creatures of the Wasteland have caused me much pain, and I think I owe them a great deal of pain in return. An honest man always pays what he owes.’
‘Be careful, Longbow,’ the shaman cautioned. ‘These creatures hunt by concealing themselves, and they strike only when their intended prey is close.’
‘I’m a hunter, One-Who-Heals,’ Longbow reminded the shaman. ‘Nothing in the forest can hide itself from me. The servants of That-Called-the-Vlagh have been sent into our lands because the Vlagh hungers for information. I think it will be my lifelong task to make certain that the Vlagh’s hunger remains unsatisfied, for I will kill all the servants it sends here and deliver their heads to Misty-Water’s grave as gifts to her spirit as a sign that I love her still.’
‘And will you now go to the hunt, my son?’ Chief Old-Bear asked.
‘If it pleases you, my father.’
‘It pleases me very much, Longbow.’
And so it was that Longbow of the tribe of Old-Bear vanished into the forest to seek out the venomous servants of That-Called-the-Vlagh. It was rumored over the next decades that the Vlagh sent many of its servants into the lands of the tribe, but few, if any, of its servants returned, for Longbow had become one with the forest, and the creatures of the Wasteland could neither see him nor could they hear him nor could they even catch his scent as death sprang upon them from his bow.
The return of the legendary Zelana of the West stirred great excitement in all the tribes of her Domain, and the people of Old-Bear’s tribe felt greatly honored when word reached them that she would soon come to visit. Longbow, however, had felt no great need to meet with her, and so it was that when word of her approach reached the village of Old-Bear, Longbow simply faded back into the forest to continue his hunt.
She had sought him out, however, and he had found that to be disturbing. He had been certain that no one could find him in the forest if he did not wish to be found, but Zelana had unerringly come to the place where he was to ask him for his aid.
‘I’m not interested, Zelana,’ he had told her bluntly. ‘I have a more pressing responsibility right now. I think you’d better choose someone else.’
‘This is very important,’ she had pressed.
‘Not to me, it isn’t. There’s only one thing that’s important to me, and it’s what I’m doing right now.’
‘You don’t like us very much, do you, Longbow?’ the little girl who’d accompanied Zelana had asked shrewdly. ‘You don’t really like anybody, do you? You don’t have any room inside you for “like,” because you’re all filled up with “don’t like,” aren’t you?’
‘It goes quite a bit further than “don’t like,” little one,’ Longbow had told her, his voice softening slightly. ‘The servants of That-Called-the-Vlagh killed she who was to become my mate, so now I kill them.’
‘That sounds fair to me,’ the little girl had said. ‘How many of them have you killed so far?’
He had shrugged. ‘Hundreds, I suppose. I don’t keep count any more. I’ve been doing this for twenty years now.’
‘If that’s all that matters to you, we know how you can kill thousands, don’t we, Beloved?’
‘Perhaps even more than that, Eleria,’ Zelana had replied. Then she had looked Longbow straight in the face. ‘We hate the creatures of the Wasteland almost as much as you do, Longbow, and if this turns out the way I want it to, we’ll kill them all, and then we’ll go into the Wasteland and kill That-Called-the-Vlagh. How does that sound to you?’
‘It’s interesting enough to make me want to hear more,’ he had conceded.
Longbow had been dubious when Zelana had assured him that the ship of the Maag called Hook-Beak would come across the face of Mother Sea to the Land of Dhrall, and even more skeptical when she’d told him that the Maags would do anything for gold. But when the long, narrow ship of Hook-Beak arrived at the village of Old-Bear almost exactly when she’d told him that it would, Longbow’s skepticism began to fade. Moreover, Sorgan Hook-Beak had responded to the word “gold” even as Zelana had suggested that he would.
Zelana had been right twice so far, and if the Maags would be as useful as she seemed to believe, the long voyage to their homeland could be worth his time and trouble.
Longbow had not killed a servant of the Vlagh for many days now, and that made him a bit ashamed. Misty-Water had always been patient, though, so he was fairly sure that her spirit would be willing to wait while he gave Zelana of the West the assistance she needed to bring the men of Maag to the Land of Dhrall to help Longbow kill all of the servants of the Vlagh – and ultimately, of course, the Vlagh itself.
Longbow was quite certain that the spirit of Misty-Water would be pleased when he brought the head of the Vlagh to her grave and laid it there as a present for her.
The Seagull returned to Old-Bear’s village late one blustery afternoon, announced somewhat in advance by the booming sound of her sail. Longbow immediately saw the advantage of the sail, but when the wind was just right, a sail could be very noisy.
‘Will you leave now, Longbow my son?’ Chief Old-Bear asked when the Maag ship hove to a short way out from the pebbled beach.
‘It may be that it will be in the best interest of the tribe, my father,’ Longbow replied. ‘Zelana of the West has told me that the Maags can show us ways to kill more of the creatures of the Wasteland, and that may please the spirit of your daughter Misty-Water.’
‘Then it is proper for you to go, my son,’ Old-Bear agreed. ‘Do not be concerned about your absence. I myself will attend to the grave of Misty-Water while you are gone.’
‘I would appreciate that, my father,’ Longbow said. ‘It may be that in time you and I will be able to bring the head of the Vlagh itself to the grave of your daughter, and that should please her spirit.’
‘I know that it will please mine,’ Old-Bear said approvingly. ‘Go then, my son, and may the spirit of Misty-Water watch over you.’
‘It shall be as you have said, my father,’ Longbow said quite formally. He went down through the village to the pebbled beach, pushed his canoe out from the shore, and took up his paddle to cross the choppy water to the Seagull. The village and his forest were fading behind him, but he didn’t look back.
‘Nice little skiff you got there, friend,’ a fellow with enormous hands observed, leaning over the rail of the Seagull.
‘Skiff?’ Longbow was puzzled by the word. ‘That skinny little boat you got there. It goes real fast, don’t it?’
‘It takes me where I want it to go.’
‘You want we should bring it on board?’
‘It might be best. I don’t know the tribe of the Seagull as yet, and if it happens that I don’t get along very well with them, I might need the canoe to take me back
