Destiny

by Paul B. Thompson

  The morning was still fresh when flankers came riding in to Taranath to announce a strange find. Not food or a water source, but an elf.

  “Alive?” Taranath asked.

  “It seems so. But you’d better come see. It would be easier than explaining!”

  The two riders led him nearly a mile south of his original line of march, to a clearing containing three tall standing stones. Four more mounted warriors were drawn up around one of the monoliths, the elves staring at something on the ground. Taranath started to dismount. The soldiers advised him not to draw too near. After admonishing them not to be so fearful, the general got down and pushed between two horses. He beheld the strangest of many strange sights he’d witnessed of late.

  A mound of blue-green sand was humped up by the base of the white monolith. Buried up to his mouth in it was an elf with tanned skin and dark hair cut short. His eyes were closed as if in death, but his nostrils flared ever so slightly. He was breathing.

  Even more remarkable, the dirt mound was covered by live bats. Taranath could hardly believe his eyes—living creatures in Inath-Wakenti! The bats reacted not at all to the approach of elves. They were clustered so thickly, their wings completely hid the surface of the mound. The seated elf was encased from toes to lips. The bats covered only the portion illuminated by the rising sun. As he stared, another bat flew squeaking by his head and landed near the bottom edge of the living mass. The newcomer spread its wings and positioned itself just where the line of sunlight was starting to creep downward on the entombed elf’s torso.

  “Careful, sir,” said one of the warriors, breaking the stunned silence. “The sand is alive.”

  Something skittered over the surface of Taranath’s boots, and he looked down. Streams of turquoise-colored dirt were flowing over his feet like water. With an oath, he shook free and stepped back. Fortunately, the creeping sand didn’t extend more than a few feet from the trapped elf.

  The unknown elf was a Kagonesti, Taranath thought. From the look of him, he had dwelled among humans. If they didn’t free him soon, the sand would bury him completely. The presence of the bats was as inexplicable as the rest, but they must give way if the fellow was to be dug out.

  He set the warriors to work. For foraging, they carried gear such as short-handled spades and vials for sampling any water they might find. Two riders got down and tried to drive the bats away by shouting and waving their spades. The bats chittered and squeaked, but stayed put. Only when Taranath probed among them with his saber did they take flight. As soon as they were gone, the sand they’d been shading ceased roiling and hardened with an audible creak. Wherever the sun touched it, the flowing soil went rigid as stone. The imprisoned elf groaned very weakly. The solidifying sand was squeezing the breath out of him.

  “Break him out!” Taranath cried. “Hurry!”

  The hardened sand was like glass—very hard but ultimately brittle. As they hacked at it with spades, the elves were cut by flying shards, but they kept at it. The flock of bats circled just above their heads, making a terrific din. Soon the elves had the hardened sand cleared away from the Kagonesti’s torso. His chest expanded with a great, shuddering breath. Immediately, the bats dispersed. They were gone from sight in seconds.

  The warriors turned their attention to the glass encasing his legs. When they had freed his legs, two seized his arms, heaving him upward. The spell that had animated the soil was broken. The blue-green dirt lay quiet beneath their feet. To be safe, they carried the stranger a few yards away. Taranath splashed water on his ashen face.

  The Kagonesti came to with a vengeance. Jerking free of the hands supporting him, he rolled away and was on his feet in a heartbeat. Elves are a dexterous and nimble race, but the Kagonesti’s quick recovery and terrific reflexes startled them all.

  He didn’t reach for a weapon, only seated a pair of tinted spectacles on his nose. Peering at them through the yellow lenses, he said, “You’re not ghosts!”

  Taranath folded his arms. “No, my friend, but you nearly were.”

  10

  Her dreams were filled with sky.

  A strong breeze sang in her ears and played over her bare arms and legs. It was both pleasant and shockingly chilly. She walked along a narrow marble causeway surrounded on all sides by open blue sky. Neither end of the path was visible; the marble simply blended into the sky before and behind. On each side stone monuments reared up, each shaped vaguely like an elf. She amused herself by affixing identities to the amorphous blocks: Alhana, delicately slim, strong as steel; Samar, standing so rigidly at attention his back might snap from the strain; Porthios, lean and angular, turned slightly away from the causeway. The flowing figure with arms spread wide could only be Gilthas. But what of the gnomish shape at his side? As she studied it, the rounded block moved, the egg-shaped head turning. It had her face.

