Alliances

She had been abused, though not so thoroughly as Kasanth. One eye was ringed with a black bruise. Cuts and older bruises decorated her face, neck, and arms. Her hair was filthy, and stood up in stiff spikes all over her head.

He thought her asleep, but suddenly she sprang at him, only to be jerked up short by her heavy fetters.

“Want to see more?” she hissed. “Come closer—”

“A charming invitation, which I shall decline,” he said in Qualinesti.

She sank back on the soapstone basin. “Who are you?” she asked in the same tongue.

“Someone who can help you.”

“Then do it!”

“In good time.” Porthios was intrigued. Despite a slight accent, she did not speak as an uneducated peasant. “What is your name?”

She glared at him—he repeated the question. When still she remained silent he added, “Perhaps you think someone else will come along to help you? Flaying is a terrible way to die, I hear.”

“Step forward so I may see you better.” He eyed her shackled hands, and she snapped, “You’ve nothing to fear from me if you’re telling the truth!”

He stepped forward. The light from the distant bonfires showed her his mask and robes and her eyes widened. “What is this, a masquerade?”

“It is. Give me your name.”

She rose to her feet, standing proudly although weighed down by many chains. “I am Kerianseray, general of the armies of the united elven nations, wife and consort to Gilthas, Speaker of the Sun and Stars!”

He stared. Was she mad or merely lying? If Olin or his master, Samuval, knew they had the fabled Lioness of Qualinesti in their hands, they would shout it from the rooftops. Then they would sell her to the Knights of Neraka for a king’s ransom. Despite the improbability, Porthios halfway believed her. He’d come looking for a diversion to start a revolt. Instead he’d found a weapon of great power.

“Can you prove what you say?”

“Get me out of here, and I’ll prove anything you need!”

Porthios didn’t hesitate. He wouldn’t allow an elf of any caste to be executed by a filthy ogre.

“When are you scheduled to die?” he asked.

“The day after tomorrow. Two hours after dawn, before the slave auction begins. They want my carcass on display to frighten the rest.”

He fingered her chains. There were many, but they were brass, not iron. A steel file would cut through them in no time.

He turned, and she hissed, “Where are you going?”

“Be patient. I’ll be back tomorrow night.”

“No!” She shook her chains, nearly shouting in her fury. “Get me out of here now!”

“Be patient,” he repeated and was gone, vanishing among the slave cages.

* * * * *

The day of the execution dawned hot, with white haze rising to fill the sky early. Nalaryn and his Kagonesti knelt in the high weeds, bows resting in the crooks of their arms, and watched streams of travelers making their way into Samustal.

Porthios had returned from his reconnoiter the first night and shared what he’d learn about the doomed female prisoner, taking care to mention her name only to Nalaryn.

He was not with his band now. Conspicuous in his mask by daylight, he chose to make his own way inside.

When Nalaryn judged the crowd of travelers to be sufficiently numerous, he bade his warriors and the Nerakan prisoners rise. Crowded together, the humans muttered about making a break, looking to Jeralund for guidance. If they raised an outcry, nearby humans would surely help them against their elf captors.

The sergeant shook his head curtly. The travelers would be of no help to them. They were simple traders, local farmers, and craftsmen. The elves were armed, alert.

The sight of armed Kagonesti, many in full forest paint, sent the local folk scattering off the path. That the elves were escorting human captives excited much comment, but as Jeralund had expected, no one spoke out in the Nerakans’ defense.

At the stockade gate, a tall human in russet leather demanded to know Nalaryn’s business in Samustal.

“Same as everyone else,” Nalaryn replied. He gestured with his chin at the Nerakans. “We have slaves to sell.”

The guard was dumbstruck. He hastily consulted his fellows. There was no order forbidding trafficking by elves in human slaves. The opposite case occurred daily. Unable to find even a flimsy excuse to exclude the Kagonesti, the guard said he’d be happy to admit them as Soon as they paid the entry tax. The amount he named was double that demanded of previous parties.

“I’ll give you twenty steel pieces. That is enough.”

The bandit took the threadbare velvet purse Nalaryn handed him, but did not move away. Grinning at his fellows, he demanded more steel.

The Kagonesti leader regarded him for a moment then said quietly, “I do have more steel.”

“I’ll take all the steel I can get!” The bandit stuck out his hand.