She skewered the haunch on the hook hanging from the top of the feeding post. Eagle Eye waited until she’d stepped clear, then shuffled forward a few steps. He sank his hooked beak into the meat, ripping out a fist-sized bite, which he bolted down without swallowing. Many of her comrades couldn’t bear to watch the griffon eat. Kerian found the process edifying.
In short order the metal hook had been thoroughly cleaned. The griffon flared his wings, bobbing his head in appreciation. She gave his feathered neck an affectionate pat, and he allowed her to hood him again. She bid him good night.
Twilight had fallen. The great vault of sky over Khurinost and the Khurish capital was purple, streaked on the western horizon with scarlet and rose pink. Here in the army’s camp, there were few sunshades to block the view. Kerianseray lingered a moment, savoring the great expanse of sky and the cooling air that came with sunset.
Something flickered overhead. Birds were scarce in the desert, and she watched the movement curiously. Its shape and flight pattern seemed odd. After a moment, she recognized the darting flight of a bat. Strange. She hadn’t seen one of the creatures since leaving the woodlands of Qualinesti.
It fluttered by, maybe twenty feet above her head. The flapping of its soft wings was faint but distinct, as was the chittering sound it made, like the squeak of leather rubbing against glass. Then it was gone, darting away among the low canvas roofs and rising smoke plumes of the tent city.
Kerian looked down and discovered she was gripping the hilt of her sword. She didn’t know why, but the bat had alarmed her. Her heart was racing.
Lowering her gaze further, she saw something dark littering the sand beneath her feet. She knelt. The path was strewn with green leaves. Ash leaves. Yet, no such trees grew within three hundred miles of Khuri-Khan. More bizarre still, the leaves were green and supple.
Dinner with the Speaker of the Sun and Stars was an austere affair, at least as far as the menu went. consigned to the magnificent past were banquets of twelve courses. Gone were dishes such as crystallized dew collected from the royal rose gardens airy pastries, and delicate seasonings. Not only were such things out of reach, but the monarch of the elven nations did not condone pretentious luxuries.
Seated at a low, round table were the Speaker, Kerianseray, the senior surviving archivist of Qualinost, Favaronas Millanandor, and a Silvanesti cartographer named Sithelbathan, formerly personal mapmaker to Queen Mother Alhana Starbreeze. Attending the diners was Planchet, an amphora of wine in his hand and a slender dagger tucked into his sash. Dinner consisted of fish, rice, roasted pine nuts, and an oily paste popular in Khur. Known as
“Ah, for some decent fruit,” said Sithelbathan, eyeing his half-eaten fish. Khurish waters yielded many kinds of fish, all bony and strongly flavored.
Gilthas had finished his own small servings and was pouring himself a cup of kefre. “There are dates and figs for dessert,” he said. “I’ll have them brought in if you like.”
The cartographer politely declined. He’d eaten enough of both to last a lifetime.
Small talk persisted a while, until the Lioness broached the subject that had brought them all together.
“So, Master Cartographer, what of this valley?”
Sithelbathan pushed his plate away. “There is undoubtedly a valley at the location on the Speaker’s map, lady,” he said.
Gilthas asked Favaronas, “The temple annals brought back by Lady Kerianseray-do they offer useful information?”
The archivist leaned back, clasping his hands across his belly. It was a rather prominent belly, for an elf, testimony to his habit of drinking the local beer and to his lavish eating habits. Unlike his choosy colleague, Favaronas had cleaned his plate and now munched on stick bread dipped in
“Perhaps, Great Speaker,” the archivist said, after swallowing. “They relate a tangled tale, full of allegory and legend. As a modern scholar, I hesitate to pass along such fables.”
Making his rounds, Planchet leaned in, refilling the archivist’s cup yet again. Favaronas thanked him, and lifted the cup to drink.
Tartly, Kerian said, “You’re not here for the hospitality. Tell us what, if anything, you’ve learned.”
Gilthas reproached her with a look, and she subsided, taking a stick of bread and biting into it with a snap. The speaker regarded the archivist expectantly.
Favaronas said, “According to the temple chronicles, Inath-Wakenti was the first place on Krynn where the gods set foot in corporeal form. it became a kind of neutral retreat, where they could stand on solid soil and enjoy the world they had created. To keep their haven free of internecine strife, they agreed none were allowed to speak within its confines. Hence, the Vale of Silence.
“Whether that is true…“ He finished the last bite of his bread, and shrugged. “But I can confirm that the area in question was part of the Silvanesti realm, prior to the First Cataclysm. Sithelbathan said the territory was part of a large grant of land given by Silvanos Goldeneye, first speaker of the Stars, to his general and comrade Balif. It was mostly desert in those days, too. The plain south of the desert was infested with fierce nomadic human tribes, who were gradually driven out by Balif’s legions. The furthest outpost of the elven kingdom was in or near the Vale of Silence, at a place called Teth-Balif-Balif’s Gate.”
“Fascinating,” the Lioness drawled.
“Yes indeed!” her husband agreed, overlooking her ironic tone. “It may be that we have a legal claim on the Inath-Wakenti. If we could find remnants of Balif’s stronghold, that would bolster our case!”
“This was all five thousand years ago,” she said. “If anything remains, it would be rubble. I doubt Sahim-Khan will cede us land on the basis of a few ancient stones.”
The diners debated the issue as the plates were cleared, and the dessert course was served. Favaronas helped himself to slices of fresh fig, licking the sticky juice from his fingers. Sithelbathan regarded his colleague with fastidious disapproval.
“There is one cautionary tale about the Vale,” Favaronas said, now taking a handful of dates. “According to the priestesses of Elir-Sana, a powerful wizard was exiled there early in Speaker Sithas’s reign. The temple records call him Wethdika.”
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.