  Kerian flinched awake. She was still surrounded by sky, but this was no dream. A chilly wind chapped her face. She was leaning forward against Eagle Eye’s neck. Below her dangling fingers the wastes of Khur whirled by, their pale brown color gone gray by starlight. After sunset, she had cinched her saddle straps tight and allowed herself to nap. Eagle Eye snorted and bobbed his head, sensing his rider was finally awake.

  Clouds billowed around them, blue-white in the starlight. Khur did not often play host to clouds, and she immediately wondered if Eagle Eye had veered off course. A check of the stars and the horizons fore and aft confirmed it. Without her watchful hand on the reins, the strong headwind had pushed Eagle Eye slightly eastward, toward the Gulf of Khur, the horn-shaped bay west of the Khurman Sea. Proximity to the sea accounted for the clouds.

  Khuri-Khan lay near the west coast of the gulf. She loosened the reins from the saddle horn and turned Eagle Eye southwest. The griffon’s wings rose and fell in a smooth rhythm. His eye injury had slowed him only a short while. He had adapted quickly, although he continued to favor the injured side. They should reach Khuri-Khan well before midnight. Kerian was pleased. She had no time for diplomacy or combat. She intended to swoop into the night-cloaked city, locate Sa’ida, and wing away again as quickly as possible.

  The coast appeared, lines of breakers foaming white under Eagle Eye’s left wing. Kerian followed the coastline until the sprawling, man-made mountain that was Khuri-Khan appeared. Gilthas had admired the city’s alien beauty: the squat towers and encircling wall built of native stone, strengthened by a facing of tiles glazed in creamy shades or bold, primary hues. He had a taste for the exotic, even though he lived austerely. For her part, Kerian found the city gaudy, and crude. The fine Temple of Elir-Sana was the only structure she found at all attractive.

  Her eye was drawn to the dark scar that marred the land west of the city—all that remained of Khurinost, the tent city that had been the elves’ home for five years. Burned and thoroughly looted, the makeshift city was only a field of ashes standing out starkly against the pallid desert sand.

  She steered Eagle Eye down into the lowest layer of clouds. By remaining within their shelter for as long as possible, she would be hidden from observers on the ground and from the sentinels on the city wall. When griffon and rider emerged from the cloud, they were well inside the city’s outer defenses.

  The Khuri yl Nor, the “Palace of the Setting Sun,” frowned down on the city from atop its artificial hill. Markets, known as souks, were paved with terra cotta, making them stand out as pink patches against the dark sea of rooftops. All were empty at this hour. The Temple of Elir-Sana glowed like a pearl on a bed of coals. Its dome, thirty-five feet in diameter and made of a single piece of pale blue marble, was truly a marvel. None knew how the long-ago Khurs had managed to polish marble to the thickness of a fingernail then raise the delicate dome into place. Farther down the ceremonial street were the other temples of Khur’s gods. The spiky towers of the sanctuary of the fierce desert deity Torghan had been built to resemble upthrust spears. Sacred flames billowed from tower tops at several temples, but there were no
people in sight on any of them.

  At her command Eagle Eye spread his broad wings and glided in, silent as an owl descending on its prey. The low wall surrounding the Temple of Elir-Sana was decorated by brass chimes. The griffon’s rear claws missed the chimes by inches, and he alighted inside the temple enclosure. Kerian dismounted, a little dizzied by the sudden cessation of motion after such a long flight. She bent her knees and stretched her back, glad to be on firm ground again. She led Eagle Eye to a small pool of water in the courtyard and let him drink. When he finished, she fed him from the store of food in one saddlebag. He caught the skinned rabbit she tossed and bolted it down in a single gulp. She threw him another, the last. It was a lot of meat for the hungry elves in Inath-Wakenti to sacrifice, but it wouldn’t do for her mission to fail because of Eagle Eye’s hunger. Her own pangs she ignored.

