She must have dozed off, for she woke with a start to the sound of footsteps. She peered out into the bright heat of near noon. A white-robed figure approached on foot. The sun glinted on the sword at the person's waist. As the figure drew nearer, Zan thought she saw a few wisps of dark hair escaping from the hood. She touched Ychass's shoulder as she pushed a gentle thought at her. I think that's Vihena. I'm going to see. Keep an eye on me, please.
Right, Ychass agreed, scrubbing the heels of her hands over her face.
Zan got up and left the shelter of the crevice. The figure halted and held up one hand in greeting.
"Vihena?" Zan asked.
The hand dropped. "'Tsan! How did you get here before me? What is going on? Why did you change our plan?"
Zan motioned to the shadowed crevice. "Come out of the sun and I'll explain."
Together they returned to the others. Ychass was sitting up, her face expressionless; Remarr was sprawled with a fold of his loose veil covering most of his face; Iobeh and Karivet were still asleep, little bundles of white behind Ychass. Vihena looked around, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the shadows. Then she sat down, cross-legged, on the sand. She did not push back her hood and veil.
"Tell me," she said quietly.
"They were going to try to kill us," Zan began. "The shapeshifter found out when she went to make arrangements with our Khedathen. He tried to stop them and got beaten senseless. The shapeshifter rescued him and came to us. We decided it would be . . . prudent to leave then instead of waiting for morning. We were counting on you to stick to the plan; I'm glad you did."
Beaten senseless? Vihena thought incredulously. Who— Gods. It can't be. She gestured toward Remarr with her chin. "Hobann's minstrel?"
Zan winced at the contempt in her voice. "Not any more. It was Hobann who was plotting against us. He asked Remarr to murder us. Remarr refused."
I wouldn't have thought he had it in him, Vihena thought as she studied him, unspeaking.
As if her scrutiny touched some bruise, Remarr groaned and woke. He sat up painfully, then froze when he saw her.
"You should have woken me sooner," he murmured to Zan as he raised one hand in the same greeting Vihena had used. Vihena turned her face away and did not return the gesture.
"This is Vihena, Efiran Moirre's daughter," Zan told him. "She will be journeying with us. Vihena, this is Remarr."
Vihena did not look at him. He shrugged ruefully, winced, then said, "I know what you would like to say: if I had any honor, I would have fought hard enough to make them kill me rather than suffer this shame. But think how inconvenient that would have been—not for me, since I believe the dead are beyond inconvenience, but for 'Tsan, for your quest. 'Tsan said she needed one of every kindred. I know I'm not anything to boast of, but even so, it would have been very hard for her to replace me on such short notice. In the merciless light of day, I realize a true Khedathen would never have allowed a trifle like inconvenience to interfere with honor, but at the time it seemed like sound reasoning."
She turned cold gray eyes on him. "You make a joke of honor."
He spread his hands. "Vihena Moirre, I make a joke of everything."
Vihena turned to Zan. "I wish you had spoken to me. I could have found you ten Khedathi who would be better than him."
Before Zan could respond, Ychass spoke up, wry amusement in her tone. "On the contrary, I think 'Tsan was inspired. She may have gotten the only Khedathen without a sword, but she also found the only Vematheh with one. You are better matched than you'd like to admit, daughter of the House of Moirre."
"You're in no position to ridicule me as a misfit!" Vihena snapped. "Why don't you tell us how the Utverassi choose whom to send as tribute?"
Zan recoiled from the venom in her tone. Things had really gotten out of hand. Before she could try to defuse the situation, Karivet's calm voice broke the silence.
"You sound like your sister," he observed.
Vihena whipped her head around to look at him; then her shoulders slumped. With a fluid gesture she unhooked her veil, pushed her hood back, and buried her face in her hands. They could all see the blush through her fingers. "I'm sorry," she said, the words muted and distorted by her covering hands. "There was no call for that." She squared her shoulders and drew a deep breath. "Forgive me, all of you," she said stiffly. "My temper betrays me into harsh words. Though I have to admit, I'm not usually brought up quite so short."
