Saium laid one hand on her shoulder, gently pressing her to sit. “Best not. Conditions have changed since your mother and I left the highlands. The women of the clans lead much more restricted lives now, or so they tell me. I don’t think it wise to go against Bandarlok’s express command. Maybe when you’ve had a chance to get to know him better, you can negotiate more freedom for yourself.”
Unease sent a trickle of hot dread through her nerves. She licked dry lips. “Are you saying I’m his prisoner?”
“No, of course not,” he said a bit too rapidly, with too much force. “I merely suggest you—and I—need to conform to the social rules here, find our footing before we start pushing for changes.”
On the surface, a sensible suggestion. So why do I feel as if I’m caught in a net? Shalira decided to try another conversational tack, something happier. “Are any of your old friends from our clan riding with the column? Met any Windhunters?”
There was an odd moment of silence before Saium said, “No, Bandarlok brought only his own clansmen, to honor you, I’m sure. And the men of the Bartuk Clan are known for being short of words and cold to those outside their own tents.” He paused. She could hear him fiddling with her dinner dishes. “Your Highness, I might go with the outworlders, to act as their guide to the Djeelaba Mountains, since Rojar was killed at the tombs.”
“What?” Panic grabbed her by the throat, choking her. Never in her wildest imaginings had she worried about Saium leaving.
Patting her hand, he said soothingly, “Now, girl, you’ll be busy with your husband and babies soon enough, if the gods be generous. Safely ensconced in the heart of Bandarlok’s encampment, guarded by all his warriors. You’ll have no more need of me, nor time for me.”
“I always need you, Saium. You’re like a father to me.” Terror was rising in her gut, a physical pain causing her to regret the dinner she’d eaten. Saium was her bulwark against the world, her ally. How would she manage this challenging new life without him?
He cleared his throat. “Well, here’s the thing, Your Highness. Bandarlok has made it clear he’ll allow me to attend you on this journey, in deference to your blindness, but once we reach his camp, we’re to have no more contact. You’ll be living in his inner court, in the tents of the women, and I’m not allowed there. He said he expects you to manage for yourself, among the other females. I tried to argue but he, well, he has a quick temper.”
“Johnny said the same thing,” she remembered aloud. Why doesn’t Bandarlok talk to me about these matters? Ask my opinion? Or at least give me a chance to ask him questions about what he wants? “But it would be a comfort to know you were still there, in the camp, even if we couldn’t meet.”
“Of course. I haven’t decided anything one way or the other,” he said, too quickly. “Don’t upset yourself.”
Waking abruptly from an ominous dream of dark figures who looked like Vreely chasing her while Bandarlok’s cruel laugh sounded in the distance, Shalira sat up with a gasp. She clutched at her chest as her heart raced. She was disoriented for a moment but the scent of crushed pine needles from the thin mattress under her brought her back to current events. A sudden lurch sent her reeling into the varnished wooden side of the small wagon. A stark reminder, that Bandarlok decreed she must be transported in seclusion, rather than ride.
The conveyance bumped over ruts and tree roots on this seldom-used track they followed. Shalira was surprised she’d dozed off at all.
The lurching of the wagon was making her nauseated. The leather curtains were closed, keeping her in a stifling-hot environment. What breeze there was had to come in through a few inches of clearance between the ragged edges of leather and the wooden frame of the vehicle. Greedily, Shalira pressed her face to the crack, breathing in some refreshing air. She knew better now, after four days of travel, than to attempt to leave the wagon, or even ask the guards to open the curtains. Bandarlok had been serious about women not riding, and adamant about her having minimal contact with anyone among the tribe but him.
Fingering her locket, she blinked back tears as her thoughts circled again to the few precious moments in the tomb with Michael before Bandarok had arrived. If only the outworlder had spoken more about his feelings when they were alone, instead of just inviting her to run away and evade her duties of state. If he’d said he loved me, what difference would it have made? I still couldn’t have chosen differently. Foolish girl. “But I wish I knew if his feelings match mine,” she said softly. I hope I can arrange a few moments to speak to him before we part forever, make things right somehow. A sudden idea sent her into mild panic. What if he and Johnny were already gone, off to accomplish their own mission?
