Sanctuary

Sithelbathan shook his head. “Barbarous name. Doesn’t sound like any language I’ve ever heard.”

Favaronas spat a date seed into his hand. “I am certain it is a corruption of Vedvedsica.”

The Speaker, Planchet, and Sithelbathan looked at the archivist with new respect. Kerian, lacking their formal education, didn’t recognize the name. Favaronas explained its significance.

“Vedvedsica was one of the earliest great mages of Silvanesti. In the beginning, he was an ally of the Speaker, and a vassal of Balif, but he committed a crime and was banished from the realm.”

Balif was a name Kerian knew. He had been a great warrior, and a celebrated general. “What crime?” she asked.

Gilthas said, “No one knows. It was so awful, Speaker Sithas proscribed any mention of it in the annals of his reign. It fell to Balif to arrest the mage and consign him to a prison on the remote frontier.”

“And in return, the vile sorcerer contrived his lord’s ruin,” Sithelbathan said grimly. “Balif, a fine, brave elf, was transformed into a twisted, shrunken, hideous creature. He vanished soon after, unable to dwell in Silvanesti ever again.”

Silence fell. The long-ago fate of the elf general had a painful relevance for those around the table. Were they not also banished from their homelands? Perhaps they, too, might never be able to dwell there again.

The hour was late, the tent city quiet. The night wind set the roof of the Speaker’s tent to shivering, and the sound suddenly seemed an extra presence at the table. Unconsciously, Kerian edged closer to Gilthas. Ignoring protocol, he slipped an arm around her waist.

“‘Even the bones of wizards turn to dust,’ “Favaronas muttered.

The quote from the bard Sevastithanas broke the gloomy moment. Planchet moved to refill their cups, and Favaronas recounted the later history of the Inath-Wakenti.

A kingpriest of Istar had received a prophecy, warning of a coming disaster. The only place on the entire continent that would not be changed by the catastrophe was the Valley of the Blue Sands, since where the gods once walked, nature held no sway. The Kingpriest sent an expedition to the valley; it was never heard from again. Later, dwarf prospectors from Thoradin found the valley and set up a mining operation. The project yielded rich placer deposits of silver, but was so bedeviled by accidents and serious injuries that the miners abandoned it after less than a year. During the bakali breeding migration in the days of the old Ergoth Empire, a band of human tribesmen stumbled on the valley and escaped marauding lizard-men by hiding there. For a time the humans flourished, sending trading parties to Istar and Silvanesti, but after a few years the trade diminished, then died out altogether.

The last mention of the valley in the temple archives was from a Knight of Solamnia who wandered through after the Cataclysm. He reported the valley untouched by the upheaval.

“And?” the Lioness prompted, when Favaronas paused to take a drink.

And nothing, lady,” he replied, shrugging one shoulder. “That’s the only information contained in that entry.”

Since that time, he told them, the rise of the desert nomads had choked off contact with the Vale of Silence. Nomads who lived in the region regarded it as a forbidden place, while the rest of the tribes gradually forgot about it or, like the city. dwelling Khurs, relegated it to the realm of fable.

The oil lamps on the low table sputtered as their fuel ran low. Favaronas had finished his story, but added a final warning: “The temple annals are couched in the most vague and circuitous terms, Great Speaker, and required much interpolation and extrapolation on my part.”

Gilthas was nodding thoughtfully. Kerian leaned close and nudged his cheek with her nose. “Well?” she said. “Do I go, or no?”

He smiled in his gentle, slightly sad way. “Of course. Master Favaronas, too. Our people must have a sanctuary. The Inath-Wakenti maybe the place.”

The archivist already had agreed to the journey, but when the Speaker asked Sithelbathan if he would like to go as well, the Silvanesti mapmaker quickly declined.

“Afraid of ghosts?” the Lioness teased.

The spare, neatly dressed elf drew his robe close around his neck. “Yes, lady,” he said. “I am.”

Chapter 4