Текст книги "Dragonfly"

Автор книги: Julia Golding

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we can count if we see what we've started through to the end." He held the gaze of the objector.

"But I don't want people I can't trust at my back. If you're with me, good; if you're not, you'd

better run because it's going to get very hot around here very soon."

Melletin jumped up on a barrel beside Ramil. "Brigardians, are you with the Dark Prince?"

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"Aye!" shouted his countrymen.

"What about you other men?" Ramil asked, looking across the crowd of faces drawn from all

parts of the Empire.

The slave who had challenged him took one look at Yelena, then raised his hand. "I'm in. It

seems you might know what you're doing after all."

Ramil grinned. "I can't promise that–but I can promise that I'll buy you a drink if we're still alive by the end of tomorrow!"

This met with a cheer and a laugh.

"Now I can't talk to all of you. Form yourselves into your pen groups and appoint a leader. He or she will be your commander. Send them to me.

Melletin, can you and the Brigardians stand guard while we get this rabble sorted?"

"Aye, Captain." Melletin ran to the main barricade, swiftly organizing his men to defend all approaches to the market. Ramil was thankful he had such a seasoned resistance fighter on his

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side; Melletin knew exactly what to do.

Search parties were sent to clear any hostile forces from the buildings surrounding the square

and a watch established on the upper floors to give warning of any attack.

Ramil was thinking fast. He now had a new advantage he hadn't anticipated, thanks to Yelena's

swift action to take the merchants hostage. He

approached the pen where they were being held. His merchant-mistress spat at his feet. Ramil

ignored her, looking for someone who showed more presence of mind.

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"Is anyone here fit to deal with me?" he asked in his most regal tone.

"Fit to deal with slave trash?" howled the old woman, her priceless silk dress now smeared with dirt. "I think not."

Ramil gave her a humorless smile. "Dark Prince, I think you'll find is a more accurate term,

madam. But, ladies and gentlemen, I haven't got all day. Who shall speak on your behalf?"

The merchants exchanged a few shifty glances, then a man wearing the chain of a city guild

leader stepped forward.

"I will treat with you," he said stiffly. "Know now, slave, that if you surrender, I will see that you are dealt a merciful death. Your allies will be spared but returned to their masters for

punishment."

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"That is very generous of you," Ramil replied with an ironic bow. "But I think you do not understand your position. I am the one offering you mercy. Send a message to your houses that

we will accept a ransom of a hundred thousand heralds for each of you. If the city guard try to

attack us, then sadly you will be executed before they can reach you."

"You would not dare!" exclaimed the guild leader.

"Me? No. I have no taste for taking lives. But if I see the troops coming for you, I will not stand between you and your old slaves. If you were merciful masters, then maybe you have nothing to

fear; if not, then ..." He left the sentence hanging, letting them imagine what their people would do to them.

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The guild leader struggled with his outrage for a moment but then jerked his head in a nod. "We

will send the message. But I cannot be answerable for the reply."

"And I cannot be answerable for the slaves you have nurtured in your households. We are well

matched."

Ramil strutted away, pretending more confidence than he felt. He had no intention of allowing

even these people to be cut down in cold blood.

However, he saw no advantage in letting the old masters know this; they deserved to sweat a

little.

"Now, where are my commanders?" Ramil asked, rubbing his hands together in anticipation as

he rejoined Gordoc. The big man was outside, surrounded by a dozen men and women, backs

straight and eyes aglow with a combative light for the first time since they had been taken into

slavery. It took Ramil a second to realize something: he was actually enjoying himself.

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Chapter 17

Zeliph lost patience with his silent guest after two days. He was eager to settle the matter of the

horse's ownership so he could claim it for himself.

Thunder was the kind of mount a rider in the Horse Followers would sell all he possessed to

own. Ignoring his wife's protests that the girl was still unwell, he marched into her chamber and

dragged Tashi from the bed. He brought her, still trailing her sheet, into the main part of the tent

in front of a meeting of tribesmen. She was clad in one of the men's shirts, from which she had

refused to be parted to put on more suitable women's robes, and her legs were visibly trembling

with weakness.

"As headman, I ask the tribe to give me the blue roan as a prize," declared Zeliph. "This girl says the horse is not hers and she is clearly not fit to own it any more than the clothes she wears.

Therefore the stallion should go to me as I caught him on our pastures and brought him here."

