Rider's Revenge (The Rider's Revenge Trilogy Book 1)

by Alessandra Clarke

  What had she gotten herself into?

  Chapter 17

  K'lrsa awoke a short time later to the sound of more horses and men arriving.

  "Hiya. What do we have here?" a new voice called.

  K'lrsa forced herself to sit up. One of the newcomers was the man from her vision, the scar across his face even more sinister in real life. He rode a beige desert pony and wore baru hide pants and a shirt woven of some lightweight fabric she'd never seen before; he was imposing, clearly the leader even though he was small and stocky.

  Behind him, long black hair blowing in the breeze, shirt half-open exposing his skin to the harsh sunlight, and riding a black stallion completely unsuited to the desert, was G'van.

  K'lrsa felt a moment of hope. G'van would save her. She wouldn't need to be taken as a slave, wouldn't be used by these men for their "entertainment."

  "G'van," she croaked, waving her good arm to catch his attention. "I'm so happy to see you…"

  Her words trailed off as G'van stared down at her, a sneer on his face like she was a piece of manure he'd found on his perfectly polished and absolutely impractical black boots.

  The other man turned to him. "You know this girl?"

  "I do." G'van smiled at her and K'lrsa suddenly felt more in danger than she had with the two brutes that had found her.

  "And?"

  He shrugged. "She's no one. Desert trash. I'll take her until we reach Crossroads and can sell her off at the nearest brothel. You can have the profit."

  Barkley snorted. "Like she'll make it to Crossroads if you take her."

  G'van glared at the man, but Barkley ignored him, focusing his attention on the leader. "Harley, she has one of those stones around her neck. And look at her horse. That's the finest horse I've ever seen. The gadja bastard's lying to you. As usual."

  Harley jumped off his horse and came to kneel in front of K'lrsa, staring intently at her moon stone. "What's your name, girl?"

  She was still shaking from the thought that G'van would sell her to a brothel. He was supposed to be a leader of his tribe and instead he was a vain, malicious…

  "I said, what is your name?" he asked again through gritted teeth.

  K'lrsa blinked, bringing herself back to the moment. What should she tell him? She didn't see how it would matter one way or another who she was, so she answered with the truth. "K'lrsa dan V'na of the White Horse Tribe."

  Harley's eyes narrowed and he looked at G'van once more. "White Horse Tribe? Is that so?"

  "Yes." She noticed the look, but was so tired she didn't care. She just wanted to lay down and maybe sleep for a week or two.

  "And what is this, K'lrsa dan V'na of the White Horse Tribe?" He reached for her moon stone, but it glowed red and he snatched his hand back before touching it.

  She shook her head, trying to stay awake. "It's my moon stone."

  "They're rare, aren't they? They mean something in the tribes?"

  She shrugged and glanced at G'van. How much had he told these outsiders? How much could she hide from them? She settled for the truth, but a very simple version of it. "I'm a first daughter of a first daughter going back to the founding of the tribes. All first daughters have one. As all first sons have sun stones." She yawned and leaned against Fallion, closing her eyes.

  G'van was a first son, but he no longer wore his sun stone. Maybe now she knew why—because he was so far from being a member of the tribes that it would burn his cursed skin.

  Either that or it interfered with his vanity. A little stone disc was too boring for a man like G'van. He needed gaudy stones and silks.

  She smiled slightly as her head lolled to the side.

  Harley grabbed her chin and examined her face, turning her head to each side. "She'll look good once she's cleaned up. Kilgore knows, at this point almost anyone would look better than that northern princess we bought. We'll be lucky if that one survives until Crossroads."

  K'lrsa forced herself to open her eyes and watch as Harley rubbed at his face, nodding quietly to himself. "What do you think, Barkley? Can we create a desert princess out of this one?"

  K'lrsa laughed softly and mumbled, "There are no princesses in the desert."

  Harley glared at her, his black eyes as sharp as a knife. "Would you rather be G'van's plaything? Or be passed around the men guarding my slaves?"

  She flinched away from the cruelty in his eyes. "No."

