Lady of the Star Wind (9 page)

Mark pondered how best to answer their guest’s qualms. “Are you, then, one of those who fled this Lost City?”

“Of course not! The fall of the city occurred many generations ago.” Tia laughed merrily at the idea. “Some three thousand years or more.”

“Well, she isn’t the Lady of the Star Wind who lived then either,” Mark said, pointing at Sandy. “And I’m not the warrior from that legendary time. The events happened a long time ago even for my people. And we’ve been busy with other concerns in far-off places.”
 

This explanation appeared to satisfy Tia. “Nakhtiaar needs your help to free the people from those who oppress and enslave them, so you’ve timed your return well.”

Mark decided it might be best to let the discussion end there. Sure that he could obtain more intel the longer he spent with the Nakhtiaar, he didn’t see a need to push the issue now.

He volunteered to sit with the injured man through the night. Sandy had discovered how to raise and lower the ambient lighting in the various chambers, so he had enough illumination to see the man’s face. The patient lay under the folds of his own deep blue cloak in the bedroom. The women were asleep in the dining room, and the troopers were bivouacked outside in the oasis. A single man was stationed below with the horses.

Somewhere in the wee hours of the night, Rothan stirred. He opened his eyes, blinking a few times, moving his head restlessly on the makeshift pillow constructed from another cloak. He licked his cracked lips. “Water?”

Djed had filled a crude canteen at the tiny lake earlier in the evening. Mark offered it to the patient, holding the waterskin so the other could drink. “Just a few sips. You don’t want to be sick.”

Obediently, the man gulped a small amount of the water. “Thank you.” Mark put his arm behind the man’s shoulders to assist him in reclining.

“How are you feeling? Does your head hurt? How many fingers am I holding up?” Sandy had left Mark with a short litany of questions to ask if the patient awakened. She probably hadn’t meant for him to ask them all at once, but being a nursemaid wasn’t in his skill set.

“One finger. And no, my head doesn’t hurt, which is a miracle, since the cursed dog of a Maiskhan must have struck me with his sword. I forgot what else you asked.” The captain stared at Mark, his brow furrowed. Then his expression cleared, and his eyes opened wide. “I remember now. You came out of nowhere, out of the mountain, shooting magic arrows of death.” He struggled to sit. “Tia! Where is she?”

Mark pressed him against the pillow. “She’s safe, asleep in a room across the hall.”

Closing his eyes as if the dim light bothered him, Rothan asked, “How many survived?”

“Tia, Djed, and three of your archers. Sorry, I don’t know their names.” Mark waved his key at the proper panel on the wall to dim the lights further.

“The horses?”

“We’ve taken good care of them, don’t worry. I acquired a few extra mounts when we were cleaning up after the battle. Unhitched them from an abandoned chariot, one of the—the Maiskhan, you call them?”

Expression sour, as if the name itself brought a bad taste, the other man nodded. “Then all is not yet quite lost, if we’re together and if we retain the means to reach the Lost City. There’s so little time.” He moved his head on the pillow.

“From the condition of your horses, you’ve been pushing them hard. How many days have you been traveling?”

“Seven days, with yet another three or four to go, if this is the mountain pass into the Empty Lands. And then we must get home to Nakhtiaar.”

“Yeah, Tia said something about a deadline to us at dinner. She wasn’t too forthcoming about the details.”

“Your accent makes my head ache,” said Rothan, distaste in his tone, opening his eyes to study Mark’s face in the gloom. “Who are you?”

Grateful Lajollae had dropped them on a world where a readymade identity was available to adopt, Mark said, “I’m the warrior who guards the Lady of the Star Wind. She and I’ve come to this world for now.”

“A good omen, to have the Star Wind at our backs in this time of crisis.” The injured man sank against his pillow as if all mysteries were now explained to his satisfaction. “Is there any more water?” Fading fast, Rothan had a hard time keeping his eyes open, but seemed determined to pursue the issue of his quest to the lost city. “We must journey onward in the morning.”

Mark shoved the cork into the waterskin. “I doubt if Sandy—the Lady—will let you leave the bed, much less agree to you riding in a chariot over rough ground.”