Karivet smiled at her, then answered the question that hung over the group like a thunderhead. "There's no shame in being a misfit, Vihena. No one but a misfit would go on such an insane journey. Perhaps our oddities can draw us together, not drive us apart."
The atmosphere lightened, though the shapeshifter still wore her expression of sardonic amusement. As calm returned, a niggling question wormed its way out of Zan's silence. "What did you mean, Vihena, 'tribute'?"
"Ask the shapeshifter," Vihena replied. "I shouldn't have spoken of it."
"Why not?" Ychass asked. "It was your people who thought of it, your people who imposed it." She turned to include the others in the sweep of her silvery eyes. "'And in order that we shall prevent the Khedathi from raiding your lands and destroying your nation, you shall pay to us a tribute of twenty-one slaves, shaped as we shall require, every seven years,'" she quoted in a singsong voice filled with bitterness. "I was tribute, five years ago, sent to a Vemathen who cherishes the peculiar. Usually they ask that we be sent as horses or dogs."
"Horses?" Zan asked, horrified. "You mean—"
"I have always been taught that one can recognize a shapeshifter in animal form because the eyes are human, but the tribute horses don't have human eyes," Remarr probed. "Is that true? Are they really—"
"They don't have human eyes because they have been made beasts," Ychass interrupted grimly. "Their humanity is reft from them when they are forced into beast-shape against their will. It is a cruel death, Khedathen, because their anger remains long after their reason, their essence, is gone."
Zan shuddered. Iobeh hunched her shoulders miserably while Karivet and Vihena exchanged looks and Remarr shook his head sadly.
The shapeshifter watched their reactions closely. "Aren't you going to ask me why I was chosen for the honor?" she asked at last.
Zan shook her head, sick at heart.
Ychass smiled mirthlessly. "Wise. I wouldn't have told you." Then she turned her back on the others and lay down to sleep.
Iobeh found Karivet's hand and squeezed it, her face full of pain and her thoughts in turmoil. She frightens me; she is so full of anger. Zan felt her fondness for the girl welling up, and hoped that it might counter some of the shapeshifter' s influence.
As the others prepared to sleep, Zan wondered whether she would be able to stay awake, but finally decided that there was no reason to keep a watch. If they were being pursued, there was nowhere to run. She closed her eyes and drifted into dreams. She didn't stir again until Ychass woke her with a thought when it was time to move on.
TWELVE
The Lord of the City was angry. He glared at Hobann with such steeliness that it took all of the merchant's resolve not to cringe. "You told me you would see it done, Hobann," the Lord said, his voice terrible in its quiet fury.
Hobann was not an imposing figure. He was short, for a Vemathen, and rather stout. His pudgy hands, lavishly decked with jewels, waved as he spoke. "My Lord, I did not seek to deceive or disappoint. It was a shock and a blow to me to find that my minstrel . . . objected. From everything the other Khedathi said, I was certain he would take the coward's way out and do as he was bid. I was surprised when he refused, but not alarmed; I believed that he might still be brought to my way of thinking. I never expected him to vanish! Even now, I can't imagine how he got away. My Khedathi beat him to the edge of death."
The Lord tapped his front teeth with his steepled forefingers and regarded the merchant. "It's bad, Hobann—worse than you think. Not only has your minstrel vanished, but the Ora
thi are gone as well. They disappeared from Efiran's house in the middle of the night, despite the Khedathen guard outside their door."
In spite of his surprise and uneasiness, Hobann had managed to shut his mouth; but at the Lord's next words, it opened with a gasp of shock.
"Efiran's shapeshifter went with them."
"No," Hobann breathed, his obsequious manner vanishing as he spun implications behind his hard eyes. "They unchained her; they must have." He barely paused at the Lord's raised eyebrows. "It would explain things—the shapeshifter. What a spy. Who would notice a fly on the wall?"
"It was a risk, though, to unbind her," the Lord said.
Hobann shrugged. "We know very little of the Orathi. Perhaps they are allied with the shapeshifters. Gods know, they think they have little cause to love us."
