Dragonfly (30 page)

But I'm not really a witch, if you are wondering."

Zaradan frowned. "What proof do we have of that but your word?"

"If I were a witch, would I be sitting here with nothing but a borrowed shirt, begging for the return of a horse I do not even claim to own?"

Had he smiled? Tashi could not be sure for the expression was gone, replaced by a determined frown.

"Ah, yes, the horse. I fear nothing can be resolved until that is settled."

Zaradan stood up, having reached a decision about her. "It is your right to claim it through trial by combat or trial by ordeal. I'm sure, in fairness to our host, Zeliph would have mentioned this to you eventually."

Zeliph gave Zaradan an ugly look.

Tashi did not like the sound of either option. "But, sir, as I said, I do not claim Thunder. He belongs to Ramil, if anyone."

Zaradan gave her a penetrating look. "So you do not care enough for my grandson to protect his horse for him?"

She realized he was posing this as a test of her veracity. It went far beyond the question of who got to ride the blue roan.

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"I would protect anything or anyone that belonged to Ramil with my life," she replied steadily.

"So what is it to be?" Zaradan glanced over at Zeliph, who was reaching for his sword.

Tashi had a sickening recollection of her warrior lessons in Fergox's court. "I am no fighter, sir. Surely, the Horse Followers do not expect young girls to face seasoned warriors?"

"The ordeal it is then. Are you content, Zeliph?"

"Yes, Umni. But what ordeal do you choose? Fire-walking? Desert endurance? Running the gauntlet?" Zeliph sounded ready for anything to prove his worth to own the prince's horse.

Zaradan gazed at the ashen face of the girl who claimed to be his

grandson's betrothed.

"Horsemanship. The one who shows the most skill with the roan shall keep him."

Tashi dropped her chin and shook her head, knowing she'd already lost Thunder.

"I'll go first!" declared Zeliph eagerly.

Thunder was brought from his paddock to the space in front of Zeliph's tent.

The tribe crowded around their headman, calling out encouragement and praise. Tashi stood to one side, supported by no one. Zeliph leapt on Thunder's back and executed a series of beautifully judged turns and jumps, concluding his performance by making the stallion rear in front of Zaradan.

He slid nimbly from the horse's back, exhilarated by his own prowess. Tashi had to admit he knew how to bring out the best in the stallion.

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"Let's see what the girl can do!" Zeliph mocked. "I'll wager she can't even climb in the saddle."

The men laughed.

Resigned to defeat, Tashi moved forward, remembering how Ramil had always approached his horses. She stood in front of the great warhorse and waited for Thunder to notice her. The stallion bumped her gently with his nose, and they stood head to head for a moment.

"I'm sorry, Thunder," she whispered, "I don't want to lose you but I'm just not a very good rider."

Then don't ride,
came a prompting in her head.

It was worth a try. If she didn't get trampled, she might make her point.

"Any man who wants Thunder will have to separate us," she said aloud, and sat down between the war-horse's front hooves. He bent his neck and nuzzled her hair, standing over her as if she were his foal.

"This is ridiculous!" snarled Zeliph, striding forward to take the bridle. "I'll show her who is the horse master!"

Protecting his charge, Thunder flicked his head clear, then snapped his teeth at the man's arm. Zeliph tried to mount him, but the stallion sidled away, all the time keeping Tashi beneath him, out of reach. Tashi tried not to flinch as the hooves stamped around her. Desperately, Zeliph threw himself in the saddle. Thunder bolted clear of Tashi, then bucked until he had unseated the Horse Follower. Job done, he trotted back to stand over the girl as if nothing had interrupted them. Outraged to be humiliated before his tribe, Zeliph approached from behind but Thunder was wise to his game. The headman

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received a sharp kick to the stomach and ended doubled up, clawing at the sandy earth in agony.

Zaradan clapped his hands. "Enough! It is clear the stallion prefers the girl over Zeliph. They stay together."

Zeliph hobbled over and spat at Tashi. "You favor the claims of a bare-legged girl over a tribesman? Are you mad?"

