Guardians of the Desert (Children of the Desert)

by Leona Wisoker

  “Now, that,” Eredion said, “sounds much more like a ha’ra’ha’s attitude.”

  Chapter Fifty-two

  As the light coming through the small window faded to black, Alyea began to feel just a little anxious. She sat in the dark, smelly room, her stomach rumbling, her bladder aching, and wondered why nobody had even come to taunt her, let alone rescue her.

  Deciding that if she didn’t at least get a chance at a chamber pot she would be sitting in thoroughly damp clothes, she drew in a breath and shouted, loudly as possible, “Hey! I have to piss!”

  Undignified, but true, and hopefully it would get a response.

  After far too long a silence, she heard the sound of something being dragged aside. Light limned the door in pale yellow; then the door opened, letting in a narrow wash of golden illumination. A short, dark-haired man looked in at her, his face sour. His dimly lit features reminded her, for a panicky moment, of the teyanain; then he moved his head further into the light and she saw his nose was far too stubby and his skin too pale to claim that lineage.

  “What makes you think we give a shit?” he demanded.

  “Because you’d have to clean up the floor and the chair. Please.”

  “You’re the one would be sitting in it,” the man pointed out, then shrugged and tossed a metal chamber pot on the floor near her feet. “Suit yourself,” he said over the rattling clatter of it settling square, and turned away.

  “Hey!” Alyea said. “That doesn’t do me much good if you leave me tied up.”

  The man looked back at her. She read the expression on his face and her heart sank; this was a man who loved little cruelties.

  “Is that so,” he said with feigned surprise. “Well, what do I get for letting you loose? You’re not stupid enough to think of attacking me, are you?”

  “Right now,” Alyea said breathlessly, “all I can think about is that damn chamber pot. Please!”

  “Oh, I like the sound of you begging,” the man said. He came closer. “I’ll have more of that.”

  “After I piss, I’ll beg you for whatever you want,” Alyea said. “Hurry up or you’ll lose that leverage.”

  “What a bargain,” he said, and stepped behind the chair. “I’m told you know some fighting, little girl. Don’t try it on me. I’ve been winning fights for longer than you’ve been alive.” The knots loosened. “And beyond that door are men who won’t hesitate to treat you very badly if you make it that far.”

  Little girl? She almost laughed. Clearly, he didn’t know she’d come home as a desert lord. That changed the situation considerably; but her bladder had to come first.

  She lurched forward, falling to the floor as limbs stiff from hours of motionless sitting gave way under her. Scrabbling for the chamber pot with one hand and at her clothes with the other, she abandoned all dignity for a few moments, fiercely ignoring the man’s presence.

  A knife point pricked the side of her neck.

  “Now you get up, nice and slow,” the man said. “Don’t bother with pulling your pants up. You can just step out of them and leave ‘em on the floor. You won’t be needing them for a while.”

  Alyea stood, kicked her pants aside, and remained still. The chill air raised prickles on her bare legs. “You don’t want to try raping me,” she said.

  “I don’t plan to try,” the man said, and chuckled. “See, the message we sent didn’t get any response. Nobody came to ransom you. So I’m guessing you’re just a whore of convenience for your friend, merchant Deiq of Stass. I always figured noblewomen to be sluts underneath the fancy talk; you’d sure have to be, to slum it with a merchant and walk around in pants like a man.”

  Her heart seemed to freeze in her chest.

  “We thought you’d be a useful way to get him to help us out,” the man went on. “But he’s not interested, which leaves you no good as leverage. Looks like you shoulda been better to him.”

  Deiq hadn’t responded? Had left her to fend for herself? A simmering rage began to build in her chest. So much for I won’t let anyone hurt you! He’d proven himself a faithless liar at the first real test. But she’d get free of this in a moment, and then she’d go throw him out of her apartments at the palace; she didn’t need his help, if this was how he reacted to real threats.

  He was a coward.

  “Leverage for what?” she asked steadily.