The Lord struck his fist on the arm of his chair in irritation. "Ah, why wasn't it you who met them on the road? Efiran is clever in his way, but . . ." He shook his head. "Ah well, it's no use bewailing what's past. Tell me, Hobann, how do we salvage something out of this shambles?"
"First," Hobann began, allowing none of his inward satisfaction to betray itself, "you must not lose heart. Remember, even if the shapeshifter and my minstrel are with them—which is only supposition, no matter how likely it seems—they still lack Vemathi representation. Further, my minstrel is not likely to be of much use to them with the Wild Khedathi. He was drummed out of his clan for his cowardice; in fact, I suspect he would be far more of a liability than an asset in a confrontation. Their expedition is still, at best, a chancy one."
"You're not recommending we sit back and wait for them to come to grief, surely? It is very easy to underestimate them."
"I dislike leaving events in the laps of the gods when there is no need to do so, my Lord. There's nothing like the peace of mind a little certainty brings. Send the patrols after them. They're on foot; a thorough sweep on horseback ought to bring them to light. I don't think you'd find a Khedathi patrol that would do them in for you, but if they were brought back to the City, we could remove the threat ourselves."
"How will I explain to the Khedathi? Their notions of honor may prove troublesome."
Hobann shrugged. "Lie. Tell them that my minstrel is believed to have stolen from me, and that the foreigners are implicated in his deed and escape. The Khedathi have a deep contempt for theft and thieves. That ought to suffice."
The Lord of the City began to smile. It was not an attractive expression. "Thank you, Hobann. What would I do without you?"
Hobann permitted himself a little smile. "I'm sure you would manage admirably, my Lord, without my poor aid. One thing more, though: it might be a good idea to keep track of that peculiar daughter of Efiran Moirre, at least until this matter is cleared up. She may have gotten to know them fairly well while they stayed with her family. Gods alone know what motivates the girl, but it wouldn't do to have her . . . interfere."
***
As Remarr had hoped, they reached the first water hole a little before dawn. The spring was meager and muddy, but it was wet, and they were glad of it. There were no caves in which to shelter, so Remarr suggested they pitch their tent in the shade afforded by some stunted vegetation while they waited out the daylight hours. The tent had been designed for four people; with six, it was uncomfortably crowded. After the fourth time Zan got Vihena's elbow in her stomach, she wormed her way to the opening and strung the tent flap up so that it would shade a small scrap of sand for her to sleep on; then she curled up, covering her hands and face with her robe so she wouldn't get sunburned when the sun's position changed. Hours later she woke, cramped and uncomfortable, to find Karivet bending over her. It was time to move on.
Travel in the desert was tiring. The sand, which felt so firm and unyielding when one was trying to sleep, shifted underfoot, making walking heavy work. They were perpetually thirsty, even when their water skins were full, because there was always the chance that they wouldn't find the next spring, or that it would be dry. Twice they saw figures in the distance, but though the sightings alarmed Zan, nothing came of them. Remarr explained that from a distance, their robes covered a multitude of oddities. The Wild Khedathi would not venture far out of their way to investigate strangers unless they had strong reason to believe something was wrong or it seemed that the strangers would be competing for water.
A little after noon on the fourth day, Remarr woke them all. There was worry in his face. "Strike the tent," he said. "We must move on."
"Why?" Karivet asked.
"With my ear to the ground I heard hoofbeats. They are getting close; they must be headed for this water hole. We must be gone before they arrive, or we may be in real trouble. If they are Wild Khedathi, we are in their territory. If it's a patrol from the City—"
"The patrols don't usually come this far," Vihena put in.
"Yes. If it's a patrol, they are looking for us."
They set to work without further discussion. In a surprisingly short time, their gear was packed and they were on their way. As they walked, Zan looked about. There was no sign to indicate they were not the only people on earth. The unrelenting sun pounded down on them, making each step a painful effort, but Remarr kept on, leading them away from the water hole as quickly as he could move them. Suddenly Ychass touched Zan's mind. Look!
