“But you were swearing. You never swear. I distinctly remember hearing a bad word in there.”
She gulped. Her face had taken on a grayish cast. “That man…he squashed me nearly flat. And now this.” She closed her eyes. “What’s wrong with throwing us sideways across a saddle? That’s an effective way to control us.”
Hamzah, ponying Del’s horse, laughed. “This is the way Umir wanted you transported.”
“Then he should have to ride this way. Just once.” I was as belligerent as I could be under the circumstances.
“No, Umir’s giving the orders, not taking them. I think he’ll skip riding in this position.”
“Can we?” I asked.
Hamzah glanced back, grinning. “I take orders, too.”
“Can we at least stop? For a moment? Let me settle my belly? I really don’t want to vomit all over the stud’s neck.”
“Vomit all you like,” Hamzah said cheerfully.
Del said, “There may be two of us getting sick. Would Umir wish us to arrive with vomit all over our horses and all over us?”
It was Tariq’s turn to laugh. “Umir doesn’t care how you arrive, so long as you do. Vomit as much as you’d like.”
He wasn’t joking. Neither was I. My mouth flooded with saliva and last night’s dinner began a slow crawl up my gullet. I really didn’t want to throw up in front of these men. And the stud deserved better. I swallowed, tried to remain just as still as I could. Didn’t want to make even the smallest movement. Inside my head, I began to sing a ridiculous little song I’d made up for Sula one day. She liked it so much and demanded I sing it so frequently that I was sorry I’d ever invented it. But that ridiculous little song might be the saving of me. Or at least of my head and belly.
When finally, finally, we reached Umir’s big desert palace, I had indeed been sick to my stomach. My head hurt so damn much and with that pommel digging into my belly, I’d really had no choice. All I could do was try to avoid splattering the stud and myself. To my surprise, I was fairly successful.
Hamzah had taken Del’s gelding up in front of the stud, so we couldn’t even talk anymore. She shifted position as best she could several times, but I don’t know how successful she was at easing the discomfort. I’d begun sucking in my gut as best I could to relieve some of the pressure on my abdomen, but it was impossible to do so for very long because of the stud’s motion. I wondered why Umir had seen fit to ask we be transported in such a painful way. But then, we had managed to defeat him several times; maybe this was a sort of revenge. He’d never been inclined that way whenever we met; Umir was an elegant man who liked to collect very rare items. He wasn’t one for torture. He hadn’t even referred to me as a captive when I very much was; I was his ‘guest.’ Of course my putting a spell on the book so he couldn’t open it had likely infuriated him. I could imagine him trying every day to find a way to open the book. Which wasn’t possible. Such frustration. Possibly even fury.
At some point he’d decided that as I’d locked the book against him, I could unlock it. And here we were, Del and I.
The problem was, I couldn’t open the book anymore. I’d surrendered all my magic. I couldn’t read the book, couldn’t cast any spells, couldn’t do anything at all that involved magic. I was empty of it. I’d poured all of it into Samiel, my jivatma, my Northern blooding-blade, and then I broke the sword. It lay within the fallen chimney near the canyon, along with Del’s Boreal, equally broken.
Samiel’s destruction meant my freedom. Empty of the magic that would have killed me in ten years, I would see my daughter grow up. I would see Neesha marry and raise children, no matter what he might think now. The future lay before me, and it would be a long one.
Well, if no one killed me before I actually experienced that future.
Walls surrounded Umir’s white-painted palace. Once through the iron gates, we entered a lovely courtyard, thick with blooming gardens, trees, vines; exquisite tile, and a fantastical fountain. The place hadn’t changed.
Hooves clopped on pavement. Del and I were stopped. One of the men dismounted and went into the palace, came out not long afterward. He spoke to Hamzah, who was, apparently, the leader of this expedition.
Hamzah nodded, looked at his men. “He wishes us inside. We’re to take them into the larger reception room. We’re to get them off the horses, but keep them shackled.” He dismounted and turned to Del. He unlocked the chain running beneath the gelding’s neck and the one beneath his belly. Del did not immediately sit up. Hamzah caught an arm and jerked her down out of the saddle.
