by Erin Beaty
Everyone looked impatient to go, and thankfully they untied him long enough for him to dress himself. Though he knew it wouldn’t matter after a mile of walking, Alex took a little extra time shaking sand out of his socks to give his chafed wrists a respite. Before putting on the head scarf made from Casseck’s shirt, he tore a few wide strips of fabric from it and wrapped them around his wrists, then offered his hands to the man waiting to bind him again. Demoran army policy was not to be a compliant prisoner of war, but these men had saved his life, and he was grateful.
When all was ready, they returned one of his canteens to him—empty; he had to go to the spring to fill it—and headed into the rising sun.
69
BANNETH ALLOWED SAGE and Nicholas to roam the camp freely, but she knew their every move was watched. They spent the first day orienting themselves and watching the posted guards. She had no desire to escape at the moment, but she had to be ready, just in case. All the tents were set in an orderly manner, and Banneth’s was by far the grandest. Most were large enough to house four to six men, though, and the preferred design was circular, around a central pole. They radiated from the spring-fed lake, which was round, but the wave of the dunes made the area of plants grow in a teardrop shape.
Shortly after sunrise on the second day, Sage and Nicholas witnessed Casmuni combat exercises. They stood on the edge of the training circle, observing the men spar without weapons. She watched in awe, unconsciously adjusting her feet in the sand in imitation of the stances.
Banneth slipped up behind them, but her attention wasn’t so focused that she didn’t see him approach. She turned and bowed with her hands crossed over her chest, and Nicholas followed her example.
Before the king could say anything, she waved her hand at the pairs in the ring. “This is beautiful,” she said in Kimisar, glad the shared language gave her more words to use.
His eyebrows shot up. “Beautiful was not the word I expected.”
Her gaze was drawn back to the fighters. “The moves are smooth like water, but fast like lightning.”
“Demoran fighting is different?”
“I cannot speak for your weapons fighting, but with respect to this, yes. Our fights are … heavier. Does this make sense?”
Banneth nodded. “It is a style we call tashaivar. It roughly means whip strike for its lightness, flow, and speed.”
“Tashaivar,” she repeated. “A lovely name.” This time she used Casmuni words.
The king stepped into the training ring and offered her his hand. “Would you like to learn?” he asked, also in his own language.
Sage didn’t even hesitate. Banneth led her a few steps away from Nicholas and took a fighting position. She stepped up beside him and mirrored it, then looked back to the king’s unreadable expression. “Let us begin,” he said.
* * *
Her willingness to learn opened some kind of door within Banneth. He spent the whole morning teaching her the basic stances and moves of tashaivar, as well as the words for them and the body parts they involved. She also picked up the terms for quickly and slowly, pointed and blunt, forward and backward and sideways, and several others.
When the training session broke up, Banneth led her and Nicholas around the camp, giving her more Casmuni words for things they saw. He was a natural teacher, unable to hide his satisfaction in helping her understand. When they stopped at the horse paddock, Banneth explained that soon the semi-permanent pen would be all that was left of the oasis. Sage silently theorized the spring was fed by an underground river flowing from the mountain snows of the Catrix to the west. Perhaps it also created the dremshadda, the watersand they had encountered.
“The spring here is the largest and will remain for several more weeks,” he said in Kimisar. “But it is not the only one we must rely on to cross the desert.”
“Where will you go from here, Palandret?” she asked.
“To Osthiza, the capital city. It lies many days to the south and east.”
“And us?” she ventured.
He looked down at her. “It would please me that you should come with us to Osthiza. As my honored guests.”
Honored guests. A euphemism for prisoners. That was what she and Nicholas were, for all they were well treated.
She hesitated for so long that Banneth spoke again. “Darit can attempt to take you back to where he found you, if that is your wish.”
“Attempt?”
“As the springs fade, the dremshadda expand in unpredictable ways,” the king explained. “Every day the journey becomes more dangerous.”
