“I believe it came from a temple archive. When Khuri-Khan was sacked, many libraries were looted and their contents ended up in the souks.” He tapped the spot again. “I am convinced the valley is real, and this is its true location.”
The Valley of the Blue Sands was reputed to have a mild, balmy climate, quite unlike the rest of Khur. Annals from the libraries of Qualinost mentioned it, calling it
The people of Khur were just as divided in their opinions. In Khuri-Khan the Valley of the Blue Sands was regarded as nothing more than a myth, a strange place where the normal conditions they knew-heat, blazing sun, eternal drought-were turned upside down. Cityfolk used it as a setting for absurd bedtime stories for their children. In the valley, according to the stories, clouds clung to the ground instead of the sky. Stones grew like plants. Animals talked liked men. Khur’s nomads, on the other hand, did not doubt the valley’s existence. None had ever been there, but they believed the ancient tales fervently.
With great secrecy, Gilthas had been assembling information about the Inath-Wakenti for over a year. He believed it could be the future home of the elven nation.
Kerian asked, “What makes you think the valley is there?”
“I’ve collected six other maps of the region-Khurish, Nerakan, even some old Solamnic maps from the libraries of Qualinost. None of them shows this particular horseshoe-shaped configuration of the mountains. I think I know why.”
He paused as Planchet poured them both another measure of nectar. Kerian, despite her skepticism, found herself caught by his evident conviction. She waved off Planchet’s offer of drink and urged her husband to continue.
“The other maps are all copies of copies of copies,” Gilthas said. “This map is an original. The human who drew it knew of Inath-Wakenti because he’d been there himself!”
He could give no plausible explanation for why later copyists would omit the valley, saying only, “Everyone in Khuri-Khan speaks of the place lightly. Even the city priests dismiss it as a legend-all but one. I don’t know whether the spot is cursed or blessed, but I intend to find out.”
Kerianseray suddenly realized what was coming. “You want me to go there,” she said. He nodded, the smile returning to his face. Her next words chased it away again. “Gil,” she said, “this valley is nothing more than a romantic fable. Even if it were real, it isn’t our homeland, and never can be.”
“The lands of our ancestors are lost. We do not have the strength to regain them-not yet. That time will come, my love, but for now, for the near future, we
“It’s a pretty dream, I admit, but nonetheless a complete waste of time. Give me twenty thousand warriors, and I will set the frontiers of our true homelands aflame! We can take back what is ours!”
His demeanor hardened, and it was the Speaker of the Sun and Stars, not her husband, who said firmly, “Preparations for an expedition have begun. I expect you to lead it, General.”
“I see. As you command, Great Speaker.”
The mocking words fell like lead weights at his feet. She would have continued arguing, but he cut her off.
“I’ve chosen Favaronas, one of the foremost historians in my service”-he’d almost said
She frowned, questioning the wisdom of sending so small a party. Gilthas reminded her that the mission was exploration, not conquest.
“Exploration?” she repeated. “This is a wild-goose chase. We should return to the Thon-Thalas and raise the people of Silvanesti against the minotaurs!”
“I have made my decision! The matter is closed!”
Planchet, devoutly wishing he were elsewhere, glanced from monarch to general, husband to wife. The burden of recent days was taking its toll. Never had he heard so open and bitter a breach between them.
“You are Speaker of the Sun and Stars. Twill do my duty,” the Lioness said at last. There was no sarcasm in her voice, but her tone was icy.
She made as if to go, but Gilthas, relaxing in the face of her agreement, forestalled her. “You need not begin the journey just yet. I have another task I wish you to undertake right away, one for which you are uniquely qualified.”
She brightened, and in her expression he saw visions of daring raids on griffonback, the clash of steel on steel. The Speaker smiled benignly at his bold general.
“I need you to visit a priestess.”
The bed trembled. Composed of rope netting stretched between four posts and topped by a thin, cotton- stuffed mattress, it tended to shake with little provocation. Gilthas, ever cautious, opened his eyes and silently took in the situation.
His private quarters were lit by the soft light of a blue bulls-eye lamp which hung from the tent post by the door. The simple canvas stools and chairs around the bed were empty. Kerianseray lay by his side, face down, rigid as a statue. Her hands, balled into hard fists, gripped the mattress. Every few seconds her whole body shook.
He touched her shoulder lightly, trying to ease her out of the dream. Her skin was dry and fever hot. She did not wake. He murmured her name several times, but still she did not rouse. When he laid his hand on her cheek, she sprang to life, rolling over so hard and fast she knocked him from the bed. He rolled out of the way as his wife fought unseen enemies. He heard the bedsheet tear in her hands.
“Kerian!” he yelled. “Wake up!”
She sat bolt upright, breathing hard. “Gil? You’re here?” she said hoarsely, peering at him through the tangled curtain of her hair.
“You’re in Khurinost, my love, in our bedchamber. You were dreaming.”
At the head of the bed on Gilthas’s side was a cupboard on which sat a jug of tepid water and a tin basin. Kerian sloshed water into the basin and bathed her face. Gilthas came up behind her, hesitated a second, then wrapped her in his arms. She leaned back, pressing her head into the hollow of his neck.
“Were you battling minotaurs?” he asked. She nodded, but didn’t explain further. He suggested, “A burden shared is a burden lightened.”
It took time, but eventually she gave in, telling a dreadful tale. Her pain was palpable in the darkened room, and Gilthas had to force himself to remain quiet, so as not to interrupt the flow of her story.
“It took the bull-men less than an hour to overrun us. We killed some, but it was like trying to halt an avalanche with arrows,” she began. “What came after took much longer.”
The elves who survived, grievously wounded or not, were bound hand and foot. Holes were dug, one for each captive, and the elves dropped in. Then the minotaurs fell to arguing amongst themselves. Some wanted to bury the elves facing their lost homeland; others thought it would be better to have them looking out into the wider desert, their backs perpetually turned to Silvanesti.
The latter faction won out. The minotaurs filled in the holes, leaving only the elves’ heads exposed. Twenty- nine Silvanesti were left to die-of heat and thirst if they were lucky. If predators found them, their fate would be much more terrible.
Gilthas lowered his chin to her shoulder. “And you?” he murmured.
“They knew I commanded, but didn’t know I was the Lioness of Qualinesti, wife of the Speaker of the Sun and Stars. Because I was the commander they tied my hands and feet and threw me onto Eagle Eye’s back.”
The minotaur warlord told Kerian to carry word to her people that Silvanesti was theirs no longer, and that should the elves come again they would find nothing but graves. With that, they whipped the griffon’s flanks, sending him catapulting into the sky. Wisely, the bull-men had hobbled Eagle Eye’s foreclaws and muzzled his beak with leather straps. All he could do was fly away with Kerian draped ingloriously over his back.
The griffon flew some distance before Kerian could work her
