impression at all, and two elves died when the monster’s heavy, flailing coils crushed them.
Kerian snatched a spear from a nearby elf and ran at the head. Although her attack seemed reckless, she placed her feet carefully, avoiding sinkholes and the gummy loam. The snake’s convulsions had dislodged the arrow from its eye, but the orb was blind. Sensing Kerian’s approach despite that, it opened its mouth wide to bite its new enemy. She bored in, driving her spear into the white membrane on the roof of its gaping mouth. A fang raked down her chest. Something hot splashed on her thigh. Spurred to even greater effort, she twisted the head of the spear and was rewarded by the sound of serpent bones snapping.
The serpent was still strong enough to lift her clear off her feet when it raised its head. Flinging its head side to side, it shook her back and forth even as blood poured from its mouth. Four elves ran in beneath her and drove their spears into its body just behind its head. The monster’s head dropped, and its own weight drove the Qualinesti weapons through its body and out the other side.
Kerian let go the blood-drenched spear and hit the ground with a thump. She was shaking uncontrollably, certain she had been bitten, but at least the monster was dead.
“Don’t move!” Alhana knelt beside her. “You’re hurt!”
Amazingly, she was not. Her buckskin tunic was sliced from shoulder to waist, but her linen underclothes weren’t torn and the skin beneath was unbroken. The fang hadn’t penetrated. The strange sensation on her thigh was venom. Faintly greenish gold and odorless, the venom was thick, like curdled milk, and soaked her leg. Alhana caught her breath sharply at the sight.
“Do you have any wounds on your leg?” she whispered. Kerian shook her head. The slightest cut would have allowed the poison in, but again she had been spared.
Taking care not to touch the soaked portions, Kerian shucked her ruined clothing. Alhana was so relieved, she smiled-and blushed too-at Kerian’s utter lack of embarrassment. The former queen sent for new attire and a canteen of water.
Porthios appeared. He didn’t ask after Kerian’s health, and he ignored her state of undress. He did stop her from tossing away the buckskins, saying sharply, “Save the venom. It may be useful.”
Once more, Alhana’s presence caused Kerian to bite back the furious retort that rose to her lips.
With a roll of cotton bandage, Chathendor daubed at the venom. He put the poisoned cotton in a glass bottle and stoppered the bottle carefully. As a further precaution, he wrapped the bottle in two layers of leather and tied the whole bundle tightly.
An elf arrived with water and clothing. While Kerian dressed, Alhana left her and found Porthios standing over the corpse of the enormous serpent. In answer to her question, he identified it as a cottonmouth.
“But they grow no more than four feet long!” she protested.
“We are in an unnatural place. What was pest has become monster.”
On her feet again, Kerian saw four elves standing nearby, watching her. They were the ones who had finished off the monster. They were ordinary-looking fellows, scribes or artisans from Bianost. She thanked them and clasped their hands in turn.
“You are my troop now,” she said. “Stand by me, and I shall stand by you, always.”
All four seemed overwhelmed by the battle with the monster, but each nodded as she took his hand.
The elves quickly prepared to resume their march. The belongings of the dead were collected by Chathendor. The weapons were given to others, but the chamberlain tied personal items into tidy bundles. If the deceased had heirs, they would receive their kin’s effects.
While Chathendor’s attention was engaged, Kerian drifted over to the cart that held his and Alhana’s belongings. She removed the small leather bundle containing the poison bottle and slipped it into her waist pouch.
Turning, she realized the four Qualinesti of her new troop were standing behind her, staring. Their meager belongings were in bundles slung on their spear shafts.
“It’s mine,” she said stiffly. “I’ll take charge of it.”
They made no reply. She joined the march, and the four fell in behind her.
The Cleft was ten square miles of bog. It lay like an ulcer on the southeastern lakeshore. Moss and mold, in every shade of gray, black, and sickly green, lay everywhere. The stench was so bad, so much worse than the rest of Nalis Aren, that midday rations went uneaten. Spiders, biting flies, and venomous reptiles (of normal size) assaulted the elves. The swarms of flies were so vicious their attack drove several horses mad. The animals tore free of the hands leading them and galloped off to sure death in the depths of the mire.
Thorn creeper and cypress were abundant, but none grew more than waist high. As they crossed the Cleft, the elves were visible to anyone higher up on the hillside. Elves throughout the caravan, and especially those in the rear, kept looking back over their shoulders, fearing to see bandits at any moment. None were visible, But their pace quickened anyway.
The perpetual chill of Nalis Aren meant the elves had donned extra garments. In the Cleft, the opposite was true. The temperature climbed. Sweat poured, but removing clothing meant exposing more skin to the voracious insects. As the sun passed its zenith, elves began to stagger and fall. Some got back up, but others did not rise again. Alhana called for a halt. She, her lieutenants, and Kerian examined one of the immobile elves.
The deceased was a royal guard. A healthy lad, well fed until recently, he was younger than Kerian. His neck and face showed bug bites, but no more than what had been endured by the rest of them, The only oddity Kerian could find was a swollen neck. His throat had closed so tightly, so quickly, he had suffocated while walking.
They had no idea why. Toxic air, poisonous insects, evil spells-anything was possible. They kept moving.
Trailed by her quartet of Qualinesti, Kerian sought out Hytanthas. She was pleased to see he had improved in health despite the foul conditions.
For a time they tramped along in a silence Kerian considered companionable but which Hytanthas found uncomfortable. Finally, he nerved himself to speak what was on his mind.
“Commander. About Khur-”
“What about it?”
“I feel I’ve been derelict in my duty. My task was to bring you back to the Speaker.”
“You nearly died of fever. It’s a wonder you found me at all, and you think you’ve been derelict?” She shook her head. “I’ve told you, I can’t go back to Khur.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
She glared at him, giving the young warrior a glimpse of the Lioness of legend. Hytanthas did not back down. After a moment, she returned her attention to the uncertain footing.
“What difference does it make? The Speaker dismissed me, and I found myself hurled across the world.” She shrugged. “He didn’t need me then. He cannot have me now.”
“Would you condemn all our people in Khur to death or slavery?”
Temper flaring, she curtly told her troop to take themselves elsewhere. When they had moved away, she demanded, “Am I a goddess who can save a nation by herself? Gilthas has thousands of warriors and the combined skills of veteran generals like Hamaramis, Taranath, and Planchet. The safety of our people in Khur rests with them, not me!”
“Very well. Commander. But I must return to the Speaker. Will Orexas and Alhana forgive me if I leave once we’re clear of Nalis Aren?”
“Do as you like.”
To her relief, he said no more. He had the same failing carried by all the Qualinesti Ambrodels. Although resourceful and brave, Hytanthas was just the sort of soldier who’d follow an order to certain death simply because his name and honor demanded it. Kerian had no patience with martyrs, no matter how gallant they might be. The world needed realists, hardheaded, hard-fighting realists. The humans had a saying she liked: Wars aren’t won by dying for your country; they’re won by making the other fellow die for his.
The traverse of the Cleft claimed more lives. Seemingly healthy guards and town elves collapsed, dead. At sunset the temperature plunged. No betraying torchlight was allowed, so the terrible march continued in full dark and graveyard chill. The elves took turns climbing onto the remaining carts and wagons and napping for a short space. Kerian did not avail herself of the rest. She pulled a blanket around her shoulders and kept walking.
