Alliances

Theryontas was explaining how the people of Bianost had bestowed the name on their masked deliverer, having no other name by which to call him. Kerian interrupted his long-winded speech.

“Whatever you call him, it won’t change the fact he’s missing,” she said bluntly. She looked to Alhana, who had last spoken with Porthios before his disappearance. “Is he coming back?”

The wavering firelight deepened the lines of Alhana’s face, and for a moment her alabaster beauty appeared an aged mask. It lasted only an instant, and might have been a trick of the wavering firelight, but Kerian, standing closest to her, felt she’d glimpsed the agony the elegant lady kept carefully concealed.

“I’m not certain,” Alhana answered. “But until he does return, we must carry on.”

Theryontas and the town delegation were plainly distressed. “What does this mean?” he asked. “We’ve begun a revolt. Is it over now because Orexas is gone?”

“No, it’s not over!” Kerian said quickly. “We can carry on. Remember, we have weapons to equip a great army.”

“What army?” Samar wanted to know. “Three hundred royal guards, twenty Wilder elves, and a few score townsfolk?”

Theryontas corrected him, deferential but precise, giving the total number of Bianost elves as three hundred forty-nine.

“Still not much of an army,” Samar said.

“We took Bianost with far less and defended it too,” Kerian said tartly.

“The bandits were surprised. When Samuval learns what happened here, he’ll take the field himself. He has twenty thousand men and can call up at least that many more goblins. How will you trick a host of forty thousand warriors, lady?”

Kerian crossed her arms over her chest, hands gripping her upper arms tightly in anger. “It has been done. I fought the Knights to a standstill with much less.”

“You had safe havens then. Where are your havens now? You had the clandestine support of the Speaker of the Sun and most of the population of Qualinesti. Where are they now?”

“Enough.”

Silence descended at Alhana’s command. Samar, his professional pride aroused, had taken a step toward the Lioness during their debate. He moved back.

“It is clear we have difficult choices to make,” Alhana went on. “First and foremost, we must remove the cache of weapons and hide it safely elsewhere.”

She was interrupted by the arrival of a rider. One of her guards came cantering across the square. His easy approach told them that whatever news he bore wasn’t urgent. Samar went to receive the courier’s message. After a brief exchange, Samar returned and reported to Alhana.

“Two strangers have been found. Elves. One is gravely injured. They have the look and manner of warriors, but their arms and clothing are most strange.”

Samar waved the rider forward and asked him to explain further. “They are ragged,” the elf said. “Obviously they have come a very long way. The injured one has a sword wound in the ribs, badly festered. He was on horseback. The other was leading the horse. Each was wearing an ankle-length, straight robe, once light in color, but now very dirty. Their helmets are conical, with a spike on top.”

Shock tingled through Kerian’s body. “And their swords?”

“Long curved sabers that seem to have lost their guards—”

Her whoop of excitement caused everyone to flinch.

“Those are Khurish swords!” she shouted. “Did they give you their names?”

“The one leading the horse did. He speaks like a rough trooper, but gave a noble name: Ambrodel.”

“Hytanthas!”

With that, Kerian sprinted toward the rider, vaulted onto his horse’s rump, and cried, “Take me to him! I know him!”

Samar protested that the council was still in session, but Kerian ignored him. She kicked the horse into motion, and they clattered away across the square. They left Bianost by the east road then turned to cut across the burned squatters’ camp. Skirting an overgrown grove of apple trees, they galloped down a dirt path until they reached a knot of mounted guards.

“Where are the two strangers?” Kerian demanded.

The guards couldn’t see her very clearly but knew she wasn’t one of their officers. One asked her name.

“I’m Kerianseray, commander of the army of the Speaker of the Sun and Stars!”

It sounded most impressive, and every elf snapped to attention, not an easy task when mounted. They escorted her and the courier down a gully to a dry streambed choked with willow saplings. Sheltered from view by the high banks of the dry creek was a small campfire. Elves were gathered around it. Kerian slid off the horse and pushed through the elves until she reached the fireside.

Amid the polished ranks of royal guardsmen sat a particularly filthy elf. Matted hair fell across his gaunt face, but the blue eyes that looked up at Kerian were those of her young comrade.

“Hytanthas!”

He rose, too quickly, and staggered. The elves nearest bore him up.

“Commander? Lady?” He put out a thin hand as if to reassure himself he wasn’t hallucinating. Grinning widely, Kerian stepped forward and embraced him. He felt like a child in her grasp, all bones and airy sinew.