Destiny

Inath-Wakenti, the ancient elf chronicles called it, the Vale of Silence, and silent it surely was. It lay on the northern edge of the Khurish desert, and not so much as a fly or flea called it home. Kerian had led the first reconnaissance party inside. They discovered the valley contained many secrets and nearly as many curses. Its plant life comprised mainly stunted pines and inedible scrub. Huge standing stones littered the valley floor, rising up white and bare of decoration from the oddly tinted blue-green soil. The elves suspected the stones were the ruins of some long-forgotten city but could discern no logic to their arrangement, so the stones’ true purpose remained a mystery. Stranger still, Inath-Wakenti was utterly devoid of animal life large or small, and by night it was infested with floating balls of light, will-o’-the-wisps, whose touch caused elves to vanish without a trace.

Eagle Eye veered upward suddenly, and Kerian leaned forward, gripping his sides more tightly with her knees. She made no other move, nor any sound. There was no need. Eagle Eye was a Royal griffon and more intelligent than many a two-legged creature Kerian had known. He seemed to understand the danger posed by the balls of light and knew they were in a race for their lives. Flying flat out wasn’t working; the will-o’-the-wisps continued to close. So Eagle Eye strained every sinew in a steep climb. The ground fell away with stomach-churning suddenness, and Kerian, attuned to the griffon’s every shift of weight and tensing of muscle, suddenly realized what he intended. She gave the leather belt around her waist a quick jerk to tighten it, and the horizon inverted.

Wings stretched wide, Eagle Eye soared over the top of the loop. Upside down, Kerian spared a look at her pursuers. Her heart sank. No longer a dozen, at least three times that number of glowing orbs chased her across the sky. They fanned out in a wide cone from her original position. Already, the half dozen in the lead were rising after her. They were pale, as if the effort of the chase was finally telling on them, leaching their color. Those farther back still pulsed in vibrant shades of green, blue, crimson, purple, and gold.

Eagle Eye rolled left, bringing them upright again. They had gained some breathing room but were flying in the wrong direction, deeper into the valley instead of south to the elves’ camp near its entrance.

As always, dusk had come early to Inath-Wakenti, the high, encircling mountains blotting out the sun’s light. In the course of the chase, the bright sky had darkened, but no stars had yet appeared. The will-o’ the-wisps stood out in brilliant relief against the indigo backdrop. Far below, Kerian could see more points of light glimmering among the twisted pines and featureless standing stones. A hundred?

Five hundred? A great many, in any case.

She urged Eagle Eye higher still. Insects could rise only to a certain height. Bats and small birds had a limit above which they could not fly. Perhaps the will-o’-the-wisps were likewise constrained.

She and six other griffon riders had left camp two hours before sunset to patrol the inner valley. In all their previous flights they’d not been troubled by will-o’-the-wisps. The eerie lights appeared at dusk, but none ever rose higher than treetop level. Tonight was different. The orbs suddenly appeared in midair all around the griffon patrol. Kerian had ordered the patrol to scatter. The sheer number of lights chasing her was a sort of grim triumph; perhaps none had gone after the others. Perhaps they and their griffons had made it back to camp unmolested.

Eagle Eye was panting deep in his chest as he climbed. Foamy sweat collected on his lion’s body, staining the white plumage of his neck and Kerian’s leather breeches. Her legs were achingly cold. But the desperate gamble was paying off. The lights had risen to maybe forty feet and swooped in flat circles, never rising any higher. By twos and threes, her erstwhile pursuers winked out like dying embers. Already the number of lights had fallen by half. They were giving up the chase.

Kerian was too exhausted to rejoice. She steered Eagle Eye in a wide turn for camp.

From that height she could see the silvery line of Lioness Creek, named in honor of Kerian herself. Beyond it burned the campfires of her people’s temporary home. The survivors of Qualinesti and Silvanesti were crammed into the narrow strip of land between the valley’s mouth and the creek, thousands packed into an area that represented the only safety from the nomads outside and the mysterious forces in the valley.

Eagle Eye had fallen into an easy lope. Once every four or five beats, he held his wings out and glided. He was very tired.