by Glenda Larke
She paused, trying to make sense of it, hesitating about which way she should run. The Reduners were congregating in front of the cavern, cutting off her retreat in that direction; in front of her the maddened packpede had just impaled a Reduner with a mandible and now, crazed with pain, it was tossing him into the air. When it flung the body aside and lumbered in her direction, she turned to flee.
And came up against the body of a myriapede, deliberately pulled in front of her.
The driver was Ravard. Quietly he gave the order for the other six or seven Reduners on the rear to kill the wounded pede. One of them stood and launched a spear into the beast's other eye. It reared, lashing its feelers through the air.
Ryka backed up against the cliff side. Carefully she sent her power to tease water out of the cistern. A single ball of water might be enough to confuse Ravard at a crucial moment…
"Get up on the pede," he told her. "We're leaving."
She cursed silently, every foul word she could remember. If she'd stayed in the cavern, she would have been safe. You withering sand-brain, Ryka. You should have had more faith in Jasper.
"You may be, but I'm not," she told him levelly. "I'm staying here, with my own people."
"Get up, or I'll haul you up."
"Ravard, go away. You don't want a reluctant woman in your bed, or another man's child. You are young yet, and there are other women out there. Just leave me be."
"I am the sandmaster now," he said. "You'll be my wife, and your sons will rule if they are water sensitive, I swear it. You're worthy of being a sandmaster's consort."
"I haven't the faintest wish to be a sandmaster's anything! And you, sure as the sands are hot, don't want me in your encampment. You wilted idiot-I'd kill your warriors given half the chance, and dance on their bleeding graves!" The ball of water was in the air above him now; she resisted the temptation to look up. Instead, she glanced around to assess the surroundings.
And stared, appalled. The man sent to kill the packpede had only made things worse. The now blind animal took a flying leap and hit the cliff beside her head on. The force of its charge, the weight behind that leap, broke its head open, spraying liquids and chitinous pieces into the air. And its great body, towering over her, began to topple in her direction. She released her hold on the water and turned to run, knowing she was too late to escape. It was huge, several times larger than any myriapede. It would crush her, and Khedrim as well, as if they were made of paper.
Ravard was showered with water. He didn't appear to notice. With one fluid movement, he leaned down and grabbed her arm. He swung her upward, her upper arm clamped tight in his grip, yanking her away from danger. The Reduner behind him on the myriapede reached out to help him take her weight and drag her onto the back of their mount. Terrified for Khedrim, she clutched him to her breast with one hand and let it happen, even as her shoulder was wrenched and her body bruised.
Their pede was already moving, itself panicked. The falling packpede crashed into it. The myriapede keened its distress and bolted, but not before several more Reduners had leaped to take hold of mounting slots on the other side.
Ravard yelled for one of them to take the reins and drive. He himself pulled Ryka up into his arms and placed her in front of him on the second segment, his arms wrapped around her and the baby to stop her from falling. Khedrim screamed and screamed, his little body tense with instinctive terror. Ryka sobbed, ripped through with pain, her shoulder shrieking, her stomach cramping.
Oh, pedeshit, she thought, aware of the blood between her legs. This is not good. She bent her head over the baby and tried to soothe him, but he would not stop. Ravard was yelling, ordering his men to put as much distance between them and the Scarpen forces as they could before nightfall.
The pede was already in fast mode, feet whirring as it churned through sand and over rocks on its way down the gully. All around them there were other pedes, each packed with warriors. They plunged down the drywash in bucking lines, as frantic as a stampeding wild meddle. It wasn't yet dark, but the light was fading. Neither the beasts nor their drivers hesitated or curbed the headlong rush to escape. The animals jostled one another, feelers swinging, mandibles clicking, segments brushing the boulders. Wounded men fell and were left behind.
Ryka, thrown from side to side, lurching backward and forward, was in constant pain. She couldn't believe this was happening. After all she had gone through to escape, and now she was retracing the ride that had cost her so much to make. She was being returned to slavery.
