regained it. He pressed her against the wall, hoping to forestall any magic she might try to use against them.
“Curse it, we’ve entered a college of priestesses!” he hissed. “This isn’t Sa’ida, by chance?”
Hytanthas shook his head and whispered, “Be silent, lady. We intend no harm. We are unjustly pursued by the Khan’s soldiers and seek refuge in the Temple of Elir-Sana. Do you understand?”
She nodded, and he smiled. “We’ll let you go, but you mustn’t raise an alarm. Yes?” Again, a nod.
The elves exchanged a look. After a moment’s hesitation, Planchet took his hand away. Immediately, the priestess hissed, “No men are allowed here! Ever!”
“Begging your pardon, holy lady, but we’re not men,” Planchet said reasonably, touching the tip of one pointed ear.
“Males! This is sacrilege!” Her voice was rising. “The Khan will hear of this violation!”
That was enough for Planchet. He snatched the scarf from her head, loosing a fall of gray hair, and gagged her with the cloth. She tried to yell, but only a thin gurgle emerged around the gag.
He took her by one arm, Hytanthas grabbed the other, and they propelled the priestess down the stairs. At the bottom, they found a small cupboard under the steps. Planchet pressed her inside. Whipping out his silk kerchief, he tied her ankles together. When he asked Hytanthas to surrender his own kerchief, the younger elf shrugged. He had none.
“What kind of uncouth stripling goes out without a kerchief?” Planchet snapped.
“A poor one, with no more possessions than he stands in!”
Planchet spun Hytanthas around and pulled off his geb, leaving him standing in leggings and low boots. The priestess’s eyes grew wider still at the sight of the bare-chested elf. Planchet had to admit he was an odd-looking sight. The dye he’d used for his disguise had been applied only to arms, neck, and face. His torso was several shades lighter.
Planchet tore a strip from the geb’s hem and used it to bind the woman’s wrists, then tore another to bind her wrists to her ankles, hoping to delay her escape. He tossed the ruined garment back to Hytanthas.
“And what am I to do with this?” Hytanthas asked sarcastically.
“Make yourself some kerchiefs,” Planchet rejoined.
The woman’s eyes, incandescent with fury above the gag, followed them as they closed the cupboard door.
They exited the building through a side door, which put them in an alley. The gate in the wall surrounding the Temple of Elir-Sana was directly ahead, across the promenade; the iron portal stood open. The patrol had already passed by, and all was quiet. They stepped out of the alley’s concealment and strode toward the temple gate.
As Hytanthas reached the gate, a deep voice rumbled behind them, “Stand where you are!”
Planchet hissed a soft curse. Both elves pivoted to face this new menace.
Hard leather heels thudded. A broad-shouldered, dark- skinned man strode forward. He was clad in leather trews and a short tunic, much like the attire worn by huntsmen in Qualinesti. The stranger’s togs were not the green or brown of the forest, however. They were an unsettling shade of purplish red. His wide face was clean shaven, with brows thick and black. He was head and shoulders taller than the two elves. His identity was obvious to both of them. It was the Nerakan emissary, Hengriff.
“That’s hardly proper attire for where you’re going,” he said, gesturing at Hytanthas’s torn geb. His other hand rested on the pommel of a sheathed sword, a slender court blade.
“Your own garb is out of place, too,” Planchet said wryly. “Don’t you stifle in all that leather?”
“I’m accustomed to it. Besides, I prefer it to the local style. Too much like a woman’s dress. Males are not allowed within this temple, you know.”
While he talked, the elves desperately searched the darkness behind him. Hengriff seemed alone. Although a formidable-looking fighter, the Knight could hardly hope to best two agile, sword-armed elves. Still, he seemed supremely confident.
Hytanthas said, “We have business with the high priestess. We’re known to her.”
“Business? What business could elves have with a fusty old priestess?”
“Our own,” Planchet said, then shoved Hytanthas through the open gate, shouting, “Go!” Unfortunately, the captain, taken by surprise, stumbled.
The Knight shouted a command. Suddenly, the night air was filled with a strange whirring sound.
Four lengths of rope, blackened by soot, hit the pavement in an arc behind Hengriff. Down each rope slid a brawny human dressed all in black-short black tunics, close-fitting trousers, and suede boots. In seconds, the men had landed silently and drawn swords. They sprinted toward the elves.
Planchet jerked Hytanthas to his feet, and the pair scrambled through the gate. The pursuing Nerakans did not try to crowd through the narrow opening, but vaulted the chest-high wall. It delayed them hardly at all. Hengriff approached with more deliberation, entering by the gate.
“I have questions and I want answers,” he said firmly. “You’ll come with us.”
“Not today, Nerakan!”
Hengriff laughed at Hytanthas’s defiant statement. Echoing like a bull’s bellow, the sound filled the courtyard. It died abruptly when light flooded the scene. The double doors to the temple had opened. Silhouetted there, her long shadow reaching out from the colonnade, was a woman.
“Begone! Men of war, you cannot remain on sacred ground!”
Hengriff shouted across the distance, “You don’t command me, Sa’ida, nor my men!”
The high priestess, followed by a handful of acolytes, appeared out of the light. She looked even more commanding than Hengriff. Stern and regal, she kept her eyes fixed on the Knight, and spread her arms wide as she approached. Her white robe seemed to gather the light, surrounding her with a bright, flowing aura.
Without looking away from her, Hengriff ordered his men to take the elves. The four warriors advanced, but when they were just five yards away, the swords suddenly flew from their hands. The Nerakans tried to keep coming, but a powerful force pushed against them. They bent forward at the waist, like men bucking a high wind, though the air was still.
Hengriff put a hand on the hilt of his own sword, but did not draw his weapon. In grim silence he watched his men shoved relentlessly backward across the courtyard and through the opening in the wall. Once in the street, however, they straightened, the unseen pressure no longer affecting them.
“You’ll regret this, healer,” Hengriff rumbled. “You’ve made an enemy.”
“Death was always our enemy! Go!”
The Knight spared a glance at the elves. “This is not finished,” he told them. He and his men departed, submerging into the darkness beyond the sacred enclosure.
For a moment, no one spoke. Then Sa’ida sent two acolytes to close the temple gates; the clang of iron broke through the elves’ dazed immobility. Planchet got to his feet and straightened his clothing, brushing dust from his knees. He performed introductions in his most diplomatic manner. Sa’ida pursed her lips, frowning.
“I know who you are. This one”-she nodded at Hytanthas-”has been here before. But you cannot remain. It is forbidden.”
“Yes, lady, I know, but we hoped you could provide sanctuary,” Planchet replied. “The Khan’s soldiers are in the streets, hunting elves.
“It’s not the Khan you need fear, but the followers of Torghan.”
She gestured at her followers. Two gray-haired acolytes approached, received quiet instructions, and departed.
Hytanthas, still dazed by events, found he had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Those men,” he finally asked, “how did you repel them, holy lady?”
“Potent protective spells are woven around our sacred shrine. No one may bear weapons of war into the goddess’s sanctuary.” The two elves glanced down at the swords they wore. “Do not draw them,” she warned. “If you do, you will be driven out, even as they were.”
The gray-haired acolytes returned, each carrying a bundle of clothing. Khurish robes, mostly old and dingy, were laid at the elves’ feet.
“Hengriff is intimate with the Khan. When word reaches him that you are here, soldiers will come. I am sorry, but I cannot offer you any hospitality. You must disguise yourselves and go,” Sa’ida said.
Hytanthas started to object, but Planchet cut him off. The valet thanked the priestess politely and began sorting through the clothing. Reluctantly, his companion did the same, discarding the torn garment he still wore.
