Chapter 19
The elf camp, so lately delivered from the menace of ghosts and will-o’-the-wisps, was thrown into new panic when the boiling, black cloud stained the morning sky. Most elves fled at once, seeking shelter in the outer ring of monoliths. When the cloud had swelled to match the size of the stone platform below it, the camp was blasted by wind. Air rushed toward the cloud, collapsing tents and sucking up smaller objects along the way. Cups, water jugs, and tools raced end over end on their way to the distant platform.
The spectacle confounded Gilthas and his advisors. Standing with them outside the Speaker’s tent, Sa’ida was alarmed by the display. No one in the valley but Faeterus had the magical prowess to stir up such forces, she said.
Gilthas exchanged a worried look with Hamaramis. Kerian’s hunting party must have failed to put an end to the sorcerer’s activities. Yet Gilthas refused to give up hope. The Lioness might yet prevail.
Shouting over the wind, the old general asked Sa’ida if she could stop whatever was happening. Her reply was unequivocal. The black vortex swirling above the platform was beyond her abilities. In fact, the raw release of magical energy was making her distinctly ill. A camp chair cartwheeled past, narrowly missing her. Gilthas drew her further into the lee of the large tent, beckoning his advisors to follow.
“Can you slow it down or interfere in any fashion?” he asked. Even with the bulk of the tent behind them abating the wind somewhat, Gilthas was forced to raise his hoarse voice to its limit to be heard over the howling gale.
Little confidence showed on Sa’ida’s ashen face, but she said she would try. She stepped a few feet away from the group. Lifting the Eye of Elir-Sana free of her robe, she clasped her hands around it and bowed her head. When she drew her hands apart, the amulet hung suspended in a band of bluish light connecting her hands. Her lips moved in a silent incantation, lines of concentration etching her forehead. The band of light thickened and grew brighter, and she hurled it into the sky. Caught by the wind, it flew through the debris- filled air, dwindling with distance. When it reached the cloud, there was a flare of light and the wind eased, but for a moment only. The gale resumed undiminished.
Sa’ida rejoined the group. She looked even more ill than before. “This is prodigious sorcery, Great Speaker! I don’t know what Faeterus is trying to unleash, but you must take your people away. Put as much distance as possible between yourselves and this…“ Her voice had been failing. It finally trailed away completely, and she waved a hand weakly at the huge cloud.
As a warrior supported the fainting priestess, Gilthas gave the command: “General! Everyone is to flee. Where does not matter, as long as it’s away from the stone disk. Tell them to leave everything behind and run. Run, General!”
Hamaramis took the reins of his horse from an aide and offered the animal to the Speaker. Gilthas shook his head. “I stay.”
The general exploded in denials. He flatly refused to leave Gilthas behind. When fear for his sovereign led him to threaten to have the Speaker carried away against his will, Gilthas’s outraged expression stopped his outburst cold.
“Sire,” he cried, “please forgive me! I should never have spoken so, but you cannot expect me to-”
“I can and do, General. Take Lady Sa’ida and go. I will not say it again.”
Once Hamaramis was mounted, the priestess was boosted up before him. Holding her with one hand and the reins of his nervous horse with the other, he stared down at his king. Fear and worry battled over his lean, lined face.
“It’s only wind,” Gilthas said, managing a smile.
Anguish unabated, Hamaramis turned his horse’s head and rode away.
The palanquin was never very far from Gilthas. He seated himself in the woven chair and ordered the bearers to flee. They would not be moved. Offering no arguments or pleas, they simply sat on the ground alongside the palanquin and lowered their heads. Each grasped a handful of the Speaker’s robe and held on.
It wasn’t only the elves in camp who battled the wind. Kerian’s company was forced to deal with it as well. The air raced down Mount Rakaris and into the valley, steady as a waterfall, the Lioness knew such a constant wind must be unnatural, and she was certain it was the work of Faeterus. When the dark cloud over the center of Inath-Wakenti became plain, she and her comrades knew at least the locus of the wind, if not the reason behind it.
The two younger elves were in the lead, with Kerian and Taranath only yards behind. The mountainside they were climbing was still washed in late-morning sunshine, but the center of the valley was as deeply shaded as though dusk had come. A column of dust and debris, like a captive tornado, slowly rose from the ground to the center of the cloud. The sight drew an anguished cry from young Hytanthas, who halted in his tracks. The others kept moving, and as Kerian came abreast of him, she gruffly told him to do the same.
“Commander, our people are there!” he protested.
“I know.”
“The Speaker is there!”
She took his arm in a painful grip and pushed him onward. “I know!” she snapped, not even glancing at the camp. “The only way we can help them is by going on!”
They jogged to catch up with the others. Taranath was closest; Robien was a few yards ahead of him. As the Lioness and Hytanthas came abreast of Taranath, a streak of brown hurtled from the wind-whipped bushes on the right and hit Robien square in the chest. The bounty hunter went down hard. The furious wind had masked any telltale sounds. The attack had taken them all completely by surprise. Hytanthas shouted. All three drew swords and ran to Robien’s aid.
He rolled over and over, clutching the neck of a furry beast. He managed to hold it away from his throat and somehow halt their tumbling with himself on top. Letting go with his left hand, he jammed a forearm against the creature’s jaw. It writhed, trying to throw Robien off. He planted a knee in its ribs.
Racing to cover the distance, Taranath recognized Robien’s attacker. “It’s the beast the priestess banished!” he exclaimed.
“Shobbat?” Kerian was furious. She’d wanted to kill the creature when it appeared in their camp. By flinging the monster away, Sa’ida had only delayed the inevitable and put Robien’s life at risk in the bargain.
“Kill him!” she shouted.
Despite the wind, Shobbat had no trouble hearing the Lioness’s command. He had jumped Robien to keep the bounty hunter from leading the
Robien saw three suns, as the kender say. As his head snapped backward from the blow, he flung up an arm to ward off further strikes. Shobbat’s jaws opened, ready to clamp down on the unprotected arm.
His teeth found only air. Taranath had arrived, and his sword sliced through Shobbat’s short, bushy tail. Shobbat shrieked in pain. Kerian bore in, thrusting her weapon’s point at his chest. Her blade found fur and slid across, but leaving a long, deep cut. While they kept Shobbat busy, Hytanthas dragged Robien out of the way. Kerian could hear the young captain frantically asking Robien where he was hurt, but she and Taranath kept their attention on the crouching beast. Blood dripped from Shobbat’s chest.
“You will regret this!” he rasped.
“My only regret is not killing you sooner!”
Kerian lunged, and Taranath followed half a heartbeat later. Despite his wounds, Shobbat astonished them all. Coiling himself almost double, he sprang, not directly at his attackers, but completely over their heads. They whirled but he was faster. In two bounds he had vanished into the low brush and scrub pines.
Hytanthas was tending Robien’s wound. Taranath’s timely intervention had saved the Kagonesti’s arm, but in his first pounce, Shobbat had scored two bloody lines on Robien’s right shoulder with his fangs. Although not crippling, the injury was painful. Robien watched in stoic silence as Hytanthas bandaged the wound with a linen
