Artur, but stopped when Kestrel fired another shot that penetrated its cheek. Confused by the multiple sources of attacks, enraged, and in pain, the yeti abruptly changed direction to run at Kestrel, who panicked and climbed a tree to escape the charge, rising above the monster that stood at the base of the trunk, In response, the yeti grabbed the trunk of the tree and began to shake it wildly, causing Kestrel to hang on fearfully, sure that he was going to be dislodged.

Arlen arose from his prone position on the ground, and flicked two knives simultaneously at the yeti. One bounced off the monster’s back, while the other weakly penetrated the skin of its buttocks, doing no great harm, but causing pain that distracted the creature from its pursuit of Kestrel, and motivated it to lumber back towards Arlen once again.

Kestrel jumped down from his tree haven, dropped his bow and pulled his sword free, running to help Arlen, but not as quickly as Artur did, who emerged from the darkness with his staff, and thrust it between the running monster’s legs, tripping it up and causing it to fall.

The force of the yeti’s fall snapped Artur’s staff as easily as if it were a toothpick, and when the monster rose again, the linguist was defenseless as it pounced upon him with a blow to the chest that made him crumple to the ground with a pitiful moan.

Arlen jumped on the monster’s back at that moment, and Kestrel reached it as well. The yeti screamed triumphantly at the defeat of one of its feisty opponents, and reached back over its shoulders to rip the second one away, when Kestrel placed both hands on the hilt of his sword and ran at the creature, thrusting his blade deeply into its groin. The yeti gave a scream, and swung its arms forward, backhanding Kestrel with a powerful blow as it tried to reach the weapon that had dealt it a mortal wound.

Kestrel flew several feet through the air and hit the ground hard. His head flew back and hit a stone, stunning him for seconds, as the flames from the shed fire luridly lit the scene, and the yeti screamed in agony. Kestrel finally looked up to see the monster down on its knees, then he watched as it fell on its side and moaned with decreasing volume. Arlen was off the monster’s back, kneeling over Artur, and Kestrel braced himself to rise and walk over to his companions.

“Get your blade out of the yeti and go check on the family,” Arlen said as Kestrel approached him.

“How’s Artur?” Kestrel asked.

“He’s gone on to the next realm,” Arlen answered, keeping his head down as he held his dead companion’s hand.

Kestrel walked over to the nearly dead yeti, which moaned periodically while his limbs quivered randomly. Cautiously, Kestrel stepped in and placed both hands on the handle of the sword, then pulled the blade, giving a mighty heave to draw it free of the monster’s body. He skipped back a step as the yeti’s arms flailed weakly, then looked up, away from the immediate scene and took in the rest of the vicinity.

The woman was kneeling over the inert figure on the ground near the burning shed, and the two children were clinging to her skirts. He walked over to her, feeling pain in several spots on his body, and light-headed from the contact with the stony ground. He reached the small family tableau and dropped his sword, then crouched down by the woman. Her hands were holding the hands of the man on the ground, and one look at the gaping rip in his torso showed Kestrel that the man had died.

The woman looked up, her face tear-streaked, and she said something to Kestrel, something he couldn’t translate. “Say that again, and speak slowly. I didn’t understand you,” Kestrel told the woman.

He was studying her features, the first human woman he had seen.

“He’s dead, my Youkal is dead, and we would be too if you hadn’t saved us,” the woman said between sobbing gulps. “Thank you.”

Kestrel saw the pain and shock in her eyes, and he saw the tiny figures that shrunk away from him, trying to hide themselves in the folds of the skirt they clung to.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Kestrel replied. “Is anyone else hurt?”

“No, there are just the three of us,” the woman answered, her words and accent growing more intelligible to Kestrel as he listened. “What’s happening over there?” she nodded with her head to the mounds in the darkness at the edge of the fire’s illumination, the lumps that were the dying yeti and the grieving Arlen sitting over Artur’s body.

“The yeti is dying, and one of my partners is dead,” Kestrel replied. He looked down again. “Why don’t you take the little ones back to the cabin? We’ll help start preparing a burial plot for your man,” he suggested.

The woman obediently rose, and ushered her children away from their father’s body.

“Do you have a shovel?” Kestrel asked as they walked away.

“In here,” the woman replied as she entered the broken cabin. Kestrel trotted over, as the woman picked up the shovel from the spot where she had dropped it. She had been using it as a weapon, Kestrel realized. He took the implement from her, looking at her face in the firelight.

Her face was more angular than an elven maiden’s face, he realized. The lower part was more prominent, and her cheekbones were more pronounced. She reacted to his scrutiny by unconsciously sweeping her hair behind her ear, and he stared at her ear, her human ear, for a long second, before he broke from his immobility and turned away with the shovel in his hand.

He walked back to where Arlen was standing, still looking down at Artur.

“What’s the shovel for?” he asked.

“I told her we’d bury her husband,” Kestrel replied.

“That’s good. Go get a bucket first,” Arlen told him.

“Why?” Kestrel asked, surprised by the request.

“We need to save the yeti blood. The healers in Estone think that yeti blood gives strength and virility to people who drink it. The woman is going to need some money to recover from this,” Arlen said, looking up from Artur at last. “We can collect some of the blood, and cut off the head and,” he paused, “other things. She’ll be able to take them to Estone and make a good amount of money.”

Kestrel dropped the shovel and obediently walked back to the cabin. The fire in the shack was dying down, and the scene was growing darker around the farmstead, but the woman had a lantern lit inside the cabin, where she sat on the side of a bed and softly stroked the hair of the two little children who were snuggled together under a cover.

“Do you have a bucket?” Kestrel asked as she watched him approach.

“We have two, but they’re both in the shed where we kept the cow. They were our milk pails,” she finished her sentence and began to cry, pressing the back of her hand against her face to hide her emotion.

“I’ll try to get them, you just stay here and watch the wee ones,” Kestrel said sofly.

He walked out to the remains of the shed, hot embers all around the burnt carcass of the cow that had died there, and he spotted the pails. He got a long tree branch from the forest, and fished the pails out of the ruins, then carried them over to where Arlen waited.

“We’ll need a rope to do this,” Arlen said. “I’ll go back to the campsite and get our horses. We’ve got rope there, and we’ll need the horses anyway. You stay here and honor Artur,” he commanded Kestrel, then turned and was gone.

Kestrel gave a sigh, in physical pain and in shock from the events of the battle, then sat cross-legged beside Artur, and began to recite the good things that he remembered about his instructor, and called upon the gods to hurry his soul to the other realm. “Give him peace, Kere, and let all of us here who remain also accept his loss with peace,” he finished up his devotions just as Arlen returned.

“He was a good man. His wife will be heart-broken when we return,” Arlen said as he led the horses into the clearing.

“Here, tie this rope around the yeti’s feet,” Arlen told Kestrel who stood up.

“Wait just a moment,” Kestrel replied, as he went to his horse and pulled a water skin off. It was one of the skins from the healing spring, and he knew there was never a time when its effects would be more welcome.

“Here, take a drink of this,” Kestrel instructed Arlen, shoving the uncorked skin at him.

“What is it?” Arlen asked as he held the skin.

“It’s water from a special spring. It will help heal any wounds you may have gotten,” he explained.

Arlen held the skin upward and took a drink then handed it back to Kestrel. “I’m going to give some to the family. I’ll be right back,” Kestrel said, and crossed the yard again.

“Here, this water is from a healing spring. Take a drink,” Kestrel urged the woman.

She obediently raised the skin and took a drink. “It tastes refreshing,” she commented.

“Do the children need any?” Kestrel asked.

“No, they weren’t hurt. Their bodies weren’t,” she replied softly.

Kestrel held the skin up high and took a long drink for himself, a draught that left the skin half empty. He hoped it would help soothe the headache that pounded in the back of his skull, and take away the pain in his ribs that increased with every deep breath.

Without further word he returned to where Arlen already had the rope tied around the yeti’s feet. “Throw the other end of the rope over that tree branch,” Arlen directed. He had his small lantern open to provide feeble light that helped the stars and the crescent moon illuminate their actions, now that the shed fire was nearly gone.

Kestrel threw the rope, then tied it to the saddle of his horse as Arlen directed, and they raised the dead yeti four feet off the ground, its fingers nearly touching the dirt below. Kestrel was horrified by the butchery that followed, but obeyed every command he was given. He felt disrespectful; the yeti had only been a monster, but it was too elf-like, with two arms and two legs, not to find the process of harvesting its parts distasteful.

They finished their work around sunrise, and in the red morning glow, Kestrel liked the looks of his work even less. He had found additional buckets, and they had gallons of blood, the hairy head, and numerous body parts stacked in a pile.

“I’m going to take Artur back to Firheng,” Arlen announced as Kestrel began to lower the yeti.

“I want you to stay here. you need to bury the human and the yeti, then I want you to take the woman and her children to Estone. Find a human trader named Castona there, and tell him what you have, and that you want to sell it all into the market to give the widow money to live on,” Arlen explained as Kestrel listened in astonishment.

“You can tell Castona you were with me and Artur, but don’t tell him you’re really an elf; you have to keep that secret, you understand?” Arlen said intensely.

“You’re going to leave me alone to do these things without any help?” Kestrel asked in fear.

“Yes,” Arlen said. “I want Artur to be treated to the ceremony of our own people, so I need to hurry his body home. And I know you’ll do fine — you’ve killed a yeti, you’ve given us all some secret healing potion that works, and you and the widow will make a good team on this journey,” he said.

“When all that is done, come back to Firheng, and Cosima will have some new assignment for you, I’m sure,” Arlen told him as the two of them hoisted Artur’s body onto his horse, and Arlen strapped it in place.

“That woman may only be human, but she needs someone right now, and you’re the only someone available,” Arlen added as he climbed onto his own horse. “She’s just lost her husband and her home. Isolated like this, he was probably her only friend; be good to her.”

The sun was fully risen, and Kestrel could see the haggard sense of loss in Arlen’s face. The armsman had lost a close friend himself, and had missed a night’s sleep.

Arlen held his hand down, and Kestrel clasped it. “I’ll see you in Firheng,” he said insistently.

“Yes,” Kestrel pledged.

“Don’t have any second thoughts; don’t be tempted to stay among the humans and live with them, just because you look like one now,” Arlen continued to hold firmly to Kestrel’s hand as he spoke, seeming to read some of the musings in the back of Kestrel’s mind. “You must come back. We need you.” He released his grip and sat up, gave Kestrel a sad smile, then turned the horses and began to walk away, back into the forest.

Kestrel stood and watched as the two horses stepped into the shadows of the trees, then grew faint and disappeared. He was suddenly alone in the human world.

“Mister,” the woman’s voice called behind him, and Kestrel turned to see the woman outside the cabin, walking towards him, the children standing uncertainly at the edge of the ruined wall.

Kestrel began to walk towards her, and met her in the middle of the yard.

“Are your friends leaving?” she asked.

He sighed heavily. “They are,” he confirmed.

“Were they,” she paused. “Are they elves? They kind of looked like it from the cabin.”

Kestrel paused, as he struggled to adjust his point of view. He was now officially seeking to pass as a human, and he had to adopt that perspective. He was now officially thinking as a spy.

“They are elves. One of them died fighting the yeti, and the other one will take his body back to their land for their ceremonies for the dead,” Kestrel explained.

“I’m going to stay here for a bit to help you. By the way, don’t let you children come out of the cabin yet,” he instructed. “I haven’t buried your husband, and I want to get the yeti carcass buried too. They don’t need to see a sight like that,” he explained.

“I’ll explain more later,” he told her. “You go on back to the cabin and feed your kids some breakfast, okay?”

“I will,” she agreed. “First, tell me your name.”

“Kestrel. My name is Kestrel,” he repeated.

“My name is Merilla, and I am in your debt for all that you’ve done,” she told him. They exchanged a momentary frank stare, then she left to return to the cabin.

“Where do you want your husband buried?” Kestrel asked as she walked away.

“Beneath that elm tree,” she pointed at a prominent patriarch of the forest that was growing on the western edge of the clearing. “He loved to sit under that tree and sing songs to us.”

Kestrel nodded, then grabbed the shovel and began to dig in the soft soil beneath the tree. He spent three hours excavating the shallow grave, then returned to the cabin.

“Do you have a blanket we can wrap your husband in?” he asked Merilla.

“Yes,” she answered, looking haggard and drawn, before she went to the back of the cabin and brought out a bright, colorful quilt. “This was our wedding night cover,” she explained as she accompanied Kestrel to her husband’s body. Together they lifted the body into the blanket, then trudged across the yard to the grave site, and lowered the body into the bottom of the grave.

“Do you mind waiting a moment?” Merilla asked as Kestrel prepared to cover the body. “I want the children to say good bye.” She reached down and folded back a corner of the blanket to reveal the dead man’s face, then ran to the cabin and brought the two small children, both boys, Kestrel thought, over to see their father’s face for the last time.

Merilla let the boys clamber down into the grave to kiss the cold gray face farewell, then she kissed him as well, and folded the blanket back to cover him once again. Kestrel allowed the boys to throw the first fistfuls of dirt atop the blanket, then he told Merilla to take them away while he finished the chore.

When he was done he leaned against the shovel handle, exhausted. He heard a noise, and turned to see Merilla and her boys bringing out a wooden pitcher and a covered platter. “You’ve been up all night and worked all morning,” she told him. “Rest your bones and have a bite to eat.”

“Thank you,” he replied gratefully. “I will as soon as I tend to my horse. He’s had a long night too, he gestured over to where the horse stood near the yeti carcass. “I’ll feed and water my horse, then eat a bite, then bury that thing. That may be about all I’ll get accomplished for you today.”

By late afternoon he had carried out his plan of work, allowing him to walk his horse up to the cabin and tie it in place.

“You look exhausted,” Merilla said. “I can’t thank you enough for saving our lives and all your help.”

She paused. “There’s a spring in the woods behind the cabin, if you feel you want to go clean yourself up. You can use Youkal’s towel if you want.”

Kestrel looked down his front, where dirt and yeti blood were liberally smeared. “I’ll get a change of clothes if you would fetch the towel,” he offered, looking up.

She nodded in agreement, and he turned to dig through his saddle bag and pull out cleaner clothes, while she rummaged in the cabin and returned with a towel.

Kestrel strolled back along the path in the trees and found the spring, its cold waters bracingly refreshing. He scrubbed himself, and soaked his clothes, achieving some success in scrubbing them cleaner, then dried and returned to the cabin.

Merilla was sitting on a tree stump gazing with empty eyes across the yard as her boys ran about in a mindless game of chase. Kestrel went to his horse to take him out in search of fodder while the sun still lit the forest, as the two little boys came running over to see the animal.

“There’s a pasture down by the brook, that way,” Merilla seemed to anticipate his need as she suddenly stood and pointed, still looking lost.

“I’ll take the boys with me if you’d like some time alone,” he offered gently.

“We’ll all go with you,” she answered, and so the four of them and the horse walked the short distance to where the steed could graze contentedly while Kestrel and Merilla sat on a log and the boys chased after crickets, while Kestrel looked on with mild longing.

“Arlen told me that all the things we saved from the yeti will fetch good money at the market in Estone,” Kestrel spoke at last, after several minutes of silence.

Merilla nodded silently.

“Our plan is to take you and your family back to Estone and sell everything we can. Arlen thinks it will give you a good amount of money you can use to support your family,” he continued.

She turned her head to look at him, still silent.

“So maybe tomorrow we can pack up the things you want to take with you, and then start the trip the day after that. What do you think?” he asked, unnerved by her lack of comment.

“Youkal will be lonely if we leave here. He was the one who wanted to live out here. He built everything. He cleared the trees, made the cabin, put up the shack,” she droned tonelessly. “I don’t think I can just leave him.”

“You can’t stay here,” Kestrel told her gently. “Your cabin is missing a wall, your cow is dead, and I’ll be leaving pretty soon. I don’t want to leave you alone out in the forest.

“Come with me to Estone and we can set you up for a new beginning with your boys. Merilla, you have to see this,” he told her.

She blinked her eyes, as the boys came running up to her to show the crickets they had caught.

“We’ll talk tomorrow. Let’s go back home, and I’ll cook some dinner for us all. After all the work you’ve done today, you deserve a hot meal,” Merilla told him as she stood. They walked silently back to the broken cabin, each boy holding one of her hands as Kestrel led his horse. They ate potatoes and cheese for dinner, then Merilla arranged a place for Kestrel to sleep on the floor in the front of the cabin, while she and her children went to their bed in the back of the structure, and they all fell asleep.

Kestrel dreamed of Merilla that night. She came to him in the middle of the night, her human figure enticing in its voluptuous curves, and he let her seduce him, until she suddenly pulled a knife from her hair and plunged it down into his chest. He awoke from the nightmare with a start, and sat straight up, then looked around the peaceful scene. Merilla and her children were silent, and the crescent moon was straight overhead. Nothing was moving or threatening, and he slowly lowered himself back down into his covers, and waited for his racing heart to return to a calmer beat.

When he fell asleep again he slept soundly and dreamlessly throughout the rest of the evening, and didn’t awaken again until well past dawn.

“Do you feel better?” Merilla asked him when he sat up in the sunshine that streamed in through the open cabin wall. “You looked exhausted last night, as you should after all you did.

“I sent the boys to play down in the meadow so they wouldn’t make noise here and wake you,” she continued. “I was just down there with them and got back a minute ago, to see if you’d like some breakfast.”

“Is it safe to leave them alone like that?” Kestrel asked.

“I told them to stay away from the water, and other than that they’ll be safe,” she spoke assuredly. “When you’ve had a yeti in the region for a few weeks there aren’t any wolves or bears or even lynx left around to bother about.”

Kestrel excused himself to go in the woods for a minute, and when he returned, Merilla had a bowl of oatmeal waiting for him, with some brown sugar on top. “It’s the best I can give you, I’m sorry,” she told him as she handed the bowl to him. “With the cow dead there’s no milk, and the yeti got the sow we kept in the woods, and all her litter too, when he first came down out of the mountains, so there wasn’t going to be any bacon this season any way.”

“Thank you,” Kestrel said, eating the bland food without enthusiasm, wanting to show appreciation for her effort.

She sat and watched him eat, then took the bowl wordlessly when he finished scooping out the last spoonful and handed it back to her.

“What are your thoughts about leaving today?” Kestrel asked. “I’d like to find some way to prepare the yeti goods for transportation. If you want to pick out the things you want to take with you, we’ve got the horse to carry a fair amount of goods.”

She sat silently looking around the cabin. “Kestrel, I’m not going to leave this place,” she said at last, as he sat with her and fidgeted nervously.

He looked at her in astonishment. “I’m not going to leave. Youkal is still fresh in his grave; I can’t just leave him here all alone to watch his dream fall apart. Once we leave, this homestead will crumble away, and it and my boys are the only thing on earth I have to remind me of what a good man he was.”

“He took me from my home in the middle of the night when I was fifteen years old,” she said softly, looking down into her lap. “We fell in love and my parents didn’t approve, so he came and stole me away and we got married the next day.

“Youkal brought me and a cow out here into the wildness and he built all this. We’ve started our family, and this is all we ever wanted. Why would I want to leave him alone now?” she looked up and challenged Kestrel with her stare.

“I don’t know,” he said softly.

“Have you ever lost someone you loved?” Merilla asked him. “It’s so hard to imagine that he’s not going to laugh at my next joke, or pinch me when I’m not expecting, or take one of the boys up in his arms and make then laugh.”

She needed time to accept the tragedy that had befallen her, he understood. He realized he could grant her some time; he was under no strict deadline. “I’ll stay a few days to help around here, if you want me to,” he said. “Maybe in a couple of days Youkal’s spirit will be satisfied, and ready for you to go,” he suggested.

She looked back at him, and nodded her head, although he saw doubt in her eyes. “You’re being a good man to try to help, and I’m being stupid not to leave,” she dabbed at her eyes, and tears started to fall. She raised her apron to her face, sobbing, as Kestrel sat quietly, uncomfortably beside her, unsure of what to do.

A minute later she lowered the apron from her face, her eyes and nose red. “Let’s stay here a couple of days and I’ll give you an answer. Can we?”

“Of course,” Kestrel replied, relieved that she hadn’t refused to consider leaving. He stood up, still feeling uneasy about the woman’s open display of grief, for which he could offer no comfort. “I’ll go tend to my horse,” he said awkwardly. “Is there anything you’d like for me to do today around here?”

“I’ll go get the boys,” she also stood. “I don’t have anything in mind. If I think of something I’ll let you know,” she answered, and they went their separate ways.

Kestrel brushed his horse, then mounted it and rode into the woods. He ate a few crickets, always a favorite snack of elves, to satisfy the hunger that Merilla’s oatmeal had not addressed, then strung his bow and shot a brace of squirrels to take back to the cabin and offer for the next meal. He returned before noon, and found Merilla sitting on a chair in the sunshine, watching the boys play in the yard.

She was delighted to see him return, and took the squirrels enthusiastically; he wondered if she had doubted his return. Kestrel gave the boys turns riding on his horse, going gently around the yard to their unending delight, then he led the horse and the boys down to the pasture so that his mount could graze, while Merilla had time to herself in the cabin all afternoon.

They ate a delicious pie with squirrel and potato filling that night for dinner, and after the boys went to bed, Merilla came out to talk to Kestrel under the stars in the yard.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“I’m here to wait for you,” he answered.

“No, why were you and your friends out here in the wilderness? This is not on any road or any route from one place to another. We never see strangers around here,” she said.

“We were here to check on the yeti,” Kestrel told her. “And we found it.”

“You came looking for the yeti?” she asked in astonishment. “What sane person does such a thing?”

“We were told there was a yeti that had come down from the Water Mountains and was terrorizing settlers in this area. We were told to come check on the reports. It was a test as part of my training. We just happened to come to the right place to find it and fight it right away,” Kestrel explained.

“If hunting a yeti is training, I’d hate to imagine what the full job must be,” Merilla exclaimed. “Who are you? Are you some part of the army?”

“I can’t tell you, Merilla,” he answered, knowing that they had stumbled close to the secrets he had to keep. “And it doesn’t matter now. I’m just Kestrel, and I’m here to take care of you.”

She stood up. “I’ll go to bed now,” she said abruptly. “Good night Kestrel,” she added, then walked into the cabin and turned down the lantern, leaving only the faint starlight to illuminate the yard.

Kestrel crawled into his covers, remorseful for having offended the woman with his secrets, but knowing he had no choice. “Goddess, let her find peace, and let her choose to leave this place,” he prayed to Kai, seeking the human goddess for the first time since the rain storm.

“I will watch over her as one of my own, young one, just as I watch over you,” he perceived a reply from the goddess, and then he fell asleep.

Kestrel awoke soon after sunrise the next morning, and quietly went to check on his horse. A movement on the far side of the yard surprised him, and he turned to see Merilla kneeling on the ground beside her husband’s grave. She saw him and stood, then dusted the grass and dirt off her nightgown, and came stalking across the yard to stand directly in front of him.

“I dreamed that the goddess spoke to me last night, and said that Youkal wants me to go with you,” she said hesitatingly. “I know that it is the right thing to do; I’ve known that since you first said it, I just couldn’t speak it aloud. If you can wait until tomorrow, I’ll pick and pack today, and tell the boys that we’re going to go on a journey. Is that acceptable?” She pulled her nightgown tightly around her, her arms crossed on her chest as her hands clutched the material.

“Tomorrow will be fine for departing. I’ll do anything you want me to do to help you today,” he answered.

She dropped her arms to her sides. “Would you hold me, just this once? I want to feel a man’s arms protect me here one more time.” She looked up at him, and he saw that tears were flowing once again.

He held his arms wide, and felt the curves of her human body press against him as he enveloped her in a hug. He thought of Lucretia, the girl he had wanted to know, who had died in battle against humans, and he thought of Cheryl, whose father had also died in the same battle. He should hate this woman, a member of the race that was attacking his homeland, the race that he was supposed to infiltrate and undermine. Yet after the short time he had spent here with her, he felt only sympathy for her, with her life being torn apart.

“Thank you,” Merilla said, speaking into his chest. “You feel so good right now. I wish it was all a dream. I wish I could look up and see Youkal looking down at me with his crooked grin. Oh Kestrel, how will I ever be able to live again?” she sobbed.

“You’ll live one day at a time, and you’ll live to remember Youkal and to raise your boys every day as best you can, to be as good as their father was,” he replied, not sure where the words came from, but sensing they were right.

She raised her head up to look at him. “I will; I’ll raise the boys to be as good as Youkal was,” she agreed, then pressed herself away from him, and hurried back to the house.

That day she sorted through her belongings, and made a large pile of the items she wanted to take with her, then sorted again and shrank the size of the pile. Kestrel gently told her it was still too much to take, and they argued about the need to carry the yeti remnants, which were growing pungent in their odor, but Kestrel insisted that the yeti had to go with them, and her pile had to grow smaller. That night, after she prepared a simple dinner, the last one she would cook in her ruined cabin, she stood by the final selection of items she would take back to Estone.

“We used to always watch the sun set above that mountain,” she pointed to a tall, singular mountain with a very steep and pointed peak. “Youkal said that it pointed up to heaven, but that we had a little bit of heaven right here,” she told Kestrel with a sigh, but without breaking into melancholy tears. She put her boys to bed, then came back out and sat in the darkening yard with Kestrel.

“Do you believe we’ll make this journey without troubles?” she asked.

“I’m sure we will,” Kestrel assured her. “With the horse to carry things, we’ll only need seven or eight days to reach Estone,” he guessed.

“How were the roads on the way here? Did you have any troubles?” Merilla asked him.

“We came a roundabout way, through the forest mostly, but everything was fine,” Kestrel assured her, worried about being pinned down in facts he didn’t know. “I’m going to go say good night to the horse,” he stood up to end the awkward conversation. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he told her, then walked away.

The next morning they spent several hours loading and rearranging their goods on Kestrel’s horse, and on their own backs, then stood motionlessly in the yard for five minutes as Merilla looked at the remains of her lost life.

“I’m ready,” she said finally, her head down, and they began to trek eastward. They passed no other habitations that day, and camped atop a small hill that night. Kestrel did not think he and Merilla could maintain watch all through the night with just the two of themselves, so he set no watch, and they all awoke refreshed the next morning. At noon they came to a large river, a different location on the same river Kestrel had crossed before, he suspected, with Arlen and Artur. Their trail was atop a bluff, and so they followed the trail along the south bank of the river until early evening.

He shot several squirrels easily, and they roasted the meat on small sticks held above their fire that night. Kestrel unpacked his horse, and set the yeti remains at some distance from the camp that night to protect them all from the unpleasant smell the rotting flesh emitted.

The next day their trail descended down to a wide sweeping turn in the river, an obvious spot to ford through the current. The little boys had taken turns variously walking and running with them, riding on the horse, and riding on Kestrel’s back up to that point in the journey, so Kestrel piled them both atop the horse, Merilla pulled her skirts up high and tied them around her waist, and they began to cross the flowing water.

Despite its width and shallowness, the water travelled in a surprisingly strong current, and Kestrel held Merilla’s hand with one of his, while he led his horse with the other hand, allowing them to forge through the water together, taking small steps to keep their balance, and letting the strength of the horse help lead them across, though Kestrel could see the current was pressing them towards the downstream end of the ford.

There was a sudden muffled cry from atop the horse where the two boys were tussling, and then a splash on the downstream side of the animal. Kestrel maneuvered around the front of his steed, and saw one of Merilla’s boys floating rapidly away, carried by the river’s current out of the ford and around the bend of the stream.

“Kestrel! It’s Jacob! Please get him! Save my baby!” Merilla screamed.

“We’ve got to get the horse to the other side, and then I’ll go after him,” Kestrel answered, urgently pulling Merilla and his horse towards their destination on the far side of the river. He led them into the stony shallows on the far side, watching downstream as the boy rapidly floated around the bend in the river below them.

“Take the horse up onto the beach and wait for me!” he shouted, then he ran up onto the bank of the river and began to race downstream, trying to catch up to Jacob. Once he was out of sight of Merilla he intended to enter the river bed and run across the water, in the elven way, to pounce on the boy and carry him to safety.

Around the bend though, there turned out to be rapids, and as Kestrel caught sight of the small body, he saw it bounce off one rock, then strike another ferociously, and continue to float rapidly down the stream. The elf leaped down to the surface of the stream and began to sprint, running atop the water and jumping across the tops of boulders as he raced to reach Jacob.

He caught up with the boy just before he struck another stone, reaching down into the water and snagging him with a motion that flung the heavy wet body up into the air, and then into Kestrel’s two-armed grasp. Kestrel hugged his load tightly as he continued across the stream and reversed direction, heading back upstream, still atop the foaming waters as he angled towards the far shore.

The river bank on the far side was steeper than he expected, causing him to remain atop the water, sprinting desperately with all his might to maintain his speed so that he would not sink below the surface. Kestrel was one of the least effective water-runners because of his human heritage, and his heavier body structure, but he ignored the growing, burning pain in his thighs and focused on pushing his speed to his utmost limit in order to reach a sandy beach he saw not far ahead.

Three steps away from the beach his speed diminished enough that his feet began to sink, but he only splashed thigh deep before he reached his goal and stopped, head down, gasping for air as he held the baby boy against him. After several seconds he looked at the boy, and grew frightened. The boy’s face was very pale, he was unconscious, and there was blood pouring freely from a serious scalp wound.

Kestrel looked up, and saw that Merilla, the horse, and her other son were not far away, across the river at the nearby ford. He had come farther than he realized atop the water, and had nearly run them all the way back to their beginning point. There might have to be some explaining to do, but that would wait. Looking ahead he saw that the river had a shallow shelf along the shore, and he started to run along that shelf until he reached the ford, then began to cross, aiming up river in order to counter the current that was flowing across his path, trying to sweep him back down towards the rocks.

“He’s hurt!” Kestrel shouted as he approached the anxious mother. “Get my skin of healing water!”

She stood motionless, staring at him with her mouth hanging open.

“Merilla! Get the water!!” he shouted, just before he arrived.

He placed the boy on the ground, as Merilla came to life, and they met at the horse, as she gazed at him in astonishment. “Your son — tend to him,” he snapped hastily, and she turned away from him as he began to paw among the items on the back of the horse, looking for the half full skin that held the healing water.

Moments later he found the skin and ripped it off the horse’s back, still panting in exhaustion from his own efforts. He turned and crouched next to Jacob, where Merilla knelt, holding the boy’s hands and praying for miraculous intercession to Kai.

“Amen, Kai. If this doesn’t help him we hope you will,” Kestrel muttered as he began to pour the water on Jacob’s wound, then combed the moisture back into the boy’s already wet hair. He gently placed the skin’s spout against Jacob’s lips and let a tiny trickle flow into his mouth. After a moment the child reflexively swallowed, and Kestrel released a second trickle.

“Do you have dry clothes the boy could wear?” Kestrel asked.

Merilla’s whispered prayers stopped, and she opened he eyes to look at Kestrel. “Yes,” she answered after a moment’s hesitation, “Of course.” She looked at Kestrel from the corner of her eye, then stood and returned to the horse, where her other son was pleading to be carried down.

“No, stop it,” she snapped at the boy sternly as she tried to find the dry clothes for his brother, then returned to Jacob with her findings, and began to make him comfortable in his dry things.

“What do we do now?” she asked. “Oh Kestrel, I should know what to do. I can’t think straight — with Jacob falling and you running on water and his injuries, I’m just so confused,” she sighed deeply.

“Let’s get Marco down, and then tie Jacob up on top of Rosey’s back,” he referred to the horse. “Then we’ll just have to wait and see how quickly he heals,” he tried to sound optimistic.

“Is he going to heal?” she asked, stroking the damp hair back from the nasty-looking wound.

Kestrel poured another small dose of the healing water onto the wound, then tipped a few more drops into the boy’s mouth. “The water helped me recover from the yeti attack,” he answered obliquely. “I think it will help him heal, but I just can’t be positive. You ought to keep praying to Kai,” he advised.

He helped Marco down, then lifted Jacob’s limp body atop the horse, and used a strap across the boy’s waist to keep him stable. He lifted Marco onto his own shoulders, and looked at Merilla. “Are you ready to go?” he asked.

“Kestrel, I saw you running on top of the water, the way they say elves do,” she answered.

“Let’s at least start walking while we talk,” Kestrel suggested, and they both began to climb up away from the ford and followed the trail away from the river.

“It may have looked like I was on the water, but there was a shelf along the river bank, and I used that,” he explained, conscious of how closely he was evading the truth. “Look at me; do I look like an elf to you?” he asked rhetorically.

“Not really,” she agreed. “I’d never say so unless someone suggested it.

“Kestrel,” she looked directly at him as she started to say something more, and he gazed steadily back.

“Merilla, please don’t ask me anything more about this,” he said. “It’s better that we just not say anything else, to each other or anyone else. I will take you safely to Estone, and I will treat you well along the way. Isn’t that enough?” he asked, hopefully. He did not want to experience an erosion of trust with this human woman. He didn’t even think of her as a human any longer — just a person, one who he was responsible for tending and protecting, and who was a good person in a bad situation.

She saw the pleading look in his eyes, and glanced down, then looked back up at him. “Youkal would approve of everything you have done for us since the moment you arrived and killed the yeti. I trust you Kestrel; I won’t say anything further about this until you’re ready to tell me.” She turned and looked forward, then began to increase her stride, and Kestrel knew that the dangerous moment had passed.

They walked on until nightfall, then camped, and checked on Jacob’s condition as the fire died down. He was resting on the ground, unconscious, but apparently no worse than he had been earlier.

Kestrel woke first in the morning, and stooped to check on Jacob in the early sunrise’s red rays. His complexion seemed better and the cut appeared to have visibly healed; Kestrel got more of the healing water and dribbled some on the boy’s scalp, which he gently rubbed into the wound area, then dripped it slowly between the boy’s parted lips, until he heard a rustling behind him and turned to see Merilla sitting up observing the tableau.

