Balancing with easy grace, Ash stepped away from the thick tree trunk along a slender but sturdy limb. Pacing his steps carefully, he was able to move without causing the rustling sounds that accompanied each lizardman's presence. The branch began to sag as he neared the end, but from here he could see the stout limb of a neighboring tree, extending to within a dozen feet of his position.

Hurling himself into space, Ash felt the stinging passage of branches whipping across his skin. For a brief moment he flew between the trees, and then his hands unerringly seized the supple branches of the next vallen- wood. As the limb bent downward, the Kagonesti swung into the concealment of enclosing branches. In a few seconds, he dashed all the way to the tree trunk, where, once again concealed by shadows, he stealthily worked his way upward.

Shouts and barks rose from the ground. Ash knew that his leap had been observed, but the lizardmen would have trouble catching him no matter which tree protected him, and sooner or later the elf would find an escape route concealed from below.

High in the sheltered boughs, Ashtaway threw himself flat on a broad limb-a branch that had been one of his favorite vantages since the village had been here. Crawling outward like a snake, keeping his body atop the thick branch, he remained invisible to the watchers below. The sturdy wood bent only slightly from his weight, and soon he emerged from the thicket to get a good view of the clearing on the lake shore.

The heavy cloak of leaves concealed any glimpse of the sky overhead. So dense was the foliage that the smoke had begun to collect underneath it, just as a smoldering cook fire obscured the ceiling of a lodge. The edge of the bluff dropped toward the lake beyond the far line of trees. The lone pathway to the water followed the floor of a narrow, steep-sided ravine descending from the edge of the village clearing. Two Kagonesti warriors lay, cruelly hacked, at the mouth of this ravine. Obviously they had been a rear guard, holding so that the rest of the villagers could escape.

Ashtaway saw no sign of the rest of his villagemates, which he took as good news. It seemed that most of the Kagonesti had escaped. His heart burned with hatred as lie watched the lizardmen ransack and destroy the village. Yet everything, from houses to drying racks to the furs, pots, and spices that were the possessions of each family, was replaceable. It was the lives of his people for which he felt the most fear.

Peering into the grass choking the upper end of the ravine, Ashtaway saw a telltale bending of the long- bladed plants. Someone-several people, actually-concealed themselves there, where they, too, could watch the destruction of the village. Some of his fellow warriors, he suspected, had returned to spy on their enemies. The Kagonesti braves should be safe, since the minor waving of the reeds was not likely to attract the attention of the brutish bakali.

Then Ash's heart almost stopped beating as he saw a tall, proud figure stand among the long-bladed grass. He recognized the hawklike features, the feathered ceremonial cape of the Pathfinder-but why would Iydaway expose himself? Other Kagonesti-a half dozen young warriors-rose behind Iydaway. Resolutely, the small band of elves started from the ravine into the smoky clearing. They had not yet been observed by the plundering lizardmen, but Ash knew they would inevitably be seen- probably in a matter of seconds.

Ashtaway released his grip on the branch, rolled to the side, and plunged downward with dizzying speed. Shouts of triumph rose from below, bringing a grim smile to the falling elf. With precise timing he seized a lower limb, arresting his fall and swinging himself back into the concealment of the vallenwood greenery.

Again he raised his head and taunted his enemies with the cawing of a crow-the most insulting sound in the long list of Kagonesti malignery. As if they sensed his scorn, the bakali grew frantic, howling and snapping ferociously. Several of them threw spears into the tree. One of the weapons thunked into the bark near Ashtaway, and the elf quickly pulled it free, hurling it firmly toward the chest of its caster.

But now whoops and shrieks rose from across the clearing, and Ash knew that Iydaway's small band had been discovered. "Why?" he groaned aloud. Why did his uncle risk his life like this?

Dropping lower. Ash got a look at the courageous, futile charge-six Kagonesti warriors and an old man, brandishing a mixture of swords, axes, and spears, charging into a camp occupied by perhaps a hundred savage lizardmen. Howling madly, the elves attacked with such valor that, at first the bakali scrambled to get out of the path of these mad fighters.

Iydaway was not as quick as he had been three centuries before, but the Pathfinder still flew over the ground with grace and balance. The old elf feinted a charge directly across the camp, then turned and led his small party toward the smoldering wreckage of a large, ceremonial hut.

The bakali closed in, and two of the younger warriors halted, meeting the charging lizardmen with steel swords, holding them at bay while Iydaway and the other warriors raced toward the ruined hut. Reaching the smoldering wreckage, the venerable elf plunged into the hot coals, kicking his feet through the ashes on what had once been the floor of his home.

Ashtaway cried out in fury as he saw the pair of rear warriors fall, rended savagely beneath the talons and fangs of the bakali. Dropping to the ground in the midst of his enemies, Ash struck this way and that with his axe, carving painful wounds into several of the lizardmen before he again leapt upward and pulled himself to the minimal safety of a tree branch.

But now, at least, he had begun to guess at his uncle's motives. There was only one possession of the tribe that was truly irreplaceable, a treasure that would always be passed from generation to generation. It had been entrusted to Iydaway before Ash had been born, and often the young warrior had watched as his uncle made music or ritual with the celebrated artifact.

Now, the young warrior knew that Iydaway had gone to retrieve the Ram's Horn.

One of the Kagonesti protecting Iyda fell, pierced by a bakali spear, while the three who remained fought desperately to screen the elder. None of the lizardmen seemed willing to brave the heat of the coals in pursuit. They would wait for the old warrior to burn, or to emerge from the ruins into range of their weapons. One, then another of the warriors fell, cruelly slashed. Many more bakali had gathered in a ring around the base of Ash's tree, fully encircling even the vast sweep of the vallen- wood's branches.

Ashtaway moved with the speed of thought, flying like an arrow from the limb, driving his head into a lizard- man's back. The creature went down, its spine shattered, and the Kagonesti rolled away from the body, bouncing to his feet beyond the enclosing ring of bakali.

Racing toward the ruins of his uncle's lodge, Ash chopped down the only reptilian warrior who tried to stand in his path. He saw the last warrior of the Pathfinder's escort die, pierced by a stone-tipped spear. Iydaway, a blackened shape in his hand, abruptly threw his hatchet, dropping one of the lizardmen standing warily beyond the coals. Ash shrieked like a hunting hawk, racing at the other two, madly brandishing his bloodied axe. A crowd of howling lizardmen pursued the fleet Kagonesti.

The elder warrior snatched up his weapon and leapt into step beside his nephew, sprinting for the largest of the village vallenwoods. Ash didn't risk a glance backward, but as he slowed his pace to match lydaway's he knew that the enraged bakali had begun to close the gap.

Their pounding feet carried them across the empty ceremonial circle at the center of the village. Since a mighty vallenwood stood beside this circle, steps had been pegged into the trunk and a platform of branches had been erected some twenty feet off the ground. It was one of the few Kagonesti sites that had not yet felt the scorching flames of plunder.