Rosemarked

by Livia Blackburne

  By late afternoon I’m restless. Preener and Scrawny still haven’t returned, and you can only oil your weapons and throw pebbles at unsuspecting lizards so many times before it gets tiresome. I’m even starting to miss Zivah. There’s something to be said for company, even if it’s the company of a Dara healer. When the sun is low enough to make wandering more comfortable, I pack up my things and strap them on my back again. I want a better sense of my surroundings, and the crows should be able to find me as long as I don’t stray far.

  I find some dusty trails through the hills, lined with the occasional bush or gnarled dwarf tree. At least one of them ends at a watering hole. There’s also the occasional fire ring or hut. The grass clusters around them are well-trampled, so I make a note to avoid these areas. Hunting and trapping don’t look good though. I see hardly any tracks, and the few birds around are as skittish as unblooded soldiers. If I run out of food, I could forage enough to stay alive, but probably not comfortably.

  I’ve about circled back to where I began when a great thundering vibrates through the ground. I run up the nearest hill to investigate, and what I see is a wonder to behold. A herd of horses runs across the desert, kicking up a cloud of dust in its wake. Even from this distance I can tell that they’re beauties—long elegant strides, strength in every toss of their manes. The coming sunset bathes their coats in reddish gold. These are Rovenni horses, braver than most men, and I daresay more intelligent than a good portion as well. Our tribe used to fight on horses before we fled across the strait. I’ve fond memories of a chestnut mare I trained on day-to-day—not nearly as majestic as these creatures though.

  I hike toward the herd to get a better look. Now that I’m closer, I can see the expert riders driving them. The Rovenni traders are master animal breeders. Sometimes they raise horses, sometimes sheep, goats, dogs, or birds. Their whole lives revolve around the care and training of their creatures.

  Something sharp pokes me in the back. I freeze.

  “Make no sudden movements,” says a gruff voice.

  And one more thing about these breeders. They’re fiercely protective of their life’s work.

  “Keep your hands away from your swords. Reach them straight out to the sides and don’t move.”

  I inhale slowly through my teeth as rough hands pat me down. This seems to be happening more and more often these days.

  “I was simply admiring your horses. That’s no crime, is it?” I say as someone lifts my pack off my back, and then my swords. The same hands confiscate my daggers a few moments later. I bite back several curses. Why don’t they just strip off my skin while they’re at it?

  “Turn around.”

  Slowly, I obey. There are two people in the welcoming party. A muscular man a few years older than me has his spear aimed at my heart. Next to him, also armed and eyeing me with equal venom, is a woman. Both of them are wearing dusty robes, trousers, and fine riding boots, and they hold their spears like they know how to use them.

  “Is the army sending spies now?” says the man. “That’s low even for them. I’ve told you. The breeding stock is off the table.”

  For a moment I think I’m found out, but then I realize he means the Amparan armies. “You’re mistaken,” I say. “I’m just a traveler.”

  “You came out for a stroll, armed like that? Tell your masters we sell our geldings at a fair price. That’s all they’ll ever get.”

  “I’m not from the army,” I say again.

  He narrows his eyes. “A petty thief, then.”

  The man’s starting to grate on me, and I want my swords back. Briefly I consider trying to disarm him, but I’d like to avoid a scuffle right now.

  “Look, trader. If I was trying to spy on you, I would have done a better job of it. And I’ve no mind to make off with your cargo. What would I do? Climb down the hill and fight off all your guards by myself?”

  “You may have friends nearby,” says the man.

  “Look around,” I say. “Search the area at your pleasure. You’ll find nothing.”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions, Nush,” says the woman. “He looks too dusty for a spy. And we can verify his claims.”

  The man hooks the front of my tunic with his spearhead. I fight the urge to grab it. Dusty indeed. Have they taken a good look at themselves lately?

  “Very well,” he says. “But you’re coming with us until we’ve had a look around.”

