Part 16 (1/2)

”Nothing,” he replied. ”Nothing but darkness.”

2.

The Song of the Desert.

Mina's army moved east, heading for Sanction. The army traveled rapidly, for the skies were clear, the air cool and crisp, and they met no opposition. Blue dragons flew above them, guarding their march and scouting out the lands ahead. Rumor of their coming spread. Those along their route of march quaked in fear when they heard that they lay in the path of this conquering army. Many fled into the hills. Those who could not flee or had nowhere to go waited fearfully for destruction.

Their fears proved groundless. The army marched through villages and past farms, camped outside of towns. Mina kept her soldiers under strict control. Supplies they could have taken by force, they paid for. In some cases, when they came to an impoverished house or village, the army gave of what they had. Manor houses and castles they could have razed, they let stand. Everywhere along their route, Mina spoke to the people of the One G.o.d. All they did, they did in the name of the One G.o.d.

Mina spoke to the high born and the low, to the peasant and the farmer, the blacksmith and the innkeeper, the bard and the tinker, the n.o.ble lord and lady. She brought healing to the sick, food to the hungry, comfort to the unhappy. She told them how the old G.o.ds had abandoned them, left them to the scourge of these alien dragons. But this new G.o.d, the One G.o.d, was here to take care of them.

Odila was often at Mina's side. She took no part in the proceedings, but she watched and listened and fingered the amulet around her neck. The touch no longer seemed to cause her pain.

Gerard rode in the rear, as far as possible from the minotaur, who was always in the front ranks with Mina. Gerard guessed that Gaidar had been ordered to leave him alone. Still, there was always the possibility of an ”accident.” Gaidar could not be faulted if a poisonous snake happened to crawl into Gerard's bedroll or a broken tree branch came cras.h.i.+ng down on his head. Those few times when the two were forced by circ.u.mstance to meet, Gerard saw by the look in the minotaur's eyes that Gerard was alive only because Mina willed it.

Unfortunately, riding in the rear meant that Gerard was back among those who guarded the wagon carrying the sarcophagus of Goldmoon and the two wizards. The phrase, ”More dead than alive” came to Gerard's mind as he looked at them, and he looked at them often. He didn't like to. He couldn't stand the sight of them, sitting on the end of the wagon, bodies swaying to and fro with the motion of the b.u.mpy ride, feet and arms dangling, heads drooping. Every time he watched them, he rode away sickened, vowing that was the last time he would have anything to do with them. The next day he was drawn to stare at them, fascinated, repulsed.

Mina's army marched toward Sanction, leaving behind not fire and smoke and blood, but cheering crowds, who tossed garlands at Mina's feet and sang praises of the One G.o.d.

Another group marched east, traveling almost parallel to Mina's army, separated by only a few hundred miles. Their march was slower because it was not as organized and the land through which they traveled was not as hospitable. The same sun that shone brightly on Mina seared the elves of Qualinesti as they struggled across the Plains of Dust, heading for what they hoped would be safe sanctuary in the land of their kin, the Silvanesti. Every day, Gilthas blessed Wanderer and the people of the plains, for without their help, not a single elf would have crossed the desert alive.

The Plainspeople gave the elves enveloping, protective clothing that kept out the heat of the day and held body warmth for the cold nights. The Plainspeople gave the elves food, which Gilthas suspected they could ill afford to share. Whenever he questioned them about this, the proud Plainspeople would either ignore him or cast him such cold glances that he knew that to continue to ask questions would offend them. They taught the elves that they should march during the cool parts of the morning and night and seek shelter against the sweltering heat of the afternoon. Finally, Wanderer and his comrades offered to accompany the elves and serve as guides. Gilthas knew, if the rest of the elves did not, that Wanderer had a twofold purpose. One was beneficent-to make certain the elves survived the crossing of the desert. The other was self-serving-to make certain the elves crossed.

The elves had come to look very much like the Plainspeople, dressing in baggy trousers and long tunics and wrapping themselves in many layers of soft wool that protected them from the desert sun by day and the desert chill by night. They kept their faces m.u.f.fled against the stinging sand, kept delicate skin s.h.i.+elded from exposure. Having lived close to nature, with a respect for nature, the elves soon adapted to the desert and lost no more of their people. They could never love the desert, but they came to understand it and to honor its ways.

