by Amber Argyle
“How did you all really escape?” she asked Scand.
The old man studied her with his one good eye. “Sedun’s desire to keep his wine saved all our lives. Probably saved most of the village as well.”
Nelay leaned forward in the saddle. “I don’t understand.”
Scand let out a breath. “Most of the Clansmen were more interested in those jugs of wine than chasing after the villagers. It’s the reason Rycus let you all rest. Today, they’ll be hung-over. Tomorrow . . .” His words trailed off.
Nelay glanced back at Maran, wondering how she would react to the mention of her husband. The girl’s gaze was fixed on the ground and she would not look up.
All throughout the night, Nelay listened for pursuers. Her neck grew stiff from constantly looking behind them. They rode all through the next day. That evening, Rycus called for a halt. They hadn’t found any sources of moving water, but Bahar had located a wet patch of sand. Bahar and Delir went to digging it out while the other men started setting up camp.
Nelay’s back was so stiff she was unable to dismount. Rycus held his hands out for her and she practically fell into him. He helped her to the flat face of a tabletop mountain, where Maran collapsed beside her. She had started bleeding more heavily a couple hours before, soaking through every spare scrap of fabric they could find.
Havva had wanted them to stop and rest, but Maran had insisted she could go on. Now, the young woman was pale and listless. Havva went in search of more herbs while Nelay and Maran huddled together for warmth from the tavo.
After he’d started a small fire, Cinab brought Maran her son. The infant didn’t even stir from being passed from one set of arms to another.
“You best try feeding him now, or he’ll be up all night,” Havva said tiredly as she started preparing a tea from the herbs she’d found.
Nelay studied the baby’s round little face, the squinting eyes and the fluff of hair on his head. She couldn’t resist reaching out and brushing three fingers across the softness of it. “What is his name?”
“It would have been Sedun after his father. But now I will call him Concon, after my father,” Maran said.
Havva helped her unwrap her baby to wake him up. He started squalling as the cold night air touched his skin. Maran bared her breast, obviously too exhausted to care about covering herself. She had difficulty getting the child to suck, and her arms were so weak she could barely hold him. Bahar brought them stolen Clansmen blankets. Havva and Maran tucked one under him to help hold him. When he was finally sucking, Maran eyes grimaced in pain.
She grabbed Nelay’s hand and held it tight. “What am I going to do?”
She didn’t seem to expect an answer, but Nelay gave one anyway. “You’ll stay with us.” Going back to her coward of a husband was obviously out of the question, even if they could manage to find him.
When the child finally finished eating, the three of them wrapped up in the blankets, which were surprisingly warm and soft.
With Maran’s body curved around Nelay’s, suddenly all the barriers she’d built up between herself and the events of the last week came crumbling down. She saw the dead Clansmen in the mine, their empty eyes shining in the torch light. She felt her knife pop through muscle and bone to stop Dobber’s black heart. She heard the plopping of the wet dirt as it fell on Kalla’s body.
Nelay hugged herself. All that was left of her parents were bones and ashes. Her brother was missing. She might have failed to protect Kalla, but she swore then she would not fail these women, nor the men. She would see them all to safety, or she would die trying.
The next day they reached the main road, which was clogged with terrified Idarans fleeing the approaching army. Rycus gathered their group in tight, with the women in the center and his men on the outside.
Nelay would have resented being herded around like a sheep, but her body had been pushed past its breaking point for days, and each step the horse took brought fresh pain. Even though Nelay healed more quickly than most people, it still took time and rest. She would be no good to her brother in the shape she was in, so she determined to let Rycus take care of her.
As he did, she noticed how good he was at this sort of life. He talked of his family—of brothers and sisters and cousins—with the other men. Once she overheard him talking with Cinab about missing home. She began to realize she or Rycus would have to leave everything to be with the other. And she didn’t think either of them was the leaving type.
