Lady of the Star Wind

by Veronica Scott

“That’s my intention,” Sallea assured him, grinning. She turned to Rothan. “I wish to fight for your cause, Your Majesty, and if I can do it surrounded by my own men, so much the better.”

  “My honor and good fortune to have such allies,” Rothan said, raising his glass.

  Days passed in preparation for the war to come. Mark and Sandy took refuge in the peaceful gardens as often as schedules allowed, making up for twenty years of separation. There were strict orders in the royal household that no one was to disturb them during these interludes unless the king himself declared an emergency. Therefore, Mark was surprised one afternoon to hear someone approaching their private pavilion.

  “Excuse me, my lord?” Sallea stood on the crushed red rock border at the edge of the garden enclosure. Her face was drawn in lines of worry.

  “What is it?” All sorts of dire things came rushing to Mark’s mind, attack by the Maiskhan topping the list. The desert warrior princess had been unflappable in all the situations she’d faced, but at the moment she appeared quite agitated.

  Sallea fidgeted for a moment, which wasn’t her normal style at all, playing with her perpetually messy braid of blue hair. She sighed and met Mark’s eyes. “It’s Captain Khefer.”

  “What about him? Is he home?”

  She shook her head. “He’s in trouble, I’m sure of it.”

  Mark and Sandy exchanged surprised glances. “He left the day after the big ceremony and feast, the one in thanks for the bountiful harvest.” Mark counted the days since the holiday. “So he’s not due to return yet. No need to worry.”

  “Yes, my lord. He did leave then, you’re right, but I have a bad feeling in my gut.” She rubbed her stomach. “I—I am worried for him.”

  Realizing she was quite upset, Mark drew her into the pavilion and poured her a glass of his favorite plum wine. As he handed her the goblet, he said, “Khefer’s a tough, smart soldier. He can take care of himself.”

  Sandy urged Sallea to join her on the couch, but as soon as she sat, the Mikkonite warrior unburdened herself about what more was bothering her. “We argued about this trip, about the necessity of him going to the city yet again. Our last words together were in hot anger. I think he’s rash and takes too many chances. He almost got captured last time and very narrowly escaped. Did he tell you about it?”

  “No. But even if he’d told us, we need the information he’s gathering,” Mark said. He shrugged. Khefer was doing what elite soldiers did in any society, acting as the tip of the spear. “Rothan would’ve sent him in anyway. Not because he’s heartless, but because any mission you walk away from is successful. The whole invasion of Farahna’s territory is on hold, waiting for Khefer to report whether his allies inside the city are ready to aid us and what they can do. He’s the only person who knows the contacts in the resistance.”

  “I’m fully aware of the importance of what Khefer is doing—as my father’s ambassador, I sit in the war councils along with you,” Sallea said, impatience in her voice. “And give me credit for being a warrior myself.” She rose and paced from one end of their small pavilion to the other. “But the premonition has grown stronger since yesterday, until I can’t concentrate on anything else. I fear the misgivings are a sign from the gods he’s in deep trouble. Even if my own emotions weren’t involved, he’s key to launching the invasion. We must do something.” She flung the goblet at the far wall and covered her eyes with one hand for a moment. “If you won’t help me, I’ll go alone. No one here can overrule me on this.”

  Sandy spoke. “Let me try the mirror, see if we can get a glimpse of him maybe.”

  “You can use it thus?” Eyebrows raised, Sallea paused in her restless prowling.

  Sandy grimaced. “Well, hit or miss. I’ve been practicing every spare moment I get. But I think it’s worth a try in this case.”

  “Did you send Lakht out to search?” Mark asked the desert woman.

  Hands on her hips, jaw clenched, Sallea stared at the sky as if the answers she sought were written in the clouds. “This morning. He flew along the mountain paths a great distance, two days’ ride at least, but found no sign of Khefer, which only worries me more.”

  Lifting the mirror off her belt, Sandy adjusted the handle so the young goddess faced upward. Closing her eyes, she concentrated. Mark and Sallea moved closer, peering over her shoulder at the misty surface of the mirror.