Behind them, they could see a cloud of dust near the horizon. They were too far away to make out what caused the disturbance, but Remarr looked grave.
"Keep on," he said urgently. "We must be out of sight before they reach the water hole. They are mounted. If they see us, they will be able to overtake us."
The desert air burned in Zan's lungs. Though her mouth felt dry as sand, she was afraid to stop for even a swallow of water—and the water was too precious to risk spilling by drinking while walking. In the thoughts of her companions she could hear fears and doubts, and Iobeh's desperate desire to keep up with them. Zan reached out her hand to the girl, who took it gratefully.
After what seemed like hours, Remarr called a brief halt, warning them all to drink sparingly.
"I wish we knew whether they made camp at the water hole or pressed on," he said with a sigh. "If they camped, we may be able to elude them."
"I'll find out," Ychass told him. Taking the form of a large hawk, she took to the air. She soared upward for a few minutes, then plummeted earthward in a reckless dive. They are coming, she thought to Zan. Driving their horses hard, too. There are eight of them. Ask Vihena how big patrols are.
By the time Zan had relayed the information, Ychass was beside them in her woman-form again. "I don't pretend to know anything about weather in the dry lands, but there is a rather nasty-looking yellowish cloud on the western horizon." Remarr's breath hissed between his teeth in alarm. "Gods! A dust storm. Quickly! Bind your veils over your faces—over your eyes as well; you can see through one or two thicknesses of cloth, and it will keep the sand out of your eyes. Like this." A rope, too, he thought as he demonstrated. While he wrapped his veil, Zan unslung her pack and dug out a rope. She looped it once around her waist, then passed it to Ychass. Ychass tied herself in and then helped Iobeh; Iobeh gave it to Karivet, who knotted himself in and handed it to Vihena. When Vihena had tied it around her waist, she gave the last bit to Remarr. His head came up in surprise. He looked very odd with the veil obscuring his features.
"Very good," he said. "Get your veils fixed now. Does anyone need help?" Is it true, 'Tsan, what they say in the City? You hear thoughts? I know I didn't mention rope aloud.
She heard the underlying unease in his thoughts. Without allowing her hands to slow in their awkward work of tying her veil, she said aloud, "It's true. I don't do it all the time."
Gods, he thought with vehemence.
"It's a good deal quicker than talking," Ychass pointed out.
"I dare say," he muttered. I wish I'd known—I wish she'd told me.
Zan felt a flash of shame. She ought to have confided in him. Before she could ap
ologize, Remarr had turned brisk.
"If everyone's ready," he said, "we'd better move on."
They set off, taking care not to let the rope pull too tightly between them. Zan tried only once to catch Remarr's thoughts; when all she could hear was an intricate piece of music, she took the hint and pulled back from his mind. As they walked, they were aware of two sounds: the keening wind and, much fainter, the muffled thud of distant hooves. "I wouldn't want to try to take horses into this," Remarr said above the wind. "If we can keep ahead of them until the storm truly breaks, we'll lose them."
Of course, the storm may be harder on us than the Khedathi would be, Ychass thought.
Soon the only thing they could hear was the wind. Even with veils across their faces, they could feel the stinging bite of the sand; they wound their sleeves around their hands to keep them from being scoured raw by the storm. Their progress was slower as the storm grew more fierce. Bent almost double against the howling wind, they struggled forward. Karivet stumbled and was hauled to his feet by Vihena.
"We have to find shelter," she shouted. "This will finish us, otherwise."
"Keep on," Remarr boomed back. "We may come to a place where we can rest, but if we stop now, we'll be buried alive."
It grew harder and harder to move. Zan felt the sand collecting in the folds of her robe. It made her feel heavy and leaden. Even with the filtering pieces of cloth over her nose and mouth, she felt there was never quite enough air. It took every bit of her willpower to stay on her feet.
A change in the ground nearly unbalanced her with its steepness. She kept her footing by pure luck and made her way down the side of the dune with care. The wind seemed a little less violent here. Suddenly she found that the others had stopped. Remarr had circled back to face her.
Colors in the Dreamweaver's Loom Page 10