Gilthas could tell that Wanderer was uneasy at how swiftly the elves were adapting to this hard life. Gilthas tried his best to convince the Plainsman that the elves were a people of forests and gardens, a people who could look on the red and orange striated rock formations that broke the miles of endless sand dunes and see no beauty, as did the Plainspeople, but only death.

One night when they were nearing the end of their long journey, the elves arrived at an oasis in the dark hours before the dawn. Wanderer had decreed that here the elves could rest this night and throughout the day tomorrow, drinking their fill and renewing their strength before they once more took up their weary journey. The elves made camp, set the watch, then gave themselves to sleep.

Gilthas tried to sleep. He was weary from the long walk, but sleep would not come. He had fought his way out of the depression that had plagued him. The need to be active and responsible for his people had been beneficial. He had a great many cares and worries still, not the least of which was the reception they might receive in Silvanesti. He was thinking of these matters, and restless, he left his bedroll, taking care not to wake his slumbering wife. He walked into the night to stare up at the myriad stars. He had not known there were so many. He was awed and even dismayed by their number. He was staring thus, when Wanderer found him, ”You should be sleeping,” said Wanderer.

His voice was stern, he was giving a command, not making idle conversation. He had not changed from the day Gilthas had first met him. Taciturn, quiet, he never spoke when a gesture would serve him instead. His face was like the desert rock, formed of sharp angles marred by dark creases. He smiled, never laughed, and his smile was only in his dark eyes.

Gilthas shook his head. ”My body yearns for sleep, but my mind prevents it.”

”Perhaps the voices keep you awake,” said Wanderer.

”I've heard you speak of them before,” Gilthas replied, intrigued. ”The voices of the desert. I have listened, but I cannot hear them.”

”I hear them now,” said Wanderer. ”The sighing of the wind among the rocks, the whispering of the sand floes. Even in the silence of the night, there is a voice that we know to be the voice of the stars. You cannot see the stars in your land or, if you can, they are caught and held prisoner by the tree branches. Here”- Wanderer waved his hand to the vast vault of star-studded sky that stretched from horizon to horizon-”the stars are free, and their song is loud.”

”I hear the wind among the rocks,” said Gilthas, ”but to me it is the sound of a dying breath whistling through gaping teeth. Yet,” he added, pausing to look around him, ”now that I have traveled through this land, I must admit that there is a beauty to your night. The stars are so close and so numerous that sometimes I do do think I might hear them sing.” He shrugged. ”If I did not feel so small and insignificant among them, that is.” think I might hear them sing.” He shrugged. ”If I did not feel so small and insignificant among them, that is.”

”That is what truly bothers you, Gilthas,” said Wanderer, reaching out his hand and touching Gilthas on his breast, above his heart. ”You elves rule the land in which you live. The trees form the walls of your houses and provide you shelter. The orchids and the roses grow at your behest. The desert will not be ruled. The desert will not be subjugated. The desert cares nothing about you, will do nothing for you except one thing. The desert will always be here. Your land changes. Trees die and forests burn, but the desert is eternal. Our home has always been, and it will always be. That is the gift it gives us, the gift of surety.”

”We thought our world would never change,” said Gilthas quietly. ”We were wrong. I wish you a better fate.”

Returning to his tent, Gilthas felt exhaustion overcome him. His wife did not waken, but she was sleepily aware of his return, for she reached out her arms and drew him close. He listened to the voice of her heart beating steadily against his. Comforted, he slept.

Wanderer did not sleep. He looked up at the stars and thought over the words of the young elf. And it seemed to Wanderer that the song of the stars was, for the first time since he'd heard it, mournful and off-key.

The elves continued their trek, their progress slow but steady. Then came the morning the Lioness shook her husband awake.

”What?” Gilthas asked, fear jolting him from sleep. ”What is it? What is wrong?”

”For a change, nothing,” she said, smiling at him through her rampant, golden curls. She sniffed the air. ”What do you smell?”

”Sand,” said Gilthas, rubbing his nose, that always seemed clogged with grit. ”Why? What do you smell?”

”Water,” said the Lioness. ”Not the muddy water of some oasis but water that runs swift and fast and cold. There is a river nearby. . . .” Her eyes filled with tears, her voice failed her. ”We have done it, my husband. We have crossed the Plains of Dust!”

