Ellonlef reined in, looking at the three men. Kian was sure her gaze rested on him longer, and he tried to resist the pull of her dark, warm gaze. “Are we halting?”
“Within the hour, Sister,” Azuri answered.
With a tired nod and a final, mysterious glance for Kian, she heeled her mount forward, leaving them there.
Kian looked after her, an unusual pressure tightening his chest. Hazad and Azuri both smirked at him. As if they had issued a challenge, he quietly cursed them for fools, then kicked his horse into a trot that took him abreast of Ellonlef. She glanced at him. Kian did not take that as an invitation to ride with her, but neither did he take it as a dismissal. Together, they rode in a comfortable silence to where the road passed between the two outcrops, and halted. He was keenly aware of her presence, and had to force himself to concentrate on the task at hand-that of finding proper shelter for the night.
The road dropped steeply into a valley less than half a mile across, then climbed back up the opposite side, and continued on through a broken terrain of hills and flat-topped mountains. The low, flat lands of the Kaliayth were behind them, and from now until they reached the feet of the Ulkion Mountains, the seldom-used road would gradually climb through a more rugged landscape. Without question, the days ahead would be harder than the days behind.
Kian examined the narrow slash of valley he had not seen in many years. At first it was difficult to make out the ancient village’s location, and he began to wonder if this was Salev after all. Then, low down at the base of the far canyon wall, he found the telltale remains of the small, scorched mud brick abodes of those folk who had lived here a hundred years gone. Raiders-be they Tureecian or Bashye, no one knew-had razed the village, and now the weathered buildings resembled rotten, soot-streaked teeth jutting from the sand.
After locating the ruins, he searched the deepening gloom and noted that green things grew amid the ruins-overgrown fig and olive trees picked over by birds, a few date palms, and summer-wilted areas that had once been well-tended gardens. The presence of greenery proved the existence of water, but time would tell if any wells remained with water fit to drink. The Bashye had a nasty habit of despoiling wells along the kingdom’s roads with wild goat carcasses, in order to ensure travelers were thoroughly weakened and demoralized when the renegades launched their attacks. If they had done so here, digging parties would have to find water below ground. There would likely be water, if full of silt.
“Send scouts ahead,” Kian said to Ba’Sel, when the man reined in beside him and Ellonlef. Before Ba’Sel could deliver the order, Kian added, “Tell them to take no chances. If they come under attack, tell them to retreat. If we have to, we will fight our foes here, from this high ground.”
Within the hour, the Asra a’Shah scouts returned with word that the only things that had been moving about in the ruins over the last several months were scorpions, lizards, and vast coveys of quail, of which they had managed to take down enough of to feed the company for the night.
With a hungry peek at the birds hanging from their saddles, Ellonlef said, “Perhaps this is a good place to rest not for just one night, but a few days.”
Kian was about to disagree, but Hazad butted in. “I favor that.”
“As do I,” Azuri said, flicking a deepening drift of ash from the sleeve of his robes. “A bath would be welcome, as well.”
“Have all of you forgotten,” Kian asked placidly, “that Varis is bent on usurping the Ivory Throne and, after that, every throne of the world? We leave before first light, as always.”
“We have been pushing hard for too many days and nights,” Hazad said. “While I’m sure I could keep on, the horses need a good rest, plenty of water, and proper graze.”
Kian scrutinized the faces around him and considered his earlier thoughts about their increasingly gloomy dejection. Even the Geldainian mercenaries, men known for impossible endurance, looked beyond tired. Grudgingly, he acknowledged that he could not continue to press the march without a respite.
“Very well,” he said, relieved despite himself, and turned his mount to clatter down the steep road to the village. “We will rest here-but no more than this night and the next.”
Chapter 25
After camp had been set amid a row of tumbledown huts, and bellies sated with roasted quail, dates, figs and all the water they could drink from a pure well, Kian strode northward through night’s darkness. Behind him the camp slept, save him and two Asra a’Shah taking first watch. It was not a long walk to get beyond the remains of the last burned-out building. Darkness lay thicker for the smoke blocking the light of the stars. Except for the distant yipping howls of jackals on the hunt, the night was absolutely silent.
Kian wrapped his improvised cloak-a spare blanket with a hole cut in the center for his head to poke through, and slits for his arms-tighter around his shoulders. He tried to believe that it was not as cold as it felt, but a shiver crept over his skin, reminding him of the nights he had spent on the Kaliayth during winter.
Deciding the he would rather keep moving than sit still and let the cold sink into his bones, he strode along a scant trail that ran alongside a dry streambed. Kian had not gone a hundred paces when he saw a faint blur of white up ahead. He halted at once, hand falling to his sword hilt.
All remained relatively quiet.
Careful to make no sound himself, he scurried behind a mound of stone slabs that had fallen from the eastern side of the canyon’s wall. The shape moved closer, silent, ghostlike. He did not hold to tales of spirits … but then, not so long ago, he had disbelieved that demons could walk amongst the living. The figure drifted nearer, as if traveling on an unfelt breeze. The closer it came, the harder his heart beat, visions of Fenahk and Bresado alive in his mind. He dropped lower, making sure he was out of sight. Though he disliked ambush, in this instance a surprise attack was his best option.
After a time, there came a soft grating of feet moving over sand, and he tensed. Spirits did not make such sounds, at least in any story he had ever heard. As the shape came within arm’s reach then moved by, he rose up, sword poised to strike at the junction of neck and shoulder. The figure spun with feline grace, and in the gloom Kian saw the faint glimmer of a dagger coming to bear.
“Ellonlef?” Kian gasped, aghast that he had been but a heartbeat from striking off her head. “What are you doing out here alone?”
She sheathed the dagger, seemingly unperturbed by the edge to his voice. “I was collecting dates. If I had thought you wanted to join me, I would have asked.”
“Scavenging dates, in the middle of the night?” he asked incredulously, wondering how she had managed to slip by him.
“Unless you mean to run me through, you should lower your sword,” she said with a disarming laugh.
He started, realizing his sword was still raised. With an irritated shake of his head, he slammed the blade into the scabbard. He embraced his rising irritation, for that alone could break the odd spell she held over him, which seemed to always steal his wits. “You should have told someone you were going to go frolicking about in the night,” he chastised.
She laughed again, a sound that stirred something inside him. “Are you my father, then,” she said, somehow playfully, “demanding obedience from a wicked daughter?”
Kian’s tongue withered, for what came to mind at her statement had nothing to do with fathers and daughters. “No,” he said, his voice rough with uncertainty, “of course not. But, for your safety and everyone else’s, you should have told someone of your intentions. These are dangerous lands.”