Lira was mounted and riding in Branra's entourage, and Xashe and Rorluk had been reporting to the Lieutenant and were about to return to the point when Danaer arrived. They winked elaborately at Danaer as he saluted the officer and asked, "My lord, shall I resume my duties?"
Shaking her head. Lira silently expressed her disapproval, and Branra said, "Are you fit, Troop Leader?"
"Too fit to stay in those wagons. Lieutenant," Danaer replied, anxious to avoid more boredom and jouncing in the physicians' care. "I will regain my strength the sooner if I am active."
Branra waved to Danaer's apprentices, sending them forward. "I think they can serve us for now. You taught them very well. Without them, the caravan would never have found the landmarks through the Sink. Ride with my staff here. Troop Leader. You will act as liaison when Gordyan brings in more Destre."
It was not what Danaer had hoped, but it would keep him close to Lira, and he said, "Thank you. Lieutenant." At that, several of Branra's aides chuckled behind their hands, a thing that puzzled Danaer.
The nobleman noticed their amusement and told
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them sternly, "How could he know his error? He was gravely wounded when the change occurred." They muttered lame apologies as Branra explained to Danaer, "I am now styled Captain, not my design but General Ti-Mori's. She bids me take the rank and command of Siank's contingent on this trek."
He seemed ill at ease, and Danaer fathomed the reason. "Captain Yistar would be most pleased. He never scorned advance for true merit, only for political purposes."
"I shall strive to honor his memory, though a heavy task, that."
When the caravan moved forward again, Danaer fell in, riding by Lira's side. It was no proper position for a Troop Leader, and he knew Shaartre and the others would call him an idler and similar gibes. No matter. The reward was worth the friendly torment it would bring later. Stirrup to stirrup, he rode with Lira. They spoke impersonally, for there were many of Branra's staff close by them. Now and then Lira would turn and look to the east. Danaer sensed her sorkra talents in play. "Pursuit?" he guessed, and dreaded the answer.
"None." A slow smile rounded her face, and Danaer was glad to see much of her proper color and flesh restored. "It is working. He still has not probed for us. He thinks us broken, slaying each other."
"It might have been so, and the journey still will not be easy." Danaer squinted at the sun. "I doubt we can reach Vidik before nightfall tomorrow."
"My Lord Branra feared we would have to deal with more mirages and evil storms and stampedes that were only illusions."
"Your glamour has hidden us safely."
Lira sighed. "But it has been bad, all the same." The caravan was no longer such an orderly column, for many civilians and refugee Destre-Y accompanied the train in ragged groups. Many horses had been sacrificed to feed the people, and water was rationed. Under the concealing magic Lira cast above them, they crept toward Vidik, out of the Smk.
Often Lira would stare into nothing for long minutes, and Danaer took care not to distract her at such
times, aware of her need to shield them with enchantments, and to do this without aid from Ulodovol. She was dressed again as a boy, and Danaer suspected the clothes had been claimed from one of the dead. None could be squeamish about such things now. There was no dainty mare for her to ride or a sidesaddle to make her look the lady; only a rough-coated and dull-eyed black, a stolid and sturdy beast able to stand the privations of the trek better than many finer horses.
"I told the Captain what happened the night of the Markuand breaking through," Lira said after a lengthy silence. "About Chorii and the way Prince Diilbok has helped her—and she him, and Hablit as well, I think. We will have them all, in time, and I especially want her in my thrall. As soon as we reach Vidik and I can risk linking with my master, the Royal Commander will know the truth about them, too. He will arrest the Prince and that bitch. She should be torn limb from limb!"
Danaer said softly, "That is not like you."
"You are wrong, qedra. It is a part of me you have not seen. But I can be as a Destre woman, and my hatred for Chorii is strong. She is as evil as her Markuand conspirator, and she used you to try to hurt me. She will pay dearly for that."
"Her master was not invubierable, so she must have her weaknesses as well," Danaer encouraged her, much impressed by Lira's fieriness.
"Ai! Weakness. We have discovered one, Danaer— a most important thing." Despite the fact that others were about, she sought his hand and smiled. "You learned it, too. Silver, and the sacred glass of the deeps of volcanoes. I felt the power of the white metal and obsidian there in Deki, when Branra slew the Markuand's demon snake. Not his sword alone, but combined with the power of the Rasven amulet, it created a great counterforce for good."
