Sanctuary

“We must meet this storm and see if it is a true tempest or only the ravings of a sun-maddened prince,” she said.

She stood. Extending her arm, she swept the circle, pointing to each man in turn. “We will go to the City by the Sea. We will see what the laddad are about. If they are quiet, and cleave to the will of the Khan, we will leave them in peace. But if they intend to invade the valley, we must stop them. The oracle said the laddad would not rule if they were kept from the Valley of the Blue Sands. By our blood, it is our duty to keep them out. The sacred land of Khur will endure.”

She completed the circle, adding, “Your oaths on it, as men of Weya-Lu!”

Readily they swore, the burden of the oath light just now. No man present knew how heavy it might prove.

Messengers were sent out right away. Other tribes in the region would be told of this threat. If the elves moved toward the valley, it would mean war.

Some southern tribes freely raided elven caravans, picked off stray laddad riders, even attacked small camps. As a warrior people, they treated all strangers in their land thus. Over the years the elves had grown in number as more arrived in exile, and they showed no signs of leaving. Adala had even heard reports of elves in the Weya-Lu’s ancestral city, Delphon. The city was a sinkhole of iniquity and vice (as all cities were), but it was the font of the Weya-Lu tribe. For foreigners—not even human ones—to be there, contaminating the tombs and temples of the tribe’s great ancestors, was a bitter draught to swallow. But as long as the laddad remained at Khuri-Khan and other cities, the nomads could ignore them. However, if Sahim-Khan allowed them to spread across the vastness of the open desert, then the people of the desert would rise up and proclaim a new khan.

And not the spoiled Shobbat; he was as wicked and godless as his father. A new dynasty must be established, a house of virtue and strength.

Such were Adala’s thoughts as she crossed the blinding expanse of sand to her tent. Ducking under the flap, she flipped the sun veil back over her head and left such worldly concerns outside with the sun. Chisi had scoured the griddle and hung it from a tent pole to cool. The brass mixing bowl was rinsed clean.

With no more distracting thoughts of elves or cities or immoral monarchs, Adala dipped a hand in a basket of dried lentils. One, two, three handfuls clattered into the bowl. More water from the jug, to soak the stone-hard, brown seeds. Lentils went well with bread. She only hoped she had enough salt to season them properly.

* * * * *

Without fanfare, the Lioness led her small force out of Khurinost before sunrise.

If the Speaker’s expensive map could be trusted, the Inath-Wakenti was more than two hundred miles away. The trip would take them across the High Plateau, some of the worst desert in Khur, with no wells, no oases, and no hospitable life for most of the way. According to Khurish records, rain had not fallen on the High Plateau in a hundred years, so every elf carried water, water, and more water. Spare arms and most armor were left behind, to allow the horses to bear a heavier burden of liquid. In consultation with Sithelbathan, Kerian had sketched out a route north by east, skirting the caravan trail to Kortal, which was rife with Nerakan spies. Each member of the expedition was provided with a copy of the map, so if he became separated from the main body, he would know where to go.

An experienced professional, Kerian completed her own preparations for the journey fairly quickly. This left her a few precious hours to spend as Gilthas’s wife and not as the commander of his army. She puzzled anew over the seeming contradiction of her husband and king. He was both the gentlest person she’d ever known, and the toughest. Gilthas could give his last crust of bread to a hungry person in the street, then in the next breath, sentence a malefactor to death. He did not posture or preen as Speaker of the Sun and Stars, but honestly cared for every soul under his rule and for the long-range welfare of his realm.

Neither of them spoke of the task Kerian faced or her lack of faith in its purpose. Clad only in candlelight, they sat on their bed, facing each other, heads bowed, her forehead resting on her husband’s shoulder.

Gilthas breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of her, striving to lock the memory firmly in his heart. Her unbound hair cascaded over them both. The feel of it curling against his shoulders was one of the sweetest sensations he had ever known.

“Will you take Eagle Eye?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head. The motion caused her hair to sweep slowly across his upper back. Gilthas shivered. “No, you know he frightens the horses. They will be nervous enough. And he drinks more water than a dragon.”

Kerian felt her husband smile against her shoulder. “I have a salve for you,” he said. “The apothecary Redinivis brought it. He said it will keep you from getting sunburned.”