Shalira leaned as far out of the wagon as she dared and listened intently. After a moment, she heard Johnny whistling not too far away, which he liked to do as he rode. Good, they’re still with the caravan. She sat back, punching the scented pillows to make herself more comfortable.
Her head ached, but nothing like the fierce, raging pain she’d been in when Bandarlok first arrived. Then she’d been dizzy and nauseated. It had been harder than usual to walk with dignity, much less conduct a sensible conversation with her fiancé. By the time Bandarlok had swept her off her feet without so much as a by-your-leave, she’d been about to faint. The idea of a private wagon had been a blessing then. I couldn’t have stayed in the saddle, not even on my gentle mare. Shalira rubbed her forehead and sighed.
She leaned back against the wagon’s side. One by one, her few allies were going to leave her, including Saium. Never in her wildest nightmares had she contemplated the absence of Saium. But he was going to leave, she was sure. And she didn’t blame him much. Her own few brief conversations with Bandarlok over the past four days had been odd, tense. Nothing she did or suggested met with his approval. All his actions seem to be about keeping me out of sight, away from anyone but him. Yet she’d no sense he found her particularly attractive or desirable, despite the many fulsome compliments he paid her, and his roving hands. On the contrary, she got the distinct impression he harbored a dislike for her.
Well, maybe this new development will help the situation, if he’s uneasy about my blindness. She blinked hard and was rewarded with shooting stars of white light. Before taking her nurse’s potion in the tomb and hitting her head, Shalira had never seen anything. Since the age of ten, when she’d been found next to her dead brother, her eyes had perceived only flat blackness, as if she was blindfolded. In the tomb she’d had her vision back briefly, thanks to the drugs. And thanks to blessed Pavmiraia, I got to see Michael’s face. Shalira treasured that one long moment almost as much as she was warmed by the memory of their single, never-to-be-repeated kiss. She was afraid to think about either too much. Those memories had to sustain her through the rest of her life, and she feared the years to come were going to be full of unhappiness and frustration, if her beginning with Bandarlok was any sign.
But now shapes occasionally moved through the darkness when she opened her eyes, and she saw flashes of white as if a door had been cracked open for a moment. She realized she’d seen Johnny full-on once during the long night when he’d checked on her so often. At the time she believed she’d been dreaming, perhaps suggested by his odd question during the initial examination. Later she realized she’d actually seen his face, only for a brief second, but undeniably genuine vision.
Will my sight keep getting better? Am I going to regain the use of my eyes? Even a slight degree of sight would be a blessing. Whether it was a lingering aftereffect of her nurse’s medicine or had been caused by the blow to her head, or both, Shalira hoped for continued improvement. Ever cautious, she’d said nothing to anyone, not even Saium. No use in raising anyone else’s hopes until I know more. She’d learned from living with the women in her father’s harem that it was best to keep secret advantages to oneself. She would have liked to consult with Johnny since he was a medic, but Bandarlok had allowed no further contact between them after the first night, saying she was obvio
usly on the mend and now the social conventions of his tribe must be respected.
She’d learned over the past few days that the tighter control she kept on her emotions, the more she had the encouraging glimpses of her surroundings, marred as they were by the flashes of squiggly lightning Staying relaxed is easier said than done, in these circumstances.
The wagon came to an abrupt halt, wheels locked, skidding sideways on the trail. Shalira braced herself, fearing the conveyance was going to roll over.
Hearing shouts, she was tempted to step outside, but the simple action would inevitably displease Bandarlok, so she folded her hands and waited. A few moments later, the heavy leather curtains were shoved aside. Bandarlok’s sweaty scent announced his presence before he spoke.
“My permanent camp in the highlands lies around the next curve of the trail,” he said.
Pasting a smile on her face, nervous and on edge, she responded. “Good news, indeed.”
He grunted. “I’ve sent riders ahead to assemble the clans, so they may properly welcome you. This one time only I expect you to be on public view.”
