behind stood a good chance of falling into the hands of the nomads.
“I have a band more than willing.” Planchet tapped the back of his left hand with one finger, a gesture instantly understood by all: he meant the male elves who had been branded by the nomads.
“How many volunteered?” asked Hamaramis.
“All of them.”
Gilthas shivered. It wasn’t illness that caused his reaction. Hundreds of elves had been cruelly maimed, their left hands rendered nearly useless. When an opportunity presented itself for them to aid their people, every one stepped forward.
“They needn’t all stay,” Hamaramis said. “The diversion can be accomplished with two hundred.”
“And me,” Planchet said.
Gilthas shook his head. “No. You’re too valuable to me, and to the nation.”
“More valuable than any of the others who would stay behind?”
Yes! Gilthas wanted to shout, but he did not. Hamaramis and Planchet argued briefly. The old general agreed that a leader was required but said any junior officer would fit the bill. Planchet stubbornly insisted there was no need to command a young warrior to take on a task for which he himself had volunteered. Hamaramis finally gave up and stomped away, radiating annoyance. Planchet turned to his king.
“Great Speaker, grant me this boon.”
Planchet had been with Gilthas since his days as the so- called Puppet King in Qualinost. The valet-cum- bodyguard had been handpicked by Gilthas’s mother, Lauralanthalasa, to serve her son. His background included service to the dark elf Porthios. Throughout occupation, exile, and battles beyond counting, Planchet had always been there, the solid center in Gilthas’s turbulent life. Even before the estrangement from Kerianseray, the young king had relied on Planchet’s sage council, his unwavering support. How could Gilthas let him sacrifice himself? How could he refuse?
With a heavy heart, Gilthas granted his wish but said severely, “Swear on your ancestors’ house you will escape and find your way back to us. Swear it, Planchet!”
Unexpectedly, Planchet went down on one knee. He swore the oath. Gilthas rested a hand briefly on his friend’s bent head, a lump rising in his throat.
During the afternoon and evening the elves prepared for their departure, and Planchet prepared to remain. He purposely chose the two hundred most disfigured, crippled, and handicapped out of the many volunteers. In addition to their maimed hands, most had wounds from sword, spear, or arrow. They would be most likely to slow the rest of the column down during the escape.
An hour before midnight, Planchet gathered his band at the northeast corner of Broken Tooth for the Speaker’s review. Every elf stood as straight as he was able. Two hundred right hands rose as one, the salute of the Branded. Planchet lifted his right hand too.
“The Band of Deceivers stands ready to carry out our mission, Great Speaker,” he declared.
“No, you are not deceivers.” Gilthas thought for a moment. “You are the Sacred Band, heroes of our nation!”
No rousing cheer greeted his declaration, AU were conscious of the need not to draw nomad attention to their activities. Planchet would have left it at that, but Gilthas could not. He stepped forward and embraced his friend. For a handful of seconds, he allowed himself to lean into Planchet’s solid strength, then he stepped back.
Planchet saluted, lifting his sword to his face. “Farewell, sire. Preserve the line of Silvanos and Kith-Kanan at all costs.”
What cost was left to pay? Gilthas didn’t allow his bitter thought to show on his face as he walked slowly down the line of volunteers, meeting the eyes of each, saying thank you. When he was done, he addressed the group one last time.
“May E’li bless you all. We shall meet again!”
Taking his place at the head of the column, he followed Wapah down the steep trail to the desert floor. Their first destination was Chisel, to collect those holed up with Taranath and replenish their water supply. Very little food remained, but they could do without food far longer than they could go without water.
Yet it was not the peak before him, but the one behind that drew Gilthas’s eyes over and over. On Broken Tooth, campfires glowed and cooking pots clattered. Small groups of figures were periodically silhouetted against the starry sky. If he hadn’t known there were tens of thousands of elves behind him, he would have believed they all were still on the summit.
After the constant wind atop Broken Tooth, the desert seemed still as a tomb. The air cooled rapidly with the sunset, but sharp rocks and the heat stored in the sand, made the elves’ barefoot progress painful. The few horses and other animals they possessed were muzzled with strips of cloth, shod hooves likewise wrapped. All their carts they’d left on the plateau. The elves could descend more rapidly without them, and creaking cartwheels were very noisy. Most of the heavy impedimenta they had carried since leaving Silvanesti and Qualinesti lay abandoned on Broken Tooth. The remaining burdens were carried on backs, in litters, or in simple travois. Like the elves, Wapah led his horse.
They passed north of Lesser Fang in utter silence. Wapah thought it likely his people would station lookouts there, although he had no way of knowing exactly where they might be. Dawn was only four hours away when they reached Chisel. Wapah held up his hand. The command to stop was relayed silently down the column. Every elf knelt and waited.
Hamaramis came forward to the Speaker. “Taranath’s signal?”
“Not yet.”
Gilthas’s column could not make a sound or show any light, lest the nomads nearby discover them. It was entirely up to Taranath to time the meeting correctly and signal them.
Wapah calmed their fear of discovery by reminding them the nomad camps were all south of the Lion’s Teeth. Mounted patrols would be abroad, but by dawn the elves would be shielded by Great Fang, largest of the peaks, which lay northwest of Chisel. By day, they could take cover in the caves that riddled Great Fang. Each night they would move farther north and west. The last of the Lion’s Teeth, Pincer, was thirty miles from the mouth of Inath- Wakenti. When they left Pincer’s cover, they would face their greatest danger.
Many interminable moments passed before a smoky red light flared on the side of Chisel. The light bobbed up and down a few times then plunged. Striking the rocks below, it burst into a shower of sparks.
The Speaker signed for everyone to stand. Limbs weakened by age, deprivation, and wounds had stiffened in the cold night air. From all along the line of refugees came muffled groans and gasps. Hamaramis frowned, but Gilthas could only shake his head ruefully. They were not the race of bygone years, whose grace and elegance had set the standard for the world. One day they would be again, he vowed. Within the shelter of Inath-Wakenti, they would grow strong. Elf civilization would rebound, becoming greater than ever. He believed it. He had to.
A double line of riderless horses emerged from the darkness. Each pair was led by a closely cowled elf warrior. The animals were laden with waterskins. The lead elf halted before Gilthas and whispered a greeting. Lord Taranath, he said, had sent water for the Speaker’s company.
With hushed words and hand signals, the water caravan I was brought forward. Soon, spring water was being doled out to elves who hadn’t tasted fresh water in many days.
Wapah circled back. “This delay is not wise,” he insisted. “We should move on.”
“My people have suffered much. Let them drink,” Gilthas said.
Taranath rode out of Chisel’s shadow into the starlight. With him was the balance of the remaining cavalry.
“Great Speaker!” he said. “I rejoice to see you!”
“Rejoice more quietly, if you please,” Gilthas warned, although he was smiling. He clasped Taranath’s hand.
The cavalry went ahead to screen the slow-moving column from surprise attacks, and Gilthas led the rest forward. They would be well hidden by the peak of Great Fang by the time dawn began to lighten the sky. The next obstacle would be to cross the mile-wide gap between Great Fang and Ripper. Hamaramis counseled waiting for night to cross the open desert, but Gilthas considered delay risky. The nomads might discover them at any time.
Wapah also advised they keep moving. The deception on Broken Tooth wouldn’t fool the Weyadan for long,