It was then we saw the blood. The saddle was soaked with it. Del, as she was manhandled, nearly fell to the paving stones. Hamzah and another caught her by the arms and held her up. Her legs folded beneath her.
“Get me down!” I shouted. “Get me down from here. She’s hurt. She’s bleeding. Get me off this horse!”
Del’s head lolled. Her face was very pale, even her lips. Ah hoolies, bascha! “Get me down!”
Hamzah and the others were clearly shocked. As they held her on her feet, blood dribbled down her legs. But Hamzah looked up at me, then switched his gaze to Tariq. “Leave him there. Don’t unshackle him yet. And keep hold of that stallion! Don’t let him loose, or he’ll be as hard to handle as his rider.”
Tariq followed orders. “What’s wrong with her?” he asked.
Hamzah shook his head and shrugged, then handed Del over to another man. “Not ours to worry about. Take her inside to the reception room. Then we’ll haul the great and famous Sandtiger down from his horse.”
I called Hamzah every foul name I could think of. In the midst of it they unlocked the neck chain, the belly chain, and I was able to sit up for the first time in hours. And I nearly cried out because of the pain in my abdomen. Too soon going upright when I’d been down for so long, and the pommel had indeed done some damage. I just hoped it was the kind that could repair itself. No wonder Del was bleeding!
They unlocked the two long chains from me, but I remained shackled at wrists and ankles. I bent over slightly, trying to undo the cramping of my gut. I wasn’t sure shackles were necessary. I didn’t think I could mount any kind of escape.
I stood there half bent, breathing noisily through clenched teeth. “Get me in there. I want to see Del.”
Hamzah gave orders to the others to tend the horses. Then he took one elbow as Tariq took the other, and pushed me toward the entrance. Hoolies, but it hurt to move. And it wasn’t particularly helpful when the chain between my ankles barely had enough slack for me to approximate walking. Though that certainly didn’t affect how Hamzah and Tariq handled me. They probably would find it a good joke if I tripped and fell face-first on the stones.
Into the palace, as beautiful as I recalled. I was taken through several rooms and at last arrived in what was, apparently, the large reception room. And I saw Del, and I saw Umir.
She lay curled on her side upon tiles, limbs still contained by shackles and chains. Her legs were drawn up to her belly. Umir, standing over her, was the picture of horrified distaste.
I tried to throw off Tariq and Hamzah. They hung on. “Let me go to her!”
Umir looked at me. Then he nodded to both men. I nearly fell as I crossed the floor to Del, but managed to kneel down beside her, chains and shackles clashing. Hoolies, but she looked bad.
“Del? Bascha?” Despite the chains, I grabbed her wrists. “Bascha?”
She opened her eyes. Pain glazed them. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was so weak as to be nearly a whisper.
“Sorry! Bascha, what on earth—”
“I’ve lost it,” she said.
“Lost—” And all the hair stood up on my skin. A chill ran through my body. I looked at Umir. “Get her help,” I told him. Umir kept a healer on his premises. “Now. She’s losing a baby!”
Umir’s expression as he stared at Del was nothing less than sheer disgust. It made me so furious that I pushed myself up. But between the chains and Tariq and
Hamzah, who moved to catch me, I could not throw myself at him as I wished.
“If you want me to open that thrice-cursed book, you’ll get her help. Right now!”
Umir made a motion, and I saw his steward come forward. “See to it,” Umir said.
I stood there in chains, held in place by Hamzah and Tariq, and watched as slaves came, collected Del, and carried her away. I had no idea where she was going. But I didn’t intend to let her go there alone. “Until she’s recovered, the book will remained locked,” I said coldly. “You’ll get no magic from me.”
Umir examined me. He was Southron-dark, grey-eyed, and always clad in the richest of fabrics. His hands were elegant. He cared little for women, little for men. All he wanted was to build his collection. Apparently that was enough for his needs.
“Let me go to her,” I said.
