Alliances

They moved by night, resting under the overhanging trees by day. Spies and informers were everywhere in the dark heart of the ruined elf kingdom. Daily Alhana’s vanguard flushed goblins out of the woods, slaying them without mercy. Surprise was one of their few assets. They couldn’t afford to have their position betrayed too soon.

Caution, as well as the laden wagons and the many civilians on foot, kept their pace slow. Samar chafed at the delays.

“What a miserable crawl! Oh, for the days when royal elves flew into battle on the backs of griffons! No foe could stand before them!”

“As I recall, the imperial hordes of Ergoth managed,” Chathendor said dryly.

That launched the two on an involved discussion of the tactics and strategy of the long-ago Kinslayer War. They proved well matched. Samar was a student of history, and Chathendor had once been a warrior of considerable prowess.

They rode in company with Alhana and Kerian. Nalaryn remained with his clan, which kept to the fringes of the woods on each side of the road. Porthios, as was his wont, came and went without a word, disappearing and rejoining the march at will.

Alhana rode slower and slower. So caught up in their argument were Samar and Chathendor, they never noticed her falling behind. Kerian circled back to collect her.

“Alhana, you must keep up,” the Lioness chided.

“If we had griffons, it would redress many imbalances,” Alhana mused.

It would indeed. Kerian mentioned her own griffon, Eagle Eye, who had seen her through many tight spots.

“But he’s far away, within Khur,” Kerian finished awkwardly. She reached for the bridle of Alhana’s white mare. “Highness, we should catch up to the column.”

Alhana shook off her reverie. She regarded Kerian for a thoughtful moment. “Would you call me ‘aunt’?” she asked. “We are family, are we not, Kerianseray? And I have so little family left.”

Surprised by the request, Kerian consented readily enough. She was even more surprised when Alhana leaned sideways and rested a hand on her shorn head. “Your beautiful hair,” Alhana said mournfully. “I know it was hardly the worst that might have happened, but it was a vicious, hurtful thing for them to have done.”

Kerian realized her mistake. “Oh, it wasn’t Olin’s trash who cut it. I did it myself, before they caught me. Seemed a good idea to conceal my identity.”

Alhana blinked at her for a heartbeat then exclaimed, “What an indomitable spirit you have, niece!”

Kerian flashed her a grin, and they urged their horses into a trot, catching up with Samar and Chathendor then passing them.

The column was still more than eight miles from the Lake of Death when signs of the devastation appeared. Broken treetops, toppled markers, and blasted hedges spoke of a huge explosion. The shattered treetops sprouted new leaves, but the effects of Beryl’s fall were unmistakable.

The Kagonesti grew restless. Normally the most uncomplaining of elves, they dragged their feet. None wanted to penetrate farther into the blighted site of Qualinost. Theryontas and the volunteers from Bianost, who had been at the rear of the line, passed the balking foresters. Kerian had to double back to speak to the laggards.

“This land is cursed!” one insisted, and another said, “All who enter will be tainted by evil!”

“I fell in the lake when I first arrived, and I survived,” she told them. Of course, soon thereafter she was captured by slavers, beaten, starved, and nearly flayed alive. Perhaps there was something to their fears after all.

The end of the caravan rounded a bend, leaving Kerian and the Kagonesti behind.

“I can’t force you to come,” she said. “But what would the Great Lord have you do?”

“We will ask him,” said Nalaryn, pointing behind her.

She whipped around in the saddle and saw Porthios limping along the edge of the road. She rode to him, asking where he’d been.

“Here and there. I had tasks to perform.”

“I saved a horse for you. You could ride with Alhana.”

Even shadowed by the mask, Kerian knew his eyes were glaring at her. “Keep your mind on your own affairs,” he snapped.

We are family, are we not?

Kerian knew no feeling of kinship with the short-tempered, arrogant elf before her, but with Alhana’s plaintive question echoing in her mind, she inclined her head with unusual diplomacy to the former Speaker of the Sun and explained the Kagonesti’s reluctance to proceed.

“They are wise. This land is poisoned.” His mood shifting abruptly, he suddenly added, “Of course! It’s perfect for our purpose! Even brutish humans cannot but be sickened by its miasma. The lake will cover our line of march!”

“What do you mean?” Kerian asked.

He told her. They would continue on their current path and not turn north, as Kerian had planned. Instead, they would circumnavigate the Lake of Death: skirt the north shore, turn south to pass around the eastern end, and at last return along the southern shore.

“To what purpose?” Kerian demanded.

“We will strike Mereklar.”