by Zoë Archer
Captain Huntley had gotten up and walked to the bag holding their provisions. He took a measure of borts and aaruul, and pressed them into her unwilling hand. “Eat,” he had commanded. “You can’t bring that man back by starving yourself, and you wouldn’t want to, anyway.”
“I can’t,” Thalia had answered, but he would not take the food back.
He had insisted. “You can and you will. If we have to sit here all night, I’ll make sure you finish those rations.”
“Don’t talk to me as though I’m a child,” she snapped.
“You’re not a child, and I don’t think of you as one,” he replied. “But after a soldier’s first kill, he can hurt himself. Not eating, not sleeping. I make sure that doesn’t happen. Not with them, and not with you.” He sat down opposite her and watched, waiting, until she began to nibble at the dried meat. At first, it had been difficult, and she nearly gagged, until he had said, “Breathe through your nose. Go slowly. And keep drinking.” She’d taken sips of airag, fermented horses’ milk, and gradually, bit by bit, finished her small meal. Despite her resentment toward Captain Huntley for his high-handed way of commanding her, she had ultimately been glad to have eaten something, recovered some of her strength because of it, which annoyed her. She didn’t want him to be right, not where knowing her own body’s needs was concerned, but he had been. She had a strange, unwanted thought—how well did the captain know women? Probably very well, indeed, with a face and form like his. Not that it mattered to her at all.
At the least, as they readied their beds for the night, he hadn’t pressed her for further answers. She appreciated his discretion, yet she also had an idea that he would take another tactic to learn the truth. He might not believe it, but for his sake, she could never tell him everything. And she had to lose him. Immediately.
With that in mind, Thalia now slowly, slowly pulled off her blankets and rolled into a crouch. It was too dark to see much, but she knew that Batu slept not but a yard away to her right. She crept toward him and woke him with a hand on his shoulder, another hand over his mouth to keep him from speaking. Thalia pointed toward where Captain Huntley slept, and Batu nodded with understanding, then got to his feet. They both tiptoed toward where the horses were hobbled and began packing them as noiselessly as possible, using touch, rather than sight, as their guide. The animals snorted and stamped to warm themselves for impending travel. Thalia glanced over her shoulder, alarmed. Nothing from the captain.
The horizon turned pink and the rocky hills around them began to burn with dawn light. It wouldn’t be long before the sun’s rays reached their position, which would undoubtedly wake Captain Huntley. Even though he’d been awake whenever she had roused from a nightmare, he seemed to sleep soundly now. Maybe she had worn him out, with her frightening dreams. At least she could be grateful to the nightmares for that. She couldn’t rely on the captain’s exhaustion, though. They had to move quickly.
Thalia debated with herself whether or not she would take the captain’s horse. No Mongol liked to walk. Even small children learned to ride soon after taking their first steps. But the steppes were not uninhabited, nor uninhabitable. Taking Captain Huntley’s horse was not a death sentence. If he set out on foot, he could reach a ger within a day, if not less. She could surely lose him if she deprived him of a horse, and do him very little harm in the process.
As quietly as she could, she moved through the horses to find the tall mare he rode. Yet something was very strange. The mare was somehow eluding her, because she kept finding only her own horses. She fumbled toward Batu and whispered into his ear, “Where is the captain’s horse?”
Batu had been raised as a nomad and knew horses better than most people knew their parents. After a cursory examination, he whispered back, “The horse is gone.”
Thalia was alarmed. The captain had hobbled his horse when they had made camp, and she had discreetly watched him to ensure that he’d done it properly, which he had. So where in blazes was his animal? It couldn’t have wandered off on its own. Had it been stolen?
A strange intuition had Thalia cautiously approach where Captain Huntley slept. As she did, the first rays of light began to illuminate the basin. And that was when she saw it.
The captain was gone.
There was a slight depression in the ground where he had lain, but that was all that remained of him. His horse, his gear, everything had vanished. She found herself crouching down, touching the earth where he had slept, as if trying to catch the lingering warmth of his body, perhaps judge how long it had been since he left. Of course, the ground was cold.
