Porthios’s leather- soled boots as he descended the pinnacle. He came closer, but remained in the shadowy edges of the bonfire’s light.
“The answer is yes,” he said.
Kerian tested the edge of her sword with the ball of her thumb. “By whom?”
When he did not reply, she added, “The time has come for plain speaking, Orexas. Speak your mind.”
Her meaning was abundantly clear to him. Tell the truth, or she would reveal his identity. Even at that distance, the smell of the fire, the feel of the heat on his scarred skin, was painful, and Porthios felt the urge to retreat into the cool darkness. Instead, he advanced a few steps, into the circle of firelight.
He told the story of his first encounter with the human- looking priest. He described the old man and related the example of the cicada and the ants. He told how the same priest had appeared to him the night Alhana lay dying. “The vision we beheld in the clouds was, I am certain, his latest intervention.”
“Who is this priest? Why would a human do these things?” asked Alhana, mystified.
“I don’t think he is human.” Porthios spoke the name of the god. If the group had been silent before, they were struck dumb by this revelation.
Kerian stood and slipped her sword into its scabbard. “I believe you,” she said.
His story helped explain her transportation from Khur to Nalis Aren in the blink of an eye, she said. It wasn’t the work of Faeterus or some nameless Khurish sorcerer, but of the god Porthios had named.
“We must go to Khur.”
And there it was, baldly stated. Hytanthas shouted in triumph. Alhana clasped her hands together, a smile of relief lighting her face. Samar glowered, and Chathendor shook his head dourly.
“Four-fifths of our race is there,” Kerian explained. “To win our war here, we need numbers, but the life’s blood of our people is pouring out on the sands of Khur. We need to rescue them, bring them home, and put the weapons we found in their hands.”
“Which home?” Samar wanted to know.
“Here. Qualinesti. Our success shows just how weak and divided Samuval’s forces are. With twenty thousand skilled warriors, I could retake Qualinesti in a year and drive the Nerakans out of the south in another year.”
“You couldn’t stop them before.”
“Things were different before. The dragons were too strong, and Qualinesti was divided and weak. But Beryl is gone now, and the army we raise will be different. The people of Qualinesti will fight for their own.”
She gestured at the volunteers from Bianost, and they answered by raising a cheer. Alhana’s guard, sitting next to them, regarded them with open skepticism.
“With Qualinesti in our hands, we can gather our strength for an invasion of Silvanesti.” Kerian looked to Porthios.
“That’s what our divine benefactor wants, isn’t it? The restoration of the elf homelands?”
He shrugged. “I do not presume to guess the motives of a god. But if it was he who showed us that distant battle, then he plainly wants us to go to Khur. Both my intuition and the signs left me by the god are telling me our destiny lies there.”
“How are we to get there in time to have any meaningful effect?” Chathendor asked.
Porthios looked toward the crude corral at the high edge of the plateau. “Griffons.”
“We have only twenty-nine,” Samar pointed out. “What can they do against hordes of barbarians?”
Kerian answered, “The nomads fight exclusively on horseback, and their horses can’t bear the sight or smell of griffons. Two dozen griffons, flying just over their heads, will panic the nomads’ mounts completely. A decisive counterattack at the right moment will bring us victory. Gilthas is leading our people to a valley protected by high mountains on all sides. The only way in is a single, hidden pass. With our people safely inside, we can hold off any number of Khur savages.”
Samar had listened in polite silence, but when she finished, he didn’t bother hiding his disbelief. “That’s hardly reasonable, lady. Twenty-nine griffon riders cannot possibly defeat tens of thousands of Khurish barbarians.”
“And what of those left behind here?” Alhana asked. “Gathan Grayden’s army is still hunting us. How will the rebellion survive?”
Fists on hips, the Lioness declared, “Those who remain will disperse into smaller groups and return to the lowland forests, taking the weapons cache with them. They will hide the arsenal in a thousand places, and the bandits will never find it.” She looked toward the Bianost elves and raised her voice, the better to be heard. “No stumbling human knows this forest better than those born to it. Until we return with the army at our backs, you will use the old ways of surprise and ambush. The bandits won’t know where to turn or even who to fight!”