  "Then if I say you're a desert princess, you'll be a desert princess. And you will proclaim to anyone and everyone who wants to hear it that you are a first daughter of a first daughter of a first daughter and that this makes you special and valuable. Is that understood?" His voice lashed her like a whip.

  "Yes." She curled back against Fallion, wishing she'd never left camp to find her father.

  "Good." Harley stood. "Bring her and the horse back to camp. And hands off until I say otherwise." He stared at Reginald until the man nodded and lowered his head. He then turned his attention to G'van who met his stare, his face as flat as stone.

  Harley held G'van's gaze for a long, tense moment and then shook his head and mounted his horse, riding off without looking back. G'van and Reginald trailed along behind him.

  Barkley walked over to her.

  "You can ride with me." He picked her up as if she weighed nothing and threw her over his horse's back. K'lrsa bit back a cry of pain as the movement jarred her wound. Fresh blood seeped through the bandage and ran down her arm.

  Fallion struggled to his feet and followed along behind them as Barkley led his horse after the others.

  "Where are we going?" K'lrsa asked as the horse made its slow way up the nearest sand dune, its feet digging into the soft sands as the sun moved higher into the sky.

  Barkley walked along effortlessly as if the sun wasn't beating down upon them like a hammer. "Crossroads. We'll sell off most of the slaves there and then continue on to wherever Harley deems best."

  "How far away is that?"

  He shrugged. "A week or so. Depends on how many slaves he's willing to lose on the way. Faster we go, more we lose. Slower we go, more supplies it takes, less time we have to make another run before winter sets in."

  K'lrsa shivered at the memory of the slave in her vision who had fallen and never risen again. She couldn't imagine anyone thinking that even one life was an acceptable loss, but it seemed these men did.

  And she was now their captive.

  What a fool she was.

  "Is Crossroads where the Daliph is?" she asked as they made their slow way down the other side of the dune.

  Barkley laughed, a rich, warm baritone at odds with his size. "Crossroads? No. The only things you'll find in Crossroads are slaves, taverns, and whorehouses."

  She glanced towards the distant mountains. "So where is the Daliph?"

  Barkley shook his head. "Don't you know anything, girl? He's in Toreem." He glanced at her and added, "That's two weeks' ride past Crossroads."

  Three weeks then.

  She could do that. She could survive with these men long enough to reach Toreem.

  As if reading her mind, Barkley added, "The likes of us don't go to Toreem. We do our trek across the desert, get our slaves, bring 'em back, sell 'em, blow our money on beer and women, and do it all over again." He laughed even though K'lrsa didn't see how what he'd said was that funny.

  As she watched Fallion stumbling along beside her, limping slightly, she wondered what she'd done.

  Why hadn't she just gone back to camp? Why hadn't she followed the Lady Moon's advice? She'd be safe and whole and so would Fallion. They could hunt together, riding across the plains, the wind streaming through their hair…

  She shook her head at her own foolishness.

  That was just a dream, a memory of a day she'd never know again.

  Up ahead, Harley and G'van were in the midst of a heated discussion, both gesturing angrily as they almost shouted back and forth.

  Reginald rode back to them, a wicked grin on his fa
ce.

  "What's going to happen to me?" K'lrsa asked, not actually expecting an answer.

  Barkley shrugged. "Not sure. Harley thought he'd bought a northern princess on this trip—skin as pale as milk, hair the color of the sun. He was going to take her to Boradol and sell her to a specialty place that pays a premium for unique women. But she didn't handle the desert sun well. Now she's all scarred and ugly. Will be even if she survives. So, now?" He shrugged again. "Maybe Harley will take you to Boradol instead."

  "As a whore?" she asked, shocked.

  Reginald laughed, the sound low and mean, as he pulled up beside them. "Girl, it doesn't matter where you go from here. Crossroads or Boradol, you're going to be spreading your legs to make someone money sooner or later. Only difference is that in Boradol the men bathe more often."

  "At least in Boradol she won't have G'van as a customer," Barkley growled, glaring ahead to where Harley and G'van rode, still arguing.

  Reginald spat to the side and nodded. "There is that."

  She wanted to ask what they meant, but didn't dare. She was already scared enough.

