Alliances

Word came down the line that nomads were in sight on the left. Taranath ordered the crescent line of riders to re-form into a column of sixes. Haggard but disciplined, the elves arranged themselves quickly. Then, by word of mouth only, Taranath sounded the charge.

The lead riders of a Mikku patrol were picking their way through the scrub cedar and thorn trees when the elf cavalry burst upon them, as unexpected as a storm in the desert. The warriors in front didn’t even have time to draw swords before they were annihilated. The trailing elements rode back to summon help.

Taranath continued to harry them, his mounted archers picking off scattered warriors. First fifty, then a hundred, then several hundred Mikku warriors faced about and cantered back to the main body of nomads, three miles behind.

Taranath left a small band to press the retreating humans, swung the bulk of his warriors in a wide loop to their right, and fell on the flank of the unsuspecting Mikku. He hit them just as the first riders reached the main body of the nomad army, shouting warnings of an attack. The result was a complete rout. Attacked on two sides, uncertain how many laddad they faced, the Mikku fell back in confusion. Taranath left another token force to carry on the flank attack and once more led the majority of his warriors in a loop, curving around to the left. When they emerged from a line of lordly black cedars, the whole of the nomad army lay before them, moving slowly, swords sheathed.

The Silvanesti among Taranath’s troopers stood in their stirrups and gave the ancient victory cry- “Sivvanesu!”-the archaic pronunciation of “Silvanesti.”

Assuming a wedge formation, the elves hit the unwary nomads and smashed through, cutting off the entire Mikku contingent. Taranath’s warriors rode through the confused mass of humans, swords flashing and arrows singing.

The Tondoon and Hachakee tribes, taken by surprise, began to back away from the furious assault. They weren’t afraid. They only wanted to put space between them and their enemy so they could draw swords and meet the foe on equal terms, but Adala, arriving on Little Thorn, assumed the worst.

“For shame, men of Khur! The enemy puts himself in your hands, and you retreat! Where is your honor? Give them the sword!”

The warriors nearest her protested. She scorned their explanation. “A fight is never settled by fleeing the enemy. I’ll show you how it’s done!”

She tapped Little Thorn’s flank with her stick. Guiding the donkey around the taller ponies, she rode straight at the laddad. Warmasters and tribesmen alike shouted for her to turn back, but she wouldn’t heed them. She was a charge of one, furious, unarmed, lacking even a speedy means of retreat.

Young Othdan, chief of the Tondoon, roared, “I will not sit with an idle blade in my hands while the Maita perishes! Tondoon, follow me!”

Not to be outdone, the chiefs and warmasters of the Hachakee turned their magnificent gray horses around and spurred hard. Holding the reins in their teeth, they filled each hand with a sword.

Taranath could not understand what was happening. One moment, the nomads were ready to break; a breath later, they were thundering back, a bloodthirsty tide set to engulf the smaller elf force. It was no proper charge or calculated thrust, merely a mass of men, horses, and whirling blades crashing toward the astonished elves. On the right, the Mikku saw the change of fortune and rallied, causing Taranath to face attacks on the left and right. He stood in the stirrups and scanned the chaos, looking for a way out. His gaze fell on an incongruous figure-a small donkey, moving as fast as his stumpy legs would allow, bearing a rider clad in black robes. He didn’t recognize the rider, but the mass of nomads thundering after the donkey told him it was an important person.

“Formigan!” he shouted. “Put a shaft in that donkey’s rider!”

The renowned archer nocked a black oak shaft (his last missile) and drew the bowstring to his chin. All about him was utter chaos, with elves and nomads hurtling back and forth between him and his target, yet he waited calmly for his moment then loosed.

The arrow struck true. A great groan rose up from the nomads at the sight of the still-quivering black shaft protruding from their leader’s chest. The impact drove the breath from Adala’s body and rocked her backward, but she felt no pain, and no blood flowed. Elation sang through her veins.

With all eyes upon her, she lifted her donkey switch high and cried, “See how my maita protects me, even from the weapons of the evil laddad! Men of Khur, children of Torghan, will you fail now?”

“No!”

The thunderous roar seemed to shake the very ground beneath Taranath’s horse. The general was stunned by the failure of Formigan’s shot. Could the donkey rider be wearing armor beneath those black robes?

There was no more time to ponder the mystery. The nomads redoubled their efforts. Caught in a vise of human fury, Taranath looked for a way out. Left and right were hopelessly clogged with savages. Retreat was impossible since the elf nation lay in that direction. Ahead was the only option.

The elves surged forward. They cut their way through the relatively thin line of nomads in front of them and burst into the open desert. Taranath told his cornetist to blow not “Retreat,” but “Pursuit.” Heartened to know they weren’t fleeing, the elves emerged from the human swarm and galloped away, riding due west. After some confusion while the choking clouds of dust thinned, the Khurs followed.

The only nomads who did not pursue were Adala and the Weya-Lu. Yalmuk and the Weya-Lu warriors who’d fought at Broken Tooth had ridden hard to catch up to the main army. When they arrived, they found the battle over, their people pursuing the laddad, and Adala Malta slumped on her donkey’s back.

Fearing the worst, Yalmuk touched the Weyadan’s arm. “Maita! Are you hurt?”

She straightened, and Yalmuk gasped as he saw the arrow in her chest. “I am not injured, warmaster,” she said. “Can you get this thing out of me?”

Gingerly, he grasped the shaft. Adala neither winced nor swooned but told him to get on with it. He gave a hard yank. The laddad missile came out with a tearing sound.

“Lout. You’ve torn my geb.”

Yalmuk didn’t hear her. He was examining the arrow. The sharp tip of the broadhead had snapped off, as though it had struck something hard.

“Maita, are you wearing armor?”

She parted the front of her outer robe, displaying the sash she wore underneath. Studded along its pale gray length were three flat cabochons of lapis lazuli, each as big as Adala’s palm. The one in the center was cracked in half. The arrow had struck it, breaking the arrow tip and the cabochon. Adala’s clothing had held the arrow in place until Yalmuk ripped it free.

She told him to keep the arrow. “It is more proof my maita lives and will bring us victory.”

He tucked it away and asked what she desired to do next.

“The men of Khur must be brought back. Our target is the laddad host, not their cowardly soldiers. if so many are loose in the desert, the laddad must be without protection.” She rearranged her clothing. “I will bring the tribes back. You will ride after the laddad invaders.”

Yalmuk studied her closely. “Malta, are you hurt at all?”

The rib directly behind the broken cabochon felt as though it was cracked, and she felt some pain. But she cinched her sash tight to brace it, and said nothing of this to Yalmuk, only sent him on his way. Taking up her switch, she tapped Little Thorn on the flank and trotted off to find her army.

* * * * *

Clouds obscured most of the stars over Khuri-Khan. In the courtyard of the Temple of Elir-Sana stood High Priestess Sa’ida, a tall staff in her hand. At the top of the staff, a glass globe burned with a swirling white light that gave out no heat but did illuminate the loathsome creature groveling before her.

When her acolytes first came running into the sacred shrine, screeching about a monster at the gate, Sa’ida had chastised them. The age of monsters was past, she said. They were being hysterical. Yet when she saw the half-man, half- beast creature and heard it speak her name, she realized she would have to apologize to the