Advent of Ruin (The Qaehl Cycle Book 1)

by Allene Lowrey

  “Now what sort of a question is that?” He met her blade with yielding sand. Bahadur sighed. “I. Will. See. You. Safe. I promise.”

  The tightness around her eyes slipped, and the darkness under them became sunken black shadows.

  “Let’s get some sleep. The world will look a little better when we’re not exhausted.” Those words were all the permission he needed: Bahadur felt the tension of every hour of the two days since he had slept flow out of his muscles, and it was willpower alone that let him work with Gita to spread the grass into a thin pallet. It would be better than nothing.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Bahadur woke shivering the next morning, and if anything more exhausted. He had dreamed of nothing but his lovely Anahita and their sons. His throat felt raw. Gone. Shahin – gone. Home – gone. Baraz, Dilshad – gone. Ana… It took him a moment to realize his back was colder than his chest, and still another to realize that Gita had curled up against him. He wanted to stay, to sob into her hair and wallow in grief together, but they were still in danger. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t let himself break down, so instead he moved his arm off her shoulder and used the hand to gently lift her head off his other arm. Bahadur moved some extra grass under her head to replace it. I can be strong if I just keep moving.

  The fire pit was cold. It must have gone out hours ago. He rebuilt the fire. If there’s one supply we have plenty of, it’s tinder. Now, if I remember right … yes, there it is. There was ground kafe in the strongbox. Not a lot for as big as the pan was, but there wasn’t a lot of water left, either. About half of the remaining water went from tin canteen to tin pan, which he set in the edges of the fire to heat. The implements here were crude, but if the overseer provided kafe he had clearly treated his men well.

  Gita began to stir moments after he had poured hot water over the grounds in his cup. It was going to taste metallic and bitter, but that didn’t make the smell less wonderful.

  “Are you awake, then?”

  She groaned in response.

  “I don’t know if you’ll like the taste, but if you’ll come over here this should help you warm up.”

  “You’re still here?”

  “Of course I’m still here. Where else would I be?”

  “You made us abandon Uncle Shahin.”

  Uncle? Bahadur shook his head. “That was his choice to make. He saved us, again.”

  “He’s still dead.”

  “And you may remember that he entrusted you to me, back there. If you’re not safe and sound the next time we meet, I won’t be able to face him.” No matter what side of the grave that happens to be on. “Now come have some breakfast. We need to be moving on today.”

  Gita rose and brushed some of the grass off as she sulked over the few steps towards the fire. “You really think he survived, with the shape he was in?”

  “I can’t discount the possibility. There were a number of exits other than the one we found.”

  She took a deep breath. “You really won’t leave me behind?”

  “Do you remember my promise last night?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Then don’t ask foolish questions.” He thrust the second cup of brewed kafe at her before gesturing to the food left in the strongbox. “Eat up. We’ll go to Udhampna, and if we’re lucky we’ll find help there.”

  He made do with a single strip of meat. Bahadur wasn’t sure what he would do about food if they couldn’t find people; he hadn’t hunted at all since he was a boy, and killing lizards in the desert would be a bit different. They couldn’t exactly stay here, though. So, while Gita picked at the food in the box Bahadur saw about saddling their horse.

  “There was a little left, so I brought the box,” she said while he tightened the saddle girth.

  Bahadur raised his eyebrows. “You’re sure you’re not hungry?”

  She nodded.

  I hope I’m not going to have to force-feed her later. “All right. Put what’s left in the saddlebag, then. No sense carrying the box.” He certainly wouldn’t complain about having a little for emergencies.

  She re-tied the bag over her meager addition.

  “Ready to go, then?”

  She nodded.

  “All right. Up we go.”

  Try as they might, no matter which of them was mounted first the horse shied away from accepting a second rider. He sighed. “All right. You ride. If I’m on the ground I can try to scare up some food.”

  The problem with hunting in grasslands, Bahadur soon discovered, was that there were too many hiding places. It did not help matters any that the only weapon he carried was a kopis; the curved blade was excellent against a person, but trying to catch an animal in its swing was infuriating.