  “None of your business, sweetie,” he said. “Now—I think you promised me some begging. I’d really like to hear th—” He leaned in a little closer as he spoke, the knife shifting just a touch to one side.

  The last word died in a gurgle as Alyea swept out a hand, knocked the knife away, and slammed her other fist into his windpipe. Another blow, to a more critical spot this time, and the man sagged to the floor, blood drooling from his mouth, looking thoroughly astonished as he died.

  “Looks like you lost that one, sweetie,” Alyea muttered, yanked her pants back on, and headed for the door.

  The room beyond held five startled men around a long table, all rising to their feet and drawing daggers as she came through the door. She stumbled to a stop and stared at them, her whole body loose in shock.

  “Kam?” she said, unable to believe the sight of her pale, sneering cousin standing in the middle of the men in front of her. He’d always been something of an ass, but this? Had he known she was in the room beyond?

  She couldn’t think of anything, couldn’t see anything, except his face; she took another few steps forward, vaguely aware she ought to be thinking about something more important to the moment.

  A faint sound came from behind her, and she looked up sharply, suddenly remembering; realized she’d moved almost into the middle of the room, and far too close to the four men staring at her—

  Four? Where was the—oh, shit—

  Someone hit her from behind, and everything went black again.

  She woke tied to the chair again, just as securely as before, but this time she wasn’t alone. A lantern on a crate cast light enough to see three men sitting in the room with her, talking in low voices. They looked up as she stirred, their expressions grim.

  The body of the man she’d killed was gone. A dark blotch marked the floor where he’d lain, and a foul smell hung in the air. She was astonished they could stand it; her nose seemed thick with the scent, and she fought against gagging.

  “You can sit in your own shit next time, bitch,” said a thickset blond with a series of nasty scars down one cheek.

  She stared at them, worry turning to a nibbling fear; a bleak violence in their expressions spoke of a serious capacity for nastiness. The men behind that door won’t hesitate to treat you very badly, the first man had said; he’d been right. She began to wonder if killing the first man had done more harm than good for her chances of surviving this. They might not even care that she was a desert lord now; she suspected that information would just spur them to greater lengths to prove themselves against her.

  “What do you want?” she demanded.

  “Right now,” the scarred blond said, “you writhing in agony would be real good to me. Pity the boss wants you in one piece.”

  He held her gaze, his own stare flat and dead. A shiver ran up her spine.

  “Hey, I was just trying to stay alive,” she said, determined not to show her growing fear. “Can you blame me?”

  “For killing Seavorn?” the scarred man said. “Yeah. I can blame you real good for that. No hesitation at all.” He stood and crossed to stand in front of her. “You made things real bad for yourself, bitch.”

  “Don’t you want to try for that ransom again?” she said, desperate now.

  “No,” he said. “We know the merchant got the message. He ignored it. Another try won’t change that, and nobody else who cares about your slutty ass has the resources to do what we want. You’re just a toy for us now, looks like.”

  “My family—”

  “Doesn’t go past the Horn,” the scarred man said. “We don’t want money, b
itch.”

  She shut her eyes, understanding at last.

  “You want the drugs Pieas used to give you,” she said in bleak despair.

  “Smart,” he said, and hit her across the face, hard.

  Her head snapped to one side so hard she saw stars and felt an uneasy strain in her neck muscles; he’d almost broken her neck with the blow.

  “Smart little bitch.” He hit her again, from the other side; this time, her eyes open, she saw it coming and managed to roll with it a little. “Stupid little bitch.”

  “Hey, easy,” one of the other men said. “Boss wants her alive, remember?”

  The blond made no response to that. He stared at her, hands fisted at his side.

  “You killed him, I hear. You killed Pieas. Is that right?”

  She licked a split lip and glared up at him. “Yeah. I did.”

  “Must have been in his bed,” the man said. “You sure ain’t good enough a fighter to beat him.”

  “Good enough to kill Seavorn,” she retorted, and received another heavy blow in response.