  The woman retrieves a rope from her saddlebag and signals for me to put my hands behind my back. I hesitate, weighing my choices. It’s getting close to sundown, and Zivah will probably be sending Preener when she gets the chance—not the best time to be marched off by strangers. But then, it’s not the best time to fight two horsemen within spitting distance of their friends either. Finally, I decide to take my chances. Rovenni are by all accounts honorable people. Or at least, they’re too rich to be tempted by petty crime.

  Once I’m bound tight, the woman motions toward the horses. For a moment, my spirits rise at the thought of actually getting to ride one of them. But no. My captors mount, and then they tell me to walk in front.

  There’s roughly fifty people of all ages down at their camp. The big man leads the way, and a crowd gathers as we draw near.

  “We found this man sitting on a hillside with a bag full of weapons, watching our herd,” Nush says. “Claims not to be a thief, but I think we’d do well to sweep the hills.”

  There are murmurs of agreement all around. Five men volunteer to ride out, and then Nush pulls me toward the campfire.

  “Sit,” he says. “You’ll be here a while.”

  I plop unceremoniously down on the ground, which earns me an amused half smile from the woman.

  Nush leaves to ride with the others as the woman, who they call Phaeda, stays to guard me. Gradually the rest of the camp resumes its business. There’s a handful of people grooming the horses, others setting up tents. One person brews stew in a pot big enough for me to sleep in.

  Phaeda sets her spear down beside her, levels a long look at me until she’s convinced I won’t run off, and then takes a needle and a round disk out of a bag. She starts sharpening the needle against the stone, looking up frequently to check if I’m doing anything suspicious.

  A man about my age walks by, and Phaeda flags him down. His forearm is bandaged, and she pulls the dressing away to reveal a burn wound in the shape of several wavy lines. She scrutinizes it, then wraps it up again. “Change the bandage.”

  As she waves him off, I see a faint scar on the underside of her forearm, as well as on the others nearby. I’ve heard about how the traders brand themselves with the same irons they use on their horses, but it’s the first time I’ve seen them up close. It’s a rite of passage for them, apparently.

  The smell of pungent stew wafts over from the campfires. My mouth waters, and I wonder how these people feel about feeding prisoners. I’m looking forlornly at the soup pot, when I see a shadow flitting just outside the light of the campfires. I freeze. Phaeda looks at me, and I do my best to pretend that nothing’s happened. She narrows her eyes, but in a few moments starts sharpening her needle again, and I sneak another look toward the shadow. Could that be…

  A ruffle of black feathers, and the unmistakable profile of a very vain bird.

  Preener. If he sticks around, he’s going to end up in the stew pot.

  I turn my face so my guard can’t see me. “Go away,” I whisper. “Not now.”

  But can the bird even hear me from this distance? I see the infuriating thing hopping around.

  “Fly!” I whisper.

  Preener takes a few tentative hops closer.

  “No,” I bark, and then turn it into a cough when several heads swivel my way. “Have you no decency?” I say loudly. “Tying up a man simply for walking in the desert.”

  The puzzled faces harden into annoyance, and everyone resumes their tasks. I breathe a sigh of relief and look at the edge of the fire again. That dratted bird is still th
ere. If my hands weren’t tied behind my back, I’d throw them in the air.

  “Fine,” I mutter. “If you want to be dinner, go ahead.” That must have been the invitation he was looking for, because he takes flight toward me.

  Phaeda’s head snaps up. I steel myself for the worst.

  Hooves sound in the distance, and Preener flies away as Nush and the five scouts return. People gather around the horsemen. I strain my ears but can’t make out what’s being said. Finally, the crowd parts and Nush comes up to me.

  “We see no sign of your friends,” he says grudgingly.

  “Because there aren’t any,” I say. “Of all the stupid, cowardly—”

  Something twitches along his jawline. “You’ll stay in our camp until tomorrow morning. If we can still find no sign of anyone else, we’ll let you leave.”

  I glare at him. “And you’ll compensate me for my trouble?”

  “We’ll let you keep your hands and your life,” he says.

