Alliances

She turned toward him. She sensed him shrink back but couldn’t stop herself. “You need not be alone! Will you not take my hand?”

Her question and her outstretched hand hung in the air for a long moment. Finally, he whispered, “Go back to where you came from. Leave your warriors if you choose, but go. I will win this campaign, then I shall die. It’s my reward for saving our people. If you stay, you’ll die too, and I should not have to endure that. Everything else I will bear but that, Alhana.”

The rustle of a ragged hem through the debris on the floor told her he was gone. Instead of loss, elation sang in Alhana’s veins. During his speech, she’d felt a growing despair, until he’d said her name. He imbued the single word with such emotion, she knew at last that her quest had not been a hopeless one. He might be as cold and unreachable as the stars above, but Porthios was alive.

Voices announced the return of Samar and Kerian. The Lioness carried a flaming torch.

“Alhana?” Kerian called, surprised to find her still seated in the dark. “Are you all right?”

She flicked a hand over her cheeks. “I’m fine.”

“Were you talking to someone?” asked Samar.

“Only Chathendor.” Her aged retained was just now awakening, giving the lie to her words, but Samar would never contradict her.

Neither would Kerian since she knew the truth. Alhana had been talking with Porthios. Her tears alone were proof of that.

* * * * *

Two days went by without any sign of Porthios. At first Nalaryn and his Kagonesti were not worried by their leader’s absence. He frequently went off on his own. But in their present situation, his continuing absence began to feel ominous.

The residents of Bianost were restless too. They had rallied to the mysterious masked leader and overthrown their oppressors, but their leader was missing, and no one knew what to do.

Kerian made sure military matters were attended to but wasn’t concerned by Porthios’s absence. It struck her as only right he should be overcome by the sight of the wife he had abandoned. In away, she understood how he felt. If Gilthas had arrived at the gates of Bianost, she might want to run away, or clout him. Either was equally likely.

Samar was in charge of the royal guard, but he was disdainful of the Bianost militia and suspicious of Nalaryn’s Kagonesti. He told Alhana none too diplomatically that at the first sign of trouble, the townsfolk would run away and the Kagonesti would vanish into the woods, leaving the rest of them to fend for themselves against whatever army Samuval sent against them.

Angered by his arrogance, Kerian reminded him the Kagonesti and the folk of Bianost had defeated Olin’s entire company.

Samar waved a dismissive hand; Olin’s cowardly mercenaries had crumbled even before their leader was dispatched. He implied Olin’s death had been the result of dumb luck rather than any skill on the part of Kerian and the Kagonesti.

“A bold conclusion from one who wasn’t even here!” Kerian retorted. “Do you always fight your battles with your mouth?”

Before even hotter words could be exchanged, Alhana and Chathendor diverted the headstrong warriors. Chathendor asked Kerian to take him around the town to review the caches of weapons from Qualinost. Alhana sent Samar out with sixty riders to sweep the countryside around Bianost for signs of bandits.

As the sun began to decline on the second day of Porthios’s absence, Alhana realized she must meet with the townsfolk to help calm their growing fears. She sent Chathendor to invite the leaders of the Bianost volunteers to attend a council that evening after sundown.

The city square had been cleared of wreckage and bodies and a bonfire kindled. Alhana seated herself on a camp stool three steps above ground level before the mayor’s palace. Standing below on Alhana’s right were Chathendor and Samar. Kerian stood with Nalaryn on Alhana’s left.

The Lioness was not happy with Samar’s report from his reconnaissance of the area around Bianost. He had found nothing. Kerian was sure the town was being watched, and she didn’t think much of Samar’s skills that he failed to find any bandit scouts or spies.

The townsfolk of Bianost sent three representatives: Vanolin, a scrivener; Theryontas, a goldsmith; and Geranthas, a healer of animals. Alhana welcomed them graciously, praising their valiant actions in helping to save their town. The three were clearly awed to find themselves in her presence, but anxiety gave Theryontas, their spokesperson, the courage to speak his mind.

“Great Lady, the people of Bianost are alarmed by the disappearance of Orexas,” he said.

“Who?” Alhana blurted, and Kerian suppressed a snort. The Qualinesti word meant merely “director” or “manager,” but Kerian knew that in the eastern homeland it was applied to those who led orchestras or chorales. She found the implication of gentle artistry singularly amusing considering Porthios’s cold, calculating leadership style.