Alhana, clad in a white fox fur robe, moved along the caravan, speaking to everyone, and making sure all had a chance to rest in the wagons. She’d given her other furs and extra clothing to shivering townsfolk. Despite the fretting of her chamberlain, she would not stint on her self-appointed tasks.
“You must rest, lady,” Chathendor urged. “And you shouldn’t give away all your clothing.”
“Shall I ride on velvet cushions, wrapped in furs, while they walk, hungry and cold?”
“You aren’t a young girl any longer. Privation is harder at our age.”
She nearly smiled. “Our age, indeed. You have a few
When they got back to the head of the column, Alhana spoke briefly to Samar, who was organizing patrols for the night. That done, she consented to rest. Chathendor led her to a wagon fitted with a canvas top. He lifted the flap at the rear of the still-moving conveyance, and she climbed inside. She reminded him to wake her in an hour. He assured her he would and dropped the flap over the opening.
She had barely settled herself next to several wrapped bundles of swords when the flap shifted again and Porthios entered the wagon.
“Peace, Alhana. It is I,” he murmured unnecessarily. She’d known immediately who he was, if for no other reason than he was faceless. Porthios was the only one in the caravan whose face was completed covered.
Chathendor did not have the luxury of her better eyesight. The tent flap flew up.
“My lady! I saw an intruder enter!” he exclaimed, short sword in hand.
“Your grip and stance do you credit, sir, but you’re facing your lady, not me.”
The chamberlain recognized Orexas’s hoarse voice. He did not lower his blade until Alhana assured him she was safe and sent him away.
Alone with her husband, Alhana lit a candle stub. She used a small incendiary stick, made by the gnomes of Sancrist and called by them a “dragon’s tooth.” When scratched smartly, it flared into flame. The sudden flare caused Porthios to recoil sharply.
“I have no liking for fire,” he said. In the wagon’s confines, he could move no farther away. “Candles and lamps can be dropped. Fires start that way all the time.”
She lit a lamp with the sputtering yellow flame. “I’ll be careful.”
Breath plumed from her nose as she exhaled. She waited for Porthios to speak. When he didn’t, she asked, “Do you believe the Kagonesti will find griffons?”
“Yes.”
“And that we can tame them?”
“Yes.”
She was impatient with his terse answers. “If we do find them, they will be wild adults, not creatures reared among our people. How can you be certain we can train them quickly enough to be of use?”
“I am sure.” His eyes found hers in the gloom. “I was Speaker of the Sun, Alhana. I know the
She nodded. The Keeping of Skyriders, the secret of taming griffons, was the birthright of Kith-Kanan, handed down to every Speaker of the Sun.
“I’ve not done it, but I know what’s required,” he said. “That’s why I came to talk with you, to tell you-to make sure you know. It’s important you believe it can be done.”
He seemed uncertain, his words halting. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Something’s troubling you.”
“Despite the evil we have faced thus far, I don’t think we’ve plumbed the depths yet. And I don’t expect the bandits to give us up. Grayden will come after us no matter what.” He reached out suddenly and laid his gloved hand on hers. Immediately, she placed her free hand atop it. “But I wanted you to know…I wanted to tell you to keep heart. Nalaryn’s people will find griffons. We will tame them. Whatever the dangers we must face on our journey to that point, remember that.”
He slipped out of the wagon. The wind of his passage snuffed the candle, leaving Alhana in darkness. Her hands were still warm from his touch. She placed them against her cold cheeks.
She smiled, then she laughed. For the first time in a very long time, Alhana laughed.
Chapter 17
At a snail’s pace, the caravan trudged on. Short of a sojourn in a deep cavern, the elves could not imagine a darker night. The stars were barely visible, as though black mist had risen from the ground to obscure them.
After midnight they reached the river that marked the southern boundary of the Cleft and the end of the oppressive swamp. The river was choked with vines and dark green lily pads. So stained was it by black earth washing down, it looked solid enough to walk over.
“How will we get the wagons across?” said Geranthas.
“Ford,” Porthios replied.
Kerian protested. “You have no idea how deep that water is.'
“Have you a better idea? Can you pick them up and carry them on your shoulders? No? Then we must ford!”
None of them had any better ideas. There was no timber with which to build rafts, and Samar had relayed the rearguard’s report that sounds of pursuit could be heard, so time was fleeting.
“I will take the first cart across,” Porthios declared. “We’ll cut bundles of sticks and saplings, and if we get stuck, we’ll dump them ahead of us to give us traction.”
Such bundles could fill a moat or an enemy trench, but a - river? Not if luck went against them and the river was deep.
Nonetheless, Porthios set a crew of exhausted elves to work hacking down creeper bushes and scrub willows. While they worked, Samar and Kerian conferred.
“There’s someone behind us, no more than a few hundred yards out,” Samar reported in a low voice. “There aren’t many, and they seem unusually quiet for humans or goblins.”
Spies, Kerian said. Grayden had sent his best scouts to keep an eye on them. Some rare humans could manage to be quiet in the woods. It was even possible Gathan had found renegade half-elves or Kagonesti to hire. Such things had happened. She took a deep breath.
“Let’s find out who they are. I can use the stimulation.”
For once Kagonesti and Silvanesti were in total agreement:
Samar also was tired of fleeing, tired of creeping along with the civilians. He called a squadron of twenty mounted guards. To them Kerian added another twenty, without horses. The elves would ride double. At a prearranged moment, the riders would slow to a walk, and the extra riders would slide off silently. The enemy would hear the mounted attack coming and flee or deploy for battle. If they deployed, the elves on foot would infiltrate their line, confusing them. If the enemy fled, the riders would pursue, able to move quickly with their extra riders dismounted. It was a tactic called “Sowing the Garden” which the Lioness had used successfully against the Dark Knights.
Kerian sat her own horse and waited for a royal guard to climb on behind her. Instead of a Silvanesti, she got Hytanthas.
“You’re well enough to fight?” she asked.
“Well enough, Commander.”
The Bianost elves were still cutting sticks and brush as Kerian and Samar rode out to investigate their pursuers. Dawn was three hours away. Alhana saw them off, waving as they trotted past. Porthios stood on a two-wheeled cart, directing elves to roll the bundles to the water’s edge. He did not acknowledge the warriors’ departure.
They proceeded carefully, keeping to the path they’d probed through the Cleft. It was just wide enough for two horses abreast. A hundred yards from the rear of the caravan, Samar halted them.
They sat in absolute silence, listening. They heard the chirp of bats on the wing, the splash of a toad into a