It wasn’t the drying springs so much as the dremshadda that made the desert impassable. “I would not wish to ask Darit to risk his life twice more for me,” she said, meaning it.
“A true friend would not,” Banneth agreed. The king was trying to make it seem as if they would go with him by choice, but whether that was for his benefit or theirs, she wasn’t sure.
In the end, it didn’t matter. There was no other option.
Deep down she’d known it would be almost impossible to return right away, but Sage looked away to hide the moisture gathering in her eyes. “We are not important enough to be honored guests,” she said at last. “But we will accept your hospitality.”
Nicholas had moved out of earshot and was stroking the nose of a dusty bay. Banneth stepped closer to Sage and lowered his voice. “Do not be afraid to accept this honor, Saizsch Fahler. It is for your protection but also because I do believe you are important.”
Her stomach twisted in anxiety. “Important how?”
“I have long wished to reconcile our nations,” Banneth said. “While I hoped for an ambassador or a prince to open talks with, I will not waste what I have been given to work with.”
He already had one of those. To change the subject, Sage gestured to the horses. “Shall we ride, then, to Osthiza?”
Banneth nodded. “We do not take horses into the dunes due to the risk of dremshadda. Men are light enough to have a chance of escape, but a horse can be buried to its neck in a matter of seconds. To the south the ground is firmer.” He looked her up and down. “Can you ride?”
“I can, assuming the horses are taught similar control.”
“And Nikkolaz?”
“Better than I,” she said. “When do we leave?”
“As soon as my last patrol returns from the west. They are already later than I expected, but then so was Darit.” Banneth looked at her pointedly. “I wonder if they, too, ran into Demorans and Kimisar.”
Either were likely to know Nicholas’s true identity. Armed Demorans could ruin the innocent image she was trying to build around her and Nicholas, but if the patrol brought Kimisar … Sage scraped a bit of dirt—or was it blood?—from the hilt of Alex’s dagger with a sick feeling. The man Darit captured had refused to speak. She wondered whether she’d be willing to silence a Kimisar who wanted to talk.
70
THE JOURNEY EAST was mostly silent, as far as Alex was concerned. The Casmuni spoke among one another but rarely addressed him. Miles of featureless desert and hours of silence gave Alex little to focus on outside his thoughts, which were mostly of her. He had to believe the Casmuni Sage followed would have avoided the sinking sand.
The number of tracks she’d met with was about ten, the same as this group. Alex hypothesized they were both patrols of some kind, which meant they would go to a central camp or village. Whether he was being taken to the same place depended on what kind of presence the Casmuni had in the desert. He couldn’t imagine anyone living in this harsh an environment permanently, but he’d thought the same about the tiny mountain hamlets high in the Demoran Catrix.
In the late afternoon of the second day, Alex’s group crested a large dune and looked down on a lake of clear water, shining like a diamond in the center of an eye-shaped sea of green. The Casmuni started down the hill with a spring in their step, and Alex couldn’t help catching their enthusiasm. The distance was greater than it loo
ked, however, and night had fallen by the time they reached it. Armed sentries met them about a mile out, clasping arms and greeting as friends did. No one addressed him.
Half the oasis was occupied by a camp, which Alex immediately recognized as military and non-permanent in nature. Almost everyone they passed wanted to greet the men he’d traveled with, like they’d been waiting for them. Every time they paused, Alex looked around, both observing what he could and searching for signs of Sage or Nicholas. Most of the ten peeled off and disappeared in the sea of canvas, but Alex was directed toward a grand tent nestled in the middle. He’d meet the commander of the camp right away, apparently.
The ground inside was covered with rugs and warmly lit with lanterns, though the air was cool. A meal was being cleaned up from a low table, where four people had recently dined, judging from the pillow seats around it. The tent was large enough to house many, but there was only a lounge area with several cushions. A single partitioned section had a curtain that had been swept aside while a servant moved around within, preparing what looked like a bed. He saw no one outside the servants. For several minutes he and two of the men who’d found him waited.
