The night burst to life.
The horses charged off through the trees, galloping furiously, dragging the bundles of flaming branches close behind them like fiery Christmas tree baubles, with flames licking at their tails and their buttocks. Two other bursts of activity snagged Conrad’s attention. Through the trees, he glimpsed the wagon lurch forward and thunder away from the campsite, with Maysoon at the reins and cracking a whip, while over by the central bonfire, the Turks were on their feet and scurrying around in apparent confusion.
Manic shouts and panicked neighs echoed around him as the balls of flame disappeared into the forest. It was time for him to get out of there. He sprinted back to the horse he’d left tethered to its tree, the one he would ride out of there. He was ten feet from it when a man sprang into his way, blocking him. It was one of the trader’s hired hands. The man drew a big scimitar. Conrad didn’t even flinch. Without slowing down, he feigned a left and ducked right instead, avoiding the wild swing of the man’s blade and plunging Maysoon’s dagger deep into his rib cage. He only stopped long enough to yank it out of him and grab the man’s scimitar, then he bolted for the horse, leapt onto it, and spurred it through the trees, hot on the trail of Maysoon and the wagon.
MAYSOON CHARGED THROUGH THE VALLEY without looking back, her sole focus being wrangling more speed out of the two horses that were pulling her and her heavily laden wagon.
Every bone in her body was rattling, every vein throbbing, as the open wagon bounced across the rugged trail. She needed to put as much distance as possible between herself and her father’s outfit. They’d be coming after her, of that she had no doubt, even though there was no reason for them to know who she really was. They’d have a hard time getting their horses back, but at some point, they would. The flaming balls of branches the horses were dragging would die out, and they would stop running. They might even seek out their owners themselves. She needed to give herself as big a buffer as possible and kept on whipping her horses. She knew Conrad would be faster than her. He’d eventually catch up with her. Once he did—assuming he did—they’d veer off onto a southerly heading, toward Christian land, while taking the time to cover their tracks.
So far, so good.
Until a pair of fleshy hands grabbed her from behind and pulled her off her seat.
In the dim predawn light and with the frenetic, jarring pace of the wagon, it took a moment for Maysoon to register who her aggressor was, then her long hair blew off her face and a heart-stopping realization struck them both.
It was her father.
He’d been asleep in the back of the wagon bed, behind the trunks. And right now, he looked even more startled than she was.
“You harlot,” he rasped as he tightened his grip around her neck, pressing her down against the trunks. “You traitorous harlot. You steal from you own father?”
He wasn’t really giving her much of a chance to answer him. She could barely breathe. She tried pushing his arms off, but he just swatted her hands away and gave her a brutal slap, before digging his fingers back into her neck and choking her again.
“You try to steal from your father?” he blurted again, in a mad rage. “From me?”
Maysoon was gasping for breath. The horses were still charging ahead at full stretch, following the natural bends in the valley, and the old wagon was careening out of control, jerking and shaking violently under her as its thin, wooden wheels bounced and flew over the rough terrain. She felt her eyelids droop, felt herself blacking out, felt the world closing in around her and the darkness swallowing her up. Then one of the wheels must have hit a big rock, as the whole wagon bounced violently and swerved left and right, careening out of control before somehow straightening up and resuming its frantic charge. The jolt had knocked the trader off her, tossing him to one side, his hands coming off her neck and freeing up her windpipe. She heaved in some deep, desperate gulps and pushed herself away from him, then spun around to face him, her back turned to the horses.
Mehmet righted himself, keeping one hand on the back of the bench for balance. “I don’t know how you thought you would get away with this,” he barked as he reached under his sash with his other hand and pulled out a curved dagger. He held it up to her, its blade horizontal and level with her eyes. “But I’ll make sure you never think that way again.”
He lunged at her, swinging wildly, his face mangled under a furious scowl. Maysoon darted back with each stroke, ducking and bending and just managing to avoid the blade’s path. Then he suckered her with another swing and followed it with a punch that caught her on the ear and sent her crashing back down onto the canvas.
THE TRADER SCURRIED ON TOP of her again, pinning her down on top of the canvas that covered the trunks. He had one hand clasped around her throat, choking the life out of her, while the other hand held the dagger right up against her cheek.
“Shame. Such a pretty girl,” he grunted as he tightened his grip on her neck—and just then, he saw her eyes flare back to life and widen in shock as they took in something behind him. He’d been so caught up in the moment that it was only then that he became aware of the loud clatter of a horse that was galloping right alongside the wagon. He twisted around in a curious daze, and the sight that greeted him threw every muscle of his into a panicked lock: Conrad, alive and unscathed, on horseback, staring right at him. He held the reins in his mouth, biting down on them through clenched teeth, which only added to the demonic glint in his eyes. Mehmet flicked a glance left to see why that was, but his brain had already anticipated what they would find: a scimitar, swooping down in a big arc, its blade slicing through the bulbous flesh of his neck.
The trader’s face twisted with shock as he dropped the dagger and grabbed at his neck. Blood was gushing out of him, his heart still pumping away with abandon, flooding his hands. He held them up to his face and stared at them in disbelief for a moment, then something jarred the wagon again, a ditch or another obstacle that the wheels plowed into at full tilt.
The wagon bounced wildly, bending and pitching heavily to one side, and in his weakened state, the trader lost his balance and flew over the side.
MAYSOON SHRIEKED AS THE WAGON bucked off the ground and came back down with a heavy thud. She couldn’t see what it had hit, but whatever it was, it must have done some serious damage, as the wagon’s ride had changed dramatically. Something must have happened to its axles or to its wheels, as it was now wobbling and juddering all over the place.
Conrad was still at full gallop, only he’d veered away slightly to avoid the runaway wagon and was now several feet off, though still alongside it. She saw him eyeing its wheels, then he looked up and caught her eye.
“The hub’s come off,” he shouted. “The wheel’s cracked, it’s going to come off any second now. Can you grab the reins?” He was gesturing frantically with his bare forearm, indicating the horses. “You need to stop thoses horses.”
Maysoon nodded and clambered over the trunks and onto the bench. She looked for the reins, then saw them dragging on the ground, under the drop tongue, between the two horses.
She turned to Conrad and waved negatively. “I can’t get to them,” she yelled back.
Before she could say another word, the wagon dropped from under her as one of the wheels, the front left one, came off. She hung on as the wagon lurched to one side then veered violently. Crossbars snapped and pins popped as the rickety conveyance flipped up and toppled over, flinging Maysoon over its edge. She hung on as it overturned, then she found herself flying off as it crashed onto its side and plowed through the parched ground before the drop tongue sheared off under the tug of the horses. The wagon lurched to a stop as the horses charged away, relishing their release.