Sanctuary

Most of the Weya-Lu accepted their leader’s judgment that the elves were responsible for the atrocity. A few, like Wapah and Bilath, were troubled by the lack of evidence linking the slaughter to the laddad, but even they had to admit there seemed no other explanation. Sahim-Khan certainly was ruthless enough, but he stood to gain nothing from the killing. Besides, his army was bottled up in the capital, watching the elven host and guarding against any sudden coup. Knights of Neraka or wayward bands of ogres or minotaurs might be responsible, but none were known to be in the area. The only foreigners in Khur were the elves, and elven cavalry had certainly been close by.

A council of war was called for late in the afternoon. The land hereabouts was not the best for battle. Bad for horses, the ground was uneven, covered by shelves of rock tumbled from the Pillars of Heaven long ago. Clumps of thorny creeper made the footing even more hazardous. Still, it would have to do. The council gathered on a great shelf of slate, settling into its traditional ranks. The outermost ring was composed of elder warriors, the middle ring of war chiefs, and the inner ring of clan chiefs.

Etosh wanted to divide the nomad force in two and hide one band on either side of the pass. When the laddad were firmly committed to the single track into the valley, the furious nomads would have them in a vise.

Adala listened silently to the plan. She was darning a rip in a horsehair poncho belonging to a Weya-Lu man who no longer had wife or sisters to do the task for him; all had died in the massacre. Turning the garment over, she tested the stitches with her thumbnail and found them strong. When Etosh finished speaking, she announced, “Your plan is wrong. The Weya-Lu won’t follow it.”

He took her judgment in silence, but the clan chiefs asked why she’d vetoed the scheme. It had their approval.

“Never divide your forces in the face of the enemy,” she said, “even if you are greater in number.”

Leaning forward, she used a darning needle to draw a pair of lines in the sand. The lines were at right angles to each other. “This is how we’ll take them. This part of the warband”—she indicated the north-south line—“will attack the laddad first from the side, while the others”—the east-west line—“will swing in behind them, cutting off their retreat.”

“Like the jaws of a panther,” said Wapah, seeing the deadliness of Adala’s plan. Her strategy had the advantage of never separating the nomads, while still striking the elves on two sides.

Gwarali, an elder fighter, disagreed. Adala’s battle plan left two routes for the elves to escape: westward through the foothills, and north into the valley.

“If they go in either direction, their doom is certain,” Adala said. “West takes them farther away from their people at Khuri-Khan, and we can drive them into the Burning Sands of the south. There they perish.” She folded the mended garment neatly, laying it over her lap. “If they go north, we’ll have them in a bottle.”

“Yes, but they’ll be in the valley!” said Gwarali.

“And I will ask the gods to punish them for their blasphemy.”

At this, some men not of the Leaping Spider Clan openly snickered. Adala’s dark eyes flashed.

“You dare mock Them! Those on High have placed me here to do Their will, and do it I shall, unto death!”

Gwarali, a great, bear-like man with a reddish beard and broad belly, said soothingly, “Now sister, how can you say that? Have the High Ones appeared to you?”

“Not directly, but Their will is plain. My husband was taken by death, placing me, the Weyadan, at the head of my people. My husband’s blood cousin, Wapah, was chosen by the Prince of Khur to lead him to the Oracle, thereby warning us of the laddad’s intent to steal our land and usurp the gods. Why else would these things have happened except to place the defense of our sacred land in my hands?”

“Maita.”

The word, murmured by Wapah, meant “fate,” but with the connotation of an outcome predestined by the gods, something no mortal could escape.

A few clan elders were still skeptical, but they took care to be polite about it. Gwarali tried to steer the discussion back to Etosh’s plan to ambush the elves, but the Weyadan would not bend.

She stood abruptly. This usually signaled the end of a council, and the men around her were startled by her breech of manners.

“Stay where you are!” she commanded. “I will show you my maita.”