He sat down as if the matter was done with. Silence fell for a moment, broken only by the swish

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of fly whisks as the men brushed the buzzing nuisances away.

"But what of the pale girl: what will you do with her?" asked an old man seated near Tashi.

Zeliph shrugged and gave a languid wave to the door. "She can come or go as she wishes. She is

touched in the head and talks nothing but nonsense when she talks at all. She is of no account."

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"But where am I to go if you take my horse?" Tashi asked, her voice so quiet it was barely

audible.

The old man cupped his ear. "There, Zeliph, she's clever enough to understand that you're taking

from her. Are you sure she's touched?"

"What does it matter? She's a stranger and a woman–she's nothing to us.

She can walk home if she must, unless one of you wants to offer her a place in your tent. I've had

enough of her in mine."

"I'll offer her a place if your hospitality is so deficient," said a new voice in the entrance. The men looked up and hurriedly rose to their feet, bowing low.

Zeliph's face wrinkled in a worried frown as the newcomer swept in to take a seat next to him.

The visitor was an old man with white curly hair and ebony skin, at least six feet, broad-

shouldered and still strong despite his years. On his right index finger he wore a gold ring shaped

like a running horse.

"Umni Zaradan, you are welcome to my tent," Zeliph said, bowing again.

"But this stranger is not," the man replied, his eyes fixed on Tashi, "even though she brings word of my

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grandson, Ramil ac Burinholt? Why did you not send for me when she first mentioned his

name?"

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"A wild claim, sir," blustered Zeliph. "How can this . . . this pale westerner know anything of him? She probably just heard the rumors and spun her story accordingly."

Tashi returned the gaze of the man who claimed to be Ramil's grandfather.

She had no need to be convinced of his identity because the family likeness was strong. He was

much darker than his daughter's son, but they shared the same brown eyes and stubborn chin.

"Tell us how you know Ramil, child," the man said in a kindly tone, "and let us see if you are a liar as Zeliph claims."

Tashi wrapped the sheet around herself protectively. "I'm betrothed to your grandson, sir."

He raised an eyebrow sceptically.

"I am the Fourth Crown Princess of the Blue Crescent Islands. Ours was a marriage alliance but

it... er .. . went rather off course." Tashi thought that this was probably an understatement. "We were abducted by Fergox

Spearthrower but managed to escape at Midwinter. We were travelling to my home with some

companions but it all went wrong again." She stopped. The hostility in the room was palpable.

She could not continue so painful a subject if they were just going to pour scorn on her,

trampling on her already bruised feelings.

"I believe you are from the Crescent Islands–your hair at least says this is so," Zaradan said coldly. "But if you travelled with my grandson, where is he and why

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do you have his horse and"–he gestured to the shirt– "what look to be his clothes?"

"Ramil and our friends were taken by slavers on the road near the river," she explained.

Zaradan's eyes narrowed. "But you escaped?"

She nodded, looking down. He had put his finger on the guilt she felt at having survived.

Zeliph sensed that Zaradan's suspicions were roused and hurried to widen the breach between

the tribe and the stranger. "How can a defenseless girl escape when a fighter like Ramil ac

Burinholt gets taken?" Zeliph asked the men. "I do not believe a word of it. More likely she betrayed them, then ran away with his horse."

"No!" Tashi said indignantly, curling her fists. "I do not know how the men of the Horse Followers behave, but I would never sell my friends! Yes, I ran, but only because we were

outnumbered and I had no choice." Tashi turned to Zaradan. "Sir, if you love your grandson,

please believe me when I say that I only left him because I had to. Ramil knew that it was my

duty."

"Oh?" Zaradan asked guardedly, stroking the bridge of his nose. "And what duty was that?"

"I must return to my people in the Islands and ask them to declare war on Fergox." Tashi knew it sounded like a big claim for a young girl to make in this circle, but she continued, "If our fleet does not reach Gerfal in time, then King Lagan will be defeated. Ramil will have no kingdom to

inherit. He would have wanted me to escape, I'm sure of that."

Zaradan arched his fingers together. "I had heard

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that Fergox lost two prisoners at Midwinter–the Dark Prince and the Fair Witch, they are calling

them. I did not realize the prince in question was my grandson. That makes you the witch."

She nodded. "That was the kindest of the terms Fergox's people called me.

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

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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.

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"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."

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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?"

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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.

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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

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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

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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

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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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