  Tendrils of fog rippled behind the glass face of the ancient device. Minuscule flashes of white light came and went in the mist. Sandy opened her eyes, pursed her lips, and whispered a soft breath onto the mirror. The surface cleared, showing only Sandy’s worried face for a heartbeat.

  Then Khefer appeared, shown from the shoulders up. Bruised and battered, his lip split, one eye purpled and swollen shut, the warrior was speaking to someone behind him. He and the unseen companion were apparently running, stumbling. Mark felt his own soldier’s instincts rising and his adrenaline spiking in response to the overpowering sense of urgency and danger.

  The vision evaporated.

  Sandy blinked and sat down, Mark hastily moving to assist her.

  “Any clue where he was?” Mark asked both women. “Did you recognize any landmark in his vicinity?”

  Sallea shook her head. “The mirror shows my fears have a basis in fact. We must get to him.”

  Reaching out to take Sallea’s hand, Sandy said, “Sometimes I get an inkling where the vision is located, but not this time. Sorry.”

  Mark squeezed her shoulder. “We got enough to confirm Sallea’s hunch. He’s in trouble but thankfully alive. Sallea, get Sethmre and four of our best men and meet me at the stables in fifteen minutes. We’ll need trail supplies and extra arrows. A physician’s kit.”

  “Yes, sir.” She snapped the crisp Sectors salute instituted by Mark for his nascent cavalry troop. “Thank you, my lord.” She hastened from the pavilion, long legs flashing as she took the shortcut across the gardens.

  “She has it so bad for Khefer. The two of them grew so close on the long trek here from the tomb, but lately relations apparently have been strained between them.” Leaning on the pillows as if her efforts had drained her, Sandy raised her eyebrows. “Do you have any idea how he feels about her?”

  Uncomfortable with the topic, Mark got her more wine. “I think he deems her beyond his reach since she’s her father’s heir. He alluded to the problem once, after her men arrived and it became clear how extensive the Mikkonite kingdom is and how high her rank.”

  “But he’s an officer, one of Rothan’s inner circle—” Sandy broke off. “Well, the two of them will have to sort out the challenges. Are you going to go all the way into the city after him? Do you want me to come, since he might be injured?”

  Mark shook his head. “I’m not risking you.” He took her hand, raising it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “He’ll have to survive until we bring him home to you for medical care. To your other question, I’m not venturing into the city without the army. Khefer was on the move in your mirror, so I’m hoping he’s on his way back to us.” Thinking about the officer and the information he might be bringing, Mark was unable to sit. Rising, fists clenched, he paced. “We need to know whatever he may have found out about Farahna’s plans of course but, perhaps more important, he’s a good man and soldier. I count on him when we do go to battle. He’s forward thinking and creative on the fly, unlike some of these other contemporaries of General Intef’s.”

  “I like Khefer. We owe him a lot. But I worry about you the most. I know, you’re a soldier, you can take care of yourself, like you told Sallea about Khefer.” Sandy rose from the couch, coming to slide her arms around him from behind, holding him close. “All right, I’ll wait here. Go, time’s wasting.”

  Pulling her to face him, Mark indulged in a kiss not nearly as long as he wanted and then left the pavilion, hurrying to the house to get his own gear. As he entered the cool, dim hallway, he paused before heading through a side corridor toward the large chamber recently repur
posed to serve as a throne room. He stepped past the guards with a whispered word to the captain in charge, moving into the crowded room. Too late he remembered it was a general audience day, where Rothan had to listen to petitions and adjudicate disputes. Throngs of people came to these assemblies. Mark didn’t want to attract attention, but he needed to give Rothan a quick briefing. Being taller than most Nakhtiaar, he caught the king’s eye over the heads of the crowd.

  Rothan finished delivering his judgment in the case before him and called a temporary halt to the proceedings, leaving the room while his audience bowed. Hastily, Mark exited the chamber before anyone could buttonhole him and hurried to the private antechamber to meet the king, arriving first.

  “I don’t know where you get the patience to listen to this stuff for a whole day,” Mark said as Rothan walked in. “Some of these arguments are pretty petty for a king’s attention. Doesn’t anyone filter any of this before it gets to you?”

