“So you think we have a chance, then?”
Sahara jumped and looked wildly around, feeling like her heart was now beating somewhere in her sinus cavity instead of in her chest. A man was sitting in the booth with her, leaning against the wall with one foot up on the bench.
“Scared you, did I?” he asked, a grin in his voice. “Sorry. The name’s Rafe.”
Sahara squinted at him. “You’re the one who spoke to me across the room earlier, aren’t you? The one who asked me why I’d die for Albadir.”
“That’s me.”
Sahara swallowed hard, trying to package up her adrenaline. “And? What are you doing here? Come to laugh some more?”
“Not at all. I think what you’re saying is very interesting.”
“Interesting.” Sahara shook her head. “That’s just great. Glad I could entertain you for the evening.” She swung her gaze toward the bar. “Where’s Jared with those drinks?” she muttered.
“I didn’t mean it like that, Sahara. I’m not trying to insult you. Far from it.”
“Then what are you trying to say?”
“I think you’re right.”
Sahara’s gaze snapped to his face, and she couldn’t keep herself from gaping at him for a moment. “I’m sorry, but did you just say that you think I’m right?”
“I did.” He glanced up as Jared slid into the seat across from them, setting a mug of ale in front of Sahara and reserving one for himself. “Your girl’s pretty brave, Jared,” Rafe said. “To stand up there in front of a hostile crowd and preach open rebellion against the Dragon-Lords. Pretty damn brave.”
Jared’s eyes flickered at Sahara over the rim of his mug as he took a sip of his ale, and then he shook his head curtly. “She’s not my girl.”
“I’m nobody’s girl,” Sahara added hotly.
Even in the gloom, Sahara saw the grin that flashed across Rafe’s face. His teeth were white and straight, striking against the bronze of his skin. “Okay,” he said. “But in all seriousness, I was hoping to speak with the two of you. I think I might be able to help.”
“Really?” said Jared. “What did you have in mind?”
Rafe leaned forward over the table and peered around the tavern. Everyone had resumed their own business and no one seemed to realize that Sahara and Jared were still in the room.
“These people are complacent,” he said. “That’s what happens when evil is around you all the time—you get used to it. You learn to live with it. It’s how we survive.” He saw Sahara bristle in protest, and he laid a hand on her forearm. “Not everyone is able to fight all the time,” he said. “Most people, especially the ones with families, are happy to live by the beehive so long as no one kicks it.”
Sahara jerked her arm out from under his hand. Rafe looked at Jared as if seeking an explanation, but Jared didn’t offer one.
“Get to the point, Rafe. What can you do to help us?” Jared asked.
“Well, as I said, most people can go along to get along. And as long as nothing seems to be wrong, they’ll be hard to persuade that they should do things any differently. You need something to wake them up. They need to feel that the danger exists…and they need to know that we have a real chance of success this time.”
“Oh, is that all?” Jared said, rotating the base of his mug on the table. “You have any idea how to make that happen?”
Rafe grinned again. “Of course I have an idea! You two know the terrain west of the city. Hell, Sahara’s been further in that direction than anyone here…even you, Jared. And everyone knows that you’re the only one who dares to scout out that way.”
“What’s your point?” Sahara asked, her impatience finally getting the better of her.
“Just this. Everyone also knows that the Dragon-Lords regularly send out scouts into that region to make sure we’re staying in our place.”
“That’s why I’m the only one who dares to go out there,” Jared said.
“Exactly. But what do you say to the notion that we three venture that way and do a little hunting?”
Sahara’s eyes widened as she realized what he was suggesting. “You mean go out there and kill one of their scouts?”
“Exactly.”
Jared gave a low whistle. “And the advantage of doing this would be…?”
“Think about it. If we can kill one of those scouts and bring back the proof, people will see the evidence that they’re basically imprisoned within the city. They’ll also see that we did something about it. And besides, it will kick the beehive. Once the Dragon-Lords discover that one of their scouts has been killed, I don’t think they’ll take it quietly.”
