Sanctuary

“Ride where?” said another injured officer. “The only thing in front of us is wasteland!”

“That’s what they want,” the Lioness said. Absently, she stroked Eagle Eye’s feathered neck. “To drive us out and let the desert kill us.”

“Let’s stand and fight, then!” said the first elf. Others, despite their hurts, loudly seconded this declaration.

Kerian shook her head. Even if they managed to wipe out the attackers, they’d lose half their strength in the battle. Each and every warrior was precious these days. Expelled from their homelands, the elves had only the resources they’d been able to carry with them. Horses and trained fighters were more valuable than any amount of steel or precious jewels.

She scratched her head, dislodging a cascade of sand from her hair. The thick curls resisted her efforts to confine them in a braid, so she tied them back with a leather thong.

Her battered army was watching her, waiting for orders. No matter how gravely wounded, their heads were unbowed. If she ordered it, each and every one would fight—and most would die. Such an order was unthinkable. The preservation of the army was far more important than a fleeting gesture against the minotaurs.

She put a foot in the stirrup of Eagle Eye’s slim saddle and swung onto the griffon’s back. As she settled herself, the sea of expectant faces continued to regard her in silence.

“The army will march east, to the sea,” she announced.

Some were openly stunned. While the coastline was less harsh than the deep desert, it was also subject to the watchful eyes of the minotaur fleet. Escaping detection would be impossible. The enemy could cruise along and land troops ahead of the retreating elves at any point.

Those who had served with the Lioness in her long campaign against the Knights of Neraka were not shocked, however. They knew she wasn’t desperate or reckless, knew she must have some bold device in mind.

Quietly, she added, “I need volunteers.” Although she didn’t specify a duty, all present suddenly realized what she was about to say. The officers straightened to attention, volunteering one and all.

“I need a covering force to delay the minotaurs. To make a stand.” She gestured to a slight rise among the gnarled junipers. “There, on that knoll.”

Hytanthas Ambrodel opened his mouth, but before he could speak, she waved a hand. “No, not you, Captain. I need you for something else.”

He didn’t recognize this for the kindly falsehood it was. The Lioness’s weary face gave nothing away, but she wanted to spare the too young, too ardent captain this particular task. She had lost too many like him on this campaign.

A Silvanesti named Baranthalonus, a veteran, saluted. “General, allow me the honor.”

She asked him why. His sunburned face turned south, hazel eyes growing distant, as if seeing the green land that still lay beyond the horizon. “I should like to die at least close to Silvanesti land,” he said simply.

“Very well. Pick a band of five hundred, all good archers. Fix the enemy here for at least a day.”

A tall order, but Baranthalonus nodded. “The five hundred should be Silvanesti.”

None objected to the implicit gibe. Silvanesti were known for considering themselves superior to all races, including other elves. Ordinarily the Lioness would not have tolerated such a provocative statement, but these circumstances were hardly ordinary, and this elf had volunteered for death.

With a shrug, she said, “I wish you had Kith-Kanan himself.”

“He was Qualinesti, General.”

The jest elicited hoarse chuckles from the others. “Well, you’ll have at least one in your company who’s not of the star-born.” She indicated herself.

Her officers protested. As commander of the army, she must not place herself in such peril.

“I’ll do what I think is best for the army,” she snapped, cutting off the protests.

Hytanthas was sent to bring Taranath forward. As the Lioness’s second-in-command, he would lead in her absence.

Four other Silvanesti officers asked to join Baranthalonus, so he sent them through the ranks to pick five hundred warriors. In short order the covering force was assembled on the gravelly knoll. All of the army’s remaining arrows were turned over to them. The archers chose their places with care, each surrounding himself with a hedge of arrows, points thrust into the coarse sand. One of the archers, the Lioness never knew which, yielded his food and waterskin to a comrade who was continuing the march. In rapid order, every elfin the covering force willingly surrendered his precious rations, then knelt to await the enemy’s arrival.

Lord Taranath arrived. Formerly a commander in the royal guard of Qualinost, he was an unusually tall elf. This, together with his somewhat rounded ears, had always encouraged speculation about a mixed parentage. Taranath was renowned for coolness in battle, and such insults were the only things that stirred him to rage. Given his prowess with a sword, he was not often insulted.