“It’ll be a pleasure, my lord. I’ve missed riding my horse.” Shalira extended her hand. “If you’d be so kind as to help me descend from this wagon.”
Ignoring her hand, Bandarlok leaned into the wagon, locked his arms around her waist, and dragged her unceremoniously out, immediately picking her up and striding away.
“I can walk, if you escort me. Hold my hand, perhaps. Or have Saium lead me,” she said, resisting a frantic urge to struggle. “Please, it would be more dignified.”
“Dignified?” Bandarlok laughed. “What care I for that? Observing the customary proprieties for a woman’s behavior is important but dignity is something else entirely.”
She heard other men close by repeating his remark and guffawing.
“I hope to present the best first impression possible to your tribe,” she said. “If we could take a few minutes and I could have some privacy, I have a dress and cloak the emperor had specially made for this occasion. They’re in my trunks, on the pack animals.”
He stopped walking. “You’re going to present the impression I desire. My people will understand.”
“But I don’t understand— ”
“My meaning will be clear, soon enough. For now, I desire to ride into my camp with you in front of me, sharing my horse.”
Like a prisoner, a spoil of war? Is that what he intends? Shalira was trembling.
“Aww, pretty one, indulge me for a few minutes, then you never have to ride a horse again.” He chucked her under the chin like she was a child, but he did set her on her own two feet. “Don’t be frightened, I’ll not drop you or let the horse throw you.”
“I’m not afraid.” She drew herself to her full height, blinking. Her vision right now was going black. The more upset she became, the more opaque the invisible film over her eyes became. The reassuring trickles of white light disappeared. Shalira turned her head toward Bandarlok. “Please, may Saium escort me to your horse?”
“Aye, fine. He can help my men hoist you to the saddle.” Bandarlok strode away, leaving her stranded in the middle of the road she couldn’t see.
Shalira had a moment to try to quell her panic before Saium took her elbow. Giving in to the temptation to cling to him, she didn’t care who might be watching them. Head on his shoulder, she whispered, “What have we done?”
“We got out of the poisonous imperial court before your father died and Maralika was free to kill you,” he said. “I don’t think we had any choice.”
Mike tried to offer me a choice, even if he didn’t speak of love. What would he have said if I’d encouraged him?
Saium patted her back, allowing her a fleeting moment of weakness before raising her chin with one callused hand. “His men are gawking at you. And he’s waiting.” Tugging her into motion, her guardsman guided her along the rutted road with utmost care. “We’ll not get another chance to talk, Your Highness. I wish you well.”
“I love you,” she said, finding it hard to speak with unshed tears clogging her eyes and making her throat ache. “I’ll miss you.”
“You know I feel the same. Take care of yourself, promise me.” Saium’s voice was fierce, though his words were rushed.
She had no time to answer as she was grabbed by Bandarlok’s men and lifted into the air, boosted unceremoniously in front of him on the nervous horse. The chieftain’s arms locked around her and the mount sprang forward, carrying her into her new life. Clenching her hands on the saddle, Shalira prayed to Pavmiraia she could find a way to make her new circumstances bearable, to create a place for herself in the tribe. Maybe her father’s parting advice—to give Bandarlok a child as quickly as possible—wasn’t so bad after all. But as the chief’s arms squeezed around her, she shuddered, choking back tears.
As their party rode out from under the last trees at the edge of the vast clearing where Bandarlok had his seasonal headquarters, Mike found a huge crowd awaiting them. The massed nomadic clans, each standing clustered beside tall staffs bearing their particular insignia, made for an imposing display. There were several hundred men, women, and children gathered to welcome Shalira to her new home. As he rode closer to the assemblage, Mike assessed the mood of the crowd. Something’s seriously off for what’s supposed to be a joyful occasion. This bunch is pretty reserved, watchful. I don’t like it, but none of this is my business. All Command wants me to do is get on with my own assignment, stop taking unrelated detours.