She felt a stab of panic. What if something had happened to him? Had the Heirs kidnapped him from the camp, as she and Batu slept on, unaware? No. He was a soldier, and a good one. Nothing ill had befallen him. There was another explanation for his absence.
She straightened. “He left us,” she said to Batu as he came to stand beside her.
“Without saying anything?”
“It appears so.” Irritation flared as she contemplated this development. “All his protestations about accompanying us, that we needed his help—I suppose they had no weight.” Annoyed with the captain for leaving, more annoyed with herself that she should care, Thalia stalked back to her horse and adjusted the saddle.
“Or perhaps,” Batu suggested, following, “he finally took your words to heart and headed for home. A man will only wait around so long while a woman holds him at bay.”
Thalia scowled at her old friend, who merely looked back at her with a calm, unperturbed expression. She took out her frustrations on her poor horse by giving the saddle cinch a hard tug, and the animal snorted and pawed at the ground in protest. Thalia patted it, contrite.
“We should get going,” she finally said. “Morning is here and we have at least three more days of traveling.”
Batu agreed, and together, they finished packing, then mounted their horses and began to ride west. They had camped in a wide gulley, and had to crest a small line of hills to continue on their way. Thalia felt strange and out-of-sorts, and tried to dismiss it as the result of a poor night’s sleep, but, deep inside herself, she knew it was because she had not said a proper farewell to Captain Huntley. He was gruff and commanding, yes, but he had also shown her an unexpected compassion. Between that and the insistent pull she felt toward him whenever he was around, she could have compromised herself badly had he stayed. He could have been more dangerous than Sergei. A letter shouldn’t hurt, though. If she only knew more about him, where he was headed, she might be able to write him a letter, thanking him for his service. But she knew almost nothing of him besides his name and rank, and finding him could be nearly impossible.
Thalia shook her head, clearing her thoughts. She needed to focus her attention on the task at hand. The Heirs would be hard on her heels, and she had to protect the Blades, do their work. This was the opportunity she had longed for, and she would be damned if she let anything, including herself, get in her way.
Yet all of her carefully constructed resolve fell away just as she and Batu came over the top of the hills.
Captain Huntley was waiting for them.
He was atop his horse, and, judging by the sheen on the animal’s hide, they had been riding for some time. As he wiped some dust from his face with a kerchief, he did not look at all surprised to see them, unlike Thalia, who felt a confusing mixture of happiness, relief, and anger.
“Good, you’re up,” he said as she and Batu trotted to meet him. “I’ve scouted the area and it looks clear, so we can move ahead.”
Thalia vowed to herself that she could be just as sanguine as the captain, while her heart, clearly not receiving the telegram from her head, capered inside her chest. “There’s a narrow gorge about three miles from here,” she said. “It could be a good place for an ambush.”
“Already secured it,” he answered.
“And a stand of larches a mile beyond could hide a group of riders.”
“That’s been taken
care of, as well. Your friends don’t appear to be anywhere in the vicinity. I spotted a grouping of tracks, but they were headed north, not west.”
Thalia took a breath, scanning the horizon. She finally allowed herself to look at him directly, and found that the morning light turned his eyes to burnished coins. He must have slept less than she did, yet seemed to suffer no lingering trace of tiredness, no ill effects. In fact, with the golden sunlight playing across his cheekbones, the hard line of his jaw, and the slight fullness of his bottom lip, he looked quite enticing. It didn’t seem quite fair, not when Thalia was certain that she looked like the underside of a saddle.
“You’re quite thorough,” she said after a moment.
“Always am.” An almost teasing glint appeared in his eyes, warming them, warming her. “In everything.”
“Ah,” she cleverly answered. Thalia actually felt herself blush, something she hadn’t done since…since Sergei. And look how well that had turned out.
