She looped her sword belt over the pommel of her saddle and left her dagger, still sheathed, as well. Hytanthas reminded her that they must be out of the city by sunset. She nodded. That deadline was still hours away.
Sahim-Khan had decreed, ostensibly for the elves’ own safety, that no
Four men in Khurish attire had darted into the courtyard through the only opening in the wall. Over their linen gebs each wore an
The Lioness had swiftly drawn her sword. “Keep off!” she warned them. “We’ve business with the holy priestess and no quarrel with you.”
“We’ve a quarrel with you,
Unlike the city guards at the gate, these humans seemed unfamiliar with their foes. Three of them went for Hytanthas, thinking him the greater threat. Only one was left to engage the Lioness. Her sword flashed up, thrusting at the man’s throat. With unexpected agility, the fellow parried her thrust and riposted. She turned aside his attack, but the slick surface of the limestone betrayed her. She slid-not far, but enough to throw off her balance. She felt the man’s blade nick her left ear.
He chuckled. She distinctly heard him. Quickly, he attacked again, repeating the very same moves as before.
The Lioness’s lip curled. He thought he was toying with her! A smart warrior would have taken advantage of her stumble to drive home a killing thrust. Instead, the nomad was content to repeat his previously successful attack, cutting her right ear this time. He obviously saw her as no real threat.
Fury engulfed her, not just for this stupid human’s lucky hits, but for all the indignities and humiliations she and her people had suffered for six terrible years.
In a blur of motion, she lunged beyond the man, reversed her grip on her sword, and thrust it into his back. Steel punched easily through his desert garb, through skin and flesh, grating on bone. As he gave a shocked gasp, Kerian drove her blade in even further, burying it to its hilt.
Meanwhile Hytanthas had been forced to backpedal frantically, gaining time to draw his own sword. He was surrounded by flickering points and keen edges, all seeking his flesh. One foe landed a hit on his left arm, but the mail Hytanthas wore under his geb turned the blade. The elf made a wide, whirling slash at the men’s faces-even the bravest fighter feared for his eyes-and his attackers drew back. All but one.
This man was too slow, and the elf’s point scored a bloody line across his forehead. With a hoarse cry, the human clapped a hand to the wound. Blood coursed down, soaking the scarf over his face.
The other two men shoved their injured comrade aside and came on again. Hytanthas gave ground, then gave more, and still more, working hard to keep their blades at bay, until he found his back against the temple wall and could retreat no further.
While one masked man attacked, keeping Hytanthas busy, his comrade stooped, gathered a handful of fine sand, and flung it at the elf’s face. Hytanthas had no warning. Suddenly, he found himself painfully blinded. He thrust out his sword in a desperate parry and waited for the feel of iron plunging into his body.
Retrieving her sword from her dead foe’s back, the Lioness rushed to her aide’s defense. By the time Hytanthas cleared his eyes, one of his attackers was dead and the other had fled. Hytanthas would have given chase, but a sharp command brought him up short.
“We have a prisoner.” The Lioness pointed to the man Hytanthas had cut on the forehead. Face awash in gore, the human was groveling on the bloody ground, trying to crawl away unnoticed.
Kerian ordered him to his feet and, when he whined about his injury, growled, “Stand up, you coward, or I’ll hamstring you!”
He made as if to rise, then rolled over abruptly, his hand shooting out to fling a short dagger. Kerian whipped her sword in a half-arc, deflecting the missile. The dagger flew back the way it had come, plunging into its owner’s neck. The assassin gave a gurgling shriek and clamped a hand to the wound, blood pouring over his fingers.
Glaring up at the Lioness, his black eyes overflowing with hate, he groaned, “For Torghan!” Bloody froth bubbled from his lips, and his straining body went slack.
Hytanthas exclaimed over her amazing parry, but the Lioness, looking down at the dead nomad, denied any prowess. She rested her sword on her shoulder and said, “I didn’t want him dead. He could have told us who sent him.”
At her direction, Hytanthas rifled the dead men’s clothes. He found nothing, no coins, no personal belonWus, not even the fly whisk most city dwellers found essential. One odd fact: each man bore a scarlet tattoo on his left breast, of a crouching bird with wings folded and head curiously lowered, it seemed a bit familiar to Kerian, but she couldn’t think where she might have seen it.
“What is that? An eagle?” Hytanthas asked.
“Condor.”
The elves around. A woman stood in the shadows of the temple colonnade, stepping into the sunlight, she approached slowly. Her voluminous robes were dazzlingly white. Her long hair was likewise white, braided, and woven through with azure ribbons and tiny brass bells. A wide, flat bat shaded her face, which was brown and smooth as polished wood. Her hands were folded into the sleeves of her robe.
The Lioness bowed her head, something few had seen her do, and sheathed her sword with unusual care, sliding the blade home silently.
“Holy Mistress Sa’ida?” she asked. The woman nodded, and the Lioness gestured at the two dead attackers. “Are these men known to you?”
“No man is known to me, but I recognize the mark they bear. It is the sign of Torghan the Avenger.”
Torghan, Lord of the Wastes, was the Khurish god of vengeance, often represented as a giant vulture or condor. The elves knew him as Kinis, a malign deity not worshiped by their race. To his most devoted followers, the minotaurs, he was the great god Sargas. Kerian wondered if there might be a link between the Khurish cult of Torghan and the minotaurs who had invaded Silvanesti. It was not an alliance she liked to contemplate. In any event, she could not fathom why Torghanists of any stripe would attack her in broad daylight, in the supposedly safe confines of a holy temple.
The white-robed priestess regarded the dead man closest to her in thoughtful silence, then remarked, “You stabbed him in the back.”
Kerian’s eyes narrowed, but the priestess’s tone wasn’t accusatory; she seemed merely to be stating a fact. The elf lifted a hand to one of her bloody ears, causing Hytanthas to exclaim at the injuries he only now noticed. She brushed aside his concern, reliving again the rush of fury she’d felt when the Torghanist cut her so casually.
“Let us retire within,” the priestess said to her. “I will tend your injury.”
Hytanthas could not enter the sacred precincts, but the priestess gave him leave to remain in the shaded colonnade. One of the temple acolytes, she said, would bring him refreshment. He went to tie their horses out of the sun before settling down to await his commander. Kerian followed the high priestess inside.
After the searing light of day, the stone-lined passages of the Temple of Elir-Sana were cool and dark. Only the scuff of the priestess’s feet ahead gave Kerian any hint she was not alone. She had a general idea of the temple’s layout and assumed the Holy Mistress was taking her to private chambers, located at the rear. However, halfway along a dark corridor, Sa’ida turned and parted a cloth doorflap on her right.
In the small, dimly lit chamber beyond, obviously waiting for them, stood an elder acolyte, dressed in a woman’s geb of white linen, her hair covered by a matching turban. She held a small, silver tray on which rested various medicaments and a small roll of gauze. Kerian wondered how the high priestess had called for the medicines. Sa’ida had not been out of her sight since the battle with the Torghanists.
The acolyte cleaned the elf’s wounds, but when the woman started to bandage her cuts, the high priestess stopped her, saying the injuries would heal more quickly if left open to the goddess’s gaze. Although not especially pious, Kerian certainly had no desire to walk around with her ears wrapped in white gauze, so she agreed.
Sa’ida lifted another doorflap. Silhouetted against the light beyond, she turned and said to Kerian, “Come,
