Dragonfly

by Julia Golding

  Tashi pushed her plate away. Once again she was being made to justify her choices. "I jumped in the river."

  "I do not believe you could have done that and survived," said Resphir dismissively.

  "Would you like to see the scars?" Tashi asked. "Because the river was not kind to me and left plenty of marks." Tired of being doubted and scorned, she turned to Zaradan. "I don't know what you think I am doing here, sir, but for some reason our paths have crossed. You have a choice: either to believe me and aid me in my mission, or thwart me and make Fergox Spearthrower very happy."

  Zaradan crumbled up a piece of bread as if he had not heard her. His face was impassive.

  "All right," she said in exasperation, "even better, hand me over to the warlord. He'll either make me his fifth wife or burn me at the stake, but never mind that! You'll be able to disappear into your desert knowing

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  that you did not lift a finger to save the land your daughter loved, nor the woman Zarai's son chose."

  "You are passionate, little one," said Zaradan calmly.

  Tashi felt like throwing her plate at him. "I think you would be too if you had been been kidnapped, shot at, beaten, accused of witchcraft, and I don't know what else for the last few months."

  "And you've fallen in love."

  This brought her up short.

  He smiled. "1 would have made a sorry use of my years on this earth if I could not tell when a young girl is in love. It always gives them a certain sparkle." He fluttered his fingers in the air. "So what do you want from us, O

  lover of Ramil?"

  His tone made her outburst seem childish.

  "I ... I want to take a ship home. And I want you to help Ramil because I cannot," Tashi said, feeling her cheeks burn. Zaradan made her feel all the inadequacy of her own sixteen years against his decades of experience.

  "I think we can do that," said Zaradan with another smile. "Now eat your food. My grandson will not want a scrawny wife in his bed when we get him home."

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  Chapter 18

  The slave revolt acted like a spark to dry tinder. By the end of the second day, Ramil had more recruits than he could easily accommodate in the makeshift barracks around the square. Slaves were simply walking out on their masters and presenting themselves at the market to have their chains struck off. Nursemaids left their charges on their mistresses' doorsteps, cooks abandoned the stoves and let the bread burn, gardeners picked up their shovels and headed to the harbor side.

  Ramil's pretense that this was all about ransoms for the rich people had worked. What he feared most--an immediate assault by trained soldiers--had not materialized as the influential families were concerned for the lives of their hostages. The authorities held back from a counter-attack, believing the slaves could be bought off, separated, defeated in dribs and drabs, then executed at their leisure. They were already devising a spectacular demise for the ringleader, something to make all slaves in the Empire tremble. But Ramil was not worried about

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  their plans; his main problem was keeping his troops focused: too many yearned for revenge and had no vision beyond making the masters suffer.

  He needed something to hold them together and raise their spirits before he attempted to take more of the city. Sitting in the market, watching the ships at anchor down by the water only a few streets away, he thought he had the solution.

  "So, Melletin, what do you think about taking on the pirate fleet?" he asked casually at breakfast.

  The Brigardian choked on his mouthful.

  "They're sitting there like fat ducks," Ramil continued, gesturing to ten vessels tied up at their moorings. "It would be a brilliant stroke if we could sink them."

  "But what about the galley slaves?" Melletin pointed out once he had found his voice. "We can't just burn them--we'll be roasting a lot of innocent men if we do that. And if we just march upon them, the sailors will massacre us from their decks."

  Ramil shook his head. "You're thinking like a soldier. I'm thinking like a devious slave trying to get even with his master."

  Melletin laughed. "Are you, Prince? So what's the big idea? I assume you have one or you wouldn't look so pleased with yourself."

  "I think this is a job for the girls."

  At dusk, mist rolled in from the Inland Sea, wrapping the port in its featherlight embrace. A gaggle of pretty dockside girls sauntered up to the fleet at anchor. Two

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  approached the gangplank leading to the flagship, the Bloody Spear. A bored sailor standing guard peered over the side and made out the comely form of a black-haired girl. She had a dark-skinned companion swathed in a veil hovering shyly at her shoulder.