Kestrel put the water skin away as Merilla rose to look at the boy as well, then he returned to stoop over her shoulder and look at him. “I think he looks better this morning,” Kestrel commented.

“I do too,” she agreed.

“I think we could just spend the day here, so that he could have a calm day to lie still and heal,” Kestrel suggested.

She turned to look at him, and Kestrel saw some of the trust in her eyes that he had seen before the incident. “Thank you, I’d appreciate that,” she told him.

“And thank you for saving him yesterday. When I saw him floating away down the river, I thought for just a second that I’d never see him again, that I was going to end up losing my whole family,” Merilla added. “I know that no other man could have saved him.”

Her words were meant to be generous, but ended awkwardly, and they both felt it immediately.

“If we’re going to stay here, I’d better do a couple of things,” Kestrel said, rising. He walked back to the horse and took his time unloading the animal of all its cargo, then took the yeti parts from their rancid bag, and set them out to dry in the sunshine. “I’m going to go hunting,” he told Merilla as he held up his bow and quiver soon thereafter, and he left the campsite in search of game.

He took his time in the forest, and after he finally shot a small deer, he gutted it in the woods, then dragged the carcass back to the campsite, where Merilla and Marco were playing. Kestrel re-dosed Jacob with more of the water, noting that his water skin was growing much lighter, then began to butcher the meat. He started a fire, and by midafternoon had several steaks on spits leaning above a bed of coals, roasting aromatically.

“How long do you think our journey will be?” Merilla came over to ask him as he sat and stared at the fire, thinking about Lucretia once again.

“I think it will take seven or eight more days,” he estimated, thinking of the maps and lessons he had studied during his time with Artur in Firheng.

“I shouldn’t say this, I know, after yesterday,” Merilla began, “but your ears look a little different today, I think. Maybe it’s my imagination.”

Kestrel looked at her with a blank stare, as he tried to imagine what might be happening. After several seconds, he finally responded. “Merilla, do you have a mirror packed away that I could use?” he asked, fearing the worst.

Without comment, she walked over to the pile of goods Kestrel had unloaded from the horse, and pulled a small velvet bag out. As she walked towards Kestrel she opened it and pulled out a shiny circle about as large as Kestrel’s palm, which she handed to him. He took the mirror and looked in it as he angled it to show his ears, and then his eyebrows. Without question, both features were returning to his natural state; his elven features were re-emerging, months earlier than Alicia had told him to expect them to. The changes were still subtle, but Kestrel knew what they were heading towards.

He sat back on his haunches, and dropped his head, as he handed the mirror back to Merilla. He had touched the healing water, and it was starting to work on him, he realized. He thought about the water he had used after fighting the yeti, and then the past two days when he had touched the water while applying it to Jacob. The water had worked on him, and had accelerated the healing of the surgical changes Alicia had made — changes that were expected to last for many months were coming undone in a matter of days because of the restorative powers of the water.

And he didn’t know if he was glad or unhappy. He hadn’t wanted the surgery; he had truly come close to harming Alicia in his anger and frustration over the changes she had made. Now her work was about to be undone, and he could return to his normal life as an elven guard. He should be pleased, he knew, by this fortuitous opportunity to retire from the spying business before he had even entered it. Yet he had already spent a great deal of time in his human guise, and grown accustomed to it. In these days with Merilla he had virtually thought of himself as a part of the human race, able to live intimately with this family and be concerned about their welfare, and feel no fears of entering Estone with them. He could be a spy among the humans, and he had already mentally made the transition to thinking appropriately for that mode, he realized.

He felt Merilla’s hand on his back, gently rubbing, trying to comfort him, and tears started to fall from his eyes. He wiped the tears away, then looked up over his shoulder at her and smiled. “I had surgery performed on my ears and my eyebrows to make me look this way,” he admitted. “But the healing water is doing its work so well on me that my body is overcoming the surgery. Based on this, Jacob should be back on his feet tomorrow.”

“Why?” Merilla asked simply.

Kestrel stood. “They ordered me to; they tricked me. They want me to spy on the humans who fight against elves. This was my training, to see if I could fight and speak like a human,” he admitted to her, feeling compelled to speak.

Merilla reached out and took his hand. “I never would have known. Your accent is a little odd, but not extreme. You really had me fooled, until I saw you running on the water; and I know you only did that for Jacob.

“I’ve never seen an elf before. I know they come to Estone, at least some traders do, and it’s not a big deal there. But I’ve never seen one before now,” she added.

“You’ve been at least as good to us as any human would have; you’ve got a good heart, Kestrel,” she told him. “Is that your real name, or is that phony too?”

“That’s my real name, my one and only,” he answered. He stood in silent thought, as Merilla watched him.

“I’m going to take you to Estone, that much is clear. Nothing’s changed about the fact that we’ve got all these yeti parts to sell to the market, and you’ve got two little boys you need to take care of,” he decided out loud. “And after that, I’ll go back home and try to figure out what comes next.”

They never talked about Kestrel’s heritage again. The next morning Jacob was substantially recovered, and they returned to their journey across the rough lands. Four days later they began to see scattered settlements, and their woodland pathways became county trails and lanes. After another two days they saw villages, then passed through small towns, and on the eleventh day of their journey they reached the walls of Estone in the middle of the morning.

“We’re supposed to go see a trader named Castona,” Kestrel told the guard at the gate, one who provided lax security for the traffic that entered and left the bustling city.

“Sure, he’s on the square by the north wharf, a big square with a statute of a mermaid in the middle. Ask around when you get there and someone will show you his shop,” the guard said idly, examining Merilla as he spoke.

They walked through the city, traveling slowly as they navigated the horse through the urban traffic that was crammed into the narrow streets. By the time they reached the northern square, they were past lunch time, and Merilla took her two boys in search of a food vendor as Kestrel entered the shop he had been directed towards.

The shop was shallow but wide, well lit by windows, and lined with shelves behind a counter. Kestrel banged the door noisily as he entered with the keg of blood on one shoulder and his bag of artifacts in his hand. He was thankful that the various extremities and organs had dried enough on the journey to no longer stink as badly as they had. In the open air they had been barely tolerable; inside a shop, before they had cured, they would have emptied the room.

Several patrons in the shop turned to look, as he found an open space along the counter and gladly placed his goods there in relief. A man behind the counter, one he assumed was Castona, looked up from another patron, then looked back to his business without comment, letting Kestrel wait uncertainly.

Many minutes later, after Castona and an assistant had helped the traders ahead of Kestrel, the proprietor came to see Kestrel. “You’re looking a little wild and wooly,” the shopkeeper said laconically, looking at Kestrel’s dusty traveling clothes.

“Arlen said that I should come to see you,” Kestrel replied. “Are you Castona?”

The shopkeeper seemed to weigh Kestrel, then looked to see how close the other customers were, to judge what they might overhear. “My name’s Castona,” he agreed. “Where did you see Arlen?”

“I’ve been training with him in Firheng the past few months, then he and I were on a trip towards the Water Mountains a couple of weeks ago. That’s where I last saw him,” Kestrel explained.

“And why were you on your way to the mountains?” Castona asked, switching suddenly to an accented pronunciation of the elven language.

Kestrel also looked around, but saw no unusual interest in the language. “I am in training,” he replied in elvish. “We were on a training expedition to test my skills.”

“Your language is good,” Castona switched back to the human tongue. “You could pass as a southerner from Uniontown or Lakeview with no problem, there’s that little accent. And your ears aren’t extraordinarily elvish, but you ought to wear a hat,” he told Kestrel.

“So how is Arlen, and what do you have here?” he indicated the items piled on the counter.

Kestrel decided to switch back to Elvish. “We were traveling with a companion, Artur, to check on reports that a yeti had come down from the mountains and was plaguing the settlers in the area.

“We found the yeti,” he said.

“Yeti?” Castona repeated loudly, in the human tongue. “You saw one?” Many heads turned to look at the two of them, and there was a sudden silence in the shop, as other conversations ceased.

Kestrel waited, and the others slowly returned to their own business. “Sorry,” Castona muttered.

“The yeti was attacking a settler’s homestead, and we happened upon the scene,” Kestrel continued. “It killed Artur, and I killed it.

“Arlen took Artur back so that his spirit could join his ancestors,” he explained. “We gutted the yeti, and these are what I was told to bring to you — a keg of blood,” he tapped the container, “and the head, the hands, the liver, the heart, some glands, and the,” he paused, “stick and balls.

“The settler’s family survived, and I want to sell these to support them,” he finished his story as Castona stared at him with widened eyes.

“Let’s go to a back room,” the merchant suggested in elvish. He motioned for Kestrel to come around the corner of the counter.

Kestrel followed, grabbing his goods as he turned the corner. “If Merilla comes looking for me, would you tell your staff to tell her I’m in here?” he asked Castona.

“Barler,” he called, then turned to Kestrel. “What does she look like?”

“A human,” Kestrel said impulsively. “Her hair is light brown, and she’s wearing a red vest over a white blouse,” he added.

“Barler,” Castona repeated in his louder voice, “if a woman with brown hair and a red vest comes looking for my client, tell her to wait out here,” he instructed, then led Kestrel down a dim hall to a small room with three chairs and a table.

“Let me see what you’ve got,” the merchant said as he closed the door behind them.

“Kestrel put the goods down, then reached into the bag and pulled out the head first. The lank, dark hair hung limply from the skull, while the wizened features of the face were shrunken but intact, darker, but still discernible.

“Growelk take me!” Castona swore, picking up the large item gingerly, turning it around. “It is a yeti head! What else is in there?”

Kestrel proceeded to pull out the items, laying them all out on the table, covering its surface with organs and remains. Castona reached for the keg, and struggled to raise it with both hands, surprised by the weight. “May I taste it?” he asked Kestrel.

The elf shrugged, and Castona used his knife to pry the cork out of the opening. He poked a finger down into the dark hole, and pulled the finger out, then popped it in his mouth.

The merchant squeezed his eyes shut and shivered, then slowly pulled his finger out of his mouth.

“You killed the yeti? You personally?” he asked Kestrel.

“There wasn’t any choice at the point in the battle when it happened; it was kill or be killed. I put a sword in his groin,” Kestrel answered.

Castona sat at the table, and ran both hands through his hair without knowing. “I can give you,” he paused as he calculated, “twenty golds today for all of this.”

Kestrel tried to remember Artur’s lessons about the value of human currencies. Twenty golds would be enough for Merilla to live for many years comfortably, he thought, but he wanted to confirm. “Merilla has to support herself and her two boys for many years; her husband’s dead. Will that be enough for a home and regular food and clothes?”

“That would be plenty enough for a comfortable life for ten years,” Castona answered, “if that was all she’d get. That’s not all I’m offering Kestrel. That’s how much gold I can afford to give your lady friend up front.

“I’ll call an auction, and I’ll take the first twenty golds we receive as repayment for what I gave your girl. Everything we raise after that we’ll split in half — half for her and half for me,” he explained.

“How much more will that be?” Kestrel asked, astonished at the idea.

“If we get the right traders in here, and I’ll make sure we do, I think I’ll get thirty golds, and your friend will get another thirty golds, plus the first twenty,” Castona replied exuberantly. “We’ll both be rich! You can’t believe how long it’s been since a yeti was killed and authenticated, and you’ve got the head and the hands, which is strong authentication! I’ll bet it’s been a dozen years in Estone!

“The old men will go crazy for this stuff,” he patted the keg. “That taste I just took would be worth a year’s wages for some folks.

“You’ll be a hero! The man who killed a yeti! We’ll take you to the Doge’s palace for an interview. That’ll stir up the market, and guarantee even higher prices,” Castona plotted.

“I don’t think I should get that much publicity,” Kestrel protested, “especially if my ears are growing out.”

“It’s like I said before; we’ll put a hat on you; actually we’ll bandage you and tell them you got a scalp injury from the yeti. The Doge’s people won’t mind. He’ll get the prestige and publicity he wants to help him shore up his supporters in the Assembly — we could even give him a little sample of the yeti blood as a token of respect, and he could make a lot of friends; that’s what we’ll do,” Castona reached over and patted Kestrel’s shoulder, just as there was a knock at the door.

“Your woman’s here,” a voice said from outside the door.

“Hold her; we’ll be there in a minute,” Castona shouted. “Do we have a deal?” he asked Kestrel.

Things were happening fast, too fast for Kestrel’s comfort, but Arlen had said to trust this trader.

“It’s a deal,” he agreed. They both thumped their hands on the tabletop to signal the bargain sealed, then started walking towards the front of the store.

“Wait here,” the merchant said by one door in the hallway, which he slipped into. Seconds later he came back out with a leather pouch, which he deposited in Kestrel’s hand. “Here’s your money. Better not to show it out in public, or you may get robbed in the square. If I were you I’d take your lady to the closest bank and put most of it in an account for her immediately.”

Kestrel followed Castona out to the trading room, behind the counter, and he immediately saw Merilla, looking uncomfortable as she stood and tried to hold the two squirming boys, while the men in the place unabashedly examined her.

“You got yourself quite a beauty there, Kestrel!” Castona said loudly. “You two go and have a good time. Come back and see me tomorrow afternoon and we’ll start working on details.”

“How long will all this take?” Kestrel asked, apprehensive about the potential length of his stay in the human city. Despite his humanization with Merilla, he still found the city environment, with its lack of trees, its stone and brick and wooden buildings, and humans crowded together, nearly overwhelming.

“We’ll start it tomorrow, you’ll see the Doge the day after, and the auction will be three days after that — quick and easy,” Castona answered reassuringly, patting his back. “Now go to a bank, then go have fun!”

The boys gleefully spotted Kestrel, and he rounded the corner to take Jacob from Merilla’s weary arms.

“How did it go?” Merilla asked as they walked out the door.

Without speaking, Kestrel swung Jacob up onto the back of his horse, then took Marco from Merilla and swung him up next to his brother.

“Close your eyes,” he told Merilla, “and hold out your hands.”

She looked at him with a mock suspicion, then did as directed. Kestrel took the bag the merchant had given him and opened the mouth, then poured the heavy contents into his friend’s hands. As the coins clinked and the load in her hands grew heavier, she opened her eyes and looked down, then looked up at Kestrel as she began to cry at the sight of all the gold she held.

“Thank you Kai!!” she whispered, “Thank you.

“Here, put it back in the bag,” she told Kestrel, then hugged him tightly when her hands were free, and he felt her body shake, as she was overcome with emotion.

“Youkal would be so happy if he knew his boys were going to be raised so well,” she sobbed the words out. “Oh Kestrel, thank you, thank you so much.”

“Let’s go to a bank and put your money safely away,” he suggested when he felt the tremors begin to lessen.

They walked with their horse and the boys, all of them covered still in the dust of the roads they had traveled, and stepped into a nearby bank, the Estone Shippers Bank, where they shocked the teller with the request to open an account to save their exorbitant horde of cash, retaining only a few silvers and coppers of cash.

“We can afford to spend the night at an inn! We can sleep on mattresses!” Merilla said happily, her eyes asparkle in the realization of all that awaited.

They found a nice inn, one in which they could afford two rooms, then paid a portion of Merilla’s coins for the rooms and for a stall in the stable. Kestrel and the boys took the horse to the stable, while Merilla ordered a tub of hot water sent to their room for a soaking bath.

Kestrel arranged for a bucket of mash to treat the horse, then let the boys play in the stall while he brushed the animal thoroughly, taking his time both to pamper the animal, as well as to give Merilla the fullest amount of time possible to enjoy herself without any companions or interruptions as she bathed and rested. Eventually though, the boys were restless and the currying was accomplished, so they took a long, slow walk around the square, then returned to their inn and went upstairs to their two side-by-side rooms.

Kestrel opened one door and ushered the boys in. They were tired, and upon seeing the large bed they rushed to it, climbed up onto the top of the mattress, and announced they would take a nap. There was no tub in the room, leaving Kestrel concerned and confused. He saw the door to the adjoining room was slightly ajar, and he cautiously peaked through the gap. His limited field of view included the sight of half a large tub of water, sitting empty in the guestroom.

He cautiously pushed the door open and peaked further into the room, where he saw Merilla, undressed, her hair hanging damply down her back, as she stood in front of a mirror, critically examining her body, as she limply held a towel in one hand, away from her torso. He immediately withdrew his head back into the room with the boys, and leaned against a patch of wall next to the door frame. His eyes were closed, and his mind was filled with a surprisingly detailed memory of the human woman’s body he had observed. His imagination recalled Alicia’s elven frame, as he had seen it at the spring, and he compared and contrasted the slender, wiry woman of the elven race to the fuller, rounder body he had just peered upon, with the full breasts and the curving hips.

He found Merilla’s appearance erotic and desirable, and he silently asked himself if he was turning so human that he had come to share their sexual tastes and preferences, or if he had simply developed such a depth of affection for Merilla herself that he found her person attractive. He shouldn’t think of her as a mate, a physical partner, he knew; as a recent widow she was taboo to him with his elven sensibilities, though he didn’t know what human culture said about such customs.

“Kestrel?” Merilla’s voice whispered, virtually in his ear, making him jump in surprise.

He opened his eyes and turned to see her leaning through the doorway, wrapped in her towel from her armpits down to the top of her thighs.

“Are the boys asleep?” she asked.

He looked over at the two still bodies that lay on the bed. “I think so; they were worn out,” Kestrel whispered back.

“Come in here so we don’t wake them,” she tugged him through the doorway into the other room, then closed the door silently.

“That felt wonderful,” she said. “I’ll have to go wake them up soon so they can soak in the water while it’s still warm.”

“Where did you go? You were gone for a long time,” she said as she sat on the side of the bed, carefully crossing her legs. “I’m sorry, my clothes are all in the other room; I can’t get dressed for the moment.”

“We just took our time brushing the horse, and then we walked around the square. I thought you might appreciate some time alone to relax,” Kestrel answered, perched on the other side of the mattress, trying hard not to look at the large swathes of bare skin that Merilla displayed.

“I did, I did,” she agreed. “I just lay in the water until my fingers wrinkled, and I thought about what to do next. I think I’ll go visit my parents tomorrow. They need to meet their grandchildren, and now I know I can see them and I won’t be running back to them begging for money.”

“Merilla, about the money,” Kestrel began, realizing that he hadn’t told her yet about the prospect of more money to come from the planned auction.

“I want you to take half Kestrel, please,” she replied, interrupting him, leaning towards him earnestly, causing his eyes to stray to the cleavage that came into view.

“No, Merilla, it’s all yours,” he twisted his neck rapidly to force his eyes away from the compelling sight. “And there’s going to be more,” he added.

“More? How?” she asked, so he explained the plan for the Doge and the auction, and Castona’s expectations of raising more money within the week.

She listened quietly. “I can’t imagine,” she said simply, and grew quiet. “I better get dressed and get the boys,” she said as she stood. “We’ll be back in a few minutes,” she told him, then slipped away to the other room. Minutes later she returned, wearing her dress while her boys were naked, and she plopped them into the tub.

She and Kestrel watched the boys splash and play, and she brushed her hair. After several minutes, the boys unwillingly submitted to Merilla’s scrubbing as Kestrel noticed the sky growing darker outside the window while nightfall dropped over the city.

“Shall we go find some dinner?” Kestrel suggested.

In what seemed like just moments, the two boys were dried and dressed, and the four of them were walking down a neighborhood street, stopping at vendor’s carts to sample a variety of choice items, ending with candy that left the boys with sticky fingers. Back in the room their hands were washed, and they were put to bed on their mattress. Merilla re-entered Kestrel’s room moments after the boys were still.

“I am not ready to go to sleep with them yet,” she announced. “And I can’t leave them alone up here to go out. Would you like to go downstairs and buy a bottle of wine to bring back up here and share?” she asked.

“I’ve never had wine,” Kestrel replied. “At home the wine is either swill, or it’s really good and expensive, and I’ve had neither.”

“Well, you can ask the man at the counter for a decent bottle of wine and get something affordable and good,” Merilla assured him.

And so they drank a bottle of wine that night, lying atop Kestrel’s large bed, telling one another stories about their childhood experiences, then starting to talk about their futures.

“Are you going to stay in Estone long?” Merilla asked.

“Castona said that we could get to the auction and have it over with in less than a week,” Kestrel answered, as he felt the wine coursing through his brain.

“How much longer will you stay in Estone after that?” she persisted.

“I’ll probably go home right after that,” he answered. “I don’t know what they’ll do with me when I get back; I don’t know what I want them to do.

“I never imagined that I could be comfortable being a human, you know,” he turned on his side to face her. “But these past two weeks I’ve spent with you have felt like a normal life. I talk and think and even dream in the human language!”

“What does the Elvish language sound like?” Merilla asked as she rolled to face him, the gap between them narrowed. “I’ve never heard anyone speak in Elvish.”

“Merilla, if you were not a widow, and I did not remember Lucretia, I would be wooing you with all my heart,” Kestrel said impulsively in Elvish.

“That sounded so odd! But I watched your mouth move and I heard your voice, so it must have been you,” she gave a little giggle. “What did you say?”

“It was nothing really,” Kestrel grew shy.

“Really? Because I thought I heard my name at the beginning,” she reached over to touch his chest.

He closed his eyes. “I said that if you were not a widow, and I did not remember a girl who has died, I would want to court you,” he admitted.

There was a soft grin on her face. “If I were not a widow, or even a widow of such a good man, I would welcome your courting, Kestrel, my good friend.

“Who was Lucretia? I’ve heard you mention her name before. What happened to her?” she asked.

“She was someone I met at Center Trunk. I only knew her for one day, before we were separately assigned to go elsewhere. She was killed a few months ago,” his eyes grew teary. “She longed for adventure, and went out in search of adventure, and got into an adventure that overcame her.”

“I’m sorry Kestrel,” Merilla spoke. Her hand left his chest. “Will you come back to Estone after you visit the land of the elves?”

“I don’t know; I hope so,” he replied.

“I hope so,” she replied. “I want you to.” She leaned over towards him, and they began to kiss, a kiss that became passionate, before they both withdrew and stared at one another.

“If it makes any difference, I hope you’ll come back,” she whispered.

“If it makes any difference, I want to come back,” he replied.

They remained silent atop the bed, holding hands and looking at one another.

“If I’m going to see my parents tomorrow, I better get a little sleep tonight,” Merilla said at last. She pulled back the covers and climbed within. “Good night Kestrel,” she told him as she rolled to the bed’s other side.

“Good night, Merilla,” he answered softly, his hand reaching over to gently rub her back, before he too fell asleep.

When they awoke in the same bed the next morning, at the same time, they both felt uncomfortable. “We shouldn’t have done that last night,” Merilla said as she looked at Kestrel. “I feel bad; it was unfair to Youkal to say and do what we did last night.”

“It was,” Kestrel agreed, sitting up. “It was the wine,” he hesitated, then finished the old saying, “and our hearts. But we both know better in the morning.”

Merilla went to check on her boys, who could be heard rustling around in the other room, and led them back into the room where Kestrel was dressing, to tell him good morning.

“We will eat some breakfast, then buy some nice new clothes, and then we will go see my parents, and see if we can begin to start a family life here in the city,” she announced, before she led the two youngsters back to the other room, where the three of them prepared to go downstairs.

“Will you join us at breakfast?” she thrust her head into Kestrel’s room as she started to head to the dining room.

Kestrel followed them to a table in a sunny corner, and they all sat down to their meal. “What will you do today?” Merilla asked. “Would you like to come meet my family?” she asked hesitantly.

Kestrel thought about the nearly intimate evening they had shared, and the implications of meeting Merilla’s family upon her return to the city. He was determined, sitting in the morning daylight, to make his return to Firheng as quickly as possible. “No, I’ll go visit Castona again, and see what he wants me to do.”

Merilla accepted his declination, and Kestrel thought he saw relief in her eyes, relief that somehow obscurely hurt his feelings. They went their separate ways after the meal, and Kestrel was treated to a daylong experience with Castona. He still felt uncomfortable in the urban environment of the city, he realized as he strolled through the streets. When he showed up at the trader’s shop he was greeted as if he were royalty, known by all the staff members as the yeti-killer. He found that the yeti remains had been locked away and guarded overnight, due to their extreme value.

Castona took him out to select a fine suit of clothes, appropriate attire to wear for his audience with the Doge, and then they traveled to the old part of town to see the palace, in an area that had canals and bridges and ornate homes of the nobility and wealthy; it’s unusual features, on top of the city atmosphere, left him further disoriented, and he was pleased that he had Castona to serve him as a reliable guide. When the tour was over in late afternoon, Kestrel returned to the hotel on his own. He arrived before Merilla and her boys, and idly wondered how their visit with her family had turned out. The afternoon stretched into the evening, and at last Kestrel ate a simple meal at a food vendor’s cart and returned to the hotel, arriving back just as Merilla returned.

“I hope you ate without us!” she cried when she saw Kestrel. “Mother insisted that we eat dinner with the family, and I had no way to tell you. Then she tried to shame us into staying at home for the night, but I put my foot down and said that we’d already paid for our hotel room, and that I wanted to come see you.”

“People know about you Kestrel!” she announced to him as they climbed the stairs to their rooms on the upper floor.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Well, they know that a yeti was killed, that someone fought it in person and stabbed it with a sword! No one believes that’s possible!” she held his arm with one of her hands, as she led the boys with her other. “My mother wants to meet you; they all do!”

Kestrel smiled at her gay spirits, pleased to see her so happy, glad to know that the visit with her parents had gone well. That night they drank another bottle of wine in the evening, but determinedly avoided any emotional conversations; Merilla recited the details of her visit, while Kestrel told her about his tour of the town, and his appointment to be presented to the Doge.

“The Doge? In person? Oh Kestrel, my mother will absolutely demand you come to visit us. You have to pay attention to details about him and the palace, so she’ll feel like she knows something no one else would know. You’ll come to dinner with us, won’t you?” Merilla insisted.

Kestrel made the promise to visit her family, as their evening wound down, and the two of them fell asleep, carefully staying on their own sides of their mattress.

The next morning, they again went their separate ways after breakfast. At Castona’s shop, Kestrel changed into the colorful clothes that the merchant had insisted were the fashion at the court, bright yellow and red and green pants and shirt and vest and jacket, along with boots and a wide-brimmed hat, all of which drew attention Kestrel did not want. “Now, sit down here,” Castona’s assistant had directed when Kestrel had everything in place. “The boss says to do this,” he held up a large roll of gauze, piquing Kestrel’s apprehension.

As the elf-spy sat in his seat, he felt the assistant place a hand on top of his head, then gauze began to wrap around his crown, round and round, for several minutes, growing thicker, warmer, and more uncomfortable as it was layered thickly. “I’m supposed to make sure I cover your ears,” the assistant explained as he worked.

“There,” the man said, stepping back. “Now, put your hat over that,” he instructed.

“It looks perfect; you don’t see anything with the hat on, but it will cover the ears when you take the hat off to meet the Doge,” Castona said as he stepped into the room. “Now, let’s get going,” he directed.

They spent a long time walking through the streets, then passing through the palace gates, and finally waiting with the many other subjects due to be recognized ceremonially by the chosen leader of the Estone nation.

“Here,” Castona said to Kestrel, shoving a clay vessel in his hands. “This is the sample of the yeti blood you need to give to the Doge. Wait until the herald finishes announcing you, then advance and hand it to the attendant who stands next to the Doge, not to the Doge himself, and humbly accept any token of appreciation they give you.

“The emphasis is on humble, Kestrel,” Castona told him, looking at him directly. “I don’t think it will be a problem for you, but don’t try to act like a fool or a hero. Just being here is all we need to raise the market’s interest in bidding in the auction.”

Minutes later they were separated, as Kestrel was led to the final waiting room with the others to be addressed by the Doge, while Castona went to stand with the nobles around the edge of the audience square. Kestrel stood uneasily in line with a dozen other minor dignitaries, mostly from the duchies and earldoms around Estone, their trip to the capital city a social highlight of the season for them. They all wore the same bright colors that Kestrel wore, but with finer and fuller materials, not suits like his that clung tightly to his figure, though Castona had insisted that the suit made him look more like a fighter.

One by one the minor dignitaries were called from the waiting room, and polite rounds of applause were heard upon their introductions. After each of the guests left the room, the others clustered closer together, other than Kestrel, who was excluded by the others, the country gentry who knew or knew of one another, but knew nothing of him.

For an hour, Kestrel waited and watched as the room slowly emptied out, until he was alone after the last daughter of a county earl was called to be recognized by the Doge. There was a tap on the door, and a court official beckoned him out. Kestrel followed the silent man down a short hall, then passed through a door into a vast room that was filled with a gallery of observers on one side.

Across from his entry door Kestrel spotted the others who had waited with him, standing apart from all others in a ribbon be-decked box. Around them, and on three sides of the room there stood a ring of observers, dressed in finery. But on the side of the room to his left, the side he was walking towards as he followed a narrow red carpet way, was a raised platform, and a large, heavyset man who sat upon an ornate throne, with various staff members hovering about.

Kestrel held the clay jar before him in both hands, and as he reached the bottom of the platform, a staff person nearby subtly signaled for him to stop and kneel.

Kestrel went down on one knee, then rose, and as the staff member approached, he held out the jar.

“What is it?” the man whispered.

“It’s yeti blood,” Kestrel whispered back.

The man’s eye’s widened. “Remove your hat when I hand it to the Doge, and remain silent. If the Doge wants to hear from you, he’ll motion for you to approach.”

Kestrel nodded, then stood and watched as the man, dressed all in black, stepped up to the Doge’s throne, and whispered briefly in the leader’s ear, then stepped back and spoke aloud, in a voice that surprised Kestrel with its volume and ability to carry to seemingly every attendee in the facility.

“The great hunter, Kestrel, returns from the Water Mountains, where he has faced a yeti in mortal combat and emerged as the victor. He humbly offers this gift of precious blood from his vanquished foe as a token of his regard for your great leadership of the nation,” the man announced.

“Come forward Kestrel, and be recognized,” the man turned and spoke to Kestrel. “Doge Deloco wishes to thank you for fulfilling his command to rid the land of the yeti threat, and helping to protect his people.”

Kestrel climbed the steps, and came to a stop just a few feet from where the Doge sat on his throne, a solemn expression on the big man’s florid face. He rose when Kestrel stopped, and shuffled forward, his ornate robes restricting his movements. Out of the corner of his eye Kestrel saw the black-robed attendant frantically motioning for him to remove his hat, and he hastily snatched his headpiece off his skull, revealing the phony bandaging that was wrapped around his head.

There was a murmur of sympathy from the crowd as they saw what they presumed was evidence of the wounds Kestrel had suffered in battle with the yeti. Kestrel saw a flicker of concern in the Doge’s eyes as well, as he noted the bandages, and then before the crowd’s gentle sighing had ceased, the noise from the observers changed to gasps and cheers as the Doge reached out and drew Kestrel into a supportive embrace.

Kestrel uncomfortably wrapped his own arms around the Doge’s bulk, uncertain of the protocol regarding how a commoner responded to the ruler’s personal touch. The Doge stood motionless and silent for a handful of seconds, then broke the clinch. “Your gift is a priceless one, young hunter, and much appreciated.

“I want to reward you for your heroism and valor, and today I do so by naming you as a Captain of the Fleet of Estone, entitled to the rewards and privileges that accrue to the position. And I also name you to be the People’s Champion should the need for single battle arise again,” the Doge told Kestrel in a deep, resonant voice. “Kneel before me now,” he commanded discreetly.

Kestrel dropped to his knees, and bowed his head, then heard the sound of a sword being drawn nearby. There was a light tap on his right shoulder. “By the power of Shaish, goddess of water,” the Doge said. There was a light tap on his left shoulder. “By the power of Kusima, god of the land,” the leader intoned. Then Kestrel felt the Doge place his hand lightly on the top of Kestrel’s head. “By the power of Kai and Growelk, air and fire, I name you the People’s Champion, give you the freedom and honor the title carries, and oblige you to serve the men and women of Estone in times of need.

“Rise and face your people,” he said last, as he stepped back from Kestrel and resumed his seat.

Kestrel stood, dumbfounded by the ceremonial honor he had received, and by the boisterous applause that began to thunder from the crowd.

“Thank you, my lord. You have been far more generous than I deserve,” Kestrel said in amazement.

“I think not,” the Doge replied. “In a dream last night Kai showed me your face, and said you would be a hero for your people. I am only doing what the goddess wants. Now go and receive your rewards and accolades,” he motioned Kestrel towards the side.

“The audience of the court is at an end for today. All hail the Doge of Estone, ruler of the Northern Seas and Lands,” the black garbed herald proclaimed in his extraordinary voice, as Kestrel strode over to the beribboned stall where the other recognized individuals were waiting, clapping enthusiastically along with the rest of the audience.

Nightfall arrived before Kestrel finally left the environs of the palace. He was befuddled by the incredible series of events that had befallen him, and felt even more strongly his discomfort with the city setting as he eventually evaded all the supporters and hangers-on in the palace, and slipped away to begin his walk back to the hotel. Castona’s shop was surely closed, Kestrel concluded, so there was no reason to return there in the evening, and he simply wanted to find the comfort of the hotel room and Merilla’s company so that he could relax.

The palace had showered attention upon him once the Doge’s audience had ended. The daughter of the country earl who had been recognized by the Doge just before him, the girl who paid no attention to him before the ceremony, even when they were the only two in the waiting room together, had hung on his arm for over an hour, attaching herself with a persistence that Kestrel found almost admirable in one sense. Only going to the bathroom had at last freed him from her clutches, but many others had wanted to bask in his reflected glory immediately thereafter, and the experience had been smothering.

He didn’t find his way through the maze of streets and canals easily, and finally gave a coin to a street urchin to lead him to his inn, and was full of relief when he saw the front of the inn come into view.

Merilla and her sons were sitting in the dining room. “Kestrel!” she called and waved wildly to draw his attention, as if he might not see her otherwise.

