She found her sword buried in the rocky soil. It was undamaged, but her crossbow had not been so fortunate. Hurled directly into a boulder, the stock was shattered. To keep its secrets from unfriendly hands, she completed its destruction.
The Black Hall was such a long way away, she decided instead to go over the mountains and present herself in Neraka. Her mission was complete. The Scarecrow was dead. As more and more stars crowded the sky, Breetan headed for home.
Farther down the valley, another was awakening after the terrific blast. Wounded by the Lioness’s party when he attacked the bounty hunter, Shobbat had crept under a low thread-needle bush—to rest or die, he wasn’t sure which. He awoke in darkness.
He was human again.
Joyous relief changed quickly to alarm. The thread-needle bush was covered by sharp, inch-long spines, and he was completely naked. Little more than a nuisance to the tough, thickly furred hide of his beastly form, the spines would wreak havoc on his delicate human flesh. He inched his way very carefully out from under the bush and into the cold night air.
He couldn’t possibly cross the mountains in his current state, so he went back the way he had come, through the southern pass, into the valley. He needed clothes and would have to avoid the laddad patrols, but he was himself again. Even shivering and exposed, Shobbat grinned in triumph.
Kerian’s party crossed the valley in mounting excitement. Moonlight and starlight showed them the many changes wrought in the landscape. The monoliths were gone. Where the thousands of snowy quartz blocks had stood were only scorched patches of turf or shallow pits. The air was drier, with none of the clammy mists that usually clung to the ground at night.
And the valley was full of trees! Not the stubby, twisted plants they’d grown accustomed to in the benighted vale, but soaring giants such as they’d not seen since leaving their homelands. Oaks towered forty feet above their heads. Pines and cedars thrust skyward like enormous green spires. The ground was littered with palm-sized acorns and pine cones the size of melons. The air was drenched with the perfume of a riot of blossoms. The open landscape was gone. Although loathe to destroy such beauty, the elves were forced to hack a path through the newly grown foliage.
Periodically their way was blocked by water. Rivulets they’d crossed the day before in a stride or two were rushing streams. Creeks had matured into small rivers. The valley’s few small springs gushed like fountains.
Passing one of the larger pits left by a departed monolith, they saw a rabbit shoot out of the hole, dart around their legs in confused fashion, and vanish into the night. On its furry heels came more creatures: a pair of squirrels, half a dozen starlings, a cloud of flies.
“The same power that cured our personal hurts has restored the animals of Inath-Wakenti,” Hytanthas said.
“How so?” asked Favaronas.
Hytanthas told him about the layers of dry bones he’d found in the tunnels under the valley. Favaronas had entered the tunnels during the Lioness’s original expedition and hadn’t encountered any remains, but his stay had been very brief, and the captain’s theory seemed logical to him. The bones of the valley’s animals had been given flesh again.
Taking his theory a step further, Hytanthas exclaimed, “Commander, our comrades! All those lost to the lights will be returned to us!”
The idea was a beguiling one, but Favaronas warned against hasty assumptions. “They might be returned, but it’s equally likely the ‘resurrection’ will affect only the original denizens of the valley.”
While the men debated the point, Kerian’s face acquired an odd expression. Taranath asked if something was wrong. She regarded him in wide-eyed silence for the space of two heartbeats then sprinted away, leaving them all behind. Over her shoulder floated one word.
“Gilthas!”
Comprehension quickly dawned for Taranath. Hytanthas and Robien shared his understanding. Favaronas did not, having been lost before the Speaker took ill.
“Must we run?” he complained, just before Hytanthas and Robien each took one of Favaronas’s arms and hurried him along.
Mind and body in an uncharacteristic whirl, Kerian outpaced them all by fifty yards. She forced her thoughts away from the hope she dared not voice and instead tried to calm her churning belly. It was requiring all her considerable concentration to keep from being sick, The idea it might be simple hunger lasted only until she remembered the revelation Sa’ida had delivered. She was sick because she was pregnant. She tightened her grip on her sword hilt. She would not be sick. Not now. Later she could be sick but not now.
She pushed through a wall of closely growing ash saplings and found the way ahead blocked by a new lake. She waited for her companions to catch up then struck out around the lake. Ever the archivist, Favaronas insisted they name the new body of water. Robien’s suggestion of “New Lake” was roundly rejected as too dull. Hytanthas offered “Lake Pathfinder,” and Kerian surfaced from her distraction long enough to veto that.
“He won’t thank you for it,” she said. “Besides, it smacks of favor-seeking.”
“Lake Planchet.”
Taranath’s quiet suggestion met with unanimous approval. Kerian thought it a fitting tribute to the valiant elf who had given his life in the desert to save the nation.
Lake Planchet was broad and kidney shaped, with its long axis running north-south. As they skirted its shore, a flock of geese wafted down. In moments half a hundred birds had settled, honking lustily.
Not even Qualinesti in its heyday was so rich, so bountiful. Although full night was still upon the valley, it teemed with animal life. The elves passed a cloud of bees swarming around an open fissure in the ground. Snakes glided across the path in front of them. Crickets whirred and thick clouds of fireflies glittered. Coming upon a small grove, they were overwhelmed by the sweet scent of apples. The trees were laden with fruit such as was grown in Hylo and Ergoth, apples fully ripe but green as leaves. Even Kerian could not help but follow her comrades’ example and pause long enough to fill each hand with a gleaming fruit.
Favaronas bit into an apple and laughed with delight at the flavor. Juice ran down his chin. Although he hadn’t tasted the fruit, Hytanthas began to laugh as well. Their shared amusement went on so long, Robien and Taranath stared at them. Hytanthas shrugged helplessly.
“I don’t know,” he said, his face still wearing a broad grin. “It just feels as though we’ve gone back to the beginning of the world!”
Taranath offered a wary warrior’s smile. A surprisingly fresh, wry grin appeared on Robien’s face. Suddenly all four of them were laughing, the mirth of one inciting fresh hilarity in the rest.
“Get moving!”
The Lioness’s harsh voice recalled them to their senses. Embarrassed, Taranath hustled Favaronas forward, and Hytanthas and Robien sped their own lagging steps.
“It’s very strange. I feel almost drunk,” Robien confessed, and the others agreed.
“Perhaps it’s another effect of the valley’s transformation,” suggested Favaronas.
By the time dawn broke, the land had become less cluttered with undergrowth. Open ground was covered by a lush carpet of knee-high grass. They were close to the valley’s center, and Kerian began to run, shedding gear that slowed her down. She topped a low knoll and halted.
Below lay the circular stone platform at the valley’s heart. The huge disk was bisected by a broad crack. Off to the left, the south side, lay the elves’ camp. Most of the tents were down, Some had been consumed by fire, and thin spires of smoke still curled skyward.