Текст книги "Vessel"

Автор книги: Sarah Beth Durst

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“Exactly who is in charge here?” Fennik asked.

“Does it matter?” Korbyn asked. “She’s correct. You have the opportunity to save your god. It is up to you whether or not you take it.”

Fennik’s eyes narrowed. “Is it?”

“No,” Liyana said. Her eyes flicked to Korbyn for confirmation.

Korbyn sighed. “Bayla would be upset with me if I allowed Sendar’s clan to die because of the stubborn stupidity of a father and son. You will be coming with us.”

* * *

The Horse Clan supplied them with eight horses: one for each of them as well as the other vessels they hoped to find, plus two spare horses so they could rotate mounts. To Liyana’s shock, she saw that several large water containers had been loaded onto the horses. She remembered the silty taste of the water and knew their well had to be low. To donate this much water was an extraordinary gesture. The clan also loaded them with food pouches, grain for the horses, pots and pans, a larger tent (in place of Liyana’s travel tent), and six different kinds of bows for Fennik to use.

“Do you really need six?” Korbyn asked as the bows were strapped to a horse.

“Different game requires different tools,” Fennik said. “You wouldn’t ask me to use a mallet for the same task that needs a knife, would you?”

“They’re bows,” Korbyn said. “You fit an arrow; you release it.”

Fennik shook his head as if Korbyn were an object of pity.

Liyana skirted the edge of their miniherd. She’d ridden once or twice, a treat from the clan’s hunters before she had become a vessel. She wasn’t convinced she could ride for miles on end without falling off and humiliating herself in front of the god and the horse warrior. She wished Korbyn would abandon this plan to ride so she could keep her feet firmly in the sand. And she wished it were still only her and Korbyn.

Fennik leaped onto his horse’s back without touching the stirrups. He waved his hand to his clan, and they cheered. He was decked out as the departing hero with sky blue robes of the finest weave and a headcloth with gold tassels.

Beside him, Korbyn slid up into his saddle with such grace that it looked as though he’d merely stepped onto a ladder. He didn’t preen; he merely waited. Fennik continued to play to the crowd, prancing his horse in front of Korbyn and Liyana. Taking a deep breath, Liyana grabbed the saddle with both hands and put her foot into the stirrup. She pulled her body up, and pain from her scar shot through her torso. She let go.

“Allow me,” a voice said behind her. She was tossed gently and easily into the saddle. She looked down to see the chief beside her. Instinctively she shied back. Responding to her, the horse sidestepped away.

Coming up beside her husband, the chieftess pressed a pouch into Liyana’s hand. “Herbs for the pain. Mix a few with your water each time you stop. It won’t eliminate the hurt altogether, but it should allow you to keep riding. There are more in the packs.”

“We picked a horse with a smooth gait for you,” the chief said. “According to our traditions, you may name her.”

Liyana managed a polite nod. She couldn’t bring herself to voice the words “thank you.” Her scar ached. She watched the chief and chieftess say good-bye to Fennik. Bending down, he embraced each of them. They pressed their foreheads together and talked softly. Each parent kissed him multiple times on his cheeks.

Liyana wished she’d had that kind of good-bye with her parents. She missed her family with an ache that matched the pain from her wound.

At last his parents stepped away.

“Do not return to us,” his father said. “Either succeed in your quest and give your body to Sendar, or do not return at all.”

Liyana saw a flash of an emotion in Fennik’s eyes—surprise perhaps, or hurt—but he recovered quickly. “I will not fail!” Fennik said. Raising his hands to wave at his people one more time, he shifted in the saddle. The horse surged forward. Sand kicked up behind him. He galloped south in a plume of sand and dust.

Korbyn squeezed his knees around the barrel of his horse, and the horse trotted forward. Liyana kicked her heels into hers. After three kicks, the horse lurched into a walk. She followed Korbyn and Fennik, and the cheers of the Horse Clan faded behind them.

Chapter Ten
The Emperor

All the farms in the west had withered. Mounted on a roan war– horse, the emperor rode at the front of the army caravan and forced himself to look at each dry field, the shriveled rows of dust and the twisted sickly trees. He rode past abandoned farmhouses and some that looked abandoned but weren’t. Men, women, and children clustered in the doorways and watched the army march by. Their faces wore the pinched, hollow look that he’d come to recognize as the look of his people, and their hungry eyes devoured the caravan.

At the first few farms, he’d quietly had his soldiers shuttle food to the families. But after a while . . . He needed the supplies for the army. Just as quietly, he’d had his soldiers stop.

