The wild elf had experienced the awesome horror of dragons, and he fully expected the knights, when they saw the serpents, to tumble from their saddles and writhe in abject horror as the crimson wyrms dove toward them.

Of course, if the targets of the ambush had been Kagonesti, Ashtaway would have warned them of the danger. He could have shouted, tumbled free some large rocks, or flashed the silver-steel head of his axe in the sun.

Since these riders were only humans, however, the elven warrior decided to watch and see what would happen. True to his suspicions, the dragons and the knights quickly spotted each other. With a shrill screech of triumph, the two reds tucked their wings, racing downward m an awe-inspiring dive.

Expectantly Ashtaway turned back to the knights, wondering if they would topple from their horses in panic or simply flee headlong through the woods. Surprisingly, they did neither. The first of the men shouted a harsh command, audible even to the distant elf-indeed, Ash was impressed by the lack of hysteria in the sound.

Immediately the knights scattered, individual riders racing toward the scant shelter of nearby trees. As the lead dragon, still shrieking, plunged landward, silver shafts sparkled in the sun. Some of the knights had crossbows, and they released their missiles with uncanny speed and accuracy. The serpent's cries took on a shrill, painful note, and the broad wings shifted to carry it off to the side. Flying awkwardly, the wyrm settled with a splash of muddy water to the marshy ground in the center of the clearing.

The second dragon, even larger than its mate, cried out in fury. Huge jaws gaped, and Ashtaway felt a tremor of sympathy as he saw a great fireball explode outward, sweeping around several tree trunks-and consuming the horses and riders who sought shelter there.

Ignoring the death screams of their comrades, a dozen knights charged with leveled lances toward the dragon as the serpent landed in an open space between several trees. The wyrm reached out, crushing one rider with its great claws, then incinerating several more with another firestorm. At the same time, sharp steel lance heads pierced the dragon's flanks, drawing a shrill cry of pain. The serpent struggled to break free, flapping its wings frantically as the knights plunged their long-shafted weapons deeper.

Several men drew huge swords and chopped into the monster's flesh as it flailed. Ash was deeply impressed by the force behind these blows. He watched the steel weapons plunge deep through the monster's scaly skin. Blood flowed from the wounds as the dragon bellowed, pivoting through the midst of nearly a score of dead knights.

The dragon tried to raise its head, jaws gaping, for another explosive breath, but now the surviving knights drove in, chopping and hacking at the exposed neck. One man in particular, bearing a two-handed sword with a golden hilt, threw all caution to the wind as he stood before the writhing wyrm. With a mighty, shuddering stab, he thrust the weapon through the red-scaled breast, all the way into the serpent's corrupt, seething heart. The beast reared and then, serpentine body shivering with tremors, collapsed forward in one dying lunge. The monster's death shriek turned to a gurgle as it convulsed and died, fully burying the courageous knight beneath the crimson bulk of its body.

The first dragon, during the death fight of its companion, struggled through the sticky muck, flapping and clawing desperately. Many arrows, which to Ashtaway looked like tiny darts in the distance, glittered from its right wing. Apparently the knights had been trained to concentrate their shots, and to good effect-obviously the beast had been too badly injured to fly. The Kagonesti reflected, grimly impressed, that crippling one wing of a living creature was every bit as effective as injuring them both.

But the crimson monster could still breathe, and when its companion fell, fatally pierced, the survivor erupted with a screech of pure hatred. Fire exploded once, twice, and again from those widespread jaws, incinerating the remaining knights even as the humans turned to meet the new threat. Even in the face of certain death, the men remained steadfast-not one threw down his weapon or aimed in a useless attempt at flight.

Ashtaway continued to watch, awestruck, as the wounded dragon crawled away from the bloody battle. Dragging its useless wing in the dirt, it disappeared into the forest. The Kagonesti warrior remained immobile and silent for several minutes after the last scarlet scales on the serpent's tail had vanished into the shadows.

Finally he moved, though he didn't take the trail back to the village. Avoiding the scene of the battle, Ash worked his way along the high crests. All the while, the moves of the combat replayed in his head like the steps of an elaborate dance. The battle offered by the knights had been the greatest act of courage he had ever witnessed. Furthermore, the fact that the heroes had been humans now forced him to reexamine a number of previously held beliefs and assumptions-obviously, short lives did not equate to a craven existence.

A sound reached his ears and sent a jolt of alertness through Ashtaway's body-a tingling sense of delight that took him completely by surprise. The noise was repeated, and the wild elf recognized the distant blaring of a horn, its music impossibly sweet, delightful.

He was reminded of the three-spiraled Ram's Horn that his uncle, lydaway Pathfinder, played on important or ceremonial occasions. The sound of this distant music was similar, yet even more grand-fuller of body, more resonant in tone. And despite its distance, something told the elf that this horn played a song for him, and for him alone.

Even as he wondered about the sound, he began to run, not consciously aware that he had been summoned.

Ashtaway run tirelessly, coasting down from bis lofty vantage, sprinting along flowered meadows and down shaded forest trails. Like a deer he flew over shallow streams, dart- ins around thickets, speeding dizzily when the undergrowth thinned. He raced for hours, unaware of time or distance, knowing only a joyous sense of anticipation.

Finally his footsteps faltered. The wild elf's forest senses suddenly signaled an alarm. He slowed to a trot along a narrow deer trail, then stopped altogether, listening.

Other footsteps thudded quietly through the woods, rut not silently, like the running of a Kagonesti brave. Crouching, Ash melted into the brush beside the path. Someone else came along the same trail-and ran with a great deal of grace and speed, to judge from the sounds.

Abruptly she came into sight around a bend, and when he recognized Hammana, Ashtaway's heart trilled with delight. The elfwoman's slender body was garbed in a gown of soft doeskin, her black hair braided into a single, lush plait that usually lay over her shoulder-though now it trailed behind, flying from the speed of her run. Her beaded moccasins glided lightly, making little sound-for the Kagonesti women were nearly as adept in stealth and woodcraft as were the men.

She was a healer, not a warrior, and she did not have the warrior's constant alertness. Her bright, hazel eyes were downcast, her face wrinkled in concentration as she raced closer to Ashtaway.

When she was still a dozen paces away, he stepped into the trail and called her name, wanting very much not to frighten her. She gasped slightly and pressed her fingers to her mouth as she suddenly stopped, but Ash thrilled to the realization that she concealed a sudden, secret smile. She was not displeased to see him!

"Greetings, Warrior Ashtaway," she said formally. Then she frowned. "Did you hear it as well?"