“It is ended,” the elven scout told the others when they caught up to him among the boulders just south of Mooshie’s Grove.

“I am not so certain,” Kellindil replied, looking curiously back to the west and hearing the echoes of bear growls and orc screams. Kellindil suspected that something beyond Graul was behind this attack and, feeling somewhat responsible for the drow, he wanted to know what it might be.

“The ranger and drow have won the grove,” the scout explained.

“Agreed,” said Kellindil, “and so your part is ended. Go back, all of you, to the campsite,”

“And will you join us?” one of the elves asked, though he had already guessed the answer.

“If the fates decree it,” Kellindil replied. “For now, I have other business to attend.”

The others did not question Kellindil further. Rarely did he come to their realm and never did he remain with them for long. Kellindil was an adventurer; the road was his home. He set off at once, running to catch up to the fleeing orcs, then paralleling their movements just south of them.

“Ye let just two of them beat ye!” Roddy griped when he and Graul had a moment to stop and catch their breath. “Two of them!”

Graul’s answer came in the swing of a heavy club. Roddy partially blocked the blow, but its weight knocked him backward.

“Ye’re to pay for that!” the mountain man growled, tearing Bleeder from his belt. A dozen of Graul’s minions appeared beside the orc king then and immediately understood the situation.

“Yous has brought ruin to us!” Graul snapped at Roddy. Then to his orcs, he shouted, “Kill him!”

Roddy’s dog tripped the closest of the group and Roddy didn’t wait for the others to catch up. He turned and sprinted off into the night, using every trick he knew to get ahead of the pursuing band.

His efforts were quickly successful—the orcs really didn’t want any more battles this night—and Roddy would have been wise to stop looking over his shoulder.

He heard a rustle up ahead and turned just in time to catch the pommel of a swinging sword squarely in the face. The weight of the blow, multiplied by Roddy’s own momentum, dropped the mountain man straight to the ground and into unconsciousness.

“I am not surprised,” Kellindil said over the writhing body.

19. Separate Ways

Eight days had done nothing to ease the pain in Tephanis’s foot. The sprite ambled about as best he could, but whenever he broke into a sprint, he inevitably veered to one side and more often than not crashed into a bush or, worse, the unbending trunk of a tree.

“Will-you-please-quit-growling-at-me, stupid-dog!” Tephanis snapped at the yellow canine he had been with since the day after the battle. Neither had become comfortable around the other. Tephanis often lamented that this ugly mutt was in no way akin to Caroak.

But Caroak was dead; the quickling had found the winter wolf’s torn body. Another companion gone, and now the sprite was alone again. “Alone-except-for-you, stupid-dog!” he lamented.

The dog bared its teeth and growled.

Tephanis wanted to slice its throat, wanted to run up and down the length of the mangy animal, cutting and slashing at every inch. He saw the sun riding low in the sky, though, and knew that the beast might soon prove valuable.

“Time-for-me-to-go!” the quickling spouted. Faster than the dog could react, Tephanis darted by it, grabbed at the rope he had hung about the dog’s neck, and zipped three complete circuits of a nearby tree. The dog went after him, but Tephanis easily kept out of its reach until the leash snapped taut, flipping the dog right over. “Be-back-soon, you-stupid-thing!”

Tephanis sped along the mountain paths, knowing that this night might be his last chance. The lights of Maldobar burned in the far distance, but it was a different light, a campfire, that guided the quickling. He came upon the small camp just a few minutes later, glad to see that the elf was not around.

He found Roddy McGristle sitting at the base of a huge tree, his arms pulled behind him and tied at the wrists around the trunk. The mountain man seemed a wretched thing—as wretched as the dog—but Tephanis was out of options. Ulgulu and Kempfana were dead, Caroak was dead, and Graul, after the disaster at the grove, had actually placed a bounty on the quickling’s head.

That left only Roddy—not much of a choice, but Tephanis had no desire to survive on his own ever again. He sped, unnoticed, to the back of the tree and whispered in the mountain man’s ear. “You-will-be-in-Maldobar-tomorrow.”

Roddy froze at the unexpected, squeaky voice.

“You will be in Maldobar tomorrow,” Tephanis said again, as slowly as he could.

“Go away,” Roddy growled at him, thinking that the sprite was teasing him.

“You-should-be-kinder-to-me, oh-you-should!” Tephanis snapped right back. “The-elf-means-to-imprison-you, you-know. For-crimes-against-the-blind-ranger.”

“Shut yer mouth,” McGristle growled, louder than he had intended.

“What are you about?” came Kellindil’s call from not so far away.

“There, you-have-done-it-now, silly-man!” Tephanis whispered.

“I told ye to go away!” Roddy replied.

“I-might, and-then-where-would-you-be? In-prison?” Tephanis said angrily. “I-can-help-you-now, if-you-want-my-help.”

Roddy was beginning to understand. “Untie my hands,” he ordered.

“They-already-are-untied,” Tephanis replied, and Roddy found the sprite’s words to be true. He started to rise but changed his mind abruptly as Kellindil entered the camp.

“Keep-still,” Tephanis advised. “I-will-distract-your-captor.”

Tephanis had moved as he spoke the words and Roddy heard only an unintelligible murmur. He kept his hands behind him, though, seeing no other course available with the heavily armed elf approaching.

“Our last night on the road,” Kellindil remarked, dropping by the fire the coney he had shot for a meal. He moved in front of Roddy and bent low. “I will send for Lady Falconhand once we have arrived in Maldobar,” he said. “She names Montolio DeBrouchee as a friend and will be interested to learn of the events in the grove.”

“What do ye know?” Roddy spat at him. “The ranger was a friend o’ mine, too!”

“If you are a friend of orc king Graul, then you are no friend of the ranger in the grove,” Kellindil retorted.

Roddy had no immediate rebuttal, but Tephanis supplied one. A buzzing noise came from behind the elf and Kellindil, dropping a hand to his sword, spun about.

“What manner of being are you?” he asked the quickling, his eyes wide in amazement.

Kellindil never learned the answer, for Roddy came up suddenly behind him and slammed him to the ground. Kellindil was a seasoned fighter, but in close he was no match for the sheer brawn of Roddy McGristle. Roddy’s huge and dirty hands closed on the slender elf’s throat.

“I-have-your-dog,” Tephanis said to Roddy when the foul business was done. “Tied-it-to-a-tree.”

“Who are ye?” Roddy asked, trying to hide his elation, both for his freedom and for the knowledge that his dog still lived. “And what do ye want with me?”

“I-am-a-little-thing, you-can-see-that-to-be-true,” Tephanis explained. “Like-keeping-big-friends.”

Roddy considered the offer for a moment. “Well, ye’ve earned it,” he said with a laugh. He found Bleeder, his trusted axe, among the dead elf’s belongings and rose up huge and grim-faced. “Come on then, let’s get back to the mountains. I’ve a drow to deal with.”

A sour expression crossed the quickling’s delicate features, but Tephanis hid it before Roddy could notice. Tephanis had no desire to go anywhere near the blind ranger’s grove. Aside from the fact that the orc king had placed a bounty on his head, he knew that the other elves might get suspicious if Roddy showed up without Kellindil. More than that, Tephanis found the pain in his head and foot even more acute at the mere thought of facing the dark elf again.