  “He shoulda let you piss yourself,” the scarred man said. “I would have. Don’t think you’re better than me, bitch. You’re not. And you mouth off again, I’ll explain that without words. You won’t like the language I use, though.”

  Staring at the chill wildness in his blue eyes, she finally understood why Wian had been so afraid. These men were deadly.

  And far too well-spoken, for all the swearing, to be simple street thugs or dock rats. She licked her lips again, feeling the lower lip beginning to swell painfully, and said meekly, “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s better,” he said. “You’re getting the idea. Faster than that stupid little maid of yours did. Took me days to make her understand.”

  Alyea shut her eyes against a surge of nauseated sympathy for the poor girl. They said I had to work for them now, Wian had said, a strangely dead look to her eyes; and Alyea had never thought to ask how they’d secured her obedience. Now she knew.

  She’d held out for days? And, Alyea suddenly recalled, Wian’s prior master had been Rosin Weatherweaver . . . No wonder. What must Rosin have done to Wian, to make beatings by these men bearable for days?

  And Alyea had offered no compassion at all. Neither had Oruen, really. All they’d been able to see was the betrayal, not what might have caused it.

  Gods.

  She was just trying to stay alive, Eredion had said, more accurately than she’d understood at the time. Can you really blame her?

  Not anymore, Alyea thought as blood trickled from her split lip down her chin. I’m a desert lord, and I’m ready to piss myself every time I look at this man. . . .

  Hold on. I’m a desert lord.

  She remembered, belatedly, what Deiq had said: One of these days, that trick will save your life. She hadn’t believed him; but less than a day later it was being proven true. And against these men, she felt no compunction at all about twisting minds to her will.

  “What’s so funny?” the scarred man demanded.

  She caught his eye and held it, in the flickering light. “Kill them,” she said, very quietly, very calmly, and with absolute certainty that he would obey. Her stomach rolled in protest as if trying to turn inside out.

  He was strong-willed; she was stronger. His name, Cabe, came to her: and with that last key, she had him.

  “Cabe,” she said. “Kill them.”

  Cabe turned, a knife in his hand; a fast step put him up against the nearest of his companions, and the sharp blade slid sideways, deceptively graceful, over an unprotected throat a heartbeat later.

  “Cabe! What—shit, you’re witched!”

  The remaining man raised his own knife, not fast enough: Cabe’s blade drove up into his ribs, and two bodies sprawled, twitching, on the filthy stone floor.

  “Cut my bonds and let me go free.”

  As she stood, shaking cut ropes aside, Cabe stared at her, pale and shaken under the blood speckled over his face; then a smoldering anger began to burn in his eyes.

  “You’re a witch,” he said, pointing the knife at her, then dropped the weapon as if it burned him. “Nobody told us you were a witch. That stupid little shit Kam never told us that.”

  “I don’t think he heard the news,” she said, but the scarred man’s comment reminded her that she’d have to deal with Kam after this. She wasn’t looking forward to that confrontation. She considered telling Cabe that she wasn’t a witch, she was a desert lord; but that seemed too dramatic at this point.

  She let him die thinking she was a witch. It didn’t make any real difference.

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Deiq stood silently, his hands resting on the railing of the balcony, staring over the darkened city. Eredion stood beside him, equally quiet, patiently waiting; the two men understood each other well enough that no words were needed.

  They had stood like this for hours now. Courtiers seeking a private spot for gossip and intimacy came and went, most of them rather soon after their first glimpse of the two men. Servants announced the dinner hour and left without a reply.

  “S’e?” a light voice said behind them. A thin, dark-haired girl, her face heavily bruised, stood in the torchlit archway.

  “I’m looking for La—Lord Alyea. Do you know where she is? I was told you might know.”

  Eredion made a quick restraining motion, stilling the retort in Deiq’s mouth. He studied the girl with visible curiosity and said, “You’d be Wian, wouldn’t you? Her former servant.”

