Sanctuary (Elven Exiles) by Paul B. Thompson & Tonya C. Cook

Author:Paul B. Thompson & Tonya C. Cook [Thompson, Paul B.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780786963676
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2012-07-31T00:00:00+00:00

9

The Vale of Silence was aptly named. An hour after dawn, the Lioness and her warriors were riding across a flat, funnel-shaped valley that was utterly silent, with no breath of wind stirring or birds calling. The air was warm, but far from the blistering heat of the desert outside, and laden with moisture. The area’s other name—Valley of the Blue Sands—also was appropriate. The soil beneath their horses’ hooves was bright blue-green, a strange shade between malachite and verdigris. It also contributed to the quiet. The soft soil seemed to absorb the sound of their movements.

To spare the horses undue stress, Kerian had sent Eagle Eye aloft without her, then swung up behind Favaronas. The archivist would’ve exchanged places—after all, she was commander of the armies—but she waved away his offer. Balancing easily even without the benefit of stirrups or saddle, she studied their surroundings.

They rode past scattered stands of cedar and pine, and boulders half-buried in the sandy soil. The high mountains kept the valley floor in shade long after dawn, which probably accounted for the pockets of mist that clung to the low places.

“Well, librarian, what do you think?” the Lioness asked.

“Feels dead,” Favaronas replied. “No birds, no insects, not even any flowers blooming.”

He was right. A profound stillness lay heavily over the area. Only a few miles in, the effect was becoming unnerving. It was easy to imagine how the valley came to be shunned. Curious nomads, penetrating this far, would become spooked and flee, carrying with them tales of the eerie silence. Over the years, those stories would’ve grown with every telling.

If the atmosphere was unsettling, the scenery was increasingly beautiful, as the valley opened to them. The gray Khalkist peaks on the eastern side took on a slate-blue shade as the sun climbed over them, slanting into the valley and washing the facing western range with golden light. Islands of grass appeared, not the brown or gray flora of the desert, but familiar green shoots, the first they’d seen since leaving their homelands. The presence of grass was more than nostalgic. Where grass grew, livestock could live. Where livestock could live, elves could live.

With the sun above the eastern mountains, the temperature climbed, but never beyond a pleasant warmth. The Lioness and Favaronas came to a wide, shallow stream that wandered across the valley floor. It was shaded by two small willow trees, their slender branches motionless in the still air.

Kerian slid off the horse’s rump and squatted on a flat boulder by the water’s edge. Even as Favaronas called a warning, she dipped her hand in the stream and lifted it to her lips.

“To lead is to take risks,” she said, smiling wryly, then swallowed.

He didn’t have to ask if the water was good. His horse dropped its nose into the shimmering flow and drank noisily. In minutes, the entire command had followed suit. The fresh water was like a gift from the gods. The water they’d brought was warm, and tasted like the skins and gourds in which it was carried; the well water of Khuri-Khan was bland and flat.

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