Destiny

than she. Their faces were indistinct, blurred like reflections in water disturbed by tipples. She could get no clear impression of their appearance.

“We were driven from our homelands by invaders,” Gilthas was saying. “This valley is our last refuge.”

You cannot stay. This is no place for such as you.

The whispery voice teased Kerian’s ears, and Gilthas’s startled reaction showed that he’d heard it too. Coolness played on Kerian’s arm. One of the translucent elves had touched her. She wanted to pull away, but her muscles seemed to have turned to wood. None of the creatures was near enough to touch Gilthas, and he droned on and on as though negotiating with Sahim-Khan’s unctuous minions. More ghosts touched Kerian, their small hands cold as mountain snow.

Gilthas said, “Perhaps we can help you. Why do you haunt this valley? What makes your souls so restless?”

We are forgotten We are the lost. But we live. We live!

With that, the ghosts changed abruptly. From pallid specters, they became more corporeal. White shifts and pale skin darkened. The ghosts were feral creatures, covered by fur, no longer resembling elves at all. The chill, feather- light fingers were claws, and they raked over Kerian’s arms, drawing blood.

Dragging in as large a breath as she could manage, Kerian expelled it in one great heave: “Trap!”

He turned. Shock bloomed on his face. “Let her go! In the name of the Speaker of the Sun and Stars, let her go!” he cried. astonishingly, the creatures obeyed. They fell back. Gilthas went to his dazed wife, and this time it was he who offered support.

Speaker? You are Speaker?

“I am!”

Blood of the Goldeneye!

Regaining command of her limbs, Kerian grasped her husband’s arm. “They’re not elves, they’re monsters!” she said wildly. “We have to go back!”

The specters went with them as they fled. The creatures didn’t follow, but vanished from one spot and reappeared again a few yards farther on.

Kerian ran faster, her grip on Gilthas’s wrist painfully tight. The first stars were winking into view overhead. The will-o’-the-wisps could appear at any time, but they were most obvious just as the stars began to shine. Despite his best efforts, Gilthas was falling behind, and Kerian’s attempt to drag him along only threw him off balance.

“Let me go,” he insisted. “I can run!”

She released him but told him to run faster.

They were only halfway to the camp when she jerked him to a halt. “Don’t move!” she hissed, pointing.

High above, a score of lights bobbed and swooped. Crimson, gold, sapphire, vivid green-they descended swiftly and converged on the two elves.

“What do we do?” Gilthas demanded.

“Stand still.”

“What of the ghosts?”

Kerian dared move enough to look over one shoulder. The ghosts had halted. The expression on each twisted, beastly face was dreadful. Grimacing with hate, the ghosts bared long, gray teeth and made tearing gestures with their claws. They advanced no farther and, as the lights descended, shrank from them as thoroughly as the living elves did. The ghosts seemed terrified of the will-o’-the-wisps.

The colored lights darted past, missing Kerian’s head by a few feet and flying straight at the retreating spirits. An amber light caught one slow-moving ghost, and both vanished in a silent flash.

“They hunt the spirits as well as living creatures!” Gilthas whispered.

Kerian, consumed by the need to remain still when every muscle screamed to run, clenched her teeth. Three will-o’-the wisps passed within arm’s length. Their slow, meandering flight was deceptive. They could move as swiftly as an arrow when the situation required it.

Two more ghosts were taken by the lights before the rest vanished into the silent forest. More will-o’-the- wisps appeared drifting fl from north and south. As she and Gilthas stood elbow to elbow in the deepening twilight, Kerian could see elves standing on the stones ringing their camp. All watched helplessly as half a hundred dancing lights filled the ground between the camp and the two trapped outside its safety. The Lioness was furious. She wasn’t angry at her husband for venturing outside the camp, but at herself for allowing it. He had always led by example it was his nature. The responsibility for his safety was hers and hers alone. Even if it meant offending the dignity of the Speaker, she should not have permitted him to leave the camp.

“Does it hurt when they take you?” Gilthas asked, interrupting her self-recriminations.

Gruffly, she said it did not.

“Keep close, then,” he said. “If we are to be lost, we will be lost together.”

Their resolve to remain motionless met an abrupt end when his illness rose up to choke him. He tried to stifle the cough, but the spasm was too strong. As it bent him double, only Kerian’s strong arms kept him on his feet. The orbiting will-o’-the-wisps drifted closer.

The spasm passed, and Gilthas straightened, striving to catch his breath.

“Here they come,” she said.

“I love you.”

She swallowed hard. “And I love you, dreamer.”

“That’s good. Perhaps you’ll forgive me as well.”

Before she could ask what he meant, the lights closed in and he reneged on his pledge. Gilthas summoned his strength and shoved his wife away. Two will-o’-the-wisps met at his chest and exploded in a blaze of light

Chapter 8

Kerian hurled herself at Gilthas as the corona of light engulfed him, and they both went down. She tried to twist and fall beneath him, to cushion his landing, but she was only partially successful. For a moment she lay unmoving, not breathing, eyes closed. Who knew where the will-o’-the-wisps might have sent them.

Nowhere, it seemed. She and Gilthas had done nothing more than strike the ground. They were still in Inath-Wakenti. The night sky still arched over them. And Gilthas was held fast in her arms.

“So,” he grunted, opening his eyes. “Apparently I am not worth taking.”

“Be still,” she hissed, listening intently. “I don’t think that’s what happened.”

A troop of cavalry galloped up, forestalling further discussion.

Leading them was Hamaramis, pale with shock.

“Great Speaker! Lady Kerianseray! Are you all right?”

Kerian helped her husband stand, and they reassured the old general. The spectral monsters were gone. Will-o’-the-wisps were maneuvering in the mist, rising along the tree line a dozen yards away, and the elves did not hang about. Hamaramis offered his horse, but Gilthas climbed up behind him instead. The Speaker was swaying on his feet and even Hamaramis’s well-behaved bay might prove too vigorous for his unsteady hand. Never one to worry about protocol or appearances, Kerian simply vaulted up behind the closest soldier, a young Qualinesti much astonished to find himself sharing a horse with his queen.

Shouts greeted the Speaker and the Lioness on their return. Everyone marveled at the Speaker’s miraculous survival. Elves crowded his horse, eager to confirm Gilthas was truly unharmed.

After reassuring his people, Gilthas headed for his tent, ordering a council be convened immediately. Soon enough, Hamaramis, Taranath, and the chosen leaders of the people- members of the Thalas-Enthia, the Qualinesti senate-had joined the Lioness in the Speaker’s tent. Gilthas was seated in his camp chair, legs covered by Kerian’s crimson mantle. Despite Truthanar’s worry for his health, the healer had to be content with serving his king a draft of soothing elixir then retiring into the background.

Gilthas and Kerian related their experiences. Unlike his wife, at no time had Gilthas been paralyzed, but he