  Instead, she spent the rest of the ride trying to calm herself and ignore the images that flashed through her mind.

  She'd chosen this path knowing it wouldn't be easy.

  She had to ride it no matter the outcome.

  Chapter 18

  As they crested the third sand dune, the trading caravan came into view. It sprawled below them in a wide space between dunes tall enough to cast shade for the men and horses.

  The slaves huddled together at the left end of camp, so close together they looked like one giant creature composed of hundreds of moving arms and legs. Two men guarded them, but were more focused on their card game than their human cargo. Probably figured the intense midday heat and threat of the desert would keep the slaves from trying to run, and they were right. None of the miserable human beings huddled together in that small patch of shade showed the slightest interest in anything.

  Next to the slaves a series of tents formed a rough circle around one larger tent, the fabric of each so gray and weathered they blended into the desert. They were old, but sturdy, with few patches. To the far right of the camp, in the deepest shadows, two more tents stood by themselves. Resting on the ground next to one of the tents was the cloth contraption she'd seen strung between the camels in her vision—bright red and yellow, the only color in the entire camp.

  Two women sat in front of the other tent. One watched them approach with narrowed eyes and a sour expression. She was old, her lips stained red from chewing bitter root; she had the dark hair and eyes and the light brown skin of a woman of the tribes. She sat on a small stool, a cookpot simmering on the fire before her.

  As they came closer, K'lrsa saw that her ear was cut at the top, marking her as a slave. She wore loose pants and a long-sleeved top—trader clothing.

  The girl next to her was so thin she looked like she'd break from a glance. Most of her skin was covered with lightweight bandages; the few patches of skin visible around them were a bright red that looked painful even at this distance. Her hair was a pale yellow, almost white. It hung across her face in matted clumps.

  K'lrsa couldn't help but stare—she'd never seen anyone like her. As Harley and G'van approached, the girl curled into herself, hugging her knees tight to her chest.

  The old woman gestured and the girl fled to the other tent.

  "Lodie." Harley stared down at the old woman from horseback, his jaw clenched tight.

  "Harley." She almost smiled as she spit bitter root at the feet of his horse, the red fluid dribbling down her chin like blood. K'lrsa remembered the grel feasting on L'ral's body, their beaks dipped in blood, and shivered.

  "Tend the girl and the horse. They're injured."

  K'lrsa squirmed as the woman studied her, wanting anything but to have that woman's cold gaze weigh and assess her.

  Lodie nodded, but she didn't move from where she sat. "That it?"

  Harley's horse danced under him and he grimaced. "Check to see if the girl is pure. G'van thinks she may be. If so, we'll get a higher price for her."

  Lodie spat again, the liquid landing at the feet of G'van's horse this time. "Betraying your own now, are you? How am I not surprised."

  "Shut up, slave." G'van rode his horse closer and raised his hand as if to slap her.

  Instead of flinching away like K'lrsa expected, the woman stood slowly, her gaze never leaving G'van's. She was tall, taller than any woman K'lrsa had ever met. She grinned at G'van, her teeth stained red from the bitter root. "Turned you down, did she?" She turned her back on G'van. "Smart girl."

  Before G'van could go after her, Harley grabbed the reins of his horse and pulled him back. "Leave off, G'van."

  Barkley pulled K'lrsa off the horse without even asking and dropped her by the fire. Before she could say anything, Lodie was at her side, poking at her bandage.

  K'lrsa scrambled away. "I'm fine. Please, look at Fallion first."

  Lodie turned to Harley, one eyebrow raised in question.

  He shook his head. "Desert fools are all alike. Fine. Tend to the horse first, but don't let the girl die." He turned his horse away. "G'van. With me."

  G'van rode his horse forward another step towards Lodie, but Barkley stepped between them and stared him down, arms crossed.

  "G'van!" Harley called. G'van reined his horse around, pulling too hard so the horse cried out and reared up slightly.

  Lodie shook her head and muttered something K'lrsa couldn't hear as she watched him leave. When Harley and G'van were far enough away, she turned to Barkley. "You can go now."

  He hesitated. "Are you sure?"