  Tying the griffon to a stanchion by the pool, Kerian headed for the temple’s entrance. As she did so, she heard a scuffling sound and saw movement on one of the buildings outside the wall. Something darted away into the shadows. She stared at the spot a long time. Was it an errant husband, a prowling cat, or a spy? Unable to discern more, Kerian hurried on.

  The temple door had no knocker. Instead, a brass chime, gracefully formed, hung on the doorpost. Kerian struck it once. The sound was lovely but faint. As she started to ring it again, the door swung inward. A young acolyte stood in the opening, a fat candle in one hand.

  “Who calls at such an ill-fated hour?” she grumbled.

  “I have urgent business with your holy mistress. Let me in please.”

  “The holy lady sees no one at this hour—”

  Firmly but gently, Kerian put a hand on the acolyte’s chest and pushed her back through the deep portal.

  “I’ve no time for manners. The lives of thousands are at stake.” Not to mention the life of her brave, misguided husband. “I would not intrude otherwise. Rouse your mistress now, or I’ll do it myself.”

  The girl eyed her silently. The Lioness had left her heavy cloak on Eagle Eye’s saddle. The acolyte saw a leather-clad, tattooed Kagonesti whose short, burnished gold hair stood out in disarray around a face chapped brick-red by the wind. Despite the weariness that darkened Kerian’s brown eyes, the girl also saw the resolve in them.

  “Very well.” The acolyte departed, her white geb swirling around her ankles as she strode swiftly away.

  Alone Kerian attempted to contain her impatience. Elir-Sana might be a Khurish deity, but Kerian would not defile her house by stomping to and fro, much as she might itch to do just that. Another short, thick candle provided the only light in the antechamber. The air was as Kerian remembered it—clean and fresh, unlike the incense-heavy atmosphere in most shrines—and she could hear the gentle rise and fall of singing, muffled by the thick stone walls. However late the hour, the Temple of Elir-Sana was not sleeping.

  When she rested a hand on her sword hilt, another thought occurred to her: weapons were not allowed here. She unbuckled her sword belt and wrapped the belt around the scabbard. Her desire not to offend ended there. She tucked the sword beneath one arm. She wouldn’t surrender her blade.

  A quartet of priestesses arrived. Older than the girl who had answered the door, each carried a wooden staff as thick as her wrist. Although they leaned on the staffs like walking sticks, Kerian had no doubt the priestesses had been summoned in case the temple required protection. The four didn’t speak, apparently content to stand and stare at her forever. She could barely restrain herself. If Sa’ida didn’t come soon, she would search the stone pile room by room.

  “It is not lawful to bring weapons within.”

  Kerian recognized the low, slightly husky voice immediately. Sa’ida, high priestess of Elir-Sana, appeared out of the gloom, trailed by the young doorkeeper. The stern look on the holy lady’s face changed to astonishment as she took in the sight of her late-night visitor.

  “Lady Kerianseray?” she exclaimed. “Venea said an armed elf had entered. She didn’t say it was you!”

  “I didn’t introduce myself.”

  Sa’ida dismissed the somber foursome of priestesses. “You surprise me. I never thought to see you again.”

  “I surprise myself, Holy Mistress.” Kerian’s gaze flickered toward the acolyte. Taking the hint, Sa’ida sent Venea away.

  The last time priestess and Kagonesti warrior had met, the elves still dwelled in the tent settlement by the city wall. Gilthas had sent Kerian to learn what Sa’ida, leader of the esteemed priestesses of Elir-Sana, might know of the purportedly mythical Valley of the Blue Sands. In the temple courtyard, Kerian and her escort, Hytanthas Ambrodel, had been set upon by murderous Khurs. Sa’ida herself had identified the men as followers of the Torghan sect; she recognized the crimson condor tattoo that marked the would-be killers.

  When they were alone, Kerian drew a deep breath and said, “I am sorry to intrude, but I come on a vital mission for my people—to ask you to come back with me to the Valley of the Blue Sands.”