Still his people drank in the sight of the army, consuming it with their empty eyes.

“You give them hope,” General Xevi said. His two best generals flanked him. General Xevi, an older man who had counseled the emperor’s father, rode on his right. General Akkon, an even older man who had known the emperor’s grandfather, was on his left.

“False hope,” General Akkon said.

“Hope is a powerful tool if it is not abused,” General Xevi said.

The criticism was there, unspoken. “You think this is madness,” the emperor said.

“It is not my place to cast such judgments,” General Xevi said.

The emperor’s mouth quirked. It was almost a smile, though it didn’t warm him. “Of course it is. I trust you to advise me, and that includes speaking up if you believe that I am acting like a nightmare-addled lunatic.”

“To base so much on a dream and a myth—”

“And the claims of a madman,” General Akkon added.

“The magician is not mad,” the emperor said, “though I admit he has his moments of . . .” He cast about for the proper euphemism, and words failed him. The magician was indeed flawed. “You did not speak your concerns before.”

“The court is filled with fools,” General Xevi said, “but they are powerful fools. You needed the full confidence of the military when you stood before them.”

“And do I have the full confidence of the military?” the emperor asked. He did not let either his voice or his face betray the way his insides clenched.

For a moment, General Xevi did not answer. They rode past another farmstead. The wooden door swung open and shut in the wind, as if in rhythm with the footfalls and hoofbeats of the army. Torn curtains fluttered in the windows. But no family came outside.

“You have our hope,” General Xevi said.

The emperor nodded. It was enough. “I will not abuse it.” He twisted in his saddle. Dust rose in clouds from the road, and his army stretched into the distance. “Send a scouting party ahead. Secretly, if you can, so as not to admit any doubt. Send them to the desert mountains. . . . And let us see if they find false hope or true.”

Chapter Eleven

Liyana laid her cheek against the horse’s neck and wished she didn’t hurt so much. With every step the horse took, she felt a throb of pain from her scar, and she had fresh bruises and blisters on her thighs from the saddle. She’d named her horse Misery. Misery collected dust on her hide that mixed with horse sweat. This dust clung to Liyana’s skin—clogging her pores, filling her nose, itching her eyes. Trailing after Korbyn and Fennik, she listened to them argue about what route to take.

“Five days,” Fennik promised. He was pushing for a route that would take them north of the salt flats. He claimed he could hunt there, plus there would be occasional springs of water between the rocks.

Korbyn shook his head. “We cross the salt flats. Three days.”

“They’re a wasteland,” Fennik objected. “Zero animals. Zero plants. I need fresh meat for optimum strength.” He flexed his arm muscles.

“We have supplies,” Korbyn said. “What we don’t have is time. We must reach the Silk, Scorpion, and Falcon Clans before their ceremonies fail. We cross the salt flats.” He kneed his horse and trotted ahead of them, effectively ending the discussion.

To Liyana, Fennik said, “I always pictured the trickster god as more jovial.”

Liyana didn’t reply. Since Fennik had joined them, neither Liyana nor Korbyn had talked much. Instead Fennik had regaled them with tales of breeding horses, training horses, and selling horses. At first Liyana had tried to interject stories of her own clan, but Fennik hadn’t been interested in listening and Korbyn had seemed preoccupied. As her sores from riding all day worsened, it became easier to stay quiet. She missed the conversations with Korbyn, though, and she caught herself watching him as they rode. He wasn’t sleeping well—she’d woken him from nightmares twice last night, squeezing his shoulder so he’d wake without alerting Fennik.

Fennik babbled as cheerfully as if she had encouraged him. “My clan tells the tale of when the trickster god attempted to trick Sendar into trading his favorite horse for a scorpion. The scorpion recognized Sendar’s strength of character and refused to act against him. He stung the trickster instead.” Fennik laughed, a booming sound that seemed to roll across the desert.

On the crest of the next sand dune, Korbyn waited for them. Catching up, Liyana and Fennik reined in alongside him. The other horses, guided by Fennik, slowed as well.

Stretched out before them were the salt flats. Heat waved over the white surface. Liyana felt her eyes water from the glare of the sun on the bright white. She shielded her eyes. Despite the name, the salt flats were not flat. The crumbling flats were split by cracks, the work of salt worms.