Umir smiled. “I think not.” And he told Hamzah and Tariq where to take me.
Chapter 38
IWAS FAIRLY CERTAIN I’D BEEN IN THE ROOM BEFORE. If not, in one exactly like it. Same small, squared windows high in the wall; same door with hinges and lock on the outside, a lip over the jamb so nothing could be inserted; and a wooden cot. A nightcrock.
Tariq, again, shut one hand very tightly into my harness and let the flesh over my kidney once again make an acquaintance with his oh-so-delicate knife. Hamzah squatted, unlocked the ankle shackles. Even as he did so, Tariq pressed the knife point slightly more deeply. I knew very well what he was doing. While the repeated wounds were nothing more than slices, they were also promises. Umir’s men wanted no surprises from me as they took off the shackles.
Next, the wrists. This time Tariq didn’t use the knife. Instead, a knuckled punch struck me hard right where the knife had been, immediately over my kidney. I arched backward, fighting the pain, and Hamzah took off the wrist shackles before I could do anything. As he and Tariq let go of me, as they went out the door, chains and shackles clanking, the best I could do was fall to hands and knees. No fight from me.
For some time I knelt on the floor, willing the pain away. Slowly I got to my feet. A burst of pain slammed me in the kidney and all the muscles tightened. I swore, gingerly tried to stretch. But not such a good idea.
I strung together some of the vilest curses I could think of or invent, and walked carefully to the cot. I sat down. Waited for the worst of the pain to pass. Once most of it did, I stood up again. I threw the cot over onto its side. Sat down on one of the topmost wooden legs, and bounced. Twice, and the leg cracked right off the frame.
On my most recent visit a couple of years ago, I’d used a broken cot leg as a sparring blade, to make myself fit again. This time I’d employ it as something else.
I stepped to the door. Knocked gently on it to measure the thickness, the sound. Then I began bashing the leg into the door over and over again.
The exercise would not harm or open the door on its own, but it would make it impossible to ignore me. And then a person would open the door.
Bash—bash—bash—
Bash—bash—bash—
After a few more bashes the leg cracked lengthwise and fell apart in my hands. I tossed the pieces aside. Went back to the cot. Broke another leg off it, returned to the door.
Bash—bash—bash—
My lower back hurt like hoolies with the exertion so soon after a kidney punch. I ignored it by bashing the leg against the door all the harder.
I heard voices outside. I stopped bashing long enough to set my face against the door. I shouted. “I can do this all night!” Bash— “Really I can.” Bash—
“Stop!” someone shouted from the other side of the door.
Bash—bash—
“My master says to ask what you want! Other than your freedom, of course!”
Oddly, that made me grin. Bash—bash—bash—
“STOP!”
I stopped. “Take me to Del. That’s all I want. Take me to her.”
Silence.
“All right,” I called. “Here I go…”
“STOP! STOP!” The tone sounded frenzied. “I’ll ask my master!”
I waited until it was likely he’d gone. I rested a couple of minutes, panting, then began again.
Bash—bash—bash—
The master apparently did give permission for me to be moved to wherever Del was because not long after my request, the door lock rattled. I knew how the game was played; I’d played it here before. I walked to the far wall, tossed the cot leg aside, and waited peacefully.
Hamzah first. Tariq next. Shackles and chains.
“Are you his favorites?” I asked. “Does he have you do any additional services for him other than catching people? You know—services.”
They were too professional to get angry. In fact, they looked almost bored.
“Take me to Del,” I said.
Tariq smiled. “We may just clear the room of all furniture, even the nightcrock. Then what would you do?”
“Yell. Want to hear me?”
Hamzah shook his head in mild disparagement. “We’ll take you to her. But if you try anything, you’ll never see her again.”
“Umir wouldn’t kill her,” I said sharply. “He’s never been that kind of man.”
“No, no,” Hamzah said. “I meant exactly what I said. You’ll never see her again. That does not necessarily require killing either of you.”
No, it didn’t.
I put out my hands. Hamzah locked shackles over my wrists again. The connecting chain was exceedingly short. “Try us,” Hamzah suggested.