He walked over to their table and sat down, as Jacob immediately crawled into his lap, and he left out a noisy sigh of relief. “I am so glad to see all of you,” he told her.

“Where have you been?” she asked, and then without taking a breath immediately blurted out her news. “We picked our new house today! It’s just around the corner from my parents. I want you to come see it tomorrow.”

“What time?” Kestrel asked, thinking of the other obligations that had been heaped upon him at the palace. “I’d love to come see your new home,” he added.

“Any time,” Merilla replied as she focused on cutting food for Marco. The waiter came and took Kestrel’s food order, then left them alone. “Do you have an errand tomorrow?”

“A couple; a few,” Kestrel acknowledged. “But not much in the morning,” he thought about his discovery that little happened at the palace before noon, as the inhabitants slept late into the morning, recovering from their apparently regular habit of revelry during the evening.

“That’s it then. We’ll go take a look in the morning. It has a shop on the street floor, and then our rooms will be on the three floors above the shop, a small leather goods shop,” she told him, then proceeded to enthusiastically describe her proposed home.

“How did you find it?” Kestrel asked as his food arrived, and he began to share it with Jacob.

“My mother has an old friend whose son is the leathermonger in the shop on the street level,” Merilla replied. “So she told my mother, and my mother told me. I’ll be able to buy it and collect rent from the shop, so it will have an income too,” she looked at Kestrel with an expression that was a mixture of pride and hope and something else that Kestrel couldn’t identify.

“So how was the palace? Do you have details you can tell momma? After the palace did you go to Castona’s shop?” she asked, ready to hear about Kestrel, and truly interested in his day as well, despite her excitement over her prospective home.

“I’ll tell you about it when we get upstairs,” Kestrel said as he took his last bite of food.

Merilla raised her eyebrows, and for just a fleeting moment, to Kestrel’s eye she looked vaguely elvish, and more appealing than ever before. “Well then, upstairs it is,” she said, placing Marco on the floor and standing up, as Kestrel raised Jacob to his shoulder and stood as well.

Kestrel gratefully flopped across the full length of the mattress once they were upstairs, as Merilla took her boys into the other room. He felt fully relaxed at last, the door shutting out the world of cities and humans. He closed his eyes and gave a heavy sigh, then started to fall asleep until he felt Merilla pulling his boots from his feet, startling him awake.

“Don’t think you’re going to just fall asleep now and leave me hanging with your mysterious day-at-the-palace story waiting to be told,” she mockingly growled. She pulled her skirts up around her thighs, then crawled upon the bed, and settled in to straddle Kestrel’s stomach. “So let’s hear what you have to say,” she shook a threatening finger in his face, “or else!”

“Who could withstand the fearful threats of the mighty Merilla?” Kestrel laughingly asked. “Not me, and I’m now Champion of the People.”

Merilla laughed, then looked at him, and her face grew puzzled. “Okay, so what’s the joke?” she asked.

“Well,” Kestrel drawled, “the thing is, there is no joke. The Doge gave me titles today in the ceremony at the palace. I get an annual salary, I can sail aboard any ship of the navy, and I am expected to fight on behalf of the people of Estone in the event my strength is needed.”

Merilla’s eyes darted wildly all about his face, studying his eyes, then his mouth, then the white bandages, before they drilled into his eyes again. “You’re serious!” she exclaimed. “The Doge has made you a member of the nobility, Kestrel! That’s fantastic!” she shouted, and leaned down. She placed her lips against his to kiss him in celebration, but seconds passed, and passion overtook them both. The kiss became a long lusty one, one without the fuel of alcohol, but only the compatibility and companionship the two had discovered during their long time spent so close to one another.

Kestrel’s hands stroked Merilla’s flesh as they kissed, and when at last she raised up, and looked down at him with smoldering eyes, he softly said, “I know it seems wrong, but it feels so perfect for us. May the gods of two races send me a sign if this is not what we should do.”

“Hello friend Kestrel!” Dewberry said brightly in the Elven language as she suddenly appeared on the bed beside them. “I think I’ve seen you with three different females the last three times I’ve seen you. You’re a busy one, aren’t you?”

Merilla screamed so loudly at the sudden appearance of the sprite that Dewberry instantly fled in fear, and doors opened in the hallway, followed by the sound of boots and bare feet striding about, trying to locate the source of the bloodcurdling shout.

“What in blazes?!” Merilla asked Kestrel. She scrambled off of him and off the mattress altogether. “Was that a sprite? Aren’t you concerned?” she asked.

“That,” Kestrel said, then paused. “That — I’m sure — was a sign,” he paused.

“That was my friend, Dewberry, the sprite,” he said. “But I don’t know why she showed up here; she’s supposed to be on her honeymoon. She married a water imp.”

Merilla turned at the sound of her own boys moving about in the connected room, and moments later they appeared at the doorway. She scooped them up in her arms, just as there was a knock at the front door.

“Is everything okay in there?” a masculine voice asked. “We heard a scream somewhere up around here.”

“Everything’s okay in here,” Kestrel called as he sat up. He walked over to the door and threw it wide open, so that the visitor could see Merilla and the boys standing nearby. “Thank you for checking,” he added as he closed the door.

“You’re friends with a sprite?” Merilla stuttered, so stunned by the event. “I’ve never seen one before; I didn’t think they were real, to be honest.”

Kestrel sighed, frustrated by the turn of events. He had asked for a sign, never expecting something so obvious. Clearly, if the gods would so clearly send a sign, he and Merilla could have no immediate future together. The dreams that had pecked at the back of his brain during the day, the dreams of being a nobleman, the dreams of living in Estone with Merilla, settling down to live a blissful, domestic, human life, they were empty, they were only dreams, not what the gods had planned for him.

“Take the boys and try to settle them back into bed,” he directed Merilla. “I’d like to call Dewberry to find out why she came.”

“Can I watch?” Merilla asked in a small voice.

“Will you promise not to scream at the top of your lungs?” Kestrel asked with a crooked smile.

“You would have screamed to if you didn’t know what was happening,” the young mother defensively said.

“Go on,” Kestrel laughingly said, “and come back quietly.”

“Dewberry!” he called. “It’s okay to come back now,” he spoke in the Elvish language.

“Dewberry, my friend. She’s sorry she shouted,” he added moments later.

“’Shouted’ doesn’t begin to describe it,” the blue sprite was suddenly sitting in the chair in the corner of the room. “I thought the world was coming to an end.”

“You surprised her,” Kestrel explained. “We were, you know, alone together, and then suddenly you were with us.

“Why were you with us? Is everything okay?” he asked, pausing for a moment to find his vocabulary in the language he had left behind for several weeks. “Aren’t you supposed to be on your honeymoon?”

There was a noise at the door, and Merilla slid silently in though the opening, focusing on making no noise to disturb her boys, and not aware that Dewberry had returned. “So, do you think?” Merilla cut her question off as she turned and spotted the sprite.

Dewberry rose in the air and floated over to Kestrel, then sat down in his lap. “What did she say?” Dewberry asked in Elvish.

“She said she’s very sorry she screamed so loudly,” Kestrel lied.

“Merilla, this is my friend Dewberry. Please come have a seat while I find out what is happening,” Kestrel had a premonition that something bad would happen before the evening was over.

“So tell me why you’re here?” Kestrel repeated to Dewberry.

“Well, we are on our honeymoon, as you say, and we thought we’d like to soak in the spring by the moonlight,” Dewberry explained. “So I came to see if my very favorite elf in all the world would give us a wedding gift and watch over us while we enjoy the water?”

“Where’s Jonson?” Kestrel asked. “You can’t carry me alone, can you?” he held up a finger to Merilla, indicating he was about to tell her something.

“He’s shy; he didn’t think we should drop in to visit you unannounced, but I knew you wouldn’t mind. He’ll be here any second,” Dewberry answered airily.

“We’re going to have another visitor, and then the three of us are going to go away for a little while,” Kestrel turned to Merilla and spoke in the Human language.

“Where are you going? Are you going to come back?” she asked immediately, then gave a gasp as Jonson arrived.

“My apologies if we have disturbed your evening,” Jonson said solemnly to Kestrel. He turned and bowed to Merilla. “You friend is quite lovely, for a human, I’m sure,” he spoke in a tone that cast doubt on his sincerity.

“These two are going to take me someplace to do a favor for them,” Kestrel told Merilla in a resigned tone, as he gently nudged Dewberry aside, ignoring the nasty face she made to show her displeasure. He walked over to the befuddled human woman. “You go on to bed. I’ll be gone a bit, and then I’ll be back.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead, then walked to another corner of the room where his belongings were piled, and picked up a pair of waterskins.

“I’m ready,” he announced, inviting Dewberry and Jonson to come envelope him in their hug, their small blue hands linked as they created a circle around him while his eyes met Merilla’s astonished eyes, and all three were momentarily transported through space, and then stood upon the bank of the healing spring.

Dewberry and Jonson disrobed immediately, while Kestrel stood on the bank of the spring and considered his situation. He had no wish to cause his ears and eyebrows to grow more elf-like yet, not while he still anticipated that he might be expected to pass for human, and therefore he concluded he should avoid contact with the water as much as possible.

“Why are you waiting, Kestrel?” Dewberry asked him as she and Jonson stood expectantly on the bank.

“Here, come over here,” Kestrel directed them, leading the way to the sandy shelf in shallow water that was the usual resting place for soaking sprites. He lifted Jonson and placed him in the water, then turned to Dewberry.

“Won’t you get in the water too?” she asked.

“The water makes my ears change back to their elf shapes, and I don’t want that just yet,” he explained briefly. “But here, let me place you in the spring so that you can enjoy!”

“I’m sorry to bring you here if it brings you no profit,” the small sprite said contritely.

“You’ve done me no harm,” Kestrel assured her. “Your appearance was a sign, I think, that I need to focus on my intended mission, and stop making something more out of my visit to the humans than it was intended to be.

“And I’m always glad to see you!” he added brightly, then lifted her into the water beside Jonson, and sat down upon the grass. He got up to find a stick in the nearby trees, then used it to push his water skins underneath the surface of the spring, immersing and filling them with the valuable water before he pulled the skins out and secured their stoppers. He would give one to Merilla as a farewell gift, a token of his friendship, he planned, and the other would go back with him to Firheng where one skin of the water still remained waiting, or perhaps he would carry it down to Center Trunk.

And he would go on to Center Trunk, he now accepted. His dreams of living with Merilla among the humans were clearly not meant to come to pass. He had received a very direct sign from the gods that he was to return to Center Trunk, and see Alicia once again, despicable and untrustworthy as she was, pretty as she was, married to Silvan as she was, and let the surgery on his ears be carried out one more time. Then he would receive his assignment and go forth. He had demonstrated his ability to live among the humans; if anything, he realized, he had demonstrated that he could live among the humans better than he could live among the elves, he bitterly told himself.

His thoughts wandered among the possible scenarios his life might have been, or might still be, until he looked up and saw that the stars had moved far across the sky, and time had passed. He lifted each of the small blue people from the water, then gently shook them awake.

“How is it that you understand the Elvish language but not the Human language?” Kestrel asked Jonson once the two had collected their clothes and started to dress.

“The elves are interesting, and fun to annoy, and live in such close proximity to my own people’s lands,” the water imp explained, referring to the great Swampy Morass that bordered the Eastern Forest and the East Sea. “Although I think you’re the only elf we have befriended in recent times, since the evil Chandel came to power; before him in the past, there have been friendly relations between our people and yours.

“The humans are less tolerant, and more inclined to fall into ugly battles faster. They are not worth the trouble of trying to get to know,” he contrasted.

“But you have found a different experience, at least with one human, perhaps?” Jonson asked with a twinkle in his eye.

“My human friend is not warlike at all,” Kestrel smiled in agreement.

Dewberry came over to join the two. “So you will take me back to my room now, and then continue your honeymoon?” Kestrel asked.

“Unless you have a better plan,” Jonson jested He and Dewberry wrapped their arms around Kestrel and initiated their magical travel back to the room at the inn. “Thank you for your gift, my friend,” Jonson said as Dewberry kissed his cheek in the darkness, and then the two of them were gone.

“Is everything okay?” Merilla asked sleepily from the bed. “Are you alright?”

Kestrel sat and removed his boots once again.

“Everything is fine, my friend,” Kestrel told her. He gently lowered the water skins to the floor, then shed his shirt and lay back on the mattress.

“Kestrel, are there others like you? Are you something special?” Merilla asked quietly.

“I thought I was pretty ordinary,” he replied after a long silent pause as he thought. “Then something happened, that led to something else that led to something else that led to me looking like a human and fighting a yeti to save someone else’s life.

“And then I found out how good you are, and that seems pretty special to me,” he rolled toward her as he said the last phrase.

“You are an elf, and yet a part of the human nobility. You kill yeti and you travel with sprites. You speak both human and elven tongues, and you know what is right and wrong, and try so hard to stick to the right. These are special things, Kestrel,” she spoke firmly. She rolled against him and draped her arm over him. “Hold me and let me sleep in your arms tonight, and then tomorrow we can go see my house and you can meet my mother, and then you can go off to do whatever it is you must do.” And so that night they peacefully slept in each other’s arms, knowing that they could expect no more.

The next morning Kestrel was back in his ordinary clothes, freed of the bright display he had worn at the palace, and he drew fewer stares as he followed Merilla through crowded city streets towards the neighborhood that was to become her home. He still wore the bandages around his head to cover his ears, and that caused some eyes to track him, but there was nothing out of the ordinary otherwise on their trip.

Their first stop was at the shop that Merilla’s father kept, a tidy store that sold cloth, thread, needles, buttons, and everything else that might possibly be of use for clothing. Merilla’s mother sat in a rocking chair in the corner, sewing a smock when they entered the store.

“Good morning dear,” her mother called cheerily. She placed her sewing on a table and lifted her bulk from her chair, a warm smile on her face. She bent and kissed each of the boys, then stood and faced Kestrel. “So this is you hero, protector, and friend?” she asked, studying him closely, examining him with an attention to detail that Kestrel thought was unnerving.

“This is Kestrel,” she affirmed. “Kestrel, this is my mother, Durille.”

“Thank you for taking such good care of our Merilla and her boys. You must have taken quite a wound to still be bandaged,” she said, looking at his head.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Kestrel answered nervously. “Merilla says she has a home in mind, and I thought I might look at it with her this morning,” he added, nervously hoping to change the topic.

“It’s a nice home, and there’s a wonderful young man who works in the leather goods shop that takes up the street level. He’s a good friend of the family, and has a good, steady income with his shop,” the mother immediately answered. “Perhaps you can meet him when we go over.”

And with that the whole entourage was out of the shop and on its way around the corner. They entered a darker store front, where the sunlight did not penetrate directly, and most of the outside illumination was quickly absorbed by the dark wood paneling and the dark leather goods that hung and were heaped all about the store.

A heavyset young man, one with a chubby baby face, sat at the back of the store working on some intricate piece of leather. He looked up and squinted at the people who entered his store. As they came closer he recognized Merilla, and a genuine smile lit up his face. He put down his tools and wares, rose awkwardly from his stool, and came forward to greet them.

“Hammon, please meet Kestrel,” Merilla introduced. “Kestrel is the man who killed the yeti that attacked Youkal, and then he brought us back here through the wilderness,” she rested her hand on Kestrel’s shoulder as she spoke.

Hammon seemed to deflate at the heroic introduction. “It’s nice to meet you,” Kestrel said, feeling a combination of sympathy for the poor man and jealousy over Durille’s evident intention to force the two together. “You have some nice work in here. Do you do all this yourself?”

“I do, thank you,” Hammon replied, grateful for the kind words. “So you want to go upstairs and see the rooms?”

He provided the keys to them, and they left him in his shop as they went upstairs to tour the rooms. “Wouldn’t this make a great room for Merilla and her husband someday?” her mother asked Kestrel. “The connecting room would make a nursery for their babies, and there is space for Jacob and Marco in the rooms upstairs. And of course, we’re just right around the corner.

“I can’t believe she has so much money, that she can afford to buy a house. She said that selling things from the yeti made all this money,” the mother chatted on as they wandered from room to room. “What will you do with your share?”

Kestrel looked at Merilla momentarily, not sure what her mother knew, or what Merilla had chosen to reveal and to refrain from telling.

“What time do you need to leave?” Merilla suddenly asked, saving Kestrel from making any statement.

“I probably do need to go,” Kestrel agreed. “I wouldn’t want to be late.”

“But you were supposed to tell me all about the palace!” Durille protested.

“I know mother,” Merilla answered for him again, starting to usher the party back down the stairs and towards the door without looking at the rest of the rooms in her haste to prevent further questioning. “Maybe the next time you see him he can talk to you,” she said.

“Do you think I’ll see him again? I imagine you’ll be leaving the city soon, won’t you, to go back out to the wilderness?” Durille queried.

“I suspect I’ll leave someday soon,” Kestrel agreed as they headed downstairs. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you,” Kestrel said. “Please tell your friend I enjoyed meeting him. I wish we would have saved some yeti hide for him to tan! That would have made quite a vest!” he added, waiting to see Durille’s response, but also thinking that such a vest would be a tremendous protective garment to wear, though he never expected to see or fight another yeti again.

Durille’s face grew grim in response to his comment, but she said nothing, and he walked down the street, wondering how he was going to enjoy his next appointment.

As part of being named a Captain of the Fleet and the People’s Champion, Estonian custom called for Kestrel to receive large colorful tattoos, one for each of his honors. He was on his way to Castona’s shop, and from there he was going to be led to the tattoo shop where his colors would be inscribed upon his chest. In the midst of all the bustle and confusion of the previous night’s activity, not to mention the surprise visit from Dewberry, Kestrel had not told Merilla about the tattoos, or even about the room at the palace he was entitled to, and he smiled as he walked along the street and thought about the surprise she would receive when he revealed his new marks.

As it turned out, he was the one surprised when he reached Castona’s shop. “I will personally lead you to the palace and then the tattoo shop,” the merchant had greeted him. “And we need to go immediately. I want to stop at the auction on the way and introduce you! It will rouse up the bidders!”

“I thought the auction was going to be two days from now!” Kestrel protested.

“We’ve got to strike while the iron’s hot,” Castona answered. “There are a couple of Lakeview traders in port today, and the local folks are all stoked up by your ceremony yesterday. We’ve got things set to begin in about an hour.”

So they strolled through the city to an open arena, where many people were gathered, and Kestrel was introduced to the crowd. Cheers resounded among the people gathered to bid, and those who gathered to watch the bidding action. “How long will this last?” Kestrel asked Castona, after they left the stage and sat in a private box to one side.

“I suspect it will last about an hour. We won’t stay to watch. We need to get you to your next stop,” the merchant said. Just then the auctioneer came by, and was introduced to Kestrel.

“Tell me some stories about the battle with the yeti,” the auctioneer asked. “It gives the auction more color when I can pepper some topical references into the action.

So Kestrel repeated parts of the story, telling about the arrows that bounced off the tough hide, the mighty blows that had harmed him and his companions, the death of Artur. They remained in the box after the auctioneer left, and watched as the action began. A pageant of helpers began to carry goods out onto the stage, placing them on tables and stands.

“Where’s the keg of blood?” Kestrel asked after the last item was put on display.

“We split it up into twenty containers. Each one will be sold off separately, because we know there are so many bidders interested in yeti blood. But we need to get going,” the merchant said, standing up, and he led Kestrel back to the palace. “The herald will take you from here; they decided to inject your tattoos here. I’ll talk to you later. Come by my shop this afternoon or tomorrow and we’ll settle up on the proceeds from the auction.”

“Welcome back young champion,” the herald said. He was the same black-garbed announcer who has spoken to and for Kestrel on the stage the previous day.

“What is your name?” Kestrel asked.

“Moresond,” the man replied with aplomb. “And you are Kestrel, correct?”

After Kestrel’s nod, Moresond began to lead him back through the palace to a small stone structure set in a private garden. “This is the palace chapel to Kai,” the herald explained. They opened the door and stepped in, where Kestrel was surprised to see three men and several bouquets of flowers. He saw several candles burning, and smelled incense as well.

“The Doge commanded that you receive your tattoos here in this chapel,” Moresond said. “It’s quite unusual, but of course the artist agreed.”

“Who says no to the Doge?” one of the waiting men said with a smile.

“Now, if you’ll remove your shirt, we’ll take a look at what we’ve got to work with,” he commanded.

“I’ll leave you now,” Moresond announced. I’ll come by, or send someone by to check on you from time to time. If you need anything, just find a guard in the palace and tell them.

“Lie down over here,” the tattoo artist told the shirtless Kestrel, gesturing towards a plain cot set up on the altar.

“It looks like a sacrifice,” one of the attendants joked as he watched Kestrel take the position.

“It isn’t, is it?” Kestrel asked with a grin, and they all laughed.

“Now, I hope you’ve got a reasonable pain tolerance level. I’m going to spend the next few hours poking lots of needles into your skin. If you think you need a shot of white corn, let me know, and we’ll set it up for you,” the tattoo artist told him, opening up a large wooden case that he set down next to where Kestrel lay.

“Keep your mind clear, my servant,” a ghostly female voice whispered in Kestrel’s brain.

His eyes popped open, and whirled around, examining the ceiling overhead, trying to discern what had happened.

“I take it you want the liquor?” the tattooist asked, mistaking the cause of Kestrel’s reaction.

“What? No. No thanks.” Kestrel answered. His mind was racing, trying to guess what had caused Kai to speak to him. He knew the feel of Kai’s touch on his soul, and there was no mistaking the source of the voice.

“My lady, what can I do for you?” he asked silently.

“Wait patiently. Let the engraving begin. I will do the rest when the circumstances are right. Just relax,” the voice soothingly said.

“Alright; let’s begin,” the artist spoke, and Kestrel saw his hands move, then felt the process begin. The pain was not bad; each prick was worse than annoying, but not unbearable. There was pain, though it was tolerable pain. But it was constant. Every few seconds the pain was renewed. It slowly spread as the design work on Kestrel’s chest widened.

“What is it you are creating on me?” Kestrel asked at last, following what seemed like hours of needle pricks.

“Well, here on the right side we’re putting the portrait of a sailing ship, a symbol of your rank as a Captain of the Fleet,” the tattooist told him as he pressed another needle into Kestrel’s skin. “I’ve virtually got it finished.

“And over on the left, above your heart, we’re putting the symbol of your role as the Champion of the People of Estone,” he explained.

He poked a needle into Kestrel’s right breast, then sat back. “There, the ship is finished. In a couple of days when the blood is wiped away and the swelling goes down it will be a beauty.

“Now,” he said, and Kestrel felt a needle prick on his left breast, directly over his heart. “Here we go starting the crest.”

“And what exactly does the crest of Estone look like?” Kestrel asked. There was a sudden noise from outside as a gust of wind blew loudly around the chapel structure.

“For you, it will be personalized — quartered on the left, and whole on the right. On the right we will silhouette a yeti, the monster that you bested. On the left the upper quarter will bear a star, the north star that leads travelers to our land, and the lower quarter will bear…”

His words were drowned out by a stone-rattling crash of thunder, as the interior of the chapel suddenly dramatically darkened. All heads looked at the windows, where large drops of rain began to splatter loudly against the panes of glass, falling faster and harder with each second.

“That’s quite a storm moving in,” someone said loudly. The building lit up as lightening streaked across the sky outside, and then another flicker relit the interior again, as another bolt struck very close by, shaking the building and crashing so loudly that one assistant placed his hands over his ears.

There was another crashing lightning strike just as close on the other side of the chapel, that struck so hard dust fell from the rafters above, and then a third strike seemed to hit the chapel itself, the deafening noise making the inside of the church ring, and streaks of light ran along the joints between the stones in the wall, multiple streaming snakes of light that traveled downward, and then congregated together and produced an explosive burst of light and another, bell-like ringing sound.

When the sparks from the explosion faded away, a tall regal figure stood in their place, a woman who glowed faintly. The golden halo was a gentle light, but as she began to walk towards the stunned tableau of men at the front of the chapel, each footstep she took left behind a golden glowing print on the polished marble floor.

“Gods above preserve us!” the tattoo artist screamed, rising and backing away from his seat next to Kestrel, joining his assistants who were huddled together against the wall.

“Kestrel, today you commit yourself to me,” the woman said aloud in a resounding voice.

He lay on his board, preternaturally calm, his head raised, looking up at the approach of Kai, the Air Goddess of the Humans.

He started to rise from his board, so that he could kneel. “No, do not rise. Lay back down,” she commanded him as she approached.

“Where are your manners?” she asked the frightened men against the wall. “Do you not bow down to your goddess?”

All four of them immediately prostrated themselves on the floor, their heads touching the ground.

“Kestrel, you have prayed to me, and you have called upon me for help. I have heard and accepted your prayers. I have granted you favors that you wanted. I have directed your steps at times, so that you might grow and learn in ways that please me, for I have plans to use you for the good of humanity, and for my own needs,” the goddess spoke as she reached Kestrel’s side. He looked directly up into her face, staring upon holy perfection, beauty beyond anything he had ever imagined, and found his sight went blind the instant he perceived how beautiful the goddess was.

“Here is my hand,” he felt her press her hand upon his chest, directly above his heart, where the crest of Estone was about to be tattooed into his flesh. There was a sudden searing pain that was intense freezing and fire both, and neither, or more, where her palm and fingers spread across his chest. He felt the pain, exquisite and excruciating, penetrate his skin, and sink into his chest. His heart could no longer beat, and then the pain delved further through his flesh and muscle and bone, all the way to his shoulder blade beneath, where it felt like his skin was burning from the divine encounter on his chest. He knew that he was dying; his heart was not beating, his blood was not moving, and unconsciousness was only seconds away. “Done,” she whispered. He felt the pressure of her hand released from his chest, and then the pain was gone, as his heart began to beat again, a wild, fluttering staccato pulse of restored life.

“This is my mark upon you. With this mark you are truly bound to be the champion of the people of Estone. In times of trouble, when only you can save them, you will feel the crest grip your heart to compel you to go forth and do battle for the people of the land,” the goddess spoke words that were burned into his brain.

“You four,” she spoke to the men in the back, “will go forth into the court and the palace and the city and spread the word of what you have seen and heard here. You will tell Estone that Kestrel is the champion of the people. And the Doge will confirm that he has dreamed this.

“Kestrel, you will go on journeys, and travel widely, but when you feel the crest burn you, you will know that you must battle for these people, whether here in this land, or elsewhere, when some distant threat to Estone, or all of humanity, has arisen. Do you accept your responsibility to fulfill this?” she asked.

“I do swear to serve as the champion of the people,” Kestrel solemnly answered, thinking of Merilla, and protecting her from whatever threat might hover over Estone.

“Then our covenant is sealed. I will help you when needed, and you will answer the call when it comes,” the goddess’s voice grew graver. Then it sounded one last phrase inside his head, so that only he heard: “You will be the champion for me and for the old order of gods, standing up for us as well if ever we reach dire need for your help.”

And then there was a clap of thunder within the chapel, and the goddess disappeared in a rising column of sparks that circled about the ceiling and then floated up into and through the rafters.

As the sparks of divinity disappeared, Kestrel’s vision returned. He looked about, and saw the faintly glowing traces of the goddess’s exit floating above, and he saw the still glowing footprints that traveled up the aisle of the chapel. He turned and saw the four witnesses, still stretched out on the floor behind him.

“Get up, all of you. Get up, she’s gone,” Kestrel told them, as he sat up. He tried to look down at his chest to see what she had done. The image was upside down, and seen from a sharp angle, so he could discern no details, but he could tell that the image on his left side was shiny like fish scales, while the image on his right looked dull by comparison. The bright, shiny image had colors that seemed as vivid as a window of stained glass. He looked over at a window and saw that the sun was shining brightly outside, the storm having passed.

There was a banging at the door, and then a small group of palace guards entered the building.

“It looked as though the chapel was on fire!” one of them cried as he stood on the threshold and looked within. “The storm came out of nowhere and formed right here. The lightning struck and the windows glowed from within as though there was a white hot fire!”

“There was,” the tattoo artist spoke, rising and approaching Kestrel. “There was a holy fire in here. We were visited by the goddess Kai herself! See,” he pointed at the floor in front of them. “There are her footsteps!”

He reached Kestrel and examined the mark on his chest. “This is a miracle!” he exclaimed. “She has chosen you! She has marked you as the true champion; it’s not just a title.

“This is extraordinary,” he murmured as he bent and looked at the details of the new crest. “It’s so detailed and lifelike. These colors are exquisite!”

Kestrel sat in a daze, unable to immediately recover from the force of the encounter he had been subjected to. The goddess had done nothing of malevolent intent to him, but the exposure to her unconstrained presence had been more than he could comprehend. He heard the voices around him, but their meaning flew over his head.

“Look at his back!” one of the tattooist’s assistants said, pointing at him.

The artist peered around to his back as the soldiers arrived and circled around. “It’s her handprint!” he exclaimed. He gently prodded the raw, burned flesh with a finger, and the pain of the touch got Kestrel’s attention, snapping him out of his trance at last.

“Ow!” he said as he flinched, while he swatted at the poking hand.

The assistants were talking to the guards, each of them telling the story of what had happened, as Kestrel sat and swung his legs over the side of the cot, then stood up. His legs felt weak, and he felt dizzy, both lingering further side effects of the visitation from the goddess. He looked around and saw his shirt, which he grabbed up, and pulled on. It rubbed and chaffed the handprint on his back before he even had it pulled down over his stomach, and he quickly yanked it back off.

He looked around at the small clusters of guards and tattoo attendees, talking volubly to each other, and he tried to comprehend everything they were saying to each other, but his mind still primarily dwelt on his experience, the voice and the sight and the touch of the goddess who had materialized solely to give him an assignment to protect the humans of Estone. It was incomprehensible, unthinkable.

Without comprehending anything, he walked down the aisle of the chapel and out into the small garden that insulated it from the surrounding palace. He held his shirt in his hand as he looked up at the cloudless sky, the sun beginning to set on the western horizon. He didn’t know what to do, or where to go. He walked away, unnoticed by the others within the chapel as they continued to retell their tales and thoughts.

Many noticed the man without a shirt who walked through the palace, but no one stopped him as he wandered to the gate and left the palace grounds, his mind beginning to churn more and more as he tried to pull himself back into the real world, and to consider the implications of the divine direction he had received.

Did he need to permanently reside in Estone? Should he consider himself only as a human henceforth, and forget the elven heritage that he lived all his life? Was he meant to stay in this city, and should he woo Merilla to be his wife after all (assuming the gods would allow), when her widowhood was over? How could he turn his back on the elves, who needed him to gather information for them, to protect their race? Could he return to the elves who had tricked him and used him? Would he ever experience such a visit with the human goddess again, and did he even want to? It was so vastly different from the visit Kere had made, when she had directed him to the healing spring; that had been a warm and intimate encounter, a friendlier experience altogether.

The sun was set and the sky was dark, he realized. He must have walked about the city for hours in his contemplative daze. He was in front of the inn where he and Merilla and her boys were staying. He no longer held his shirt; he must have dropped it at some point in his existential musings. With a sigh, he opened the door and walked straight across the foyer then up the stairs, unconcerned about his state of partial nakedness.

When he opened the bedroom door the room was dark. Merilla was already in bed, asleep. He sat on the mattress and pulled off his boots, then his trousers, and slumped forward, sleeping on his stomach to protect the painful deep burn on his back.

“Kestrel?” Merilla sleepily called.

“I’m back,” he said comfortingly. “Are the boys asleep?”

“They are,” she assured him. He heard her yawn. “How did the auction go?”

“I’m not sure,” he said recollecting for the first time that the auction of the yeti goods had occurred while he was at the palace.

“That’s good; we’ll talk in the morning,” she murmured as she fell asleep again, and after a long time of lying in the bed and thinking, Kestrel fell asleep as well.

Kestrel awoke with a gasp. He felt something cold being spread across his back. Upon opening his eyes he found that the morning was well underway, the sun had risen far above the horizon, and Merilla sat beside him, carefully slathering a pot of ointment on the handprint that was burned into his shoulder blade.

“Were you at the palace yesterday afternoon?” she asked as he raised his head.

“Yes,” he grunted. After the shock of the chill from the ointment, he felt relief, as the substance numbed the painful evidence of his encounter with the divine.

“There are strange stories in the city today,” Merilla told him. He heard her clamp the lid back down on the ointment jar, and he sensed the strain in her voice.

With a grunt Kestrel raised himself up on his elbows and twisted himself to look at his caregiver. She gasped as his chest came into view, and stared silently for long seconds, then tentatively reached out her hand and touched the vivid, shiny crest emblazoned on his left side.

“They say a goddess came to the chapel in the palace and worked her powers on the champion of the people,” Merilla said. She raised her eyes to look at his face. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

“I’ve never experienced anything like it before,” he replied, turning further to sit up straight and face her directly. Her eyes were glued to his chest, flickering back and forth from one side to the other.

“I’ve met one of the Elven goddesses, and I didn’t even know she was a goddess at first; she tricked me. But Kai was overwhelming; I went blind from looking at her face, my mind is still scrambled from her words, and you see what her touch did to me,” he tried to organize his thoughts, for he knew he had to talk to her.

“Thank you for treating my back,” he added. “It hurts, but your ointment made it much better.”

“That’s my mother’s own special brewed painkiller,” she said.

There was silence between them.

“I am going to go to Castona’s this morning, and find out how the auction did. I’ll collect your funds and deliver them to you,” he told her. “Then, I need to go someplace and think.

“The goddess has laid a charge on me, and it frightens me. I don’t know what to do,” Kestrel said.

“Kestrel, you must do whatever the goddess told you to do,” Merilla said softly. “You don’t have a choice.”

“I, I know,” he stuttered. “I just don’t understand where I must go, or how many masters can give me orders. I don’t know who I am any more Merilla,” his voice almost broke.

She sat silently and waited for him to say more.