Liyana had never seen a salt worm, though she’d heard stories, of course. In most of the desert, they lived so far below the surface that they might as well be myth. But here . . . they tunneled vast networks just below the crusted earth, excreting both salt and the fine threads that the Silk Clan collected for their famous cloth. They also left in their wake a chopped, treacherous terrain. Liyana pointed to one of the broken areas. “What do we do about the salt worms?”

Korbyn shrugged. “We avoid them.” He dismounted and offered water to the horses. Then he redistributed the packs while Fennik checked the hooves and fetlocks of each horse.

“Stories say that some worms can grow up to fifteen feet long,” Liyana said. She ran a curry comb over Misery’s hide. The horse heaved a sigh when Liyana didn’t remove the saddle. She wanted the most placid horse possible for this terrain. “Large enough to swallow a man whole.”

“Stories can lie,” Korbyn said as he mounted a different horse. This one, a sorrel mare, whickered at him, clearly pleased to be exchanging the water containers for a rider. “Your precious Sendar ordered the scorpion to sting me while I slept. He’s not as noble of character as you’d like to believe.” Without waiting for a response, Korbyn kneed his horse, and the mare lurched forward, descending the sand dune. Over his shoulder, Korbyn added, “And the worms can grow much longer than fifteen feet.”

* * *

The sun beat down on Liyana’s back until she felt as if every drop of moisture had been pounded out of her. She unhooked her waterskin from the saddle and drank. As much as she loved the desert, she hated the salt flats. Fennik was right that they were a wasteland. Utterly colorless, they stretched in every direction. Even the stone mountains looked pale, like clouds low on the horizon. Cracks left behind by the worms laced the flats and slowed Liyana, Korbyn, and Fennik—they couldn’t risk a horse stumbling.

After a few hours, they rested the horses. Fennik slid off the back of his horse and poured water into a dish. The water sloshed over the rim and was instantly sucked into the hard ground.

Korbyn jumped off his horse and caught Fennik by the wrist before Fennik could fill the next dish. “The worms are drawn to moisture,” Korbyn said. “Do. Not. Spill.” He released Fennik’s wrist before the horse boy could wrest it away.

Carefully Fennik filled dishes halfway for the other horses. A few drops stained the salt as the horses nuzzled against the dishes, and Liyana held her breath as she watched for worms. As soon as the horses finished, they moved on quickly.

They rode for two days without seeing any salt worms. “I think I’ll kiss the sand,” Liyana said on the dawn of the third day, the day they were to leave the salt flats. “And forswear all salt in my food forevermore.”

“Imagine that it’s sugar,” Korbyn said. “You’re riding across candy.”

“Salt can never be sugar,” Fennik said.

“We should talk about the definition of the word ‘imagine.’ ”

Before Fennik could reply, one of the spare horses caught her hoof on a crack in the salt. Her tired leg kept moving even though her hoof had stopped, and she pitched forward. With a yell, Fennik launched himself off the back of his horse to catch the falling horse’s reins. Startled, his horse reared, which frightened the other horses. One of the other horses tried to bolt, crashed into a nearby horse, and fell onto her side. She scrambled upright.

Liyana struggled to cling to her reins as Misery sidestepped and snorted. She didn’t buck or try to run, thankfully. Soon Liyana was able to loosen her grip on the reins and look over at the others. Fennik was soothing the startled horse, murmuring to her and stroking her neck, while Korbyn rounded up the others.

Beneath the horse who had fallen, Liyana spotted a dark patch. Worse, the patch spread outward, and the darkness stained the salt.

The horse had held a water container, and it had cracked on impact. The precious liquid flowed freely down the horse’s flank. “Water!” Liyana cried. She slid off Misery and ran to the horse. The two boys were instantly beside her, pulling the container off and trying to plug the holes. Fissures zigzagged over it.

At their feet, the liquid was swallowed up by the salt flats.

“Leave it,” Korbyn commanded. He backed away from the container. “Lead the horses away.” He scooped up three sets of reins and began to pull the horses away from the water stain.

“My clan sacrificed to give us that water! Saving it is—” Fennik began to argue.

Beneath Liyana’s feet, she felt the earth tremble. She heard a rumble. She yanked on Misery’s reins. Eyes wide, the mare flexed her knees and refused to budge. Salt pellets rattled and then were tossed into the air as if bounced from below. Misery rolled her eyes and snorted. Her body shook but her knees stayed locked. Liyana stroked her neck and pleaded, “Come on. Just a step and then another. You can do it. Please!”

Beside her, Korbyn shouted at the other horses. Fennik slapped the flanks of another, and yanked on the reins of two more. Several bolted.

