A Silvanesti named Baranthalonus, a veteran, saluted. “General, allow me the honor.”

She asked him why. His sunburned face turned south, hazel eyes growing distant, as if seeing the green land that still lay beyond the horizon. “I should like to die at least close to Silvanesti land,” he said simply.

“Very well. Pick a band of five hundred, all good archers. Fix the enemy here for at least a day.”

A tall order, but Baranthalonus nodded. “The five hundred should be Silvanesti.”

None objected to the implicit gibe. Silvanesti were known for considering themselves superior to all races, including other elves. Ordinarily the Lioness would not have tolerated such a provocative statement, but these circumstances were hardly ordinary, and this elf had volunteered for death.

With a shrug, she said, “I wish you had Kith-Kanan himself.”

“He was Qualinesti, General.”

The jest elicited hoarse chuckles from the others. “Well, you’ll have at least one in your company who’s not of the star-born.” She indicated herself.

Her officers protested. As commander of the army, she must not place herself in such peril.

“I’ll do what I think is best for the army,” she snapped, cutting off the protests.

Hytanthas was sent to bring Taranath forward. As the Lioness’s second-in-command, he would lead in her absence.

Four other Silvanesti officers asked to join Baranthalonus, so he sent them through the ranks to pick five hundred warriors. In short order the covering force was assembled on the gravelly knoll. All of the army’s remaining arrows were turned over to them. The archers chose their places with care, each surrounding himself with a hedge of arrows, points thrust into the coarse sand. One of the archers, the Lioness never knew which, yielded his food and waterskin to a comrade who was continuing the march. In rapid order, every elfin the covering force willingly surrendered his precious rations, then knelt to await the enemy’s arrival.