“But I’ve told you, the time grows short. We can’t forfeit a day, not an hour of a day. I’d drive at night under the moons as well, if the horses didn’t require rest.”

For the second time, Mark pushed him onto the makeshift pillows. “It won’t do your cause any good if you die of a cerebral hemorrhage brought on by impatience.”

“Die of a what?”

Not finding a word in High Chetal to fit the medical condition he wanted to describe, Mark hedged. “We’ll see how you’re doing in the morning, okay? I promise, word of an officer, we’ll leave the moment my Lady gives you the medical clearance.”

“In the morning,” the other man insisted drowsily.

“We’ll see.” Mark was relieved to be done arguing for now as Rothan slipped into sleep.

A few hours later, the women walked into the chamber together, both anxious to see how Rothan fared. Mark stood, stretching, and moved aside for Sandy to examine the patient, who snored off and on.

“Did he regain consciousness at all?” She ran a rapid scan with one of her instruments.

“We had a regular gabfest in the middle of the night,” Mark said. “And water was all I let him have.” He anticipated her next question. “Rothan wants to travel today.”

“It might be possible, I think. His head wound appears ugly enough on the surface, but there were no signs of skull fracture, no indication of more than a mild concussion. His vitals are good.” She showed Mark the readout, though the figures meant nothing to him. “He could go on if he doesn’t try to travel too fast.”

“He’ll be glad to hear the news. I’d have to knock him out to keep him in bed, if those were your orders. He’s determined.”

“We can go today?” Tia looked from one to the other, not comprehending a word of the rapid Outlier dialect.

“Yes, my lady, but we’ll have to go with caution,” Mark told her in High Chetal.

Eyes wide, Tia said, “You’ll come with us?”

He was surprised at himself. He hadn’t made a conscious decision to leave the oasis with these people, but plans revolved in his mind, all centering around a journey. Now he backtracked a bit. “I need to discuss the subject with the Lady of the Star Wind. Will you excuse us?”

As Rothan stirred groggily and Tia bent to tend to him, Mark took Sandy by the elbow, leading her out of the room. Mark strolled in silence across the central chamber and into the oasis, Sandy following his lead and not attempting to talk. Djed and one of his archers were preparing breakfast over a small fire.

The chief archer saluted as Mark walked onto the patio. “My captain is well this morning?”

Returning the salute, Mark nodded. “I think you may be able to continue on your journey today. Are the horses rested enough?”

“They must be,” Djed said with a fatalistic shrug. “Will you share our breakfast?” He pointed at the frying fish and some kind of journeycake, spread out on one of the glossy green leaves.

“Later, thanks. The Lady and I need to have a conversation.” Mark led Sandy away from the living quarters, stopping at the lake. Even though the locals didn’t understand Outlier, he had a longtime aversion to being overheard.

She laughed at him as she seated herself on a big flat rock at the water’s edge, dangling her toes in the clear water. “Afraid the Nakhtiaar got hypno training overnight?”

Mark frowned. “We need to make a decision.”

“Did you find out more about why these people are fleeing?”

Skipping a rock across the calm surface of the pond, he said, “Pretty standard stuff. Rothan was conscious enough to talk a couple of times during the night, and I pieced the situation together from what he shared. In a nutshell, Tia’s brother is the rightful king, but one of his late father’s wives seized the throne. This brother strikes me as not the brightest strategist.” Mark laughed. “Before he’d fully consolidated power after his father died, he departed on a previously planned two-year expedition to explore the region to the south, which gave this woman Farahna her chance. She acted as regent and then took over completely.”

Sandy plucked a yellow and red variegated flower and began idly pulling the petals off, one by one, dropping them into the water to drift away. Frowning, she said, “So far this reminds me a lot of Outlier politics. I didn’t expect to get ensnared in this kind of scheming and backstabbing here.”

“Oh, it gets worse. Rothan and the real king recently came home in triumph from the trip, and on the night of the welcome-home banquet, the king falls mysteriously ill.”

Tossing the final petals into the pond, she sighed. “Don’t tell me—poisoned?”

