Sanctuary

around her face and pointed an accusing finger at Planchet.

“It is on your head!” she intoned. “The choice of life or death, war or peace, is yours. Give over the Speaker’s woman and the laddad sorcerer. You have until the next sunrise. Ever after, we are enemies!”

He made no reply, only sat stiffly in the saddle as the rain poured down. Adala turned Little Thorn’s head and trotted away. Her warmasters and chiefs filed behind her, watching the elves warily for signs of treachery.

Rain fell harder. Finally, Planchet tilted his head back, to let the rain wash down his sorrowful face.

“Save us all from true believers,” he muttered.

* * * * *

Sahim-Khan strode briskly through the corridors of his citadel while horns blasted outside. Every living soul in the Khuri yl Nor was in motion, running hither and yon, carrying arms or foodstuffs or valuables deeper into the fortress. Sahim parted the chaos as he went. Even in their terror of a nomad attack, servants moved nimbly out of his way. In the citadel courtyard, he found General Hakkam and Prince Shobbat.

“Why are the nomads here?” Sahim demanded.

Hakkam said, “We don’t know, Mighty Khan. The city gates have been shut, and the garrison mustered on the walls.”

Shobbat put a soft fist to his lips and coughed discreetly. His father roughly bade him speak up.

“Mighty Khan, the nomads obviously have come to make war on the laddad. Perhaps the Torghanists stirred them up.” Shobbat paused, assuming a thoughtful air. “The laddad Speaker sent an armed company to the Khalkist Mountains on a mysterious errand. They violated Weya-Lu territory, and it’s said they massacred two thousand women and children in their beds.”

The Khan snorted. “A lie. Only two hundred were killed, and it appears a sand beast committed that crime.” He turned to his general. “Hakkam, how many riders can you field?”

“Five thousand on short notice, Mighty Khan. More, given time.”

“Gather your troops. You are to drive the nomads back into the desert. How dare they bear arms before my city! When I’m done with them, they’ll think the sand beast a gentle pet!”

Hakkam bowed and was about to go when Shobbat laid a hand on his father’s arm, saying, “Wait, Mighty Khan!” Hakkam paused, and Sahim looked at his son as if he’d lost his mind. Shobbat released him, adding quickly, “Sire, don’t be too hasty! Perhaps this dire situation can yield a great harvest for Khur! Let the fight go forward. Whoever wins, Khur will be a better place for the loser’s absence.”

Sahim made a fist and knocked his son to the ground with a single blow.

“Idiot! Dolt! Fool! What are you thinking? I have given the laddad my protection! How strong will our neighbors think me if I allow the elves to be destroyed beneath the very walls of my capital, by those I am supposed to rule?”

When Shobbat was felled, activity in the courtyard and in the gatehouse ceased. Everyone halted to stare at the prince, sitting on the ground, his lips bleeding, his scarlet-clad father standing Over him like an avenging demon. The powerful voice of Sahim-Khan filled the courtyard.

“And Consider this, Wastrel! If the nomads lose, more will Come to avenge them. If the laddad lose, there will be no one left to pay for our repairs and your pleasures!”

Goaded beyond reason, the Khan drove the toe of his slippered foot into Shobbat’s ribs. “Don’t presume to offer guidance to me again! Get out of my sight!”

Doubled over in real pain, Shobbat got to his feet and slunk away. No one, not Sahim or Hakkam or those in the Courtyard, saw the strange look of triumph that passed quickly over his face.

“Go, General! Take your soldiers and drive the nomads back into the wastes!”

“At once, Mighty Khan!”

Sahirn was still shaking with fury when he stalked into his private rooms. His son’s foolish Words had given him an outlet for his fears but hadn’t erased them from his mind. His Worry over the sudden appearance of the desert tribes so disturbed him that he didn’t notice the figure standing by the wall in the seam of two great hanging tapestries. Only when it spoke did he whirl drawing the short sword Concealed in his flowing robes. When he saw who accosted him, he uttered several choice curses.

“Such language!” said his visitor. “And from a king!”

“I’m in no mood for your tricks, Keth,” Sahim said testily. He tossed his sword onto a tiled tabletop and ran fingers through his beard.

Keth-Amesh was a distant cousin, a member of the same tribe as Sahim, and his private woman-of-all-work. While he dropped heavily into a chair, Keth poured herself a cup of his best wine. She lowered the dust veil from her face to drink. Long ago she’d lost an eye, and wore a tan leather patch over the empty socket. Her skin was tawny brown, like that of many nomads, but she had fair hair, wisps of which escaped from her headdress. She was a so- called ‘Yellow Khur,’ from the coastal lands of the extreme eastern part of Sahim’s realm.

“I found the mage, but not the priest,” she reported. She drained her cup then refilled it.

Sahim had set her to find Faeterus and Minok when his legion of soldiers, informers, and spies failed in that task.

“Where is he?”

“Below,” she answered, tapping a foot on the stone floor. She meant the system of caverns, natural and man-made, under the city. They had been enlarged by Sahim’s grandfather for use as cisterns, but the water proved brackish and undrinkable. The empty, noisome caverns were a perfect retreat for the hunted Faeterus.

“If you know where he is, go get him.”

Keth shook her head. “There’s not enough money in the world to get me down there.” When he said he would order her to go, she did something no one else in Khuri-Khan would dare do: She laughed at him. “I’m not one of your soldiers. You can’t order me anywhere.”

Sahim changed tack. “What of Minok?”

“No trace at all. He must be dead.”

“You haven’t earned your pay,” Sahim told her sourly. “I hired you to find both and bring them to me!”

She tossed a heavy purse on the rug at his feet. “Your money. Farewell, cousin. Call me again if you need anything-if you’re still khan, that is.”

Replacing her veil, she went back to the secret door behind the tapestry. Sahim called for her to wait, and she paused, one sinewy hand on the fringed tapestry.

“How can I get to the mage? I can’t leave him down there, hatching plots unhindered,” he said.

“You know assassins. Send some.”

Sahim’s laugh was bitter. “Cutthroats will never take Faeterus’s measure. I need someone better.”

Keth lowered her dust veil again. “There is a man, or rather, not a man. A laddad bounty hunter called Robien. I worked with him once.”

“Well, bring him to me, right away!”

“You’ll find him hard to work with.”

“Why? Is he a drunkard?”

“Worse.” She grinned. “He’s honest and true. Not like you at all.”

Tired of her insolence, he snapped, “Just get him! I’ll overlook his honesty if he can bring Faeterus before me.”

She bowed and went out the hidden door.

Sahim listened to the horns still blowing outside. The whole palace was quivering with marching soldiers and scurrying servants.

Damn all the foreigners! he fumed. They’re as bad as those desert savages.

* * * * *

While the Khan was surrounded by boiling excitement, the Speaker sat alone in his silent tent. Planchet and Hamaramis were out tending to his business. The servants had been given leave to be with their families.