“You don’t have to think about anything! Thinking is what made you a coward!”
RuuKag whined, his ears flattening back against his wide head.
“I may not have Timuran’s Impress Scrolls, but I did read the Devotion Ledger-especially of certain bolters,” the elf said, stepping closer. “RuuKag, once of the Shakash Pride was supposed to be a warrior-supposed to rush into battle-but he thought too much, felt too much. So he came home. . just walked back to his pridelands because the thought of battle and death and pain frightened him. The frightened manticore! A freak and an embarrassment to his father and mother and brothers and everything his Shakash Pride had stood for and taught since the rise of Chaenandria. You were useless, so they banished you to the Vestasian Savanna.”
RuuKag shrank back.
The elf pressed his face so near the manticore that his scent was overwhelming. “How was that for you, RuuKag? Too afraid to fight and your own family not understanding why? They still loved you, still cared for you, but in one way or another they all turned their backs on you and banished you from the pride. You might still be among them, but you could never again be one of them. So you banished yourself, making the long way to the cursed lands of the Vestasian Savanna, nursing the wounds in your heart. How was that for you, RuuKag of Shakash. . oh, pardon me, RuuKag of no pride at all. . to come again just weeks ago back to the old lands of your punishment? Did even the mud gnomes remember the story of the manticore with no pride?”
“No,” whispered RuuKag. “Not even that.”
“No, you were forgotten-not even important enough for the mud gnomes to remember your story,” the elf sneered. “No wonder you prefer to forget.”
RuuKag closed his eyes. Great tears fell down his fur-covered cheeks, glinting in the moonlight.
“Now, I’m the one who knows your story, RuuKag,” the elf continued. “You could try to take me, I suppose, try to summon that famously vicious warrior heart, and we could do battle right here. Or you could do as you were told to do: lead me to Drakis and his companions, serve the Imperial Will and, as your reward, I will see to it that you never remember again who you were and the shame you brought on your family and pride.”
RuuKag’s breath was ragged. He held very still.
“Take me to Drakis,” the elf whispered. “And RuuKag can be completely forgotten. No one will remember that name. . not even you.”
RuuKag opened his eyes and stared into the blackness that was encompassed by the elf’s hood.
“I will, Master,” the manticore said.
The elf smiled, his sharp teeth shining in the starlight.
“But I will need a new set of beacon stones,” RuuKag continued. “They’re going to use the old ones to take you in the wrong direction.”
“Here,” the elf said, reaching into the folds of his cloak and pulling out a small, plain pouch. “These are my own-made by my hand. They will answer to my staff only.”
“Thank you, Master,” the manticore said. He took a few steps up the northwestern road and then stopped. “Master, is it true that you do not wish to harm this Drakis-human?”
The elf chuckled. “RuuKag, I may be the only one I know who does not want him dead.”
“But,” RuuKag persisted, “why do you wish him alive?”
“I have my own reasons,” the elf replied.
“Surely such things are beyond my understanding,” RuuKag said, his eyes gazing once more upward toward the stars, “but it is a wonder that an elf should cross all of Chaenandria, concern himself with the obscure backgrounds of a handful of freed slaves, and cross the length and breadth of the Vestasian Plain just to meet this Drakis.”
The elf paused. “You’re thinking again, RuuKag.”