Alex was nearly asleep on his feet, but he wouldn’t show weakness by asking if he could sit. Finally a tall man entered the tent, and everyone within stopped what they were doing and bowed. Like the Casmuni who had brought Alex, the man wore a single curved sword. If he was anything like the others, he also had several smaller weapons hidden in his clothes.
The man whom Alex had identified as the leader of the group bowed and then spoke rapidly for a few minutes. Making a report.
As he was ignored, Alex took the time to study the tall man before him. He’d known enough royalty in his life to know a prince when he saw one, even without the fine trappings of the tent. The jeweled sword and scabbard he wore were not merely decorative—their quality told Alex they were crafted for hard and frequent use. His clothes were finely made, but loose and somewhat damp. Water dripped from his uncovered black hair, as though he’d come from washing. Alex thought of the lake and hoped he’d get a chance to visit it, too.
When the report was over, the prince stepped in front of Alex to peer at him. Alex met his green eyes with a steady gaze. Fear was natural in his situation, but it was not to be shown. “One armed Kimisar in my land is curious,” the man said in Kimisar. “Two is a disturbing pattern.”
Alex knew his surprise showed on his face. He’d not expected to be able to communicate beyond gestures and the few phrases he’d learned. Sage’s notes in his jacket contained many translated Casmuni words, but he hadn’t dared take them out in the last two days.
Also, the Casmuni had assumed he was Kimisar, and he wasn’t the only one they’d found.
Alex’s mind raced. The Kimisar who’d attacked the Norsari camp wore Demoran clothing. If the Casmuni had captured another Kimisar, his complexion, dress, and weapons would’ve been similar to Alex’s own. The assumption he was also Kimisar was natural. Sage and Prince Nicholas, however, had been wearing very different clothes—she, that long tunic, and he, a squire’s uniform—and they were both fair skinned and lighter haired.
“Why did you come to Casmun?” the prince demanded.
No matter Alex’s nationality, the Casmuni considered him a threat. If he identified himself as Demoran now, it might make the Casmuni prince suspicious of Sage and Nicholas when they arrived. If they arrived. Alex was also afraid of being recognized as the Demoran soldier who’d entered Casmun and kidnapped two men.
Alex looked away. Saying the wrong thing could be fatal, and not just for him. It was better to be disassociated from Sage and Nicholas, at least for now. Sullen and silent, that’s what he’d be.
The prince exhaled heavily and spoke a few words in his own language. Alex half expected to be struck, but they only turned him around and escorted him out. He was taken to a tent not far from the large one, where another man lay on a rug to one side, his hands and ankles in chains.
The Casmuni now took Alex’s canteen and searched him for weapons again, still not finding the pages of Sage’s book tucked into the lining of his jacket. He didn’t know if they’d be confiscated, but he had no desire to find out. The ropes on his wrists were removed and replaced with shackles like the other man wore. They were a little looser on the chafed areas and also allowed him to separate his hands by several inches.
Once he was secure, Alex and the other man were left alone, which struck him as sloppy, but his chains were staked to the ground, and outside, the camp bustled with activity. He’d have a hard time escaping, even with the lock pick he had in the sole of one of his boots. And if he did get away, where would he go?
Alex shifted into a more comfortable position on the rug they’d given him and looked the other man over. His hair was black as Alex’s own and his complexion as tanned, though it was difficult to tell, as filthy as he was. Alex imagined he looked just as bad. The clothes the man wore were Demoran in style with military attributes. It wasn’t difficult to deduce this was the other Kimisar they’d picked up.
The man’s blue-gray eyes were clouded with fever. “Where did they find you?” he asked in Kimisar.
“In the sands. You?” Alex replied in the same language.
“Near the river. They came out of nowhere.” He suddenly looked hopeful. “Why were you in the desert? Did the captain send you after me?”
The man assumed Alex was part of the same unit, meaning the Kimisar either had large numbers or hadn’t worked together much. “No,” he said. “I was tracking the prince. I lost him, though.”