I shook my head. “Just take me to her.”
They did.
Del was in what appeared to be the healer’s quarters. She was not in a cell but an alcove that adjoined a larger room containing cabinets of herbs, pots and bottles, rolled cloth, rolled paper, any number of other things I could not identify. A table was nearly as crowded with various items, including candles, oil burners, lamps. Herbs hung from strings stretched across the room. All of them lent the air an odd mixture of astringency, sweet spice, and something that made me cough.
Tariq and Hamzah stood on either side of me. A man came out from the alcove, a question in his face. He looked at them, then at me.
“He’s to stay with the woman,” Hamzah said. “Someone will wait outside the door. He’s a prisoner.”
The healer said in a surpassingly dry tone, “I rather assumed that when I saw the shackles.”
“Del,” I said curtly, staring at the man.
The healer made dismissing gestures to Tariq and Hamzah. “Go. Go. This is not a place for swords and knives. This is the place where I repair what swords and knives have done.” And before I could once again demand to see Del, he held out a beckoning hand, indicating the antechamber.
It was small, low, arched. A narrow cot was pushed against the wall. A lantern hung from the ceiling on a chain.
She lay on her back beneath two blankets, a pillow under her head. She remained very pale, but there was faint color in her lips again. I knelt down beside the cot. “Oh, bascha…I’m so sorry.”
The healer stood behind me. “Did you know she was pregnant?”
I wanted to stroke her head and hair, but to do so would likely result in shackles and chain striking her. “No,” I said. “She hadn’t told me. Will she be all right?”
“She lost a lot of blood. Did it come on suddenly?”
I related what physical insults Del had suffered, from the man sitting on her to the pommel pressing hard against her abdomen all the way to Umir’s from the oasis. And the blood when they took her down from the saddle.
The healer’s expression was grim. “It’s not unusual for a woman to miscarry. But the cause of this was probably everything that happened today. She needs rest, water, broths to eat.”
“Did they tell you she’s a prisoner, too?”
“I assumed it.”
I was disgusted. “And yet you willingly serve Umir.”
His face tightened. “You
had best be thankful I do, or I would not be here to render aid. You’d still be shackled like a beast, and she would be dead of blood loss.”
I bent forward, pressed lips against her brow. “Heal well, bascha. Rest well. There’s no need to leave just yet.”
The healer emitted a dry cough of a laugh. “You won’t be leaving until my master says so.” He paused. “My name is Wahzir.”
I turned from where I knelt on the floor, looked up at him. He was a small man, slight of frame, most of graying hair missing from the top of a brown skull. A beak of a nose dominated his face. His eyes were the rare shade between brown and green. Thin skin stretched tautly over pronounced facial bones. The robe he wore was of an excellent weave and weight, dyed gray-blue.
I restrained an angry response and swallowed back the taste of fear. “Will she live?”
“She should,” Wahzir replied, “but I make no promises. I do what I can do and leave the rest to the gods.”
The gods. The gods. Always the gods. I didn’t believe in them. But then, I’d never believed in magic, either. So, just in case, I asked within my head that the gods heal Delilah.
I moved to the end of her bed and propped myself against the wall there so I could watch her face. Shackles clinked.
Wahzir frowned. “Stand up.”
“What?”
“Stand up. The way you moved bothers me.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I’ve asked it. If you like, I’ll add a ‘please.’ Please get up.”
I got up. Ow. Wahzir moved behind me, set a hand on the small of my back right where my kidney was. Since I was only in dhoti and harness, I felt his dry touch. I winced.
“Well, you’ll be pissing blood for a few days.”
“I know that!”
“Or you’ll die.”
“Die?”
His tone was quite matter-of-fact. “Oh yes. You can die of a hard blow to the kidney. The organ rots inside you. It poisons the blood—”
“Stop,” I said, feeling queasy again. “I don’t need to know the details.” I moved away from the healer and resumed my place against the wall, upper body propped up as I sat. It stretched the insulted muscles in the small of my back.
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