  "Hey, gorgeous!" called the girl, raising her skirts to flash a shapely ankle.

  "Need some company?"

  The sailor glanced behind him. "Sorry, sweetheart, not allowed to have visitors on board. Not with all the trouble yonder."

  "Aw!" said Yelena. "Those cursed slaves are ruining our fun--everyone is saying the same." She minced a few steps up the plank, her friend following.

  "But I wouldn't have thought you would be a spoilsport."

  The sailor scratched his head. "What about my boss?"

  Yelena put her hand on the rail. "Don't worry about him," she said breathily.

  "My friend will see to him."

  The veiled girl nodded and dropped onto the deck. She was surprisingly tall for a woman, but then the sailor knew that Captain Jirk liked an armful. He beckoned the pretty one towards him.

  "He's in his cabin," he told the dark-skinned girl. "Say I sent you with my compliments."

  The second girl padded off in a rustle of silk and cloud of cheap perfume.

  "Now, what about you, my lovely?" the man said, reaching eagerly towards Yelena to pull her into a hug. But he never touched her. Everything went black and he ended up headfirst in the water with a quiet splash. Yelena ran across the deck and swiftly despatched a

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  second sailor on watch. A muffled cry came from the captain's cabin--Ramil emerged wiping his sword on his dress.

  "Don't do that!" said Yelena. "You'll ruin the material."

  The two "girls" crept down the ladder to the lower deck. The smell of the pit holding the galley slaves was worse than the pens in the market. Four sailors were playing cards on an upturned box while their slaves slept over their oars. Yelena approached, swinging her hips provocatively.

  "Hello, lads, looking for some fun? My friend and I, we're full of surprises."

  A big bald-headed man nudged his card partner. "Things are looking up, Toburt. The captain's sent us a present."

  A bell outside began to sound the alarm. Yelena and Ramil exchanged a glance: one of the attacks must have been spotted. Oarsmen stirred in their seats. Thinking quickly, Yelena grabbed on to the big man's arm, pretending to quiver with fear.

  "What's that?" she gasped. "Don't tell me the filthy slaves are making more trouble! Oh no, what's going to become of us?"

  There were yells and cries outside. Toburt and the other two men grabbed their swords and disappeared up on deck. The bald man hung back a

  moment to pat Yelena condescendingly on the rump.

  "Stay here, darling; I'll go sort it out and be back to look after you."

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  "Perhaps I should look after you now," Yelena said, moving in closer.

  The man grunted and fell back, clutching at the dagger slipped between his ribs, his eyes wide with surprise.

  Yelena rubbed her bloodied hands on his shirt with disgust as the slaves cheered and rattled their chains.

  "I hope he deserved it," she said wistfully as Ramil unchained the first bank of slaves.

  The first oarsman limped forward and kissed her hand. "He did, miss, a nasty brute. Even his wife'll thank you."

  Ramil put an arm around her. He knew how she felt. Taking a life in cold blood like that made you feel no better than the enemy.

&nb
sp; "I'm sorry, Yelena. Perhaps I should've come up with a different plan," he said as the slaves rushed the ladder, sweeping the remaining sailors out of their path.

  Yelena straightened her shoulders. "No, Ram, it's what I was trained to do.

  I'm saving far more lives than I'm taking--that's the main thing."

  Ramil kissed her brow, honoring her courage. "Come then, let's see how the others have fared."

  From the evidence of the dockside, the operation had largely gone to plan.

  One ship had rumbled the fake "girls" and put up a fight, but that was soon ended by an influx of slaves freed from the other ships. Ramil watched with satisfaction as the freed men set about firing their former prisons. They knew exactly

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  what to do, doubtless having dreamt of such a day for years. It seemed only right that they should have the pleasure.

  March had arrived and with it the spring. The meadows and forest were bursting with blossom but no one greeted it with joy. Each petal that unfolded was another step nearer to invasion. King Lagan had done

  everything he could think of to prepare. Wardens had formed into bands of fast-moving raiders, ordered to harass Fergox's army as it marched through the forest, but Lagan knew that the major battle would happen outside the walls of his city. That was where the war would be decided.