  I should have told Preener to relieve himself in their soup pots. Actually, I wonder if that’s something I could train the crows to do. The smell of cooking meat teases my nose, and my stomach growls so loudly that Nush lifts an eyebrow.

  I give him my most charming smile. “How about you give me my hands, my life, and a bowl of stew?”

  Preener is waiting on my windowsill when I get back from the hospital. I’m so relieved to see him that I almost forget to bolt my door before running across the room. The bird takes a nervous hop back at the sight of me, but a few moments later he flies onto my table and presents his leg.

  I untie the parchment with trembling hands and decode the message.

  Was detained, but safe now. Camping nearby.

  Detained? Did the Amparans find him? But at least he’s alive. I close my eyes and gather my thoughts. Given my conversation with Arxa this morning, can we possibly continue blindly with the plan? I need to speak with Dineas face-to-face.

  I scrape off the top layer of the parchment with a knife, then pause to consider my response.

  Must talk. Tomorrow night, first watch, northwest corner of the compound.

  I start second-guessing my decision as soon as I send Preener off. Should I risk a face-to-face meeting so soon? And what if Arxa’s having me watched? Either way, the message is sent. Dineas will have to avoid guards on his way in, and I must trust him to do his part. As for myself, how will I get to the meeting spot without being seen?

  At the hospital the next day, I notice the many wounded who come in for treatment—stab wounds, broken bones, head injuries. Law has very little meaning here, especially at night. Arxa’s warning not to wander outside alone after dark echoes in my head.

  That night after dinner, I lock myself in my room and survey my belongings. I tie my blowgun to my belt. The darts, newly dipped in a sleeping potion, go in the pocket of my apron. And lastly Diadem, content after swallowing a trapped mouse the night before, goes on my arm. I cover it all with a cloak, and head downstairs.

  The guards at the villa gate look up as I come through the courtyard.

  “Please escort me to the hospital,” I say to the nearest one. “My patients will not wait until morning,” I add when he frowns.

  He hesitates, but escorting me after dark is one of his duties.When we get to the hospital, I tell him I will be a few hours and ask him to wait outside.

  The hospital looks even gloomier after sundown. The front room is lit by a lamp barely bright enough to cast shadows. Jesmin has likely gone home and left one or two of his helpers to tend the sicker patients overnight. None of them are in sight though, and I don’t go looking for them. The less attention I draw, the better. I change a few blankets and bedpans and help a few patients with water.

  All too soon, it’s time to go. I check once more to make sure no one’s in dire need of care, and then glance out the window to make sure my soldier escort is still waiting. Then I head to the back corridor and the door that leads out the other side of the building.

  The first thing I notice is how dark it is. It must have been equally dark coming here with my escort, but the shadows are pronounced now that I’m alone. The paths are empty, though it’s by no means quiet. Voices drift past me, some loud, some soft. The walls of the houses are so thin, it’s hard to tell which sounds are inside and which ones are from people out on the streets. My blowgun knocks against my knees as I walk, and I find myself wishing for a harness like Dineas has for his swords.

  I make it a good distance from the hospital with no sign of anyone following me, but then I hear the footsteps of a large crowd. A group of ten people turn onto the path in front of me. Some are young, some are old—all carry weapons. An older woman limps at their front, giving orders.

  “The beggars are holding back their earnings,” she says. “See if they’ll be more honest with persuasion.”

  There’s something in her voice that stops me cold—it’s the same feeling I get when I see a snake an arm’s length away. I take a slow step back, wondering how best to leave without attracting attention, when the woman looks straight at me.

  “Who is that?” she asks the man next to her. “Get her.”

  I turn on my heel and run, fleeing down the nearest side alley. I wedge myself in the narrow space between two houses, my blowgun clattering against the wall as I raise it and reach for my darts. Shadows darken the alley as men run past. I hold my blowgun steady, staring so hard at the opening to my hiding place that it starts to blur in my vision.

  Long moments pass. The sounds of pursuit grow softer. The woman’s voice fades into the distance.