Over the next few days, Rycus discreetly handed out their extra provisions to other travelers who needed them most. A few times, men approached their group in the night, obviously intent on thievery. But whoever was on watch always caught them, and Rycus and his men responded with such a show of force and skill that the would-be robbers gave up almost before they’d begun.
Everyone took turns holding Concon as they pressed forward. On their fifth night, a ripple of fear came up from behind them. An advance guard of Clansmen was marching forward, taking Idarans to serve as tiams, and killing anyone who fought back.
Rycus studied Maran, who was still bleeding, though not as heavily. And Nelay, who did her best to hide her exhaustion, couldn’t disguise her bloodshot eyes. It seemed he could barely unclench his jaw to ask, “Are you two going to make it?”
Nelay gave a sharp nod.
“I will,” Maran managed.
Nightfall came, and with it the cold tavo wind from the mountains, but Rycus pressed forward. Concon cried frequently; it was hard for Maran to feed him while she rode. They pressed forward in the dark. The men watered the horses at every well and river they passed, letting them grab a few mouthfuls of scrubby grass where it grew in the shade.
Sometime in the night, Nelay made out a smudge of golden light. It grew in size by the hour until, in the darkest hour before dawn, she recognized the city of Dalarta, so far away she could cover it with her hand. It was the third largest city in Idara, its golden dome towers and white walls rising out of the most fertile fields in the Hansi Province. Two wide rivers flowed from the nearby mountains, and the Dalartans were experts at irrigation.
As the group drew closer they passed fields of grain, and orchards full of every kind of fruit and nut. People worked frantically in the fields, trying to bring in unripe crops before the Clansmen arrived and destroyed the country’s food supply. A few army patrols could be seen, offering assistance where they could.
Nelay’s gaze shifted back to the city. All the surviving residents of the Hansi and Shutar Provinces were fleeing here. If Nelay’s brother still lived, she would find him somewhere inside the gleaming walls of this city.
By midmorning, she was so tired she could barely sit in the saddle. Maran didn’t seem to be doing much better. The exhausted horses didn’t even twitch their tails at the flies anymore.
Nelay was shaken out of her stupor when Maran said, “Look.” She pointed behind them, her face ashen.
Twisting around, Nelay stood in the stirrups and covered her eyes to shade them from the sun. Far in the distance, she could make out tall towers rising toward the horizon. But they were moving.
“Siege engines,” Rycus said grimly.
“How far, do you think?” Delir asked.
“Half a day’s ride.” Ashar responded.
The men were unusually quiet, their faces void of their easy smiles.
Rycus pulled his horse to a stop, and the others followed suit. “Where are the rest of king’s armies? They could meet the Clansmen on open ground. Give the populace time to flee from the city so they’re not trapped if it falls.”
Scand growled his agreement, but no one had an answer.
Rycus leaned closer to Nelay to say, “We should press on to Thanjavar. It will be safer.”
“If my brother is alive, he is here. I have to try.” She glanced at Havva. “Besides, I promised Havva I would help her find her family.”
“I can’t risk my men in this war,” Rycus said grimly.
“Som
e of us are going to have to go back to the cistern and round up those people,” Scand added. “They’ll be out of food soon.”
Nelay considered telling Rycus to leave her. But her mind automatically tallied all the players on the field. Without him, her chances of success were dismal. And if she was being honest with herself, she couldn’t bear for him to go, not yet. “As soon as we find Panar, we can leave the city,” she said.
Rycus set his jaw. “Ashar, Bahar, ride ahead and let the people at the cistern know we haven’t forgotten them. Cinab and Delir, slaughter some of the scattered flocks closer to the border for food.”
Nelay’s heart rate kicked up and her palms began to sweat. He was leaving her. She should be relieved to say goodbye, since he didn’t fit in with any of her plans for her life. But she wasn’t relieved. She was heartbroken.
“Offer sanctuary with the tribes to any who want it,” Rycus went on. “The rest, lead to Thanjavar and collect your payment from Jezzel.”