  As evening fell the sound of trickling water caught his ear. At least we can have fresh water tonight.

  The trickling sound came from a small stream, which led before too long to a clear pond ringed by jasmine and dotted with lotus. A small splash caught Bahadur’s attention from near the center of the pond, and he looked just in time to see a silvery flash against the reddening sky.

  “Why don’t you see about getting camp set up, Gita, while I try some fishing.” At least the fish would be easier to see, and if all else failed they could always harvest some lotus. He removed his boots and wiggled his toes in the soft, moist ground near the water’s edge. He had not realized until just that moment how sore his feet were. It was a wonder they weren’t bleeding, as blistered as the tops of his toes were. Three days since I’ve taken those off. He bent to roll his trousers up to his knees.

  Bahadur waded in, sword drawn and looking for a fish to cut. The water was a welcome relief from the dank confines of his boots. Mud oozed between his toes, leaching still more fatigue away. The kopis was not designed for stabbing, let alone for spear fishing, but as the light failed he managed to skewer a large, sluggish fish without slicing himself. That night the muddy-flavored fish and the nutty lotus root they roasted over the fire tasted as fine a feast as either of them could remember.

  “It doesn’t smell very good, but you can use the saddle blanket tonight. I’ll sleep over with the horse.” He still hadn’t come up with a name for the mare. She was a stolid, reliable animal, though. Amna? That seems to fit. “If we’re lucky, we’ll find a village soon.”

  Gita only nodded. The saddle blanket, of course, was damp with sweat and smelled unpleasantly of horse. In the morning it would be dry enough to use again, but they would have to beat the salt out of it so it wouldn’t chafe. On the other hand, Amna was unlikely to spend more than an hour or so laying down. It would be an unpleasant night all around.

  * * *

  The next day was uneventful, and that night they found another pond, this one with a small copse of trees on the southern bank. Good; Gita could have some privacy if she wanted it.

  Gita prepared a fire pit with what stones she could find and then started gathering grass for the night’s pallets. Bahadur searched out dinner. There was no lotus growing in this pond, and the fish were all small and quick, but he did find some lumpy fibrous tubers that Amna nibbled on. Some of them had white flesh and others were pale orange when he cut them open. Bahadur once again gave Gita the horse blanket on the pallet closest to the fire and bed down himself near where Amna dozed on her feet.

  He was just beginning to drift off when Amna snorted, whinnied, reared – he had a moment of terror before he could roll out of the way of her hooves and scramble to his feet. The mare’s ears were laid flat, her teeth bared. The whites of her eyes showed. He looked around in the dimness, searching for whatever it was that had set off Amna.

  A glint of white, reflected off of something round, caught his eye. Now that he knew where to look he could see an outsized feline head attached to a lithe body. Even then, though, his eye wanted to dance over the creature as it crouched. It seemed to stare at the bundled lump next to the embers of the fire, obviously the easiest prey of them all, and ignored the horse. Bahadur glanced arou
nd where he crouched, one hand still on the ground like a sprinter on the line. My sword. Where is my sword?

  There. His scabbard made a thick black mark against a large rock Gita had been unable to move. It was maybe three paces away. Bahadur crept towards his weapon, keeping his low crouch. His eyes never left the cat. Don’t pounce. Don’t pounce. Don’t pounce…

  The kopis was within reach now. He stretched out his hand toward it. The cat gathered itself deeper into its crouch, and Amna screamed. He nearly fumbled his sword as she charged the cat, which jumped sideways and whirled to face the horse. The cat snarled, bared its teeth, and ran to meet the prey that dared attack it.

  Bahadur drew his sword and nearly drowned its familiar metallic rasp with a wordless shout as he, too, charged into the melee. Amna lashed out with hooves and teeth and only barely avoided the large paw that swiped at her neck. He sliced down with the kopis and left a gash across its shoulder. The cat roared – a deep, throaty sound – and jumped back. Bahadur caught a better glimpse of it as it sped away on long legs; its coat was mottled with large, irregular spots and its hindquarters sloped down into a tail nearly as long as its body.

