In many respects, this camp was more comfortable than the nicest houses in which they had ever dwelled. Despite the relentless heat of the early summer, they were close enough to the coast that they were eternally soothed by an offshore breeze, a wind that was channeled between two towering bluffs so that it always flowed up the valley.
A pleasant stream meandered right through the middle of the encampment, and numerous waterfalls trilled from the heights on either side. A canopy of lofty trees—ironwood, oak, and an occasional towering cedar—provided constant shade, as well as screened the camp from observation by anyone overhead. Yet the tree limbs were so high that the effect was not stifling. Instead, it was more like a vaulted ceiling that kept them cool with its lofty, heavy boughs.
Of course, the elves had done some work to improve the comfort of the settlement. Dozens of small huts had been erected near the walls of the gorge, and guard posts had been established on the two trails leading into the ravine from the upper walls. Several small caves were used for food storage, and early efforts at establishing a vintner’s yard had been made at the lower end of the gorge. This area of Qualinesti was rich in natural grapes, and the elves had been diligent in their collection, so that now several large casks of mash were slowly fermenting into wine.
It was Tarqualan who had led them to this gorge. The Qualinesti captain had remembered the place from his childhood. The entire band, led by Porthios, had flown here after bidding farewell to Tanis before they had reached the borders of Qualinesti. The half-elf had journeyed northward, returning to his wife. He had been concerned by the rumors of an impending war in the far north, stories that remained unconfirmed but that Tanis had been determined to investigate.
Here in the forest glade, such reports seemed distant and insignificant compared to the easy pleasures of daily life and parenthood. Porthios was glad that he could be with his baby so much. Silvanoshei spent most of his time in the comfort of his tai-thall, the leather cradle that Alhana, or sometimes Porthios himself, wore over the shoulders to support the infant on his parent’s chest. The Qualinesti warriors had crafted the traditional baby carrier during the days after Silvanoshei’s birth, and the tai-thall had supported the newborn infant during the remainder of the flight to his father’s homeland.
As the band of fliers had crossed the border, Porthios had felt a twinge of melancholy and misgiving, knowing that he was now an outlaw in his own homeland. Still, his outrage against that perceived injustice was powerful enough to easily overcome any misgivings he may have had over defying the exile. Now that they were here, he felt like a king again—an outlaw king, perhaps, but that role was well suited to his current mood.
Only recently they had raided another caravan bound southward from Caergoth, and their plunder had included many woolen cloaks as well as iron implements that greatly enhanced the band’s cooking process. Their diet consisted thus far of venison and fish, supplemented by the natural fruits and berries that were blooming throughout the woods. Wild grasses were being harvested and shucked, though so far the outlaws had not gathered enough grain to make a mill or bakery worthwhile. Still, Porthios was determined that, before the coming of winter, they would be cooking a variety of breads.
White-winged shapes flew overhead, and he looked upward from his hammock to see griffons wheeling and gliding in the wide spaces between the trees. He was grateful that the creatures had come with them and had decided to continue to cooperate with the outlaw elves instead of the civilized Qualinesti, the so-called masters of this domain. Porthios knew that, so long as the griffons were with them, his force was much more mobile than any warriors the Thalas-Enthia or their figurehead Speaker could put into the field. With their sentinels posted on the trails and the griffons ready to carry the outlaws into battle, the prince was certain they were safe from surprise attack. Too, the griffons gave them the ability to move quickly, to strike the caravans as they entered the elven kingdom, and to get away with their plunder.
So far, they had managed to make their attacks without any killing, which had been one of Alhana’s most urgent desires. Porthios himself was not terribly worried about the prospect of slaying fat merchant elves. As far as he was concerned, they were working hand-in-pocket with the Thalas-Enthia, and that shortsighted body of conservatives was bad for elvenkind, and consequently his enemy.
He thought a little about the young elf who had replaced him as Speaker. Alhana had gained the measure of Gilthas Solostaran during the short time when they had both been imprisoned in Senator Rashas’s house. Though Porthios was inclined to dismiss the youngster as a mere puppet of the Thalas-Enthia, his wife had cautioned him that Gilthas was in fact made of sterner stuff. She had reminded him that the blood of Tanis Half-Elven and Laurana Solostaran, Porthios’s sister and the famed Golden General of the War of the Lance, flowed undiluted in his veins.
Gilthas, however, had been raised in a sheltered environment, for his parents had foolishly wished to protect him from life in the real world. But now the young elf was fast gaining an education during his tumultuous term as the Speaker of Sun. While on the surface he acted unfailingly to enforce the will of Rashas and the other senators of his faction, Alhana had suggested that Gilthas was in fact his own master and was working toward a future of his own, not the Thalas-Enthia’s, design.
In a sense, Porthios hoped that was true. He thought about his mixed feelings for Tanis, the half-elf who had helped him escape from Silvanesti, yet who had taken his sister to a marriage so far beneath herself. The old animosity still lingered, the rage at this bastard who, Porthios was convinced, had grown a beard to offend elven sensibilities, to audaciously flaunt his humanness. Was it any wonder that a prince of Qualinesti had teased him mercilessly during their shared youth? There were times when Porthios even wondered if Tanis had wooed Laurana merely as a means of gaining vengeance on her brother.
Of course, he had to admit that his sister seemed content, even happy, with the union. He felt sorrow for Laurana, who had, because of her marriage, sentenced herself to virtual exile from Qualinesti. Still, if her son proved to be a true leader of the elves, if his wisdom could begin to guide the two realms toward an eventual reconciliation, then the future might not be as bleak as the outlaw leader sometimes feared.
His musings were interrupted by the rattling call of a crane, the sound reverberating down the sides of the gorge. This was the prearranged symbol of warning from the guards at the head of the trail, and Porthios was immediately out of his hammock, striding through the encampment as he girded on his sword and saw that Alhana, Silvanoshei, and the other nonwarriors were safely hidden in the nearby caves.
Around Porthios were mustered more than a hundred of his fighting elves, while the griffons were thick in the trees overhead. The hooting cry had been a warning, but not the urgent symbol that indicated an imminent attack, so the prince merely waited, his eyes on the winding trail that led down the bluff and into the clearing before the camp. This was the one path into the glade, and it was covered by many archers and blocked by a line of swords. He noted without surprise that Samar had come to Alhana’s side and held his weapon ready while the woman sheltered her baby in her arms.
Even with their watchfulness, however, the outlaws didn’t see the movement along that trail. Instead, there were suddenly elves around the tree trunks at the base of the bluff, silent people who had slipped right down the slope without being seen. Despite his astonishment, Porthios retained enough composure to bow in polite greeting as the first of the elves stepped forward from the band of several dozen that regarded the outlaws from the fringe of their camp.