Sanctuary

Sahim was intrigued by Kerianseray’s argument. The laddad had neatly escaped the massacre charge. Thickheaded nomads might still believe the elves had done it, but word would circle the city within hours and the cityfolk would think otherwise. Sand beasts were nearly legendary nowadays, so rarely were they seen, but every Khur knew the stories of their savagery. In olden times, a single sand beast had been known to rip through a herd of two hundred cattle or sheep in a single night. In the territories where the monsters once dwelt in numbers, nomad bands had to erect timber fences to defend their night camps. Even then, many tribesmen still were slain. To have one turn up here, within the city’s wall, was indeed a wonder.

Neatly done, lady, Sahim thought, as he reentered the citadel.

Unfortunately, his thoughts turned to Faeterus, and all trace of amusement vanished. He was rapidly losing patience with the wretched mage. Faeterus’s machinations were costing the throne of Khur far more than his services were worth. Something would have to be done about that. Soon.

Some distance away, atop the citadel, near where he’d loosed the amazing arrow, Shobbat watched the elves depart and Khurish soldiers drag the dead sand beast away. The smell of corruption reached him even at this height. He turned away, holding a perfumed cloth over his nose.

“Potent smell, isn’t it?”

Shobbat flinched. Faeterus was there, where he had not been an instant before.

“I didn’t send for you!” the prince gasped.

“I wanted a good vantage point for the spectacle.” The hooded mage went to the edge of the balcony and peered down, resting his long fingers on the parapet. “Ugly creature. I wonder how it got from the desert to the city? Surely someone ought to have noticed it wandering through an open gate.”

“It appears to have come here from the Valley of the Blue Sands in a single night,” Shobbat said, rubbing his hands together. They were unaccountably cold. “It came straight to you. Did you summon it?”

“Certainly not. The stupid creature wanted to kill me. This incident will bear some study.”

“Don’t come here again, Faeterus. It’s too dangerous for me.”

The hood turned away from the distant view. “Yes, it is,” Faeterus agreed, and then was gone.

Shobbat’s legs were trembling. He sat abruptly on the sandstone bench at his back. The mage was out of control, coming and going from the palace at will. Something would have to be done about that. Soon.

Still, he had every reason to feel confident. The elves had made it to the valley, but they’d not stayed. Surely this would overturn the Oracle’s prophecy. He had rid himself of Hengriff, who first bribed him, then blackmailed him about the bribery.

The memory of Hengriff’s death brought a small smile. In some ways that had been a trial run for the removal of his father. Murder behind closed doors was no good. It aroused opponents, and gave traitors the mantle of pursuing justice. The best assassinations were carried out in public, with loyal supporters standing by. Many of Sahim-Khan’s guards were already in Shobbat’s pay. More would follow. Then Shobbat would strike.

Soon.

Chapter 14

Favaronas awoke with a start.

The monstrous creatures of his nightmare were still vivid in his mind, and he ached as if he’d been wrestling a legion of attackers. Three hundred sixteen years he had lived, and here he was sleeping in the desert, dodging murderous nomads, and prowling haunted tunnels. The lovingly shaped halls of Qualinost were far away, in time and distance. How he missed his old life there! The measured pace of the royal library, the smell of venerable parchment, the dust of time collected on the wisdom of the ages. He feared all of that was lost forever.

Profoundly thirsty, he sat up slowly and reached for a handy waterskin. The collar securing the spout was a ring of polished tin. It made a small but perfect mirror. In its mirrored surface he glimpsed something on his reflection that brought a gasp of shock.

Across his neck were four deep, parallel scratches.

He cried out, dropping the leather waterskin and clutching his throat. The wounds did not hurt, but he could feel the beads of clotted blood clinging to them. It had not been a dream! The bloodthirsty shapechangers were real. He had to tell Glanthon at once.

The sun was just peering over the featureless horizon. Its light was faint, as the sky was layered with dull white clouds.

Scrambling up the hill to Glanthon’s tent, Favaronas found himself caught by the sight. He’d not seen an overcast sky since coming to Khur. It actually looked as though rain was possible. He glanced back at his bedroll, to make certain his parchments were covered.

One of the stone cylinders had unfurled.