Someone in the crowd made a noise like a camel right before it spits, and a scuffle broke out in the crowd. Kalim’s attention whipped around at once, and I took a step in front of Thom, putting a hand on Kalim’s knife in my belt.
“Is that—is that Rook?” someone asked in a weedy little voice that was all too familiar to me by now. “I say, this is highly inappropriate. I’ve already told you I don’t plan to escape. Where would I go? I haven’t the slightest idea where we are! I merely wished to investigate whether—Oof.”
The scuffling died down, and I could only hope it was because someone’d seen fit to wind that little weasel with an elbow to the gut.
“Geoffrey,” Thom said, though he didn’t sound particularly happy to see him.
Kalim’s face darkened like he’d passed under one of the shadows from the statue. “Rakhman,” he said, spitting into the sand. “Your trial will have to wait a little longer. For now, we have men’s business to discuss.” Kalim raised his voice and started yelling at his other men, all of whom straightened up quick and stopped picking their ears or muttering to each other.
It was the same trick Adamo’d had. Raise your voice loud enough, and even the meanest sons of bitches couldn’t pretend to have cloth ears.
“I wish I understood what he was saying,” Thom confessed, standing at my elbow.
“Probably just getting ’em all pumped up to go and take back what’s rightfully theirs, all that good stuff,” I reasoned. “You hear one speech like that, you’ve heard ’em all. ’Sides, you majored in enough useless shit for one person. Gotta leave some for the rest of the idiots.”
“Well,” Thom said, with a look on his face like he knew something I didn’t. “It wasn’t entirely useless.”
I didn’t have time to ask him what he meant by that, since the desert riders were cheering again. Same as in Volstov—same as everywhere—that meant the proclamation was over and it was time to get to work.
Kalim turned back to us with a sheen of sweat covering his face. He was grinning like a mad dog.
“We will take the day to formulate a plan,” he told us. “Then, when night falls, we will hunt down the man who has stolen my right to succession. We will fight like honest men, even though he has forsaken that right, and there I will win. Then we will take from him this…what the witch named dragonsoul.”
“Sounds like a good plan to me,” I told him. “You got any ideas of where to start looking?”
Kalim nodded, the smile slipping from his face. “The leader of this tribe does not live off the desert, as we do. He finds it too taxing, perhaps, or the rewards too small. Much easier to take from those who are weaker than he, I believe is the philosophy he’s undertaken. He has become a lazy man who steals what he needs from others instead of earning it for himself. Therefore, he spends much of his time on our land’s borders, near the mountains, where the terrain is not so rough and there are many little villages.”
“Bandits, huh?” I asked, rubbing at the handle of my new knife again. Thremedon was too well protected to ever have a problem with bandits, but there were always men like that. Their attitudes were the same, no matter what you called them.
“That is not a word I recognize,” Kalim admitted, scratching his chin in thought. “But I can tell by the look on your face that it is a just perception.”
The other nomads had started to clear out of the center of camp—probably because it was in an area less protected from the sun. One of them had been charged with the responsibility of keeping Bless trussed up like a holiday goose, I saw, and I felt nothing but sympathy for that poor son-of-a. They could’ve at least taped Bless’s giant gob shut for him. Though maybe it was easier to tune that noise out when you didn’t understand what the fuck he was saying. Bless had a peeling sunburn on his nose and sand stuck to his cheeks. He looked worse than Thom ever had, and the desert was supposed to be his thing. Fucking rat bastard didn’t know what he was doing, and it was a good thing Thom and I hadn’t let him fuck us two ways the way he’d fucked himself.
“Come,” said Kalim, starting off toward one of the tents and clearly expecting us to follow. “Men cannot strategize on an empty stomach.”
“You’ve got an excellent point there,” Thom agreed, practically mowing me down in his sudden eagerness to pick up the pace. I was starting to think he had a hollow leg—either that, or he was sweating the pounds out just as quickly as he packed them on—but either way, it was mind-boggling to watch him go at it. Made sense that a Mollyrat’d still be hungry, all these years later, even after getting the hell out of Molly in the first place.
One of the desert riders held a tent flap open for Kalim, and he ducked inside, followed by Thom, with me bringing up the rear.
It was real posh inside, even better than a room at Our Lady, because it didn’t have any pretenses. Instead, it stank of camel and leather and sweat and sweet incense on top of that, a few cushions thrown here and there, some soft skins tossed around. No chairs or tables or anything like that, but at least it wasn’t flopping down on hard ground. This was more than just a makeshift tent in the middle of nowhere to keep the sun off your face. This was Kalim’s version of a palace and we were living like kings now—or at least like princes.
“What is mine is yours,” Kalim said. And then, with a wink, “At least, for now.”
“Yeah, we’ll see about the rest,” I promised him, and took a seat when he gestured we should make ourselves comfortable. I took a big pillow next to a group of smaller ones, which Thom gratefully sat down at, and then a few young boys brought in trays of dried-up fruits and milk that smelled a little too much like goat for me to get too comfortable after all.
“Drink, eat,” Kalim offered. “My strategists will join us.”
