She was about to continue, then she glanced around, frowned. “Where is Planchet? Where are your guards?”
“Planchet remained behind to help the Marshal foil some draconians. As to my guards, I ordered them to return to Qualinost. Don’t scold, my dear.” Gilthas smiled. “They are needed there to help ready the defenses. Where are your guards, Madam Lioness?” he asked in mock severity.
“Around,” she said, smiling. Her elf soldiers could be quite close at hand, and he would never see them or hear them, not unless they wanted him to. Her smile faded from her lips and eyes. “We came upon the young elf girl and the children. I offered to send one of my people with her, but she refused. She said she would not think of taking a warrior from the battle.”
“A few weeks ago she danced at her first ball. Now, she cowers in a tunnel and runs for her life.” He could not go on for a moment for the emotion choking him. “What courage our people have!” he said huskily. The two stood in the tunnel. The floor shook beneath them. The dwarven wranglers bellowed and shouted. Dwarves crouched by the entrance, waiting to assist more refugees. Other elves, coming from farther down the tunnel, walked past them. Seeing their king, they nodded and smiled and acted as if this, escaping through a dark and shaking tunnel, guided by dwarves, were an everyday occurrence.
Clearing his throat, Gilthas said, more briskly, “You have verified the first reports we heard?”
The Lioness brushed a tangle of her shining hair from her face. “Yes, but what the fall of the shield means, whether this is good or bad, cannot be told.”
“What happened? How did this come about? Did the Silvanesti lower it themselves?”
She shook her head, and the golden, curling, rampant mass of hair that gave her the nickname of the Lioness covered her face once more. Fondly, her husband smoothed the locks back with his hand. He loved to look upon her face. Some noble Qualinesti elven women, with their cream and rose-petal complexions, looked with disdain on the Kagonesti, whose skin was tanned a deep brown from days spent in the sunshine.
Unlike his face, wherein one could see traces of his human heritage in his square jaw and slightly more rounded eyes, her face was all elven: heart-shaped, with almond eyes. Her features were strong, not delicate, her gaze bold and decisive. Seeing him look at her with love and admiration, the Lioness captured his hand, kissed his palm.
“I have missed you,” she said softly.
“And I, you.” He sighed deeply, drew her close. “Will we ever be at peace, do you think, Beloved? Will there ever be a time when we can sleep until long, long after sunrise, then wake and spend the rest of the day doing nothing except loving each other?”
She did not answer him. He kissed the mane of hair and held her close.
“What of the shield?” he said at last.
“I talked to a runner who saw it was down, but when he tried to find Alhana and her people, they had moved on. That is not unexpected. Alhana would have immediately crossed the border into Silvanesti. We may not hear anything more from her for some time.”
“I had not let myself hope that this news was true,” Gilthas said, “but you ease my care and lift my fear. By lowering the shield, the Silvanesti show they are willing to enter the world again. I will send emissaries immediately to tell them of our plight and ask for their aid. Our people will travel there and find food and rest and shelter. If our plans fail and Qualinost falls, with our cousins’ help, we will build a large army. We will return to drive the dragon from our homeland.”
The Lioness put her hand over his mouth. “Hush, Husband. You are spinning steel out of moonbeams. We have no idea what is happening in Silvanesti, why the shield was lowered, what this may portend. The runner reported that all living things that grew near the shield were either dead or dying. Perhaps this shield was not a blessing to the Silvanesti but a curse.
“There is also the fact,” she added relentlessly, “that our cousins the Silvanesti have not acted very cousinly in the past. They named your Uncle Porthios a dark elf. They have no love for your father. They deem you a half-breed, your mother something worse.”
“They cannot deny us entry,” Gilthas said firmly. “They will not. You will not deprive me of my moonbeams, my dear. I believe the lowering of the shield is a sign of a change of heart among the Silvanesti. I have hope to offer our people. They will cross the Plains of Dust. They will reach Silvanesti, and once there our cousins will welcome them. The journey will not be easy, but you know better than anyone the courage that lives in the hearts of our people. Courage such as we saw in that young girl.”
“Yes, the journey will be hard,” the Lioness said, regarding her husband earnestly. “Our people will succeed, but they will need a leader: one who will urge us to keep going when we are tired and hungry and thirsty and there is no rest, no food, no water. If our king travels with us, we will follow him. When we arrive in Silvanesti, our king must be our emissary. Our king must speak for us, so that we do not seem a mob of beggars.”
“The senators, the Heads of House—”
“—will squabble among themselves, Gilthas, you know that. One third will want to march west instead of east. Another third will want to march north instead of south. And the other third will not want to march at all. They will fight over this for months. If they ever did manage to reach Silvanesti, the first thing they would do is drag up all the quarrels for the past three centuries, and that will be an end to everything. You, Gilthas. You are the only one who has a hope of making this work. You are the only one who can unify the various factions and lead the people across the desert. You are the only one who can smooth the way with the Silvanesti.”
“And yet,” Gilthas argued, “I cannot be in two places at once. I cannot fight to defend Qualinost and lead our people into the Plains of Dust.”
“No, you cannot,” the Lioness agreed. “You must put someone else in charge of the defense of Qualinost.”
“What sort of king flees to safety and leaves his people to die in his stead?” Gilthas demanded frowning.
“The sort of king who makes certain that the last sacrifice of those who stay behind will not be made in vain,” said his wife. “Do not think that because you do not remain to fight the dragon that you will have the easier task. You are asking a people born to the woods, born to lush gardens and bountiful water, to venture into the Plains of Dust, an arid land of shifting sand dunes and blazing sun. Place me in charge of Qualinost—”
“No,” he said shortly. “I will not hear of it.”
“My love—”
“We will not discuss it. I have said no, and I mean it. How can I do what you tell me I must do, without you at my side?” Gilthas demanded, his voice rising in his passion.
She gazed at him in silence, and he grew calmer.
“We will not speak of this anymore,” he told her.
“Yet we must speak of it sometime.”
Gilthas shook his head. His lips compressed into a tight, grim line.
“What other news?” he asked abruptly.
The Lioness, who knew her husband’s moods, understood that continuing to argue would be fruitless. “Our forces harass Beryl’s armies. Yet, their numbers are so great that we are as gnats attacking a pack of ravening wolves.”
“Withdraw your people. Order them south. They will be needed to guard the survivors if Qualinost falls.”
“I thought that would be your command,” she said. “I have already done so. From now on, Beryl’s troops will move unimpeded, looting and burning and killing.”
Gilthas felt the hope that had warmed his blood seep away, leaving him once again despairing, chilled.
“Yet we will have our revenge upon her. You said that the dwarves have agreed to your plan.” The Lioness, sorry she had spoken so harshly, tried to lift him from the dark mood she saw settling on him.