“So we’re forcing the issue to a head,” Sahara said. “Making action necessary.”
“Yes.”
Sahara watched Jared as he turned his mug slowly on the table. She felt like she could almost hear the movement of his thoughts, the tracing out of possibilities until they led to one inevitable question.
“What if this backfires, Rafe?” Jared asked at last. “What if Arnauld and the other lords consider us warmongers and traitors for inciting conflict with the Dragon-Lords? Or worse.”
“Well, Arnauld has to think about the safety of his wife. If the Dragon-Lords come to demand payment for the water, it will be too late for us to do anything about it. Your girl’s right about that much. Aliya will have to go...or the entire city will be destroyed.” Rafe paused, then added, “I think that in itself will sway him to our plan.”
“Then you think we should tell them first?” Sahara asked. “I thought this was going to be a secret mission!”
“Of course we should tell them first,” said Rafe. “Otherwise, as Jared says, we’ll be taken for warmongers and traitors. The council meets tomorrow, and I say we put it to them then.”
“The sooner the better,” said Jared. “By my reckoning, a scout should be patrolling the western dunes in three days. I was planning to be there anyway.”
“So that’s where you go when you vanish without telling anyone!” Sahara cried. “You go to spy on the spies, is that it?”
Jared grinned at her. “I’ve been charting their patrol routes for almost two years now. They’re not too bright, these scouts. Their routines are extremely regular—the same path on the same day at the same time. Three days from now, he’ll be there.”
“And, God willing, so will we,” said Rafe.
Chapter 11
The council hall was filled to capacity. As Arnauld called the men to order, Sahara studied the room. It was clad in dark wood and the ceiling was made of panels of stained glass. They seemed to be depictions of moments in Silesian history, but Sahara could not decipher their meaning. Only one—the final panel in the series—held any relevance for her. It showed a city consumed in fire and an enormous dragon crouched on the summit of the mountains.
I guess they’re called Dragon-Lords for a reason, she thought. There’s always a dragon, at the end. Always.
The light that filtered down on them through these ceiling tiles was a wash of colors, providing sufficient light to see clearly, but without the blinding glare and heat of the midmorning sun.
The council members took their places around three sides of the heavy table, with Arnauld seated in a richly carved chair in the center. Sahara, Jared, and Rafe sat alone on the other side of the table. Sahara felt like she’d been summoned before the bar of judgment.
Her breath caught in her chest as the shard of a memory erupted into her consciousness.
“We sentence you to life on the desert planet of Silesia for your crimes and your insurrection.”
The voices of the Dragon-Lords rolled over her like a suffocating wave, drowning her in the darkness. She stood in the center of the oubliette, hands pinioned behind her in iron chains. She couldn’t see the Council, but she could hear them.
In a way, it was a triumph. She was dangerous enough to warrant it. And maybe someone else would be inspired to take up the work where she’d left off.
Life in a labor camp? She raised her head slowly. It might not be so bad…or so long. She would find a way to escape. And when she did, she would make them pay.
“Are you okay?” Jared whispered, nudging her with his elbow.
Sahara came suddenly back to herself, to the council chamber of Albadir. She drew a shaking breath and nodded.
“Hold it together,” Rafe murmured on her other side. “We haven’t even been asked to speak yet.”
Sahara wanted to tell him to go to hell, but she bit her tongue. He had no idea that she wasn’t suffering from nerves.
While Arnauld gave his long opening statement, full of updates about crops and the timetable for the autumn harvest, she studied the simple banner that hung on the wall behind him. It was emblazoned with the sign of the three-leaved flower that Sahara had seen in the library.
It must mean something significant, she thought. It’s not just a pretty flower. It has to be more than that.
The other three walls were dressed with huge maps. The immense amount of blank space on the maps still amazed Sahara—only Albadir and the northern mountains were drawn with any clarity. Hazy sketches hinted at the geography to the south and east of the city, and the space to the west of the dunes was utterly blank.