Ashar twisted in the saddle and looked toward the desert, then turned back to Rycus. “You’re not coming with us?”
Rycus pursed his lips and shook his head. His five men grew very still.
Wait . . . he was staying? Nelay exhaled quietly.
“Rycus, you need to come with us before she gets you killed.” Scand’s voice practically vibrated with anger.
Nelay wanted to take Scand off his horse and shove sand in his mouth, but she kept still, knowing this needed to happen.
Leaning forward in his saddle, Rycus said, “You think I should just leave her to face this alone?”
Scand nodded toward the Idaran soldiers in the distance. “All she has to do is tell them who she is and she’ll be escorted back to that temple in her own personal caravan.”
“I’ll go back when I’m ready,” she ground out.
Scand made a cutting motion. “Your brother isn’t a quarter of the man Rycus is. He’s not worth dying over.”
“Maybe not. But I have to try—he’s my brother,” Nelay said, her voice hard. “He’s all I have left.”
“You can’t force me,” Rycus growled to Scand. “I’m going.”
Scand sat back in his saddle, seething silently. The other men exchanged looks before each of them rode even with Rycus and embraced him in turn. Delir rode close to Maran, and they stopped so he could hand her the baby. “I’m going to miss the little one.” He gave a sheepish smile before loping away.
Bahar paused beside Nelay. “It didn’t break you.”
She was tempted to ask whom he had lost, but she realized it didn’t matter. He’d loved the person. That’s what mattered. “Not yet.”
He nodded goodbye. They headed out in their familiar formation, Ashar taking the lead, with Bahar, Delir, and Cinab behind him. Scand made no move to follow them.
“Scand,” Rycus said in a warning voice.
He settled deeper in the saddle. “I’ve guarded you since you were a boy. I’m not leaving you now.”
“You have Sash and her children to look after,” Rycus said gently. “If you die they have no one.”
Scand dropped his head, but not before Nelay saw the tears filling his eyes. “Rycus . . .” he began.
“I’m not asking, Scand.”
The old man scrubbed his face with his hands and rode even with Nelay, his gaze searching. “The thing about men with power—they’re not used to being defied. And they’re not very forgiving. Let him go.”
Nelay stiffened, knowing he meant King Zatal and wondering how much Scand knew and how long he’d known it. But as she looked into his eyes, she saw genuine fear. And she realized he was right—Rycus wouldn’t survive long when the king found out about him, whether she was high priestess or not.
She gave an almost imperceptible nod.
Scand’s head came up and he rode past Rycus. “Remember what I said.” The old man turned back one last time. “Nelay, change your bandages as least once a day. And you need a few days of rest. Maran too.” He sniffled loudly. “Take care of yourself, Priestess.”
Nelay gave him a small smile. “You really are like a cactus.”
He grunted, jerked the horse around, and rode after the others. Rycus watched them go before whirling his horse around and nudging him into a trot. Nelay kicked her horse into a lope to catch up.
Riding beside him, she wanted to thank him for not leaving her. She wanted to tell him to go—that this wasn’t his battle. That they weren’t meant to be. But she didn’t know how, so she asked, “Who’s Sash?”
Rycus wiped his nose on his sleeve. “His brother’s wife. Now his. If he’d ever scrounge up the courage to take her.”
Burn it, trotting hurts my back. Nelay gritted her teeth. “What does that mean?”
“It’s a Tribesman custom that when a woman’s husband dies, her marriage contract shifts to one of her brothers-in-law or close kin. That way the women and children are always taken care of.”
Nelay thought it a strange custom, but then she remembered her family’s fear when her father had almost died during her childhood. Without him to provide for them, they could have easily starved. “What if the brother is already married?”
Rycus shrugged. “Doesn’t change his responsibility.”
“So the men have more than one wife?”
“Sometimes. And sometimes the men just provide for them, which is what Scand has been doing.”
