Sanctuary

A reward was considered. The Khurs were fond of elven steel, and the right price might buy more information. But the Speaker said such an offer would also raise a host of dubious opportunists. Hytanthas proclaimed his readiness to return to the city, and this Gilthas readily approved. The captain’s persona as a human desperado might yet yield additional important leads.

“Find this benefactor, Captain Ambrodel, and bring him before me. Whether he wants to come or not.”

Hytanthas saluted. When he departed, Planchet followed. Taking him aside, Planchet said, “Don’t risk yourself with this blackguard, Captain. If possible, bring him in alive, but if circumstances require it, don’t hesitate to kill him. Better this agitator should die than escape, or kill you.”

Hytanthas nodded. For all his youth, he was a veteran, having fought the Knights in the woods of Qualinesti. In his very first skirmish, the Knights had surrounded a nearby village and threatened to destroy it unless the Lioness and her companions surrendered. She would not, so the Knights slaughtered everyone in the village, from elders down to babes in arms. Two hundred thirty souls. Hytanthas never forgot his brutal initiation to war as fought by the Knights of Neraka.

Standing in the open square outside the Speaker’s great tent, valet and warrior were about to part when a commotion came to their ears. The byways of Khurinost were busy at this hour, and both elves strained fruitlessly to see beyond those thronging the paths, but it was obvious that the roar of voices was coming from the direction of Khuri-Khan.

“Sounds like a battle!” Hytanthas exclaimed.

“It’s trouble all right, but not warfare.”

Planchet borrowed a halberd from a guard standing watch outside the Speaker’s tent, then bade Hytanthas accompany him. “Come, Captain. Let’s see who makes such a noise on a hot morning. Maybe your mysterious sorcerer or the fell emissary of the Dark Order.”

To the ignorant, Hytanthas’s companion might have seemed a weak comrade to take into danger, but Planchet was no ordinary servant. He had commanded Qualinesti forces in the final battle to escape the collapsing kingdom, and his inspired leadership enabled thousands of elves to escape the net closing around Qualinost. Given a choice when confronting danger, Hytanthas would take Planchet over anyone else in the Speaker’s entourage-save the Lioness herself of course.

The paths through camp quickly clogged up with frightened elves, clutching bundles of goods and struggling to put distance between themselves and the city. Planchet and Hytanthas made repeated attempts to ask what was happening, but no one stopped long enough to answer. At last Planchet turned his halberd sideways, blocking the footpath from tent to tent. Like water caught behind a dam, elves filled the passage, seeking other ways out.

“What’s going on?” Planchet shouted as he struggled against the growing mob pushing against the shaft of his weapon.

“We were attacked in the Grand Souks!” an elf woman replied.

“They attacked everyone, or only elves?” asked Hytanthas.

“Only elves!”

Planchet moved out of the way, lifting the halberd. Refugees surged past. When the mob had thinned, Planchet and Hytanthas hurried on to the city.

The gate into Khuri-Khan was unguarded. The usual oddments of gear surrounding it-cloth sunshades for the soldiers, stools, and skins of wine and water hanging from posts-all had been knocked down and trampled. The gate itself stood open. A few steps inside they found a dead man, a Khurish guard. He’d been stabbed in the back.

The Lesser Souk had been sacked. Dozens of soukats, with their heads broken or worse, lay in the wreckage of their booths. Here and there, women and children tugged at the broken structures of cloth and lath, trying to find a lost husband or father, or to salvage the family inventory. Many of the beleaguered merchants stared with open hostility at Planchet as the two elves walked past. Hytanthas was still in his scruffy human disguise.

Whatever had happened was over in the Fabazz. Sounds of conflict echoed down the winding streets, growing fainter and farther away. The two elves had just decided to give up their search and return to Khurinost when a troop of the Khan’s soldiers burst from a side street. Their articulated coats of plate armor and spiked helmets gave them the look of exotic insects, swarming from a hidden nest.

One of the Khurs spoke, pointing a finger at the ostensible human and his elf companion. The rest of the foot soldiers turned as one to stare at them.

“Not good,” Planchet muttered, edging away. “I think I hear the Speaker calling.”

Hytanthas agreed. They backed away, never taking their eyes off the soldiers. The Khurish officer, recognizable by the bronze sunburst on his helmet, shouted at them to stop.

“What language is that?” Planchet said, still sidling away.

“Can’t understand a word he’s saying.”