"Magic from the smoking mountains," Danaer murmured. When Lira asked what he meant, he told her of Osyta. She insisted on hearing every detail of the prophecy then. Danaer was reminded of the time he had mentioned the ha-usfaen, and Lira's fascination
with that phenomenon. He had never thought of his people and their ways as a mystery. But Lira was genuinely interested.
"She was very wise, that old kinswoman of yours," Lira said when he had done. "I do not imderstand all of what you have said, though."
Danaer had veiled much of the story, and hidden some. "There . . . there were prophecies which concerned Argan's sacred law. Nothing to do with magic or the war," he apologized lamely.
She gazed at him questioningly, seeming to examine his soul. And she asked no more about the holy ways of the Destre, honoring Danaer's silence.
Once more she looked back to the east, probing another's presence now, and without the gentleness and concern she had used toward Danaer. Her expression was intent and wary, and only after a long while did she sigh and nod in satisfaction.
Though he had argued that he was fit, Danaer was grateful for the caravan's slow progress. His wound no longer pained him much, and he was recovering fairly quickly. Yet a full day's duty this soon after regaining his feet might have proved too severe a test.
Night fell, and still there was no Markuand attack, by weapon or by wizardry. No storms, no stampedes, no mirages. Lira's own strength was increasing steadily, and with it her confidence returned as well. Though separate from her web, she cast her spells expertly, hiding the column from unfriendly eyes. Her antagonist seemed nowhere about. Danaer remembered how Ulodovol had been prostrated by the attack of the demon beasts. He and Lira and Branra had done the same, with aid of silver and obsidian, for the enemy. For the moment, the caravan seemed comparatively safe and hidden.
The Wells of Ylami were far behind them, and the end of the Sink was near. Soldiers and civilians slept where they could in the cold desert darkness. Most were exhausted, but some woke often, tense and listening for evil winds or onrushing beasts where none should be. Nothing broke the natural quiet, though. Danaer had intended to stand guard outside Lira's tent.
but she had none. She was housed in a private area of Branra's staff pavilion, one of the few intact tents left. Branra and Lira both assured him she would be well guarded, and Danaer reluctantly gave himself over to sleep, wrapped in a blanket a dead man had owned.
With dawn, the creaking wagons that had withstood the rigors of siege and rout rolled toward Vidik, horsemen and many people afoot following. Once more Lira hid them from pursuit, neghgently, with only a part of her sorkra skills, another sign of her growing assurance. Often she chatted with Danaer or Branra, seemingly carefree.
Gordyan, too, spoke with them, riding in to confer with the nobleman on the progress of their motley groups. "Vidik lies not far ahead now," he told them past center-stand. "But it will not be the Vidik you remember. I have sent a message to Wyaela. By your leave, Lira. Do not be alarmed. It is word to give comfort to the Markuand wizard should he touch the messenger's thoughts—^for I warned Wyaela to abandon Vidik. We wUl take on water and food and push toward Siank with all sp
eed. But my messenger does not know the army will stop there. I have kept him in ignorance, deliberately."
"Abandon Vidik," Danaer said sorrowfully. "Deki, Vidik—all the bastions of Azsed are falling."
"We will win them back."
"That is so," Branra agreed. "And we will cleanse each city with Markuand blood and bring Destre-Y back into the fold of Krantin." He made no oath, for only once had Danaer heard Branra call on the gods. But his fierce tone made Danaer and Gordyan grin, deeming the officer a Destre in spirit, if not by birth.
"For now, I will keep my warriors well away from the caravan, and take in as many Dekans as I may. I will send the women with children to Sunt, to the south. They will be out of the way of battle then," Gordyan said. "And we will keep the appearance of being bitter enemies, shall we not?" With that, he kicked up his roan and rode back toward his scattered bands of warriors and refugees.
A candle-mark later, Danaer began to see smoke
billowing up on the horizon to the west. Forewarned by Gordyan, he knew what it meant, yet the sight cut at him. It was painful to see Vidik die.