“I’m going to go back to the forest to think. I don’t know what makes me so special; I don’t know how to be a champion. I know the goddess says I am one, so I must be, but I am scared and confused, not proud, not confident, not comfortable,” he said.

“Are you going to leave today?” Merilla asked.

“Yes,” he answered.

“Do you,” she hesitated, “Do you need a companion to go with you?” Her eyes stared at his.

He knew what he wanted to say, but he sensed that the goddess did not foresee the same thing. Dewberry’s untimely appearance had made that clear. “I want a companion, but I do not think I should have one right now,” he told her.

“I understand,” she said bravely. “In that case Kestrel, I am going to start packing the boys and myself up, so that we can move into my parent’s home, while we wait to buy the home with the leather shop. My mother does not think it is proper for us to be sharing this hotel room, and there’s no need to spend further money at the inn.

“Could you come there to meet us when you return from the merchant’s shop?” she asked, with eyes that were bright with unshed tears.

“I will bring everything directly to you,” he assured her. He rose from the bed and began to gather his own belongings. “Merilla?” he asked, as they each silently went about their packing, “Would you help me put this shirt on over the ointment on my back?”

She walked over and placed a patch of gauze on his back, then stood in front of him, carefully tugging the cloth down over his raised arms, their eyes constantly staring at each other’s as she fixed the shirt in place. They each seemed on the verge of saying something as they stood, then there was a racket in the other room, and the boys came bursting into their room, breaking the moment.

Kestrel picked up his knapsack of supplies, and carefully slung it over his right shoulder, along with his bow and quiver of arrows. “I’ll see you in a little while,” he told Merilla, and was quickly out the door without a backwards glance at the rooms that had been a family home so happily but briefly. And just like that, Kestrel felt they had parted ways.

On the streets his still bandaged head drew attention, but he suspected his fancy court hat would also garner looks were he to use it to hide the bandages, so he stopped and bought a plain, ordinary slouch hat, one that covered the material around his skull, and thereby allowed him to walk inconspicuously to Castona’s shop.

When he entered the shop, he immediately heard Castona call, “Kestrel!” loudly, and he saw the merchant waving at the end of the counter.

“I have worked long and hard to help the elves, you know,” Castona told Kestrel when he reached the merchants spot, speaking in the Elvish tongue.

“And I work to help my own people too,” he continued to speak Elvish. “I’ve never felt that I was betraying one to help the other.

“But I’ve never been appointed by a goddess to be the champion of one. Do you know what you will do someday if the goddess tells you the Elves are a threat to the humans of Estone?” he asked.

“I do not know,” Kestrel replied in the same language, the others in the store looking at them blankly. “I am going to take time to think and to try to understand what has happened to me.

“If you think you have an answer, Castona, I am willing to listen. Do you have an answer — can you tell me who I am?” he asked.

“You are someone who is destined for two things — greatness and trouble,” Castona said. “And I am glad that I will not have to suffer either situation!”

“Now,” he switched to the human language, “would you like to come back to the office to talk about business?” The merchant led the way to one of the rooms in the back.

“May I see it?” he asked. “May I see what a goddess does to mark her favors on her champion?”

Kestrel was happy to unload the many items he had slung over his right shoulder, though less willing to display the left-side results of his time in the chapel. As he removed the straps across his shoulder he realized that he had two full skins of healing water from the spring in the Eastern Forest, and he no longer cared if his ears grew out; he was leaving the city that afternoon, and had no reason to worry about his appearance henceforth.

He raised the front of his shirt, showing the tattoo and the divine sign to Castona. “Extraordinary,” the trader breathed. “I’ll go get your funds,” he said as he stood after crouching and studying the artwork for several seconds. With that he was out of the room, and Kestrel began to dribble a light stream of water from the skin onto the front of his body, unconcerned about soaking the material of his shirt, some water on the tattoo on his chest, some on the handprint on his back, and a little that he drank for good measure.

He sat down when finished, as he heard the approach of someone down the hallway. Castona came back, accompanied by a bearer, and each of them placed a heavy bag on the table. “Your share is fifty golds! The auction was an incredible success! I appreciate the opportunity you gave me to share in this. Geile is here to help you carry your money to whatever safe spot you have in mind,” he gleefully told Kestrel, his previous seriousness erased by the reminder of the huge profit he had received from the auction.

“There’s also the matter of your income from the palace. They want to know when you’ll come by to pick it up?” he added.

“Would you just ask them to open an account for me at the bank, and deposit there? I won’t need the money any time soon,” Kestrel had forgotten about the stipend he was entitled to as a Captain of the Fleet.

“Which bank?” Castona asked.

“Is there a bank that I will be able to access in other lands, such as Graylee or Hydrotaz, or elsewhere?” Kestrel asked.

“You will want to use the Bank of the Inland Seas,” Castona said promptly. “I’ll make arrangements. Just come by here first before you try to go to the bank and I’ll have the paperwork you need for opening the account.”

“Are you ready Geile?” Kestrel asked. The bearer nodded silent agreement, and Kestrel replaced all his traveling goods back across his shoulder, then grunted as he lifted one of the bags of gold.

“You have been a great help, Castona,” Kestrel said. He liked the merchant, and trusted him, for the most part. “I’ll tell Arlen that you were a big help.”

Together Kestrel and his temporary associate left the shop, and Kestrel led Geile immediately to the Estone Shippers Bank, where he deposited all but five golds in Merilla’s account, then dismissed Geile, and gave him a silver as a token of thanks. With the five remaining golds in a pouch on his belt, Kestrel took his time walking through the human city towards Merilla’s home. These humans were his people now, in a sense, strange as that sounded. Yet it seemed plausible, too. He’d lived a few days in the city and grown mostly accustomed to it, after spending the long journey through the wilderness with Merilla and her boys, acting as a human.

What would he do if Kai tried to compel him to fight against the Elves? Would he argue the reasons not to? Would he refuse, and be struck down? Would he ask for a different champion to be chosen? He had no idea what choice he would make, even up to deciding to fight for the humans.

As he turned the corner, he saw the bright sign above the door to Merilla’s family business, and he knew that he was only minutes away from parting ways with her. It would be the hardest moment of the whole adventure, even harder than saying farewell to Artur, for Kestrel had no choice in that matter, whereas now he was setting his own path away from this special human woman, compelled only by his own internal confusion and need to find answers.

At the door to the shop he paused to unload one of his skins of healing water, then carried it in his hand as he entered the shop.

“Is Merilla at hand?” he asked a man at the counter.

“She’s not here at the moment,” the slender, stooped man replied pleasantly.

“Are you her father?” Kestrel asked.

“I am. Daley is my name; and who are you?” he asked.

“My name is Kestrel. I traveled through the wilderness with your daughter,” Kestrel explained.

“Of course, of course,” Daley replied. “We appreciate your kindness towards our daughter and grandsons. We thought we lost her years ago, and never knew we had them until you brought them back to civilization.

“They’re over at the other home, the one that Merilla thinks will be hers, with a few friends,” he told Kestrel. “I’ve got to stay here and mind the store, of course, and I’m not sure that I don’t mind missing all the hens talking among themselves,” he winked. “You go on over and see Merilla; she’s be so happy to see you again,” he directed, as the shop door opened with the arrival of a customer.

Kestrel left the shop and stepped around the corner, then entered the empty leather shop and let himself upstairs. He opened the door, and found himself under the scrutiny of Merilla and her mother, as well as Hammon the leather monger, and five other women as well.

The room was silent as Kestrel stood in the doorway, confused by the crowd, when he only wanted a private conversation with Merilla.

“Well young man, weren’t you somewhere around the palace yesterday? What do you think of these preposterous stories about what happened there?” Merilla’s mother broke the ice.

Kestel looked around at the faces that seemed closed in universal disapproval, except for Merilla’s own, which looked at him with a sad and sympathetic smile.

“Rumor rarely gets the story right,” Kestrel answered after a moment to consider. He didn’t want to get into an argument, and he certainly didn’t want to try to convince anyone that a powerful deity had materialized on earth and touched him.

“That’s the truth!” Durille exclaimed. “I told you there was only a simple little storm, all blown out of proportion,” she turned to her daughter in triumph.

Kestrel felt a surge of sympathy for Merilla, who appeared to be bound to live a life of constant bombardment by her overbearing mother.

“Merilla’s entitled to believe whatever she wants though,” he spoke up. “Any woman who lives through the wilderness and survives a yeti attack has earned the right to more respect than those who sit safely inside the city,” he impulsively started speaking before he knew what he would end up saying, wanting to defend his friend.

The room was silent once again. “Thank you Kestrel,” Merilla said after the silence stretched out. “It’s good to see you. This is my aunt,” she introduced one older woman, “and this is Hammon’s mother, Mourene, my mother’s special friend.

“There are my cousins, and this is Hammon’s sister,” she gestured to a cluster of younger women on the other side of the room.

“Nice to meet you all,” Kestrel said to the room at large. “Merilla, may I speak with you for a moment?” he asked. “Apart?”

“Let’s go upstairs,” she suggested. “Excuse us, we’ll be right back,” she moved apart from the others and Kestrel followed, as they left the room to climb the steps up to the top floor.

“And so this is it?” she asked.

“Here,” he handed her the five golds. “I put the rest of your money in your bank; you earned fifty more golds altogether from the auction.”

“Fifty? Oh Kestrel, I can’t spend that much in a lifetime! You have to take some of it, I insist,” she said.

“And here’s a skin of the healing water from the spring in the Eastern Forest. Use it for yourself and the boys. I want to imagine that you’re always healthy and without pain,” he pressed the skin into her hands, letting his fingers grasp and hold hers as she accepted the gift.

“Merilla, if I knew anything about my future, I’d take you with me right now, regardless of what Kai wants,” he told her.

“I’ll go with you whether you know where you’re going or not, if you want me to Kestrel,” she answered as they looked at each other.

He bent his head down and kissed her, their lips parted and the kiss a deep one, filled with the longing they felt for each other. Kestrel heard a heavy tread on the stairs, and reluctantly raised his head. Hammon bashfully entered the room. “Durille sent me upstairs to make sure you’re okay. I’ll go back down and let them know you are,” he said as he turned and departed quickly.

“I don’t mind being human because of you,” Kestrel told her. “I think I’ll be back someday; I don’t know if it will be sooner or later.

“But I’ll come see you when I return, I swear,” he told her.

“Unless it’s soon, I’ll be engaged, Kestrel, maybe even married. The mothers have it plotted,” she answered.

He kissed her again, a chaste kiss this time. “I’ll see you every time I pass through Estone, if I ever return,” he vowed.

“Let’s go downstairs,” Merilla said, releasing one hand, but still holding his with her other as they walked back down to join the others, who ceased their whispering upon the couple’s arrival.

“Kestrel has to leave Estone, he’s told me,” Merilla said. “And I’ve told him that if he ever comes back, I’ll have a place for him to stay. Good bye, Kestrel,” she told him directly, then embraced him in a hug that encompassed all the gear on his back, and inadvertently pressed against his burnt skin.

“I’m sorry!” she exclaimed as he sharply sucked in his breath.

Kestrel looked around at the others, then looked at Merilla and gave a wistful smile. He felt his eyes starting to well up, and turned. Moments later he had rushed down the stairs and out onto the street. He tore the dirty white bandage off of his head, and stood outside the leather shop frozen in place by a welter of confusing emotions.

He had to leave her behind. He knew it, though he hated the knowledge. He was going to start on a journey back towards Firheng, and he didn’t know if he would reach the city, or turn aside somewhere in confusion, but he wasn’t going anywhere he felt certain he could take Merilla, let alone her two boys. Pulling the bandage off not only felt good, but it showed the world of Estone that his ears were elven ears, and it reminded him as well.

Kestrel turned and looked at his reflection in the window of the leather shop, and he saw that his ears were unmistakably growing their pointed shapes again, and his eyebrows were beginning to climb back to the home nature had made for them. Despite all the humanity that had been thrust upon him, he still had traces of Elfishness in his blood and body. With that blunt reminder, he threw the bandage into a nearby trash receptacle, and began to walk back to the Eastern Forest.

Three days later, he nearly lost his life. Estone was closer to Firheng than it was to the wilderness where Kestrel had encountered the yeti. Despite the fact that Kestrel dawdled along the way, in no hurry to face decisions within and about Elven culture, the journey from Estone to Firheng was less than a week in length. After two days of walking along the southern road from the capital, Kestrel had entered an unsettled land, where few farms or ranches existed, but occasional bands of thieves preyed upon travelers who journeyed without sufficient security.

He traveled slowly as he thought and rethought the question of leaving Merilla in his past. He considered turning around to go back and fetch her with him, and he considered going back to move in with her in Estone. His restless spirit would settle on neither approach as best for her though, so he continued to head back to his elven roots.

Then an arrow struck him in the chest. The arrow was shot with the strength of a human and it hit his left breast with considerable force. The impact of the shot was tremendous, causing him to abruptly stagger backwards two steps, creating enormous pain. He was stunned by the pain he felt, and uncertain what had happened until he looked down and saw the shaft lying on the dusty road before him, and he saw a small tear in the fabric of his shirt, where the arrow had struck him. The goddess’s crest upon his chest had stopped the arrow from penetrating his skin. He had suffered all the force of the blow, but had not received the intended fatal injury.

There was movement in the forest ahead of him, and whispered comments from whoever had intended to slay him. Recovering himself, Kestrel ran to the side of the road and stood behind a tree, as a second arrow shot forth and narrowly missed him.

Kestrel shrugged off his pack and pulled his own bow loose as he scanned the area before him. He drew an arrow of his own, looked in the direction he thought the two arrows had come from, and saw two figures lurking behind a bush. There was the sound of others crashing through the woods nearby as well, but he wanted first to return the injury that had been intended for him. He released one arrow, counting on the bush to provide no useful protection, reached for a second arrow, and took aim again. There was a scream, as his first arrow reached its target, and he released the second arrow. He dropped the bow and slid over to the next tree, switching positions to move slightly further from the road, as he drew his sword and concentrated on the sounds of others in the forest approaching him, at least three, he judged.

He caught sight of a trio coming through the bushes, spreading out as they approached, then he whirled and raised his sword in desperate defense as another of his unknown assailants surprised him with a stealthy approach. He blocked the first murderous swing of his opponent’s blade, then stepped away from the tree that he had been fruitlessly hiding behind.

“Over here!” the small man fighting him shouted. “Help!”

Kestrel went on the attack, trying to defeat the thief who had apparently only planned to ambush and kill him. The man wasn’t handy with a blade, and the failure of his first attack now left him vulnerable to Kestrel’s counter attack. Kestrel swung his sword low and nearly cut his opponent’s leg, then swung high, but fouled his blade in a low-hanging tree branch just before he could deliver a deadly blow.

The sounds of the other members of the band grew closer, and Kestrel knew he only had moments to win before he would be terribly outnumbered.

“Why did you attack me?” he asked as he thrust his blade hard at the man’s midsection. His attack was successful, so strongly pressed that the other fighter could not deflect it away, and Kestrel’s blade sank into his stomach. It was the first time Kestrel had every actually stabbed another person in the anger of battle, other than in the battle with the yeti, and the feel of his blade entering flesh repulsed him.

He pulled the sword free as he saw a kind of pleading expression in his opponent’s eyes, just before the man folded and fell to the ground. Kestrel quickly turned and judged that his next battle would begin in a few seconds, so he angled back towards the road, trying to isolate one of the three remaining attackers for his next battle.

The man at that end of the line was a large man, one who was taller and heavier and stronger than Kestrel, and just as good a swordsman too. Kestrel blocked and swung and blocked and stabbed while gaining no advantage, as the other two fighters came circling around to adjust to his new location. One was a woman, and one was another man, of about Kestrel’s own size, but he had no chance against the three of them, he knew.

The other two swords began to enter the fray and Kestrel stepped next to a tree to use it as an impromptu shield for a moment, then managed to land a slicing blow on the woman’s arm before he blocked a wild swing the largest man aimed at his head. Just blocking the force of the powerful shot pushed Kestrel against the tree he was utilizing, and momentarily disabled him. The smaller of the two men took advantage of his vulnerability and thrust a stab directly at Kestrel’s unprotected chest.

Just as it had protected him from the first arrow, the divine insignia on Kestrel’s chest blunted the stab, preventing the blade from penetrating. Kestrel grunted loudly, then swung his sword upward, slicing deeply into the man’s arm, causing him to cry aloud in pain as he dropped his sword.

The second man was disabled, the woman was lightly wounded and skittish about taking further injury, but the large man was unhurt and undeterred. “How do you do that? Do you have some special armor beneath your shirt?” he asked, just as he tried to slice at Kestrel’s thigh.

Kestrel danced around the tree to protect himself, and poked his sword from the other side, almost striking flesh. “The goddess protects me,” he grunted in reply. He broke off the engagement and ran back to where he had left his pack and bow on the ground. With only seconds of a lead over the man behind him, he knelt and grabbed his staff off of the pack, then raised one end to block a sword blow from his arriving opponent. He pivoted the staff and poked its end into the knee of the large man, then stood.

With the staff securely held in both hands, Kestrel went on the attack, using both ends to land blows on the big man, while blocking every swing of the sword with ease, his staff becoming nicked and hacked but remaining sturdy. Kestrel whacked the wooden staff hard on the other man’s knee, striking a nerve that made him involuntarily bow, and bringing his temple into range of a telling blow that knocked the man dizzy. Kestrel followed with a blow to the top of the head, a stiff prod to the midsection, and then a strike to the throat that left the man on the ground.

Kestrel stood wearily, looking about. The woman was the only one standing, watching him warily from behind a tree. “Are we done here?” Kestrel shouted at her.

She ducked behind the tree. “Go on,” she shouted. “Go on and leave us be.”

Kestrel sheathed his sword, then strapped his staff to his pack again, and swung the pack over his shoulder. He picked up his bow, and placed it over his left shoulder, where the goddess’s hand print had healed after days of treatment with the water from the healing spring. Satisfied that he had all his belongings, but shaken by the suddenness and pointlessness of the fruitless violence, he returned to the road and began raising a dusty cloud as he hurried south, seeking to put space between himself and the scene of the deadly encounter.

It was probably the next day that he crossed the unmarked border between the humans of Estone and the elves of the Eastern Forest. He slept in trees in the elven manner for the next two nights, and around noon, on the fifth day of his journey from Estone, he re-entered the gates of Firheng.

Belinda was not behind her desk when Kestrel walked into her office. “Gion, is the commander in?” Kestrel stuck his head out into the hall to ask the guard on duty.

“He’s down at the armory,” Gion answered. “Go on down and give him a challenge, why don’t you?” the guard grinned. “Welcome back, yeti-killer.”

“I’m going to leave my things here,” Kestrel replied, piling his goods in a corner.

“What, don’t you think you want to stay with us a while? Go ahead up to your room and put your things away,” Gion replied.

“I’m pretty sure they’re going to send me back to Center Trunk. I just don’t know if it will be immediately or delayed,” Kestrel protested. “If I get to stay here, I’ll go to my room.”

With that he wandered back to the armory where Arlen and Casimo were both engaged in matches, along with a half dozen others. Kestrel stood in the doorway and watched the activity as guards practiced swords along with as staffs and hand-to-hand techniques as well. He hoped he’d have a chance to stay at Firheng for a few days and practice his skills, living simply for the engagements without worries about surgeries or assignments or loyalties or deities.

“All welcome the great combatant!” Arlen shouted, and heads turned to look at Kestrel. Both Arlen and Casimo dismissed their opponents, and walked over to shake his hand and heartily welcome him back to Firheng.

“You took your time returning, it seems,” Casimo commented. “Did anything interesting happen?”

“He had a long journey from where we were all the way to Estone city, especially considering he had to play papa to a widow and at least a couple of babies,” Arlen spoke up defensively. “Did everything go well? Did you find Castona? Was he a help?”

“I did find Castona, and he was a big help. There were complications at times, but Castona knew how to deal with everything,” Kestrel answered. “I owe him thanks for his help.”

“And did you get the widow settled in? Were the kids a handful?” Arlen asked.

“They’re great kids. They handled the journey well; they handled the city pretty well. Merilla’s from Estone, she has returned to her parents, and with the money Castona got for the yeti items, I think she’ll be set,” Kestrel sighed.

“How did you feel in the city, around all those humans? How was your accent?” Casimo jumped in. “Your ears look like they never were treated? What did you do to them?”

“I think my accent is fine; Castona said I sounded like I came from some of the southern cities. He said I wouldn’t have any problems, and no one else said anything at all,” Kestrel answered. He paused, as he wondered how much more to say about all that had taken place, the things that were unbelievable and the things that were intensely personal.

“On the way back to Firheng I was ambushed by thieves; at least I assume they meant to be thieves. I used my bow, my sword, and my staff to escape,” he began with the easiest matter.

“Good for you! How many were there?” Arlen asked.

“I hit two with arrows, beat three with the sword, and one with the staff. He was the biggest one,” Kestrel answered. Arlen and Casimo exchanged a look.

“You beat six thieves?” Arlen asked.

“They tried to ambush me, and they were split up, so I never fought more than three at a time,” Kestrel explained.

“They probably saw a solitary elf on the road and assumed you were just a merchant who couldn’t fight, who was returned from trading goods in Estone and would have money they could steal,” Casimo hypothesized.

“They didn’t know or care if I could fight,” Kestrel blurted out. “Their first shot was meant to kill me.” He thought of the arrow that had bounced off his chest.

“Sure,” Arlen agreed casually. “They’re not known as kind and gentle people.”

“I was lauded as a yeti-killer,” Kestrel began to approach his story. “When I took the goods to Castona to sell, he thought he could make the most money through an auction, so he spread the story about fighting the yeti to give the auction more publicity. So I got some recognition.” He wasn’t sure what else to say that wouldn’t sound completely unbelievable, although he knew he had the proof he needed for his story.

“Did the sale go well?” Arlen asked.

“Castona raised,” Kestrel added the amounts together, “one hundred and twenty golds. He kept fifty for himself, and Merilla got the rest.”

“She got seventy golds! How much did you get?” Casimo exclaimed, his voice rising.

“I didn’t get anything from the yeti sales,” Kestrel answered. “I told Merilla she could have everything. She has the boys after all.”

“So why are your ears back to normal?” Casimo repeated his earlier question.

“When we fought the yeti, we were all injured, so I used some of the healing water. I didn’t think about it healing my ears so completely back to their usual shape. And then on the trip to the city, one of the boys got hurt, and I rubbed more of the water into his scalp wound a couple of times,” Kestrel explained. “By the time we went to the palace to meet the Doge my ears already grew out enough that Castona had my head wrapped to hide them.”

“You met the Doge at the palace?” Arlen asked in surprise.

He had said a little too much, Kestrel realized, and he had taken a step closer to revealing the frightening part of what he had experienced.

“That was part of the plan for promoting the auction,” he replied.

“What’s the rest of this story?” the commander asked. “I sense you’re not telling us everything.”

Kestrel took another deep breath, then sighed. He wasn’t good at lying, and he was speaking to a commanding officer to boot.

“The Doge gave me titles; he named me as a Captain of the Fleet, and he named me as Champion of the People. Then the goddess Kai came to earth and named me her champion of the people too,” he spoke hurriedly, his words running together.

Casimo sat back. “Okay, now tell me what really happened.”

In response, Kestrel stood up. He untucked his shirt, then pulled it up over his head, revealing the new marks that had been added to his torso. “This is the one the Doge ordered for me,” he pointed, “and this is the one the goddess created,” his finger crossed his chest, then he twisted his back into their view and pointed over his shoulder. “This is the mark she left behind.”

Both the other elves at the table stood as well, looking at Kestrel, then at one another, then at Kestrel again.

“Put your shirt on,” Casimo snapped. “We’re going to my office right now.” He immediately left the armory, as others looked at the trio, examining Kestrel from a distance.

Arlen grabbed Kestrel’s arm. “What is this?” he asked.

Kestrel wretched his arm free. “Kai told me before that I would owe her a favor, because she had done something I asked her to. I just never knew it would be anything like this.

“Let’s go,” he said, heading to the door.

Arlen followed. “That mark on your back looks like it must have been painful.”

“It was,” Kestrel confirmed. “But the mark saved my life. The arrow the thieves shot at me? It hit me square on the mark and bounced off. A sword stabbed me there, but couldn’t penetrate it.”

They walked the short distance across the base to Casimo’s office, where Belinda had returned.

“Kestrel!” she said fondly. “It’s so good to see you, even with elven ears. Your healing water worked miracles for Ranor; I applied all of it to him, and so much is improving. His ears and his eyes have grown back!”

Kestrel walked to the corner and picked up another bag of healing water. “Here, take this one then and put it to use,” he handed it to her.

She hugged him tightly, and when they broke apart, there were tears in her eyes. “Kestrel, I dream that I’ll have the old Ranor back someday. Do you think I will?”

“The water does great things, Belinda. Just say your prayers and hope for the best,” he answered with a smile.

He left her as he started to walk towards Casimo’s office with Arlen. “He just went in there in quite a mood. You might want to come back later,” she advised.

“I’m the reason he’s in that mood,” Kestrel said bleakly, his hand on the door, and then it pushed it open and entered.

“Kestrel, take off your shirt again. Belinda, come in here,” Casimo called out loudly before Kestrel and Arlen had even entered his office.

Belinda followed the other two into the office, and pushed the door closed behind her.

“Both of you take a look at this and tell me what it means,” Casimo ordered Arlen and Belinda.

They both circled Kestrel as he stood self-consciously.

“Belinda, what do these things mean?” Casimo asked his assistant.

“I don’t know, but the crest is beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s a work of art. What do the words at the bottom mean?” she asked.

“What words?” Kestrel questioned. He had never had a mirror with which to study the marks on his chest closely, and the details were a mystery.

Belinda leaned in close to his body. “Kai’s champion, Estone’s Champion, Humanity’s Champion,” she read.

“So you’re humanity’s champion now?” Casimo asked.

“So the goddess named me,” Kestrel replied. Belinda gasped audibly.

“Have you renounced your allegiance to the elven nation?” he asked.

“No,” Kestrel answered instantly, while thinking about the constant desire he felt to go back to Merilla and live with her in Estone.

“Arlen, what do you think of this?” the commander asked.

“I think I am a simple master-at-arms, and these are matters far beyond my knowledge. I know Kestrel is an elf, and I know he killed a yeti, and I know he would not betray our people,” the warrior replied.

Casimo sat silently for over a minute, as everyone else stood awkwardly. “Put your shirt on Kestrel,” he said at last. “Then go get whatever you want to take with you. I’m going to send you on your way to Center Trunk this afternoon; this is too deep for me.

Come back in an hour; I’m going to write a report for you to take to Silvan, explaining the situation as I understand it,” he decided out loud. “All of you are dismissed. Belinda, get a message tube prepared.

“No, wait,” he called as they headed to the door. “Kestrel, you might as well spend the night here after traveling all day to get here; get a little rest. You’re off duty, and I’ll have a message for you in the morning,” he changed his mind.

Kestrel gathered his pack and weapons, and started down the hall. “Kestrel,” Arlen called, “do you want to grab dinner?” he asked.

“That sounds good,” Kestrel replied with a grin, the first time he felt comfortable since beginning to tell his tale. “I’ll meet you at the dining hall in a couple of hours.” He left the offices to return to his old rooms for the first time since he had left on the yeti-hunting training mission.

“Belinda,” Casimo called as soon as Kestrel was gone. “Get the fastest messenger you can. I want to send a tube this afternoon with a message, and then I’ll send another tomorrow with Kestrel,” he ordered, then shut his door and began to write out his urgent report.

Ferris was released from the prison the same day Kestrel arrived in Firheng. He had spent days crammed with two dozen other Hydrotaz officers in a small dungeon cell, next to other cells that likewise inhumanely held officers and noblemen who had been swept up by the forces of Graylee.

The joy Ferris had felt during the great victory over the elves had been a short-lived burst of satisfaction. He had felt uneasy before the battle, concerned about the presence of the Graylee forces and equipment on Hydrotaz soil. He had been confused by the sudden departure from the battlefield after the easy victory, and he felt uneasy when they had triumphantly marched back westward with their war machines and strings of captured elves who were destined to be enslaved.

And then horror had come. Officers of the Hydrotaz forces had been pulled aside for a series of briefings over the course of the journey, and had been chained up and bundled away from their forces. Then the siege weapons had been reassembled, and used to pummel the capital city, Hydrotaz, into surrender to the surrounding Graylee forces. The leaders of Hydrotaz’s own forces had been penned away, and only now were being released, now that their wives and children were being held as hostages, shipped to the distant city of Graylee to be held at a palace there, or to be punished there if the Hydrotaz officers objected to the conquest of their nation.

Ferris had stood for days in the crowded dungeon cell, a filthy cesspit that could not hold half as many prisoners in humane conditions. When his name had been called on the day of his release he had pressed and worked his way through the crowd to the dim light of a lantern that showed where the doorway was. His legs were like those of all the other prisoners, weak from the lack of exercise and movement, and when he left the cell and affirmed his identity, he was dragged by two Graylee guards out into the sunlight. He shaded his eyes and stumbled, blinded by the light, as he slowly followed his captors to a courtroom.

“Captain Ferris?” a military judge of Graylee had asked as he sat up at the bench looking down upon Ferris. Other men in tattered clothes were awaiting their turns for similar hearings.

“That’s me,” Ferris confirmed.

“Husband of Joane, father of Graysen?” the judge asked.

“I am,” Ferris answered.

“Resident of the blue brick manor on green water pond, and descendant of the Mylinde clan?” he was further asked to affirm his identity.

“Those things are all true,” he could only agree. There was no value in foolish opposition at this point, not when these men could easily reach out and harm his family.

“You are hereby freed upon parole, and released to live in society once again. You are hereby offered the opportunity to serve your nation as an officer in the infantry,” the judge read emotionlessly from a sheet of paper. “You are hereby notified that your wife and son have taken transport aboard the Graylee royal yacht Last Lake to take up residence at the Yellow Palace at Graylee, as a token of your commitment to obey the laws, rules, and regulations of the Graylee suzerainty now established in the lands formerly known as Hydrotaz.

“Do you accept the terms of your freedom and responsibility?” the judge asked, then stopped reading without bothering to look up from his paper to observe Ferris.

Ferris paused long enough that some of the bustle around the edges of the courtroom slowed as people paused to see if he would speak the wrong words.

“I accept the terms,” he mumbled at last.

“Take this loyal subject of Graylee to the quartermaster for uniform, supplies, and a copy of the rules of the Graylee army. Process all such paperwork as is necessary for him to assume his duties,” the judge said in a bored tone. He hammered on the podium. “Next case,” he called out, and Ferris was escorted away.

He learned later that day that he would be assigned as captain of a company of mixed Graylee and Hydrotaz membership, to be assigned to spend the upcoming winter out on the Eastern Forest frontier, near where the Battle of the Fire had been held, and then would be thrown into battle in the spring.

Kestrel awoke in the morning, feeling more comfortable with his circumstances than he had at any time since killing the yeti. He and Arlen had eaten dinner, then drank ales, then returned to Kestrel’s apartment and continued to talk deep into the night. Kestrel had told Arlen the whole story of his doomed infatuation with Merilla, and the painful decision he had made to walk away from the human woman. He had confessed his self-doubt about his identity, whether he was elf or human.

Arlen had tapped Kestrel’s breast as he prepared to leave when the red stars rose above the horizon. “You may have a human badge and a human obligation here on your skin, but underneath it, you have an elven heart,” Arlen had told him. “You’ve got a good heart, and I know you will always chose to do the right thing.

“Let me know when you come back, and let me know if you need someone to go yeti hunting with you, now that I know how profitable it is!” he laughed, and descended the stairs into the darkness.

Arlen’s trust was reassuring. Kestrel’s return to the Elven community felt easier and more comfortable, knowing that someone who knew him could still have complete faith in him, and buoy his trust in himself.

He would be back through Firheng again, he felt confident, and so it seemed reasonable to leave his belongings in his room atop the housing unit. He stuffed minimal supplies in his pack, then gathered up his bow and arrow, typical of elven guards, and his sword and staff, atypical of elves, and went to see Belinda. She had a message tube sitting on her desk awaiting him, and a smile on her face when she saw him.

“I’ll tell you, Kestrel, that water you provide is a miracle. My eyes tear up just thinking about how much good it will do Ranor to use the new skin of water on him,” she told him earnestly. She rose and picked the tube off the desk, then handed it to him before giving him a long, tight hug.

“Travel safely, and come back to us soon, with or without those stylish ears!” she grinned as they broke their clinch and looked at each other. She was another good friend Kestrel could rely on to trust him and have faith in him, he knew. “And tell those goddesses to go easier on you next time!” she added impishly.

“I’ll tell them,” he smiled back, then was out the door and on his way to Center Trunk.

The trees were beginning to change. Autumn’s beginning was not far away. He had noticed leaves on the ground as he left Estone, but his attention had usually been diverted by his thoughts and worries, so he had paid little attention. Now, as he jogged along the southern road within the forest, he noticed the leaves on the ground, and the colors that were emerging among the green leaves still on the trees. His journey was a little noisier than it had been during the summer, as leaves crunched beneath his feet, but Kestrel appreciated the noise as a reminder of life in the forest, the life of an elf in the autumn, when the nuts were harvested and stored in a frenzy of preparation for the approaching winter.

That night he climbed up into a tree and slept, rather than use his blue-ribboned tube to secure a bed at an inn. He appreciated and preferred the solitude of the forest, until he awoke just before dawn to the arrival of a rain shower.

Kestrel hastily climbed down from his tree perch, almost slipping on the wet branches during his descent, then pulled a weatherproof cover from his pack, and began a slow stroll along the forest path. When daylight sullenly arrived through the heavy overcast, he picked up speed slightly, careful of the slick leaves that were being knocked from the trees along the entire course of his journey that day. Ditches filled with water, and streams rose as rain steadily soaked the forest all day long. Kestrel was chilled by late afternoon, and had no doubt about the advisability of stopping at a small village inn for the night. His message tube secured a room for his use, and he undressed and dried out before putting on dry clothes and heading down to the common room for dinner.

