"Thanks, my friend." Ashtaway was touched by the little fellow's heart.

"And our thanks, too." Sir Kamford joined them as the knights, leading their horses, began to file out of the doorway. No more than sixty of the original hundred had survived, but they knew that-without the discovery of the tunnel-all the knights would have perished beneath frost and lightning or fang and talon. "Sorry about the mess. I suggest you leave it for the ogres to clean up," he suggested with a chuckle.

Toofer brightened still further. "That's a good idea," he agreed before turning to the dozen members of his clan who had watched, awestruck, the bestowing of the colored feather.

"C'mon, you louts!" he shouted, pulling a forked stick out of his voluminous pouch. A string of rubbery, flexible sinew linked the two split ends "We got new game wit' ogres. Everybody got a flinger?"

The Highbulp commenced describing what promised to be a very elaborate tactical plan as Ashtaway and Sir Kamford finally passed through the doors. Breathing deeply of the fresh air, the elf looked up and saw close- pressing ridges, thickly covered with broad-leaved trees. A waterfall streamed, a plume of white mist, into the head of the valley, and nearby they could hear the splashing of a shallow but fast-flowing brook. The smells were summery and the air thick enough to confirm that they had indeed descended far from the mountainous heights.

"We must be very near the plains," Ash guessed. "If you follow the stream down from this valley, I suspect you'll be out of the foothills by the end of the day."

"Then westward, toward Solamnia," Sir Kamford agreed. "I need to learn how Huma's campaign fares- and let the lords know of our success."

"Was it worth the cost?" Ashtaway wondered. Throughout the long, dark march, his mind had replayed the glorious images of the charge. He remembered the inexorably precise advance, the way that no ogre or human could stand in the face of those raging horses.

Then had come the fires, when so much of the enemy's stockpiles had burned. This still seemed, to Ashtaway, a curious way to fight. It made sense when the knight described it-the Kagonesti could understand that the weapons and food would benefit the Dark Queen's army for some months-but it was not the kind of thing any wild elf chieftain would try to do. After hours of subterranean meditation, Ashtaway had finally understood why: When the Kagonesti went to war, they expected to win or lose on the day the battle was joined. This planning for battles that would not occur until the next season was a thing that seemed pointless, even defeatist.

"I believe it was," Sir Kamford declared, though he shook his head with a weariness that belied his words. "To lose Sir Blayne… to see so many other good men fall, never to rise. Who can say? If those arrows, that steel, were destined to kill a hundred men in the future, the cost was just. If they never were to have been used…"

The knight lapsed into silence, and only after a moment's reflection did Ash realize that the human was patiently, elven-fashion, awaiting the Kagonesti's response.

"Even so, many ogres were slain. And some slaves were freed. I think that those are good things," Ashtaway replied.

"And I would like to think that the knights have made a friend-a good friend-among the proudest, the finest elves on all of Ansalon."

The Kagonesti Pathfinder, deeply moved, touched his hand to the knight's shoulder. "You have," he promised, knowing that Sir Kamford Willis was a warrior as courageous, as mighty-in his own way-as Faltath, or any heroic wild elf brave.

Ashtaway stood still, remembering and meditating, while the knights allowed their horses to graze and drink. He still hadn't moved when they mounted, though he finally raised a hand in farewell as Sir Kamford, riding at the rear, disappeared into the trees.

After a few brief minutes spent rigging several snares, Ash spent the rest of the day swimming in the stream and sunbathing. The snares provided him with two plump rabbits for dinner, and afterward he slept under the stars. Every time he awakened, he rejoiced to the array of lights that gleamed and twinkled at him from the moonless vault of the sky. He felt newly alive, as if he had emerged from the tunnels a different person, a different kind of Pathfinder.

He took five days in returning to the south, following valleys that became steadily more familiar as he moved closer to the Bluelake. All the while his mind worked, as he wrestled with an expanded view of his world. For the first time in his life, he considered the notion that there were good people in the world-people who were not of the Kagonesti. Sir Kamford, and even Highbulp Toofer, had forced Ashtaway to reconsider the traditions that had kept his tribe in an almost constant state of war. Surely some enemies, such as the ogres and the bakali, were worthy foes. But perhaps it was wrong to assume that humans, that dwarves, were enemies, simply because they were humans or dwarves.

Ashtaway even speculated about the Silvanesti-might the Kagonesti learn that the ancient clans of the House Elves were not filled with the despicable villains that Ash had always been taught resided there? He had known Kagonesti who had been killed by Silvanesti swords, and of the deadly traps laid by the House Elves to protect their precious cities. He had seen Silvanesti slain by arrows fired from wild elven ambush. He sensed that such depths of hatred could not be wrong. The House Elves and the wild elves were forever destined to be foes.

As he traveled through the eternal woodland, Ashtaway discarded some of his earlier beliefs and embraced others. He reflected on war and peace, on the worth of life and death when a hated foe stood before one's blade or bow. He wondered about the nature of hatred, such as that which had raged between his people and humankind through all the ages of Krynn. And still the inner torment raged within him. It was not until he had reached a familiar valley within a day's march of the village that he understood why.

Turning to the side, he made his way toward the foothill valley, climbing through the rocky notch to see the black, obsidian wall. He wished he had the time to hunt, to bring fresh game with him, but his urgency wouldn't allow delay.

Once again he found Hammana in the woods-though this time he didn't surprise her. Instead, she stood in the midst of the clearing, watching the woods as he emerged from the underbrush.

"Hello, Pathfinder," she said quietly. Her hazel eyes shined as she looked at him, her chin held proudly raised.

"Hammana…" He crossed to her in long strides and took her hands in his.

"No." She pulled back, and he saw that the shining in her eyes came from unshed tears. "I cannot let myself love you."

He didn't pursue, though his hands remained outstretched, reaching. "I am the Pathfinder now. I didn't ask for the horn, but it's a destiny that came to me-and I shall bear it, I hope, well.

"But 1 know already, Hammana, that I'm a different Pathfinder than those who came before me. I am not Iydaway or Barcalla or Father Kagonesti. Just as Iydaway changed the tasks of leadership by speaking and persuading rather than guiding in aloof silence, I, too, shall change. I will not make war against the humans, simply because they are human. Already I have done a thing unlike any other Pathfinder of the Kagonesti."

"You… you will be a great leader of our people. This I know." She seemed proud when she said this, and sad as well.

"But this peace with humankind is not the only way I will be different," Ash persisted. He stepped forward and took her hands again, holding too tightly for Hammana to easily pull away. "Other taboos, too, date from an earlier time. They may have been right in the past, but I know they are wrong for me."