Grassland was on every side now and the wagons rolled along briskly. The caravan had been brutally culled of weaker horses and men. Any wagons that collapsed were broken up and the wood carried along. Branra intended to deny any plunder he could to the Markuand. Dead were buried quickly, alongside the trail. Branra was callously practical, as he must be. He ordered bodies stripped of clothing and weapons. Prayers and grief must be short. Time was all-important.
It was not quite nightfall when they camped by the springs north of Vidik. On theii' left a pall of smoke drifted on the soft Vrastre wind, the sunset tinging the black cloud with spots of blood red.
There had been a flurry of excitement at sundown, for General Ti-Mori arrived with a small unit of her aides. She wanted to confer with Branra and deemed it worth the risk. Danaer had Hngered near the staff area when the women galloped up to meet the caravan's young commander. In Deki he had been daunted by the virago's manner; now he admired Ti-Mori's seat, for she was a fine horsewoman, Branra's equal in controlling her mount. Her elite guard, all female, came with her, encircling Branra's nervous aides. The General and Branra put their heads together, reaching decisions quickly. "Three units?" Ti-Mori asked intently.
"It shall be as you order. General, as the Royal Commander planned." Branra's tone was eager. "We will send forward all our wounded and the unarmed auxiliaries and civilians at dawn, with a skeleton escort. As soon as we are provisioned, we follow."
Ti-Mori grinned. She was not handsome, and most of her women were hard-featured, no soft females to inspire a man to flirtation. But at this moment Danaer was exceedingly relieved that Ti-Mori and her fanatical little army were sworn to defend Krantin. "Ai! And my units will turn back east. We will pick at the Markuand, who now cross the Sink. We will see how
they enjoy my game—like a shamming golhi-pup dragging one leg and leading the shta-hawk into the jaws of its greedy dam!"
"Leave some of them for our swords, or the Commander and the Destre will feel cheated," Branra said. Ti-Mori turned to talk to her women, and Branra glanced at Danaer and crooked a finger at him. "Seek out Gordyan and ask him to come. I would give him our news."
Danaer cast a sidelong glance at Lira, who was chatting with some of Ti-Mori's junior aides. Then he rode south, to where he knew Gordyan's Zsed would be, between the army's encampment and Vidik. The bright glow of the burning city gave him more than sufficient hght to pick his way along the streams and hills.
As he neared the Destre, no one challenged him. Danaer nodded in satisfaction. Deki was lost and Vidik dying, but now an army scout could ride into a Zsed and draw no sUng stones or lances in hostility. Argan had favored this joining of Destre and lit, as Gordt te Raa had prayed she would.
"It is the Azsed soldier!" Danaer recognized the man who hailed him as one of Gordyan's guards and asked after his friend. "He has ridden out to hurry in some laggards. Is it a matter of importance?"
"A message from Branraediir. And I would see my hyidu if I might. When think you he will return?"
The Destre held his fingers parallel to the horizon, against the sinking sun. "About a candle-mark . . ."
"Too long to wait." Danaer knew this was one of Gordyan's trusted men and relayed the message, then rode back to the caravan. When he arrived, one of Branra's staff took his report, saying the officer was occupied elsewhere. Danaer began to feel with some annoyance that he had lathered his mount to no purpose. However, the ride had tested his fitness well, with pleasing results. He still was fresh, despite the long day.
He dismounted and walked the roan to cool it, searching for Lira. By the time he found her, the horse was breathing easy and he let it graze a bit. A flap had been erected alongside a wagon, and Lira and two of
Ti-Mori's warrior women were talking there. Somewhat uncertainly, Danaer approached them.
"Is this your orderly, lady sorkra?" one uniformed woman asked, raking a calculating stare over Danaer. Her body was lean and muscular and her breasts were bound nearly flat beneath her tunic, her arms bare and scarred.
Lira laughed, but said a trifle sharply, "He has served me as an orderly, yes, and as a rescuer and confidant. But he is even more devoted to me in matters of the heart." At their displeased expressions, she added, "Do you begrudge me my appetites? I have not called your thirst for battle a dishonor to your sex."
