“And who am I?”
His voice had changed. The difference was subtle, but to Alhana it was clear as a beacon. The timbre and cadence, the very feel of it, was excruciatingly familiar. He was Porthios!
Relief so strong it made her head swim was followed immediately by a surge of adrenaline. Her heart began to pound again. She wanted to hurl herself at him, to hold him in her arms, to demand answers. Most of all she wanted to tear away the ragged mask that stood like a wall between them.
She wanted to, but she did not. Instead, terrified of frightening him away, she held herself utterly still, a living statue seated on the broken alabaster plinth. Her only movement was the shifting of her eyes as she studied him.
“You are-” She cleared her throat. Even so, it came out as the barest of whispers. “You are someone I love.”
He withdrew suddenly, and Alhana feared he had gone, but when he spoke again, his voice came from the darkness to her right.
“If that were true, you would have stayed away.”
“Stayed away! How could I? As a queen, I lost my country. As a mother, I lost my child.” Her voice broke. From the corner of one eye, she saw him take a step toward her then subside again into stillness. She drew a deep, shaking breath. “I don’t live. I merely exist in the center of a great emptiness. It does not matter where I go or who I am with; the void is always with me. To answer the smallest part of ‘why,’ I would plunge to the bottom of Nalis Aren or climb the Icewall. Coming here was nothing!”
Giving voice to words carried so long unspoken calmed her. Not so Porthios.
“You want to know why?” he hissed. “Sometimes there is no why! Sometimes there is only what fate delivers. When the gods left us, they didn’t take Fate with them. It stayed in the world, cruel, capricious, and callous. It took away my life, but would not allow me to die. So here I am, caught between the two. Alone.”
She turned toward him. She sensed him shrink back but couldn’t stop herself. “You need not be alone! Will you not take my hand?”
Her question and her outstretched hand hung in the air for a long moment. Finally, he whispered, “Go back to where you came from. Leave your warriors if you choose, but go. I will win this campaign, then I shall die. It’s my reward for saving our people. If you stay, you’ll die too, and I should not have to endure that. Everything else I will bear but that, Alhana.”
The rustle of a ragged hem through the debris on the floor told her he was gone. Instead of loss, elation sang in Alhana’s veins. During his speech, she’d felt a growing despair, until he’d said her name. He imbued the single word with such emotion, she knew at last that her quest had not been a hopeless one. He might be as cold and unreachable as the stars above, but Porthios was alive.
Voices announced the return of Samar and Kerian. The Lioness carried a flaming torch.
“Alhana?” Kerian called, surprised to find her still seated in the dark. “Are you all right?”
She flicked a hand over her cheeks. “I’m fine.”
“Were you talking to someone?” asked Samar.
“Only Chathendor.” Her aged retained was just now awakening, giving the lie to her words, but Samar would never contradict her.
Neither would Kerian since she knew the truth. Alhana had been talking with Porthios. Her tears alone were proof of that.
Two days went by without any sign of Porthios. At first Nalaryn and his Kagonesti were not worried by their leader’s absence. He frequently went off on his own. But in their present situation, his continuing absence began to feel ominous.
The residents of Bianost were restless too. They had rallied to the mysterious masked leader and overthrown their oppressors, but their leader was missing, and no one knew what to do.
Kerian made sure military matters were attended to but wasn’t concerned by Porthios’s absence. It struck her as only right he should be overcome by the sight of the wife he had abandoned. In away, she understood how he felt. If Gilthas had arrived at the gates of Bianost, she might want to run away, or clout him. Either was equally likely.
Samar was in charge of the royal guard, but he was disdainful of the Bianost militia and suspicious of Nalaryn’s Kagonesti. He told Alhana none too diplomatically that at the first sign of trouble, the townsfolk would run away and the Kagonesti would vanish into the woods, leaving the rest of them to fend for themselves against whatever army Samuval sent against them.
Angered by his arrogance, Kerian reminded him the Kagonesti and the folk of Bianost had defeated Olin’s entire company.
Samar waved a dismissive hand; Olin’s cowardly mercenaries had crumbled even before their leader was dispatched. He implied Olin’s death had been the result of dumb luck rather than any skill on the part of Kerian and the Kagonesti.
“A bold conclusion from one who wasn’t even here!” Kerian retorted. “Do you always fight your battles with your mouth?”
Before even hotter words could be exchanged, Alhana and Chathendor diverted the headstrong warriors. Chathendor asked Kerian to take him around the town to review the caches of weapons from Qualinost. Alhana sent Samar out with sixty riders to sweep the countryside around Bianost for signs of bandits.
As the sun began to decline on the second day of Porthios’s absence, Alhana realized she must meet with the townsfolk to help calm their growing fears. She sent Chathendor to invite the leaders of the Bianost volunteers to attend a council that evening after sundown.
The city square had been cleared of wreckage and bodies and a bonfire kindled. Alhana seated herself on a camp stool three steps above ground level before the mayor’s palace. Standing below on Alhana’s right were Chathendor and Samar. Kerian stood with Nalaryn on Alhana’s left.
The Lioness was not happy with Samar’s report from his reconnaissance of the area around Bianost. He had found nothing. Kerian was sure the town was being watched, and she didn’t think much of Samar’s skills that he failed to find any bandit scouts or spies.
The townsfolk of Bianost sent three representatives: Vanolin, a scrivener; Theryontas, a goldsmith; and Geranthas, a healer of animals. Alhana welcomed them graciously, praising their valiant actions in helping to save their town. The three were clearly awed to find themselves in her presence, but anxiety gave Theryontas, their spokesperson, the courage to speak his mind.
“Great Lady, the people of Bianost are alarmed by the disappearance of Orexas,” he said.
“Who?” Alhana blurted, and Kerian suppressed a snort. The Qualinesti word meant merely “director” or “manager,” but Kerian knew that in the eastern homeland it was applied to those who led orchestras or chorales. She found the implication of gentle artistry singularly amusing considering Porthios’s cold, calculating leadership style.
Theryontas was explaining how the people of Bianost had bestowed the name on their masked deliverer, having no other name by which to call him. Kerian interrupted his long-winded speech.
“Whatever you call him, it won’t change the fact he’s missing,” she said bluntly. She looked to Alhana, who had last spoken with Porthios before his disappearance. “Is he coming back?”
The wavering firelight deepened the lines of Alhana’s face, and for a moment her alabaster beauty appeared an aged mask. It lasted only an instant, and might have been a trick of the wavering firelight, but Kerian, standing closest to her, felt she’d glimpsed the agony the elegant lady kept carefully concealed.
“I’m not certain,” Alhana answered. “But until he does return, we must carry on.”
Theryontas and the town delegation were plainly distressed. “What does this mean?” he asked. “We’ve begun a revolt. Is it over now because Orexas is gone?”
“No, it’s not over!” Kerian said quickly. “We can carry on. Remember, we have weapons to equip a great army.”
“What army?” Samar wanted to know. “Three hundred royal guards, twenty Wilder elves, and a few score townsfolk?”
