Alliances

The great vault of clouds had grown as opaque as polished slate. Lightning flickered and danced around the outer rim, but in the center a wondrous sight had appeared. The elves beheld a battle in the sky, vivid in every detail. Horses with human riders swarmed over a small band of elves, who fought with their backs to a crude stone spire. One elf stood on the tower’s steps, a few feet above the rest. Sword in hand, he directed a futile defense.

“Planchet!” Kerian cried, her shout echoed by Hytanthas and Alhana.

Kerian scanned the mad scene for Gilthas, She didn’t see him, but in the chaos only Planchet stood out clearly. As the nomad horsemen pressed in, hacking with their guardless, curved swords, the elves’ line grew thinner and thinner. I Around Kerian, Alhana’s guards were shouting encouragement and advice to the phantom combatants, but no one in the cloud-scene appeared to hear them. All any of them on the wind-scoured bluff could do was watch as the besieged circle of elves was slowly worn away.

The end was inevitable. The circle disintegrated, engulfed by the human horde and a sea of hostile swords.

Instantly, the vision vanished. Although every eye strained to see more, the dense clouds showed only occasional flickers of silent lightning.

Kerian and Alhana, Hytanthas and Samar, even Porthios, were left regarding each other in open-mouthed shock.

Chapter 20

Arrayed in along, curved line, the elf cavalry waited and watched. They were the last line of defense for the unarmed multitude struggling through the sand behind them.

The pass leading into Inath-Wakenti lay directly ahead, its entrance marked by three peaks lined up abreast. Their snowcapped tops, rising above the shimmering desert, drew the elf nation like a beacon, No one ordered them to make haste, but all quickened their steps. The injured and infirm who couldn’t keep pace were carried.

For a full day after the departure from Broken Tooth there had been no sign of pursuit. The reason for that was agonizingly clear: The nomads had taken the sacrifice offered them on Broken Tooth. Before noon on the second day, however, telltale streamers of dust rose in the southwest. The Speaker, Hamaramis, and Wapah rode back to the end of the column to see for themselves.

“They’re coming,” Wapah said, nodding. “No more than a hundred. Scouts.”

Hamaramis immediately offered to send the army to keep the scouts from reporting back. Gilthas rejected that notion. A battle would only slow their escape, and capturing the scouts would be pointless. The mass of fleeing elves was leaving a trail even the blind could follow. Scouts or no, the nomads would find the elves eventually.

Nevertheless, the Speaker did concentrate the remaining cavalry at the rear of the column, to screen it from attack. Gilthas needed Hamaramis with him, so Taranath was put in command. His orders were clear. If small scouting parties came within reach, he could pick them off, but under no circumstances was he to engage the enemy with the bulk of the surviving army.

The elves’ stumbling, arduous trek continued. They swallowed meager rations on the move, not daring to pause even for a moment. At their backs, the dust cloud thickened and spread. More nomads were joining the chase. What that meant for Planchet and the Sacred Band left behind on Broken Tooth, all understood. Although some murmured among themselves, no one broached the subject to the Speaker. Gilthas’s face, usually so expressive of his emotions, was stonily impassive. He concentrated all his energies on getting his people to safety. Planchet had sworn to return; Gilthas clung to that oath.

Two hours before sunset, the elves came upon an obstacle no one had expected. A wadi nearly a mile wide and a dozen yards deep ran almost due east-west. The dry riverbed wasn’t on Gilthas’s map (copied from an original made thousands of years ago), and Wapah confessed he’d not encountered it before.

“I thought you knew this country.” Hamaramis said.

“As I know my own face.”

“Then how do you not know of this enormous ravine?”

The nomad scratched his bearded chin. “Lacking a mirror, a man does not see his eyes.”

The Speaker cut off the impending argument. “Find a way down, General.”

Hamaramis and a small party rode away to make a quick search. They returned with disheartening news. Scores of trails led down into the wadi, but none was wider than a goat track. The elves could descend but would have to do it at dozens of widely separated points.