Lord Taranath arrived. Formerly a commander in the royal guard of Qualinost, he was an unusually tall elf. This, together with his somewhat rounded ears, had always encouraged speculation about a mixed parentage. Taranath was renowned for coolness in battle, and such insults were the only things that stirred him to rage. Given his prowess with a sword, he was not often insulted.

“Lady,” he said, saluting the Lioness. She didn’t care for the honorific, but this was hardly the time to reprove her valiant friend. She delivered her orders with characteristic brevity.

“Take the army to the sea, Taran. Head north to Khuri-Khan, and present the army with my compliments to the Speaker.”

Taranath raised an eyebrow. “The minotaur fleet-how will we avoid it?”

“Spring is nearly over. The Khurish nomads will be leaving the deep desert, before the summer heat sets in.” Kerian grimaced; crazy to imagine this as spring, yet summer would indeed be much worse. “There’ll be hundreds, thousands of them on the coastal route. Mix with them, join their caravans. The bull-men won’t molest you while you ride amidst a pack of nomads.” The king of the Khurish humans, Sahim-Khan, was known to be on friendly terms with the minotaurs.

“Is it honorable to skulk home,” Taranath spoke quietly, “cloaked by hordes of ragged nomads?”

“War is not about honor. It’s about survival-and victory.” Since the latter had eluded them, the former was now paramount.

Flat horn blasts echoed across the sand. Kerianseray shaded her eyes. A thick, rising column of dust marked the oncoming enemy.

“Go,” she said. “Tell the Speaker-” She stopped, a rare blush mantling her sunbrowned cheeks, as she failed to find the right words.

Taranath was deeply moved, but respected her privacy. “I know what to tell the Speaker, lady. Fare you well.”