Destiny

Confused questions traveled round the crowd. Their Speaker was ill? How ill? He must be very sick indeed to miss so momentous a gathering. Seeing the Lioness’s very evident worry only exacerbated their concern and frightened exclamations erupted.

“Perhaps a litter should be sent for him,” Alhana murmured to Kerian as the noise level increased.

“Cease your chattering!”

Porthios’s command sliced through the crowd’s babble He walked up the slight incline to the higher end of the granite slab. Most of the elves quieted; the rest were shushed by their neighbors. If they were to hear his hoarse voice, all must be silent. Although they were willing to listen, a great many averted their eyes from Porthios’ damaged form.

“We are here,” he stated, “to decide matters far more important than the life of one elf.”

Kerian took an angry step toward him, but Alhana held back, hissing, “No! The people must not see us argue.”

“Then they’d better close their eyes,” Kerian growled but remained where she was, for the moment.

Porthios continued. “The only question we face is this: Shall we remain here and die of starvation or be carried off by the phantoms beyond the creek, or shall we take back what is rightfully ours?”

A large number of warriors thrust their swords and spear skyward, shouting lusty approval. The mob of civilians before Porthios did not echo their fervor.

“Did we endure the desert crossing only to straggle back again?” asked General Taranath, a highly regarded Qualinesti veteran and the Lioness’s second-in-command.

“Not straggle-strike!” Porthios rasped, straining his scarred throat to speak more loudly. “A burning brand has been thrown into the tinderbox of Qualinesti. With the army we have here, we can fan that blaze into a conflagration that will consume the invaders and give us back our country!”

“You speak of the army. What of the people? Are they to cross desert, mountains, and sea with nothing more than the rags on their backs? They would not survive such a march.”

Taranath’s statement was no more than simple truth. While some still hailed Porthios’s call to liberate Qualinesti, it was clear Taranath’s position had the greater support. Most of those gathered on the alien soil of Inath-Wakenti were not firebrands or warriors. They had fled their homelands to escape genocide, endured years of exile in a hostile land, fought off nomad warriors with rocks and bare hands at times, and followed their Speaker across the desert cauldron to reach the valley he had promised would be a new home. Now Porthios stood there telling them their sacrifices had been for naught, that they must turn around and go back into the desert, with diminished supplies of food and water, easy prey for nomad attacks and the murderous heat. Any who managed to survive the long journey to Qualinesti would face Samuval’s bandit horde, perhaps even the dreaded Knights of Neraka, or the army of minotaurs said to be spreading across the continent.

“What choice do they have? Should they stay here and starve?” Samar demanded of Taranath.

Hamaramis, commander of the Speaker’s private guard, shook his head. “None need starve. The valley may be devoid of life, but there’s game in the high hills. With griffon riders to spot for us, we can send hunting parties after game.”

Samar snorted. “For how long?”

“Until crops can be planted and harvested.”

“How do you know anything will grow in this dismal spot?”

And so it went. Porthios, Samar, and Alhana wanted to go. Taranath and most of the crowd believed remaining was the only choice. Hamaramis, unflaggingly loyal to his Speaker, was uncertain. While the argument raged, Kerian turned and stared toward the valley mouth and the torrid wasteland beyond. She hated the desert and everything about it. Her brief time in the green forests of home, drenched in blood though that time had been, had only heightened her loathing for all things Khurish. Taranath, finally noticing her silence, asked for her opinion of Porthios’s plan.

“No One wants to go home more than I,” she said, her gaze roaming slowly over the crowd. “I have been back to Qualinesti. I have seen what the bandits are doing. Slavery squalor, senseless death-that’s what our country lives with every day.

“Here, we are safe from nomads and bandits, but…“ Her voice trailed off, and she shook her head. “This is not a place to live. It’s a place to die.” She gestured toward the monoliths beyond the creek. “Our headstones are already in place.”

Porthios sensed the subtle shift in the crowd’s emotions. They were wavering, ready to be swayed. He spoke quickly, grasping the advantage.

“Come back with us, Lioness. The army of Qualinesti is yours to command. With you at its head, the army will liberate our rightful lands in no time!”

A cheer erupted from the warriors, and they began to chant, “Liberation! Liberation!”