  To forestall the expected argument, she gave the priestess no time to reply, but immediately launched into an explanation of the valley’s haunted nature, how no animals lived there, and that thousands of elves were slowly starving.

  “It is a sad tale, but I’m no farmer,” Sa’ida said when Kerian finally paused.

  “You’re a healer, and many are sick. You have the power of holy magic. You can banish the spirits that keep animal life from flourishing.” Kerian swallowed, fighting her emotions. “And you can save the Speaker of the Sun and Stars.”

  She described Gilthas’s illness and explained the elf healers could do little more than slow the human malady’s inevitable victory. Since the Speaker had most likely contracted the disease in Khurinost, didn’t Sa’ida have an obligation to help him overcome it?

  The priestess shook her head. “You have my sympathy, lady, and as always, my admiration for your courage, but I cannot leave the sacred confines of the temple for so long. I took an oath to dwell here.”

  “You need be gone only a few days.” Kerian told her that Eagle Eye was waiting in the courtyard. He would take them both there and back in short order.

  “Fly!” Sa’ida paled. “Human beings are not meant to fly!”

  The Lioness dryly agreed with her. “But in this case you must make an exception. I beg of you.”

  “I cannot,” Sa’ida said, not without regret. “I am sorry.”

  Kerian persisted, employing all the arguments she had marshaled during the long flight south and repeatedly assuring the priestess that Eagle Eye would bring her back to the temple as soon as possible. But Sa’ida would not be budged. The situation in Khuri-Khan was volatile, she explained. Even if her vows did not preclude it, her absence at such a time might be used as an opening for greater violence. She sympathized with the elves’ predicament. She offered to prepare special nostrums for the Speaker, but she would not go with the Lioness to the forbidden valley.

  Their exchange was interrupted by a commotion outside. The chime had rung, and the acolyte, Venea, went to open the door. As it swung inward, a gout of flame came with it, setting the girl’s gown on fire. She fell screaming to the floor. Hands spread wide, Sa’ida shouted a brief spell and the flames died. The priestess called for aid as loud voices sounded outside.

  Kerian rushed to close the door but found the opening blocked by a pile of blazing debris. Beyond it, highlighted by the flames, were several figures. They hurled javelins at her, crying, “Laddad! Spawn of evil! Give us the foreigner to kill!”

  The four guardian priestesses arrived. Together, they and the Lioness shoved the heavy panel closed and secured it. One of guardians panted, “Holy Mistress, those are men! Men in the sacred compound!”

  “Not only men,” Sa’ida said grimly. “Followers of Torghan!”

  She ordered the temple sealed. Kerian expected the women to race about, shutting doors, but they did not. They remained where they were, each woman lifting her clasped hand
s to her chin. Their lips moved in silent invocation. Distant slams began to echo through the temple. The structure was windowless with only a handful of entrances. The multiple banging sounds meant more was happening than the mere shutting of physical portals.

  When the clamor ended, Sa’ida rounded on Kerian. “You brought them here!” she charged.

  “Never! My mission is secret!”

  “It is secret no longer. The Sons of Torghan must have been watching the goddess’s house.”

  The high priestess spoke in low tones to her followers. The other women departed. Turning to Kerian, Sa’ida said, “Not since the dragon’s day has this place been so violated. You must leave at once!”

  “Every time I come to this place, I’m set upon by Torghanist fanatics!” Kerian snapped back. Striving for a calmer tone, she added, “Who do you think they fight for, their god or their paymaster?”

  The high priestess was concerned for her temple and its inhabitants, but Kerian’s point was well taken. Both of them knew Nerakan coin was behind much of the Khurs’ supposed religious outrage.

  “My apologies, Lady Kerianseray. You are blameless,” Sa’ida said. “You must go before they breach the wards we have erected. If they do not find you here they will not dare further outrages against this temple.” Given time, clerics of Torghan could overcome the protective spells. So could certain orders of Nerakan Knights.

  “Your beast is in the courtyard.” Kerian didn’t ask how Sa’ida knew that but had no doubt she was correct. “I will drive them back, and you can reach him. Your destiny lies in the Silent Vale, not here. Good luck to you and your people.”