And she could not stop Khedrim crying. She touched his face in concern. Two days old, and what had he known but war and confusion? I am so sorry, little one. You chose one sandblasted awful time to be born. And when I meet Kaneth again, I'll kill him, I swear. And this great hulking lout Ravard as well, I promise.
Then she thought of a world where Kaneth was dead, and her heart sank within her. Why had she seen no sign of him in the fighting? Nor of Elmar? In fact, none of the other escaped slaves. Where did they go?
Kaneth had to be alive. Somewhere. Later, much later, she was aware of being lifted down from the pede. Every bone, every joint, every muscle screamed with pain. At least Khedrim had finally fallen asleep, more from exhaustion than anything else.
Someone folded a blanket several times and placed it on the ground for her to lie down. It was dark and bitterly cold, and when she shivered, several cloaks were thrown over her. Under their cover she drew out the cloths between her legs and discarded them. They were saturated. She tore some pieces off the blanket and used them instead. Khedrim whimpered unhappily, so she fed him. Someone handed her some water and she drank deeply.
At least there was plenty of water; they were following the Qanatend tunnel and the men had broken into it through a maintenance shaft. What would once have assailed her rainlord's soul, she now regarded with gratitude. She knew if she was dehydrated, she would have no milk for Khedrim. A little later Ravard appeared and gave her a handful of dried bab fruit. She took them wordlessly, ate every one and asked him, coldly, for more. He gave her his share. She took them without a word of thanks. Afterward she slept.
They had left sentries behind, and when no one came after them, they stayed where they were until the sky started to lighten in the morning. Ryka felt a little better when she awoke, glad to find her bleeding had lessened. She rose, wondering if she should escape now or later. When she reached for her powers, though, she realized her weakness. She could move water, but doubted she could kill in the rainlord fashion. Now was not the time to rebel.
Listening to the conversation of those around her, she gathered they intended to stay in Qanatend for a few days to rest the pedes and give the wounded a chance to recover. If the Scarpermen came, well, they would fight there. And win.
She had to eat well and rest herself so her powers would return. Soon, she told Khedrim in a whisper into his ear, soon they will learn what it is to cross a rainlord. She was fed up with being constrained by circumstances. Her rage was growing by the moment and it was all she could do to stay quiescent when Ravard approached her with his peace offerings-a water skin, something to eat scrounged from the little they had.
Fortunately, he was fully occupied with his men. Warriors from outside Ravard's tribe were not happy at being led by a man so young, in a retreat from a battlefield where almost two thousand of their warriors lay dead. Ravard had to act now to consolidate his position, and she saw little of him. They reached Qanatend in the mid-afternoon under a blazing sun.
When Ryka saw the city walls ahead of her, ringed by bab groves, she could only feel relief. Sunlord, how she needed some rest! The southern gate was directly ahead of them at the end of the track, and the gates were closed. Towers on the walls were tall enough to overlook the bab groves, and beyond them the city rose to the top of the conical hill where the city's waterhall and its windmills for raising the water were located. Immediately below was Qanatend Hall, where Moiqa had once lived with Iani and Lyneth.<
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As they rode the last of the track, the gates swung open. Ryka, sitting behind Ravard, holding Khedrim, had to peer around him to see what was happening. To her mild surprise a group of Reduners rode out toward them, some sort of welcoming party, she assumed. Simultaneously, the walls came alive as tens of men lined up behind the daub parapet.
Ravard jerked in surprise. "What the-" he began and hauled on the reins to halt his mount.
Kher Medrim, the Warrior Son, who was riding next to him, looked across uneasily and said, "They must have every man we left behind up there on the walls!"
"And some," Ravard muttered, frowning.
Ryka squinted to see better. The wall bristled with spears as if they were making it clear they were well armed. Even more odd was what she noticed next. The person in the lead of the group coming toward them appeared to be a child. When she stared harder, Ryka realized she was actually an old hump-backed woman, small in size because she was wizened and shrunken with age.
"Who the sands is that?" Kher Medrim asked. "There are no Reduner women in Qanatend!"