Didn’t they explore their world before? she wondered. Or is this just really all that’s left?
“My lords,” Arnauld said, finally drawing his monologue to a close, “we are gathered today to consider two things: first, the plans for the autumn festival, and second, a proposal which Jared Alareth and Rafe Margolis wish to put before you.”
“My lord?” Rafe’s voice was clear, even commanding. Sahara glanced up at him in surprise. She hadn’t expected him to speak with so much authority.
“Speak your thought, Rafe,” Arnauld said.
“I ask you and the council to consider first our proposal, and then turn to this more trivial matter of the autumn festival.”
“The autumn festival is no triviality!” boomed a voice from the right side of the table. A stout man with a wizened head scowled at them from beneath huge bushy eyebrows. “I object to that remark!”
“Your pardons, all—and especially you, my lord Horatio —but it is trivial compared to the matter which Jared and I have for your consideration.”
Horatio subsided with a gruff mutter about “young rascals” and their “scheming.” Sahara breathed a sigh of relief and almost smiled. They were past the first hurdle.
“Proceed, then, Rafe,” said Arnauld, sitting down and yielding him the floor.
Rafe stood. “My lords, Jared and I mean to travel to the western desert with the outworlder Sahara. We will go at least as far as the dunes, if not beyond.”
“What is this, another of Jared’s madcap cartographer’s missions?” asked a fair-haired lord with a heavy silver ring on his thumb.
Jared rose. “No, Marcus, we‘re not traveling to fill in the blank spaces on the map. Not this time.”
“Then what is your purpose, and why do you require our approval?” asked Arnauld.
Sahara took a breath, then leaned forward and drove her knife into the table so viciously that everyone around the table jumped and gasped. Then she sat back, smiling.
“Because we’re going hunting.”
There was a long silence, and everyone stared at the curved blade and ivory handle of Sahara’s dagger, the point buried at least an inch deep in the table.
Arnauld, never taking his eyes off the knife, asked, “Hunting for what, dare I ask?”
“A Dragon-Lord scout, my lord,” answered Rafe.
Arnauld’s eyes flickered up to rest on the young man’s face. “You know what this will mean? If you find one and kill him?”
“Of course,” said Jared. “That’s why we’re going.”
Arnauld glanced at Jared and remarked with an edged voice, “Aren’t your gifts better suited to minstrelsy and long hours in the library, Jared?”
“Minstrelsy!” exclaimed Sahara under her breath, glancing up at Jared in surprise.
Jared inclined his head in the slightest hint of a bow. “My lord, it’s true that I am a man of many talents. I know herbs, I draw maps, I study history, I sing lays, I can survive in the desert. But I have never neglected the art of the sword. And I will prove it on any man who dares claim otherwise.”
His eyes flashed at the other lords around the table, and no one dared to meet his gaze.
Sahara bit her lower lip. She had never seen Jared look as fierce or as lordly as he did at that moment, and she was suddenly intensely proud of him. Proud, and curious.
A minstrel! she thought. I wonder if he would sing to me?
Rafe interrupted her thoughts by speaking again. “My lords, we seek the consent of this council to proceed on this mission. Will you give it?”
“I most heartily object!” Horatio thundered, bringing a ponderous ruddy fist down on the table. “What kind of fool nonsense is this? Why, you’ll bring the whole contingent of Dragon-Lords and their minions down on our heads, you half-witted rascals!”
“No need for name-calling,” said Jared smoothly. “We all know that it’s only a matter of time before they come to exterminate us anyway.”
Noises of surprise burst out around the table and Horatio articulated them. “No, we don’t all know that!” he protested. “We’ve lived in peace here for almost ten years! Why should that change now?”
“Seven,” corrected Rafe. “It’s only been seven years.”
“So what, curse you! For seven years we’ve lived in peace! We cannot know the future, but one thing is certain: if you do this, you will bring destruction down on our heads. We have built a life here!”
