“You both were called here to receive news,” he went on. “The laddad have reached the Valley of the Blue Sands. They prevailed against the nomads that dogged their journey from Khuri-Khan, and entered the valley ten days past.”
The news likely came as no surprise to Condortal. His Order had spies and informers everywhere. The priestess’s face displayed a series of emotions—surprise, relief, and curiosity. She asked what the event meant.
“It means the laddad are beyond the borders of my realm.”
That surprised Condortal. “Surely, great Khan, this valley is Khurish land.”
“It is no man’s land. If the laddad remain there, they are no matter for Khur.”
Silence reigned as Sahim refreshed himself from the brass goblet placed into his hand by a waiting servant. His visitors pondered the news he had imparted. Although both had heard the same words, the interpretations each placed upon them were very different.
Sa’ida understood the khan to be asking her, most subtly, to assist the laddad in their struggle for survival. He had no special fondness for them, but neither had he sought their destruction in the years they had dwelt in his realm. His relationship with their leader, Gilthas, might best be described as profitable. And there was profit in allowing the laddad to live in the Valley of the Blue Sands. The Knights of Neraka had long plotted the elves’ destruction and had once invaded and occupied both elf homelands. A laddad state in the valley would act as a distraction, keeping the Order’s attention focused away from Sahim’s capital. Having the laddad outside the boundaries of Khur also would help placate Torghanist fears of foreign influence. The Torghanists hated the laddad even more than they despised Sahim-Khan.
For his part, Lord Condortal interpreted the khan’s words to mean he counted himself lucky to be rid of the elf pestilence and would no longer intervene on their behalf. While the elves had lived in the Khurish capital, Sahim was bound to honor his promise to protect them—a promise purchased by elf treasure. With the flow of treasure cut off, the elves’ welcome in Sahim’s realm had run out. They were naked, without a defender in the world. The Order’s efforts against them no longer would be hampered by a need for circumspection, the need not to offend the khan’s pride.
The knight asked leave to depart. Sahim lifted one hand in an idle wave. “Yes, go. Tell your masters what has come to pass.”
Before he departed, Condortal asked, “Great Khan, may I inquire after Prince Shobbat? I have not seen him in some weeks. I pray His Highness is well.”
It required all of Sahim’s skill to keep his face calm and unconcerned. “The crown prince is very well. He is away. Hunting.”
Sa’ida knew this for a lie. Weeks earlier Shobbat had come to the Temple of Elir-Sana seeking her help, but the affliction that had fallen upon him was not one Sa’ida could cure. She had no idea whether the khan was aware of his son’s condition. Perhaps Shobbat had fled to keep him from learning of it. Being the well-informed despot he was, Sahim probably knew all, but she felt it best to keep her own knowledge of the matter to herself. After bestowing Elir-Sana’s blessing upon the khan, she left the sweltering throne room.
Freed of his audience, Sahim leaned back, feeling the coolness of the golden panels against his back. What a pair! Sa’ida was half again his own age, as patient and intent as an adder. She could speak to the gods as easily as she addressed Sahim and had the power to heal nearly any calamity fate could inflict on a living body. Yet she only watched and waited, complaining about Torghanists she could vanquish in a single night. Who could fathom such a mind?
On the other hand, Condortal was like a weasel, a weak predator who struck from ambush and was not averse to carrion. His predecessor, Hengriff, had been a bold and dangerous man. Sahim had understood Hengriff. He could deal with men like him, but Condortal hadn’t even an assassin’s scruples. He dreamed of a Khur torn apart, fighting over the laddad, so his Order could step in and pick up the pieces. With rebellion smoldering in Qualinesti and the laddad fled to the Valley of the Blue Sands, what would Condortal’s masters do?
Sahim lived in a dangerous time and place. He played friends and foes against each other and emerged enriched and unscathed. No one was better than he at balancing on the knife-edge of disaster, at turning situations and people to his own advantage. It was a risky game he enjoyed to the fullest.
Except…
Where in Kargath’s name was Shobbat? And what had become of that damned sorcerer Faeterus and the bounty hunter Sahim had sent to drag him back?
Chapter 1
Wind cool and damp tore at the griffon rider’s face. Reins wrapped tightly around her left fist, Kerianseray bowed low over the neck of her steed, urging him onto greater effort. The will-o’-the-wisps were closing in, and their number had increased. She counted at least a dozen now. And Eagle Eye’s sides heaved with exertion as the lights darted and wove, spiraled up and corkscrewed down, all the while gaining on her. She hoped the others in her patrol were safe.
Safe. The notion was ironic. How safe could any of them be so long as they remained in this blighted valley?
Inath-Wakenti, the ancient elf chronicles called it, the Vale of Silence, and silent it surely was. It lay on the northern edge of the Khurish desert, and not so much as a fly or flea called it home. Kerian had led the first reconnaissance party inside. They discovered the valley contained many secrets and nearly as many curses. Its plant life comprised mainly stunted pines and inedible scrub. Huge standing stones littered the valley floor, rising up white and bare of decoration from the oddly tinted blue-green soil. The elves suspected the stones were the ruins of some long-forgotten city but could discern no logic to their arrangement, so the stones’ true purpose remained a mystery. Stranger still, Inath-Wakenti was utterly devoid of animal life large or small, and by night it was infested with floating balls of light, will-o’-the-wisps, whose touch caused elves to vanish without a trace.
Eagle Eye veered upward suddenly, and Kerian leaned forward, gripping his sides more tightly with her knees. She made no other move, nor any sound. There was no need. Eagle Eye was a Royal griffon and more intelligent than many a two-legged creature Kerian had known. He seemed to understand the danger posed by the balls of light and knew they were in a race for their lives. Flying flat out wasn’t working; the will-o’-the-wisps continued to close. So Eagle Eye strained every sinew in a steep climb. The ground fell away with stomach-churning suddenness, and Kerian, attuned to the griffon’s every shift of weight and tensing of muscle, suddenly realized what he intended. She gave the leather belt around her waist a quick jerk to tighten it, and the horizon inverted.
Wings stretched wide, Eagle Eye soared over the top of the loop. Upside down, Kerian spared a look at her pursuers. Her heart sank. No longer a dozen, at least three times that number of glowing orbs chased her across the sky. They fanned out in a wide cone from her original position. Already, the half dozen in the lead were rising after her. They were pale, as if the effort of the chase was finally telling on them, leaching their color. Those farther back still pulsed in vibrant shades of green, blue, crimson, purple, and gold.