"I have done what I could. He is very strong," she replied, intent on her work.

"Alas, I'm afraid this old flap is never going to lift me into the air again," Lectral noted with a grunt of disgust. He twitched his left wing, showing that the leathery surface was pitted, scarred, and twisted. "Still, there are things other than flight to keep a dragon happy. Wyrm- lings, for example. Did I ever tell you of Saytica, my daughter?"

Ash shook his head.

"She flies in the wing defending Palanthas. I have even heard that she bears a great captain of the knights on her back-one of the lords of the knightly orders."

"It is a thing to make one proud," Ash agreed, trying to picture the might of an armored knight mounted on one of these great serpents. How could the Dark Queen's forces hope to destroy an army such as that?

"Alas, there are but few of us," Lectral continued, answering the wild elf's unspoken question. "The reds and whites alone outnumber us, and then there are the blues, the blacks, and the greens. It is a desperate struggle we wage."

Ashtaway could only agree and silently pray that the dragons of silver could hang on long enough to prevail. He hoped that the strike at Sanction would make a difference.

But there was another thing on his mind.

We each bear a Ram's Horn," he said after a respectful silence. "Can you tell me how you came to possess yours?" he asked. 'There have long been legends among us of the second horn, but not since the time of Father Kagonesti has anyone seen it."

It was given to me by my sire, Callak, who got it from Darlantan himself."

"Are you a Pathfinder of the silver dragons?"

Lectral chuckled. "We have no such title, really, but you might say that I am the Hornkeeper."

The dragon drew a deep, pensive breath before he continued. "The silver dragon, Darlantan, is the father of our people, and in his wisdom he saw that even we dragons had weaknesses. He knew that, through the coming centuries, it was important that we have friends, allies, among the peoples of Krynn.

"Of course, the only of those peoples whose lifetime even begins to approach our own are the elves. Yet Darlantan could see that the House Elves-who have many fine qualities, though you raise your eyebrow in skepticism-would become a potent and aloof society, with little need of alliance. Too, the elves of Silvanesti are ever concerned with their own mastery and would have been difficult partners in any endeavor."

"And so he came to Father Kagonesti, in the guise of the Grandfather Ram?" Ash wondered, knowing the answer as legend, but awed to hear it from Lectral as truth.

"Darlantan saw, in your first Pathfinder, that pride, that self-reliance that drew him to the wild elf first as a friend, then as an ally. He bade Kagonos to remain apart from the Silvanesti and laid a heavy mantle on that Elderwild's shoulders. The twin horns of the Grandfather Ram would be the symbol of this bond, and of the Pathfinder's burden.

"Kagonos bore that burden well, and when the First Dragon War raged across the land, he brought his Elder- wild into the struggle and gave all the people of Krynn a hope for the future.

"Before Darlantan perished-at the end of that war-he gave the Ram's Horn to his wyrmling, Callak, who protected it for thirteen centuries. It was during this time that the dwarves, with their infernal greed, dug up the magical dragongems and unwittingly released the evil serpents into the world. As an ancient wyrm, Callak passed it to me when I was but a fledgling flyer, and for ten centuries it has been my task to keep it safe. For most of those vears, it was protected deep in our lair, among mountains inaccessible to any land-bound creature."

"Yet you carried it from that lair…?" Ashtaway, mystified, reminded Lectral.

"Indeed. Now a cruel Dragon War rages again, and those who battle the Dark Queen have fared badly. Remembering that the Elderwild aided us to win the first war against evil dragonkind, I wondered if perhaps their children-the Kagonesti-could do so again. Thus, I winged toward these woodlands, on my way to seek your people, when the reds fell upon me, ending my flight here."

"You sought our aid in the Dragon War?" Ash asked, surprised. "Surely you knew that we would never agree to enter such a…?" He trailed off as the realization dawned.

Darlantan smiled a crocodile grimace of sharp fangs. "It seems to me that, even without my beseeching, you already have agreed," he remarked gently.

Pondering the irony of this fate, Ashtaway built a fire while Hammana sliced meat from the carcass of the buck. They ate, the two wild elves cooking their meat over the low blaze while Lectral contentedly gnawed at a haunch. Afterward, they slept, and Ashtaway woke with the first cool light of dawn. Hammana was already up, grinding at her herbs, brewing a thick tea in a gourd that sat on the banked coals of the fire.

At first he had thought that he might stay here for several days, but one look at the elfwoman's rigid back, then the sound of her stiffly formal greeting when he bade her good morning, convinced him that his presence here-at least, for any longer-would be a mistake.

As soon as Lectral awakened, Ashtaway announced his intention to return to the village. He promised to return with game as soon as possible, though he warned this might not be until after he journeyed to Sanction and back.

"Good luck," the dragon declared. "These knights can hurt Takhisis if only you show them the path."

"I will do that." Ashtaway paused, then drew a breath. "Hammana?"

"Yes?" She rose and accompanied him from the cave, though she did not meet his eyes.

"Is-is there anything I should tell your father? When will you return to the village?"

"I… I don't know. I'll stay here awhile. Lectral still needs me." Was it his imagination, or did she emphasize the dragon's name, pounding home the fact that a Pathfinder had no need of a woman, of anybody?

The Kagonesti wanted to tell her that it wasn't true. He wanted to confess his own need, which he felt more strongly than ever before. He, Ashtaway, needed her at his side! Couldn't she see-couldn't everyone see-that a partner such as Hammana could only make him a better Pathfinder?

But then she raised her face, and when he saw the fierce anger in her eyes, he felt a strange catch in his own throat and could only hold his tongue.

At last, when the cool cloak of the forest surrounded him, the isolation came almost-but not quite-as a relief.

Ashtawayy approached the rendezvous from tbe east, going many miles out of his way. He trusted Sir Kamford as much as it was possible to trust any non-Kagonesti, but his natural caution required that he take every measure to guard against betrayal. Thus he crossed two low, wooded ridges and traversed a shallow marsh just to ensure that his route could not be anticipated or intercepted. This legacy of caution seemed more important to him than ever before, perhaps because of the spiral horn he bore at his side.

Moving through the pine woods of the mountain valley, Ash scanned the skies, the ridgetops, and the surrounding slopes for any signs of danger. He saw a small herd of deer grazing near one of the crests. This was a good sign. The animals certainly would have sought shelter if they had sensed humans in the vicinity. Still, the elf did not relax even as he ascended back to the ridge and looked toward the deep, bowl-shaped valley where he had arranged to meet Sir Kamford and his force of knights.

The familiar basin sprawled before him in apparently pristine solitude. A wide fringe of flower-speckled meadow surrounded a grove of towering cedars, with another small meadow visible in the center of that grove. Though the dense needles of the upper limbs created a barrier to any observation from above, the wild elf knew that the floor of the grove was smooth and comfortable. No underbrush grew in the dense shadows, and the large trunks were well separated. Even a good-sized company of men and horses would be able to conceal themselves there, camping in relative comfort.