A scream from the far end of the stable stopped me. My feet took me there like lightning, sword in hand, but there was nothing to fight. Just a girl and her horse.
I never thought I'd see such abject happiness on Yazizi's face. She had her arms locked around the throat of a grubby palfrey, leaking tears into its mane. The slender mare had dried out, lost weight, and showed claw marks along her back where pack-vultures had tried to bring her down, but even I could recognise her. It was really Zayara.
“Saint Cogro's beard,” I said softly, struggling to believe the evidence of my eyes. “She must've run off in the fighting and walked all the way here.”
Yazizi met my eyes, and what I saw in hers made my heart skip a beat. They sparkled with a glimmer of sanity I'd thought was gone. It was as if the dark fog around her lifted just a little to let her old self shine through.
She said, “We are survivors, Zayara and I. We always find our way.”
She didn't elaborate, and I didn't ask. I preferred to give her a few minutes alone with her beloved companion. Anything that might pull her back towards a semblance of humanity.
On the other end of the stables, Penn set to work leading the packed animals outside, and allowed himself a shiver as he glanced over his shoulder. “That girl makes me uneasy.”
“Good,” I said. “Do anything traitorous and I'll offer her your bollocks on a plate.”
Soon we had the whole column ready to move, and there was nobody left to stop us from going where we wanted. No more Harari, no more Duke's cavalry. Just a long road north. We'd be riding into the Duke's front garden, but maybe we could pull it off. This group was short on a lot of things, but not courage.
With our horses all arranged inside the gate, that still left more than a dozen in the stables, far more than would be sensible to take with us. We let the rest of them loose into the steppe. At least they'd have a chance.
Penn dug up his sergeant's severed head and put it in a leather sack, which he tied to his saddle. The woman appeared not long after, flanked by her most faithful followers, Aemedd and Sir Erroll. Yazizi trailed behind them with an armful of baggage. The mounts we'd picked for them seemed to go down well ‒ a beautiful young mare for the woman, some dead knight's destrier for Sir Erroll, and Aemedd's camel decked out with a shiny new Harari saddle. Even the ones we used for packhorses were a joy to behold, sleek and strong.
And Yazizi... She swung herself into the saddle like she belonged there, like her irons weighed nothing, and lovingly tangled her fingers in the palfrey's flowing mane. Zayara still looked rough and ragged from her long walk through the steppe, but Yazizi had done everything she could with brush and oil, and it showed. Under any other circumstance, the girl would've never been allowed to ride such a fine creature.
She rode up next to me and leaned in, speaking softly. “Karl. Can we spare a torch?”
The request was a little strange, but when I thought about it, I couldn't find a reason to say no. I shrugged, dug a scrap of oilcloth out of my bags and wrapped it around a heavy tentstake from one of the yurts. She struck a spark from my firelighter. The torch sputtered to life, and she held it low in both hands, heavy chain dangling between them.
Kicking Zayara in the sides, she steered the palfrey by legs alone to the feasting tent, and held the burning brand up against the fabric until it caught. Then she flung the torch up on the stable roof to make sure the fire would spread. Whatever the Harari used for tentcovers, it burned slowly, resisting the flames as much as it could. It was a losing battle. Even the storm-blown sands of the Tzan couldn't save it.
Yazizi returned to watch the flames with me. As the minutes passed, more and more of the camp went up, giving us more light than the faint, gloomy dawn. She sat bolt upright in her saddle, watching her funeral pyre consume the village tent by tent.
“Why?” I asked her.
Her eyes reflected the flickering fire as she looked at me. “Honour.”
She pulled her palfrey around again and fell in with the column on our way out the gates.
We left ashes and blood behind us, riding into the North with a faint sunrise glittering through the clouds of sand ahead.
The journey felt easier than going west and south. This time we had the wind almost at our backs, instead of in our faces day and night. The Tzan still whipped away, but I enjoyed being able to open my eyes more than a tiny slit. All things considered I was in a good mood. Drunk, and in a good mood.