"There certainly weren't a few days ago. Go back through the men," Ravard said quietly. "There is something odd here, and I can't smell what it is yet. Warn everyone to be on the alert. Weapons at the ready. Put a watch on all sides and tell the rearguard to scatter through the trees in case anyone comes at us from behind."
Medrim nodded. The others on his pede dismounted at his request, and he rode back through the column. Ravard gestured to the men now on foot to line up on each side of him. He then turned to Ryka. "Get down and stand over there at the side of the track. I think there's trouble, and I don't want either of you hurt."
She nodded and did as he asked.
The riders from the city continued to approach. Four pedes headed the group, each with only the driver. Thirty bladesmen and chalamen followed on foot. When they were within twenty paces, two of the riders detached and rode ahead another ten paces. The woman and a tall man.
Ryka shaded her eyes with a hand, squinting in her attempt to recognize them. The woman she didn't think she had ever met. Strangely, she rode a packpede, not a myriapede, and it dwarfed her, accentuating her small stature. The man… his red hair was short and lacked the braids and beads of a Reduner warrior. His face was scarred.
Deep within Ryka a sob swelled but was not voiced. Kaneth.
It was Kaneth. Fear and delight warred with astonishment. Disbelief. He was with the Reduners? No, wait. That wasn't possible. Then-?
The old woman: she must be Vara Redmane, of course. Which meant Kaneth had not tried to head south for the Scarpen but had sought Vara's rebels, and then together they had taken Qanatend. I'll be withering waterless. That rangy bastard of a husband of mine, he always does like to do the unexpected.
Hope went to her head like the strongest of amber taken on an empty stomach. She could hardly contain the bubble of laughter, or joy, that begged to explode from her lips. She wanted to say aloud to Khedrim, "Look! That's your father!"
She edged off the track back into the first line of bab trees, and while Ravard was still in shock, she took a few steps closer to the rebels. Toward Kaneth.
And then another thought, less happy. Or is he still Uthardim? Please remember me, love. I am bringing you your son.
He had not noticed her, or rather perhaps he'd made nothing of the Reduner woman with an anonymous bundle in her arms.
There was a time when you knew my water, she thought numbly.
"Kher Ravard," Kaneth said in Reduner, and his voice held authority. "You are not welcome here. This city is returned to the Scarpen. The warriors you left behind are either dead or gone back to their dunes. As you must go now. We are several thousand strong, all well armed. We have ziggers. Release those you have, and ours fly from the walls to you."
His Reduner had improved considerably since she had last heard him use it, but still she wondered: several thousand men? Was he getting his numbers mixed up?
Without waiting for Ravard to reply, he continued, "We are fresh and our men-"
"-and women!" Vara added in Reduner.
"-are spoiling for a fight." He exchanged a grin with the old woman and switched to the Quartern tongue. "You may have more men, but our armsmen want to end the Watergatherer's dominance of the dunes. And seeing as you are here, I guess you have lost the battle against the stormlord. I don't see the sandmaster. Is he dead?"
"I am sandmaster of the Watergatherer!" Ravard snapped in Reduner. "I rule the dunes now."
Kaneth continued in his own language. "If you mount a siege here, how long before the stormlord and his men appear behind you? You would be the insect crushed beneath our feet. Go, while you still can."
Why is he giving them a chance? They are tired and wounded and demoralized. Perhaps he doesn't know how badly they have been defeated… Her thoughts jumbled, Ryka edged further and further away from Ravard and unstoppered the water skin she carried. No, he's not an idiot. He has a reason for not attacking. Or Vara Redmane does. Don't bother with that now, you sun-fried woman. Just get out of here! She poised herself to run to him.
Ravard yelled at her. "Garnet! Stop where you are!"
Kaneth's head jerked her way. And he tensed in the saddle, his spine rigid, his hands tight on the reins. His eyes bored into hers. Astonishment-no, shock-drained color from his face. He appeared to be rendered speechless, incapable of movement.
Ryka whirled to face Ravard. Drawing herself up, holding her chin high, she spoke in the Reduner tongue, wanting him to know exactly what she was. "This ends here, Mica Flint. I am no slave of yours. I am Lord Ryka Feldspar, of Breccia." She pulled the water out of the water skin into the air and kept it hovering in the air between them.
