Paul Thompson - Destiny

“Sosirah”

The priestess’s stern voice jerked Kerian out of her daze. She gave the bag to Sa’ida, then went to stand by Eagle Eye’s head. The griffon bent down to nuzzle her, trilling a worried note. She laid a reassuring hand on his neck.

Sa’ida clutched the bag to her chest with her right hand while holding her left hand high. Over the noise of the steady wind, Kerian heard her chanting. it sounded more like a recited list of words than a song or poem. Nothing happened for a time; then the wind ceased blowing.

Twenty yards away, dust still streamed around a wind-sculpted boulder. Above, clouds were driving over the peaks; below, the twisted trees were bent by the punishing air. Where the two women and the griffon stood, all was calm. Eagle Eye tossed his head and trumpeted loudly, sensing the unnaturalness of it.

Kerian led him across the stony ground, coming up behind the murmuring priestess. Was it a trick of the early-morning light or was there a faint luminescence around Sa’ida’s head? When Kerian looked directly at her, the glow vanished, but if she cast a glance to one side or the other, the priestess’s head was indeed enveloped in the palest of firefly babes.

The murmuring ceased, but Sa’ida did not move. Her eyes were squeezed shut.

Kerian had to call to her several times before the priestess replied. When she did, it was to ask about the wind. “The wind has died around us,” Kerian answered. Couldn’t the priestess feel that for herself?

“Very well. We can proceed.”

Sa’ida kept her eyes closed and held the bag hard against her chest with one hand. Effectively blind, she held out a hand to Kerian. The Lioness brought her to Eagle Eye’s side and boosted her onto the pillion. Cinching her into place, Kerian moved with unusual caution. It felt as though they were inside a delicate bubble, and if she moved too quickly or abruptly, the bubble would shatter, allowing the wind to bluster through once more.

Leaning close to Eagle Eye’s head, she whispered, “All right, old monster. Gently we go.”

Rather than driving them into the air with bounding leaps, Eagle Eye simply ran straight down the length of the spit and directly over the edge of the cliff. With powerful, deliberate wing beats, he arrested their plummet and sent them arrowing forward.

Kerian had to admit it was as smooth a takeoff as she’d ever felt. Of course her heart was in her throat and she was very glad Sa’ida’s eyes were still closed.

“Not too high,” the priestess whispered.

Kerian kept them just high enough so Eagle Eye’s wing-tips didn’t touch the ground on the downstroke. They edged upslope to the gray ridgeback. Normally topping a peak would expose them to strong drafts, but in their current protected state, Eagle Eye sailed over as softly as a dandelion seed. Not only had Sa’ida calmed the natural wind, her spell affected the breeze of their passage as well. The feathers lay flat on the griffon’s neck, and no breath of air stirred Kerian’s hair.

As Eagle Eye descended the far side of the ridge, Sa’ida slowly opened her clenched fingers, easing her grip on the spell bag. Her eyes opened. At once wind teased their ears and tugged at their clothes, the natural breeze of flight. Eagle Eye, relieved to be out of the unnatural calm, shook his head and chuffed a loud exhale.

Sa’ida sagged against Kerian, drained. The elf woman eased Eagle Eye into a climb. When they left the pass behind and entered the valley proper, they were flying a thousand feet above the ground. Kerian asked Sa’ida how she had defeated the ward.

“The ancient spellcasters made a mistake,” the priestess said, leaning close to Kerian’s ear so she didn’t have to shout. “They tied their barrier to the wind. As long as it blew, the ward remained in place. I had to make a hole in the wind, that’s all.”

If she’d had any doubts before, Kerian knew at that moment she’d brought the right person to Inath-Wakenti. Compassion and cleverness were rare among the wise folk the Lioness had known and even more rare among humans. Gilthas would be in good hands.

False dawn came. Sunrise was still an hour away and would be hidden behind the high eastern ridge for longer than that, but the sky began to blush with new light. More of the terrain was visible to Sa’ida. The meandering line of Lioness Creek flashed beneath them, and Kerian pointed out what few other features there were, dwelling especially on the scattered masses of snowy quartz: individual monoliths, long walls with pointless gaps, the incomprehensible groupings of gargantuan stone. Did the holy lady know their significance?

Sa’ida did not. Flying a thousand feet above them, no rhyme or reason to their arrangement was apparent. She suggested they might be the foundations of still larger structures of wood, which had decayed after so long. In the coastal districts of Khur, it was common to build on stone pilings.

Kerian shook her head. The monoliths were too large and erratically spaced to have been the foundation of any building. Sometimes hundreds of feet separated them. No wooden beam could span such a gap.

“It’s like the gods were playing dice,” the Lioness said. “They cast the huge white blocks into the valley then left them where they lay.”

“Maybe they were.”

Kerian glanced back, but Sa’ida’s lined, brown face betrayed no humor.

Several small, bright lights appeared on the ground ahead of them. Kerian tensed. Sa’ida wondered if they were the will-o’-the-wisps she’d mentioned. A few worried seconds later, the priestess felt her relax.

“They’re our campfires. Hold tight, Holy Mistress! We may arrive in time to discuss breakfast!”

This bit of irony was lost on Sa’ida, but she would understand soon enough. Food was so scarce in the valley many elves “discussed” meals rather than ate them.

Sa’ida held on as Eagle Eye lowered his head and dived toward the distant fires.

Robien the Tireless was once more on the trail but proceeding with greater caution. He’d had little respect for magic prior to Faeterus’s attack. Now, he knew to be more careful. The obvious trail left by the sorcerer also made him wary. Faeterus might be careless because he thought Robien dead, or he might be leading the hunter into fresh traps. Robien knew just how subtle such traps could be.

After his rescue by the elf warriors, he returned with them to their camp but slipped away unnoticed almost immediately. A party of explorers had found its way out of the tunnels, and the excitement over their return provided a perfect diversion. Although grateful to General Taranath and his warriors for their rescue, Robien was determined to get back on Faeterus’s trail. He intended not only to complete the commission he’d accepted from the khan, but to free Favaronas in the bargain. The scholar’s capture weighed on his conscience. He allowed himself a few hours’ sleep then resumed the chase.

He donned his yellow spectacles and surveyed the terrain ahead. Two sets of footprints were plainly visible, glowing faintly green even where the trail crossed rocks. The tracks ascended the slope in short, stuttering strides. They were two days old, but Robien would not rush. The day was young yet. It would be better to overtake the sorcerer at day’s end. Faeterus would be tired from the long climb, and the setting sun would be behind Robien and in his quarry’s eyes.

When he pocketed his spectacles again, he was taken aback to find himself surrounded by elves. At first he thought them the Speaker’s people, but then he saw they had no legs—long, tangled hair and tattered clothing, and no lower limbs at all.

Ghosts.

He did not fear the dead. He’d been many places and seen many things, and all the ghosts he’d heard of seemed to him sad creatures, deserving more pity than fear. He made straight for those who stood in his path. The spirits raised no hand against him, but when he drew abreast of them, his arms and legs began to tingle. The sensation was not pleasant. Taking heed of the obvious warning, he drew back a few steps.