Looking toward the vast plain, Kagonos could not see Silvanos's army, but he knew that his golden-haired cousins were there. All the houses had gathered for this final confrontation, and the wild elf knew that a great deal of the future history of Krynn, for good or ill, would be decided on that barren flatland sometime within the next few days.

However it came out, Kagonos thought wryly, the histories would ensure that Silvanos got most of the credit. The Pathfinder had personally met the lord of his kin on a few occasions, and always Silvanos had impressed him as an elf of wisdom, patience, and almost palpable leadership. Although, remembering his pledge to Darlantan, the wild elf had never visited any of those crystal cities, many stories reached him from those Elderwild fortunate enough to escape the bonds of House Elf servitude. The city clans hailed Silvanos as the font of all wisdom, the holder of highest elven honor. His virtues-of honor, grace, and patience-were raised as the ideal for all his subjects.

"Claim as well that he invented tood or sleep," Kago-' nos had muttered on hearing these tales, and that opinion had not shifted in the years since. Perhaps he wasn't being entirely fair-after all, Silvanos was undeniably a leader who was wise and just. His feat in uniting the squabbling houses of elvendom-all the tribes save the Elderwild- was certainly no little accomplishment, though Kagonos still could not understand the benefits of this great melding. After all, why would any chieftain choose to subordinate himself to a greater chief?

Yet another thing about Silvanos he respected very much. The elven leader was strong, both in his own physical presence and in the use of his mighty army. Strength was a thing Kagonos understood and valued. Indeed, it seemed possible that Silvanos's strength might be the hammer that finally smashed dragons down from their cruel mastery of the world. That was a result the Elder- wild could only embrace.

Wriggling back from the ridge, the elf tucked his moccasins into the bindings of his skis and once again started along the icy crust. He continued to work his way steadily upward, poling strongly toward a steep-sided dome crowning the end of this winding elevation. A quick glance at the sun showed him that he still had plenty of time, but now there was a new urgency to Kagonos's rhythmic strides.

Soon he reached the base of the great summit, and- still gliding smoothly among the trees-checked the encircling woods for signs of a potential trap. Not only did he see no evidence of a current trespasser, but the snow hadn't been disturbed since long before the crust had formed. This place would work well.

At the base of the precipitous slope, the Elderwild removed his skis, lashing the boards and poles to his back-they would be of no use on the steep climb, but they would greatly speed his descent. He started upward with the same grace and fluidity that had marked his progress across the snow. Even when he was forced to grip an outcrop crusted over with glare ice, his fingers and toes were firm, his attachment to the mountainside never wavering.

In an hour, Kagonos had reached the rounded summit, and here he walked carefully across the windswept, rocky ground. To three sides the soaring peaks of the Khalkists challenged the sky. In the fourth direction sprawled the barren plains of Vingaard, where it was left to the mortal armies of elf and ogre to do the challenging.

The Elderwild circled the promontory, confirming that no marks had been made in the snow anywhere atop the mountain. On the lofty slopes overlooking the plain Kagonos moved from barren rock to patches of stony ground, ensuring that he never silhouetted himself against the snow for the benefit of a distant watcher below.

Returning to the point of his original ascent, Kagonos at last raised the horn to his lips. Closing his eyes, turning the mouth of the instrument toward the highest peaks of the range, he blew a long, clamorous blast. The wind took his song, carried it upward and away-but only to those ears sensitive enough to hear it. Patiently the elf stared eastward, visually tracing the long, twisting valley leading toward the heights.

The Pathfinder's hazel eyes darkened as he squinted across the miles. Raising a hand to his forehead, he shaded his vision against the bright sunlight, his focus extending far, far into the distance.

Minutes passed, and then silver glinted, blinking the reflection of sunlight with each powerful stroke. Darlan- tan's mighty wingspan stretched outward in a broad embrace of the air, shimmering even across a score of miles. The silver dragon flew low, ensuring that he was not visible to anyone beyond the confines of this high valley.

Kagonos smiled tightly as he watched the gleaming serpent glide along the curve of the descending vale. Flying, he thought, must be the only type of movement more 1›КА‹ЗОП?АПС€ Cost f›iston" serene, more fluid than skiing As always, the majesty of the airborne serpent all but took his breath away. ТЪе elf's throat tightened with the familiar, warm emotion as Darlantan drew nearer to the mountain and gamed speed.

Finally those wings hooked outward, rigid sails in the wind, as the momentum of the dragon's flight swept him upward. Always Darlantan kept the bulk of the mountain between himself and the ogre armv-the monstrous troops would not observe his presence on their flank.

Nearly stalled in the air, the dragon reached out with huge paws, driving his wings powerfully downward for one last stroke as he settled gently to the rocks of the domed mountaintop. He shook his head and snorted a blast of frigid air, as if clearing the reverie of flight from his ancient, wise brain.

"Greetings, Pathfinder." Darlantan nodded elegantly, dipping his head as the silver scales rippled along his serpentine neck. "I am glad that you summon me."

Darlantan's body shimmered and twisted, shrinking more quickly than the elven eye could follow, and in a blink Kagonos was looking at a long-bearded, spry old human, who wore a bright cotton tunic that matched the pure white of his flowing beard. His eyebrows and the thick mane of his hair were tinted with silver, and his eyes-gleaming from deep-set sockets-were a vibrant, fiery yellow. Though the wrinkles across his forehead showed a visage that could be stern, now Darlantan's face beamed as he reached out to clasp his friend's hand.

'Tell me," Kagonos asked. "Why do you take the shape of a man when you could be something so much more handsome-an elf, perhaps?" He was used to Darlantan's shapeshifting by now-during previous meetings the silver dragon had appeared as a man, an ogre, an elf, a bear, an eagle, and a host of other creatures. Still, the Elderwild knew that Darlantan favored the shape of this human sage, and had never figured out why.

Darlantan laughed, a sound that was kind and compassionate as well as heartily amused. "I am whichever serves me best at the time," he replied-his typical evasion. "As to this body, there may come a time when your people develop an appreciation of human wizardry!"

'The House Elves, perhaps-but the Elderwild have no need of humans, nor any desire to learn from them."

Darlantan nodded, a noncommittal glitter in his eye.

"Have you flown over the plains?" asked Kagonos, with a look toward the flatland and the distant ogre horde.

"Aye-in the guise of an eagle, so as not to alarm the ogres. The two armies vie for position on the field. If Talonian is not careful, he will find that Silvanos has him trapped against the Vingaard." "

"Good. Perhaps the House Elves can win their victory, even without the power of the Bluestone."

"That is the hope of us all," the human sage replied. "But I fear that the blue dragons will arrive any day-and when they do, it will take more than an army to defend Silvanos and the elven houses." He looked shrewdly at the wild elf, as if he had a premonition of Kagonos's secret news.