Rifling through the Harari larder had turned up a bottle of ancient Dunbowden whiskey, plundered from the Kingdom in some bygone age, and I couldn't be happier. A splash of it in each wineskin improved the awful cactus juice to no end. The resulting grog kept me merry without making me fall off my horse.
Before I knew it I was humming, remembering the old marching tunes we used to sing in the Army. Sir Erroll must've heard me because he started to thunder out the words in a bassy, loud but rather pleasant voice. Not to be outdone, Aemedd joined in high and clear, and soon enough all the men among us were singing anything that came to mind. Ships on stormy seas, shepherd's daughters, knights courting peasant girls, hawks and hares... The songs grew more bawdy as we ran out of polite ones, but there were ladies present, limiting our repertoire. Finally we were forced to give up as night began to fall.
The woman called a halt and ordered us to make camp for the night. I was glad for the chance to lift my arse out of the saddle and do some more serious drinking. Yazizi cooked up a fiery stew of steppe plants and salted goat, and we ate together around the fire. She was a surprisingly skilled cook. The heavy spices burned my mouth, but it tasted good enough that I didn't care. I was ready for any relief from boring trail food or, after we emerged from the mausoleum, no food at all.
We never did find Aemedd's friends. I wondered what happened to them. Wouldn't lose any sleep over it, but it was a loose end, and as a Contractor I was naturally predisposed to hate those.
There wasn't much comfort to be found around the campfire with the Tzan blowing, even behind a windbreak of tough Harari tentcloth. After dinner we soon broke up and retired to our tents. Faro and Adar drew first watch. Sir Erroll assigned himself the privilege of last watch, which left me the dreaded middle shift. Three hours of sleep, followed by three hours of watch, and then three hours of... Well, you couldn't quite call it sleep. If you were lucky you got some rest out of it. If not, the day was going to be a bad one.
I couldn't be bothered with a tent. Instead I curled up under a cloak and watched the little campfire die out. We'd only built it for cooking and light, out of what little would burn in the steppe; the boiling hot night didn't need any added warmth. I writhed around for a long time, forced to keep the cloak on top of me for protection even though I was drenched in sweat, until sleep finally took me.
My dreams were brief and jumbled. Colours, shadows, torchlight and blood. Then the squire shook me awake, and I rubbed the grit out of my eyes.
“That was not three hours,” I groaned. It felt like the drummers of Hell were using my brain as their favourite instrument. “Was it even two?”
He shook his head at me. “Adar says he saw a fire. Somewhere west of us, a few hundred yards.”
“Did you see it?”
“I...” he hesitated, “I thought I... I couldn't say.”
Sighing, I gathered my wits and my desert veil. I already knew I wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight. “Then we'd better go make sure, hadn't we?”
We crept to the edge of our little camp, taking care not to wake anyone, and borrowed the spyglass from Aemedd's pack on the way. We held a moment by Yazizi's spot. The little slave had been staked down outside her mistress's tent with a long metal spike through her chains. When I tapped her on the shoulder, she opened her eyes and stopped pretending to be asleep.
“We may have company,” I whispered. “If the boys and I don't come back, raise a cry.”
She nodded silently. The boys followed me through the sand, Faro with bow in one han
d and Adar's shoulder in the other. Twice I asked Adar where he'd seen the fire, and he pointed without hesitation. I couldn't see a thing. We kept going, until...
Voices, soft but distinct, just on the other side of the dune. A man and a woman. My mind immediately lost its fog in a jolt of excitement and fear. I froze, and listened, trying not to breathe too loud.
“‒are lucky,” a woman spoke in rough Northern, her voice hoarse, her accent crass and wild. “These supplies would not have lasted you three days.”
The man replied fluently. “There's a reason why we're so low. I wouldn't call it luck.”
“You are lucky,” she insisted. “Most of the other tribes would have killed you for scalps and horses. They do not 'negotiate.'“
“So we've noticed. Just hold true to your word, Lytziri. If we capture that expedition, I promise you the Duke will bury you in silver. Whole coffers of it and more.”
“Mm. These Royals are important to you, Arravis. They must possess something of value.”