“Rothan and Tia suspect foul play. The queen’s personal doctors are treating him. No one can get in to see him, not even his sister. Who, by the way, scheming Queen Farahna intends to marry to her own son without further delay.”

Sandy pulled her feet from the water as tiny fish came to investigate her wriggling toes. Drying them on the hem of her gown, she said, “Which explains the pursuit we saw and the attempt to kidnap Tia.” She grimaced. “I can relate. Rothan must not like the queen’s idea much either, since he stole her away. But why this mad dash to the lost city? I don’t understand, unless he and Tia are eloping and planning to live there?”

Mark batted a large, slow-flying insect away from his face and stretched his arm to pick some fruit for his breakfast. “The tale takes an unusual twist. Rothan’s after some artifacts, a crown and a scepter belonging to their ancestors. He says—no, he swears—the scepter has the power of life and death, can cure all ills, including poisoning, and whoever wears the crown is automatically the ruler. Apparently, the crown possesses its own magic, whereby it recognizes the true ruler, and the people will follow where the crown rests.”

“Convenient.” Tilting her head, Sandy said, “You sound like you believe the mad tale?”

Offering her the second red fruit he’d picked, he said, “I’ve seen stranger things on some of the worlds I’ve been to.” He shrugged. “I mean, was what Lajollae did to send us here magic? Or ancient technology we don’t comprehend?”

“Fair point.” Biting into the juicy offering, she abandoned the flat rock and strolled along the edge of the water.
 

Mark followed her, slinging another stone into the lake and watching it skip five times before sinking from view. “I’m intrigued by the fact whoever lived in this oasis has a place in the legends of Rothan’s people.” He sat on the grassy bank to eat his own “apple” as she kilted her dress and waded into the water up to her knees. “There’s another angle too,” he said. “This Queen Farahna is from someplace else, the nation of Maiskhan. She’s bringing in soldiers and priests from her home by the boatload, and Rothan suspects she’s planning to convert his birthplace into a Maiskhan satellite.”

“And we should care…why?”

Her confrontational tone rubbed him the wrong way. The Sandy he knew, or thought he’d known, wouldn’t have been so dismissive of other people’s problems. “The Maiskhan sound like a nightmare bunch. They believe in human sacrifice, and commit atrocities.” Mark rose to steady her as she stepped from the lake so she wouldn’t slip on the slick grass.

“According to Rothan.” Sandy dropped his hand. “Not saying I don’t believe him, but we both know the techniques of deploying negative propaganda to rally the populace. My grandmother’s lackeys are accomplished liars.”

“My assessment so far is he’s a straightforward, no-bullshit guy. An honest man trying to save his best friend’s life and throne. Wants to do right by his people.” Her skepticism bothered him, but he had to admit neither of them had firsthand knowledge of the facts on this world. Rothan impressed him, had the kind of military background he could relate to, was comfortable with.
 

Unsmiling, Sandy faced him, her gaze direct. “So this decision you want me to make boils down to going with them or staying here, right?”

“Yes.”

She stared across the lake, watching a flight of graceful white birds take wing into the sky, soaring easily beyond the barrier. “And you vote to go?”

“I do.”

Pivoting on her heel to confront him, she said, “Why? Persuade me,
bogatyr Denaltieri,
remembering you’re sworn to place my well-being uppermost.”

Surprised and irritated by her reversion to haughty royalty, as well as her reference to his blood oath of allegiance, given decades before, Mark stayed silent for a moment, marshaling his thoughts. His readiness to sign on to the cause of people he’d just met was out of character for him, he realized under her prodding. “It’s beautiful here, but we can’t live the rest of our lives cooped up in this pocket-size oasis of greenery on the side of a mountain. Maybe it worked for the real Travelers, maybe they dropped in and spent their vacations here and then Traveled home to their real lives, or on to somewhere else. I don’t know. But we—well, I think we’re here on this planet forever. These seem like good, honest people and, furthermore, have horses, food, and water, maps for the terrain—who knows when another likely group might come along? I say we throw our lot in with them, see where it takes us.”