Few travelers were at the inn, but many locals had come to the tavern to socialize, and Kestrel was squeezed between two groups of the villagers as he ate his dinner quietly and listened to their talk. Despite the weeks that had passed since the fire and battle with the humans, the conflict was still a topic of conversation, and Kestrel listened gloomily to the elves speak angrily about the humans. A pair of guards from their own village were killed in the battle, and the neighbors mourned their loss

“You look kind of human yourself,” one of the larger elves at the table said to Kestrel, speaking over the rim of his tankard of ale.

“I’m a member of the guard, delivering a message,” Kestrel said quietly. He sensed that he needed to pick his words carefully to avoid any open hostility.

“But you look human,” the other elf insisted.

“I am an elf,” Kestrel replied.

“You are what you look like,” the large elf placed his tankard on the table, and the others around the brewing confrontation grew quiet as he rose from his seat.

There was an inevitability to the approaching fight, Kestrel concluded. He rose too.

“If that’s the case, you ought to be out in the woods snorting around searching for acorns, because you look like a pig. Oink, oink,” Kestrel replied.

The room was profoundly silent at that, and the drunken man’s face grew red, while his features distorted in anger, and he dove across the table at Kestrel.

The fight between the two lasted fifteen seconds. Kestrel was sober, and he was trained in hand-to-hand combat, and he was confident in his abilities. He evaded his opponent, then struck hard and repeatedly before he forced the drunkard to the floor and placed a foot on his back in a victory pose.

“Does anyone else doubt I’m an elf?” he asked.

In reply an arrow flew across the small room, and struck him on his chest, bouncing off the hidden mark Kai had placed in his chest. The arrow bounced off him and deflected to the table spot he had previously sat in, striking the wood with enough force to stick, as Kestrel was forced backward a step by the energy the shaft pressed against him.

Kestrel looked up at an elf who held an empty bow, his jaw hanging slackly. Kestrel raised his finger and pointed. “You’ll regret that,” he told the shooter, then drove at him, punching him and breaking his bow.

The tavern emptied out rapidly, and Kestrel looked at the dismayed proprietor. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

“Lad, I’m likely to have twice as many here tomorrow talking about tonight,” the older elf said philosophically. “They shouldn’t have treated you that way.”

Kestrel left the empty room and went upstairs, where he bolted his door and lay down on his cot to contemplate the foolishness of the evening. Twice he had been attacked by elves for looking like a human, as well as taunted endlessly while growing up. He’d never been attacked among the humans, but he’d only been in a rare city where elves were accepted, or at least tolerated, among humans, and he’d not been there long, and he’d not been associated with elves by the humans he came in contact with.

But the people he trusted and cared about most, Merilla, Arlen, Belinda, Cheryl — were a mix of both humans and elves, and their friendship wasn’t diminished by his mixed identity. And deities from both races had offered him aid and blessings.

Kestrel fell asleep and slept uneasily. He awoke after dawn, with the rain ended, the sun shining, and the road a leaf-strewn mess. Kestrel appropriated a roll from the tavern kitchen, then left the inn behind and began his travels for the day.

He ran and he thought, and he reached a decision before he reached the gates of Center Trunk. He would do what he thought was in the best interest of elves and humans. He would listen to Colonel Silvan and he would listen to the Doge of Estone. He would listen to Kai and to Kere. But when action was needed, he would think of his friends, human and elven and even sprite and imp, and do what his own judgment told him was the right thing to do.

Kestrel reached Center Trunk after sunset, and went to the barracks where he had stayed before. He remembered that Silvan might work late, might be in his office, watched over by Giardell, as he had on the occasion of Kestrel’s first visit to the capital, but he didn’t feel he wanted to face the spymaster in the darkened room at night, after a long day of travel. Better to sleep until daylight he reasoned, and visit Silvan in the morning.

He used the blue messenger tube to justify a room at the guest barracks building, and selected the same room he had held his first time in Center Trunk. He lay on the bed and listened to the gentled sound of the city around him, and fell asleep.

He sat up abruptly soon after dawn, awoken by the sound of a sharp knocking on his door. “Who’s there?” he asked as he scrambled out of bed.

“It’s me, Kestrel, Giardell. Colonel Silvan received a report that you arrived last night, and sent me over to fetch you to the office. He’s anxious to read your report and listen to your comments,” the voice outside the door answered.

Kestrel pulled on clothes, grabbed his message tube, and opened the door. Giardell stood across the hall, as polished and prepared as ever. Kestrel was glad to see him; Giardell was solid and reliable, seemingly incorruptible in his devotion to his duty, which was guarding Colonel Silvan.

Kestrel made one needed stop, and then the two of them crossed the military base to the office building that raised Kestrel’s hackles.

“Messenger Kestrel has arrived,” Giardell announced as he leaned in the doorway of Silvan’s office, then opened the door wide in response to an unintelligible comment from within, and Kestrel entered the office. Silvan stood behind his desk, looking as grandfatherly as before, a gentle smile on his face.

The window shades allowed narrow slates of light to fall in slices across the floor; for just a second, Kestrel had an irrational feeling that they were jail bars, and he was about to be trapped in a cell.

Silvan came around his desk and walked out to greet Kestrel. He shook his hand, then held out his other for the messenger tube. “Kestrel, it’s quite a surprise to see you back like this,” he examined Kestrel’s ears and eyebrows carefully, then looked into his eyes. “I hope you’re at peace,” he said, “and if you’re not, I’d like to help you find your peace.

“Have a seat,” he motioned, towards the chairs at the desk, then walked around the desk and opened the tube. He began to read the message within before he had even sat down, leaving Kestrel to fidget as he absorbed the contents.

“Have you had anything to eat this morning?” he asked as he looked up suddenly.

“No sir,” Kestrel replied.

“Why don’t you and Giardell go to the commissary and grab a bite of food, and please bring a jelly cracker back for me,” he gave a slight grin as Kestrel rose and left the room.

“Let me guess, we’re supposed to get a jelly cracker for Silvan?” Giardell asked as Kestrel reemerged.

“I can get some breakfast for myself too,” Kestrel grinned. “You could too.”

The commissary food was basic but filling, and Kestrel found that he was too nervous to eat heartily, so after a few minutes at a table with a partially filled plate, they returned to the office building. When Kestrel walked into Silvan’s office to deliver the pastry and resume the interview, he found that Alicia was waiting for him as well.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath at the sight of the elven maid who had deceived him and operated on him.

“I’m sorry to see such a reaction, Kestrel,” she said, lowering the hand she had raised to shake with. “I really like you. No one else has ever fought for me the way you did, and no one else will ever introduce me to sprites and imps the way you have!

“May I approach and examine you?” she asked as he slowly stepped over to give Silvan his jelly cracker.

“Yes,” Kestrel said in a quiet voice.

“Will you attack her or harm her if she approaches?” Silvan asked.

Kestrel sat in a chair. No,” he replied. She started to walk towards him. “Probably not,” he qualified his answer, and she stopped in her tracks, a flicker of fear on her lovely face.

“No,” Kestrel, clarified, pleased to see she took his anger seriously. She was so beautiful, so exotic in appearance, but she had so grossly violated his trust that he looked upon her with all the wariness of a wounded animal watching a hunter approach.

Carefully she approached him, and knelt down beside him looking at his ear, then gently touching it. “Can you feel my touch?” she asked calmly.

“Like a stinging wasp,” Kestrel answered.

She circled around behind him and looked at his other ear, then touched his eyebrow. “Do you feel this touch?” her finger gently massaged his forehead.

“Yes,” he told her. She stood up and walked back over to Silvan’s side. “Everything is as if nothing had ever been done. There’s complete nerve regeneration, and not a sign of scar material anywhere.

“How often did you apply the healing water?” she asked.

“Just three or four times when my ears started to regrow, and those times I didn’t even put in on my ears. A couple of times I just got it on my hands while I was applying the water to someone else,” he told the two of them. “And then after that I used it to heal the things the goddess did.”

“May I, may we, see that, please?” Alicia asked.

Kestrel stood with a stolid expression on his face, and wordlessly removed his shirt. They both came around the desk this time, looking him over with the most meticulous attention, as he stared at a spot on the distant wall.

“This is where the goddess touched you?” Alicia asked, her hand settled into the scarred handprint on his back.

“No, she touched me here,” he motioned towards his chest. “But her powers went all the way through me to my back.”

They both bent and tried to decipher the writing on his chest. “It’s written in human,” Alicia commented. “I can’t read it.”

“Kai’s champion, Estone’s Champion, Humanity’s Champion,” Kestrel told her, remembering the words Belinda had spoken.

“Are you?” Silvan asked.

“I am who I am. That is what a goddess has named me,” Kestrel replied.

“If we offer to return your ears to human form, will you go off on the mission we assign you to, or will you go off to live life among the humans as one of them because that’s what you want to do?” the colonel asked shrewdly, coming around to face Kestrel, as Alicia continued to look closely at his chest mark.

“I’d try to carry out the mission,” Kestrel answered.

“It looks like there’s a little bit of a scratch along it right here,” her finger drew a line on his chest.

“I was hit by an arrow a couple of nights ago. That’s probably from the spot where the arrow bounced off,” Kestrel said.

“It protects you from arrows?” Silvan asked in astonishment.

“It cannot be penetrated,” Kestrel confirmed.

“Astonishing,” Alicia murmured.

“Do you want to go on this mission, the one we had planned for you, to go to the human nations and learn about their war plans against the elves?” Silvan asked.

“But not to do any harm to Estone’s people?” Kestrel clarified.

“Estone has done us no harm, so we have no intention for you to fight against them,” Silvan agreed.

“I accept the assignment,” Kestrel answered.

“Alicia, go prepare yourself,” Silvan said.

“Do you have any more of your healing water?” she asked Kestrel.

“No, not here with me,” he thought of the skin of water he had given to Belinda for her husband. “But I can go to the spring and get some more,” he added.

“How long will it take?” Silvan asked.

Kestrel wasn’t sure whether Dewberry would interrupt her honeymoon for him, although she had come to him once already when it suited her. “Possibly a couple of hours, possibly a couple of days,” he answered cautiously. “Give me some water skins and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Ah yes,” Silvan said as he realized Kestrel’s intent. “You do have some extraordinary resources to call upon, don’t you?

“Go get some skins and return here when you have the water. We’ll carry on from there,” Silvan decided. “You’re both dismissed,” he addressed both Kestrel and Alicia.

Stiffly, Kestrel left the office and went down the stairs, heading to the quartermaster’s depot to get his skins. “Kestrel, wait, please,” he heard Alicia’s voice behind him. He reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped without turning around.

“Will you ever forgive me?” she asked as she hurried down the stairs to catch up with him.

“No,” he said flatly.

“Kestrel, please try. Please find it in your heart. I really admire you. I want to be friends,” she told him.

“There can’t be friendship where there isn’t trust,” he answered. “Is that all?”

“Yes,” she conceded defeat. “Just let me know when you’re ready for the operation.”

He walked out the door without further comment, and went down the way to a large building that held the supplies the guardsmen needed. He walked out five minutes later with a half dozen empty water skins, and carried them up to his room.

Once the door was closed, he sat down on the mattress. “Dewberry?” he called. He reached out with his heart and mind, and repeated the call three times, then waited.

“Kestrel? What are you doing back here?” the sprite emerged from nothingness and promptly questioned him.

“I’m going to have my ears changed again, and I need more water from the healing spring. Would you and Jonson be willing to take me there?” he asked. The sprite was dressed in a bright red dress, one that was very short, and she was the most colorful being Kestrel had ever imagined seeing.

“Jonson can’t come. He’s busy working today on some project his father gave him,” Dewberry pouted. “But maybe I could take you myself!” she said brightly.

Kestrel looked at her doubtfully. “I don’t understand what you do or how you do it, but I have the impression I’m too big for one sprite to carry,” he said.

“Let me go see if my brother wants to help,” Dewberry said, and she disappeared. Kestrel waited patiently, and moments later two sprites appeared.

“He’s willing to go if we get to enjoy the water,” Dewberry told Kestrel.

“I have such wonderful dreams while I sleep there,” her brother explained brightly.

And within moments they were gone, away from the dull sleeping room and returned to the warm waters of the healing spring. The air was appreciably cooler than the air in Center Trunk, and tendrils of gentle steam rose from the surface of the water. Kestrel looked at the pool, mesmerized by the beauty of the sight, then turned to discover that both the sprites were sitting beside the water awaiting his attention.

In took little time to lay them on the shallow beach of the water that Kestrel relied on for resting sprites, and then he turned his attention to industriously dipping each of his skins into the pool, filling them methodically, until he had a pile of finished products and no more skins left to fill. He felt obligated to let the sprites have more time to soak in the warm waters and enjoy whatever dreamlike effects the water had on them, so he sat with his own feet dangling in the water while the rest of him remained in the cool air, and he thought about Cheryl, living in Elmheng without her father.

She had never answered any of his letters, and though that hurt his feelings, Kestrel still speculated about how she was doing, and wondered if he would ever see her again. It seemed unlikely; Firheng and Estone had quickly come to feel more like his home than Elmheng did.

A cloud moved in front of the sun, and Kestrel judged that it was time to awaken his sprite friends. He pulled each out of the water and waited for them to awaken, then received his trip back to Center Trunk.

“I’ll tell Jonson he missed a trip to the spring. He’ll be extremely jealous!” Dewberry triumphantly crowed. “Now, here’s my goodbye kiss,” she pecked his lips with hers, and then Kestrel was alone in his room.

He gathered up his bags of water and walked to the rooms where Alicia had operated on him before, and found her at a desk, talking to an attendant. “Here’s the water,” he placed the pile of skins on a table.

“That’s wonderful! We’ll be able to help so many patients with all of that,” she gushed appreciatively to Kestrel.

“Now what?” Kestrel asked.

“I need for you to get drunk and pass out,” Alicia said. “Same as last time.”

“Where’s the nearest tavern?” he asked.

“Let me take you there,” she said, standing up.

“Is there someone else who I could go with?” he asked stiffly.

“All you want to do is drink a lot of ale in a hurry. What’s the harm in doing it with me?” she asked plaintively.

“You’ll make it taste sour,” Kestrel said abruptly.

There was a long moment of silence, then they each said, “Alright, fine,” at the same time.

“Let’s go,” she said, removing the apron she had been wearing. “Gailer,” she called to a nearby assistant. “Would you tell my husband I’ve gone out for drinks with Kestrel, and we’ll be back soon? Thank you,” she said, then opened the door and motioned for Kestrel to lead the way out of the building.

The tavern wasn’t far from the base; it was nearly right across the street from the main gate. Because it was still only early afternoon the tavern had little business inside, and Alicia took Kestrel to a small table for two, set in a corner away from the other customers.

“Tell me about the yeti,” Alicia asked after the dispirited waiter had placed two mugs of ale before Kestrel and water in front of her.

Kestrel took a long drink from his ale first, then began to describe the battle.

“No, I meant carving it up. I heard that you sold parts in Estone,” Alicia said. “Was it bought for what I think it was bought for?”

“Virility?” Kestrel suggested.

“Exactly!” Alicia said triumphantly. “How much did the men of Estone pay to enhance their precious virility?”

“Well, it wasn’t just men from Estone, there was an auction with traders from other countries too, human countries,” Kestrel explained.

“Well of course, human countries; it doesn’t have an effect on elven men,” she told him.

“It doesn’t?” Kestrel asked, never having considered the difference.

“No. Why? Did you save a little for yourself?” Alicia asked archly.

Kestrel sputtered the ale he was swallowing. “No!” he answered indignantly. “I don’t have any need of it!”

“Well, and proud of it too, I see,” Alicia said simply. “So how much did the human men pay for their virility?”

The waiter responded to Alicia’s signal, and brought another pint of ale to the table, taking the empty glass away from in front of Kestrel.

“The total paid was one hundred twenty golds,” Kestrel gave her an answer as he picked up his drink.

“One hundred twenty golds?!” Alicia’s voice sounded so loud that heads turned. “One hundred twenty golds?” she repeated. “You got that much money?”

“I didn’t get any,” Kestrel said primly. “Castona got fifty for making the arrangements, and Merilla got the rest,” he sighed.

“And who’s Merilla? Why’d she deserve so much? You’re the one who killed the yeti, right?” Alicia immediately asked.

“The yeti killed her husband, and she had two little boys to raise. I took her all the way back to the city from their homestead in the wilderness, and I told her she could have the proceeds from the sale,” Kestrel explained. “She’s going to buy a house in the city around the corner from her parents, so she can raise them close to family.

“There’s a leather shop that rents the ground floor, so she’ll have an income. We thought that was a good idea, before we found out how much total money she’d have,” he spoke expansively between sips of his ale.

“The leather monger seems like a nice human, soft if you ask me, but that’s who her mother wants her to marry, it’s pretty clear,” he added disapprovingly.

“And you don’t think he’s good enough for her?” Alicia asked, watching him closely.

“No, of course not,” Kestrel agreed.

“Is she pretty?” Alicia asked, “For a human woman, I mean?”

“I think she is pretty. She’s not someone a man would drool over, but she’s got a wonderful smile and pretty hair, and you find out her figure is really much better than you realize when you see her undressed,” Kestrel answered. “Human women have a lot more curves and flesh than elven women, and there’s something to be said for that.

“Of course I saw you naked at the healing spring, and you’re good looking too,” he tried to be polite.

Alicia sat upright, and discreetly looked down at her own figure momentarily.

“Did you love her?” she asked.

“I did. I do. I’m not sure,” Kestrel started on the newest ale to arrive, slumping forward and struggling to drink it. “I knew I had to leave her, but I think we could have been happy together. She knew I was an elf, and it didn’t bother her. She’s got such a good heart. I could trust her,” he sighed deeply, then sat back and his head tilted backwards as he began to snore.

Alicia took several coins from her purse and placed them on the table, then came around the corner and lugged Kestrel’s arm up over her shoulder, and began to walk him out of the tavern, him dragging more than moving his legs. As soon as she reached the gate of the base a pair of guards came to relieve her, and took him to her designated surgery room.

Silvan was there waiting for her. “How’s our volunteer? Did he spend the afternoon cursing you? I’m sorry you had to put up with that,” the colonel comforted his wife as she began to tie the straps in place.

“No, he was well-behaved. We talked about male virility,” she looked up at Silvan. “He says he doesn’t have any problems.”

The colonel’s face colored faintly, but his wife continued. “He sold the yeti parts for one hundred twenty golds, and gave most of the proceeds to a pretty human widow. I’m fairly confident that if you ever couldn’t find your agent here, he’d be at a house over a leather goods shop.”

Alicia placed the blocks beside his head, and strapped his head rigidly in place, then opened a skin of the healing water and placed it within reach. “I’m going to start cutting now, so you might as well leave the room and let me concentrate on this now.”

Silvan obligingly departed from the room, and Alicia picked up one of the finely honed cutting knife. “Poor Kestrel,” she whispered. “So much confusion in that good heart of yours. I’m afraid things aren’t going to get any easier from here on out.”

And then she put her blade to work, reshaping his identity once again.

When Kestrel awoke, Giardell was standing in the room keeping watch over him.

“Can you release me?” Kestrel asked, rattling the straps that held his wrists in place.

“I’ll go wake the doctor, and she can tell,” Giardell answered. He stepped out of the room and returned within two minutes, Alicia coming behind him and hurriedly wrapping a robe around herself as she arrived.

“How are you Kestrel?” she asked, as she started to unwrap his bandages.

“I’m thirsty, and my ears hurt,” he said.

She stopped working on the bandages and held a straw to his lips. “Here, drink slowly,” she instructed.

“Why do my ears hurt?” Kestrel asked.

“I didn’t use as much of the healing water this time,” Alicia explained as she finished taking the largest bandages away. “I got to thinking that it might contribute to the restoration of your elven features, so I really only used a light touch of the water this time to help you heal.”

Kestrel could suddenly see light as she removed the gauze from his eyes and begin to touch his eyebrows. “They’re still a little swollen, but within a couple of days they’ll be fine,” she spoke to herself.

“Can you unstrap my arms and legs?” Kestrel asked.

“Will you promise not to try to harm me?” Alicia asked, stepping back from him.

“I’ll promise, this time,” Kestrel agreed, making Giardell give a quick guffaw as he stood watch over the doctor and patient.

Alicia unbuckled the straps on his wrists and upper arms, then his ankles and legs. She returned to his head as he massaged his hands. After she had the blocks removed and the bandages off his ears, she picked up a small mirror.

“Sit up and take a look, Kestrel,” she told him.

He accepted the mirror and examined himself.

“They’re still a little swollen, but that’ll be gone before you get to Firheng. By the time you get back to Estone, Merilla will be ready to welcome you as a handsome human lover with open arms,” Alicia told him.

“But no elf maid would have me,” he retorted.

“You don’t know that,” Alicia snapped back.

“Go wake the colonel,” she told Giardell.

“Didn’t he wake when you woke up?” Kestrel asked as the guard left the room.

“We aren’t sleeping together,” she replied. “Tonight,” she added after a second’s thought. “I slept apart so that I could come see you if needed.”

They remained silent after that, as Alicia bent her face down close to Kestrel’s, peering closely at the relocated eyebrows, as his eyes examined her complexion and her features, noting the seeming perfection of her skin and her chin, on which he noticed a very slight cleft, and especially her lips. Her robe hung loose and gaped slightly, allowing his vision to follow her throat line down to her chest, and the slight swelling of her breasts, a clean smooth surface of flawless light skin.

“Well, how’s the subject?” Silvan asked as he entered the room.

“He’s in good shape,” Alicia responded. “There’s more swelling than last time, but I think that’s only because I used less of the healing water.

“I’ll fix some willow bark for you right now,” she looked down at Kestrel’s eyes as she stepped away from him.

“If you want me to hold him here, or if he wants to stay here for observation, we can plan to do that. Otherwise, I think your new human is ready to be sent up to Firheng and Estone; he knows the way pretty well by now, don’t you, Kestrel?” she continued.

“What would you like to do, Kestrel?” Silvan asked. “Leave once the sun is up, or stay for a day or two to be sure this is good?”

“I’m not a ‘new human,’” Kestrel said testily. “The ears don’t make me more human. I’ll trust her; I’ll be ready to go this morning. Will this be the real assignment, or just more practice and testing?” he asked.

“This will be the true assignment,” Silvan began.

“I’m sorry Kestrel; I didn’t mean to say it offensively,” Alicia interrupted, returning to hand her patient a small mug of painkiller.

“It’s okay,” he muttered in reply, then began to drink from the mug, and looked at Silvan for more information.

“We will assign you to travel up to Estone, to take a ship from there to the Great Sea, and then back through the Inland Seas to Graylee. We want you to learn what is happening in Graylee and Hydrotaz; they are the ones attacking us,” Silvan told Kestrel. “With the seasons starting to change, we’ll want to get you moving before the shipping lanes close down, and we’ll want to get you into Graylee in time to join their forces before they begin attacks next spring.

“I’ll write most of this up and send it with you in a messenger tube to Firheng. You can spend a few days there practicing your skills, while I put together more details and plans that I’ll send up to you in the next few days,” Silvan explained.

Kestrel nodded his head as he finished sipping the bitter drink Alicia had prepared.

“Let’s let Kestrel get some sleep,” Alicia suggested. “We can send him on his way in the morning.”

Once they all departed, Kestrel lay back on the thin cushion of his cot and thought about his return to human form. He’d have to skulk along the roads for the next few days to get to Firheng, and he’d need to keep a hood up at all times, as well as sleep in trees, no matter what the weather. And he’d have to remember to take another skin of healing water back to Belinda, he decided, so that she could continue to treat her husband.

Amid those random thoughts, sleep overcame him. He awoke the next morning to the sight of Alicia, dressed and active, preparing another dose of willow bark for him to take. “And here are the powders for three more,” she gave him a small leather pouch.

“May I have a skin of healing water?” Kestrel asked.

“What for?” Alicia asked, examining him.

“There’s a woman who works at the base in Firheng. Her husband was badly hurt years ago, and I’ve been trying to give her some of the water every chance I can so that he can recuperate,” Kestrel answered.

Alicia bent under a cabinet, and rose holding a skin. “Here’s your skin for your friend; you’re the one who brought it all, so you ought to take what you want. Just be careful about exposing yourself to the water, you know.”

She quickly began to examine his ears and eyebrows again. “You’re cleared to go,” she told him. “Be careful Kestrel. I can’t do anything for you once you’re on your way, but I’ll think about you and pray for you.”

“Thank you, Alicia,” He said as he stood. “Do you have something with a hood I can wear to go see Silvan?” he asked, looking around.

“Of course! I didn’t even think about the fact that you look human again. Let me run and get something,” she exclaimed, and left the room for several minutes.

“I hope we part on better terms this time than we did last time,” she told him as she handed the cowl to him minutes later.

“We do. I understand better this time, and you didn’t try to trick me this time, I think,” he replied. He pulled the cowl around his shoulders and lifted the hood to cover and shade his face and head, then walked to the door and turned. “Farewell,” they each said at the same time, and smiled, before he left the building to return to his quarters and get his belongings.

Minutes later he was back in the building on the top floor, passing Giardell as the guard held Silvan’s door open for him.

“Here are your orders,” the colonel said as he held out a blue taped message tube. “Commander Casimo will put you to work fine-tuning your training and giving you more time to spend with horses; depending on what happens in Graylee, you could ride a horse quite a bit. They keep very large herds on the plains,” Silvan said. “I’ll send more information about your future within a week, so you won’t be trapped in Firheng too long before you can get to Estone and visit your human friend on your way to the docks,” he smiled gently.

Though Kestrel wasn’t sure what he would do or who he would see in Estone, he nodded politely. “I’ll do my best. I never thought I’d become a spy,” he said.

“None of us do, Kestrel. But I think you’re making the adjustment as well as can be expected. We wouldn’t want to have you as a spy if you were too interested in skullduggery and deceit,” Silvan replied. He rose and walked Kestrel to the door. “Put your hood up and have a good trip,” he said, then watched Kestrel leave, and went to the window to watch him walk away from the building, on his way to becoming a spy for the Elven nation.

Kestrel felt that he spent his entire journey to Firheng walking into a blustery autumn rainstorm. His journey started out in nice weather, but after half a day the clouds rolled in, and his first night in a tree was when the rain started. After that the rain continued for the next three days, so constant and cold that Kestrel decided to forego a tree one night and built an impromptu shelter in a small gulley, letting his hair dry that night out of the rain. Nothing else ever got dry for the rest of his trip, and he was exhausted by the time he arrived at the gates of Firheng at sunset of his fourth day on the road.

The woods had been crowded with elves all along the route of his journey, leaving him in constant fear of exposure to the workers among the trees. It was nut harvesting season, and every elf that could be spared in every small village throughout the Eastern Forest was at work, gathering bushels of nuts that would be roasted, ground, treated, baked, and used in every way possible. The elves loved the robust flavor of nuts, much preferred it to grain, as a source of food that could be shredded into flour or otherwise processed. Kestrel kept his hood tightly bound upon his head as he passed the forest workers who walked and bent over throughout the forest, who left great bushels filled with nuts along the roadside, waiting to be carried back to the silos and storehouses where they became the property of the elven people.

Upon his eventual arrival at Firheng Kestrel went to his usual room and undressed and unpacked, spreading items out to dry, as he found a few dry items in his things that been left behind in his fourth floor bedroom. After pulling those clothes on he went to the commissary and picked among the leftovers for dinner, then went back to his room and slept soundly through the night.

When daylight came he was glad to see that the rain had finally stopped. Kestrel picked up his messenger tube and the skin of healing water, then went to Casimo’s office. He arrived before either Belinda or the commander, and sat down on the floor outside the office door, awaiting the arrival of someone to receive him.

Belinda arrived first. She walked the dim corridor towards him, unable to tell who was at her office until she was close and he rose to stand. “Kestrel!” she greeted him with a friendly laugh and a hug.

“Here,” Kestrel told her, before she had even unlocked the door for their entry. “I brought you more water,” he held the skin before him.

She looked at him with grateful tears in her eyes. “Thank you Kestrel. He continues to regrow his hands and his eyes. I dream at night about maybe having a talk with my husband again someday, and when I wake up I think it could be possible.”

She stood for a moment, overcome with emotion. “Goodness! Here I am keeping you standing out in the hallway while my mind is a hundred trees away! Let’s go in the office,” she said as she juggled the items in her hands and brought out the keys that unlocked the door.

Within the office Kestrel took a seat and watched as Belinda bustled about, preparing the office and putting things in order for the day. “Was it worth it?” he suddenly asked as he watched her.

“Pardon me?” she asked.

“Was it worth marrying someone who hasn’t been a partner for so much of your marriage? If you had it to do over again, knowing that Ranor would be like this for so many years, would you still marry him?” he wanted to know. He wanted to know if a happy marriage with a partner for a short time was worth giving up so many other long years.

“Kestrel, I didn’t have just a few short years with him,” she replied, leaving off her tasks to come sit beside him. “Even when he’s been in a coma, I’ve had the memories and the knowledge of the love and the bliss of those years. They weren’t perfect by any means, but they were the best of my life, and I still feed off the love of them.”

She stood up. “I’m sure you’ll find that out for yourself someday, maybe someday soon.” She returned to her desk, and got there just as the door opened and Cosima and Gion entered the office.

“Well, look at who has come back again! He’s like that magpie you shoo away every morning, and every night he’s back to chatter and do mischief,” Cosima said. “Welcome back Kestrel. I see you’ve changed your looks once again. Are you going back out into the field?”

Kestrel held out his message tube and delivered it to the commander. “Hello Gion,” he said in a friendly tone to the guard who stood nearby.

“Hello Kestrel. Good to see you again,” Gion said heartily.

“I’ll go take a look at this, and then we can talk, if you don’t mind,” Cosima said, holding the tube. “Just remain here and keep Belinda company, but don’t disrupt her routine!” He spoke over his shoulder as he headed into his office and pulled the door closed behind him.

Kestrel returned to his seat and watched Belinda, as he thought about her answer to his question. He was haunted by the thought that in a few days he would be passing back through Estone again, with another chance to see Merilla, much sooner than he had expected. Was she his chance to find happiness? They’d really only spent a few days together, he realized, but the days had been intensive, constant exposure to one another, day and night, through their most intimate moments, and he’d found nothing about her that worried him, other than the fact that the goddess had sent Dewberry to keep them apart one time.

“Kestrel,” Cosima called as he opened his door, interrupting Kestrel’s musing, “come in here and we’ll talk.”

When Kestrel was settled into a seat in the office, Cosima began talking. “According to Silvan, you’re going out on a mission, and we need to sharpen your skills before you go, especially with horses. So I’m going to send you out on a horse to Green Water. It’s a small human harbor on the North Sea, at the foot of the Water Mountains. They ship mining goods out of there.

“Ride your horse to Green Water. Find out anything you think is interesting, then ride back here. That should be eight or nine days each way — plenty of riding. That’ll give Silvan time to send another message with further instructions. Did you know about that?” Cosima asked.

“He told me about it,” Kestrel affirmed.

“Good. Go tell Arlen what you’re going to do, and get on a horse as soon as possible,” Cosima ordered. “Any questions?”

“No,” Kestrel said after a moment’s thought. Within three hours, after a long, friendly reunion with Arlen, Kestrel was in the saddle and traveling alone to Green Water.

The journey was simple at first. He rode through the forest, past the nut gatherers, into more sparsely populated parts of the forest, and then into parts where there seemed to be virtually no one at all except the occasional settler. The forest switched to a large marsh, and he rode around the north end of that, taking a day of riding in the rain just to get past the bog. By then he was in an open country, with few trees and open plains which stretched without interruption until he reached the coast. He was eight days into his trip by then, and he and his horse were partners that understood one another very well.

For two more days he rode along the coastline, captivated by the beauty and the smell and the birds and animals that inhabited it. On the second day along the coast he rode through rain until he smelled smoke, and he came to farms and then his narrow road merged with a larger, busier one that came down out of the mountains that he could barely see through the misty rains, a road that led him directly into Green Water within another hour.

The town was both old and raw, it seemed. There were some structures that were aged and solid, such as the temple to Shaish, the goddess of the water. But most of the buildings were raw wood, looking cheap and temporary. Some were burnt shells, sitting empty along the main road that led from the south straight to the docks in the small harbor. The road was a busy one, with constant traffic, consisting mostly of mules carrying cargo towards the seafront.

“Come in, come in handsome man. We’ve got the best-looking women in the town. Come in while you’re still good-looking and you can have a discount,” a man called from a balcony where he stood above the street, sheltered from rain by a canvas awning, while a number of women sat idly by, paying attention to nothing in particular.

Kestrel rode on by, trying to figure out what the barker was selling. “How much for the horse?” another man asked as Kestrel continued down the road. “I’ll give you top dollar. You’ll have enough to outfit yourself for a good gold stake in the mountains,” he called as Kestrel passed. “Or enough to gamble for a week, longer if you’re good!” the horse-buyer offered.

Two men came stumbling out of a bar, walking into the road directly in front of his horse. Kestrel pulled up the reins to prevent an accident, and as he did, one of the men suddenly grabbed the halter, while another man came from behind Kestrel and tried to pull him out of the saddle.

Kestrel started to fall backwards. He flailed his left hand out wide, and grabbed hold of his staff. In one fluid motion he lifted it and swung it in a wide arc that struck solidly on the head of the man behind his back, who was trying to pull him down. The man let go and Kestrel struggled up, then swung his staff again, aiming for the man at the halter, and rapping his knuckles sharply.

He dug his heels into his horse’s ribs, not caring if he trampled the hijackers he had encountered, and swung his staff wide on each side as his horse jumped in response to his command. The trio around him scattered in self-preservation, and Kestrel reined his horse around, and rode carefully back away from the center of town, past the places that he had seen.