“No,” the man snapped. By his tone, he'd stopped an inch short of saying 'you ignorant savage.' “They're not important because of what they carry, but who they are.” After a long, moody pause, he added, “And Lytziri... Remember what I told you. The Duke won't pay for corpses. We want to interrogate them, not inter them.”
My heart thudded so hard it almost burst free of my chest. The enemy were camped a stone's throw away and none of us had had a clue! I had no choice but to take a look, to see what we were up against.
I crawled forward on knees and elbows until my eyes poked out above the crest of the dune.
Men. Horses. Ducal uniforms and Harari clothing intermingled. Many, too many. I started to count and gave up by the time I reached thirty. Even with the element of surprise, even with God on our side, I didn't fancy those odds.
I tried to shuffle back, but couldn't stop myself sliding in the loose sand. The noise made my blood freeze in my veins. Anyone could've heard that, and only a fool wouldn't investigate.
I watched from the corner of my eye as a curious sentry poked his head around the dune. Beady eyes peered from a deep bronze face, scanning the desert horizon. For a moment I was sure he'd spot the boys, but Faro had had the presence of mind to throw a cloak over them. In the dark they were indistinguishable from a pile of sand and rocks. However, I could see a faint struggle going on under that cloak. Caught a glimpse of the squire lying on top of Adar with hands over the farmboy's wrists and mouth. It was all Faro could do to stop that wriggling little creature from charging forward with some awful war cry. Unfortunately, that meant no well-placed arrows would be saving me from the sentry that was almost on top of me.
Holding his spear out in front, he took a few uncertain steps forward. He stopped on the crest of the dune, his boot mere inches from my knee. He still didn't see. I started to think I might have a chance, if I could just surprise him, drag him down and keep him quiet long enough to pull out a knife. I tried to form a plan, bunched my muscles underneath me‒
His foot nudged against my body. He looked down, gasped, and I knew I was going to be too late. He drew in breath to shout while I scrambled in the sand, trying to get up to reach his mouth. My limbs felt heavy as lead. I barely got hold of his belt before it was all over.
He grunted and fell forward, hitting the sand with barely a noise. Yazizi dropped on top of him, holding her chains whisper-quiet in her hands, and checked to make sure the man was out for good. The iron spike that was supposed to hold her down fell beside me, blunt end stained with the sentry's blood.
I started to whisper something, but she put a finger to my lips and jerked her head, telling me to move. I followed her at a crawl down the dune. She dragged the body along behind while I took his spear, and once we reached the boys she left it in my care while she erased our tracks.
I caught myself watching her in newfound admiration. Too bad I didn't have more time. I waved at the squire to get Adar back to camp, while I hefted the body onto my shoulder and wrapped a cloth around its seeping head wound to prevent leaving a trail.
“This fellow'll be missed,” I whispered. “Hurry!”
The boys went on ahead, without a heavy load to carry. By the time I reached camp Faro had woken everyone, and they were starting to flatten the tents. Penn helped me shove the lump of dirty furs, unwashed skin and acrid human smells into our latrine trench. I took a moment to go through the Harari's pockets before we buried him with the waste. Just my luck, the bastard didn't seem to own much more than the horse he rode in on. Nothing but a necklace of old teeth which looked like it might be worth a few pennies.
Yazizi came up behind me to watch us work. Her breathing was heavy, her unveiled lips caked in sand, and she laboured to work up enough saliva to spit on the dead man's face. Her expression was as hard and brittle as cast iron.
“Pity,” she said, her voice flat and hateful. “One death doesn't seem enough.”
The hem of her dress swept past me as she turned away. She became almost invisible, wiping out the drag marks from the dead man's ankles.
The rest of the burial didn't take long. I slapped the dust from my palms and growled to Penn, “Get the horses saddled. They'll kill you too if they find us, or I might just decide to save them the trouble.”
He scurried off like a beaten puppy while I went to get my things, which I'd left strewn carelessly on the ground. I rummaged around for the small box I always kept in case of emergencies. I found it, pulled it open, and scattered old grey ashes over the still-fresh embers of our fire. An old Army trick. By the time they found this site they wouldn't be able to tell if we'd been here a night or a week ago.
