Destiny

groups immediately?

“Such a decision should not be made in haste, in the heat of excitement,” Alhana explained. “The search for a stone will give each elf time to reflect”

Gilthas decreed the voting would take place the day after tomorrow, at daybreak. All would return to this spot and make his or her decision. Those voting to depart would do so immediately.

The Sinthal-Elish was at an end. Truthanar handed a cup to the Speaker. It contained more of the white medicine.

“I thought you were resting,” Kerian said. “What were you thinking of, coming here like this?”

“I was thinking of the future.”

“Don’t you get tired of talking like that?” she muttered.

“Like what?”

“Like a prophet… Or a player in some low drama.”

He smiled. “Being Speaker requires a sense of drama.”

Their walk back to camp was accomplished amid a happy mob of the Speaker’s loyal and confident subjects. They knew firsthand their king had spared himself none of the hardships of their exile. When the danger from the nomads was greatest, Gilthas Pathfinder led his people onward with no thought of his own safety. Although he wore the mantle of legendary rulers such as Silvanos and Kith-Kanan, Gilthas had proven himself their equal in valor and majesty.

Their faith was so heartbreakingly profound, Kerian couldn’t bear it. “Do you have any plan for those who remain, Gil? What are you going to do?”

He squeezed her hand. “The day after tomorrow, I will cross Lioness Creek and lead our nation into Inath- Wakenti.”

Hamaramis, walking next to them, exclaimed, “Great Speaker, is that wise?”

“Yes. We’ve lingered on the doorstep long enough. It’s time to take possession of our new home.”

“If it doesn’t take possession of us,” Kerian said darkly.

* * * * *

Wind blew out of Alya-Alash like a great exhalation. Breath of the Gods indeed! The gusty wind rattled the threadbare tents pitched in the center of the pass. Fifteen cone-shaped shelters woven from dark wool were arranged in a semicircle. They were the last remnants of the once-mighty force that had dogged the elves’ every step from Khuri-Khan. The nomads had fought with great courage and ferocity, but the laddad outlasted them. Griffons had soared down from the sky, one of them ridden by a hideous demon. When he ordered depart, most of them did. It was easy to justify the retreat. So many had died battling the laddad, some of the tribes would require years to recover.

Adala Fahim dipped her hands in a dented copper basin. The tepid water stung her scratched fingers as she washed away a thick layer of grime. Known as the Weyadan, the Weya-Lu “Mother of the Weya-Lu” tribe, she later had come to be called!” Maita for the divine, inescapable fate that guided her in the war against the laddad. Little of the divine remained; their was only endless, back-breaking labor. The day the laddad entered Alya-Alash, Adala had begun the wall across the pass. Some of her former followers returned to help. A few were warriors, but most were older folk who still believed in her godly mission. From sunrise to sundown, they dragged were stones from the surrounding slopes. Lacking mortar or tools they piled the stones in a long cairn, its base wider than its top. Thus far, the wall was head high and about a hundred yards long. The pass was a mile wide. A great deal of work remained.

Adala toiled without complaint, her faith undiminished. The very falling away of the tribes’ support convinced her she was in the right. Everyone knew the path to truth was narrow and hard, while the road to error was easy. Her only regret was the betrayal of her cousin Wapah. He had his back on her, his people, and his homeland by helping the foreign killers escape justice. His actions were unforgivable.

A few days after he’d led the laddad into the valley, Wapah had returned. He rode straight out of the pass, in broad daylight, with shaped his head uncovered for all to see. Outraged warriors wanted to slay him as a traitor, but Adala showed them he was not worth even that. She turned her back on him. The rest followed her example, and Wapah passed through the camp and out into the high desert in the heat, with no eye upon him. His image diminished to a silhouette, then wavered, and vanished. Since then, no one else had entered or left the forbidden valley.

Finished with her ablutions, Adala shook her hands carefully over the bowl, allowing every drop to run back inside. Water was plentiful here, but the habits of a lifetime in the desert were unbreakable. She looked up as the thud of hoofbeats announced the arrival of a rider. It was Tamid, a Weya-Lu from the Cloudbender clan.

“Maita! Our hunting party was attacked!”

She stood quickly. “Laddad?”

“No. A beast!”

Unlike the deep desert, the foothills abounded in game. Tamid and a party of three hunters had flushed a stag and a wild sow in a rocky ravine east of camp. On their way back with the dressed carcasses, the hunters were set upon. Two men were unhorsed, and the creature had carried off the game. Few animals bold enough to attack armed and mounted men. Fewer still were strong enough to carry off two carcasses at the same time.

Adala asked if the creature was a desert panther. The long- legged cat, large as a donkey, was nearly extinct in the deep desert but might still prowl in the shadow of the mountains. Tamid vowed the beast was no panther, although it walked on four feet. None in his party had ever seen its like before. He had left the others to trail the beast while he came back to report to Adala.

Such a creature was too dangerous to be allowed to remain so near their camp. Adala sent Tamid to round up more men. The creature must be killed.

When Tamid returned with eleven mounted men, he was surprised to see Adala herself mounted on Little Thorn, her tireless gray donkey. She was going with them, and as usual she was unarmed. The men did not waste time protesting. She was the Maita, and she would do what she would do.

Tamid led them southeast along the edge of the lower range of hills. The ground was stony. Cacti and bone- colored spear bushes were thick on the ground, forcing the horses to their way carefully. Adala’s sharp nose detected the strong scent of soter. She noted a small stand of the evergreen shrub and marked the spot for a later return. From soter she could make never a natural wound cleanser, and her store was sorely depleted after the recent battles.

When the nomads reached the spot where Tamid had parted company with his fellows, they halted. One man raised a short brown curled ram’s horn to his lips and sounded a long note.

In less than a minute, an answering bleat came from ahead and above. The slope was steep. Adala’s donkey was more sure-footed than the horses and outpaced them, but soon all of them were struggling upward, leaning forward to keep their balance. Loose stones rolled down the hill behind them. The distant horn blew again, twice, sounding more urgent.

A mile passed before they spied two riders waving sword over their heads. The slender blades, bare of crossguards, caught the setting sun and flashed like beacons. Adala tapped Little Thorn’s rump with her stick. The stalwart donkey increase its pace, leaving the horses behind.

“Where is it?” she called.

One of the riders pointed with his sword to the sun-washed crest at his back. “Beyond the ridge yonder, Maita.”

At the end of another steep climb, the group came to plateau perhaps a hundred yards long and forty yards wide. The last member of Tamid’s hunting party awaited them at the far end. He was mounted, his bow at full draw. His target was hidden by intervening rocks, but its presence was obvious. The archer’s horse, trained to stand quietly in the face of nearly any danger, stamped and shied, shaking its blunt head.

“Keep back, Maita!” called the archer, never shifting his gaze. “It can leap far!”

She acknowledged his warning but tapped Little Thorn urging him forward. The donkey snorted and balked. Stolid even in the presence of griffons, Little Thorn did not like whatever was ahead. Adala chided him as though he were a pick naughty child and tapped his flank with her stick. He shuffled forward, obedient but unhappy.

Adala knew every beast that roamed the desert, but she’d seen anything like the animal perched on a low