The man stared at the roof of the tent as it waved with the desert wind. “I should’ve stayed in that mountain village,” he said with a sigh. “I had food, I had work. I might have had a girl someday.”
I heard a bunch of Kimisar came through Jovan last year … They raided some and disappeared. “Is that where you were?” Alex asked. “In the mountains?”
He nodded. “For the whole nine months. Never saw anyone else until the captain called us back together. How about you?”
Things were making sense now. The Kimisar had been trapped on the wrong side of the mountains, so they’d dispersed and hidden in the general population. “I wandered a bit. Wintered in the valley. Didn’t see much of anyone else, either.” Alex leaned back on the tent pole and pointed to the man’s side. “What happened to you?” His clothes had been rinsed some, but they’d obviously been soaked with blood.
“Happened when they caught me,” the Kimisar said bleakly. “Hurts like hell, but the bleeding finally stopped.”
“May I see?” Alex scooted closer, and the man shrugged and opened his jacket and raised his shirt. A sickly sweet smell came from the oozing wound in his side. Alex shook his head. “Looks bad. I think it’s infected.”
The man shrugged apathetically and dropped the clothing back over it.
“Have you showed the Casmuni?” Alex pressed. “They treated me.”
“And you let them?” The man looked disgusted.
“I was unconscious most of the time.” Alex shifted from what had become a dangerous topic. “What’s your name?”
“Gispan Brazco. You?”
“Armand Dolan.” The first was a common Kimisar name, and the second was a town in Tasmet.
They talked into the night, and Alex learned more of what the Kimisar had been doing for the past year. Waiting, for the most part. Their captain, a man named Malkim Huzar, had taken command of them after last year’s failed action in Tasmet and ordered them to hide until things calmed down. When the Norsari had been formed, Huzar decided they had no more time left and called the Kimisar together.
“Were you with him when he left the false trail south last year?” asked Gispan, yawning widely. His words were coming slower and slower.
Alex shook his head, not wanting to risk giving incorrect details. “No, but I heard it confused the hell out of the Demorans.”
“It did, though that’s no
t hard, is it?” Gispan laughed, then winced and breathed deeply, his hand over his side. His red-rimmed eyes closed. “I will say one thing in their favor—their girls are pretty. Least the ones that aren’t wanting to kill you.”
Alex didn’t have a chance to ask about the story behind that statement. Gispan was asleep.
71
SAGE AND NICHOLAS made their way back from the lake, wearing fresh clothes and feeling cleaner than they had in months, despite not being allowed to use soap in the water everyone drank from. She and Banneth had been trying to convince Nicholas to venture with them into deeper water when a messenger appeared and called the king away. Sage gave up coaxing Nicholas and floated on her back, working dirt and sand out of her hair while the prince scrubbed himself with a rough cloth in the shallows.
Two guards stood outside the tent, which told her Banneth was inside. They didn’t try to stop the Demorans from entering, so either the message was delivered, or it wasn’t anything they couldn’t know about. The king sat alone at the low table, studying a map. Nicholas gave him a quick bow and went straight to their sleeping area.
“Is everything well, Palandret?” she asked in Casmuni. “You left so quickly.”
Banneth glanced up. “Yes, it is well. The last patrol returned, and I received their report.”
Sage held her breath for several heartbeats. “Did they find anything of concern, My King?”
“Nothing you need worry about,” said Banneth. He looked back to the map. “You should get some rest. We leave in the morning.”
72
ALEX WAS ROUGHLY awakened at sunrise and handed a bowl of porridge. He sat up and started shoveling it into his mouth before he was fully awake. The Casmuni guard had a little more trouble with Gispan, but eventually he woke. As the Kimisar moved, Alex caught the smell coming from his wound. It wasn’t just festering, it was actively rotting.
The guard wrinkled his nose, so he must have also caught a whiff of it. He looked unconcerned, though. “My friend needs help,” Alex tried to tell him.
