Destiny

the past five years. They had not always agreed-the Lioness had little use for fawning favor-seekers-but they were comrades, united by service to their Speaker, bound together by the terrors and triumphs of many battlefields.

Kerian held out her hand. Taranath clasped it warmly in both his own.

Hamaramis’s farewell was gruff and brief. Then he added, “I’ve been thinking we should build a temporary citadel-a place where we could take shelter if things go badly. Barricades between the standing stones are hardly adequate.”

“What would we build it of?” Taranath wanted to know.

“There’s plenty of stone lying about. We can put it to good use.”

Kerian mounted. “Good idea. Remember to stay off the circular platform. There’s no telling how far that thing throws voices. Till we meet again!”

She tapped Eagle Eye’s flanks with her heels. The griffon spread his broad wings and, with two mighty bounds, took off. Before she could turn his head to Khuri-Khan, a high-pitched cry captured Kerian’s attention.

Kanan had taken flight from the far side of the camp. The riderless griffon arrowed straight for Eagle Eye.

“No, no!” Kerian shouted. “Go back!”

The young beast paid her no heed but did take notice of Eagle Eye’s more forceful comment. The Royal griffon screeched twice. Kanan’s answering chirrup sounded quite forlorn. Head drooping, Kanan descended to the camp.

Kerian urged Eagle Eye higher. She spared a last glance over her shoulder. The camp buzzed with activity, but all was still around the Speaker’s tent. Truthanar was making certain the Speaker’s repose was undisturbed.

Aloft, the air was cold. Kerian had brought a heavy cloak for the journey. She pulled its hood up over her head. Her golden hair, which she’d hacked off during her stay in occupied Qualinesti, had grown out but still didn’t cover her neck. She was grateful for the cloak’s deep hood.

The southern mountains, lowest of those encircling Inath-Wakenti, were her first goal. The three snow- capped peaks that marked the entrance to the valley were in fact ranged along the sides of the pass, two to the east and one westward, so she wouldn’t be required to skirt their broad slopes. Morning sun glared off the western peak and colored the mountainside in golden light.

The stark landscape below, untouched as yet by the sun, unrolled with a monotonous sameness: widely scattered cedars, pines, and rock maples; vines engulfing boulders and filling ravines; flows of light-colored gravel from the slate hillsides. The standing stones appeared gray in the shade cast by the high mountains and looked even more enigmatic than usual with the last ribbons of mist curling around them. Kerian longed to see a deer or wild goat on a lonesome crag. An eagle or vulture sailing on the rising air would have been a revelation.

She saw none of those things, of course. The Silent Vale was as devoid of animal life as ever, but eyes of a different sort were watching her in flight.

Faeterus and Favaronas had reached Mount Rakaris late the night before and begun the long climb to the Stair of Distant Vision. They had covered no more than a third of the distance before a dozen will-o’-the-wisps materialized higher up the mountainside and drifted down toward them. Despite Faeterus’s forceful commands, the lights closed in, forcing him to fend them off individually. Favaronas clung as close to the sorcerer as he dared, hoping he would be protected. Faeterus dispatched each light with arcane gestures and shouted words that were unintelligible to the archivist. These efforts reduced each will-o’-the-wisp to a smoky dot, gray-white in the darkness, which finally disintegrated and vanished.

By the time the last fireball was banished, the sorcerer was reeling with exhaustion. He collapsed but retained enough presence of mind to put Favaronas to sleep with a wave of his hand before succumbing. The two passed the night where they dropped.

The griffon’s cry as it rose from the camp roused Favaronas and sent a thrill of hope through him. A griffon meant the Speaker and his loyal warriors could not be far away. He hauled himself to his knees, shading his eyes against the bright sky, searching for the source. But Faeterus had awoken as well. A stoppered gourd was slung over his shoulder on a thong. The sorcerer pulled it forward, uncorked it, and thrust its long neck deep into his hood. He drank, swallowing more and more quickly as the liquid revived him. The smell coming from the gourd made Favaronas’s stomach clench. He knew that reek. The sorcerer was drinking blood and not very fresh blood either.