Thom didn’t have to be told twice, and I had to start eating just so there would be something I could get my hands on—there wouldn’t be anything left over if I let Thom at it first. I guessed it was only polite to be all Mm, delicious when a man like Kalim was giving you the delicacies of his homeland, so we tucked in real good.
While we were eating, the men in question joined us: only three of them, one old and one a little too young and the third one dark and scarred and grinning like it was his birthday. I liked the third one the best, but only because he reminded me a little of Ghislain. They didn’t look alike, mind, but they had the same happy attitude in the face of danger, and it felt good to work in a group again, instead of just a team.
“This is Bakr,” Kalim said, indicating the old guy, “and Jabr,” meaning the one who was barely out of his diapers. “And this is Abbas; he is our enemy’s brother.”
“Hello!” Abbas said proudly.
“That is the only word he knows,” Kalim confided, “but he is ruthless as a lion, from which he draws his namesake.”
“Hello,” Thom replied helpfully, around a mouthful of wrinkly nuts. “Can we…you know, I mean, if we intend to fight his brother…”
“He swore a blood oath to me,” Kalim explained. “The penalty for betrayal is death, and besides! Our enemy is my brother as well, but this does not slow my hand!”
I snorted—guessed there was some guy out there hoarding all the women, but that was okay. I was all bluster right now; hadn’t been with one since I started traveling. Just wasn’t in the mood, and I was glad there was nobody around to notice it, save for Thom—who wouldn’t’ve noticed it unless it danced up to him dressed like a sweet prune with a side of cool yogurt. Sometimes you had to mourn somebody more important than all that, and I guessed this was probably less embarrassing than wearing a black band around my arm and a dark shawl over my head sobbing at funeral pyres and praying for forgiveness, or whatever it was rich wives did for their dead husbands.
Man, but Have’d be laughing at me if she could’ve known what I was thinking.
“So,” I said, “any specific plans, or is it just kick ’em where it counts and take what we came for?”
This wasn’t the technic
al talk Kalim could understand. He struggled over where it counts for a moment, then turned to consult, in his own language, with his advisors. No matter where you went, even in the desert, there was still all this discussing to trip up any man in power. Sure, three men, one who was clearly bell-cracked lion-wrestling crazy, wasn’t exactly the same as having to talk to everyone in the bastion and the Basquiat before you could put a rule through, but in principle it was totally the same concept. I felt bad for everybody, except not for th’Esar, who was number one right now in my shit-book—the only book I’d ever write or read, ’cause I kept it all up inside my head where no one could touch it.
“Shall we consult among ourselves?” Thom asked.
“You got yogurt on your face,” I told him.
“How embarrassing,” he replied, hurrying to wipe it off.
I wished he was a kid or an adult, not this in-between monster I had to take care of but who kept insisting he could take care of himself. I’d never been like this, and if I couldn’t understand it, I sure as hell couldn’t explain it.
Then again, there were a lot of things John’d been through that Hilary hadn’t—I could only assume based on the way Thom was acting—and it wasn’t like I wanted him to know the things I knew. Better for everyone that he didn’t. I guessed I couldn’t help it, being angry, and one day it’d stop, if we were lucky.
“We don’t know anything about the desert or how to fight on camelback,” I said, snorting at myself. “So I think we’d better leave this one up to the professionals.”
“I’ve studied a few major desert campaigns, actually,” Thom said slyly. “Remind me to tell you about them sometime.”
“Now if only we could put that knowledge toward something useful,” I said.
“It’s possible,” Thom sniffed. “Once we see what their plan is, in any case.”
“You’re bad at bluffing,” I told him.
“Don’t be a bitch,” he replied.
We were really getting something going—a kind of rhythm that I didn’t actually hate—when Kalim cleared his throat and we both turned our attention back to him, probably wearing about the same face, like excuse you and what the hell do you want and a little bit of we were fucking talking.
“I do not mean to interrupt,” Kalim said, crouching down to enjoy some of his own food, “but my friends wonder about your ability to participate in this fight.”
“Don’t worry about me,” I said. “I can take care of myself.”
“I understand that,” Kalim replied. “It is not you about whom they are concerned.”
We both turned to look at Thom this time, who colored and wiped at his cheek. All the yogurt was gone, but I wasn’t gonna tell him that now or anything. Wasn’t the time for it.
“I see,” Thom said.
“He’s right,” I added flatly. “You can’t even stay on that thing, much less do it while people’re fighting. You’re not ready for it.”
“I don’t want to be left behind either, Rook,” Thom began.
I shook my head. “No way,” I said. “I’m not letting you.”
“Aha, this is a matter for personal discussion,” Kalim noted, scooping some yogurt up with a piece of flat bread and chewing thoughtfully. I wished that Abbas guy would stop staring at me, but I wasn’t going to start anything with our allies; I was put out but not fucking stupid. Save all the fight for when it counts, Adamo used to say, and I was finally starting to understand the strategy. “I will let you two discuss this matter, brother to brother. I merely wished to explain that we would not be able to account for someone who is not trained in battle.”
“We don’t do that in Volstov either,” I told him. “Don’t worry, he’s not coming, and that’s that.”