They soon made their leave, marching as smartly as cadets new from The Interior. Guessing Danaer's thoughts. Lira said, "It is their way, and past changing. Most of their sort joined Ti-Mori when she defied her noble kindred and took arms, and at that time few of those women were much beyond their girlhood. They have never learned to be feminine in some things. But they are fearsome in battle."
"But when the war is at an end, these noblewomen and peasant girls will not be welcomed back into the castles and villages of The Interior, as warrior women would be among the Destre tribes."
Lira nodded and said morosely, "I hope the war will end, and that then there will still exist castles and villages m The Interior. When that time comes, Ti-Mori and her female soldiers must deal with their own lives." Her manner altered then. "But not all Destre women are warriors, I have heard. Many practice all the female arts, do they not?"
Before he could reply. Lira impulsively pulled his head down and greeted him with a passionate kiss. Pleasantly startled, he answered in kind. She drew hkn by the hand to a nearby knoll, where she had spread a piece of torn tent on the grass. They sat, and Lira put Danaer's arm familiarly about her waist and leaned against him. She was not wearing the uniform any more, but had wrapped a plain dark cloak about her small body, knotting it with frayed rope. It was not a pretty costume, yet to Danaer she seemed most allur-
ing. Despite her kiss, there was a tenseness in her voice and manner. "Your wound is well closed? You are moving as strongly as before that awful moment in Deki."
"Gordyan's herb-healer and the army's surgeons fought to see who could heal me more quickly, and I profited from both."
He kissed her again, but Lira was pensive. "I cannot tell you of my fears when I saw you lying in your blood and racked with fever, so that every breath you took brought pain to those who cared for you. It is a reprieve from the gods to see you whole again, qedra."
"Argan favors me, and I wear your amulet. What can harm me?"
"I ... I told you it was not sacred. But it is very powerful. It puts you under the protection of the sorkra Web, and in a way, whatever menaces the Web can menace you, through the obsidian."
Danaer's thoughts flew to times of terrible cold and blackness and things beyond an ordinary mortal's comprehension. "I have felt the touch of your magic. You speak as if / am a sorkra."
"Not precisely. But you have helped me when my Web could not, when I would have died without you. Can you not recall our combined wills when we sent the Markuand past saving?"
"Argan is the ruler of wil
ls," Danaer said, disturbed. Then he brightened. "But if this thing is will, it is truly sacred to Argan, a gift of the goddess."
Lira caressed his face. "Yet it cannot put off death. When you were hurt, I was sure the gods punished me for my cruelty."
"Cruelty?"
"I dreaded that I should witness your death and carry with me forever afterward that I had denied you
joy."
Danaer's wonderment was warring with stirrmgs of desire. "But it was Prince Diilbok's mistress, the witch, who controlled us both. I have no pride in the things I said that night.. ."
"That she put in your mouth. I should have been my own mistress and countered her evil charms. I will be
mistress, henceforth. She cannot part us now, nor put words on our Hps that are not our own."
"It seerns we were caught in her snares, you by your sorkra calling, and I..." Danaer trailed off.
"Ildate?" He was astonished, and Lira glanced away from him, not angry but seemingly much shamed. "Forgive me. When you were near death, I probed your mind to assure myself and Gordyan that you were still alive. It was impossible to avoid stumbling through the dreams of your fever. Are you furious with me?"
Once the idea of Lira's mind entering his own had revulsed Danaer. Now he found he was not shocked. Rather, it seemed a form of joining, as man and woman joined bodies. "I must ask you to not scorn me instead. I believed the witch and did not understand when you spoke of your sorkra oath. If I had not pressed you that night, perhaps the enemy wizards would not have breached Deki's walls."
"No, it was too late even then, their net too finely woven." Lira studied him carefully. "Then you are not angry? To tell the truth, I am very jealous of Ildate, for she has known what I have not."'
Danaer was delighted to find all Lira's reserve gone, and with it her Sarh primness. She said earnestly, "I would not deny you now, or deny myself. I have learned a bit of the Destre customs. Let me pledge myself to you and to your goddess, as the plains women do with the men they favor. I will sacrifice to Argan." Apparently Danaer's silence worried her, for she exclaimed, "Is there some Azsed ritual I have overstepped? Tell me if I offend some secret of your tribes, and—"
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