After fifteen minutes he came back to the quieter part of the city, the eastern edge, away from the mountain road, and away from the dockyard. He saw a blacksmith shop that appeared to have a stable, and he rode into the yard, where he dismounted.

“Can I leave my horse here in your stables?” he asked a boy who was crossing the yard with a pail of water in each hand.

“Hold on!” the boy shouted as he hurried on his way into the forge. He came back out two minutes later, as Kestrel dismounted and waited with his horse.

“Here he is,” the boy called over his shoulder, and a large man came out behind him.

“What do you need?” the apparent blacksmith asked.

“I wondered if I could stable my horse here while I go into the town,” Kestrel restated his intention.

“Why?” the blacksmith asked simply.

Kestrel told his tale. “So it seems safer on foot, maybe,” he ended, suddenly wondering if he had any cause at all to really go into the city. His test had been to ride and bond with the horse, he felt, not to brawl and get robbed pointlessly.

“You fought off three of them?” the blacksmith asked.

“With my staff,” Kestrel reached back and rested his hand on the length of wood demonstrably.

“I tell you what,” the blacksmith said. “I won’t rent a stall in my stables,” he saw the look of disappointment on Kestrel’s face, and held a hand up. “But for a customer I would let your horse stay here at no charge while I do a job for you.”

“I have no work I need done,” Kestrel protested.

“Sure you do,” the blacksmith said. “In Green Water you need to have metal caps on the ends of your staff. It’s a much more effective tool. I’ll fabricate and install ends on your staff for you for five silvers, while your horse stays here, and you can borrow one of my staffs to carry into town. How does that sound?”

“What kinds of caps do you install?” Kestrel asked. “Five silvers is a lot.”

The blacksmith sent his assistant into the forge, and the boy came immediately back with a staff, which he handed to Kestrel. Kestrel held the staff in front of his face as he examined the metal ends. The caps were heavy; they’d throw his balance off until he got used to them. But they were intriguing; one end had a number of small spikes that jutted out, while the other end had a pair of sturdy looking hooks.

He thought immediately of the additional abilities the tools would provide, both lethal and useful. “Step back,” he motioned for some open space, and then he began to practice the forms and positions Arlen had taught him, feeling the extra weight, and adjusting to it as he swung and poked and ripped the wooden staff in the space all around him.

“Alright; it’s a deal,” he agreed, as he walked back to the blacksmith.

“You know how to handle that; you’ve had training. Where are you from, and why are you here?” the blacksmith asked as he watched Kestrel count the coins out of the purse on his belt.

“I’ve been in Estone, and I came here because I’ve never been here before,” Kestrel answered easily.

“How long will we keep the horse?” the stable boy asked.

“This afternoon, maybe into the night,” Kestrel said. “Will you be here when I return?”

“I sleep in the loft, with three blankets,” the boy answered.

“Try to find a clean doxy,” the blacksmith advised. When Kestrel looked at him blankly, he added, “You don’t want to get a pox do you? Try to pick a woman who hasn’t been in the house long. It probably won’t help, but you ought to have the sense to try.”

Recognition dawned in Kestrel. “I’m not here to try that,” he said, finally understanding what he had seen earlier in the town. His cheeks grew red, and the blacksmith laughed.

“You take that staff along to protect yourself from the doxies and you’ll be fine. Watch out for the pickpockets and the drunks too,” the smith turned and carried Kestrel’s staff into the smithy. Kestrel went back to his horse and grabbed his sword, wrapping the belt around his hips, and for good measure he pulled his bow and arrows free as well.

The rain had stopped falling as he talked to the smith, so he pulled his hood down as he started walking back into town. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see or accomplish, but he had been sent all the way to Green Water, and he wasn’t going to turn around to leave without seeing something of the town.

The trip was slower, and dirtier, as he traveled afoot, stepping repeated around or over droppings from the mules and horses that were prevalent along the main road. With the end of the rain the mist began to dissipate, and Kestrel became aware for the first time of the full view of the ring of mountains that came virtually to the edge of the water and the town. They were imposing, tall mountains. They looked stony, with cliffs and steep rock slide areas interspersed among the evergreen trees. They were the Water Mountains, a large, impenetrable chain of mountains that separated the lands of the North Sea from the lands of the Inland Seas. They were the home to yetis and gnomes and miners and outlaws, an area as unknown to the elves of the Eastern Forest as the lands of the humans.

Kestrel continued to walk along the side of the road, and soon passed the house of the doxies again, but drew no sales pitch as he walked modestly along on his own feet instead of an expensive horse. Looking down side streets he saw similar establishments too, he now realized.

As he passed by one large, nondescript building, there was a loud and sustained roar of delight from inside, and several men came flowing out of the wide double doors, happy and flourishing cash in their hands. Curious, Kestrel turned towards the building and started to enter, only to be stopped at the door by a pair of bulky men. “No weapons allowed,” one of the men told him.

“What’s in there?” Kestrel asked.

The two men grinned at each other.

“Dreams,” one said. “Hope,” the other said.

“Suckers,” they both laughed.

“It’s gambling!” said the first who had spoken to him. “Did you just arrive in town fresh from your mother’s apron?”

“I’ve never been around it, I guess,” Kestrel answered, abashed.

“Well, if you leave your weapons here, we’ll let you in. Then you can probably leave your money here too,” the guard grinned at Kestrel’s naivete.

“Go in Kestrel. Help our people,” Kestrel heard a woman’s voice softly whisper.

He turned his head to look around, but saw no one.

“Are you going in? If so, put your weapons in the locker; if not, move out of the way,” the second guard spoke to Kestrel.

Unnerved, Kestrel stepped over to the row of open lockers, and placed his weapons within one of the empty ones. “Goddess, was that you?” he asked silently, but there was no answer.

Cautiously, Kestrel entered the doors of the gambling hall. “Save some money for breakfast, tomorrow,” one of the guards advised as he passed them.

The hall was much larger than he would have guessed from the outside, as it seemed to stretch for a city block or more. It was dim and noisy and smelled of alcohol. Men, and a few women, stood or sat around various tables, focusing on the activities before them. Some laughed and talked, but most were silent, and a few looked desperate or anguished.

Were these people the ones the goddess wanted Kestrel to save, he wondered. There was no evidence that they needed his help, but the goddess had sent him in. He walked around the room, occasionally looking at the tables, trying to understand the games, failing to see the appeal. By the time he reached the far end of the game room he had concluded that there was no obvious need for his help for anyone in the building. Yet he knew the goddess would not have spoken without reason, if he really had heard her voice.

He stood against the wall, and watched as a door opened, and a pair of workers began to limp across the room, carrying a large platter of food to serve to the customers. Kestrel idly examined the tray, wondering what kind of food was eaten in the hall, when his attention was dramatically drawn to the limping workers who carried the trays — they were elves!

The two men were elves, each wore chains between their legs, and each was missing most of a foot. They looked thin, haggard, and scarred extensively — scars on their faces, their arms, their shoulders and backs that were visible through rents in their clothes. He recollected Silvan’s bleak report that elves in the battle against the human fire-starters had been captured and turned into slaves. Here were two of them, somehow transported all the way from the western border of the forest to this lawless corner of Estone.

Kestrel blanched at the thought. He understood now — the voice he had heard had been the elven goddess Kere, not the human Kai. She was an elven goddess, commanding him to set these elven slaves free. He needed to find a way to do it, and then he could transport them back to Firheng and return them to their own people, to freedom and their families, away from captivity. He could even give them a dose of healing water to fix the injured feet and the scarred bodies they had suffered.

Carefully, Kestrel began to walk towards the elves, to study them closely, to possibly talk to them, to figure out how best to set them free. He was only steps along his route when a man stepped in his way, blocking his access to the slaves.

“I’m sorry, that food is reserved for our paying customers, the ones who are in the gambling hall to gamble,” the man said forthrightly. “We don’t serve food to people who just stand against the wall.”

Kestrel was taken by surprise; he hadn’t realized he was under observation.

“This is all new to me, and I want to take it in before I try anything,” he told the gambling hall manager. “I won’t eat any of your food. I just want to watch and think for a while.”

“That’s fine,” the manager said, “for a while. But sooner or later, if you don’t plan to do any gambling, we’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“Understood,” Kestrel acknowledged, and he turned away from the manager and the food. He went to stand beside a table of gamblers who were on the path the slaves would have to take to return to their entry door, where he planned to wait for their empty-handed return.

“Are you going to play?” a man asked Kestrel.

“What?” Kestrel was taken by surprise. He looked at the man, standing at the table, holding a cup in his hands. There were others at the table watching too.

“If you’re going to stand at the table, you need to put your money down,” the gambler said. “I’m getting ready to toss, and I’m hot! Put some money down on me,” he nodded to the table below, an intricate checkerboard of colors, shapes and numbers.

Embarrassed, Kestrel reached for his purse. He didn’t have a lot of money with him, but he’d spent nothing so far. Other than the caps on his staff, he had no other planned expenditures. He pulled out the first unseen coin his fingers grasped in his purse, and looked at the numerous small piles of coins atop squares on the left side of the table. In bewilderment he placed his coin on an empty square next to the others.

“An optimist, eh?” the man with the cup in his hand commented. He shook the cup, his hands holding the open end closed, then flung his hand away as he threw its contents down on the table.

Kestrel looked up to see that the slaves were hobbling around, distributing food from their platter to a pair of tables on the other side of the hall. He looked back down, and saw that there were five small wooden cubes on the table.

“You lucky son of a doxy!” the cupholder shouted to Kestrel. “You got the purple!”

Kestrel felt someone pound his back in congratulations, and a tall stack of coins was pushed towards him. He examined the cubes on the table again, and saw that all five had a purple surface facing upward.

“Here,” the cupholder pressed the leather container towards him, as the others at the table stared at Kestrel with smiles. “You’re so lucky, you throw the squares!”

“I don’t really know the rules,” Kestrel protested.

“You don’t have to know anything; you just have to be lucky!” the only woman at the table screeched at him as her partner draped his arm possessively over her shoulder.

“What do I do?” Kestrel asked as the other man released the leather cup, leaving it in Kestrel’s possession.

“Pick up the squares, pick your bet, let everyone else pick their bet, then throw them,” the former explained.

Kestrel looked at the silent man who wore a vest, the one who had pushed the coins towards him. The man nodded discretely, and Kestrel reached for the wooden cubes. He glanced over at the working slaves, who seemed to still be occupied with their duties, then took a pair of coins from his pile and put them on two different squares.

He watched as others placed their bets, then he shook the cup and released the wooden squares. They five cubes flew out of the cup, spinning and revealing their varied colors and symbols as they flew, then hit the table and each other and bounced against the restraining wall, before coming to settle in place. The others at the table gave a great whoop, and the man in the vest began to push forward coins to match several of the bets, including one of Kestrel’s.

The shouts attracted others to come over, and as Kestrel pulled his new pile of coins in and picked up the cubes, a buzz of chatter surrounded him as news of his luck was transmitted.

He placed a small pile of chips on a spot at random, and then watched as other coins quickly fell around it in a pattern he couldn’t figure out. All eyes went to his hands, and he began to shake the cup, listening to the wooden pieces within randomly clatter against each other, until he heard a peculiar chiming clack. He released his hand, and the stream of squares poured from the cup and onto the table top. Kestrel knew, as soon as the first wooden block hit the table, he knew he had somehow won again. When the cubes finished knocking each other against the table top and finally came to rest, there was another loud cry of triumph, as multiple hands thumped him on the back and hugged his shoulders, while a woman leaned in to kiss him.

The man in the vest looked at Kestrel with an unfathomable warning in his eyes, then began to push more coins towards the players’ bets. He raised a hand with two fingers extended, and another man in a vest carried over a heavy box of additional coins, and laid it down in front of the man who distributed the winnings. Kestrel saw the manager who had blocked his path walking over towards the table, and he took a look over at the enslaved elves. The two men were still working, he saw, so he reached for the cubes, and realized that more gamblers were arriving at his table to take advantage of his lucky streak.

Kestrel looked at the table top, placed another bet, and the whole process began again under the watchful eye of the new arrivals, both those who gambled, and those who worked in the gambling house. Kestrel’s bet and those of the other gamblers won again, and Kestrel belatedly realized that the money the gamblers won was money that the gambling hall lost. Another box of coins was carried to the table, and more gamblers surrounded the prime attraction. A glance at the elves showed that many other tables were emptied as Kestrel drew in people looking to ride his luck.

“How are you doing this?” the manager asked.

“I just listen to the cubes, and throw them when they sound right,” Kestrel answered.

There was a round of laughter at the table, then the others at the table grew silent, as the manager reached down and picked the cubes off the surface.

“I should have just let you go eat lunch, shouldn’t I?” he grinned. “It would have cost me much less money.

“Here,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out another set of cubes. “See what these sound like.”

There were immediate protests around the table from the other gamblers, but none from Kestrel. He knew that whatever was happening was the work of supernatural forces, and he didn’t think it could be stopped by the man’s mortal efforts. He held up his hand to silence the crowd, and, as if he was a prophet, they instantly quieted down. Kestrel placed a stack of coins at the random spot that looked right, and began to shake the new cubes in the cup. Others were putting down bets hurriedly, but not nearly as many as before, worried as they were that the change in the cubes had changed Kestrel’s luck.

He closed his eyes and listened to the wooden squares convulsing inside the shaking cup, and when he heard the musical tone, he released his hand, his eyes still closed, and listened to the silence of the people at the table as the colorful wooden cubes flew through the air, hit the table, and rattled towards their final resting spots.

Kestrel’s eyes popped open as he heard a thunderous round of applause. He looked down at the table and saw more stacks of coins being pushed away by the man in the vest, as someone who worked for the gambling hall came up and whispered in the manager’s ear.

“This table is closed,” the manager said. “All cube games are finished for the rest of the day.”

There were shouts and groans and complaints all around the table, and the two guards from the front door were suddenly on the scene to provide enforcement.

“One more throw,” Kestrel said suddenly. “Just give me one more throw.”

The manager looked at him, ready to deny his request, then seemed to suddenly change his mind. “I’ll give you one more throw on two conditions,” he answered.

“I accept,” Kestrel agreed immediately.

“Don’t you want to hear the conditions?” the manager asked with a grin.

“Very well,” Kestrel agreed. He knew it didn’t matter; his success was the work of a goddess, a guaranteed victory. He knew he was going to win, and he realized now what his winning would bring him, a more satisfying victory than any other victory the gambling hall had ever witnessed.

“The first condition is that you bet all your winnings on this roll — winner take all,” the manager said.

Kestrel had heard the phrase before, but hadn’t realized there was a literal meaning to it.

“Agreed,” he said. He took the topmost chip off his stack, and put it down at the far end of the color chart. “That represents everything I have here.”

“And you role only four cubes,” the manager added.

The crowd broke into screams of outrage.

“Agreed,” Kestrel said.

The crowd was silent with shock, and the manager’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed to slit of cynical wisdom. “It was your money for a little while,” he said.

Kestrel picked up four of the wooden squares, and handed the other to the man in the vest. He placed the squares in the cup, and waited momentarily to see if anyone else was going to bet on him. There were no other gamblers for this challenge, facing these odds. It was now a competition of one versus one.

Kestrel began to shake the cup, and listen to the wooden squares bounce around. He shook them for five seconds, then ten, then fifteen.

“Are you going to roll and lose, or just stand there all day?” the manager asked.

Kestrel closed his eyes in response, and listened. He listened for five more seconds, until he heard the magical tone again, the sound of Fortune calling the squares out of the cup. He released his hand, and heard the wooden pieces hit the table once, and then there was no other sound. The cubes were silent, the manager was silent, and even the crowd around him was profoundly silent, other than the sounds of shuffling feet and bodies as observers strained to see what the results on the table were.

Kestrel opened his eyes, and looked down on the table. The four dice were stacked atop one another, forming a column in the middle of the table surface.

“The gods are helping him,” someone muttered.

“I’ll take my winnings,” Kestrel said to the manager, looking over at the man.

The manager’s face was ashen, and his eyes were now the ones that were closed. He was facing an impossibility, and could not comprehend what had happened.

“I want to have my winnings. I’m ready to leave now,” Kestrel said more loudly, as a buzz began to build around them.

“I cannot pay. We do not have that much,” the manager answered.

“I have a proposal,” Kestrel instantly replied. “One that I’m sure you’ll accept.”

“What offer?” the manager’s eyes were open, and he was looking at Kestrel with new hope, frantically seeking some way to escape ruin.

“Give me two golds, and the two elven slaves — right now — and I will leave your gambling hall with the accounts paid off,” Kestrel answered.

“Two golds and two slaves?” the manager replied, incredulously repeating the offer.

“Yes, but I want it all right now,” Kestrel said. “Or I want ownership of the entire hall.”

The manager motioned to one of the bodyguards, then pointed at the elves as he spoke in a low tone. The guard immediately began to push through the crowd, as all those around tried to understand what was happening.

“This is what the goddess wants,” Kestrel told the manager, without revealing which goddess he meant.

The body guard came slowly back, leading the two elves by a chain attached to their waists.

“Here are your two slaves,” the manager said, taking the end of the chain, and passing it to Kestrel. “And here,” he reached onto the table and pulled two golds, “are your two golds.

“Now please, I’d like for you to leave us,” he told Kestrel.

The two slaves were looking at Kestrel with just a flicker of curiosity in their otherwise downtrodden faces.

“Do they speak the human language?” he asked.

“A few words. They understand the whip very well,” the manager answered.

Kestrel felt his anger start to erupt, but then forced himself to stay calm. “Come with me,” he tugged on the chain, and walked away from the table, heading straight towards the doors, as conversations exploded among the witnesses to the extraordinary events he had created. He went straight out the door, stopped at the locker and retrieved his weapons, then turned to his left and started walking back towards the blacksmith shop.

The elves were behind him, alert now to something unusual, but unsure of what it was. They drew attention of passersby as they hobbled along on their severed feet — they were rarely seen, conquered examples of the distant, legendary elven race. Kestrel trudged on, and urged the elves on by gently tugging their chain from time-to-time, eager to get them out of the city and back to the blacksmith shop.

“Master,” one of them called, but Kestrel paid no attention, not realizing at first that the title was meant for him.

“Master, drink,” the other elf spoke, and Kestrel understood finally that he was being called master by the two elves, men who had been proud fighters in the elven guard until they were caught and broken by the humans.

They were past the busiest part of the city, and Kestrel stopped. He pulled the water skin off his hip, unstopped it, and handed it to the first elf, who looked at him in surprise that the new human master would share his own water supply. Kestrel stepped in close to the two, and spoke in a low voice, one that no one else would hear, as he spoke in the Elvish language.

“I am your friend and will take you to freedom. Remain calm, and do not act surprised until we are away from the city,” he said. “Stay silent until I tell you otherwise,” he added, then stepped back.

Both heads jerked up and both sets of eyes stared at him in astonishment and concern, a spark of alert awareness suddenly apparent. Kestrel placed his finger to his mouth, then started walking again, leading them on the way out of bondage.

The pace was slow, but by late afternoon the blacksmith shop was in sight, and Kestrel led his two slaves into the yard. The stable boy took one look at the two elves, then dropped his bucket of water and went dashing into the shop. Moments later the blacksmith came out of his shop with a grim look on his face.

“What’s this about?” he asked, as the two elves stood off to Kestrel’s side and watch the faces of the two humans.

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t believe in slavery. I found these two were slaves at a gambling house, so I bought them, and now I’m going to take them to their own land and set them free,” Kestrel answered. “I need your help; I’d like for you to take the shackles off them.”

The blacksmith looked at the elves, then looked at Kestrel. “They’re elves, you know,” he finally said.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Kestrel said. “All I know is that they walk and breath and talk and think, and the gods didn’t intend for them to be slaves.”

“I’ll do it, but it will cost you,” the blacksmith agreed.

Kestrel pulled out the two golds the gambling hall manager had given him. “Here. I assume that’s enough?” he tossed them.

The blacksmith caught the coins, looked at them sitting in his palm, then looked up at Kestrel. “You’re different from folks around here, aren’t you?” he said.

“You have no idea,” Kestrel said with a smile. He turned to the elves and spoke to them in their own language. “This smith will break the chains and bonds. When that is done, we will leave this place and go to Firheng. Stay calm, and when we are away from all this, I will explain.”

The two elves gaped at him, then one replied. “We will do as you ask, Master.”

“You speak their language, do you?” the smith asked.

“Enough to be understood,” Kestrel agreed. “Set them free, and here’s your staff back, by the way,” he turned over the lent staff he had carried into the town.

“I’ll have them free in an hour. You’re overpaying five times the cost for this, you know,” the smith reached for and took the chain, so that he could lead the elves to his tools.

“Then feed them and give them decent clothes too, if you have any,” Kestrel said. “I’m going to run an errand. I’ll be back in an hour for my staff, my horse, and my elves.

“I’ll be back soon. Go with the smith,” he added in Elvish to the slaves, then walked towards the city and out of sight of the observers in the yard.

“Dewberry, Dewberry, Dewberry,” he called three time, reaching out with voice, heart and mind to summon his sprite friend, as he hid behind a small barn.

“Kestrel-elf, what place have you called me to in such chilly weather?” Dewberry appeared and asked.

“This is the land of the humans, a place called Green Water,” Kestrel answered. “I have a favor to ask.”

“You have two formal favors left to request; this shall be one of them,” Dewberry told him. “What would you have me do?”

“I have found two elves here, who have been held as slaves by humans, badly hurt and mistreated. I ask that this evening either you carry all three of us to the healing spring so that they may be made better, or that you bring some of the water of that spring back to me,” Kestrel answered.

“It would take many sprites to carry three elves, and that would take much effort. But you know I cannot touch the water myself to fill a bucket or skin to bring it back to you,” she said. “I’ll fall asleep. Is there something else we can do?”

Kestrel thought through the problems. “What if you just held the strap of a water skin and dipped it in the water, so that you never touched the water or the skin, but just the strap?” he suggested.

“That should work; you are such a bright boy! Do you have a water skin for me?” she asked, satisfied with Kestrel’s solution.

“I didn’t bring one with me, but come to me when the moon rises tonight, and I’ll have a skin or two ready,” he assured her.

“Where is Jonson?” he asked the small blue figure.

“Busy,” Dewberry said petulantly. “Ever since the honeymoon ended, he’s always busy. I get so bored sometimes.”

“Where is your human lover, or your elf lover?” she asked in return.

“I have no lover that I can call my own,” Kestrel replied, “not yet.

“Or wait!” he exclaimed. “Do you remember the elf woman we took to the spring with us? Alicia?”

“The one you undressed and laid with in the pool? I don’t know what the two of you did while we slept the wonderful sleep in the water,” she added.

“We didn’t do anything improper,” Kestrel insisted. “But that’s not the point,” he tried to redirect the conversation. “And besides, she’s married to an officer, and she betrayed me,” he re-interrupted himself.

“Do you love her?” Dewberry asked, reclining in the air and resting her head on her fists in a pose that Kestrel found fetching.

“How could Jonson stay away from anyone who looks as endearing as you do right now?” he asked her.

“I don’t know,” she said emphatically. “I wish you would ask him that!

“But you haven’t answered my question,” she said.

“We are on friendly terms, but I do not love her,” Kestrel said.

“But the point is, she has several skins of water from the healing spring. If you can go to her right now and tell her that I have two injured elves who need the water, she could give you a skin, nice and dried and sealed, that you could bring to me right now,” he directed. “Her name is Alicia,” he reminded her.

“You want me to expose myself to this elf woman for you?” Dewberry asked.

“She’s already seen you,” Kestrel pointed out. “She’s seen you without clothes; you’ve seen her without clothes. This will be a surprise at first for her, but not a shock. She won’t scream like Merilla did.”

“Which of us do you like better without clothes? You’ve seen me, the elf, and the human — which of us is most beautiful?” she seemed sincere in her question.

Kestrel paused and looked at Dewberry, realizing that she had a serious interest in his answer, that she needed to feel her beauty affirmed. Her groom’s choice to ignore her was hurting her, he could tell. “You are the bluest,” he grinned as she stuck her tongue out at him, “and blue is my favorite color. So you are the most beautiful to me. If you weren’t already married, I might try to ravish you myself right now!”

“I knew it!” Dewberry said triumphantly. “You did unclothe me the first time we met, simply out of desire!” She darted in close to him, grabbed his face with both her hands, and kissed him soundly upon the lips.

“I’ll go to the less beautiful Alicia, tell her that her beauty pales in comparison to my own, and ask for a skin of healing water,” Dewberry recited her plan.

“Wait! Wait,” Kestrel hastily interjected. “First, tell her that I have two wounded elves who need help, then ask for the skin of water. Then, after you have the water, then you can tell her that you are most beautiful to me.”

“Okay, Kestrel, elf lover-friend, that is what I will do. Then I will bring the water back to you. Then I will go tell Jonson that you are madly in love with me,” she listed her objectives and disappeared within seconds.

Kestrel sat down against the side of the barn, closed his eyes, and smiled at the memory of Dewberry’s infectious good humor and enthusiasm. He sat silently as the minutes passed, then opened his eyes when Dewberry called his name.

She stood on the ground before him, at eye level as he sat, and proudly held a skin out before her.

“She was glad to see me visit, once she got over the fright,” Dewberry narrated. “She was worried that you needed the skin, and wanted to come take care of you herself, but I explained that you were fine, and that this water was for other elves you had met.

“So she gave me a skin, and told me to tell you that she is thinking about you,” Dewberry continued, then gave a devilish grin. “That’s when I told her that you had selected me as more beautiful than her or the human! She scowled, and said, ‘Go away blue pest! Don’t come back for his sake any more’, and so I came back here!

“It was a triumph!” Dewberry concluded.

“Yes it was,” Kestrel agreed, reaching for the water skin. He stood up. “I have to go treat my men,” he told her. “And you need to go tell Jonson about your conquests today.”

“I will, friend Kestrel. Thank you so much for cheering me up today!” Dewberry said brightly, and then disappeared.

Kestrel strolled back to the smithy, water skin hanging from his hand, and entered the building to find one elf already unshackled, and the other nearly so. “Here, have a drink of this,” Kestrel instructed them in Elvish, handing the skin over as the smith looked up at the strange language.

“I’ll tell my boy to get some food for your slaves,” the smith said, “as soon as I finish this,” he grunted the last word as he swung his hammer to strike a link in the shackle around one of the ankles of the elf at the anvil.

There was a mighty crack, and the shackle fell away. The smith motioned for the elf to switch locations of his feet, and the still shackled leg rose to the anvil in place of the freed one. The smith placed the chisel on the link he selected to break, then lifted the hammer and swung it to a crashing explosion, removing that shackle as well, so that the chains fell from the elf, and both former slaves were free.

The smith stood and stretched his back, and Kestrel took the water skin from the elf who held it, and offered it to the human. “Have a drink if you want. It’s good water; it’ll make you feel better.”

The smith took the bag without comment and squirted a stream down his throat then handed the skin back to Kestrel and bellowed for his boy. “Bring a feast for these three — whatever’s available in the larder,” he told the youth.

“Your slaves are free now. So you intend to set them free in the forest?” he turned to Kestrel.

“Yes. I’ll take the long way about to get to back to Estone city,” Kestrel replied.

“And you were able to go into town and just buy them from a gambling hall?” the smith asked, as his servant arrived with a bag of foods.

“I won a lot of money playing their games, and it was cheaper for them to give me the slaves than my winnings,” Kestrel simplified what had happened. “We’ll just take the bag and be on our way, if you don’t mind,” Kestrel told the smith.

He didn’t distrust the human, but he had no feeling that he could completely trust him either, and he needed to start the journey back, knowing that it would be slowed down by the weakened and crippled condition of his new acquaintances.

“Go right ahead; for what you’ve paid today, you can keep the sack,” the smith grinned. “Here’s your own staff back too,” he pulled it off a table top and tossed it to Kestrel.

“Can you bring our horse out from the stable?” Kestrel asked the boy, who immediately ran to do so.

“He’s obedient; you need to keep him around,” Kestrel grinned at the smith.

“He’s my own son; he listens better than I did at that age,” the man agreed.

Kestrel switched languages, as he spoke to the two elves whose heads had turned back and forth, following the conversation. “We’re going to start back home now. I have a horse, and I want you two to ride it today, and maybe for a few days,” he instructed them. “I know you don’t like the idea, but I want to get away from here as fast as we can, just to be safe, and the horse will help speed our departure.”

They looked at him, then looked at each other. “We understand. We don’t like it, I’m sure you know, but we’ll do it,” one of the two answered.

They walked out into the yard, where Kestrel helped both men climb atop the saddle, and he instructed them to hold on.

“I’ve got one question,” the smith said as they readied to leave. “Are you human or elf? I know I shouldn’t have to ask, but you almost seem like one of them somehow.”

“I am human,” Kestrel said, then turned away and started the horse in motion with him. “And elf too,” he added softly as they left the yard.

He led the horse to walk at his pace for several minutes until they were safely away from the blacksmith shop and moving out towards the farms along the road. “Hold on tight,” he spoke up to the elves, “we’re going to pick up the pace.” He broke from his walk into a full Elven running stride, and the horse immediately began to move at a brisk trot beside him, as the riders exclaimed and grabbed on tightly to the saddle and each other.

For the rest of the day, until sunset was nearly complete, they continued to pass rapidly away from Green Water, passing along the shore of the North Sea, and finally turning inland to settle in for the night in a camping spot.

“Let’s stop here,” Kestrel said at last, breathing hard as he reined the horse to a stop beside him. “You can climb down. You’ll be sore,” Kestrel advised as he helped the former slaves off the horse.

“Here,” he tossed them the water skin. “Both of you take a drink from this, but not a lot. It comes from a special spring, and if we give you some each day for the next few days, plus feed you some food, you’ll be nothing but better.”

“Master, who are you?” the taller of the two elves asked.

“I am an elf, made to look like a human,” he replied. “I’ll tell you more after I tend to the horse and we set up camp. If you can gather some wood, we’ll start a small fire.”

They went about their tasks, and several minutes later they sat down together in the darkness, illuminated only by the small fire and the stars overhead, unaware that the guards from the gambling hall had visited the blacksmith with a band of supporters, seeking information about the whereabouts of Kestrel and the elves, intending to take the slaves back and to slay Kestrel for his humiliation of the manager.

“Who are you?” Termine, the taller of the two asked.

Kestrel talked about himself in a limited way, hiding much, but revealing enough to provide a plausible tale for the two former slaves to understand how he had come to be in Green Water. “And then the goddess blessed the cubes I tossed, so that I won every time, and soon the gamblers owed me more than they could pay, so I took you two as payment, and here we are,” he concluded.

“Now, tell me your story, how you came to be slaves, and how you came to be in Green Water,” Kestrel asked. “I guess you were caught in the battle at the fire?”

“We were,” Hinger, the other elf confirmed, as they took turns eating and talking. “Our squad watched Commander Mastrin took a group out to try to break up the firethrowers, and we and the others were instructed to try to run south and get around the end of the fires, so we could take shelter in the safe part of the forest.

“Mastrin’s forces went down too quickly though; the humans just waited for them and butchered them, and we weren’t able to make it to safety,” he continued. “The humans came at us, and we put up a fight, but not many survived.”

“They rounded up the survivors, tied us all in ropes, and herded us together,” Hinger added.

“Was there a girl named Lucretia?” Kestrel asked with a lump in his throat.

“There were four or five score captured altogether,” Hinger continued. “I didn’t know many of them; I barely knew Termine. There were a few females, but they were separated from us pretty quickly.”

“Then after the first day, they didn’t attack any further. They could have burned the whole Eastern Forest — there weren’t any other defenders left, but instead they packed everything up and left the battlefield, taking us with them,” he explained. “It was a horrible march. They didn’t feed us much, they beat us just because they could, they left our dead lying by the side of the road — a lot didn’t survive. Maybe two score or three score made it to their city.

“Then things happened to us and to them. They fought among themselves; a lot of them were killed, and they attacked the city. Then they took an ax and cut off our feet, so we couldn’t run away, I guess,” he stopped talking, emotion overcoming him, and Termine picked up the story.

“We were put on a ship after the humans’ war with themselves was done, those that survived, that is, and we went across the sea to another great city, and we were sold off at auction. Hinger and I were bought together by a trader, and we worked on his ships, getting whipped and mistreated terribly,” he said. “The trader came up here on a voyage and must have lost money at the gambling house, because we were given to the house, and have worked there the past week.”

Kestrel felt the tears rolling down his cheeks at the bleak recital of the horrific events.

“All praise to Kai for sending you to save us,” Hinger said. “I’ll make an extra devotion and pledge to the temple to thank her.”

“As will I,” Termine agreed.

“As will I,” Kestrel concurred.

“Since there are three of us, we’ll take turns on watch,” Kestrel announced. “I’ll take the first shift, then wake Hinger for second, and Termine can take the third,” he directed.

The two ex-slaves fell immediately asleep, while Kestrel walked around the perimeter of the campsite, and came back to add new tinder to the fire from time to time. It was that fire that gave their location away to the gambler’s men who were still following them, and Kestrel’s watchfulness that saved them.

Near the end of his shift Kestrel heard the men approaching, and woke the other two elves. He gave them his bow and arrows to use, while he went out into the darkness of the trees, and waited for the men to pass by him. There were eight men, walking in a cluster towards the flames of the camp fire, and when Kestrel was sure they were within the range of the elven archers who were hidden in the darkness, he began his attack. He swung his staff with full force at the back of the head of one man, then jabbed and twisted the newly spiked end of the staff into the throat of the man next to him.

He heard the twinge of his bow, and one of the humans screamed, while the others realized they had been ambushed, and began to shout and flail. One of the men swung his sword blindly, but managed to score it across Kestrel’s stomach, a painful cut that he ignored as he twisted his staff between the man’s legs to trip him, then ripped the hooks across his opponent’s throat, and heard a gurgling noise as another arrow found its target.