And, with a bit of luck, the Tzan would have covered enough of our horse tracks to leave no trace of which direction we went.
We threw our packs haphazardly onto our horses, jumped into the saddle, and left in a terrible hurry.
Tired as we were, we rode like men possessed, without sanity and without rest. Ropes lashed to our saddle rings kept us from straying. It was all I could do to hang on hour after hour, past sunrise and into another sunset. Every now and again I would whisper, “Just a little farther,” and that was the only noise aside from the howling wind and endless swish-swish of hooves wading through sand.
My eyes drifted shut for a moment, and I didn't wake up until I hit the ground. The impact jarred through my whole body and set my ears ringing. My bones ached like dry sticks shoved loose into an old sack. I watched my horse wander past me, unperturbed.
I dragged myself upright and eventually fought my way back into the stirrups. Everyone was flagging. I watched Faro's head droop, and when he started to lean to one side I slapped him on the shoulder. It made him jerk upright and forced him to stay alert for a few more minutes.
The sky slowly turned light before our eyes, but the woman kept going. She never seemed to tire. The regal shape of her astride her horse didn't waver for a second, and I wondered if she really understood the limits of us common people. Even Sir Erroll had lost his usual pluck, and Aemedd seemed to be snoring on top of his blasted camel.
I rubbed my eyes and kicked my horse until it moved forward enough to catch up with her. I had to muscle Aemedd aside. He said nothing, and his camel was too disillusioned to start a fight right now. It wandered a few paces to the left and allowed me access.
“Milady,” I said softly, “may I beg a moment?”
“I am not in a conversing mood, Byren.”
I'd never heard such razor-sharp words from her mouth, and they cut me like knives. I flinched but had to press on.
This time she cut me off the moment I opened my mouth. “This was meant to be a quick, quiet and unnoticed ride into the North. I'd like it to at least be a quiet one.” Her tone was more withering than ever. It could've made blooming flowers shrivel to nothing.
“Listen to me,” I pressed on regardless. “We're exhausted, all of us. We can't keep up this pace any longer.”
“You presume too m
uch, sir,” she hissed, real anger in her eyes, but I refused to waver. “You're a damned impudent blackguard.”
Now it was my turn to get angry. Her pride, her callousness, was too much. My blood boiled and I clenched my teeth to stop from shouting. “Maybe I am, but at least I know when someone's trying to give me good advice. You are killing us, do you understand? The next time someone falls out of the saddle they might not get back up again. We're dead if they catch us, and they might, but we're going to die for certain if we don't stop and rest!”
I finished much louder than I meant to, and I hurriedly scanned around to see if anyone had overheard. To my relief, nobody seemed to have noticed. And the woman...
She stared at me wide-eyed, somehow angry and humbled at the same time. It took her a moment to summon up the words. “You are an impudent blackguard,” she repeated softly, “and I ought to have you flogged.”
Of course she wouldn't have known. Looking down, visions of the sergeant and his lash danced in front of my eyes, my whole world going red each time it cut across my back. It wasn't simply an empty threat, either. A commoner like me raising his voice to a noble lady ‒ men had been put to death for less.
I remained silent and kept my eyes on my horse's neck, so I didn't even notice she'd stopped until she called out. “Halt! We shall camp here until nightfall. Secure the baggage, set up tents, and draw a watch schedule before anyone goes to sleep.”
It felt like a dream, although the sigh of relief that went through the group couldn't be all my imagination. And when she rode back to me, I saw those red lips hanging open as her eyes scrutinised me.
“You'll take first watch, and you won't speak out of turn again.” She put a proper haughty note into it. Then, almost a whisper, “Come to my tent once everyone's settled in. There's something else we need to discuss.”
Despite myself, I managed to nod. That was not an appointment I'd forget.
“Goodnight, Byren.” She dismissed me with a shrug of one shoulder and went to the where Faro and Adar were assembling her tent.
Written in Blood Page 17