Thom’s face was mottled and mulish, and I knew I’d catch hell about it later, but for the time being the matter was settled. Thom’d only hold us back when we were fighting, and I knew I’d lose sight of the real prize if I had to keep my eye on him while trying to learn this new way of warfare. Not a war exactly as I knew it, but a battle nonetheless, and I wasn’t going to flake out on it or do it half-assed just because it wasn’t my usual.
Just hoped my camel was up to it.
She had a lot to live up to.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MALAHIDE
The circumstances were not ideal. Nonetheless I had to come up with the bare bones of a ceremony, trading in a magic I did not entirely understand, to impress a group of bandits with whom I could not entirely communicate. The site of this battle was Madoka herself, and Badger was leveling looks my way that were extremely distracting. For example, it was clear that if I did something to harm her, he was going to kill me—or at least try.
Little did he know that the last thing I wanted right now was for Madoka to be harmed.
I was not the magician who had done this terrible thing to her in the first place, nor was I some new mongrel who desired to further her troubles to benefit my purposes. She was useful to me, yes, and never more useful than she was now, but I was not about to employ her very body to her own detriment.
I had a great deal at stake at the moment as well. Because of my own twisted sense of compassion, I had bartered my life with the nomad leader, whose name, I had come to understand, was something that sounded like Abbud. He thought it quaint that I referred to him as “leader” in his own language, and requested that I continue to call him that. Embarrassing as it was, I acquiesced and deigned to flatter his rampant ego, for he held all the cards at present in our little game, and a bit of flattery never hurt anyone, when used with discretion and care.
In any case, on the chance that this little plan of mine did not go as I was hoping, then it would be my life on the line alongside Madoka’s. That should cheer Badger up somewhat; at least he would be able to see me held accountable for my own actions.
However, I did not intend to allow things to progress in this fashion.
I would have assured Badger that matters were less dire than they appeared, but I could not afford to be seen as consorting with my allies to put one over on Abbud. The only person with whom I could consult was Madoka, and I was grateful for the language barrier between us and our captors.
“So you’ve got a plan?” Madoka asked.
She was looking, as Nor would have said, quite shitty indeed. Her skin was pale, her eyes rimmed with bruises, and I was reluctant even to look at her arm, since there was nothing more I could do for her, and to see the extent of her condition would have sobered me beyond the point of inspiration. It was best if someone was allowed to keep their wits about them.
“There, there,” I told her, trying to be helpful. It was not within my nature to be gentle unless it was completely necessary—and even then, a sense of urgency destroyed all true gentleness. Madoka saw through me—not completely through, I hoped; there were still some secrets I wished to keep as mine and mine alone—and she scowled at me. If only she and Badger would just accept my assistance and come to hate me later on, when my actions actually warranted it! “I do have a plan,” I continued. “I intend to stage some manner of ceremony.”
“Great,” Madoka said. “That’s great.”
“And, as you may have suspected, you are the guest of honor,” I concluded. “It is a pity that I don’t yet know myself what this ceremony is.”
“Oh,” Madoka said. “This is getting better and better.”
“Don’t be cross,” I told her, and then, for further reassurance, “I am working on it as we speak.”
That, in any case, was entirely the truth. I was still in the process of cobbling together something appropriately bizarre that would at once be believable while working to our advantage. These men wanted to see a witch draw out the full potential of the magic they had so clearly stolen, and I needed them to be dazzled enough—not to mention cowed enough—by our little show that we were able to sneak the prize in question entirely away.
“I’ve told them I need to prepare you,” I expla
ined. “Or that I need to reverse you—I’m really not certain either way. But any confusion of language might work to our benefit. It lends to the air of mystery, don’t you agree?”
“Don’t know what to say,” Madoka said. And then, a little quieter, “I have to go near that thing again, don’t I?”
“Most likely you do,” I admitted. “I can make no promises, either. You saw the place where that compass of yours fits, did you not?”
“Guess I did,” Madoka said, and I was impressed once again by her resolve. There were not many women—or even men, I’d wager—who would’ve overcome their own pain in order to notice a small detail like that.
“So you admit that the best course of action is to use that as our ‘magic’?”
“And just hope for the best?” Madoka asked. She wasn’t exactly impressed by the clumsiness of the plot, and I couldn’t entirely blame her for that. I was asking a great deal of her; everyone was. And even if she was as strong as a bull, even a bull would have stomped his hooves and protested a burden of this weight. Any lesser woman would have given up days ago, sat down in the sand, crossed her arms over her chest, and refused to travel any farther.
“And just hope that your hand isn’t torn off, that these bandits do not cut it off, that something significantly magical happens to assuage their desire for showmanship, and that we are able to run away with that thing—Badger will have to carry it, of course—before we ever come to cope with this issue of a ceremony in the first place,” I concluded. “We shall have to convince our friend out there that you must be alone with this piece in order for the magic to work. So the act you must put on while I attempt to translate for you…It must be consummate.”
“Oh,” Madoka said, looking startled. “So I don’t have to go through with the whole hoopla?”
“Hopefully not,” I said. “We must find a good piece of wood and knock upon it for luck.”
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