Mike watched as Bandarlok walked his horse along the entire line of his people, so they could all see Shalira. There was total silence, which Mike found puzzling, ominous. As if feeling distress or strong emotion, a few of the women in the crowd hid their faces as the chief and his bride-to-be rode by. Bandarlok drew his horse to a halt in front of a small wooden fence, behind which ornately patterned tents loomed. He handed Shalira down to two men who stepped forward to receive her.
Mike tried to edge his horse forward to see and hear more clearly, but the clan riders who’d been with Bandarlok on the trail closed in, blocking his access.
As the chief swung from his horse and took Shalira by the hand, a woman walked out of the gate to meet them. Tall, built as solidly as Bandarlok himself, she was dressed in blue robes accented with colorfully embroidered bartuks on the sleeves and at the hem. On her head she wore a filet of rose gold. Shalira looked like a child next to this newcomer.
Mike leaned close to the nearest rider. “Who’s the lady?”
“Bandarlok’s Chief Wife, Arananta,” the man said before the warrior on the other side poked him in the ribs, hissing at him to shut up.
Chief wife? Mike and Johnny exchanged glances. Had Shalira known she wasn’t coming here to be Bandarlok’s only wife, or even first among the harem? He made a mental note to talk to Saium about the topic later, once the welcoming ceremonies were over.
He couldn’t hear the words, but he knew Shalira well enough by now to tell she was stressed, even while her bearing remained regal. Arananta took Shalira by the hand and drew her inside the wooden fence, painted gates swinging shut behind them. Armed guards took up their posts and the next thing Mike knew, he and Johnny were being escorted across the open expanse of greenery, toward Bandarlok. The clanspeople were streaming in all directions, going about their business matter-of-factly, no one lingering to talk about the newly arrived princess.
Mike dismounted after he rode up to Bandarlok.
The chief gestured expansively as if the day’s events had put him in a jovial mood. “You’ll stay the night with us, Major Varone? I’m entertaining other guests as well—some chiefs from the east with whom I make an alliance. But we’ll decree the feast to be in your honor as well. The least I can do, if I’m not supplying guides. Send you on your way to the Djeelaba with good food, soft women, and strong wine as your last memories, eh?"
“You’re too kind, but we must be on the trail as soon as possible,” Mike d
emurred. “We lost a lot of time escorting the princess.”
“Nonsense, one more night won’t hurt anything. The dead outworlder comrades you seek won’t be any more deceased if you come upon them a day later, now will they? I insist.” Bandarlok guffawed, slapping his thigh genially, but it was plain they weren’t going to leave his camp this night. “My men will escort you to the tent we keep for visitors. Now I must go acquaint my new woman with her duties in my household.” He stood grinning as a pair of warriors led Mike, Johnny and Saium off to another group of semi-permanent dwellings to the east.
Clearly searching for something he’d expected to find, Saium looked in all directions with a puzzled frown as they walked. The old man’s increasing distress was obvious to Mike. Another mystery to probe, as soon as we get somewhere private. Something’s wrong in this camp, and we’re stuck in the middle of it for at least one night.
Technically a tent, their quarters had the most substantial construction Mike had ever seen in a temporary structure. Made of thick green fabric, sewn together in panels, and braced by a complex system of poles and thin struts, the tent culminated in a steeply pitched roof. The exterior had been treated with tree sap to make it water repellant. Inside, the space was large enough to house twice their number, with room left over. The entire encampment consisted of these tents, in varying sizes, laid out in concentric circles from the center. Completely encircled by the symbolic wooden fence, all the green-and-white-striped tents in the inner circle flew banners with the Bartuk Clan symbol. Mike’s assigned shelter was outside the last of the circles and off to one side, near the edge of the forest.
Picking at his yellow, snaggled teeth with a small bone, one bored warrior said, “The feast begins at sundown. We eat in the large red tent there, across the camp. No weapons allowed.”
Message delivered, he and his silent companion swaggered back to the main encampment.
A few minutes later, after taking care of their mounts first, Mike, Johnny and Saium stood staring at each other inside their large tent. Loosely hobbled, their saddle horses and pack animals waited outside the tent, grazing on the lush meadow grass.
Mission To Mahjundar (A Sectors SF Romance) Page 12
