Twenty feet up the rocky slope, her injured foot snagged on a tree root, and she passed out from the pain. Reviving minutes later in the cool air, she drew a shaky breath, dug her fingers into the stony ground, and resumed her agonizing crawl. Lord Burnond Everride would have expended his last breath carrying out his mission. His daughter could do no less.
Chapter 17
The preparations were lengthy and obscure. After bringing the Speaker back from the brink of death, Sa’ida sequestered herself in a tent on the edge of camp. There she remained for two days, seeing no one, speaking to no one, and ignoring the food and water left outside the tent. They had no victuals to waste, so morning and evening the untouched food and water was taken away and distributed elsewhere.
At dusk on the second day, the priestess finally broke her silence, asking for water. The warrior on guard outside her tent brought her a cup and brought the old general as well.
The tent flap parted a few inches. From within the dark interior, Sa’ida said, “I shall need more water than that. Much more.”
She conveyed her requirements to Hamaramis. His brows lifted, but he agreed without argument. The human priestess had brought the Speaker of the Sun and Stars back from death and promised to free him of the terrible illness. If water she needed, then water she would have.
A motley collection of buckets, jugs, and pots was filled from a nearby spring and gathered outside the priestess’s tent. Several hours after dark had fallen, Sa’ida asked Hamaramis to summon the Speaker. She still had not come out of the shelter.
The Speaker arrived in his palanquin. He had slept much of the day. Between the priestess’s ministrations and Gilthas’s own strength of will, he arrived sitting up in the woven chair rather than lying propped by pillows. Most of his remaining army and a great many ordinary elves were already there, waiting silently. Sa’ida stood just outside her tent, her back to the crowd, her head bowed. The bearers arrived, but they did not lower the palanquin to the chill ground. Hamaramis announced the Speaker’s presence.
“You have brought me to the deepest graveyard in the world, Great Speaker,” Sa’ida murmured.
“It’s our home. Or will be. Can you help us?”
She turned to face him. Those closest in the crowd gasped at the alteration in her appearance. A robust human woman of fifty years with a typically dark Khurish complexion, Sa’ida seemed to have shrunk. Her face was sallow, and her lips were blue as with cold. In her white robe, she seemed a pallid ghost herself. She looked nearly as ill as Gilthas.
“In my service to the goddess, I have communed with many spirits: peaceful and restless, howling mad and serenely content. I have never encountered any like those who dwell in this valley. They have been crowded into this place as salted fish are packed into barrels in the souks. Row upon row of dead souls, very old and very angry.”
She swayed unsteadily. Gilthas called for a chair. Hamaramis supported her until the stool arrived. Sa’ida sank onto it gratefully. Despite his anxiety to hear what she had to say, Gilthas was concerned for her welfare. But she turned aside his offers of food and drink.
“There are at least four layers of captive spirits here.”
“Four?” Gilthas was surprised. “We thought two—the beast-people and the will-o’-the-wisps.”
She shook her head. “Deep in the primeval warp and weft of this land are imprisoned the souls of an ancient colony of your race.” Grimacing in pain, she pressed a hand to her forehead. “Deeper still are voices so old and so awesome I dared not try to speak to them.” She regarded Gilthas with burning eyes. “This is no place to live, Great Speaker.”
Murmurs arose from those nearest in the crowd. The mutterings spread as the priestess’s words were passed back to those farther away.
“We have no choice,” Gilthas told her, raising his voice. The crowd fell silent again. “All other realms have refused us. We must endure here or die.”
Sa’ida lifted both hands to knead her forehead. “Then in spite of my misgivings, I shall try to help you.”
Gilthas’s sigh of relief was nearly soundless. He smiled.
“Protect us from the floating lights, holy lady. Those they touch are transported deep into tunnels beneath the valley never to wake.”
“That can be done.”
“Our next urgent need is food. Animals must be allowed to live here, and edible plants allowed to thrive.”
“Ah, that requires doing battle with a great power. There is a mighty spell on this place. Life is severely constrained.”
“By whom?” Hamaramis asked.
She managed a weary smile. “Spells are not signed like poems. The magic here is so ancient, all telltale marks of its origin have worn off. I can tell you it was the work of laddad wizards, a great many of them, acting in concert.”
Exclamations came from the crowd. Their survival was being hampered by magic cast by their own race? The irony was very bitter.
Gilthas asked Sa’ida to bend her efforts first to controlling the will-o’-the-wisps. The elves could work on making the valley bloom if they were free of the fear of being snatched away.
He expected her to give him a list of items necessary to fulfill his demand or perhaps to say that she must rest and gather her strength before embarking on the task, but she did neither. She set to work immediately.
Rising, she removed her necklace and held the chain so the Eye of Elir-Sana dangled free at its end. She went to the first of the water-filled vessels, murmured an incantation, then dipped the amulet into the water.
“Pour the consecrated water on the ground all around the camp, being careful to form a continuous line with no gaps. It will create a barrier the guardian lights cannot cross.” She moved to the next jug, adding, “Save some of it for your soldiers. When they are stalked, they should fling a few drops at the lights. Any light struck by a single droplet will vanish forever.”
The civilians raised a cheer, which the warriors took up. Gilthas praised Sa’ida for her efforts.
“Don’t thank me yet, Great Speaker. Without the lights to act as guardians, the spirits of the Lost Ones maybe emboldened to act as they have not before.” He asked what she meant. “I don’t know,” she replied, sounding tired and cross. “Just be wary. Any good healer will tell you, sometimes the cure can be worse than the disease.”
If her warning provoked any qualms among the elves, they weren’t apparent. As soon as a vessel was treated, eager hands snatched it away. Hamaramis laid claim to a few dozen small pots that his riders could carry while patrolling outside camp. The crowd dispersed, leaving the wrung-out priestess alone with the Speaker of the Sun and Stars. Gilthas pressed her once again to eat, saying they would gladly give her the very best they had.
Knowing how short was their supply of food, she assured, him she would be well content with whatever was the usual fare.
“In that case, you shall dine like royalty,” he said, his shadowed eyes twinkling briefly.
She gave him a sagacious nod. She understood this king well enough to know he would not feast while his subjects starved. The bearers carried his palanquin away. Sa’ida followed. Several of the Speaker’s attendants accompanied her, kindly matching her slow pace.
By the time the party reached the Speaker’s tent, the repast was laid: rose hip tea, roasted peas, goat cheese, and kamenty.
This last was a Khurish staple of olives and nut meats pressed into a loaf. Comprising two elven items and two Khurish foods, the menu was diplomatic if austere. The small table was lit by two candles, the delicate lines of the silver and gold candlesticks only emphasizing their humble surroundings.