  “Wh- what was that?” Gita’s voice sounded shaky over near the fire pit. Her silhouette was hunched over and low to the ground.

  “Some kind of cat. Go on back to sleep. We should be okay now.” Once he was sure she was, in fact, going back to sleep Bahadur cleaned his sword on the beard grass and turned his attention to Amna, who stood quivering not two paces away.

  * * *

  If anything else happened over the course of the night, Amna failed to wake him for it, and when he woke there was no further damage than the great cat had done with its claws as they drove it off. The tubers reappeared for breakfast since they hadn’t gotten sick, and then they were on their way.

  Spreading flat-topped trees dotted the landscape and served as passable landmarks. Bahadur kept an eye on the sun over his shoulder for their heading as much as he kept his eyes open for game. Once, around noon, he saw a herd of cattle ranging, but his kopis seemed woefully inadequate to take on their large curving horns.

  As the afternoon wore on, small signs of civilization began to appear. The grass was more even, the trees might be tended – and Bahadur found a strange knot of worry warring with hope forming in his stomach. He had hoped to find people, true, but what if they weren’t friendly, or didn’t speak Trade? He had no idea where the nearest road was; if they were isolated enough, a village might only have its own dialect.

  In the hour before the light began to fade they came over a rise and were greeted by the sight of wattle and daub buildings with thatched roofs. The smell of smoke from cookfires wafted through the air. Bahadur looked at Gita, but by the look on her face she might not have known the village existed. He turned his attention back to the village and smiled; there was a woman approaching, alone. Her sari was deep red with a saffron border, and a large brass hoop hung from her left nostril.

  “Ready to say hello, Gita?” He saw her shrug out of the corner of his eye. Nothing for it, though; he led Amna down the slope to meet the villager.

  “Welcome, travelers.” The woman’s voice was low, earthy and rich, and she spoke Trade with only a hint of accent. “You come to Tolkanda from an unusual way. How came you to travel the wild land?”

  “Through great misfortune, I’m afraid. We have little to offer except news, and all of that bad.” Bahadur grimaced. “Might there be a way we could earn a night’s lodging?”

  “Come. Even bad news is sometimes more valuable than coin.”

  “Thank you. I am Bahadur of Q’uungerab, formerly of the city guard. The girl is Gita, of the Chèin’ii.”

  “I am Azar.” The woman turned and walked slowly back into the village.

  Bahadur followed a step behind. “Have you seen others from Q’uungerab?”

  “Not in the village. Our shepherds have spotted people traveling on foot, but they did not approach.”

  They were walking through the heart of the village now. Small faces peered out of the shadows of open doorways, curious and shy. Finally they came to a building two or three times larger than the others, with a fine linen curtain drawn across the door.

  “Wait here.” Azar disappeared inside and Bahadur turned to Gita, who had reacted to nothing as they walked through the village.

  “We might have a roof over our heads tonight, Gita. You should come down now.”

  She dismounted easily. “If we both go inside, what will we do with Amna?”

  “I don’t think she’ll wander off, but we can ask where to tie her if you’ll feel better.”

  “Mmm, it’s all right.” She shook her head. Gita stared at the ground, and her voice was low enough he almost couldn’t hear.

  “Hey. Cheer up, huh? Things are getting better already.” He chucked her under the chin, bringing her head up a little.

  “I don’t know that I want things to get better yet.”

  “There’s not a whole lot between where we’ve been and dead, Gita. Nothing ever stands still for long. You should know that.”

  She only shrugged, but any further response would have been cut off as Azar stepped back outside.

  “Please come inside. Dipak wishes to hear your news, and will accept it in return for the night’s rest.”

  Inside, the large building was divided into three areas. The large main area had a fire pit in the center, and the smoke from the fire traveled directly out the chimney worked into the thatched roof. A lamb was turning on the spit over the fire, and there were a number of cushions and wool carpets laid out over the floor. Most of these were dyed in various shades of red and yellow. Q’uungerab had always been awash with so many colors that Bahadur had never paid much attention to them, but here they were spare enough to draw attention, and bold besides.