“She won’t move!” Liyana yelled. She braced herself and pulled the reins. Misery rolled her eyes back in her head again, exposing only the whites of her eyes.

As the shaking increased, Liyana fell to her knees. The reins slipped out of her fingers. Feet spread to keep his balance, Fennik unhooked one of his bows and arrows. He aimed it at the ground. All but three of the horses had fled.

The worms burst through the crust of the salt flat. Chunks of salt flew into the air and then rained down. Salty dust instantly blanketed them. At Liyana’s feet, finger-size worms crowded their writhing bodies over the damp earth. Dog-size worms followed them, squeezing their bodies through the cracks. Fennik fired arrows into their oozing flesh.

As the ground continued to quake, Liyana scrambled backward, and Misery reared, finally breaking her paralysis. A four-foot worm with a body as thick as a child’s burst out of the ground directly in front of them. Misery slammed her hooves down on the worm’s soft body. It squished under her hooves but continued to writhe. Its mouth opened and shut to show multiple rows of rock-hard teeth.

Another worm shot out of the ground beneath Misery and clamped its mouth onto one of the horse’s legs. “No!” Liyana shouted.

The mare whinnied and shuddered, and then fell to the ground as the worm sucked. Other worms converged on the horse, spreading over Misery’s torso. They latched on and sucked. Liyana yanked Jidali’s knife out of her sash and hacked at the worms that covered Misery. Gray pus poured out of the bulbous bodies, but still more worms surged out of the earth to replace the ones she had chopped away.

Liyana felt a sharp pain in her leg. She looked down to see that a worm the size of her arm had latched onto her calf. She sliced through its body, and the worm fell away.

One of the two remaining horses broke through the worms and ran. But the other horse fell and succumbed, collapsing beside Misery. Too many! Liyana thought as she tried to wade through the oozing bodies. “Korbyn, use magic!” she yelled. He couldn’t hear her over the screams of dying horses and the crunch of the salt earth as it was torn up by the worms. She waded through the worms toward him. She grabbed his arm.

Startled, he met her eyes.

“Use your magic,” she said. “I’ll guard you.”

He hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then he lowered his knife. Closing his eyes, he steadied his breathing. She sliced at the worms that crawled toward them.

The ground shook harder than before, and Liyana was knocked backward. She landed hard on her tailbone, and the air whooshed out of her lungs. In front of her, in the midst of the writhing worms, the ground exploded, and a massive worm—larger than she’d ever imagined—burst out of the ground. Its mouth gaped wide. It looked as if it could swallow the sun.

“Fennik!” she yelled as she scrambled to her feet. Bracing herself, she held the sky serpent knife in front of her. The worm swung its head from side to side as if sniffing the air. Arrows hit its body, plunging deep into the mucus coat that covered the bulbous segments.

“Run!” Fennik yelled.

Liyana didn’t. She turned to Korbyn, who was deep in a trance, and sliced away a worm that had latched onto his back. He stood still as stone, his eyes closed, his breathing even. She stomped and stabbed at the smaller worms that ringed them as the giant worm towered over them.

“Coward!” Fennik shouted at Korbyn. “Fight them!”

“Help me guard him!” she yelled.

But Fennik continued to shoot the worms near the dead horses.

The giant worm flexed in the air, and then slowly, miraculously, it sank back into the ground. The smaller worms retreated as well. The ground shook again as the worms sped away, cracking the salt flat as they fled.

In seconds, all was quiet.

Korbyn collapsed.

* * *

Liyana lifted the supply packs off the two dead horses. She tried not to look at Misery. Tears openly poured down Fennik’s cheeks as he cut away the saddles and bridles. Wordlessly Liyana and Fennik carried their remaining supplies several hundred yards away from the torn salt earth. Liyana set up the tent, and they placed the unconscious god inside.

While Fennik went to search for surviving horses, Liyana examined the bite marks that covered Korbyn’s body. He’d been torn all over, despite her best efforts.

Trying to be gentle, she pulled the fabric of his clothes away from the wounds. Some of them oozed blood. Some were coated in mucus and pus from the worms that she’d sliced away. She wondered if she dare use water to wash them out. She wondered if she dare not use water to wash them out.

Fennik crawled into the tent. “How is he?”

“Bad,” Liyana said. She didn’t look at Fennik. “He can’t heal himself if he’s not conscious.” She dug the healing herbs out of her pack.

“He drove the worms away, didn’t he?”

