Its speed was terrifying. With great sideways swings of its head, it mowed down horses and elves right and left, ripping them apart with its horns. When a horse fell directly in front of it, the creature opened its jaws and snapped the living animal in two.
“Break! Break formation!” the Lioness cried. Like quicksilver under the blows of a hammer, the elves flew apart. The monster dashed after the slowest riders, knocking them off their mounts with its horned snout. Several dismounted elves ran upon the creature’s blind side and attacked it with swords. Their blows rang ineffectually against its hard scales.
At the Lioness’s command, the bugler sounded retreat. She tried to restore some order to her ranks, but every time a sizable body of elves formed, the creature dashed at them, ripping them apart and trampling them under its clawed feet. In a quarter of an hour it slew more elves than the nomads had in a morning’s combat.
Archers sniped at its eyes, and one succeeded in lodging a clothyard shaft in the right one. Grunting, the beast stuck out its blood-red tongue, snaked it around the offending arrow, and yanked. This procedure diverted the beast long enough to allow the elves to re-form and gallop for the crest of the slate hill. The monster caught up with them in two bounds.
The Lioness didn’t see the beast coming. One moment she was astride her horse, the next, she lay sprawled on her back, sliding over the rough, stony ground. Her horse, decapitated by the creature’s horns, was flung aside by one powerful clawed foot.
The beast advanced until it was standing over her. Dazed, she saw its wide, pale green belly blotting out the sky. She drew her dagger. With both hands, she rammed it into the creature’s underside. It felt as if she was stabbing an anvil. Her point skidded off and the dagger twisted out of her grasp. The monster’s right hind leg came forward, caught hold of Kerian’s leg, and threw her several yards.
She rolled over and over, coming to a halt against the carcass of her dead horse. Her hands and forearms sang with pain, and her head pounded. Around her, shouts and screams resounded, but sounded faint and far away. Even the searing light of the sun seemed dim.
Is this any way to fight?
The calm voice echoed in her head—her conscience, she supposed—sounding very like Gilthas. Why not? In most ways he was her conscience. She could see his face before her, his eyes full of disappointment. Get up, he told her. Don’t just lie in the dirt beside your dead horse.
Laboriously, she pushed herself up on her hands, uttering an obscenity. Her leg ached where the creature had grabbed her, and she was certain she’d broken a rib.
The annoying voice in her head went on, telling her how stupid it was to fight such a beast with sword and bow. What else did they have?
It will stop the killing—at least for a time. Keep it close by, seeker.
This time the voice in Kerian’s head belonged to Sa’ida, high priestess of Elir-Sana. Her words rang clear as mountain ice, cutting through the pain and the fog of exhaustion. She realized she had indeed been tossed back onto the body of her own horse. She tore open the small saddlebag, thanking the gods who live that the poor animal had fallen on its right side. Groping through the dried leaves, she drew out the odd stone.
Sa’ida’s mysterious gift, the beautiful opal egg, lay heavy in her hand.
Now what? The priestess had given her no instructions, no explanation of how the gemstone was supposed to help her. Should she touch the monster with it? Daunting prospect! Perhaps if she tied it to an arrow and loosed it at the beast.
The elves had scattered, trying to keep out of the monster’s reach. It made sudden, blindingly fast rushes at the small groups.
Her face scratched and bleeding, hair standing wildly around her head, the Lioness stalked the creature. It saw her. Its eyelids clicked together, and the soulless reptilian visage never changed as it advanced. No dizzying rush this time. Instead, it came on slowly, raising one foot at a time like a prowling cat preparing to pounce. When it was ten yards away, the Lioness held up Sa’ida’s gift.
“Here’s a present for you, monster!” she shouted.
So saying, she leaned back and hurled the opal. Her aim was true. The orb hit the beast in the center of its chest, stuck there briefly, then fell to the ground. The creature’s forward motion halted abruptly. It froze, one foreleg lifted off the ground, for the space of two seconds, then its legs unaccountably collapsed. It struck the ground so hard that the shock knocked the Lioness off her feet.
On horseback or on foot, the elves slowly converged on the fallen beast. It did not move. Kerian kept her sword in hand, ready to fight, but the monster was like a statue.
“Is it dead, General?” one of her warriors called.
Its breath washed over her feet. “No! Seems to be sleeping!”
Eight officers galloped up. Swinging out of their saddles, they ringed the monster’s head. They struck the beast with their swords, but neither points nor blade edges would penetrate it. The swords merely bounced off the beast, doing no harm to its armored hide.
“Merciful Quen!” an elf exclaimed. “Can’t we kill it?”
Kerian squatted by the beast. One eye, as big as her head, was half open. The bright green orb was as malign as ever and moved slightly to track her as she shifted position. She realized the creature could see her, but must be compelled by the power of the priestess’s gift to lie quiescent. The question was, for how long?
The officers speculated what to do. As the discussion continued, the Lioness went and retrieved the opal egg. Its color had changed. Once glowingly white, it was now a dull ivory color, the pink and gold streaks on its surface faded.
She slipped it in her belt pouch. She owed Sa’ida a very large debt.
Favaronas come trotting over the crest of the hill. The archivist made his way to them, both hands clutching the pommel of his saddle, his attention fixed on the creature lying before them.
“Merciful gods and goddesses!” he exclaimed. “It’s a sand beast!”
“You recognize this abomination?”
“After a fashion, General. Sand beasts dwell in the deepest, most desolate tracts of the desert. Sahim-Khan has the head of one preserved in his palace. They’re very rare—”
“Not rare enough,” she said dryly. Raising her voice, she ordered her elves to saddle.
A horse was brought to replace her slain mount. The wounded who could ride would double up with healthy riders. They would take their dead with them as well. The monster might revive, and the Lioness wouldn’t risk leaving honorable warriors to its savage attentions.
The sand beast had slain fifty-two elves and wounded as many more. If Sa’ida’s magic hadn’t stopped it, the entire company likely would have perished.
They rode due north. Favaronas kept looking back over his shoulder, afraid the paralyzed creature might revive and be upon them again. Kerian had a different worry: Why had the sand beast attacked them in the first place? This mission was fraught with unexpected dangers, as though the desert was uniting against them, to stop the Speaker’s search for the valley of legend.
The archivist couldn’t help with her questions about the sand beast. From all he’d read, sand beasts were wild animals who, despite their ferocity, avoided contact with humans or elves.
Kerian’s horse stumbled, jarring her. She coughed as new pain lanced through her side. Favaronas offered a handkerchief.
“There’s blood on your face, General.”
She wiped her chin, dismissing his concern. “I took a few whacks. I’ve had worse.”
Day’s end was magnificent. The sinking sun gilded the forward range of the mountains, changing them from slate gray to bronze and copper. Dust was much less a problem here, as the ground was more stone than sand, and they could see for miles in every direction.