  "Yes, I'm sure, you big lug. The girl and I can protect ourselves from one primped up fool. And you don't need to be here to confirm she's pure. Bunch of foolishness that is. Girl's been riding a horse her entire life." She shook her head and spat to the side. "Foolish men and their idiot beliefs. Go."

  "Call if you need me." Barkley led his horse away, glancing back at them a few times as he made his way to the main camp.

  "He's a good boy, that one," Lodie said as she watched him leave. "You can trust him."

  Before K'lrsa could respond, Lodie shambled over to her and poked at her wound.

  "Ow!" K'lrsa jerked away. "I said to look at Fallion first."

  The old woman shrugged as she reached for K'lrsa's arm. "He's fine. Amalanee horses practically heal themselves." She tugged on the bandages on K'lrsa's arm and K'lrsa bit back another cry. "Unlike humans."

  The baru hide K'lrsa had used to bind the wound stuck; Lodie used a large, curved hunting knife she pulled from her waistband to cut it free, deftly sliding the cool metal between the bandage and K'lrsa's skin. The wound underneath was red and swollen.

  Lodie held the tip of the knife in the fire. "You have the looks of the White Horse Tribe."

  K'lrsa didn't respond. She didn't know this woman. And she didn't need to tell her anything.

  Lodie cleaned her teeth with her tongue, making loud sucking noises that made K'lrsa squirm, as she waited for the metal to heat.

  Finally, she nodded to herself and, before K'lrsa could react, sliced the wound with her knife. K'lrsa screamed as the hot metal touched her skin, swaying as her vision turned black.

  The smell was horrible as blood and pus ran down her arm and dropped into the desert sands.

  "Hmm." Lodie dug her finger into the wound and K'lrsa's vision flashed white from the intensity of the pain.

  She tried to pull away, but Lodie held her arm with a surprisingly strong grip, her skeletal fingers digging into the flesh of K'lrsa's arm as she studied the wound. When the cruel old woman was finally done poking and prodding at her tender flesh, K'lrsa curled into a ball, watching the woman with increasing distrust.

  Lodie stared at K'lrsa for a long moment, a slight frown on her face, before standing and walking away.

  "Please, Fallion…"

  The woman waved h
er off and ducked into her tent. She returned a moment later with a handful of items.

  Lodie sat down on a stool next to K'lrsa and shoved a stick wrapped in baru hide into her hands.

  "Bite it."

  K'lrsa ran her thumb along the teeth marks the woman's other victims had already made in the soft hide. It was a little too late to be handing her the stick now.

  Lodie shrugged. "Fine. Have it your way." She held her blade back in the flames.

  K'lrsa shoved the stick into her mouth and bit down hard as Lodie scraped away the sand and dried blood from the wound. Tears streamed down her cheeks; she'd never imagined anything could hurt so much.

  "Good girl." Lodie patted her on the cheek like she was a small child.

  As Lodie cleaned and sewed the wound, K'lrsa struggled to stay upright. She was so tired and the pain so intense, a few times she almost fainted, but she refused to show weakness in front of this woman, whoever she was. So she gritted her teeth until it felt like they'd crack and clenched her fists until her nails dug into the palms of her hands and forced herself to bear the agony.

  When she faltered, she looked up to see Fallion standing there calmly with his wounded shoulder, his beautiful brown eyes shining with love. She deserved this for what she'd done to him. She deserved every moment of suffering this bitter old crone could throw at her.

  Finally, when K'lrsa didn't think she could last another moment, Lodie finished cleaning and sewing the wound. K'lrsa collapsed forward, sighing in relief.

  "Here. Chew this." Lodie shoved a pinch of dried green fungus at her. It was sleepweed. A little bit would take away the pain. A little bit more would make her sleep.

  Too much would kill her.

  "Not yet. Tend to Fallion first."

  Lodie frowned at her, but turned her attention to the horse. He backed away as she approached, baring his teeth.

  "Pzah. Foolish horse. I can't fix you if you won't let me see the wound." She stood before him, hands on hips, not the least bit scared even though she had to know that one kick of his hooves could kill her.