  The girl looked startled and not at all pleased with being recognized so easily.

  “Yes, s’e,” she said at last, then put a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry—my lord.”

  “She spoke to me about you,” Eredion said. “She was rather upset by discovering you’d been the one to get her damn near whipped to death.”

  Remembering the feel of those vicious scars under his hand, Deiq growled under his breath and took a step forward. Eredion put out a hand, touching Deiq’s arm with his fingertips.

  It’s not your place, the desert lord said. Alyea has the right, not you.

  Deiq swallowed back a building rage, admitting to himself that Eredion was right, and stayed where he was; but bent a hard glare on the girl all the same.

  She made a faint choking noise, her color fading, and dropped her gaze. “I know. I was wrong. I want to apologize to her, and warn her. It’s important, my lords; I really need to see her tonight.”

  “Warn her of what?” Eredion said, frowning.

  The girl hesitated, looking uncertain and flustered.

  “She’s already told me of your involvement with my nephew,” Eredion said roughly. “Is that what the warning’s about? Something to do with the asinine mess he left behind?”

  Wian covered her mouth with her hands, wincing back a step, then straightened.

  “Yes, my lord,” she said with surprising poise. Deiq regarded her with more respect; she had courage. “I’m afraid . . . I heard rumors, this evening. I think . . . I think that the people Pieas used to spend time with are intending to hurt her. If she spoke to you about me, then you know . . . I spent some time with them myself.”

  She blinked and glanced away for a moment, shivering a little. Deiq narrowed his eyes, his respect fading rapidly; the words were true enough, but her emotions ran cold contrast to the desperate act.

  “They’re very angry right now. It’s why I ran away and begged sanctuary from the king. They would have killed me. And the rumors I heard—I think, since I’m gone, they’re going to try to hurt La—Lord Alyea.”

  Watching her face closely, Deiq saw the faintest flicker of cunning: the slip over the title had been deliberate, aimed at garnering more sympathy.

  She went on, wide-eyed pathos drenching every word: “They’re very cruel, my lords. They wouldn’t care that she’s important.”

  “She’s also dangerous,” Deiq said sharply, out of patience with her stupid games. “If they
try laying a hand on her, she’s liable to rip it off. So be more concerned for your former friends than for her!”

  Wian backed up a step, her hands fisted at her sides now. “I’d be glad if she killed them,” she said with sudden, genuine passion. “I’d dance on their graves. But, my lord, these men are dangerous, too. Please don’t dismiss the threat!”

  Deiq felt a growl building in the back of his throat again. If not for this tharr, Alyea never would have been put in any danger in the first place; the whipping had been the beginning of a chain of events that had put Alyea where she stood today. And if Pieas’s friends put so much as a scratch on Alyea—

  “We’ll relay your concern when we see her,” Eredion said sharply. “Good night, Wian!”

  Wian bobbed a curtsey and left, seeming rather smaller than before, as though anguish and guilt had drawn her into a tighter package.

  Eredion snapped a finger against Deiq’s shoulder. “Stop it,” he ordered. “It’s not your damned business to get upset over this, Deiq. It’s Alyea’s prerogative to kill the girl, or dish out revenge.”

  Deiq turned away and stared out over the city again, rattling his fingers on the railing and trying to cool his temper. Eredion stood beside him, still and silent and suddenly thoughtful.

  “I’ve been a fool,” Eredion said at last.

  “Nothing new there,” Deiq observed pettily.

  Eredion didn’t rise to the bait. “I just remembered a report I read a while ago—I set Micru to following Pieas a few times.”

  Deiq shot him a sideways glance, his mouth pursing in reluctant amusement. “Dangerous,” he commented.

  “Not really,” Eredion said. “Micru is damn good at his job.”

  “I meant using Micru like that, right under Oruen’s nose.”

  “Oh, hells, Micru managed to get through Ninnic and Mezarak without being discovered as a plant; even Rosin never figured it out. Oruen only knows now because Alyea spilled it.”