Gilthanas rose slowly and began to walk along the shore toward her. She still stood at the edge of the forest’s safety. He could still sense her coiled fear. But she had dropped the knife.
“Silvara,” he said, “what I have done is against all elven custom. When my sister told me of her plot to steal the orb, I should have gone directly to my father. I should have sounded the alarm. I should have taken the orb myself-”
Silvara took a step toward him, still clutching the blanket around her. “Why didn’t you?” she asked in a low voice.
Gilthanas was nearing the rock steps at the north end of the pond. The water flowing over them made a silver curtain in the moonlight. “Because I know that my people are wrong. Laurana is right. Sturm is right. Taking the orb to the humans is right! We must fight this war. My people are wrong, their laws, their customs are wrong. I know this-in my heart! But I can’t make my head believe it. It torments me-”
Silvara walked slowly along the pool’s edge. She, too, was nearing the silver curtain of water from the opposite side.
“I understand.” she said softly. “My own . . . people do not understand what I do or why I do it. But I understand. I know what is right and I believe in it.”
“I envy you, Silvara,” Gilthanas whispered.
Gilthanas stepped to the largest rock, a flat island in the glittering, cascading water. Silvara, her wet hair falling over her like a silver gown, stood but a few feet from him now.
“Silvara,” Gilthanas said, his voice shaking, “there was another reason I left my people. You know what it is.”
He extended his hand, palm up, toward her.
Silvara drew back, shaking her head. Her breath came faster.
Gilthanas took another step nearer. “Silvara, I love you,” he said softly. “You seem so alone, as alone as I am. Please, Silvara, you will never be alone again. I swear it. . . .”
Hesitantly, Silvara lifted her hand toward his. With a sudden move, Gilthanas grabbed her arm and pulled her across the water. Catching her as she stumbled, he lifted her onto the rock beside him.
Too late the wild doe realized she was trapped. Not by the man’s arms-she could easily have broken free of his embrace. It was her own love for this man that had ensnared her. That his love for her was deep and tender sealed their fate. He was trapped as well.
Gilthanas could feel her body trembling, but he knew now as he looked into her eyes-that she trembled with passion, not fear. Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her tenderly. Silvara still held the blanket clasped around her body with one hand, but he felt her other hand close around his. Her lips were soft and eager. Then, Gilthanas tasted a salty tear on his lips. He drew back, amazed to see her crying.
“Silvara, don’t. I’m sorry-” He released her.
“No!” she whispered, her voice husky. “My tears are not because I am frightened of your love. They are only for myself. You cannot understand.”
Reaching out, she shyly put one hand around his neck and drew him near. And then, as he kissed her, he felt her other hand-the hand that had been clasping the blanket around her body-move up to caress his face.
Silvara’s blanket slipped unnoticed into the stream and was borne away by the silver water.
Pursuit.
A desperate plan.
At noon the next day, the
companions were forced to abandon the boats, having reached the river’s headwaters, where it flowed down out of the mountains. Here the water was shallow and frothy white from the tumbling rapids ahead. Many Kaganesti boats were drawn up on the bank. Dragging their boats ashore, the companions were met by a group of Kaganesti elves coming out of the woods. They carried with them the bodies of two young elven warriors. Some drew weapons and would have attacked had not Theros Ironfeld and Silvara hurried to talk with them.
The two spoke long with the Kaganesti, while the companions kept an uneasy watch downriver. Though they had been awake before dawn, starting as early as the Kaganesti felt was safe to travel through the swift water, they had, more than once, caught glimpses of the black boats pursuing them.
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