She resisted the urge to rub at her face, to try to hide the signs of her awareness of him, which would only draw further attention. His attention. Which she did not want. For so many reasons. Including the fact that she could easily respond to his attention, easily and eagerly. She would have to be careful, watchful, as much toward herself as toward him. Which meant that there would be no more blushing. There was a sizable difference between telling herself something and actually having it happen, however. She would have to take action, beginning immediately.
So: no flirtatious remarks from her. “We cannot stay here all day,” she said instead, and put her heels to her horse. The animal leapt into a gallop. Behind her, she heard Captain Huntley and Batu kick their horses into motion. As she listened to the horses’ hooves, felt the cool morning air against her face, something strange and surprising began blossoming within her, something she only later recognized as a secret happiness.
Chapter 5
The True Hammer of Thor
The servant, Batu, shouted something in Mongolian to Thalia. He sounded anxious. Her somewhat calmer answer was also in Mongolian, so he had no way to know what they were talking about. Huntley wasn’t sure if he should ask. Ever since that morning, when she had practically frosted over in response to his attempts at flirtation, Huntley had wisely decided to give her some room, and speak seldom.
Perhaps her father kept her isolated from the company of men. It might explain why she was skittish and abrupt with Huntley. Or, he thought wryly, perhaps his own ham-handed efforts at seduction could attract only the most jaded trollop that ever followed a regiment. Maybe he should have taken care of his sexual needs back in Peking. There had been a lot of opportunities, but Huntley had never been especially fond of paying for female company, which was the most available option, and he was also pressed for time. So he had ridden on, and now it seemed he was paying the real price. Clumsily flirting with a woman who would rather he had the good manners to be thrown from his horse and kicked in the head.
Their company of three had ridden in silence for the better part of the day. They hadn’t even stopped to eat, but instead, still in the saddle, they gnawed on more of the dried meat that Thalia had handed out. Thalia held the lead, while Huntley continued to ride at the back of the group, keeping his eyes and ears attuned to any sights and sounds. Occasionally, they passed a nomad herding sheep, and a few clusters of those large tents that Thalia called gers appeared in the distance, but she seemed intent on giving them a wide berth. Huntley admitted to himself his interest in the woman kept growing, and not only because she had a strong-featured beauty he’d seldom seen before. She campaigned well, almost as well as a seasoned veteran, and while no one would ever call her masculine, she wasn’t fragile. Perhaps the fact that he found this appealing was even more reason for him to get back to England as soon as this mission was over and find himself a tranquil wife whose favorite pursuits included embroidering slippers and pillow covers. His value system, as it stood now, was badly in need of repair.
The talking between her and the servant was growing more animated, and Huntley followed Batu’s finger as he pointed toward the east. The sky, which was clear overhead save for a few high, wispy clouds, appeared gloomy and threatening on the eastern horizon, behind them. Batu was clearly disturbed by this.
“A storm is coming,” Huntley said.
Thalia and Batu both looked at him as they reined in their horses. “Yes, a storm,” Batu agreed. “A bad one.” He spoke again to her in rapid Mongolian, and she shook her head.
“I thought there was hardly any rain in Mongolia,” Huntley said.
“There isn’t,” confirmed Thalia. She frowned at the northern sky, a worried line appearing between her straight black eyebrows.
“But the wind is blowing southward,” Huntley pointed out. “It should give us no trouble.”
The servant shook his head. “No. It heads toward us.”
“I don’t see how that could be possible.”
“But it is possible,” Thalia said, her voice tight. “It’s drawing closer. And I suggest we try to outride it.”
She was right. Even in the few minutes since their group had stopped, the small belt of darkness that had only occupied a narrow fraction of the sky had grown three times as big. On the open space of the Mongolian steppe, the torrents of rain that the storm was unleashing could be plainly seen, a gray column that stretched between the clouds and the soaked earth. The storm seemed to be traveling as quickly as a steam engine hurtling straight toward them. At that rate, they would be soaked in thirty minutes.
“The devil,” Huntley cursed.
“No, Captain,” Thalia corrected, grim, “something worse.” She kicked her horse into a gallop, with Huntley and Batu close at her heels.