There were three humans still left, blindly thrashing about in the forest. One was clearly running away, he could tell by the receding sounds, while one was still approaching the fire, and one was near him. With one hand holding his injury, he dropped the staff in the other hand and pulled out his sword, then snuck beside the human closest to him and stabbed the man in his kidneys. His victim gave a loud, sobbing scream of pain as he fell, and Kestrel administered a lethal blow out of mercy.

The bow sounded again, and Kestrel heard the final human hunter fall among the leaves on the forest floor. “That’s all of them,” he called out to the other two elves, “ and I’m coming in to the fire now.”

The other two returned to the fire as well, and met him there. “Kestrel, you’re hurt!” Hinger exclaimed as they came face to face. “Do you want to drink some of the healing water?” he asked, preparing to go in search of the water skin.

“No,” Kestrel answered sharply, and they both looked at him in surprise. “If I touch it, my ears and eyebrows will start to grow back to elven form,” he belatedly explained. “I’ve learned that the hard way, and had to undergo surgery twice to look human.

“’I’d rather not have a third surgery,” he added with a grin. “Hinger, you’re on duty now,” he told the elf, and he went to his bedroll to lay down. He slept uneasily that night, as the pain of the cut across his stomach troubled him, but awoke shortly after dawn nonetheless, and helped prepare the camp for their departure. He went out into the forest and raided the packs and pockets of the dead men, then they resumed their journey, and he jogged alongside the horse with its double load of elves into the southeast.

That night they had another fire to provide some warmth as the evening grew cooler, as Hinger and Termine debated whether their feet were healing, or if it was just their imagination. By the third evening of their journey they concluded that they were regrowing the lost limbs, and they mounted no watch as they decided they were beyond danger of discovery.

Seven days later the group reached Firheng, a return to the Elven nation that made the two former slaves cry with appreciation. They walked in through the city gate with less in the way of a limp as their feet continued to regenerate, and Kestrel led them into Belinda’s office to report to Commander Cosima.

“Kestrel! My husband whispered my name this morning!” Belinda cried tears of real joy when she saw him. “I’m really going to have him back!”

Cosima listened in amazement to Kestrel’s story of rescue. “I had no idea you would do any more than see the edge of the city and return,” he exclaimed when Kestrel was finished recounting the tale.

“Colonel Silvan will want to hear your stories,” Cosima told the two returned guards. “He’ll ask you so many questions you’ll discover that you know and remember things you couldn’t possibly be aware of during your time in captivity.”

“And his wife will have more of the healing water, to help your feet grow back further. You’ll not need anything else,” Kestrel assured them. It was true that their sores had disappeared and the scars they bore had shrank and faded into relative obscurity. “When you see Alicia, tell her Kestrel says thank you.”

They drank ale that night and talked with Arlen over dinner to celebrate their safety back among elves. “You know,” said Termine, “after a while I didn’t even notice he looked like a human,” he observed late that night, as he placed a hand on Kestrel’s shoulder. Kestrel grinned at the backhanded compliment.

The next morning Termine and Hinger were given a messenger tube to take to Colonel Silvan, and they left Firheng to make their way back to Center Trunk, the first elves to return from their captivity among the humans. After he watched them limp away from the gate of the guard base, Kestrel went back to see Commander Cosima again.

“You made more of your training trip than I expected Kestrel, and you did great work that was good in more than one way — it was good for those two men, it was good for our people, and I suspect it might even have been good for you,” Cosima said.

Kestrel nodded his head in agreement. It had been an eye-opening trip. He had started the trip with his memories of the prejudices that elves had shown against him because of his human characteristics, and questioning the moral values of elves versus humans. The decadence he had seen in Green Water, particularly the practice of slavery, showed him that humans did not occupy a moral high ground versus elves. And the eye-opening exposure to seeing elves as slaves had awakened a passion in him to achieve another goal while he infiltrated the humans — he would seek to rescue other elven slaves as well, if they were to be found.

“So, the seasons have moved along, and we need to get you up to Estone so that you can sail out before the shipping lanes freeze closed for the winter. Here are your orders from Silvan, with details on how you should plan to send messages back to our side once you’re over in Hydrotaz,” Cosima passed a folded sheet of paper to Kestrel.

“You’re good to go as of now,” Cosima rose. “And I don’t know if we’re likely to see you back here in Firheng again for a long time. I know you’ll have to be back in the Eastern Forest within a year and a half, as your ears start to grow back. I hope we’ll get a chance to see you pass through here. I’m sure you’ll have some interesting stories to tell,” he said as he walked towards the door and opened it.

“And you’ve got some friends here who will want to see you again,” he added. The commander held out his hand and shook Kestrel’s. “Go with the peace and protection of the gods.”

“Thank you, commander,” Kestrel replied as he felt the strong grip. “I look forward to seeing you again with some entertaining stories to tell.”

He turned to see Belinda, who was standing and facing him as he heard the door to Cosima’s office close behind him. “Oh Kestrel, come back to us safe and sound!” she said as she hugged him. “I want you to have dinner with Ranor and me.”

“I look forward to that,” Kestrel said gently. They pulled away from one another, and stared into each other’s eyes, then Kestrel stepped back. “Good bye, Belinda,” he said softly, as he left the room. His pack was in his room, ready to go; he soon picked it up, and put all his weaponry on, then left Firheng on his way back to Estone.

Kestrel stood on the road, looking at the walls of Estone not far away, as they glowed red in the sunset’s light. He’d taken three days to travel this far from Firheng, three days that he had spent scrubbing his mind of his feelings that he was once again an elf pretending to be a human. For the next several months, he knew he had to convince himself that he was a human — he needed to feel it in his heart and be able to convince everyone around him that there was nothing elvish about him. The words of the blacksmith in Green Water still replayed in his memory — “Are you a human or an elf?” Even when he looked and acted most human, the smith had found something about him that raised the seemingly preposterous question.

Those circumstances had been unusual though, and he didn’t expect to see another elf for many weeks or months to come. And starting with his passage through the walls of Estone, he would have to put his Elven identity as deeply under cover as possible. He took a deep breath, then resumed his journey towards Estone, and half an hour later he passed through the gate.

He needed to find a place to spend the night. He had spent the whole journey north thinking about that question more than any other. He wanted to go see Merilla first — first and foremost — to see what reception he would receive, and what feelings might be ready to flare up between them, if the gods were to capriciously decide their romantic timing was allowable now. But he knew that he was only going to be in Estone for one or two or three nights, until he had arrangements to sail away, and he would be treating Merilla in a manner that was callous if he simply visited her briefly to satisfy his own desires, then left.

There was a square near the docks, and he knew there were decent inns nearby. He would go there and book a room. He would book a room and think about Merilla, he knew, as he walked through the darkening streets of Estone, as the autumnal sun set, casting its last weak rays into the city. Then, after he had a room, he would eat dinner, and he would continue to think about Merilla. And after that, no matter what he did, whether he went to an armory and practiced, or sat in a tavern and drank, or walked around the streets near Daley’s shop, he would think about Merilla.

Minutes later he reached the square, and selected an inn, The Mermaid, where he got the last room available. He left his pack and his bow and his sword in his room, and went downstairs with his staff. He stood in the doorway and looked into the dining room, where a few men in red sat, then walked outside into the darkness, and began to walk towards the section of town where Daley’s millinery shop and Hammon’s leathermongery were located around the corner from one another.

When he arrived, both shops were dark, but the living quarters above each showed windows that glowed with light, and he stood on a far corner where he could stare at both sets of lights and both doorways and felt the turmoil in his heart as the minutes passed and he made no move to approach either home. He felt his feet grow cold as he stood motionless on the corner, then the cold began to seep through his cloak, and at last he left the corner and returned to his inn, where he sat alone at a table in the tavern, and drank an ale with his dinner, before he went to bed alone for the evening.

He laid in his bed with a dim lantern providing light, as he read the intricate directions from Silvan, information on how he was to pass his findings along to the elven forces. There were a number of locations along the border with Hydrotaz where he could secretly stash a message, and know that it would eventually be found and picked up by an elf courier.

His messages would have to be written in obscure codes, full of symbols and hidden meanings that he would need many days to memorize. Flowers, shapes, colors — they all had to be written into a message that seemed to describe something else. There were sequences of words that would trigger meanings — “a square of yellow roses” meant that life-threatening conditions were imminent, for example. “A triangle of three red pansies” meant that he expected he was going to die. There were few happy or positive meanings he could convey, he noted grimly as he turned down the wick to put out his bedroom light. Apparently, he wasn’t expected to uncover many happy outcomes, he thought as he drifted off to sleep.

The next morning Kestrel went to see Castona at his shop, where he was greeted with a combination of warmth and awe. “It’s the return of our champion!” one of Castona’s assistants shouted.

Castona poked his head out from a back room to see the reason for the shout, then grinned. “It’s not always good to have to need a champion, but if you’re going to have one, this is the best to have!” he said.

“Kestrel, what brings you through our door, and have you been to the palace to see the Doge?” the merchant asked.

“I just arrived in the city last night,” Kestrel replied. “I’d like to get a berth on a ship to take me to the Inland Seas kingdoms.

“Why do I need to see the Doge?” he asked.

“The Doge wants the prestige of having you seen in public with him, of course,” Castona explained. “Let me do some checking on the tides and departures this morning, while you go to the palace, flash your chest — funny, I wouldn’t have thought I’d ever say that to a man!” he laughed at his own joke, “and then go see the Doge. He’ll probably want to host a dinner or reception with you and invite all the noblemen he can.

“You should do this, Kestrel. The Doge has been very upset about your disappearance, and this will help quite a bit, especially with the restlessness that has been growing among the people,” Castona urged. “It won’t delay your departure by more than a day or so. And there have been some unusual occurrences around the city lately; your appearance will give people — including the Doge — some comfort.”

“Alright,” Kestrel agreed, willing to accept a reason to spend another night in Estone.

“Good!” Castona smiled. “And when you see the Doge, could you put in a good word for me? Let him know that I was the one who told you to go see him? I’d appreciate it.”

Kestrel laughed at the ulterior motive revealed. He clapped his trader acquaintance on the shoulder. “I’ll go to the palace right now, and demand to see the Doge. You go find a ship for me.” He stood up and left the shop, striding through the streets of the city on his way to the palace, dodging traffic and slipping down alleyways to avoid slow spots. Within several minutes he stood at the gates of the palace and approached a guard.

“I want to see the Doge. I am the People’s Champion,” Kestrel said. He saw the boredom on the faces of the guards, and responded by pulling his cape away, then lifting his shirt over his head.

“I want to see the Doge, and I understand he wants to see me,” Kestrel said, as the two guards looked at him closely, then whispered between themselves.

“Step inside the gate here, and we’ll have a guide sent to take you inside,” one of the guards said.

Kestrel entered the gate, then pulled his shirt back on and wrapped his cowl around him. Within minutes, a palace servant in a luxurious uniform arrived, and led Kestrel inside, to a luxurious sitting room. “Moresond will be here in a few minutes to meet with you,” the servant said.

Moresond was the herald of the palace, the man with the deep rich voice who had met Kestrel at the time he had been invested with his titles. It was a check on his authenticity, he realized, one that might not even require him to remove his shirt again to prove his worthiness to be taken before the Doge.

The door handle turned, and a man dressed in black entered the large ornate room where Kestrel sat alone.

“Well, it is our young divinely approved champion, I see,” Moresond spoke as he approached. “We’re delighted at your return. I’ll go immediately to see the Doge and arrange for an audience, and then the two of you can make plans. He’ll be relieved to know that you have returned to protect your people.

“Just as a matter of curiosity, may I see the divine marking on your chest? I recognize you and will vouch for who you are, no matter. This is simply to indulge my own wish to see what the touch of a goddess can do,” he explained.

“Of course,” Kestrel agreed. He again lifted his shirt, realizing that he was likely to repeat the performance again for the Doge and others, and thinking that he needed to wear an easier shirt to remove.

“It is remarkable,” Moresond said. “There’s nothing to let one know it isn’t completely natural.”

“It is natural, now,” Kestrel assured him.

“Of course,” the herald agreed as he straightened up. “I’ll go now, and be back very soon.” He left Kestrel alone in the room as he departed. Only a moment later there was another knock on the door and two maids entered.

“Oh! We didn’t know anyone was in here,” one feigned to be unaware of Kestrel’s presence in the room.

“It’s no problem,” Kestrel assured them as they began to wipe and dust random pieces of furniture around the room, constantly stealing glances at him. Within two minutes, a young servant boy also entered the room.

“I came to see if I could help you with anything,” the boy said, his body pointed towards the maids, but his eyes focused on Kestrel.

He followed one of the two maids around the room, until there were no more obvious excuses to remain any longer. All three of them approached Kestrel to curtsey and bow. “Is there anything further we can do to assist your grace?” one of the maids asked.

“No, nothing at all, but thank you for keeping me company,” Kestrel said politely, as another knock foretold the return of Moresond, who looked at the cleaning staff with raised eyebrows.

“The Doge will see you now,” the herald announced. “He’s just finishing an audience with the new ambassador from Uniontown.”

Kestrel nodded to the trio in the room, then left. In the hall he and Moresond were promptly followed by two ceremonial guards. “It’s a sign of the respect the Doge has for you,” Moresond assured him in a calm voice, and they proceeded through a maze of turns to reach a grand receiving hall, where the Doge received visitors before a large number of members of the court. There was a sinister feel in the room, one unlike anything Kestrel had ever felt before, and he felt an alarming tightness in his chest, but as he stopped momentarily in reaction to it, the feeling dissipated, and the crowd in the room seemed to breathe a similar sigh of collective relief.

A large entourage was leaving the room on the far side, wearing a great deal of deep red, as two members of the group limped in a peculiar manner that seemed oddly familiar to Kestrel. Within moments he gasped audibly, as he realized the limp was the same uncomfortable gait that Hinger and Termine had used before their feet began to heal.

“Were there slaves in that group?” Kestrel abruptly asked Moresond.

The herald looked at him oddly. “Slavery is technically not permitted in the nation of Estone, but occasionally we find a case here or there. The ambassador is new to this post; we’ve never had any embassy from Uniontown before at all, so he may not know our laws and customs yet.

“He’s just been officially recognized, though he’s been here for several days. He and his staff have managed to offend virtually everyone they come in contact with — such arrogant people,” he explained. “Though there are those weak-willed few who seem to crave a bully to make their decisions for them.”

“Here’s the Doge,” he switched topics as they arrived. “You’re not on the published schedule of course, so this will wake up the crowd, which is just what the Doge wants! Now wait right here until I call you forward,” Moresond was being quite talkative, Kestrel thought, compared to their last encounter. He wondered if the herald was nervous, or whether the palace official perhaps actually liked him.

“The Captain of the Fleet and Champion of the People, as designated by the Doge and confirmed by the divine Goddess Kai, Kestrel, seeks audience with the Doge,” Moresound called out loudly from the top step of the platform the Doge sat upon. There was a moment of stunned silence, and then an electric buzz in the air as every observer said something to their neighbor or even to themselves at the surprise arrival of the Champion.

The Doge waved Kestrel towards him, so Kestrel climbed the steps, and stopped just one step below the Doge on his dais. “I have just arrived in town last night, your honor, and wished to present myself to be received by you.”

“Thank you, friend Kestrel,” the Doge answered directly. “Do you have time at the moment for a private audience?”

“Certainly, your honor,” Kestrel replied.

“Good,” the Doge said in a low voice, as he rose from his seat immediately. “I need a happier visit after listening to that odious villain from Uniontown. The man seems to plan to become a force here in Estone; he’s announced plans for a grand party at his estate, and there seem to be a few weak-spined people who want to listen to his claims about new powers rising and a new order in the world,” he harrumphed as he led Kestrel and Moresond and a guard behind the throne and through a discreet door, down a hall, and into a quiet study, where the guard remained outside the door as the others took their seats inside.

“I’d like to see it, of course,” the Doge said immediately, a wish that Kestrel had anticipated. “Do you know, I’m having to arrange to allow pilgrimages into the palace these days so that the people can see the chapel where the goddess stood and touched you?” he added as Kestrel pulled his shirt up over his head and walked over beside the seated leader.

“The architect has elaborate plans for building a pilgrim’s way into the palace, just to the chapel and back out, which will be preposterously expensive, of course,” the Doge muttered lightly as he examined Kestrel’s artwork. “That’s quite a triple-headed title,” he commented softly. “Now turn around and let me see the back,” he commanded. Kestrel turned, and felt the Doge’s hand covering Kai’s handprint. “It’s a delicate feminine hand, isn’t it?” he asked. “Though it obviously can pack quite a powerful strike. You’ve been slapped by larger hands that left less pain, eh Moresond?” he chuckled.

“Yes indeed, though those slaps were long ago in my past,” the herald agreed with a smile.

“Thank you, have a seat and relax,” the Doge told Kestrel.

“There is so much I would like to know about you: who are you, where are you from, why did the goddess select you?” the Doge began.

“I won’t be here long,” Kestrel interrupted, “your grace.

“I have need to visit the kingdoms of the Inner Seas. I hope to be riding one of the next ships to leave your harbor,” he explained. “Within the next day or two if possible.”

The Doge sat back in his chair and looked at Kestrel speculatively. “I’d like for the members of the court and the council to have a chance to assemble and see you. It will do us all good to collectively know our champion comes among us; we don’t have to mention that you’ll be leaving, especially with this Uniontown troublemaker among us now.

“Will you be gone long?” he asked.

“It’s likely to be a few months, I think,” Kestrel answered.

“But you’ll agree to attend a reception?” Moresond interjected.

“My trader friend, Castona, also suggested that such a thing would be a good idea. He felt it would be good for the city, and good for the Doge,” Kestrel answered, “so yes, if we can make arrangements in the next day or two, I will attend.”

“Your trader friend is shrewd,” the Doge commented. “I’m sure we can make arrangements to hold a soiree at the court tomorrow evening. We’ll announce that the champion is within the city walls and wants to confirm his commitment to our people’s good will. You and I can hold a receiving line.

“Would you like for me to arrange for one of the ladies of the court to serve as your escort?” the herald asked.

“Let me see if I can find one myself,” Kestrel replied quickly.

“Very well,” the Doge answered. “Let’s return to the court and make the announcement, then you’ll be free to go and I can return to the scheduled appointments.

“Oh, and one more thing, my champion; I don’t know how you will handle it, but expect everyone to want to see the goddess’s mark on your chest.”

They walked back to the throne room, where the crowd grew silent as the Doge and Kestrel stood before the throne, while Moresond stood in front of them, a step lower, and made the announcement of the reception to take place the following evening. The room immediately burst into a roar of commentary as Kestrel slipped back out the small door, and discreetly left the palace.

He strolled through the city, as he went directly to Daley’s millinery shop, where he banged the door shut upon his arrival, startling Daley, Merilla’s father, who was cutting a delicate piece of fabric that needed delivery to a customer. “Can I help you?” he asked, looking up from his work and looking over the top of the glasses he wore for examining delicate items up close.

“My name is Kestrel, and I am a friend of Merilla’s,” Kestrel introduced himself. “We’ve met before, back when Merilla first returned.”

“Of course! Of course!” Daley replied. “You’re the one who rescued her and brought her back, then disappeared for — how long has it been? — over a month now. Would you like to see her? She and the boys happen to be here this morning. Stay right there and I’ll go upstairs and get her.”

The man sprung up from his chair and out the back door, leaving Kestrel to fidget nervously as he awaited the man’s return. Only a few minutes passed before the door opened, and Merilla stepped into the shop. Her eyes swept the room, then came to rest on Kestrel, and widened dramatically. “Oh Kestrel,” she practically moaned the words as she came rushing around the counter and into his arms.

Kestrel smiled broadly as they embraced. “I’m so glad to see you again,” he whispered into her hair. “You’re as lovely as ever.”

“I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again,” she replied. She looked up at him and he kissed her, then they stepped apart.

“I’m just passing through the city for a day or two, and I had to visit,” he told her, and saw a look of concern momentarily race across her features.

“Your timing is extraordinary,” she paused. “I’m supposed to announce my engagement to Hammon the day after tomorrow,” she replied.

It was his turn to suffer momentary shock. He looked down at her, not knowing what to say. “The mothers have arranged it. The wedding won’t occur until after my mourning period is over, probably long after, if I can manage,” she explained. “Hammon won’t object to the delay, if I ask him, poor, sweet thing — he’s being manipulated into this almost as much as I am.”

Kestrel blanched at the thought of Merilla married to another man, but could imagine no realistic way he could intervene, unless he turned his back on all that he knew he had to do, and all that depended on him.

“But for the next two nights you’re not yet engaged?” he asked.

“In the eyes of the city, no. In the eyes of my mother, I already am,” Merilla answered.

“And what do your eyes see?” Kestrel asked. “Could you go to the palace with me tomorrow night as my guest at a reception?”

She stepped backwards a few inches, to better scrutinize his face. “What do you mean?”

“The Doge is going to hold a reception for the court tomorrow, to introduce the Champion to them all publically. I hoped you would be my escort,” he explained.

She stood silent for several seconds as she weighed the consequences of her decision; “Yes, I’ll be your escort,” she accepted the offer.

“Merilla? Are you still down here?” Kestrel heard Durille, her mother call, just moments before she came through the door into the shop. She paused upon entry and examined Kestrel for a long minute. “So you’ve returned, I see,” she said in a flat voice as she recognized him.

“Has Merilla told you her happy news?” Durille asked him.

“Kestrel just asked me if I’d go to a reception at the Doge’s court with him tomorrow evening, as his guest,” Merilla spoke up before Kestrel answered. “He didn’t know about my upcoming betrothal of course. I’ve agreed to go with him,” she said calmly, “since I will only still be a widow in mourning tomorrow, you know. He has to leave again in a day or two.”

Durille’s face was a mask as she listened and considered the implications of Merilla’s declaration, made in a determined voice. There was little likelihood of undoing this complication, she concluded, and then this bane of her plan to settle Merilla down would be gone again, and Merilla would be suitably engaged.

“That sounds like a wonderful plan, and your friend is fortunate to be invited to such a prestigious event,” she replied, wondering if he really was even invited to such an activity at the palace, never having learned of the honors he received. “What do you plan to wear?”

“I’ll make something. We’ve got all this fabric I can borrow,” she replied.

“Well, I better go back upstairs to watch your boys,” Durille said. “You’ll need to get back to them soon as well.”

“I will mother, I will,” Merilla said. “I’ll be up in a couple of minutes.”

With a last suspicious look, the mother left the shop, and Merilla gave a sigh of relief. “What should I wear?” she asked Kestrel rhetorically, as she looked around the shop at the bolts of cloth. “I’ll bet you’d like to see me wear this, wouldn’t you?” she asked as she stepped to the far wall and pulled a white bundle of fabric out of its slot. She pulled the cloth away from the bolt and held it in front of her face, a sheer fabric that Kestrel could easily see through. He imagined momentarily what she would look like dressed in such a design, her body visible beneath the covering.

“Merilla! Can you make a shirt for me using that fabric?” he asked, his mind jumping from her clothing question to his own.

“Really? That’s how enticing I am to you?” she replied in exasperation. “Just good old Merilla! Maybe she’ll be my seamstress. No excitement there; going to marry the leathermonger, ho hum?”

“No, no, that’s not it,” Kestrel replied. “I did think about you in a dress of your see-through fabric; I imagined being able to see that freckle on your lower back, just below your waist, or those curves you have that are so inviting, or the mole just above your navel, or,” he was ready to name something else when she cut him off.

“That’s enough, Kestrel. My mother may be listening, you know,” she blushed as she lowered the cloth.

“But the Doge said that everyone at court will want to see the mark the goddess implanted on my chest; I’ve already taken my shirt off three times this morning,” he explained.

“So if you wore a transparent shirt at the reception,” Merilla followed his logic, “everyone could see the mark and you wouldn’t have to do anything to show it.

“Alright, I’ll make a shirt for you, my Champion!” she laughed.

“Now, I have to go upstairs,” she placed the cloth back in its spot on the wall and rejoined Kestrel. I’ll be at my house tonight, if you have time to come visit,” she added, as Kestrel placed an arm around her waist.

“I can’t help myself; I’ve thought about you so much, lately,” he told her as he kissed her.

“Can you stay; can you settle down here, Kestrel? I can tell Hammon and my mother ‘no’ if you tell me you’ll come back,” she answered.

He shook his head. “I’ll be gone a long time this time, I’m afraid,” he told her as he released her.

Her hopeful smile turned downward. “Go on now,” she responded. “I’ll see you tonight.” And then she was through the shop door and gone from view, giving Kestrel a reason to leave the shop and return to Castona’s trading place.

He felt remorseful as he walked through the streets to Castona’s shop. He shouldn’t have reinserted himself back into Merilla’s life, he knew, especially as she was settling into a life that would be fixed and solid and reliable here in her home city. But he also knew that he would go to see her that evening, after dark, after the leather shop was closed and after her boys were asleep.

When he reached the trader’s shop Castona wasn’t present, but the assistant at the counter told him to go wait in any of the rooms in the back, knowing as they did of Kestrel’s close relationship to Castona and his special status. Kestrel sat in the room for an hour, glad for the warmth inside, and thought about his visit to the palace earlier in the morning. He had questions for Castona, he knew.

“Well, you’re back sooner than I expected. I thought you might spend all day at the palace,” the merchant said as he returned and entered the office.

“I was taken in to see the Doge right away,” Kestrel replied. “And there will be a reception tomorrow evening at the palace.”

“I knew there would be!” Castona replied.

“When I entered the court, the ambassador from Uniontown was leaving,” Kestrel said, and he watched Castona make an unpleasant face. “What can you tell me about him?”

“He seems evil,” Castona said, making one of the rare statements Kestrel could remember from him that judged the values of someone or something. Castona usually weighed things in his merchant’s manner and delivered an evaluation, but this ambassador drove the trader to a simpler, more direct conclusion.

“He arrived on one of their ships a couple of weeks ago, and acquired one of the largest estates in the city, one that I didn’t even know was available to be had. He and his group have remained largely within it, coming out rarely, except when they tell the gullible people how strong and wonderful their new gods are. He’s gotten some locals to listen to him already!”

“They say, and I know such rumors are the food of fools,” he commented, “but I almost believe this — they say there are strange lights at night, and screams that are terrible.”

“Where is Uniontown?” Kestrel asked. “I thought I had learned the cities of the north and the Inner Seas, but I never heard of it.”

“It’s not properly a part of the Inner Seas Kingdoms,” Castona answered. “It’s much further south, along the Gamble River, near the Western Mountains. It’s grown in profile in the past few years, starting to sell more goods along the Inner Seas and sending ambassadors to some of the kingdoms there.

“Why they have an ambassador here is beyond me. There’s no trade between the two nations at all,” Castona mused. “But they’ve gone to court and presented their credentials, you say? Then they’re here, for whatever reason, and the Doge can’t have been happy to have to recognize someone who is stirring sedition among the lower classes.”

“That’s not the topic I thought we’d talk about though,” Castona moved on. “I’ve found a berth for you on a ship. There’s a naval cutter that’s headed to North Harbor in two days, and as a Captain of the Fleet you’re entitled to a berth onboard. It won’t be comfortable, but it will be fast; with the right winds you could be in North Harbor in just five days sailing time.”

“What would I do from North Harbor?” Kestrel asked.

“It’s an open port,” Castona answered, meaning that it wouldn’t freeze shut the way Estone would in the winter time, “so you’ll be able to purchase a ride aboard a merchantman from there to take you south, at least to Seafare, and from there you’ll be able to find your way anywhere in the Inner Seas.”

“You’ll be a bit of a curiosity aboard the cutter, The Seagull,” Castona told Kestrel. “This honor of being a Captain of the Fleet is usually given to retired naval officers of distinction. The use of its privileges is very rare, unknown for a landsman.”

“Well, this is probably my one and only time to use the honor, so they shouldn’t worry about abuse,” Kestrel laughed.

He parted soon after, and returned to his room at his inn, where he restlessly waited the remainder of the afternoon, until the early nightfall of the season. Kestrel ate a simple meal at the tavern next to his inn, and waited impatiently for time to pass, until he judged that Merilla would be alone in her home, and he started through the streets to visit her.

There was a cold wind blowing from the North Sea, sweeping debris along the city ways, and it caught Kestrel full in the face from time to time, making him wince as he pulled his hood tight and bent forward. The walk seemed to take forever, but in time he reached the corner he had visited the night before. In Merilla’s house there was only one window lit, and a figure stood at the window looking out, serving as a confirmation that Kestrel was welcome to come in out of the cold.

He opened the door and climbed the stairs, then knocked softly and pushed the door open. He saw Merilla walking towards him, carrying a candle that lit the front of her in a warm glow. She was wearing black underclothes, small scraps of cloth that served mostly to accentuate her curves rather than hide them, and that drew more attention to her flesh by its stark contrast with her pale skin. Kestrel could see such details clearly, even in the dim light, because she wore a diaphanous wrap of material around her body, the sheer white material they had looked at in the shop.

“Let’s go someplace warm,” he said huskily, as she came to him and kissed him, a light cloud of a delicate fragrance enveloping him as she arrived, an expensive perfume, he was sure.

“Wait,” she said, and unwrapped her wispy covering. “No reason to take this in,” she told him, as he pulled off his hood and cape, and set his staff aside. They went into the bedroom and Kestrel removed his boots as Merilla pushed the door closed, and then they laid down together and started to kiss, when a shrill voice cried out.

“Kestrel! Human-friend! I need you! Jonson is hurt, badly, and I’m afraid he will die! Please come take him to the healing spring!” Dewberry was in the air above them, hovering and darting wildly in the dim light of the candle, and Kestrel could see tears rolling down her cheeks, glistening like blue crystals.

Merilla stifled a shriek, as Kestrel looked up at Dewberry’s heart-wrenching distress, then looked down at Merilla’s expression of disbelief beneath him.

“I have to try to help,” he told Merilla, then looked up. “Dewberry get the help you need to carry me.”

Dewberry disappeared without response, as Kestrel sat up. “I’m sorry, my love.”

“We are truly forbidden to be together, aren’t we?” Merilla asked in an emotionless voice. “The gods do not want us to couple.”

“It seems like it, for now,” Kestrel answered as he pulled his pants back on and stuffed his feet into his boots. He went back out to the front room, where he was surrounded by Dewberry and three other sprites.

“We’re going,” Dewberry shouted, as Kestrel reached for his staff, and felt his fingers clasp the wooden shaft a fraction of a second before he left Merilla’s dark apartment and entered the momentary, disquieting transition of chill and darkness that the sprites’ translocation created, then re-materialized in a dark, cool swamp. There was fetid water up to his knees, spilling over the tops of his boots to fill them inside.

“Where are we? Where’s Jonson?” Kestrel asked. He could see virtually nothing in the blackness.

“Reasion,” Dewberry called, “go home and get a lantern. Jonson’s must have burned out.”

Seconds later, a light appeared, and Kestrel instantly saw a horrific sight; Jonson floated atop the scummy water of the swamp, his legs gone, a dark stain spreading out around him. Next to his body floated a huge, toothy lizard-like monster, twice as long as Kestrel was tall. It was dead, a shaft driven through its skull.

Kestrel picked up Jonson’s body. “Take us to the spring!” he cried out, and multiple small bodies embraced him, then deposited him on the lawn next to the spring, where the warm water of the pool was covered in mists. Kestrel plunged Jonson’s body down into the water, laying him on the sandy shelf that was the usual place he rested the sprites.

“Now, Dewberry, take me to Alicia, the elf-woman who came here with us before! Hurry!” Kestrel called. “We may need her to save him!”

The bodies surrounded Kestrel again, and suddenly they were all in a room, where Alicia slept alone in a narrow bed. The lantern in Reasion’s hand illuminated the scene, as Kestrel knelt next to the bed and shook Alicia’s shoulder. “Alicia! Wake up. We need a doctor,” Kestrel said loudly.

The woman’s eyes sprang open, and she looked at Kestrel without comprehension for only a half second, then sat up and looked around the room at the floating crowd of blue bodies. “Gods above! Kestrel, what are you doing here?” she pulled her sheet up over her torso.

“We need you. Our friend, Jonson, the water imp, he had his legs bit off by a monster creature. He’s at the healing spring now. Please come look at him,” Kestrel said, shaking his head slightly as he tried to remove the untimely comparison his mind was making even now between Alicia’s sleek elven body and Merilla’s soft and shapely human one.

“I need, I need my tools,” Alicia replied, climbing out of bed and hurriedly wrapping a robe around her body. “Let’s go,” she darted out a doorway and down the hall. They were in the very building where she had operated on him, Kestrel realized, and he wondered where Silvan was sleeping.

“Take her first, and take the light,” Kestrel instructed Dewberry, “explain to her what has happened, then come back and get me.”

“Kestrel?” Alicia asked, looking at him as small blue bodies wrapped around her, just before she disappeared.

Kestrel left the room and left the building, then went trotting down the dark, deserted road of the base towards the supply building. There was no one present, and he threw his shoulder against the door, crashing it open. Someone was sure to hear and come investigate, but he hoped to be gone before they found him.

Inside the dark front room Kestrel fumbled with objects on the counter until he felt the lantern that he thought he remembered. “Friend Kestrel?” Dewberry’s voice called him. “Why are you here?”

“Dewberry, I’ve got a lantern. Take it and light it, then bring it back here,” Kestrel instructed.

“I will,” she replied. He couldn’t see her, but he felt the lantern disappear from his hands, and within thirty seconds Dewberry and the other sprites were with her, the lantern providing illumination.

“Good, let’s go get some water skins, so that you can use them for Jonson,” he said, grabbing the lantern and walking into the warehouse in the back of the building. Weapons were to the left, food in the center, clothing on the right. Kestrel guessed that the water skins would be with the clothing, and went down that aisle. He walked its full length and halfway back up the next aisle before he saw the supply of empty skins, piled in a large wooden crate.

