“Give me the child,” said Mina gently.
The mother lifted fearful eyes and looked into Mina’s. The warm liquid amber flowed around the mother and the child. The mother handed the baby to Mina.
The little girl weighed almost nothing. She was as light as a will-o’-the-wisp in Mina’s arms.
“I bless you in the name of the One God,” said Mina, “and I call you back to this life.”
The child’s whimpering ceased. She went limp in Mina’s arms, and the elder elves drew in hissing breaths.
“She is well now,” Mina said, handing back the child to the mother.
“The fever has broken. Take her home and keep her warm. She will live.”
The mother looked fearfully into the face of her child and gave a cry of joy. The child’s whimpering had ceased, and she had gone limp because she now slept peacefully. Her forehead was cool to the touch, her breathing easy.
“Mina!” the elf woman cried, falling to her knees. “Bless you, Mina!”
“Not me,” said Mina. “The One God.”
“The One God,” the mother cried. “I thank the One God.”
“Lies!” cried an elf man, thrusting his way forward through the crowd.
“Lies and blasphemy. The only true god is Paladine.”
“Paladine forsook you,” Mina said. “Paladine left you. The One God is with you. The One God cares for you.”
The elf opened his mouth to make an angry rejoinder. Before he could speak, Mina said to him, “Your beloved wife is not with you here this night.”
The elf shut his mouth. Muttering, he started to turn away.
“She is sick at home,” Mina told him. “She has not been well for a long, long time. Every day, you watch her sink closer to death. She lies in bed, unable to walk. This morning, she could not lift her head from the pillow.”
“She is dying!” the elf said harshly, keeping his head turned away.
“Many have died. We bear our suffering and go on.”
“When you return home,” said Mina, “your wife will meet you at the door. She will take you by the hands, and you will dance in the garden as you once used to.”
The elf turned to face her. His face was streaked with tears, his expression was wary, disbelieving. “This is some trick.”
“No, it is not,” Mina returned, smiling. “I speak the truth, and you know it. Go to her. Go and see.”
The elf stared at Mina, then, with a hollow cry, pushed his way through those who surrounded him and vanished into the crowd.
Mina extended her hand toward an elven couple. Father and mother each held a young boy by the hand. The boys were twins, thin and listless, their young faces so pinched with pain they looked like wizened old men. Mina beckoned to the boys. “Come to me.”
The boys shrank away from her. “You are human,” said one. “You hate us.”
“You will kill us,” said his brother. “My father says so.”
“To be human, elf, or minotaur makes no difference to the One God. We are all children of the One God, but we must be obedient children. Come to me. Come to the One God.”
The boys looked up at their parents. The elves stared at Mina, saying nothing, making no sign. The crowd around them was hushed and still, watching the drama. Finally, one boy let loose his mother’s hand and came forward, walking weakly and unsteadily. He took hold of Mina’s hand.
“The One God has the power to heal one of you,” said Mina. “Which will it be? You or your brother.”
“My brother,” the child said immediately.
Mina rested her hand on the boy’s head. “The One God admires sacrifice. The One God is pleased. The One God heals you both.”
Healthful color flooded the pallid cheeks. The listless eyes blazed with life and vigor. The weak legs no longer trembled, the bent spines straightened. The other boy left his father and ran to join his twin, both flinging their arms around Mina.
“Bless you! Bless you, Mina!” some of the younger Silvanesti elves began to chant, and they gathered close to Mina, reaching out to seize hold of her, begging her to heal them, their wives, their husbands, their children. The crowd surged and heaved around her so that she was in danger of being adored to death.
The minotaur, Galdar, Mina’s second-in-command and self-appointed guardian, waded into the mass. Catching hold of Mina, he bore her out of the press, thrusting aside the desperate elves with his strong arms. Mounting her horse, Mina rose up in the stirrups and lifted her hand for silence. The elves hushed immediately, strained to hear her words.
“It has been given to me to tell you that all those who ask of the One God in humility and reverence will be healed of the sickness brought upon you by the dragon Cyan Bloodbane. The One God has freed you from this peril. Pray to the One God upon your knees, acknowledge the One God as the true God of the elves and you will be cured.”
Some of the younger elves fell to their knees at once and began to pray. Others, the elder elves, refused. Never before had the elves prayed to any god except Paladine. Some began to mutter that the kirath had been right, but then those who had prayed lifted their heads to the moonlight and cried out in joy that the pain had left their bodies. At the sight of the miraculous healing, more elves dropped to their knees, raised their voices in praise. The elder elves, watching in dismay and disbelief, shook their heads. One in particular, who was dressed in the magical camouflaging cloak of the kirath, stared hard at Mina for long moments before vanishing among the shadows.
The blood-red horse proceeded forward at a walk. Mina’s soldiers cleared her way through the press of bodies. The Tower of the Stars glimmered softly in the moonlight, pointing the way to heaven. Walking at her side, Galdar tried to breathe as little as possible. The stench of elf was overpowering, cloying, sickeningly sweet to the minotaur, like the scent of something long dead.
“Mina,” said Galdar in a harsh growl, “these are elves!” He made no effort to conceal his disgust. “What does the One God want with elves?”
“The souls of all mortals are valuable to the One God, Galdar,” Mina responded.
Galdar mulled this over but could not understand. Looking back at her, he saw, in the moonlight, the images of countless elves held prisoner in the warm golden amber of her eyes.
Mina continued through Silvanost as prayers to the One God, spoken in the Elvish language, rustled and whispered through the night. Silvanoshei, son of Alhana Starbreeze and Porthios of the House of Solostaran, the heir to both kingdoms of the elves, the Qualinesti and the Silvanesti, stood with his face and hands pressed against the crystal windowpane, peering into the night.
“Where is she?” he demanded impatiently. “No, wait! I think I see her!” He stared long and then fell back with a sigh. “No, it is not her. I was mistaken. Why doesn’t she come?” He turned around to demand in sudden fear, “You don’t think anything has happened to her, Cousin?”
Kiryn opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say a word, Silvanoshei had spoken to a servant. “Find out what is happening at the gate. Return to me at once.”
The servant bowed and departed, leaving the two alone in the room.
“Cousin,” said Kiryn, keeping his voice carefully modulated, “that is the sixth servant you have sent this past half hour. He will return with the same message that they have all brought. The progress of the procession is slow, due to the fact that so many of our people want to see her.”
Silvanoshei went back to the window, stared out again with an impatience he did not bother to hide. “It was a mistake. I should have been there to greet her.” He cast a cold glance at his cousin. “I should not have listened to you.”
“Your Majesty,” said Kiryn with a sigh, “it would not have looked good. You, the king, welcoming in person the leader of our enemies. Bad enough that we have admitted her into the city in the first place,” he added to himself, but Silvanoshei had sharp ears.