The Second Generation

Rashas persistently advocated elven isolation from the rest of the world. He made no secret of the fact that, in his opinion, the Kingpriest of Istar had been right in offering bounties on dwarves and kender. Rashas would have made one change, however: He would have added humans to the list.

Which made all this completely inexplicable. Why was this cagey old spider trying to lure Gilthas, of all people—a quarter-human—into his web?

“At any rate,” Tanis muttered into his beard, “this will give me a chance to settle my own score with you, Rashas, old childhood friend. I remember every one of your snide comments, the whispered insults, the cruel little practical jokes. The beatings I took from you and your gang of bullies. I wasn’t allowed to hit you then, but, by Paladine, there’s nobody going to stop me now!”

The delightful anticipation of smashing his fist into Rashas’s pointed chin kept Tanis entertained throughout the better part of the morning. He had no idea what Rashas wanted with his son, but he guessed it couldn’t be anything good.

“If s too bad I didn’t tell Gil about Rashas,” Tanis mused. “Too bad I never told him much of anything about my early life in Qualinesti. Maybe it was a mistake to keep him away from there. If we hadn’t, he would have known about Rashas and his type. He wouldn’t have fallen for whatever clever scheme the senator’s plotting. But, I wanted to protect you, Gil. I didn’t want you to suffer what I suffered. I...”

Tanis stopped his horse, turned the animal around. “Damn it to the Abyss.” He stared down at the dirt road, cold dread constricting his heart.

He slid off his horse for a better look. The mud, now slowly hardening in the bright sun, told the tale all too clearly. There was only one creature in all of Krynn that left tracks like this: three front claws that dug deep in the ground, a back claw, and the sinuous twisting mark of a reptilian tail.

“Draconians ... four of them.”

Tanis examined the prints. His horse, snuffling at them, shied away in disgust.

Catching the animal, Tanis held its head near the tracks until it became accustomed to the smell. Remounting, he followed the trail. It could be coincidence, he told himself. The draconians could merely be traveling the same direction as Gil.

But Tanis became convinced, after another mile, that the creatures were stalking his son.

At one point, Gil had turned his horse off the trail, led the animal down an embankment to a small stream. At this juncture, the draconians also left the trail. Tenaciously tracking the horse’s hoofprints down to the creek, the draconians trailed the horse along the water’s edge, followed the hoof marks back up to the road.

In addition, Tanis saw signs that the draconians were taking care to keep out of sight. At various points, the clawed footprints would leave the trail and seek the safety of the brush.

This road was not particularly well traveled, but farmers used it, as did the occasional venturing knight. If these draconians were ordinary raiders, living off the land, they would not hesitate to attack a lone farmer, steal his wagon and horses. These draconians were hiding from those who passed along the road; they obviously were on a mission.

But what connection could draconians have with Rashas? The elf had his faults, certainly, but conspiring with creatures of darkness wasn’t one of them.

Fearful, alarmed, Tanis spurred his horse. The tracks were hours old, but he wasn’t far from the Black Swan. The inn was located in the fairly substantial town of Fair Field. Four draconians would never dare venture into a populated area. Whatever their intention, they would have to strike before Gil reached the inn.

Which meant Tanis might well be too late.

He rode along the trail, traveling at a moderate pace, keeping his eyes on the prints—both the clawed prints and those made by Gil’s horse. The young man obviously had no idea he was being followed. He was riding along at an easy walk, enjoying the scenery, reveling in his newfound freedom. The draconians never deviated from their course.

And then, Tanis knew where they would strike.

A few miles outside of Fair Field, the road entered a heavily wooded area. Oak and walnut trees grew thick, their tangled limbs branching across the trail, blocking out the sunlight, keeping the road in deep shadow. In the days after the Cataclysm, the forest was reputed to have been a refuge for robbers and, to this day, was known unofficially as Thieves Acres. Caves honeycombed the hillsides, providing hiding places where men could hide and gloat over their loot. It was the perfect spot for an ambush.

Sick with fear, Tanis left off tracking, urged his horse forward at a gallop. He almost rode down a startled farmer, who shouted at him, wondering what was the matter. Tanis didn’t waste time bothering to answer.

The forest was in sight, a long length of dark green banding the road ahead of him.