There was a sound at the front of the warehouse. “Who’s in here?” a voice called.

Kestrel reached out and grabbed as many as he could, slung them over his shoulder, then grabbed more. “Take me to the spring!” he commanded, as a guard’s lantern light came into view, and the blue bodies carried him away, back to the spring.

Alicia was kneeling in the waters of the spring, next to Jonson, her robe lying abandoned in a white puddle on the ground next to where he stood.

The doctor looked up and saw Kestrel, and he read a sense of comfort in the light that reflected back from her eyes. “Kestrel come here,” she told him.

“No! Wait, I forgot about your ears. Stay there; it’s not important,” she stopped him from advancing. “What do you have?” she asked.

“I brought water skins,” he explained, making a heap on the ground next to her robe. “How is he?”

“He’s alive,” she replied. “And he’s in this water. The immediate danger was loss of blood, but the spring water has sealed off the veins, so he’s not losing any more right now.” She rose and stepped up onto the shore line, then pulled her robe over her shoulders.

“You must have acted quickly. Where were you hunting this monster?” she asked as she stood next to Kestrel shivering slightly in the chill air.

Kestrel pulled her body up against his in a hug that allowed them to warm one another. “I wasn’t with him. I was up in Estone when Dewberry came and got me, and took me to wherever he has attacked. I picked him up and brought him here, then we came to see you. Everything has happened in the last ten minutes or less, I’d guess,” he said, then was silent, as he thought about the fact that ten minutes ago he had been with Merilla.

“What is that fragrance?” Alicia asked, sniffing his shoulder. “It’s delightful.”

Kestrel was glad she couldn’t see his face, as he blushed at the thought of Merilla’s perfume clinging to his body.

“Here, why don’t you get back in the water to warm up, and you can fill the water skins,” he suggested.

She stepped back, then hesitated. “I guess you’ve seen me before; no reason to be shy now, is there?” she spoke more to herself than to him as she dropped her robe and picked up several skins.

“He ought to stay here as long as we can arrange,” Alicia said as she started to fill the water skins and toss them up on the shore. “Given what we’ve seen the water do for you, he should grow his legs back with enough time and enough exposure to the water.”

“Have you received the two elves from Green Water?” Kestrel asked, thinking of the men he had sent hobbling towards Center Trunk from Firheng only days before.

“Who? Where’s Green Water?” Alicia asked.

Kestrel tossed her more of the empty water skins as she finished filling those she had with her, then he told her an abbreviated version of his story about saving the elves from slavery.

“Silvan will be beside himself at the opportunity to question them about the humans,” Alicia commented when the story was over. “You did a wonderful thing to give them their freedom back.”

She looked up at him and saw his eyes studying her closely. “I guess you noticed I was sleeping alone,” she said as she finished filling the last of the skins.

“I did,” Kestrel commented.

“We are husband and wife, and we do sleep together from time to time,” she told him. “I love him so much, but perhaps I was too young and ignorant when I set my sights on him. He’s a very good man, and a very brilliant one, you know,” she spoke in a defensive tone. “I’d do anything to help him.”

“Even seduce another man, get him drunk, and operate on his body without his agreement,” Kestrel said grimly.

“Oh Kestrel, I know. I’m guilty, and it wasn’t fair to you, but it was for a bigger cause. I’m sorry; that’s the worst thing I’ve ever done,” she spoke in a pleading tone. “I wouldn’t do it again, knowing how you think of me because of it,” she added in a lower voice.

“I’m sorry, Alicia, I’ve forgiven you, mostly, and when Termine and Hinger arrive in Center Trunk you can treat their feet with some of this water so that they recover completely, and we’ll all agree that it was worth chopping my ears to set them free,” he leaned back on the grass, starting to feel exhausted. All the sprites but Dewberry had curled up asleep on the lawn, he realized, while the worried bride sat, and looked down at her injured husband.

“He’s going to be okay, Dewberry,” Kestrel told her. “Alicia thinks he’ll just need to soak in the spring water a lot for a while,” he said, as the elf maiden climbed up out of the water and put her robe on again.

“Thank you honored elf healer,” Dewberry said.

“If there’s nothing else for you to do here, we can take you home to your own bed so you can get some sleep,” Kestrel suggested.

“That will be fine, in a minute,” Alicia agreed. She sat down next to him. “So what are you doing in Estone? I know you’re just passing through, aren’t you?” she asked.

“I’m going to go to a reception in the Doge’s palace tomorrow night, in my honor, and then I’m going to take a ship to North Harbor the day after that, to start my journey to my assignment,” he told her. “Have you ever heard of a place called Uniontown?” he asked.

“I haven’t,” Alicia answered. “Why? Where is it?”

“It’s a city that has sent an ambassador to Estone, for no good reason. I was briefly in the same room as the ambassador from Uniontown, and it felt creepy. I don’t know why that seems important, but I think Silvan should know,” Kestrel answered.

“I’ll tell him,” she assured him. “Anything else?”

“No, that’s all for now,” he said. “Go on home and get warm. I’ll see you again in a few months.”

He paused. “I have forgiven you Alicia, just so you know; I felt we could trust you — I sent Dewberry to your room because I knew we could count on you,” he told her. “Dewberry,” he called, “you can take the doctor home now.”

The sprite roused her companions, and they gathered around the elf woman. “Take a water skin back and use it to heal Termine and Hinger,” Kestrel reminded her, handing her the strap for one of the skins in the pile.

“Be careful, Kestrel,” she answered, just as the sprites surrounded her. It seemed she was ready to say more, but instead she disappeared, and a minute later the sprites were back.

“Where are we going to take Jonson?” Kestrel asked Dewberry.

“We can take him to our quarters in his father’s palace,” she answered.

Carefully, Kestrel reached over the waterline and grabbed hold of Jonson’s hands, then lifted him from the water and laid him on the shore line. “Here,” he gave a pair of water skins to each of the sprites, “take these to the place he’s going to stay, to your quarters,” he instructed Dewberry. “You’ll need to use this water to bathe his legs as they grow back, and give him some to drink each day.”

Each of the sprites flitted away, and then returned moments later. “Are we ready?” Kestrel asked.

“We’re ready,” Dewberry and the others agreed. Kestrel picked the still sleeping Jonson up, and then was transported to the palace of the imps.

When he arrived he immediately crouched down; his head just barely avoided hitting the ceiling of the room. He saw an expansive bed, by sprite and imp standards, and gently laid Jonson on the mattress. “His care is in your hands now,” Kestrel told Dewberry, “and I know he’ll be well tended.” He yawned.

“Let us take you home, dear,” Dewberry said, looking up from where she sat on the bed next to her husband.

“I left a couple of skins of healing water at the spring. Can we go there first and get them?” he asked, and so he was taken first to the side of the healing spring, and then back to Merilla’s bedroom.

“Leave us,” Dewberry said to the other sprites. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she said, as Kestrel looked at Merilla’s sleeping form, lying on her mattress beneath a thick cover.

“You have been such a good friend,” Dewberry told him, floating in the air directly in front of him, whispering in his ear. “If there is ever a way I can repay the debt I owe, even if it means giving up my own life for you, please let me know.” She leaned in and kissed his cheek lightly, and then she was gone.

“Who’s there?” Merilla’s voice called sharply.

“It’s me, Kestrel. I’m back,” he said wearily.

“Is everything okay with your friend?” she asked in a sleepier tone.

“His condition was grave, but I think he’s going to be okay now. It took quick action to save his life,” Kestrel answered. He walked over to the bed and sat down on the mattress, then picked up his shirt that had remained on the floor in his absence. Merilla had changed into a warm nightgown, one that covered her from neck to ankle, it appeared.

“We can never expect to be a couple,” Kestrel said as he pulled his shirt over his head. “As much as we care for each other, fate has decided to keep us apart.”

“I know Kestrel,” Merilla said softly. “But I hope we can still be friends.”

“I hope so too,” he answered. “Will you still go to the Doge’s palace with me?”

She appeared to hesitate, then answered. “Why not? Why not go with the hero of the city? Yes, I’ll go. Come pick me up at my father’s shop at the proper time.”

Kestrel bent and kissed the top of her head. “I’m going to leave now,” he told her, “and I’ll pick you up in the afternoon. He couldn’t see her face, but he knew she was crying, just as he felt a tear run down his cheek and drop on her head.

“Kestrel, here,” she pulled a paper-wrapped package from a bedside table. “It’s your shirt for tomorrow. Now travel safely on the way home, and make sure you close the door tightly when you leave!”

Kestrel gave a quick chuckle, then took his leave, walking through Estone’s blustery cold night on his journey back to his inn, a journey that came after a much different experience than he had anticipated. Four men were leaving the inn when Kestrel came within sight of it finally, travelers getting an early start on their day’s journey, while he had yet to get to sleep. He reached the main door, went inside, and wearily climbed the stairs.

His door was ajar. Kestrel felt suddenly alert, and he held his staff in readiness, as he stood outside his room. He pushed the door open with his staff, then cautiously peeked inside. The room had been torn apart, with his small supply of belongings scattered across the floor. He checked the hidden pocket of his pack, and found it cut open, with Silvan’s directions of how to write coded messages, and where to leave them, gone. His communications with Center Trunk were already compromised before he had even had a chance to use them.

It would be weeks before he even needed to use them, so there was no immediate loss, but it was a blow. He had an option, he realized; with Dewberry’s help, he could pass messages to Alicia, getting information to Center Trunk on an almost instantaneous basis. If anything, it dawned on him, the thieves may have forced Kestrel into a better form of communications.

Kestrel lit his room’s lantern from the one downstairs at the desk, then returned to his room and pushed the door shut, throwing the bolt securely in place, and sat on his bed. He thought back to the men he had seen leaving the inn as he arrived; could they have been the thieves who had plundered his room? He tried to remember them, and his memory painted their clothes in shades of deep red, the same as the Uniontown ambassador’s entourage, but he had no clear, reliable recollection. He couldn’t imagine why anyone from Uniontown would want to rob him, yet his instincts jumped to the conclusion that the robbery was the work of forces from Uniontown.

He kicked off his boots, still damp on the inside from the swamp water they had received while saving Jonson, and laid back on his bed. He felt exhausted, as the rush of adrenaline from the discovery of the burglary passed away, and before he knew it, he was asleep.

Kestrel awoke to the sound of banging on his door. “Sir? Sir? Will you be leaving us today, sir?” the innkeeper’s voice called.

“Just a minute,” Kestrel called groggily. He sat up and saw bright sunlight streaming in through his window, then staggered over to the door and opened it. “We’ll need to clean the room sir, if you’re leaving today,” the innkeeper said, as Kestrel kept the door cracked only inches open.

“I’ll pack up and be out in just a little bit,” Kestrel told him, then pushed the door closed again, and sat down on his mattress. He looked about the room, then stood again and quickly stuffed his belongings into his pack, strapped his weapons securely in place, then left the inn, and went to Castona’s shop.

“Someone broke into my room last night and stole my instructions for how to pass messages to Center Trunk,” he told the merchant.

“Did they learn any names?” Castona asked intently.

“No, no names, but they know the code I was supposed to use. Where I can I stay tonight that will be safe?” Kestrel asked.

“Why not stay at the palace?” Castona suggested. “Go ask the herald to assign a room to you, and you’ll have a suite. It’ll make it easy for you after the reception.”

Kestrel thanked his friend, and went to the palace gate, where he received prompt entrance, and was sent to wait in another parlor.

“How can I help you, young champion?” Moresond said as he entered the room.

“I’d like a place to spend the night, and I thought the palace would be safe, if you have a room I can use,” Kestrel answered.

“As a Captain of the Fleet, you are always welcome to use one of our guest suites, and as the Champion, I suppose we should have a specific suite reserved for you somewhere anyway. Follow me and we’ll set something up for this evening,” the herald replied. He led Kestrel to meet the steward, who in turn took Kestrel to a sunny wing of the palace with wide, high windows that allowed much sunlight to enter the hallway.

“Here is your room,” the steward and another servant announced as they opened a door at the end of the hall, and let him enter first.

His room was a suite of five rooms — a lobby, a sitting room, a dining room, and two bedrooms, plus a bath and a balcony patio. “Is this sufficient?” the steward asked. “We would have had better for you if we had known you were coming.

“This is more than I’ve ever had before,” Kestrel breathed. “Thank you,” he added. “This is perfect.”

“If you need anything, pull this cord,” the servant showed a cord that wrapped around a pulley and disappeared in a small hole in the floor. “This will alert the staff, and someone will come immediately.”

With that the two staff members discreetly departed, and Kestrel unloaded his goods. He removed his boots and placed them by the fire to dry. He went into the bathroom and started filling a tub with hot water, amazed at the pipe that delivered the hot water from some mysterious source, then soaked and relaxed in the tub. He decided to take full advantage of the palace amenities; he got out of the tub, and donned the robe that hung on his wall before he pulled the magical cord that brought a maid to his door within minutes. The young lady graciously agreed to deliver food to his room, and just a few minutes later he sat at the dining room table and ate a late lunch that was his first meal of the day.

It was almost time to meet Merilla, he realized with a start as he nibbled on the food, and so he rushed to throw on clothes and ran through the streets to reach the millinery shop. “She’s been waiting; her mother thought you were a phony, but I had faith,” Daley said as soon as Kestrel entered the door. He went back to the stairs and called, and Kestrel heard Merilla’s footsteps on the stairs, then saw her standing at the doorway, shining and beautiful in her gown, looking at him with a dazzling smile that disappeared a moment later.

“What’s wrong?” Kestrel asked.

“Where’s your shirt?” Merilla asked.

“Oh, I left it at the palace. I have a room there now. I thought I could change when we got back,” he declared.

“Tsk,” Daley said from behind his counter. “Your mother is going to be furious when she finds out he rates his own room at the palace! She was so sure he was a homeless fortune hunter,” he laughed gently.

Merilla laughed. “He did hunt a fortune for me, in a fashion. That yeti he killed gave me enough to buy my own house!”

Kestrel was delighted to see the girl in such good spirits after the debacle of their encounter the previous night. “Let’s be on our way,” he suggested, and went out in the street to flag down a carriage to protect Merilla’s gown from the elements.

They rode in silence on the way to the palace, sitting across from one another, Kestrel discreetly examining Merilla’s beauty.

“Yes, I’m wearing make up!” she finally laughed. “A girl’s got to do something special when invited to the palace! I’ll never be going back like this again.”

They disembarked at the palace gate, and Merilla was impressed when Kestrel was immediately ushered inside, ahead of the line of invitees waiting to enter and attend the reception as guests. Holding hands, they walked to the correct wing of the palace and entered Kestrel’s suite.

“Oh Kestrel, all of this is for you?” Merilla asked in amazement as he changed shirts, buttoning up the flimsy material that exposed his skin for everyone to see.

“I feel like I’m on display,” he complained.

“And how do you think this feels?” Merilla asked, tugging at the low collar on her gown, one that showed her cleavage.

Before Kestrel could answer, there was a knock at the door, and Kestrel answered to find the steward there. “The Doge wanted assurance that you felt well enough to attend tonight,” the man politely let Kestrel know he was late.

“I’m ready,” Kestrel replied, strapping on his sword.

“Regrettably sir, no weapons are allowed in the reception while the Doge is present,” the steward informed him.

“Is a staff allowed?” Kestrel asked.

The steward opined that it was, then escorted the couple to the great hall. A crowd stood at the doorway, while the Doge stood waiting along one great wall, and Kestrel and Merilla joined him there. “You may not have done anything quite like this,” the Doge said pleasantly. “All you need to do is remain here with a smile frozen on your face and say hello to everyone who comes by. We haven’t have the pleasure, my dear,” he spoke to Merilla, who immediately dropped a curtsey.

“No, please rise,” the Doge extended his hand and helped her stand up. “Tonight others will curtsey to you as the companion of our honored guest. You do not need to bow to any man or woman tonight.”

He nodded to the steward, who asked Merilla’s name, then told his staff as he walked up to the doors and allowed the crowd to enter.

The next hour was an exhausting blur for both Kestrel and Merilla, who were not as practiced as the Doge in making idle small talk. Kestrel was most conscious of the eyes that focused on his chest as he tried to speak politely to each person, while Merilla was confused by the number of men who commented on her beauty and tried to discreetly ask if they could call upon her, even as she stood next to Kestrel.

The end of the line of visitors was occupied by the body of men who came with the ambassador from Uniontown. The men strode by insolently, barely noticing Kestrel, and leering at Merilla in an insulting manner, until the ambassador himself came, the very last person in the line.

“So we meet at last,” he spoke to Kestrel. “I was told to expect someone more imposing, and perhaps more exotic in appearance. I hope you can put up a suitable struggle.”

“What do you mean?” Kestrel asked, not able to comprehend what the man referred to, as he felt warmth and tightness begin to grow on the surface of his chest.

“Your goddess had few good choices apparently when she designated her champion for your side,” the ambassador pointed at Kestrel’s chest. “I am Amyrilon; I was chosen through a grueling process that left no doubt I deserved to be a champion of our side.”

“You’re a champion? Chosen by a deity?” Kestrel asked, comprehension beginning to dawn.

“One of the champions, and after I defeat you, probably the pre-eminent champion for our new gods from the south,” the ambassador affirmed. “There are new powers rising, and coming to consume all these lazy, soft lands in the north. The old gods are too weak to fight against it; they discovered it too late, and raised their champion too late, and chose an inferior one at that,” he sneered at Kestrel.

“The southern gods felt your elevation, and were surprised that it should happen so far north, in such an insignificant place, but they sent me up here to find you and deal with you anyway, just to be prudent. Why else would I be here? This insignificant village deserves no ambassador.”

He stood silently and looked at the stunned Kestrel with a triumphant gleam in his eye, then moved on, looking at Merilla. “Perhaps you’ll turn out to be a plaything worthy of a champion, at least for a little while,” he sneered at her, then left.

“Castona said he seemed evil, but I had no idea,” Kestrel muttered softly. “He’s either an embodiment of evil, or completely insane.”

“Estone does not feel safe with that one in the nation,” the Doge commented, having overheard the conversation. “What are these new southern gods he speaks of?” the Doge asked Kestrel.

“I have no idea,” Kestrel answered, watching the back of the ambassador as he disappeared into the crowd that was milling about in the great hall. “But he is frightening.”

Music started up, and a dance floor was cleared, as couples began to rhythmically step into the patterns of the formal dances that were performed at the palace. Kestrel and Merilla walked over to the food buffet, stopping every five feet to say hello again to someone they had just met, or to clarify their relationship, or to answer where they lived, and if they were or were not neighbors with the questioner.

As they reach the middle of the floor, the music stopped, and then after a moment of silence, a new tune began, a stately one that caused everyone else to leave the floor, isolating Kestrel and Merilla alone in the center, the focus of all eyes.

“Shall we dance?” Merilla asked him mischievously.

“I’ve never danced in my life,” Kestrel answered in a panic.

Just then a flower was thrown out onto the floor near them. Kestrel looked at the yellow flower, then looked as another yellow flower was thrown on the floor on the other side of them. Men in red, the Uniontown attendants, shouldered their way through and out to the front of the crowd that was watching Kestrel and Merilla, and the ambassador was with them. He felt another sudden surge of pain on his chest, as the crest of the goddess began to burn, serving as a call to action.

“What type if flower is that?” Kestrel asked Merilla, suddenly frightened by what he thought was developing on the palace dance floor.

“I think it’s a rose,” Merilla answered. “Kestrel, are we going to dance?” she asked, holding her arms wide and in position to begin.

The third and fourth roses came flying from the hands of the men in red, forming a perfect square, with Kestrel and Merilla in the center.

“I don’t think we’re going to dance,” Kestrel answered softly. He looked around, and realized that he had left his staff leaning against the wall where they had received guests. He had no other weapons, as per the steward’s rule.

A square of yellow roses meant that life-threatening conditions were imminent — he remembered that from the codes he had been trying to memorize, the codes that had been stolen from his room at the inn. The Uniontown ambassador, Amyrilon, had sent his men to steal those codes, and now he was flaunting his successful theft in Kestrel’s face.

“Merilla, walk rapidly away from me,” he said urgently to the woman he cared so much about. “Go to the herald, the man in black, and tell him to send armed guards immediately!”

“What are you talking about?” Merilla asked, confused by his tone and comment, unaware of what the flowers meant, or what was happening. Kestrel glanced about and saw Moresond standing off to his right; he reached out and grabbed Merilla’s hand, as the crowd started to clap politely, believing the dance was about to begin at last.

The clapping stopped in shock, as Kestrel pulled Merilla’s arm and then propelled her towards Moresond. “Give him the message,” Kestrel said loudly as Merilla was flung away, a startled look on her face.

Three red flowers were suddenly thrown onto the floor, and Kestrel stared at them as he recollected that according to the code, a triangle of three red pansies meant that he expected he was going to die.

“I see the panic in your eyes,” the ambassador said, walking closer to Kestrel. “You recognize the meaning of these flowers, perhaps?”

He suddenly pulled a sword out of thin air, making the audience gasp.

Kestrel, if they are going to break the rules of the game, we may too, he heard a strong feminine voice speak in his ear. There is now a throwing knife on your hip; if you throw it at a target you can see, it will hit that target, no matter what. If you name the blade and call it, it will return to you. If you name your staff, it will answer your call and fly to you when you ask it to, Kai told him.

“Your delightful young friend will be my plaything tonight, not yours,” the ambassador pointed to where one of his henchmen held the struggling Merilla in his arms.

“And no one will interfere with this short battle that will put an end to your brief life,” the ambassador added, as he raised his hand in the air and made an obscure gesture. A dome of smoky red appeared within the ballroom, separating Kestrel, the ambassador, and his henchmen from everyone else.

“My staff is an honest weapon,” Kestrel growled at the ambassador, drawing a momentary look of puzzlement on Amyrilon’s face. “As honest as the man who was my first commander, Mastrin. I name my staff Mastrin, and I call it to come to me now!” he shouted, and held out his hand as his staff came flying through the air, penetrated the ambassador’s shield without incident, and smacked against his palm.

He could protect himself against the sword now. In a moment he would use the knife to set Merilla free. But there were four other henchmen inside the red dome as well, and he needed a way to fight against them while trying to protect himself and Merilla.

“”Dewberry! Dewberry! Dewberry!” he called with his voice and his heart and his mind. “I need a squad of sprite warriors to fight against the men in red,” he shouted out instructions.

He looked over his shoulder, at the red-robed man who held Merilla in front of him, a knife pressed against her throat. She looked terrified, and the man was using her to protect himself, forcing her body to block every part of his body from view, except a small portion of his face and his neck. Kestrel would trust the goddess; his hand reached down and found the knife on his left hip, then in one motion he flipped the knife backwards, behind his back.

“There goes vengeance! I want vengeance on the people who killed Lucretia; it will be in her name I give to this blade!” he shouted, and listened to the crowd around the dome scream as the knife swerved and flipped in the air, before it landed in the throat of the man who held Merilla, showering her in a bloody red spray as the man collapsed. “Lucretia, return!” Kestrel commanded, feeling somehow automatically connected to the weapon as though he had known it all his life. He felt the handle of the knife smack against his palm, and he slid the blade back into its scabbard.

There was another scream from the crowd as a small host of blue bodies erupted into the air of the dome, and began to stab and attack the unprepared red-robed acolytes of the ambassador.

“Now, Mastrin, let’s begin,” Kestrel spoke gently to his staff, and thrust it at the astonished ambassador. The first poke, using the end with the sharpened spikes, landed firmly on the hip of Kestrel’s opponent, and Kestrel twisted the staff to slice the flesh bloodily. The pain of the contact seemed to awaken something within Amyrilon, and he swung his sword with a cool, precise manner that Kestrel barely blocked with his staff.

There were shouts around Kestrel, as other battles raged, but he couldn’t spare a moment of his attention to look away from the ambassador, whose sword suddenly sliced repeatedly at Kestrel, striking his staff with steely, clashing sounds as the man controlled his weapon with a faster stroke and recovery that Kestrel had ever faced before, much more proficiently than even Arlen had ever demonstrated against him. He was stepping backwards, giving ground, as he was continually driven by the onslaught. One stroke of the sword hit his staff then deflected downward, slicing the flesh of Kestrel’s leg deeply, and forcing him to kneel in pain and immobility.

The ambassador smiled in triumph, and stepped back to prepare to deliver a fatal blow to Kestrel. He feigned a low slice, then as Kestrel reacted to block the blow Amyrilon shifted his blade and drove the point with speed and strength directly at Kestrel’s chest.

The point of the sword struck a seemingly fatal blow, but instead of penetrating Kestrel’s flesh, it slid along the divinely tattooed surface and flew high and wide, slipping up over his shoulder as it slid away, and the ambassador stepped back in shock at the failure of his effort, while Kestrel toppled backwards. With a flick of his wrist, Kestrel reached for his new goddess-given knife, and flung it at the ambassador’s chest, where it buried itself deeply with a resounding thud.

The ambassador looked down at Kestrel and smiled, causing the elf to momentarily panic, until Amyrilon slowly collapsed to the ground, dead, and the red dome vanished as the will of the ambassador ceased to generate its existence.

Kestrel reached forward and pulled the knife from the dead Uniontown leader’s body, then turned to locate and fling his blade at another antagonist, only to see that there were no other red-robed figures left standing. All of them were dead, lying on the floor thanks to the surprisingly ferocious fighting abilities of the sprites, and one small blue body lay unmoving as well.

With a groan, Kestrel used his staff to rise to his feet, and limped over to where the sprite lay on the floor, as the other sprites floated above it, and one of them knelt next to Merilla, who had also run over to try to tend to the blue victim.

“She’s not dead!” Merilla said, looking up at Kestrel.

“Who is it?” he asked fearfully.

“It’s Reasion,” Dewberry answered, looking up at Kestrel.

“Take Merilla to her home; she has a skin of the healing water there — bring it!” he urged the sprite. Within an instant a flock of sprites enveloped Merilla and disappeared.

Kestrel looked up at the sky, and realized that the humans of Estone were tentatively approaching the battle scene. “Stay back!” he shouted. “Stay back for just a few minutes more, please,” a cry that stopped the crowd, as Merilla and her blue escort returned.

“Pour the water on her wound.” Kestrel directed, looking at the vicious stab wound in the blue stomach. “Now pour a little down her throat; just drip it into her gently,” he said a moment later.

“She should be okay,” Kestrel guessed. “Take her to Alicia and ask the doctor to check on her, please. I don’t want any of the blue people to die for me,” he said, looking at Dewberry, “although I know you’re brave enough that you would.”

“Friend Kestrel, what manner of battle was this? The opponents appeared to be humans, but the evil they brought with them was powerful beyond mortals,” Dewberry said.

“I don’t know yet, Dewberry,” Kestrel said, and he winced as he felt a twinge of pain in his sliced leg.

“Oh Kestrel,” Merilla called. “Do you want me to dose you with the healing water?” she started to turn the skin towards him.

“No!” he said firmly. “I can’t afford to be healed that way; I’ll heal the usual way. I need to keep this appearance as long as I can, so that I can head towards the Inner Seas Kingdoms. I need to carry out my mission, and I need to try to find out more about these forces from Uniontown.”

“Take your people and go to health and safety, Dewberry,” he said. He turned and waved to all the sprites. “Thank you all for your help and your bravery!” he told them all.

They descended and scooped up Reasion, then all disappeared.

The crowd held back longer, but Moresond led a squad of troops forward to see Kestrel. “My lord, what has happened here?” the herald asked in an awed voice.

There was a clap of thunder directly overhead, seemingly from inside the hall itself, so terrifyingly loud and close that people covered their ears with their hands.

“You all have been witness to the victory of your champion, and his emergence as the standard-bearer of your society, and all of humanity,” a deep feminine voice spoke from a point somewhere overhead, a voice that Kestrel recognized “Evil is coming among us with a strength and profundity that our age has never seen before. This small victory is a first step, and an important one in the war that is coming. Estone must prepare, and be prepared to make sacrifices in order to preserve the future from evil and slavery.

“You have done well tonight, my champion,” the voice spoke directly to Kestrel. “Be ready for greater challenges to come as you journey to the Inner Seas.” There was another clap of thunder, and the voice and its presence were gone from the hall. And then Kestrel passed out as his blood continued to seep away through the deep cut in his leg.

Kestrel was resting in his palace chamber. There was clear morning light slanting in through his window that illuminated the weary beauty on Merilla’s face as she slept beside him. He looked down at his leg, where the painful stitches installed by the court physician three nights before were starkly visible against his skin; he wished with all his heart he could use the water of the healing spring, but he knew that it was something he could not touch for the next several months, except in situations of extreme need.

Merilla was staying in the palace with him as his nurse and his friend. The two of them understood that any relationship greater thank friendship was prohibited by the gods, and would become impractical once Kestrel left the palace to journey away, without any reasonable expectations of when he might return to Estone.

Her mother had swallowed any objections to her temporary residence at the palace when she and her father, as well as Merilla’s sons, and even her erstwhile fiance-to-be, had all been invited to the palace and seen Kestrel’s chambers there.

Castona had also come to see Kestrel, at his invitation, and informed Kestrel of the salacious details that had emerged in the aftermath of the defeat of the ambassador. The local police had stormed the ambassador’s residence early in the morning after the battle at the palace, and discovered no one left alive there, except a pair of elven slaves, kept in cages like animals, and the remains of two others, who had apparently been slaughtered in some ritual whose bloody evidence had turned the stomachs of those who had witnessed it. And a large, monstrous lizard was found in a pool that had been dug in the basement; the lizard had been killed by the palace guards, but had been difficult to kill — cunning in its efforts to evade attack and counterattack, as well as tough-skinned with a hide that was not easy to penetrate.

“Get descriptions of everything that was seen there,” Kestrel had urged. “Write it all down, and send it to the elves; escort the freed slaves and send them to Firheng with the report. Cosima will know to send it to Silvan.”

Kestrel blanched at the notion of human sacrifice and the whispered rumors of cannibalism as well. The ambassador had been a frightening person, a frightening entity; Kestrel knew that he had managed to win the battle and stay alive only because of divine intervention. The thought that there were other divinely appointed champions, appointed as the ambassador had been, by diabolical divinities, was frightening, and Kestrel intuitively sensed that the apparent, disruptive rise of an unknown evil force might be a factor in the battle the elves had suffered such grievous losses in.

The Doge had told Kestrel not to worry about missing the cutter he was scheduled to take passage on. Regardless of the weather, the Doge would make another ship available for Kestrel’s use. That new departure date appeared to be five days later than the original departure, based on bullying the palace doctor to release him from medical care sooner than the doctor wished to.

Kestrel picked up the paper and pen on his bedside table. He looked at Merilla once more, then set his pen to scratching across the surface of the paper. He was writing a long, rambling epistle that recorded his thoughts and impressions and plans. As soon as he was finished with the third page of Elvish writing, he blew on the paper to dry the ink, then softly called with his voice and his heart and his mind. “Dewberry, Dewberry, Dewberry.”

Seconds later the small blue sprite appeared, lying on the bed with him, between he and Merilla.

“Friend-hero Kestrel, how are you?” Dewberry asked in genuine concern.

“I’m doing fine Dewberry, getting better all the time. How are you? How are Reasion and Jonson?” he asked.

“Reasion is well, and back to normal. Jonson is impatient and grumpy — he wants his legs to grow back all in one day, instead only a little each day,” she replied.

“That great lizard that he fought in the swamp, had the imps ever seen anything like that before?” Kestrel asked.

“They have never seen anything like it, and they are scared of it, and any others like it that may still be in the swamp. They think there may be more,” she told him. “All the men want to be heroes and go out to hunt them like Jonson, while I tell Jonson to tell them to be better at it than he was!” she smiled gently. “And I think he understands.”

“Will you do a favor for me Dewberry, a small favor?” Kestrel asked.

“Anything I can, if I can,” she said brightly.

“This letter — would you deliver it to Alicia for me? She and the elves at Center Trunk need to know about the evil that visited Estone, the sooner the better,” he explained.

He heard Merilla yawn and stir behind his back, and he saw Dewberry’s eyes flicker from him to the woman behind him.

The sprite accepted the letter from Kestrel’s hand, then stood on the mattress, looking down at him. “So you want me to deliver this letter to the elf woman who is beautiful, but not as beautiful as me, while you are sleeping here with the human woman who is beautiful, but also not as beautiful as me, according to what you’ve told me in the past? Of course I will!” she mischievously said.

“Take care friend Kestrel,” Dewberry said, then vanished from the morning light that filled the bedroom.

“So you prefer small, blue sprites to normal, healthy humans and elves?” Merilla asked from behind his back, as she poked him in his ribs. He rolled over to see her rising from the bed and pulling a robe over her gown.

“I’ll go see if breakfast is available for me; maybe your sprite-lover can bring some back for you?” she grinned down at him.

“If it’s not too inconvenient, I’d appreciate you providing some breakfast, since you’re already up,” Kestrel replied. “And could you hand me my staff so I can hobble to the bathroom?”

Not much later, as they sat eating breakfast at the dining table in Kestrel’s suite, Merilla spoke. “Will you be able to leave as you plan, or should you stay here a few days more, so that the doctor can make sure your leg heals all the way?”

“I feel the need to leave,” Kestrel said. “There’s something out there I need to do,” he replied.

“You’re sure that you just don’t want to escape from the human lover who cannot be your lover?” she asked with a smile. “Are you on your way to some lovely elf?”

“She cannot be my lover either,” Kestrel replied. “And I’m going as far away from her as I am from you on this journey. But in the end, I’ll always know that there’s a good-hearted friend here in Estone I can always come back to and rely on if I need a friend’s help.”

“Yes you can Kestrel, yes you can. You’re a great person, we’re all discovering, and I hope that you find you always have friends available to help you be our champion and fight this battle that you think is coming,” she replied. “And may the gods continue to help you.”