After reassuring his people, Gilthas headed for his tent, ordering a council be convened immediately. Soon enough, Hamaramis, Taranath, and the chosen leaders of the people—members of the Thalas-Enthia, the Qualinesti senate-had joined the Lioness in the Speaker’s tent. Gilthas was seated in his camp chair, legs covered by Kerian’s crimson mantle. Despite Truthanar’s worry for his health, the healer had to be content with serving his king a draft of soothing elixir then retiring into the background.
Gilthas and Kerian related their experiences. Unlike his wife, at no time had Gilthas been paralyzed, but he had felt very strongly the specters’ opposition to the elves’ presence. The sensation emanating from the ghostly assemblage was hatred, pure unvarnished loathing, he told the council. Gilthas’s reassurances had had no effect.
“You did stop their attack on me,” Kerian pointed out.
A puzzling development, but true, Gilthas admitted. When he commanded them to release his wife, the angry ghosts surprisingly obeyed, but their hatred had grown stronger. They had retreated only when the will-o’-the-wisps appeared, demonstrating the two presences were at odds.
Much as he regretted causing distress to so many unhappy souls, Gilthas was adamant. “They must give way. They will give way. We are here, and I intend we shall stay.”
“Could we lay the ghosts to rest somehow?” asked a Silvanesti, a minor member of House Cleric.
Gilthas was doubtful. No one among the elves had the knowledge and skill. And an ordinary cleric might banish one or two ghosts in his entire career. What could be done against hundreds of malevolent specters?
A pall descended on the group. Nothing was to be heard but the crackle of torches and the scratching of Varanas’s quill. The scribe was seated on the Speaker’s right, slightly behind the makeshift throne, dutifully taking notes on all that was said. In the shadows behind Varanas, the healer fidgeted, shifting from one foot to the other, obviously impatient for the council to end so his patient could be put to bed.
The discussion resumed, in an unfocused, halfhearted fashion. No one had any useful suggestions to offer. Gilthas listened, chin in hand, a frown of concentration on his face. Kerian wasn’t fooled. She knew he was nearing the end of his endurance. Exhaustion had sharpened the lines on his face even as it blurred his gaze. She was about to insist they adjourn for the evening when a thought struck her with blinding suddenness.
“I know someone wise enough to tell us if it is possible to put the ghosts to rest,” she exclaimed. “Lady Sa’ida!”
Sa’ida was the high priestess of the Khurish goddess Elir-Sana. During the elves’ exile in Khuri-Khan, the priestess had proven herself a valuable ally, albeit a covert one given her desire not to offend her people’s sensitivity to all things foreign. She had loaned the Speaker the temple documents that mentioned the valley. Gilthas had them carefully copied and continued to study them alongside the wise works of his own race.
“She might as well be on one of the moons,” observed Hamaramis.
No party of elves could hope to make it to the capital city and back. If the desert and the nomads didn’t kill them, Sahim-Khan might. Once, the khan had tolerated the elves because of their contribution to his coffers. But they no longer had enough money in their treasury to tempt him, especially given the troubles he faced from those who despised the elves, including the followers of the god Torghan.
“Eagle Eye can take me there,” said Kerian.
She could fly to Khuri-Khan and fetch Lady Sa’ida, she explained. It was an intriguing idea. Gilthas disliked the notion of sending her alone, but no one could ride Hytanthas’s Kanan. A griffon would accept only his or her bonded rider. The formation of such a bond usually required many months of patient attention. Alhana had been able to break wild Golden griffons to the saddle by means of a special ritual, but there was no one in the valley who knew how to do what she had done.
“Even if you reached the city safely, we can’t be certain Sa’ida would agree to help us,” Gilthas added.
That was true. Whether Sa’ida’s help in their time of exile stemmed from true generosity of spirit or a more pragmatic desire to aid the enemies of her enemies, Kerian couldn’t say. Even if the human priestess was sympathetic to their plight, she might refuse to leave her sanctuary and undertake a journey to a haunted valley. It was well known she rarely left the temple’s sacred precincts. Kerian was confident she could persuade the woman to come back with her to the valley, but Gilthas put an end to the discussion.
“A proposed mission to Khuri-Khan is not practical. I cannot allow it.”