Revived, Faeterus stood and looked skyward. He intoned a long sentence. A prickling sensation washed over Favaronas’s face. it felt as if every hair on his head were standing on end. The sorcerer pressed his palms together. When he drew them apart again, a bar of white-hot fire stretched between them. Favaronas threw himself facedown on the ground, arms covering his head. A heartbeat later a crack of thunder assaulted his ears, and a blast of heat scorched his back.

Kerian didn’t see the lightning bolt coming, but Eagle Eye did. His huge raptor eyes could see in almost a complete circle for miles around him. The flash was far away but bright and strong, rising from the ground on the griffon’s left rear quarter. Without waiting for guidance from his rider, he banked steeply away. Taken by surprise, Kerian pitched sideways. She threw her arms around the griffon’s neck and protested loudly.

Her complaints died when the sizzling bolt of lightning roared past them. Kerian yelled as the metal gear she wore burned through her clothes. Eagle Eye continued his maneuver, making a complete roll and coming right side up. Although griffon and rider had turned away just in time, Kerian’s eyes were dazzled by the blast. When she’d blinked her vision clear again, she saw Eagle Eye’s left wingtip was singed, and fur on his left hindquarter was scorched and smoking.

“Well done!” she praised him, patting his feathered neck. Uncharacteristically, the griffon flinched as she patted him.

Leaning far forward, she waved her hand before his left eye. Eagle Eye didn’t blink or give any other sign he’d noticed the motion, and she realized the lightning bolt had blinded him on that side. His right eye was undamaged.

Gently, she directed him into a steep climb. High, icy cloud fingers streaked the new day, but otherwise the sky was clear, unbroken blue. None of the previous griffon patrols had encountered random lightning bolts over Inath-Wakenti. That didn’t rule it out as some strange manifestation of the valley’s hostile magic, but it was more likely someone down there was hurling thunderbolts.

Eagle Eye climbed cautiously, flying in flat, wide curves quite unlike his usual bold style. Kerian looked past the beating wings, seeking the possible source of the deadly lightning. All she saw were rocky crags spinning past.

When they had doubled their height, she set the griffon’s head south again. It was pointless to remain, inviting a second attack. Nothing more happened, but she didn’t stop looking over her shoulder until they reached the far side of the mountains. Stalwart Eagle Eye flew steadily on, head tilted to compensate for the loss of sight on his left side. Kerian forced herself to remain calm so her emotions wouldn’t agitate the griffon. But inside she was boiling mad. Someone would pay for this treacherous attack.

Had she but known, she was in no danger from a second assault. Favaronas cautiously lifted his face from the dirt and saw Faeterus sprawled nearby. The effort of hurling the single bolt had flattened the sorcerer. The breast of his robe moved, the shallow breathing his only sign of life.

Favaronas himself was unharmed, though his head reeled from proximity to so great a discharge of energy. The ground sloped steeply there. Getting to his feet required caution lest dizziness send him cartwheeling down the mountain. Still, he made all the haste he could. His chance to escape had come.

Whispering voices brought him whirling back toward Faeterus’s unconscious form. Four spirits had appeared higher up the slope. Apparitions did not manifest in Faeterus’s presence while he was awake (and he never slept). With him laid out cold, that protection was gone.

The specters regarded Favaronas with unblinking eyes. Their faces were unnervingly devoid of expression. At first they floated in midair, their bodies fading away a foot above the ground but as the apparitions solidified, their lower legs appeared. It was impossible to tell whether they were male or female. All had hollow, emaciated faces framed by long, tangled hair.

Favaronas stared in fear, falling back and sending pebbles skittering down the mountainside.

‘Don’t hurt me!” he rasped, holding out both hands to ward off the ghosts. “I mean no harm. He forced me to come!”