  Crossing to the wine jugs on an ebony table along the far wall, Rothan laughed without much amusement. He poured himself a full goblet and offered one to Mark, who shook his head. “Goes with the crown, my friend. Yes, there are regional courts and judges, but right now all the residents of the province are curious about their new king. Time enough to change things after we win the war. But I’m glad of a moment’s relief today. What brings you?”

  “Khefer’s in serious trouble.”

  “How do we know?” Brow furrowed, Rothan took a swallow of the wine.

  “Sallea suspected something wasn’t right, and Lakht couldn’t find him within two days’ ride of here, so Sandy checked up on him in the mirror just now. From the little we observed, he’s been attacked and is on the run. I’m taking Sallea and four of my men. We’ll ride the back trails, see if we can meet him.”

  “Don’t you mean Sallea is taking you? She’s so worried about Khefer she can’t see straight.” Setting the wine cup on the table, Rothan examined the tray of sweetmeats and breads, selecting a morsel. “Of course, go. I need you here in a ten day, though, for the conclave of provincial rulers. We’ll be discussing the final strategies. I’ll want your assessment of them.”

  “And of the rulers and their officers. I know. Wouldn’t miss it.”

  Grabbing the goblet once more, Rothan drained it and set the flower-shaped alabaster cup on the table with unusual force. “Gods know I’d rather ride with you than return to the judgment chamber. I’m weary of the squabbles of merchants, farmers, and family members! Fair outcome to your journey, my friend. Tell the armorer if you have need of anything.”

  “Will do.” Moving fast now that his duty to notify Rothan was accomplished, Mark left the private meeting room.

  Sallea had the squad ready in the stable courtyard when he got there a few moments later. His own horse stamped and snorted, impatient to be in motion. Mark appraised the Mikkonite riders she’d selected. All good men, fierce fighters, seasoned and reliable. “Glad to have you each along on this mission.” He swung into his saddle. “Let’s ride.”

  Sallea led the column out of the confines of the estate at a gallop, past the edge of the city. At the point where Mark was on the verge of suggesting a more moderate pace, she reined in her mount, settling to a reasonable speed for traversing the mountain foothills.

  The hidden trail wound across the range of peaks surrounding and protecting Intef’s territory. The terrain was treacherous and unforgiving. It took three days of careful riding for Mark and his squad to make their way to the path descending into the great plain of Nakhtiaar. There’d been no sign of Khefer or anyone else, and the border patrol unit they encountered confirmed no one had penetrated the province.

  At the farthest edge of Intef’s domain, Mark and Sallea conferred, while their small troop waited, resting the horses.

  “Worried as I am about Khefer, do we risk riding into Farahna’s territory?” Sallea asked.

  Mark shook his head. “We can’t tip our hand. Not unless we’re sure we know where to find him. Send Lakht out again. Tell him to fly no farther than a one-day ride could cover. We can’t venture any closer to the city.”

  She bit her lip as if she wanted to argue, but she took her hawk to the edge of the plateau and sent Lakht off, riding the thermals to search.

  Mark issued orders. “Cache the supplies. And then let’s have a quick lunch while we wait for the bird to report. No cooking fire.”

  Several hours passed before the hawk returned, screaming a fierce greeting. Lakht swooped in for a landing on Sallea’s reinforced, padded glove and took the tidbit she offered as a reward. Then woman and bird stared at each other for a long moment, sharing the memory of what Lakht had seen on his flight.

  “A camp, about half a day’s ride. Abandoned. A column of riders. Maiskhan. Going fast. Returning to the city,” Sallea muttered as the images came to her from Lakht. “Two prisoners.”

  “Two prisoners?” Mark was surprised. Who could have been with the young officer?

  “One of them is Khefer.” Sallea broke eye contact with the hawk, wheeling to check Mark’s reaction. She blushed. It had become a new habit of hers whenever the captain’s name was mentioned in her presence. “I recognized him and Khefer is a person of interest to Lakht as well, because of what he means to me. Normally, Lakht doesn’t bother to identify specific people when we’re speaking mind to mind but he did name Khefer just now.”

  Mark decided to let that information pass without comment. “Good work. How many Maiskhan?”

  “Ten.” Sallea frowned. “Lakht showed me at least ten. There could be more. He wasn’t interested in them.”

