Immediately Kerian steered Eagle Eye into a wide right turn. Sa’ida was hunched against her, fingers gripping Kerian’s waist so hard the elf woman was certain they would leave bruises. The priestess’s breath came in short, sharp gasps as if she could barely drag the air into her lungs. Her breathing didn’t ease until they’d put a mile of clear air between them and the entrance to the valley.
“There is an ancient ward on this place. It is very strong,” she said. She didn’t know who had cast the confining spell, but was certain her goddess, the Divine Healer, had had nothing to do with it.
Kerian set Eagle Eye to flying In a large, slow circle while she pondered how to get the priestess into the valley. Despite the nomads’ superstitious insistence that it was taboo, nothing had interfered with the elves’ various comings and goings by horse, on foot, or on griffons. Sa’ida asked whether their sages had experienced any difficulties. Kerian was forced to admit that none among the exiles had Sa’ida’s level of expertise and sensitivity.
Frustration rose like bile in Kerian’s throat. She could tell by the stars that midnight had come and gone. Her goal was in sight, and every minute’s delay propelled Gilthas that much closer to death. Truthanar had done his best but there was little more he could try against the strange human disease. Kerian had snatched Sa’ida from the clutches of Nerakan agents and Torghanist fanatics, overcome the woman’s own resistance, and brought them across the length of the Khurish desert. And they couldn’t enter the valley!
Sa’ida pondered the situation as well. She suggested they land. The magical barrier was strong, evoking distress and panic, but it was a ward of very long standing. Perhaps its coverage was thinning or there were gaps in it. It might be less dangerous nearer the ground, for example. The priestess could cite precedents.
She broke off in midsentence, yelping in surprise. Kerian had directed Eagle Eye to descend. He put his head down and they sank rapidly. A hundred feet up, he flared out, flapping strongly until they were almost hovering, while Kerian quickly studied the terrain. To the left, she spied a rocky spit of level ground between the peaks and guided Eagle Eye to it.
On the ground wind whistled, setting their cloaks to flapping. Around them were nothing but stone crags, broken boulders, and drifts of pale gravel. They’d landed at a high elevation, above the tree line, and stood exposed to a constant column of cold wind. Far below, beneath the cloudless night sky, the desert lay like a pale tan sea. It stretched from horizon to horizon, west, south, and east. Wide dunes, broken here and there by the dark lines of dry wadis, rolled south toward Khuri-Khan.
“We can’t stay here,” Sa’ida muttered, giving up her vain attempts to hold her cloak closed against the strong wind. Kerian agreed.
The priestess sought the boundary of the archaic ward. Arms outstretched, palms held outward, she walked slowly forward. Her attention was so concentrated on her work, she lost track of her footing and slid awkwardly on the loose gravel. Kerian leaped forward, grabbing the back of her cloak. It was undignified, but it saved Sa’ida from a nasty tumble. As her racing heartbeat slowed, the priestess gave her a look of gratitude. More cautiously, she resumed the search.
Kerian knew exactly when Sa’ida found the boundary because she stiffened abruptly. She remained frozen in place for half a minute then turned back to Kerian with tears running down her face.
“Bring me the embroidered bag,” she said, still weeping.
In one of the priestess’s cloth bags, Kerian found a small pouch made of white muslin. She knew better than to open it, but as she hefted it, she felt within several small, hard objects, a few softer pieces, and a light substance that crackled beneath her fingers. The bag itself and its shoulder strap were covered with fine stitching in several shades of blue shot through here and there with silver. The Lioness was no needleworker, but even to her untutored gaze, the workmanship was astonishing, the individual stitches so small and fine it was hard to discern one from another. There was something odd about the design itself, though. it seemed to mutate and alter while she looked at it. The intricate pattern of flowers and silver leaves wavered like a mirage in the desert, the stitches crawling across the muslin and rearranging themselves. They formed words but in no language the Lioness had ever known or seen. Once more the pattern shifted, the silver threads flashing brightly though only starlight fell upon them.
“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.