The wind began to pick up almost at once, turning from a gentle breeze into a punishing gale that tore tears from the eyes. The bright day quickly faded into gloom as the storm raced nearer. Despite how hard they rode the horses, the giant wall of dark clouds advanced on them, taking over the sky and shadowing the ground. Across open pastures they rode, over rocky fields, trying to put as much distance as they could between themselves and the oncoming squall.
Huntley managed a brief look over his shoulder, and pulled automatically on the reins. He nearly caused his horse to rear up before he recollected himself and spurred the animal forward. In all the years he had served, with all the strange weather he had ever lived through, Huntley had never seen anything like the thunderhead that, he could almost swear, chased them now. The clouds were as tall as mountains, black as the grave, roiling and tumbling with unchecked rage.
Just as the edge of the clouds reached over their heads, rain slammed into them. Their clothing was soaked in an instant. Racing through the downpour, it was almost impossible to breathe—water kept pouring off the brim of Huntley’s hat and into his nose and mouth. Squinting, Huntley could barely make out the forms of Thalia and Batu ahead as they, too, struggled against the shredding wind and punishing rain. A thunderclap tore open the air with a report so loud, Huntley would have sworn a cannon had gone off right beside him. His horse did rear up then, and it took all of his strength to control the animal and continue their flight.
They climbed up a hill, trying to seek shelter in a small overhang of rocks. Thalia had already reached it, and Huntley and Batu soon followed. The rocks provided a tiny measure of relief, but not much, as the horses jostled each other in fear while their riders panted and watched the storm.
“We can’t stay here long,” Huntley shouted above the rain. As if to emphasize his words, a tumble of rocks, loosened by the downpour, clattered off the overhang and landed at the already nervous horses’ feet.
“There’s a cave not very far from here, on the other side of a river,” Thalia shouted back. Her dark hair was plastered against her face, which she shoved back with an impatient hand. She snatched off her soggy hat and shoved it into a saddlebag. “We can set out as soon as the horses have gotten their wind.”
Huntley started to answer, but was cut off by a bolt of lightning striking the ground a few hundred yards away. The flash was enormous, and Huntley had to shield his eyes from the glare. Another titanic thunderclap slammed through the air. Huntley felt it through the ground, in the marrow of his bones and recesses of his mind. It was as though he was under bombardment. The edge of the storm was passing overhead, but the dark center drew nearer. He couldn’t believe that any storm could have so much power. Then he saw something which made him doubt his sanity altogether.
There, in the clouds the size of a canyon wall, a man’s face formed. Huntley rubbed at his eyes, trying to clear the water from his vision, but no matter how much he pressed at his eyes, the image did not fade, but rather took greater shape and clarity. It was, in fact, the fierce and angry face of a man that appeared within the clouds, and not an ordinary man, but one with a long moustache and braided beard, a Norse helmet atop his head. A Viking. As Huntley watched, incredulous, the clouds also massed into the shape of a huge arm, and held in its fist was a hammer. The Viking opened his mouth with a bellow of thunder and brought the hammer down onto the ground, unleashing another bolt of lightning that struck a small stand of trees. The trees exploded, leaving only charred stumps in the rain. Huntley swore violently.
“What the hell was that?” Huntley demanded, turning to Thalia. Her face was white, her eyes wide, but she did not appear as though she was witnessing something extraordinary. Instead, she looked as though this was something she had anticipated. But that couldn’t be. No one could anticipate the impossible.
“We cannot wait,” she shouted over the roar. “We must ride for the cave now!”
There was no time to press for answers. The storm would be directly overhead in minutes, and surely the rocks would crumble around them when it hit. They broke from the minuscule shelter of the overhang, riding hard over the hills. Huntley spared only a moment to glance behind him, daring his eyes to show him what could not be there. But his sight was either lying, or the impossible was now very real, because the Storm Viking had not vanished. He was still in the clouds, his mouth twisted in rage, his eyes burning, and his arm upraised to strike again. Huntley urged his horse to gallop harder, though the mare needed no encouragement.