Glad she wasn’t a Tribeswoman, Nelay looked back to see Scand and the others, who were now so far away she couldn’t tell them apart. Without these men, she felt exposed. She had come to trust them, for they were gentle and witty, and very handy with their swords.
When she and her small party finally approached the city gates, her apprehension continued to build. They were firmly back in Zatal’s territory. If the fairies had saved her life to turn her over, this was where they would do it.
The guards took one look at Rycus, still wearing his battered desert-tribe robes, and blocked his entrance. “What need has a Tribesman of the safety of Dalarta’s walls? We’re already crowded beyond capacity. Head east, into your own lands.”
Rycus motioned to the women. “I bring three Idaran women.”
“They may pass. You may not,” the guard said.
“I have sworn to see them to safety.”
“They are safe.”
“But—” Rycus began.
The guard folded his arms. “You’re not getting inside.”
Rycus hesitated before leaning down. “One of them is a priestess.”
The man’s gaze swung to Nelay. She shot Rycus a glare—if the fairies didn’t give her away, the smuggler would. She unclipped her veil and tipped her head to the side to reveal the tattoos on her face. “He is my personal guard.”
The man’s eyes widened, and he bowed.
“The other priestesses—” she began.
“They have already fled to Thanjavar, Priestess, as should you.”
Hopefully, that meant the fairies would have no one to communicate with in Dalarta. “The Immortals, are they within the city?”
“As of yet, they are still with the king in Thanjavar.”
Relief flooded through Nelay. If they hurried, she could be out of the city before the king or Suka could reach her. “Let us pass,” she said with authority.
The guard moved out of the way, his eyes averted.
Nelay kicked her horse until she caught up with Rycus. “My identity is supposed to be a secret.”
“Do you want to get inside or not?” he shot back.
They crossed under the thick stone wall, which gleamed from regular whitewashing. The view of the wealthy city slowly opened up. An enormous fountain pumped clear water from the underground cistern. This was strictly a drinking fountain, as evidenced by the carved stone tree at the center. Bathing fountains had statues of either men or women in the center.
Behind the fountain, the whitewashed buildings bore terracotta-tile roofs and wide porches to protect their inhabit
ants from the relentless sun. But this close to the main gates, there were mostly inns, with markets stalls in the wide spaces between buildings.
The king’s soldiers were everywhere. A team of horses strained against their harnesses as they maneuvered a ballista into position at the wall. Thousands of arrows were being hauled up to the battlements.
Just past the gate, crowds of people waited to be admitted into the city streets by several men and women on hastily built platforms. Nelay was glad for the horses, which kept people from pressing too close. She cast a glance at Rycus, who looked positively ill. “Are you all right?”
“This is why I hate Idara. Too many people in too small a place. But I’ll live.”
Holding her baby tight, Maran leaned toward Nelay. “Who are they?” She gestured to the people on the platforms.
Nelay pointed. “See their long tunics? They’re university students.” Children of the upper class who could afford to pay for specialized training in government service, medicine, arithmetic, engineering, geography, music, and astronomy. “The city lord must have conscripted them to keep track of people.”
Maran’s eyes widened. “I didn’t even know universities were available.”
“They’re not for poor people like us,” Havva said.
The new mother straightened. “I’m not poor.”
Havva shot her a look. “Compared to Nelay we are.”
Nelay snorted. After she was done paying for this little adventure, she’d be the poorest one here.
Finally, it was their turn to stand before one of the platforms. A student, his tunic suggesting he studied astronomy, looked over the small group without actually seeming to see them. “What province and city?”
“Sopora of the Hansi province,” Havva said eagerly.
He asked for their names. Only Maran and Havva gave him real ones. He finished writing them down. “All Soporans are asked to stay in the library courtyard. There is a fountain, but mind you don’t contaminate it. Latrines have been dug. Use them. And you are required to relinquish your horses.”
Nelay straightened. “But—”