That was so obvious she didn’t bother to reply. She located cloths and bandages, and she pressed a clean cloth to a wound on his calf to slow the bleeding.

Fennik tucked a wadded robe underneath Korbyn’s leg. “We need to keep the blood from seeping into the ground. It’s moisture too.”

She’d rather keep the blood inside Korbyn’s body entirely, never mind where it went afterward. She felt as if her heart was beating uncomfortably hard inside her rib cage. Liyana tied a bandage around his arm. Her hands shook.

“How can I help?” Fennik asked.

Liyana bit her lip. If he’d helped when she’d asked before . . . She refused to meet his eyes. If she did, she thought she might lose her self-control, and that wouldn’t help Korbyn. “More bandages,” she said.

He fetched more.

She wrapped his wounds as best she could, using damp cloths to clean the worst bites, and then smothering the dampness in dry cloths. Fennik took extra wads of cloths outside to care for the horses. He returned after a while.

“How many horses did you find?” she asked. She still couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

“Two,” Fennik said. “One is unridable. The other has only superficial wounds and will live, with care. But there’s no sign of the four that ran across the flats.”

She nodded. He didn’t have to say that that was bad. Wounded and without water, those horses wouldn’t last long. “What about our water supplies?”

He hesitated. “A day’s worth left, if we ration.”

Korbyn had slept for three days with the Horse Clan. She didn’t know how long he’d be out after this level of magic. He’d once said summoning water where none existed was immensely difficult. “We could strap him to the good horse and walk to the Silk Clan.”

“In the sun and walking . . . the water wouldn’t last a day.” Fennik slumped down beside her. “I said we shouldn’t cross the salt flats. He thinks he’s invincible.”

“Does it feel good to be proven right?” Liyana blinked back the tears that sprang into her eyes. She couldn’t afford to lose the moisture. “Korbyn had said three days to cross the flats. So we have to be close to the Silk Clan. Take the last horse and whatever water you need and find help.”

“You cannot ask me to leave you alone—”

“I won’t be alone,” Liyana said. “He’ll wake. And I’m not asking.”

“Come with me,” Fennik said. “If we leave all the supplies except for the water, the horse can carry us both. We can make it to the Silk Clan and send help back for Korbyn.”

She shook her head. The idea of leaving him felt as repugnant as the flesh of the salt worms. She’d failed to protect him against the worms; she didn’t intend to fail him again.

“He’ll be all right,” Fennik said. “As soon as he wakes, he’ll heal himself.”

She focused on Korbyn’s face. It was twisted in pain. Every second Fennik wasted arguing was a second longer until they had help. Without thinking, she wrapped her hand around Korbyn’s hand. “You’ll be faster if you ride alone,” she told Fennik.

“But you—”

“Stop!” For the first time since the worms, Liyana looked him directly in the eyes. “Stop arguing. Stop needing to be right. Stop trying to prove you’re better than he is. Take the horse and find help.”

Fennik fell silent for a moment. “Bayla chose him over Sendar too.”

“I’m not Bayla and you’re not Sendar. And if he dies, then neither of us ever will be. Go!” Liyana bent over Korbyn.

She heard Fennik leave the tent. She heard him murmur to the horses, and then the sound of a horse being saddled. And then he rode away over the hard salt.

Alone, she listened to Korbyn’s harsh and fast breathing.

She felt his forehead for signs of a fever. His skin was slippery with sweat. Don’t you die on me, she thought at him. Fingers shaking, she checked her stock of medicinal leaves. She’d used up half her supply already, and the remaining stash was a pathetic handful of dried weeds. She’d have to be more sparing in the future, if there was a future. Liyana banished that thought.

After a while, she ducked out of the tent to tend to the last horse. She was a roan mare, though it was difficult to tell beneath the salt, dried blood, and pus. Liyana remembered that Fennik had named her Plum after her fondness for date plums. Gently Liyana peeled back the bandages Fennik had applied to check on the wounds. Most seemed clean, and none oozed. She secured the bandages again. Plum was in better shape than Korbyn. Patting the horse’s neck, Liyana looked out across the salt flats. She saw no one and nothing. All was still.

Carefully she offered the horse a few sips of water. She drained the dish gratefully and whinnied for more. Liyana poured her a handful of horse-meal pellets instead.

Returning to the tent, she checked her own wounds, and then lay down beside Korbyn. She closed her eyes but her muscles stayed tense, waiting to feel the earth shake again. Eventually she slept.