  Though it’s a cool night, I’m damp with sweat beneath my cloak. This entire evening feels like a bad fever dream. Part of me wants to cower here the rest of the night, but Dineas is waiting for me, and I’ve already lost precious time.

  I’m much more careful the rest of the way, listening for people approaching, and freezing at the slightest movement. My muscles are cramped from nerves by the time I reach the corner of the compound. It’s hard for me to tell the time, as it’s too far from the gate to hear the watch bells. I back into an alcove, ready my weapon, and wait. The heat of my walk is seeping out of my cloak when I hear a flutter of wings around me. A crow lands on my shoulder.

  “Is Dineas here?” I whisper.

  The bird takes off again. A few moments later, a dark shape climbs over the wall and drops to the ground. He stays in a crouch, looking left and right.

  “Over here,” I call. He looks in my direction, then runs over, trailing a cloud of dust. I never thought I’d be so glad to see him. “I was worried when I didn’t hear from the crows.”

  He snorts. “Some horse traders took me prisoner for a day, but it’s all settled now.”

  Horse traders? “How much did they learn about you?”

  “They were suspicious, but I don’t think they figured out what I was. They don’t strike me as the type to confide in the empire.”

  It’s not the most reassuring of answers. “I hope you’re right.”

  “Me too. Is it safe to talk here?”

  “It’s the best I can do.” I decide not to mention my encounter with the gang on the way over. “I’m living in a house with Arxa’s daughter, and I’m working in the hospital. Tal was right about the sick being left outside the walls. It happens every day, and the guards cart them in.”

  “That’s good, right? Let’s move on with the plan, then.”

  “We can,” I say. “But…”

  “But what?”

  “I don’t think the plan will work.”

  Dineas laughs under his breath. “Zivah, we knew coming here that this probably wouldn’t work.”

  “No, I mean…” I hesitate again, trying to put words to my thoughts. “I spoke to Commander Arxa this morning. He suspects that Dara is collaborating with the Shidadi. If someone with your skill shows up so soon after I arrive…it’s too suspicious.”

  Dineas shifts in the darkness; I can see his shadow
hunched over in thought. “What we need is some other story for him to believe. If we can lead him to have his own ideas about where I came from, if there’s some way to draw his thoughts away from the Shidadi…” His breath catches. “I might have an idea. Maybe.”

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Do you have anything to heal burn scars?”

  Scouting work’s never been my favorite. Too much time crawling on my belly, too many opportunities for small, sharp rocks to work themselves into my loincloth.

  From my vantage point above the Rovenni camp, I see they’re having a good run at the market. The size of the herd has dwindled since the last time I saw it, though they’ve kept their most impressive stallions and mares. This time I’m much more careful about getting caught. I keep my ears sharp and my birds playing sentry. Somehow, I doubt the Rovenni would believe my innocence if they caught me again. Once or twice, my crow caws, and I scramble from my hiding place and move somewhere else.

  It’s late evening and I’ve been here since before noon. Dinner’s been cooked, passed out, and eaten by the fifty-two members I counted, and the camp is starting to wind down. Some people disappear into large square tents, while others prepare to take the first watch for the night. I see Nush heading out to sleep with the horses. One of the mares is finicky, and he flashes the brand on his arm so she sees it, and whispers in her ear. The mare calms down, and Nush goes on to check on the others.

  Who would have guessed that he was right about me? I do want to steal something from them. It’s just not what he thought.

  I wait until everything goes still, when the last person has gone into the tents and no one else emerges. Carefully, I creep toward the camp.

  Getting down between the tents undetected isn’t as hard as I thought it would be. You can tell what a rich man values by where he places his guards, and most of the Rovenni sentries watch the horses. I’m sure there’s gold in the camp too, spread out in different places if they’re smart, but the traders don’t seem to worry nearly as much about losing it. They’d be angry if someone walked off with their coin. Steal one of their foals though, and you’ll be a marked man for life.