  A man sat on a cushion near the fire wearing loose, undyed linen trousers and a wide belt in a vibrant blue. He was rail thin and hard as a board with black hair brushing his bare shoulders; Bahadur didn’t think there could be an ounce of wasted flesh on him.

  “Come, come, sit. Will not ask for news until more gathered. Azar will make sure villagers know of guests.” This must be Dipak. He spoke with a decidedly sing-song rhythm, and his Trade was significantly less polished than Azar’s. Bahadur thought he saw Gita wrinkle her nose. He guided her to a cushion near the fire before choosing one for himself. Azar was already slipping back out.

  “Many thanks. Your hospitality is deeply appreciated… Do you get a lot of visitors?”

  “No. Sometimes traders, they stop by going elsewhere, but mostly villagers. This is meeting house, built by father’s father’s father.” He grinned at them and gave the spit a turn. The fire crackled as molten fat dripped from the meat.

  “Has the village seen many other people on the plains in the last few days?”

  “Some. More than usual. All on foot, all in a hurry, but none to trouble us.”

  Bahadur sighed. Some had escaped, at least, but still no evidence of Shahin. He couldn’t have hurried on foot. Azar slipped back in through the curtain.

  “A’ munrist thimin elcommin, oto.”

  Bahadur blinked. He tried to fit the sounds she said into words, but it was as though they were loose canvas: they gave only just so far, and then he was left blank on the rebound.

  “Enkee, eta.”

  “Our meat appears to be done, oto. Will you see to it, and I will prepare the rest?”

  Dipak smiled warmly at Azar, who responded with an almost playful kiss on the cheek. “Please, be comfortable. Will only be a little until supper.” The pair disappeared into the right-hand partition.

  Gita sat quietly, watching them with more apparent interest than she had shown in much of anything since the mines. This was neither the time nor the place to pry. Bahadur thought he had a good idea what she was thinking of anyway. His own thoughts kept being drawn back to the wife he had not seen since reporting for duty that terrible day.
It was only a few days ago, but somehow it felt like he was seeing her over some vast expanse of time and space. He shook his head. Dwelling on her was not going to help anything; not here, not now.

  “Is everything all right?” Azar had swept back into the main room while Bahadur was oblivious. “You look very serious.”

  “Nothing to worry about. Thank you.” His voice felt husky. He cleared his throat.

  “Ah! I see my husband has forgotten hospitality again. I will bring some water.”

  Bahadur cleared his throat again. “Thank you.”

  The room was not really dark, only a little dim, but the flickering firelight demanded his attention. After a moment a ceramic cup appeared by his knee. Absently he lifted it to drink, forcing his eyes away from the fire. Gita had moved, and there were wonderful smells coming from behind him. He turned around to see a thick paste sprinkled with nuts and greens, a plate of asath, and a large dish full of shredded lamb and more greens.

  “Travelers are very lucky they arrive now. Herds have just been culled. Whole village eats meat for the week.” Dipak sounded jovial, even beyond his accent. Azar looked at Bahadur for a long moment.

  “Thank you very much for your hospitality. It has been a long, hard road the last few days.”

  “Op – no news until the people are gathered.”

  Gita’s stomach growled loudly, and Azar smiled. It reminded him of the way Anahita would smile at… no! Not here, not now. They had only paused here. He could not afford to stop. His own mouth was watering.

  “Fulbristamin! Let us eat!” Azar declared.

  Bahadur did not realize how hungry he was until he took the first bite of asath, dipped in the garlicky paste. He had never known lamb could taste so good. Gita was right behind him in appetite, and Dipak and Azar seemed surprised by how desperately they ate. Azar seemed to take it as a compliment; her initial surprise quickly turned to a warm, approving smile. Azar and Dipak also ate heartily; there was very little small talk. Even if Bahadur had been able to think of anything Dipak wouldn’t define as news, he would have had to stop eating to talk about it.