Sanctuary

He paused as Planchet poured them both another measure of nectar. Kerian, despite her skepticism, found herself caught by his evident conviction. She waved off Planchet’s offer of drink and urged her husband to continue.

“The other maps are all copies of copies of copies,” Gilthas said. “This map is an original. The human who drew it knew of Inath-Wakenti because he’d been there himself!”

He could give no plausible explanation for why later copyists would omit the valley, saying only, “Everyone in Khuri-Khan speaks of the place lightly. Even the city priests dismiss it as a legend-all but one. I don’t know whether the spot is cursed or blessed, but I intend to find out.”

Kerianseray suddenly realized what was coming. “You want me to go there,” she said. He nodded, the smile returning to his face. Her next words chased it away again. “Gil,” she said, “this valley is nothing more than a romantic fable. Even if it were real, it isn’t our homeland, and never can be.”

“The lands of our ancestors are lost. We do not have the strength to regain them-not yet. That time will come, my love, but for now, for the near future, we must dwell in a land of our own and not live by the grace of the Khurs. This forgotten valley could be our best hope!”

“It’s a pretty dream, I admit, but nonetheless a complete waste of time. Give me twenty thousand warriors, and I will set the frontiers of our true homelands aflame! We can take back what is ours!”

His demeanor hardened, and it was the Speaker of the Sun and Stars, not her husband, who said firmly, “Preparations for an expedition have begun. I expect you to lead it, General.”

“I see. As you command, Great Speaker.”

The mocking words fell like lead weights at his feet. She would have continued arguing, but he cut her off.

“I’ve chosen Favaronas, one of the foremost historians in my service”—he’d almost said in Qualinost—“to accompany you. You will lead an escort of five hundred warriors.”

She frowned, questioning the wisdom of sending so small a party. Gilthas reminded her that the mission was exploration, not conquest.

“Exploration?” she repeated. “This is a wild-goose chase. We should return to the Thon-Thalas and raise the people of Silvanesti against the minotaurs!”

“I have made my decision! The matter is closed!”

Planchet, devoutly wishing he were elsewhere, glanced from monarch to general, husband to wife. The burden of recent days was taking its toll. Never had he heard so open and bitter a breach between them.

“You are Speaker of the Sun and Stars. Twill do my duty,” the Lioness said at last. There was no sarcasm in her voice, but her tone was icy.

She made as if to go, but Gilthas, relaxing in the face of her agreement, forestalled her. “You need not begin the journey just yet. I have another task I wish you to undertake right away, one for which you are uniquely qualified.”

She brightened, and in her expression he saw visions of daring raids on griffonback, the clash of steel on steel. The Speaker smiled benignly at his bold general.

“I need you to visit a priestess.”

* * * * *

The bed trembled. Composed of rope netting stretched between four posts and topped by a thin, cotton-stuffed mattress, it tended to shake with little provocation. Gilthas, ever cautious, opened his eyes and silently took in the situation.

His private quarters were lit by the soft light of a blue bulls-eye lamp which hung from the tent post by the door. The simple canvas stools and chairs around the bed were empty. Kerianseray lay by his side, face down, rigid as a statue. Her hands, balled into hard fists, gripped the mattress. Every few seconds her whole body shook.

He touched her shoulder lightly, trying to ease her out of the dream. Her skin was dry and fever hot. She did not wake. He murmured her name several times, but still she did not rouse. When he laid his hand on her cheek, she sprang to life, rolling over so hard and fast she knocked him from the bed. He rolled out of the way as his wife fought unseen enemies. He heard the bedsheet tear in her hands.

“Kerian!” he yelled. “Wake up!”

She sat bolt upright, breathing hard. “Gil? You’re here?” she said hoarsely, peering at him through the tangled curtain of her hair.

“You’re in Khurinost, my love, in our bedchamber. You were dreaming.”

At the head of the bed on Gilthas’s side was a cupboard on which sat a jug of tepid water and a tin basin. Kerian sloshed water into the basin and bathed her face. Gilthas came up behind her, hesitated a second, then wrapped her in his arms. She leaned back, pressing her head into the hollow of his neck.

“Were you battling minotaurs?” he asked. She nodded, but didn’t explain further. He suggested, “A burden shared is a burden lightened.”

It took time, but eventually she gave in, telling a dreadful tale. Her pain was palpable in the darkened room, and Gilthas had to force himself to remain quiet, so as not to interrupt the flow of her story.