Sanctuary

With flint and steel, she showered sparks on the little pile of tinder. Soon, the first red flame crept forth. Smoke was puffing from the trap door opening as she joined her elves.

Outside, Kerian saw the first flames erupt from the windows of the villa proper and knew the job was done. Not only was she taking away an enemy’s fortress, she was sending him a clear message: The Lioness had taken the field against him, and there would be no quarter.

In the gardens, the other half of her company had gotten a dozen ropes around the sand beast’s carcass. The gangrenous wound on its hip gave Kerian great satisfaction. Hengriff may have slain the beast, but she and her warriors had slowed it down so he could do the job. Had he encountered the sand beast as they first had, she had no doubt it would have killed the Knight as easily as it had her brave warriors.

Having roped the stinking carcass to their protesting horses, the elves awaited her next order.

“Follow me,” she told them.

The company rode out of the Harbalah and into Khuri-Khan proper. At the rear of the procession, six riders dragged the lifeless body of the sand beast behind their mounts. From windows and doorways Khurs reacted with horror as the putrefying remains were dragged past their houses, shedding blood and flesh as it went. Some screamed, and many cursed the laddad as they passed.

The warrior riding nearest the Lioness said, “General, why are we-?”

“It’s a gift for Sahim-Khan,” she said calmly.

The elves held their formation, but all wondered whether they were on a suicide ride. The human Khan had been known to kill for insults far less than this.

The bulk of the carcass forced them to keep to the wide thoroughfares. These took them through the heart of Khuri-Khan. By the time they skirted the Grand Souks, a crowd had gathered behind them. The Lioness ignored the hostile, angry Khurs and rode steadily on.

Word of their approach sped ahead, and they arrived to find the gates of the Khuri yl Nor solidly shut against them. Kerian directed her troopers to drag the decaying sand beast up to the gate and cut it loose.

From the battlements above, a Khurish officer yelled, “What are you doing, laddad? You can’t leave that there!”

She removed her helmet. Despite the clouded sky, her golden head shone like a land-bound sun.

“I am Kerianseray, consort of the Speaker of the Sun and Stars,” she proclaimed in her best command voice. “This is a gift for Sahim-Khan with my compliments. Summon him.”

The officer laughed harshly. “No one summons the Khan of All the Khurs!”

“Tell him it has to do with the massacre of the nomad camp, and with his pet sorcerer, Faeterus.”

Mention of the atrocity stirred the mob behind the elves. Angry shouts and denunciations flew. The elven warriors, tense already, fingered sword hilts and worked to control their restive mounts. Only Kerian remained calm. She sat tall on her bay horse, back straight, eyes never leaving the Khurish officer.

Perhaps it was her calm insistence, or the growling mob behind her, that convinced him, but the officer disappeared from the battlement. For a time nothing happened. Distant thunder rumbled. Flies, drawn by the carrion, tormented everyone. “Unclean!” cried the mob. “Drive the killers out!”

At last the double gates parted. The crowd fell silent. Thunder murmured again.

A double line of Khurish soldiers, twenty in all, marched out the gate. Behind them walked, not Sahim-Khan, but Hakkam, commander of the Khan’s army. The soldiers halted and Hakkam strode between their lines, approaching the Lioness.

“Lady Kerianseray,” he said. He grimaced at the carcass. “You’ve been hunting, I see.”

“No, General. Like a vulture, I only picked up what was already dead. Is Sahim-Khan coming?”

“Of course not. Say what must be said to me.”

Sensing that she had gotten as far as she could, she crossed her wrists on the pommel of her saddle and leaned forward over them.

“This stinking carcass is all that remains of a sand beast. I believe they are native to your remote desert.” Hakkam conceded they were. “It was slain a few nights ago by Lord Hengriff. You know the man?” Kerian said sarcastically.

Matching her tone, Hakkam replied, “A warrior of considerable prowess. Not the best intriguer.”

“This beast was slain in the Harbalah, on the grounds of a villa destroyed by Malys. The beast traveled there from the Valley of the Blue Sands, where it tried to kill me and my entire company.”

Her words set the mob surging and muttering again. Kerian raised her voice to be heard above them. “At first I thought it had come across us by accident, but after its first attack, it tracked us across fifty miles of open desert. We passed by the peaceful camp of the Weya-Lu tribe one night on our way to the valley. We did them no harm. The sand beast, on our trail, must have slaughtered them after we passed on.”

A profound silence descended. The buzzing of the flies sounded very loud.

“When we fought the beast a final time, we wounded it, and it escaped.” Wisely, she didn’t cloud the issue with talk of will-o’-the-wisps and the instantaneous transference of - the one-ton sand beast from Inath-Wakenti to Khuri-Khan.

“Ask yourself, General Hakkam, ask yourself as I have done, why did this creature, wounded and in agony, turn up on the grounds of a wrecked mansion in your city?”

He folded sinewy arms across his chest and obligingly said, “Why?”

“It was returning to its mister, the sorcerer Faeterus, who lived in the ruined mansion. Maddened with pain, it attacked one of my warriors who was keeping an eye on the mage. The fortunate arrival of Lord Hengriff put an end to its murderous rampage.”

Hakkarn stared at her for a moment longer, eyes narrowed in thought, then slowly approached the dead beast. Its rotting hide was nearly invisible beneath a writhing coat of blowflies. Hakkam was a hardened desert fighter and did not flinch.

“What proof have you?” he called out over the buzz and whir of busy insects.

“The proof of my word, and the proof of logic. I do not kill innocents. A sand beast will, and did.”

“And this sorcerer you speak of?”

“At large in your city, perhaps in the palace of the Khan even now. Find him, General. Put your questions to him.”

She raised a gloved hand, and in unison her escort wheeled their horses. A crowd of nearly one thousand Khurs packed the back of the square. The Lioness rode back through her warriors and continued unhesitatingly toward the wall of humanity. When the Khurs realized she was not going to turn aside, they scrambled out of her way. The rest of the elves followed her.

An irritated Hakkam spat on the pavement and glanced back at the Khuri yl Nor. He hoped his sovereign had gotten a good whiff of the Lioness’s gift. After ordering the rotten carcass hauled away, he went to report to the Khan.

Sahim-Khan was waiting in the inner courtyard. He demanded an explanation. The general gave a brief account of the Lioness’s reasons for bringing the dead monster to the palace.

The Khan’s expression was odd, unreadable even to his long-time general, but his voice was firm as he replied, “This is a grave affront to the throne of Khur. I will complain to the Speaker.”

“Mighty Khan, the Speaker lies gravely wounded in his tent,” Hakkam reminded him. “While he is laid low, Kerianseray rules the laddad.”

The general saluted and was dismissed. He departed quickly so as to hide the faint smile on his face. This also caused him to miss his khan’s low, bemused chuckle.

Sahim was intrigued by Kerianseray’s argument. The laddad had neatly escaped the massacre charge. Thickheaded nomads might still believe the elves had done it, but word would circle the city within hours and the cityfolk would think otherwise. Sand beasts were nearly legendary nowadays, so rarely were they seen, but every Khur knew the stories of their savagery. In olden times, a single sand beast had been known to rip through a herd of two hundred cattle or sheep in a single night. In the territories where the monsters once dwelt in numbers, nomad bands had to erect timber fences to defend their night camps. Even then, many tribesmen still were slain. To have one turn up here, within the city’s wall, was indeed a wonder.

Neatly done, lady, Sahim thought, as he reentered the citadel.

Unfortunately, his thoughts turned to Faeterus, and all trace of amusement vanished. He was rapidly losing patience with the wretched mage. Faeterus’s machinations were costing the throne of Khur far more than his