  Lady Egret, now one of the King's counsellors, approached him on the battlements one sunny morning as he stared out across the ocean. The twenty Blue Crescent ships were still moored in the harbor. They had defended Falburg from pirate raids, but Lagan wished heartily that the alliance had gone ahead as planned.

  The King turned on hearing the distinctive tap-tap of her cane. Lady Egret was smiling.

  "Good news, my lady?" the king said, guiding her to a seat. "I could do with some."

  "Yes, I think it is good," she said, lowering herself carefully onto the bench.

  "Duke Nerul reports that Fergox has handed over command of his army to Junis and is returning with al speed to Tigral."

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  This news was so unexpected; Lagan was aware that he was gaping in a most unkingly fashion. "And this is certain?"

  "As certain as my bones ache every morning," she replied with a smile.

  "And does the duke say why?"

  "There is a full-scale slave revolt in Tigral. Beautifully timed, I may say, thank the Father."

  Lagan rubbed his hands. "I could not have ordered it better myself. I don't suppose you can add icing to this cake of news by giving me word of Ramil?"

  She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty. All I know is that he and the Princess headed south, attempting to reach the sea and sail to the Islands that way. Perhaps you should look to the ocean for news of him now, not to Brigard."

  The King nodded. "Thank you, lady."

  "No more proposals of marriage today?" the old woman said with a glint in her eye as she rose.

  Lagan put his hand to his chest. "Having heard your warning, I am too afraid of Lord Egret to dare to importune you."

  She chuckled. "Ah, would that I were young again and then maybe I would make my lord jealous. Sadly, those days are long gone." She bent her head to him and hobbled away, a distinct spring in her step.

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  Zaradan escorted Tashi to the southern shores of the Inland Sea. The way lay through the pastures of the great herds, jealously guarded by the desert people. Without the Umni as her guide, Tashi would have been stopped before she had gone very far. As it was, they rode through the tent villages and were made welcome each evening by a different headman.

  "My grandson's betrothed," Zaradan would say with a regal sweep of his hand to Tashi, now well hidden under purple desert robes. This was enough for her to be accepted.

  In the hours spent together in the saddle, Tashi grew to admire the old man.

  He was no friendly soul like Lagan, ready with a hug and a word of encouragement, but harsh and indomitable, rather like his land. Yet he had a kindly streak and a respect that showed in his dealings with her. He had begun to call her "daughter," as if he considered her already married to Ramil-- a bittersweet title for Tashi, not knowing if she would ever see him again.

  At the port of Tarqui, a ramshackle town of white houses and wind-blown palms, Tashi realized she had reached the point where she would have to leave the stallion behind.

  "Umni," she said as they dismounted on the harbor, "please take Thunder for me." She handed him the reins. "Keep him for Ramil."

  Zaradan touched his head then his heart. "I promise to deliver him to my grandson."

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  Tashi took off her light saddle bag, containing Ramil's shirts and her old clothes ruined in the river, then said her farewells to the horse.

  "If you find Ramil," she told Thunder solemnly, "take care of him for me."

  The horse bumped noses with her, then butted her gently away.

  Zaradan sent a man ahead to scout the dockside. No Empire ship would be safe for Tashi; it would have to be a trading vessel from another nation, like the neutral lands to the south or the Ice Archipelago. Tashi waited patiently, watching the seabirds diving for the scraps thrown to them by the fishermen gutting their catch. The man returned swiftly.

  "Umni, there is a Blue Crescent trader in the harbor!" he declared. "They said they'd take on a passenger."

  Tashi felt her heart leap. Finally, the Goddess was smiling on her.

  "Well then, let us negotiate your passage," said Zaradan, offering her his hand. "It will be interesting to have proof of your identity from a countryman."

  "Countrywoman, I expect," Tashi corrected him, hurrying towards the square-sailed boat with a feeling of coming home.