“It’s built on sand,” said Sahara. “If the Dragon-Lords come tomorrow and claim their ancient right of a blood-offering and slaves, what will happen to this life you’ve built? It will crumble before your eyes. But if you take the future in your own hands, you can make it what you will. Force their hand! Make them act before they’re ready! We will make them pay for their tyranny!”
“It can’t be done,” said Arnauld softly. “What you offer us as a possibility is, in fact, an impossibility.”
“If we seek them on their own ground, then yes, it is,” said Rafe. “But not if we can draw them out!”
“And what if you fail to draw them out, Rafe?” asked Arnauld, still speaking very low. “What then?”
“I’ll tell you what then!” Horatio interjected. “Then we’ll have a massacre on our hands! They’ll come for us in their own good time, and we’ll be no better off than we were before!”
“But that’s where you’re wrong,” said Jared. “We will be better off! We’ll have roused ourselves from this sleepy existence, where we accept each day as it comes, how it comes, without ever questioning whether there might be a better way. Without ever acknowledging the fragility of our own future.”
“Everyone knows how fragile our future is,” said Marcus quietly. “Why do you think we live only for today?”
The men around the table nodded slowly, and Sahara glanced at Jared and Rafe. Their faces were set and grim, and she read in their eyes their fast-fading hope. Then she turned her gaze to Arnauld, who seemed to be caught in some kind of an internal deliberation.
“I wonder,” she said, raising her voice above the swirl of conversation. The men fell silent to hear her speak. “I wonder what the Lady Aliya would have to say about all of this.”
“Why should it concern her?” Arnauld asked sharply.
“You know very well why. Because it’s her blood that will be sacrificed to the Dragon-Lords when they come to claim their right. They will come, and she will die so that the rest of you can continue living only for today.” She shrugged. “I just wonder if she might have some thought on the matter. Like, that she would rather not die as a blood-offering. That she might prefer to live in freedom and in peace, rather than in the certain knowledge that when the time comes, her people will feed h
er to the dragon because they’re too scared to stand up and fight.”
Utter silence.
Sahara held Arnauld’s gaze, waiting for him to react. His face slowly clouded with anger, and he pushed himself out of his seat, his hand groping for the hilt of his sword.
“By God,” he began through clenched teeth, “by God I should—” His rage choked him, and the blade slid halfway out of the scabbard.
Sahara jumped to her feet. “Is it not the truth?” she cried. “You would feed her to the dragon so that you can go on with your pathetic little lives! You have said as much right here in this room!”
Arnauld slid the sword from the scabbard, and Sahara pulled herself upright.
“Go ahead! Slay me, just like you are prepared to slay her! Do it! I’m standing right here! Do it!”
Arnauld’s hand trembled on the hilt, and after a moment he slapped the sword back into the sheath.
“It’s the truth,” he said, his voice broken. He sunk back into his chair, burying his face in his hand. “My darling wife would be claimed…and our brothers, sons, and fathers would be shipped to the mines. And if we dared to refuse, they will shut the sluice and we will be without water until we yield or die.”
“Arnauld!” Horatio exclaimed. “By God, man, you don’t mean you’re considering this as a serious venture now?”
Arnauld regarded him sadly. “To save my wife’s life, I would do anything. Anything. Even challenge the wrath of the Dragon-Lords. If they come to meet us in open war, then it is my blood that will be spilled. And I would spill it a hundred times over to defend my city and my wife than just sit by and watch them take her to her death.”
Horatio was silent, rubbing his finger along the grain of the table. His face was flushed, and he nodded slowly.
“My lord,” said Marcus quietly, “I stand with you. I have a new wife, married just three months ago. If I were in your position, I would give every drop of blood in my body to defend her.”
Sahara hazarded a glance around the table and saw the men nodding their heads. Arnauld surveyed the room as well, a new strength in his bearing.
The Outworlder Page 10