She woke to the sound of a horse whickering. Poking her head out the tent flap, she asked, “Plum, what is it?” In the distance, she spotted a cloud of salt dust. In its center was a horse, walking toward them. “Fennik!” She waved. But as the horse drew closer, she saw it wasn’t the same horse—this horse was black and white, and it had no rider. Korbyn had named this horse Windfire.

The horse swayed as she walked, but she didn’t slow. She trudged toward them step by painful step. After nearly an hour, Windfire reached them, and her legs folded underneath her. Plum nuzzled the other mare’s neck.

“Good to see you,” Liyana said as she lifted off the saddle and the supply packs. She poured the horse-meal pellets and (very carefully) a small amount of water, and then she examined Windfire’s wounds. She saw only superficial cuts, which had ceased bleeding and dried in the hot air. The horse should recover—assuming we don’t all die, Liyana thought.

She spent the rest of the day alternating between Korbyn and the horses. She tried not to think about how little water remained or to count the hours since Fennik had left. She listened to Korbyn’s shallow breathing, and she tried not to think at all. As night fell, Liyana remained outside the tent with the horses and watched the stars spread across the sky. She located the goat constellation (Bayla’s stars) above the forbidden mountains and then the raven constellation near the eastern horizon.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” a voice said behind her.

She twisted around to see Korbyn emerge from the tent. He plopped down beside her and proceeded to strip off his bandages. The skin underneath was healed. Liyana touched the smooth skin, and then all of a sudden her cheeks were wet.

Kneeling, he cupped her face in his hands and caught her tears in his palms. “Don’t bring back our writhing friends,” he said gently.

She stared into his eyes and gulped hard once, twice, until she no longer felt as if she were splintering. He was alive! Her skin shivered where he touched it. “Whatever you did worked,” she said evenly. “They left.”

“I summoned water elsewhere.” He studied her. “Let me fix you.”

She wanted to object—he’d only just recovered—but before she could frame a reply, he’d rolled up her sleeves. Concentrating, he focused on her. In a few minutes, the bite sealed shut. He repeated this for the other bite marks. Everywhere he touched tingled, and it took all her strength not to scream, You’re alive! She told herself that it was relief on behalf of her goddess. When he finished, she touched her healed skin and then his. His skin felt warm and smooth, and her fingers lingered.

He was watching her fingers. “Surface wounds are simpler than a knife through internal organs.” His voice sounded rough, and she met his eyes. They stared at each other in silence for a moment. He then looked away. “What happened to the other horses? I only see two sets of bones.”

The worms had stripped the two fallen horses bare. Poor Misery, Liyana thought. “They ran off. Only this one, Windfire, has returned so far.” She was pleased that her voice sounded normal. Her ribs felt tight, as if they’d been knit closely together, squeezing her lungs.

“I’ll call them to us,” he said. He dropped into another trance. Liyana watched him silently. He was so perfectly beautiful. She breathed with him, evenly and deeply, and she wished she dared reach over and touch him again—just to reassure herself that he was alive. After a few minutes, he broke the trance and reported, “Only located three. One is in bad shape but close. Two others are on their way.” His voice light, Korbyn asked, “And where is our favorite warrior boy? Out searching for the horses?”

Liyana scanned the starlit flats. The moon bathed the white earth in a soft blue. She thought she saw shadows stir. “He took the healthiest horse and rode for help.”

She heard Korbyn’s breath catch in his throat.

“We didn’t know when you’d wake,” Liyana explained, “and we don’t have much water left. It was the sensible option.”

Korbyn shot toward the tent and quickly began to collapse it. “We need to catch him,” he said. “You pack. I’ll heal the horses.”

She began to pack up their camp. “Why do we need to catch him? What’s wrong?”

Laying his hands on Windfire, he focused on the horse’s wounds. As he worked and as she packed, she heard the clip-clop of hooves on the hardened salt. One by one, the other three horses trotted and limped to them, and one by one, he healed them.

When he finished, he lay down in the sand. She let him rest, either unconscious or asleep. Only a few minutes later, he opened his eyes and lurched to his feet. “Ready?”

Liyana reached toward him to steady him, but he turned toward Windfire and checked the saddle. “You need more rest,” she said. “Why can’t we wait until dawn?”

“The Silk Clan . . . does not like strangers.” He mounted Windfire, and she climbed onto another horse. She stroked her mare’s neck as the horse protested. Korbyn held the lead ropes of the other horses.

With the stars above, they rode over the salt flats.