  The return to her people, however, did not proceed smoothly. Uniloma, salt trader from Phonilara, refused to believe Tashi's claim that she was the Fourth Crown Princess, even when she removed her desert veil and showed her blonde hair. Instead, the hard-bitten old

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  trader called the Goddess's curses down on the head of the girl who could make such a sacrilegious assertion.

  "I've seen the Fourth Crown Princess," Uniloma declared. "She was on her barge heading off on some grand voyage. Beautiful she was: so poised and calm, face white as it should be, hair veiled."

  "But that was me!" protested Tashi from the dock-side. "I was sitting on the Throne of Nature wearing an orange sash."

  "Any fool knows what the Fourth Crown Princess wears. That proves nothing. You don't behave like an Islander, young miss; you look like one, but you're acting like an Easterner."

  Tashi opened her mouth to refute this but then closed it again. It was true: her countrywomen would hardly recognize her these days as she had

  become so emotional. Her behavior was indecent by Blue Crescent

  standards.

  Zaradan stepped in. "So you say this girl is an impostor?"

  "I can't see how she can be anything else," Uniloma stated resolutely.

  "But, by your admission, she is an Islander. Will you carry her to Rama? I will pay you well for your trouble."

  "As long as she does not come up with any more nonsense like this, I'll take her." Uniloma's eye was on the purse at Zaradan's waist.

  Zaradan nodded and dropped a bag of coins into the woman's wrinkled palm. Tashi turned away, humiliated. A cloud covered the sun and the water turned grey.

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  Small waves chopped at the jetty. Everything looked bleak and colorless.

  She felt a pressure on her arm and found Zaradan at her side. He bent and kissed her on the brow.

  "It took me a while but I believe you, daughter. Captain Uniloma will too when she realizes that people, even crown princesses, can change. You've become more yourself, that is all."

  "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for having faith in me."

  "And you, my daughter, have faith that I will help Ramil. And when I see him, I will tell him where he can find you."

  It was a slight hope h
e offered but far better than nothing. Tashi nodded and bowed a deep Blue Crescent bow to a king. She then picked up her bag and boarded the ship. Uniloma was ready to sail, having loaded her cargo. Tashi kept out of the way as her countrymen cast off and turned the boat westward.

  The southern shore with its little ports and rocky inlets dropped below the horizon, leaving only the golden glow of the distant sand dunes to hint at the presence of land.

  On the journey home, Uniloma and the rest of the crew watched their passenger suspiciously. The girl said very little, but they were surprised to see she knew the rituals of the Goddess and followed them faithfully each morning and evening. It was clear that

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  she found great solace in this task; her face was calm and content as she completed the prayers with skill and no fuss. A whisper of doubt crept into the captain's mind.

  "Where did you say you were from, girl?" Uniloma asked gruffly one morning. The vessel was far out to sea, giving a wide berth to the coastline of western Holt and any bold pirate vessel.

  "From Kai."

  "And your name?"

  "Taoshira." Tashi did not risk giving her title again but neither was she going to lie.

  Uniloma clucked in irritation.

  "My family and friends call me Tashi."

  "I'll call you Tashi then. I'm not using a princess's name for you."

  Tashi sighed. There was no point arguing. The truth would come out when they returned to Rama. It would only be an unseemly squabble if she pressed her claim here.

  That's if anyone recognizes me, Tashi thought glumly. I'm not sure I'd know me either. I might have to stand naked before my servants to prove my point.

  She smiled at the idea. No, I'm definitely not the same person if I can laugh about that.

  After two weeks at sea, Rama appeared on the horizon, the familiar mountain rising from the Sapphire Ocean with the city on its slopes in a patchwork cloak of green, gold, and white roofs. Tashi leant on the rail, wishing away the final miles, relieved that she had

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  made it home in good time. The long journey through Brigard, Kandar, and Holt now seemed almost like a dream as her life joined full circle with the girl who had sailed unwillingly for Gerfal only a few months before.