Sanctuary

No. Elves must take control of elven destiny once more. If Gilthas and his soft advisors couldn’t see this, someone would have to show them the way. They clung to an imaginary life, thinking protocol and precedence mattered, thinking politeness and accommodation would keep their people safe. Someone would have to make them understand reality.

The first step to saving the elven race was right here. They must take Khuri-Khan, and use it as their base for striking outward from Khur. Gilthas always had been reluctant to confront Sahim because the human khan had offered the elves sanctuary during their time of trouble, but that sanctuary had come to have much too high a price—and Kerian wasn’t thinking only of steel and silver. The life they’d been forced to live, begging humans for every scrap they received, was draining the heart and soul from her people. Sahim-Khan was a liar, a schemer, and a greedy bandit. He deserved no consideration, and less mercy.

With Khuri-Khan in their hands, the elves would have access to the sea. Ships could be commandeered or built, and the Lioness and her fighters would harry the coasts of Silvanesti and Qualinesti. Ships of their former conquerors could be taken, and raids mounted on coastal towns. There were islands with temperate climates in the Southern and Eastern Courrain that would fall to a determined attack. The new elven nation would be a seafaring nation, building their wealth and power against the day they would take back their ancestral lands.

That day would come. Fists clenched, Kerian swore to herself it would come, and not in some dim, distant future, but soon. Very soon.

She got to her feet, dressing quickly in her dirty garments. It was obvious that talking to Gilthas and his advisors would be pointless. She would make her case to the warriors. Like herself, they understood the realities of life. With them behind her, Gilthas would be forced to listen to her. He could be made to see the logical perfection of her plan.

It was fully dark outside, and the wind rushed through the lanes, first one way, then back the other. Rosy haloes glowed inside the clouds overhead. The strange sight halted Kerian, despite the fervor of purpose burning in her breast. Lightning was white or bluish. Even in the gods-blasted wastes of Khur, lightning wasn’t red.

As she navigated the twisting byways on her way to the warriors’ quarter, she encountered no one. However, she quickly knew she was not alone. A hundred yards from Hamaramis’s tent she glimpsed shadows moving behind her. Senses honed by years on the run warned her. The next time there was a flash of scarlet lightning, Kerian whirled abruptly. She saw no one, but had no doubt she was being followed—and by more than one person.

She shucked the scabbard from her sword.

Cooking smoke drifted through the lane. Small black shapes flitted overhead, making faint chirping noises. She’d seen bats in Khur just one other time, the night the ash leaves had fallen on her. Recent events had driven the omen from her mind. Now that memory returned full force.

She continued her march up the alley, making as much noise as she could without being too obvious. Reaching a three-way intersection, she sprang to her right and sprinted down the winding path, taking long strides and landing only on her toes. An old Kagonesti trick, to foil trackers.

She ran far enough to lose her breath, then ducked behind a cloth merchant’s stall, its flaps closed for the night. The bats still flickered overhead, dodging between the canvas rooftops. When they had passed, silence descended. No sounds of pursuit reached her ears. She stepped out of hiding to continue on her way, and her bare feet trod on soft, green leaves.

Without looking, she knew they were ash leaves.

Fresh air teased her back. Turning, she glanced back along the twisting lane. The overlapping edges of the fabric roofs flapped lazily, then settled again. Wind puffed down the path, making the tents belly in and out like the breathing of enormous animals. All but one. One tent didn’t flex-because someone was pressed against it.

Kerian set her feet firmly and gripped her sword hilt in both hands. She didn’t have long to wait.

Four figures dashed into view. The leader held a hooded lamp, and when he saw Kerian he opened the shutter wide. Bright light dazzled her, so she lunged forward and swatted the brass lamp away. It landed in the sand, flickered, and kept burning, but less brightly.