  “The enemy wanted to be sure of capturing Khefer. And whoever is with him.” Mark gestured for the rest of the squad to gather around. “The odds are pretty good, ten of them to seven of us, if we can keep the element of surprise.” He eyed the sun’s position low in the sky. “I remember when we were rescued from the tomb someone told me the Maiskhan have superstitions about riding or fighting at night. I’m guessing they’ll make camp in an hour or two. We’ll ride straight through, have Lakht fly reconnaissance ahead for us so we don’t overrun them. I intend for us to pull off a surprise attack before dawn. My highest priority after rescuing Khefer is not to leave any survivors to take tales of us back to the city.”

  “Neither I nor my men have the slightest reluctance about killing Maiskhan soldiers,” Sallea said, hand on the hilt of her sword. “However many we slay here make fewer to face when we invade the lowlands.”

  The Mikkonite soldiers muttered agreement.

  Glancing around the tight circle of warriors, he felt the chance of success was high. “All right, then, let’s mount up and move out.”

  He worked his way down the last part of the mountain slopes before night fell, the Mikkonite following him effortlessly on their highly trained mounts. There was a full moon—Amrell yet again—which was an advantage on the early part of the ride. Mark kept the squad to an easy canter, with periodic breaks to walk the horses. He wanted to reach the Maiskhan before dawn, but he couldn’t afford to have exhausted mounts when it came time to retreat. Lakht circled, a dark shadow in the night sky, crossing the moon as he patrolled. As the moon slipped behind the horizon, the hawk cried softly, and Mark halted the column with an upraised hand.

  “The enemy is camped beyond the next rise,” Sallea reported as Lakht made lazy eights in the sky and sent her images through their shared mental link. “One guard. The two prisoners are tied together in the center of the camp by the fire.”

  “All right, we ride in hard and fast.” He pointed at Sethmre. “You’re responsible for rescuing Khefer and the other prisoner. Pick a partner for the task and get our men out of harm’s way as quickly as you can.”

  The warrior saluted in silent acknowledgment of the order.

  “The rest of us will take care of the enemy soldiers.” Mark drew his blaster, checked the charge, and replaced the weapon in the holster.

  “You can’t kill them
all from a distance, my lord?” Sallea asked. “It would be so much easier to use your magic.”

  “I could, but my magic doesn’t have infinite capacity. I’d rather keep it for emergencies. I’ll use it fast enough if it’s required to win, don’t worry.”

  Mark led his cavalry crashing into the small Maiskhan encampment at full gallop. Sallea took out the single sentry with a well-thrown lethal knife, the blade choking off the man’s yelled warning. Lakht dropped from the sky to attack a soldier rising from his bedroll, razor-sharp talons making short work of the foe. Riding to the center of the camp, Mark dismounted by the fire, standing over the helpless Khefer and the other man as a Maiskhan officer ran at him, sword in hand. Mark engaged the enemy in a slashing, no-holds-barred battle over and around the bound prisoners. The Maiskhan was a good enough fighter, but Mark was relentless. The skirmish ended with the enemy bleeding out on the ground from multiple wounds. Mark delivered the killing blow, pivoting to meet the next challenge as two more men rushed him. He shot one with the blaster to even the odds as he was raising his sword to blunt the second man’s attack. Seeing his comrade die between one step and the next appeared to demoralize the oncoming warrior, who made a halfhearted show of force before trying to flee. Reluctant to shoot the man in the back but unwilling to let anyone escape, Mark gave chase, tackling the fleeing man to the ground. They rolled over, punching and wrestling, but the Maiskhan was no match for Mark’s hand-to-hand combat skills. He knocked the opponent out with a well-aimed blow to the throat.

  Breathing hard, sword at the ready, Sallea ran up. “Is he dead?”

  Mark shook his head. “Unconscious. We’ll have to take him with us as a prisoner. I’m not leaving anyone behind to be questioned about us.”

  Turning, Sallea yelled to one of her men to bring rope.

  “Situation report?” Mark cleaned his sword.

  “All the others are dead or dying. Sethmre took Khefer and the other prisoner out of here, per your orders.” She gave quick orders to the Mikkonite who ran to them holding a length of rope.