Zaradan's face became stony, his dark eyes flashed. The men murmured at Zeliph's audacity. "Take that back or I'll cast you from the tribe! No man questions my judgment as long as I am Umni." He reached for a curved knife tucked in his sash.

Zeliph knew he'd gone too far. He touched his lips and then his heart. "I repent of my rash words."

The Umni of the Horse Followers released the knife hilt. "Then they were not heard," Zaradan said formally, touching his ears then heart.

Zeliph kicked the flap to his tent aside and disappeared without looking back at his lost prize.

"Come, child. You will not be welcome here any longer," Zaradan said to Tashi, gesturing to Zeliph's household.

Tashi got up and patted Thunder on the neck. "Thank you," she whispered.

"My tent is half a day's ride away." Zaradan frowned at her appearance, bare legs showing beneath the shirt. "Do your people really choose to dress like that? It is not suitable for the desert."

"No, sir. I was taken from my bed," she added defensively.

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"If you are to be my grandson's wife, I cannot allow you to ride in this fashion.

You there!" He pointed to one of the men. "Fetch the girl a robe."

The man hurried off and returned with an old grey scrap of cloth.

"I see Zeliph is feeling generous," Zaradan said ironically, wrapping it around her. "He's headman here and I'm afraid you have just made yourself very unpopular."

Tashi wrinkled her nose. "I'm used to it."

"Come then. Let's ride."

Zaradan's tent was larger than Zeliph's, but like his it had separate quarters for men and women. The interior was brightly decked with rugs and

hangings all with the horse motif. It was cool in the tent, thanks to the kilted-up sides that allowed a breeze to keep the air moving. Zaradan left Tashi in the care of his son's wife, a shy woman who responded to her attempts to make conversation only with nods and nervous laughter. Two big-eyed girls hung at the entrance, staring transfixed at the strange-looking foreigner. The woman offered her a fine turquoise tunic, decorated with seed pearl, and loose-fitting trousers. She then brushed Tashi's hair for her, murmuring to her children as she admired the color.

Zaradan invited Tashi to dine with him that evening, an invitation she accepted with trepidation. She had realized that he must be some kind of king

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among his people as Ramil's mother had been referred to as a princess. Yet it appeared that the notion of kingship here was different from any she knew; what she had witnessed at Zeliph's tent suggested Zaradan was more like a chief of a series of subordinate tribes with fluctuating loyalties. Ramil had never mentioned his grandfather, so she did not know how Zaradan would regard her presence here.

When she entered the men's side of the tent, she found the Umni was not alone. A man in his middle years, of similar build and coloring, was reclining at the table at his side. Both rose as she approached.

"This is my son, Resphir," Zaradan said. "And this girl appears to be Ramil's betrothed, though what her true name is we have not yet established."

"Ramil calls me Tashi," she replied, bowing Crescent-style to the two men.

Zaradan waved her to a cushion and offered her a plate of meat and couscous. She helped herself to a small portion, not feeling very hungry.

She sipped nervously on a tiny cup of mint tea.

"Where is Zarai's boy?" Resphir asked her bluntly before she could even swallow a mouthful of food.

"He's . . . I'm not sure. He was captured, I think, about three days' ride south from where the road divides to Tigral." An idea occurred to her. "Can you help him? Do you know where they would have taken him?"

"The slave market in the city, that's plain enough," said Resphir with a frown.

Tashi had the impression he did not approve of her. "I told you, Father, that you

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should never have allowed Zarai to marry that Gerfalian. Her child in slavery--it is an insult to the whole family."

Tashi felt a rush of annoyance. It was easy for him to criticize when he hadn't been the one fighting for his life. "It was hardly Ram's fault!" she protested. "I don't know how many came for us, but there were three alone after the other woman and me, so they must have come in force. No man, not even Resphir of the Horse Followers, could've escaped them."

Zaradan held up a finger to stop her tirade. "But you have not yet told us how you avoided the indignities of being auctioned in Tigral."

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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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.