Her prowess in battle wasn’t limited to fighting. At the end of her speech, all the Bianost elves were on their feet, vowing to do just as she said. Even the royal guards were cheering.
When the noise died, Chathendor asked, “You aren’t remaining to lead them, lady?”
“With or without the rest of you, I’m going back to Khur.”
Hytanthas clasped her hand, elated. His promise to the Speaker would be kept after all.
Samar and Chathendor conceded defeat. They had no arguments left and no leader to oppose the formidable combination of Orexas, Alhana, and the Lioness.
Porthios decreed they would leave at first light, and the assembly broke up in a flurry of activity. The twenty-odd warriors already bonded to griffons gathered around Kerian. Samar bowed to the will of his lady and joined the departing band. To his credit, he said nothing more of his doubts. Now that their course was set, his duty was to support Alhana.
In addition to Kerian, Hytanthas, and the other griffon riders, Porthios would go. When Alhana claimed a spot, Porthios gruffly told her she should go back to Schallsea.
Chathendor was shocked. Although he himself had been all set to protest her going on such a dangerous trek, he took Orexas to task for exhibiting such presumption. Kerian spoke quickly, glossing over the indiscretion.
“Our leader is obviously old-fashioned,” she joked. Mockingly, she said to Porthios, “Women do fight, you know. Maybe you’ve heard of the Lioness?”
There was a ripple of laughter, and the elves went about their various tasks. Speaking for his ears only, Kerian muttered, “Watch your tongue, Orexas. Next time you can make up your own excuses.”
As the griffon riders prepared their gear, one last important matter remained. The continuing rebellion in Qualinesti needed a leader. Chathendor was too old and a Silvanesti. The revolt required a local face.
Kerian suggested Nalaryn and was prepared to defend her choice, but there was no need. All agreed the Kagonesti chief would make an excellent leader. Nalaryn had been standing nearby, awaiting any orders from his Great Lord. When told he was to lead the rebellion in Qualinesti, the stolid forester didn’t bat an eye.
“This is your wish, Great Lord?” he asked. Porthios said it was, and Nalaryn nodded. “Then I shall carry your sword into every corner of the land. The invader will know no rest, and his minions will run or die.”
That was too much for Kerian. Nalaryn was stronger, and faster than Porthios. Why did the Kagonesti give him such unconditional fealty? Alhana, Chathendor, and Samar went to complete their own preparations, and Kerian drew Nalaryn aside. She put her question to him in her typically blunt fashion.
“Why do you serve Orexas?” she demanded. “What hold does he have over you?”
“I have seen his face,” the Wilder elf said simply. “He told me his true name.”
It was a brilliant stroke on Porthios’s part, Kerian realized, revealing himself to Nalaryn. Nalaryn saw him as Speaker of the Sun, as Porthios had been when Nalaryn served as a scout to the royal army. The other Kagonesti were bound to Nalaryn by ties of clan kinship. Close-knit and close-mouthed, Porthios’s Kagonesti were admired by all. The Immortals would form the hard core of the rebellion. Where they led, volunteers like those from Bianost would follow. Kerian could almost feel sorry for the bandits. They were in for a very rough time.
Because of the number of elves going to Khur, two griffons would have to carry a double weight. Samar, bonded to the largest animal, Ironhead, offered a place to Orexas. Kerian regarded the granite-faced warrior elf with narrowed eyes. Despite the respect Orexas had earned as a crafty leader, he still looked like a vagabond. Samar’s generous offer told her he had deduced their leader’s identity. Samar returned her look with one of such bland innocence, she knew she was right.
Alhana and Kerian were to ride together on the female griffon they had captured first. Although the Lioness had bonded with the griffon, it was Alhana who named the creature Chisa, in honor of Chislev, goddess of nature.
