Astonishment showed on every face. According to the information she’d given them (which she’d gotten from Gilthas’s map, the valley was at least a dozen miles long. Shouldn’t they explore further? There might be dangers they hadn’t discovered or other ruins or-
“What of the nomads? On the honor of my sword, I’ll wager they’re waiting for us.”
This came from Glanthon, one of the few remaining officers left from the royal Qualinesti army, and younger brother to Planchet, the Speaker’s valet. Glanthon was as talkative as Planchet was taciturn, and Kerian had no doubt he would expound upon his theme, so she forestalled him.
“We’ll slip out quietly, avoiding the nomads as much as possible.”
A fighter by nature, the Lioness would’ve preferred to punch her way out, thrashing the fanatical tribesmen on the way. But her elves were too few. If a single battle went wrong the entire command could be lost, and she was determined to carry the truth of the valley back to Gilthas in person. The Inath-Wakenti was not a new homeland for their exiled people. A mild clime and scenic, yes, but something here was hostile to all animal life. She put no stock in the archivist’s remark about ghosts, yet there was no denying the total absence of living creatures.
“We’ll ride east, to the mountains, and look for another way out,” she announced. “There’s got to be something-goat track, deer trail, something.” She smiled wryly over her beans. “All the animals had to go somewhere.”
“There’s no other way out.”
Favaronas stood at the edge of the firelight, by the door flap of Kerian’s tent. The Lioness and her officers stared at him.
“I studied the Speaker’s map down to the smallest detail,” he said, coming closer. “The ancient cartographer was very precise, and he shows no other way out.”
Kerian asked, “Then where did all the animals go? Did they die out?”
Favaronas admitted he didn’t know the answer to that question. He sat between her and Glanthon, accepting a plate of beans and a loaf of flat Khurish bread. Since he seemed to have nothing more to contribute, the warriors fell to talking about their clash with the nomads, dissecting the tactics and fighting skills of the Weya-Lu. All agreed that if the nomads had better weapons, they might not be sitting here now.
A horn sounded, far away. The discussion broke off, the officers alert and listening. The sound was a long, wavering note, the signal assigned to a Silvanesti scout named Camthantas. His patrol area was northeast, further along the same road they’d followed since crossing the creek.
Two more horns blew, and the Lioness was on her feet.
“Nomads?” said Favaronas, dropping his plate of beans.
“No,” she said, her attention focused toward the sounds. “Northeast, from deeper in the valley. The other two signals are from the sentries on either side of Camthantas.”
She pointed at two of her commanders, indicating they and their troops would accompany her. Glanthon would remain to defend the camp. The warriors scattered to their duties.
He jumped to his feet, face ashen in the low light. “What? I’m no warrior! And I can’t ride that beast of yours!”
“You don’t have to. I’ll go by horse.” Eagle Eye was asleep, tethered inside an angle of stone wall. He’d spent many hours in the air today and had earned a good rest.
The Lioness took Favaronas’s arm and pulled him along. “I’m sorry, but I may need your knowledge of the valley.” When be continued to babble frightened protests she whipped around and shouted into his face, “Favaronas! I need you! And I will protect you!”
In minutes forty elves, led by the Lioness, with her reluctant companion riding pillion, were cantering up the road toward Camthantas’s position. The Vale of Silence was lit only by the stars, brilliant as a thousand diamonds on a bed of ebony silk. Off to Kerian’s right, another alarm horn sounded, then another. In succession, the signals showed the source of the alarm was moving away from her and her small troop. She pressed ahead. When she reached Camthantas’s assigned position she knew something was very wrong. His horse was dead, its stomach slashed open.
“Draw swords!” Forty blades rose into the cool darkness. “First troop, deploy left; second, right! No one is to lose sight of his neighbor. At the walk, advance!”
She felt Favaronas trembling violently behind her, his hands lightly holding her waist. She was not without compassion. He was indeed no warrior. Despite this, and the deaths of his assistants, he’d not slowed them down on their difficult trek. Now he followed her into battle-perhaps not willingly, but without whining. Gruffly, she told him to stop worrying about protocol and hold on tight. His shaking hands clenched her waist.
They moved forward slowly. Her command to keep in sight of each other soon proved impossible to obey; the warriors were forced to ride around sections of walls or monoliths.
Something darted between two towering sarsens, and Favaronas let out a cry. He’d seen only a silhouette, but it was big-bigger than a horse. As he stuttered this warning, realization flooded through Kerian.
Wrenching her horse’s head around, she shouted, “The sand beast! Retreat! Retreat!”
Her words were punctuated by a nearby chorus of shouts, followed by a veritable fanfare of horns. She kicked her horse into a gallop. Favaronas yelped as he was flung backward, but his grip never loosened.
“Rally to me, by the road! Rally to me!”
The forty elves converged on their general. Several confirmed her fears. They’d seen the reptilian monster. Arrows were nocked. The horses shied and snorted. They could smell the sand beast.
And then it was upon them, zigzagging through the ancient stones with unbelievable agility and speed. Bows creaked, strings sang, and arrows sped at the monster. Every one glanced off.
The Lioness drew a bead on the monster’s eye, but it moved so fast her arrow flashed through empty air. The sand beast charged among the elves, throwing its horned head this way and that. The horses’ mad panic made it hard for their riders to avoid the beast’s rush. Horses and elves tumbled to the ground. It leaped upon one struggling pair, savaging them. All the while arrows bounced off its armored hide.
“How can we kill this thing?” Kerian shouted desperately.
One horse, braver than its fellows, lashed out at the bloodthirsty beast. With iron-shod hooves coming directly at its eyes, the monster backed up, bumping against a standing stone. The eighteen-foot monolith shifted.
Favaronas, clinging to Kerian’s back, saw this, and it gave him an idea. “General, look!” he shouted, pounding her shoulder with the side of one hand. “The stone is loose! If we topple it-!”
She began issuing orders before he’d even finished. While most of the troop fought to keep the monster where it was, fourteen elves, dismounted, gathered on the other side of the stone to push.
The attackers charged, launching arrows at the sand beast’s head. The creature was forced to blink every time an arrow flew at its eyes. Hips against the monolith, it shook its head from side to side and screeched with frustrated fury.
“Now!” Kerian cried.
Fourteen elves threw themselves on the tottering spire. it gave a little, and the sand beast obligingly stepped forward when it felt the cold stone nudge its back. The attackers pressed in, harder, and the sand beast fell back, rocking the stone backward and loosening it further.
“Again!”
Elves clambered up to their comrades’ shoulders to get at the leaning stone. With groans, grunts, and more than a few curses, they shoved the monolith. At its base, the turquoise soil began to bulge and rise. The monument was breaking loose.
“Get back! Get back!”
Elves on foot and horseback scattered. Suddenly freed of the annoying rain of arrows, the sand beast lashed out with a foreclaw. With its double burden, the Lioness’s horse lagged behind the rest. Iron claws snared the animal’s flanks. Horse and riders went down in a heap.
The great stone continued its inexorable fall. The sand beast sensed the danger, but too late. The tapered spire crashed down on its hips, smashing it to the ground and pinning it beneath tons of stone. The beast let out a high-pitched howl.
Elves scrambled up the monolith, adding their weight to the burden on the creature’s legs. As it roared and
