Alliances

Kerian swallowed hard. Deliberately avoiding an emotional scene, she turned away from those staying behind and studied the flyers. One was missing. Before she could mention his absence, Porthios arrived.

He came slowly, tying twine around his wrist. He’d wrapped the twine around his arm to keep his loose sleeves from catching the wind and was trying to finish it off at his wrist. Tying knots one-handed was difficult work and he struggled with it, but not for long.

“Let me.”

Alhana took the loose ends of string and tied them off. She asked, “Too tight?”

“No.” His voice was barely audible, but she heard him well enough. She held out a hand for another length of twine. Wordlessly, he gave it to her, and she began binding up his other sleeve.

Although she never once looked up at him, Porthios’s gaze did not leave her all the while she worked. She was clad in a riding tunic of deep blue suede, trimmed with white fur, and gathered at the waist by a belt of woven silver. A slim dagger was thrust through her belt and a quiver of arrows slung over her shoulder. She was good with a bow, he remembered. Better than he with moving targets. Better than he with all targets now. Her hair was covered by a scarf that matched her tunic. Her eyes, reflecting the tunic’s color, were the dark purple of the late-evening sky over Qualinost.

He moved abruptly away from her to stand by Samar and his griffon. She’d only just finished tying the twine around his wrist. She looked at him curiously. “Did I hurt you?”

One shake of his head and he concentrated on the Lioness, climbing a rock prior to addressing the riders. Far better to put his attention there than to think of Alhana or dwell on the upcoming ride. Porthios had not been astride a griffon since his own was blasted from beneath him by dragonflame. There was no time for fear or hesitation, however. He must go to Khur. Griffonback was the best way to get there. Nothing else must matter.

After outlining the route she and Alhana had chosen, Kerian said, “We’ve had no time to practice, so keep everything simple. Stay together. If anyone gets separated, make your way to the valley.”

“What formation do we use?” asked Hytanthas.

“Like a flight of geese. Alhana and I are on point. Samar and Orexas will fly behind us on the left. Hytanthas, you’re on my right.” She went on, specifying each rider’s place.

From her hiding place, Breetan could see her hooded target but didn’t have a clear shot, Elves kept passing in front of the Scarecrow, and he kept moving through the crowd. When he finally stood still, while an elf woman fixed his tunic, the female was squarely in Breetan’s line of fire.

“I could shoot her then get him with a second bolt when she falls,” she whispered.

“No!” Jeralund hissed. “The first strike will alert them, and you’ll never get another chance! Be patient, Lady.”

Be patient, she repeated silently to herself. Be patient. Breetan sighted the front ring on a spot directly between the elf woman’s shoulder blades. As soon as she moved, the target’s chest would be exposed.

Unfortunately, the Scarecrow moved first, and he placed himself behind yet another elf, a warrior with a weathered face.

Breetan murmured an obscenity.

Kerian finished outlining their flying formation and asked if anyone had questions. One of the riders wanted to know what they should do if separated from the group and forced to land somewhere other than Inath-Wakenti.

“Tell no one who you are, where you’ve come from, or where you’re going.”

There were no other questions. The riders looked at her expectantly. It was the time a commander would say something to bolster their courage and prepare them for the great adventure ahead. The sun was just peering over the eastern peaks. Its light washed Kerian’s helmet in gold. She drew a deep breath.

“Keep your seats. Let the griffons do the flying. We go to bring our wayward cousins home from Khur.”

“Sivvanesu!” shouted the guards.

Hytanthas, not to be outdone, cried, “For the Speaker of the Sun and Stars!” The Bianost elves cheered.

Accustomed to her much larger Royal griffon, Kerian had no trouble vaulting onto Chisa’s back. She wrapped the reins around one gloved hand and checked the straps of her makeshift riding harness. All were tight. She told Alhana to climb on.

The former queen ducked under the griffon’s partially unfurled wing and put her foot in the rear saddle brace. She sprang gracefully onto the griffon’s back, landing lightly.

“You’ve done this before,” Kerian joked.

“Since before you were born,” Alhana shot back.

She tied herself to the saddle, and Kerian offered advice on how to ride pillion. Alhana chuckled suddenly.

“I suppose you know all this already too,” Kerian muttered.

“I do, actually, but that’s not why I was laughing. It’s Chisa. She’s very”—Alhana hunted for the right word—“proud of herself just now. Smug.”

“Why?”

“Because she has two riders. Only she and Ironhead can claim that distinction!”