A river it was, yet no river such as the Qualinesti had ever before seen. The elves gathered on its banks and stared in some dismay at the water, that flowed red as blood. The Plainspeople a.s.sured them that the water was fresh and untainted, the red color came from the rocks through which the river ran. The elves might have still hesitated, but the children broke free of their parents' grasp and rushed forward to splash in the water that bubbled around the roots of giant cottonwood and willow trees. Soon what remained of the Qualinesti nation was laughing and splas.h.i.+ng and rollicking in the River Torath.

”Here we leave you,” said Wanderer. ”You can ford the river at this point. Beyond, only a few miles distant, you will come upon the remains of the King's Highway that will take you to Silvanesti. The river runs along the highway for many miles, so you will have water in abundance. The foraging is good, for the trees that grow along the river give of their fruits at this time of year.”

Wanderer held out his hand to Gilthas. ”I wish you good fortune and success at your journey's end. And I wish for you that someday you will hear the song of the stars.”

”May their song never fall silent for you, my friend,” said Gilthas, pressing the man's hand warmly. ”I can never thank you enough for what you and your people have done-”

He stopped speaking, for he was talking to Wanderer's back. Having said all that was needed, the Plainsman motioned to his comrades, led them back into the desert.

”A strange people,” said the Lioness. ”They are rude and uncouth and in love with rocks, which is something I will never understand, but I find that I admire them.” strange people,” said the Lioness. ”They are rude and uncouth and in love with rocks, which is something I will never understand, but I find that I admire them.”

”I admire them, too,” said Gilthas. ”They saved our lives, saved the Qualinesti nation. I hope that they never have reason to regret what they have done for us.”

”Why should they?” the Lioness asked, startled.

”I don't know, my love,” Gilthas replied. ”I can't say. Just a feeling I have.”

He walked away, heading for the river, leaving his wife to gaze after him with a look of concern and consternation.

3.

The Lie.

Alhana Starbreeze sat alone in the shelter that had been shaped for her by those elves who still had some magical power remaining to them, at least enough to command the trees to provide a safe haven for the exiled elven queen. As it turned out, the elves did not need their magic, for the trees, which have always loved the elves, seeing their queen sorrowful and weary to the point of collapse, bent their branches of their own accord. Their limbs hung protectively over her, their leaves twined together to keep out the rain and the wind. The gra.s.s formed a thick, soft carpet for her bed. The birds sang softly to ease her pain.

The time was evening, one of the few quiet times in Alhana's unquiet life. These were busy times, for she and her forces were living in the wilderness, fighting a hit-and-run war against the Dark Knights: raiding prison camps, attacking supply s.h.i.+ps, making daring forays into the city itself to rescue elves in peril. For the moment, though, all was peaceful. The evening meal had been served. The Silvanesti elves under her command were settling down for the night. For the moment no one needed her, no one demanded that she make decisions that would cost more elven lives, shed more elven blood. Alhana sometimes dreamed of swimming in a river of blood, a dream from which she could never escape, except by drowning.

Some might say-and some elves did-that the Dark Knights of Neraka had done Alhana Starbreeze a favor. She had once been deemed a dark elf, exiled from her homeland for daring to try to bring about peace between the Silvanesti and their Qualinesti cousins, for daring to marry a Qualinesti in order to unite their two squabbling realms.

Now, in their time of greatest trouble, Alhana Starbreeze had been accepted back by her people. The sentence of exile had been lifted from her formally by the Heads of House who remained alive after the Dark Knights had completed their occupation of the capital, Silvanost. Alhana's people now embraced her. Kneeling at her feet, they were loud in their lamentations for the ”misunderstanding.” Never mind that they had tried to have her a.s.sa.s.sinated. In the very next breath, they cried to her, ”Save us! Queen Alhana, save us!”

Samar was furious with her, with her people. The Silvanesti had invited the Dark Knights into their city and turned away Alhana Starbreeze. Not so many weeks before, they had fallen on their knees before the leader of the Dark Knights, a human girl called Mina. The Silvanesti had been warned of Mina's treachery, but they had been blinded by the miracles she performed in the name of the One G.o.d. Samar had been among those who had warned them that they were fools to put their trust in humans-miracles or not. The elves had been all astonishment and shock and horror when the Dark Knights had turned on them, set up their slave camps and prisons, killed any who opposed them.