He tumbled nose over tail through the air. When he finally landed in a dry ravine, loose sand softened the blow somewhat, but the impact still drove the breath from his lungs. He lay gasping for several long minutes, grateful to have survived such a fall.
The
The morning wind brought a new scent to his nose. Faint and fetid, the odor was one he had tasted before, when he was still a man. it belonged to Faeterus. The sorcerer had passed this way.
With a last angry glare at the rising smudge of bonfire smoke marking the elves’ camp, Shobbat trotted off among the monoliths.
In the chill, small hours before dawn, three elves came to the Speaker’s tent, chosen by Gilthas for a critical mission.
Under Sa’ida’s ministrations, his condition had improved. Although he continued to be marble pale and weak, his fever had broken. Able to take in a little nourishment, he was stronger and had left his bed for the first time in days. The three he’d summoned-Kerian, Taranath, and Hytanthas-found him seated in the camp chair that served as his throne.
One other had wished very much to be included in the group. Meeting with the Speaker privately the evening before, Vixona the scribe had argued for the usefulness of her mapmaking skills. Gilthas appreciated her enthusiasm and listened to her passionately delivered argument quite seriously, but her true motivation was not hard for him to deduce. She’d hardly left Hytanthas’s side since their return from the tunnels, bringing him food and drink, tending his minor hurts. The young captain, occupied with his duties and the care of his griffon, paid her little attention, but Vixona’s attachment to him was obvious to Gilthas. Nevertheless, the mission did not require a cartographer.
Gilthas’s voice was still quite hoarse. Kerian, Hytanthas, and Taranath strained to hear every word over the bustle in other parts of the large tent.
“We know the sorcerer Faeterus is in Inath-Wakenti. He must be found and nullified.”
It wasn’t like the Speaker to mince words. Kerian, certain Faeterus had hurled the lightning bolt that had blinded Eagle Eye, said bluntly, “You mean kill him.”
“I mean he must be nullified. If he can be rendered harmless in any other way, that is sufficient.” Gilthas coughed to clear his throat. “Do what you must to protect our people.”
Each of them understood his instruction in his or her own way. Kerian privately resolved to have the sorcerer’s head. Hytanthas, who had fought Faeterus’s monsters in Khuri-Khan, assumed the Speaker wanted him brought in to face royal justice. Taranath, with no personal experience of Faeterus, would follow the Lioness’s lead. He did ask what was to be done with the human Hamaramis had found in the tunnels.
Kerian had recognized Jeralund as one of the Nerakan soldiers captured by Porthios and taken to Bianost as part of a ruse to free the city from bandits. Comforted by her identification, Jeralund dropped his pose as a “simple hunter” but refused to say why he was in the valley. He had helped free Kerian from the bandits in Bianost who planned to execute her, but his silence about his purpose in Inath-Wakenti was worrisome.
She advised keeping him under guard. “He’s a straight fellow, for a human, but we don’t know his purpose and can’t risk having him escape.”
Gilthas concurred. “It’s likely he’s a spy or a scout for an enemy, no matter how you look at it. There’s probably a thousand like him combing every nook and cranny between Kortal and Sanction looking for us.”
Taranath and Hytanthas bade farewell to their Speaker, picked up their gear, and departed. Kerian lingered to say her own good-bye in private.
“I thought the holy lady would have you cured by now,” she said, frowning as he fought back another cough.
“The infection is entrenched. But don’t worry, my heart. I shall be here when you return.” He touched two fingertips to her still-flat belly. “Both of you.”
She placed her hand over his. “Does it please you?”
“It’s the best news we’ve had since coming to Inath-Wakenti. Does it please you?”
He knew how profoundly stunned she’d been by the priestess’s revelation, how hard it was for her to imagine having a child. Her expression reflected her continuing uncertainty, and he sought to reassure her.
“Don’t be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid!” she insisted. “Well, not much.”
She bent and kissed his forehead. As soon as she moved away from him, Truthanar hurried across the tent, ready to offer his arm if support was required. With the brief audience at an end, Gilthas was confined to bed for a few hours of rest.