"No," he whispered, the sound strangled in the back of his throat. "That's not possible."
"Uthardim is my husband and he will pull the earth from beneath your feet if you lay a hand on me again. Remember what he did to Davim's tents in your encampment."
Color drained from Ravard's face, then rushed back, darkening his features. Fury flashed in his eyes. He leaped to his feet on the back of his mount, his spear poised to throw. Instantly she sent the water to hover at his cheek. When he tried to bat it away with a hand, his fingers ran through it without effect.
A murmur of fear and anger swept the Reduner ranks. Men hefted their spears, awaiting the word to kill. To kill her. To kill Kaneth. Uthardim.
Behind Kaneth, his men edged closer to him and Vara. A mix of ex-slaves Ryka knew and Reduners she didn't. She recognized Elmar on the pede that moved up to Kaneth's side.
"You're a single breath away from death," she yelled, still in Reduner so his men would all understand. She touched the water to his cheek. "Think before you move a finger. I can smother you with just this much water, and I can take the water of any man who thinks to spear me."
He swallowed, then looked from her to Kaneth and back. The moment stretched taut, every warrior poised on the brink of explosive action. Ryka's gaze never shifted from Ravard's. If he gave the order to kill her, he would probably succeed, although he would doubtless die as well.
He moved first. He lowered his chala spear. "I will never rest until I have killed you," he rasped, and it was to Ryka he spoke. She was the focus of the unrelenting blaze of his stare, but the words were for Kaneth as well because he added, "Until both of you lie dead at my feet." He snapped an order to one of the men on the ground and the men lowered their spears and sheathed their scimitars.
Ryka felt her power drain away. The water splashed on the roadway. She was shaking, trembling in reaction.
Ravard turned his mount away from the gate, and the column began to follow. Under the watching eyes of the men on the walls, they started to circle the city to the east in order to head toward the dunes. In front of the gate, no one moved until Ravard and those at the head of the column were out of sight.
Then Kaneth, still seated on his mount, leaned toward Elmar. He swung his pede prod
and struck the pikeman with a blow that would have sent Elmar sprawling to the ground if he hadn't saved himself by grabbing for the segment handle. He swayed and righted himself, but made no move to retaliate.
Ryka blinked, bewildered. Watergiver's heart! What was all that about?
Kaneth moved then. He urged his mount forward to her side and slipped down to the ground. Ryka didn't move. She wasn't sure she could.
His hair had grown, covering the worst of his head scars, and the burn on his face was fading. With a hesitant hand, he reached out to part the coverlet she had wrapped loosely around Khedrim to protect him from the sun. He touched the tiny chin with a fingertip. Then he looked back at her.
"Ryka," he said. "Oh, Ryka."
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Scarpen Quarter Warthago Range, foothills How long had he been there? He was no longer sure. Already he had lost track. Watergiver help him, how would he be able to tolerate this? To tolerate the powerlessness of it! No one to command or respect him. No one in fear of him. No one anticipating his whims.
Just endless days of boredom, stretching out ahead… Eight years! And no guarantee he would be freed even then. Using his crutch, he paced the floor, dragging his injured leg. Up and down, up and down.
When he read, the books only reminded him of what he had lost. When he slept, he dreamed of women now out of reach. When he dreamed of Terelle, of her body, he could never carry the dream to fruition. Frustrated, roiling with anger-yet with nothing to vent it on. If he shouted at the world, there was no one to hear.
He'd locked Shale up like this. The Gibber brat hadn't gone sandcrazy. But then, the mother cistern had been luxury to a dirty Gibber urchin. He, on the other hand-he was a rainlord!
But Shale had escaped… There must be a way for me to do the same…
Davim. He had to rely on Davim. Davim would come, Shale would be punished, and he would be released… That Gibber brat would never be clever enough to bring down the sandmaster, the idea was laughable. Davim would come. And if he didn't, Laisa would. Senya would make sure of that.