combatants, but no one in the cloud-scene appeared to hear them. All any of them on the wind-scoured bluff could do was watch as the besieged circle of elves was slowly worn away.
The end was inevitable. The circle disintegrated, engulfed by the human horde and a sea of hostile swords.
Instantly, the vision vanished. Although every eye strained to see more, the dense clouds showed only occasional flickers of silent lightning.
Kerian and Alhana, Hytanthas and Samar, even Porthios, were left regarding each other in open-mouthed shock.
Chapter 20
Arrayed in along, curved line, the elf cavalry waited and watched. They were the last line of defense for the unarmed multitude struggling through the sand behind them.
The pass leading into Inath-Wakenti lay directly ahead, its entrance marked by three peaks lined up abreast. Their snowcapped tops, rising above the shimmering desert, drew the elf nation like a beacon, No one ordered them to make haste, but all quickened their steps. The injured and infirm who couldn’t keep pace were carried.
For a full day after the departure from Broken Tooth there had been no sign of pursuit. The reason for that was agonizingly clear: The nomads had taken the sacrifice offered them on Broken Tooth. Before noon on the second day, however, telltale streamers of dust rose in the southwest. The Speaker, Hamaramis, and Wapah rode back to the end of the column to see for themselves.
“They’re coming,” Wapah said, nodding. “No more than a hundred. Scouts.”
Hamaramis immediately offered to send the army to keep the scouts from reporting back. Gilthas rejected that notion. A battle would only slow their escape, and capturing the scouts would be pointless. The mass of fleeing elves was leaving a trail even the blind could follow. Scouts or no, the nomads would find the elves eventually.
Nevertheless, the Speaker did concentrate the remaining cavalry at the rear of the column, to screen it from attack. Gilthas needed Hamaramis with him, so Taranath was put in command. His orders were clear. If small scouting parties came within reach, he could pick them off, but under no circumstances was he to engage the enemy with the bulk of the surviving army.
The elves’ stumbling, arduous trek continued. They swallowed meager rations on the move, not daring to pause even for a moment. At their backs, the dust cloud thickened and spread. More nomads were joining the chase. What that meant for Planchet and the Sacred Band left behind on Broken Tooth, all understood. Although some murmured among themselves, no one broached the subject to the Speaker. Gilthas’s face, usually so expressive of his emotions, was stonily impassive. He concentrated all his energies on getting his people to safety. Planchet had sworn to return; Gilthas clung to that oath.
Two hours before sunset, the elves came upon an obstacle no one had expected. A wadi nearly a mile wide and a dozen yards deep ran almost due east-west. The dry riverbed wasn’t on Gilthas’s map (copied from an original made thousands of years ago), and Wapah confessed he’d not encountered it before.
“I thought you knew this country.” Hamaramis said.
“As I know my own face.”
“Then how do you not know of this enormous ravine?”
The nomad scratched his bearded chin. “Lacking a mirror, a man does not see his eyes.”
The Speaker cut off the impending argument. “Find a way down, General.”
Hamaramis and a small party rode away to make a quick search. They returned with disheartening news. Scores of trails led down into the wadi, but none was wider than a goat track. The elves could descend but would have to do it at dozens of widely separated points.
Even Gilthas, no soldier, knew that was bad. Fragmented in such a way, elves would become lost, and time would be wasted while they waited for the more distant parties to rejoin the whole. Worse, they would be highly vulnerable to ambush. There was of course no other choice. Wapah theorized that the freakish rainstorm that had hit as the elves left Khuri-Khan could have cut the ravine. Funneled down the mountains, rainwater would acquire torrential power. The wadi might easily run for many miles in either direction. They could not waste precious time searching for a way around.
Breaking into parties ranging from a handful to several hundred, sorting themselves by family or clan, the foot- sore, sunburned refugees fanned out along the bank of the wadi. They hacked their way through chamiso and thorn bushes, skirted cacti and the tangled debris of forgotten floods. As Gilthas and his councilors watched from atop the south bank, the first elves began to stream north across the wadi floor.
“What tribe owns this land?” Gilthas asked.
Wapah shrugged one shoulder. “Children do not own their mother, Khan-Speaker.” Gilthas gave him an impatient look, and the nomad added, “An offshoot of the Mikku are its most numerous inhabitants.”
The Mikku was a very warlike tribe, Gilthas knew. Their chief occupation was hiring themselves out to Neraka or the khan as mercenaries. He asked if Adala’s army contained many Mikku. Wapah’s solemn nod was not the answer he’d hoped for.
“Our pursuers must be delayed,” Gilthas said, worried the crossing was going to take longer than he’d hoped. The desert foliage did not yield easily, and the elves had few knives and machetes with which to attack it. If the nomads caught them at the wadi, the result would be catastrophic.
He ordered the rearguard, which had been closely shadowing the great column of civilians, to head south. Hamaramis asked to lead them, but Gilthas decreed that Taranath would command. Taranath accepted the assignment and asked whether the Speaker had any specific instructions.
“Hold off the enemy,” Gilthas said simply. “If we move all night, we should have everyone back together on the far side before sunrise.”
It was a daunting task, perhaps an impossible one, to keep the far superior nomad force on this side of the wadi until morning. Taranath saluted smartly and rode off to carry out his sovereign’s commands.
“There is too much courage here,” Wapah said to no one in particular.
“I agree,” said Gilthas. “Too much courage and too little compassion.”
He coughed a few times, but no blood appeared. The ministrations of Truthanar were keeping his illness in abeyance.
He remained on the south bank until the last of his people descended the narrow trails into the wadi’s broad bed. With him were six councilors (three each of Qualinesti and Silvanesti), a bodyguard of nine, the human Wapah, and Hamaramis. The old general would not think of arguing with his Speaker, but Gilthas knew he was furious at having been left out of the impending fight. Gilthas sympathized. His own thoughts continually strayed to Planchet and the elves left behind on Broken Tooth.
The sun lowered itself onto the western desert, painting the tan landscape in orange and red hues. The sky deepened to indigo. Stars appeared. The air cooled quickly, and Gilthas shivered. He pulled a cape on over his long- sleeved
“How far do you plan to go with us?” Gilthas asked Wapah, standing on his right.
“As far as the khan of the
“Then I require you a while longer.”
The last of the elves had entered the wadi. It was time for the Speaker to follow. His bodyguards dismounted and led their animals because the track into the wadi was narrow and steep. Gilthas led the way, pushing through thorn bushes. A branch snapped back unexpectedly and scored a bloody line below his right eye. Hamaramis wanted to inspect the gash, but Gilthas brusquely ordered the party to proceed. More than one of those accompanying him thought he appeared to be weeping tears of blood.
Half a mile away, the rearguard waited for the enemy to close. Months of fighting the nomads had convinced Taranath of one truth: however brave and bold the Khurs were, when pressed, their response was to close up together. By hitting them hard, Taranath knew he could force them to draw in all their riders, thus keeping them away from the civilians crossing the wadi.
