Once the seetar had let me down, I gave him some water and took a drink for myself, then arranged the furs on the sand so that I might lie on them. The seetar had fed well enough at the oasis to keep him from being hungry yet, and I was too ill to feel any hunger. My body ached and flared even through the pain control, and I wasn’t at all sure I wouldn’t be sick all over myself again. I lay down on the fur, burying myself under the top one, the carrying strap of the waterskin under the furs with me. I had given the seetar the impression that we would stay where we were until we were rested, but I wasn’t strong enough to make the suggestion a command. If my mount happened to wander off before I woke again, I didn’t want the water going with him.
Sleep found me almost at once, a sleep heavy enough to be drugged. It lasted until I awoke with a moan, throwing the covering fur off me, still dream-convinced that I’d wander through sand forever, beyond the time when my water gave out, beyond the time when life fled from my body. The sun was just disappearing behind the distant mountains, leaving a twilight zone of cool between it and the cold of night. My seetar lowered his massive head to nuzzle me, concern clear in his thoughts. I quickly assured him everything was all right, gave each of us some water, then reembarked upon the torture of moving on.
We came within sight of the end of true desert before nightfall was complete. A stretch of flats appeared again, but this time low, sickly bushes could be seen beyond the flats. We moved into the area of bushes and continued on for hours, but it was growing more and more difficult for me to tell what was around me. My body shivered in the cold darkness even with the furs, my mind wandered from real to unreal so often I was beginning to be unable to distinguish between them, and the pain brought by the sway and bounce of the seetar was threatening to grow beyond all control. After a long time I realized we were moving over grass, and even longer after that there were suddenly trees all around. How long we’d been among the trees I didn’t know, but the sun was just beginning to pink the sky and my right hand was stiff from having held so tightly to the seetar’s short, bristly mane. My mount was hungry and wanted to stop for something to eat, but I laughed weakly and projected a feeling of patience at him. The embassy I’d been searching for was just beyond the trees, and it would have been silly to stop before we reached it.
The sun was well up before we found the embassy in a clearing, but for some reason the building’s style had been changed. Instead of still being a wide, two-story affair, it had become a dozen or more small tents with one large tent in the center. The large tent was of red, had a high, pointed roof with pennants at the top, and seemed to be at least hexagonal in shape if not octagonal. The smaller tents were of every other color but red, had lower roofs and smaller pennants, and were only square. I didn’t really understand about the arrangement; but moved forward again without waiting for understanding to come. I badly needed one of those tents for myself, and the soft bed it would contain. I didn’t feel well, and I wanted to lie down on a bed instead of on hot, blistering sand.
As we reached the tents and began moving among them, I tried to figure out which one would be mine. The last time I’d been at the embassy I’d had a yellow room—tent—whatever it was; if I took another yellow I couldn’t be too far off. I directed the seetar toward the nearest yellow room, standing about twenty feet away, hoping I’d be able to find the strength to walk into it on my own. Embassy people didn’t like having animals in their rooms, and Denny would be angry if I rode in. I realized I should have left the seetar parked on the lowest level—
The two men in belted, baggy pants and wide-sleeved shirts came at me silently but swiftly, one grabbing the reins of my mount, the second reaching up to pull me from the saddle. I tried to scream from a dry, aching throat as his hands took my arms and pulled, but the effort was too great. Instead I found myself projecting hatred and fear, lashing out with my mind as I couldn’t do with my body. The man holding me screamed and dropped me to the ground, his hands going to his ears in an effort to block off the projection, the man at the seetar’s bridle groaning and doing the same. I hit the ground hard as yells and screams came from all over the place, then darkness came in answer to the screams, and I saw no more.
14
I expected waking up to be painful, but it wasn’t. I took a deep breath as I opened my eyes, trying to identify the sweet, pleasant odor of wherever I was, but seeing my surroundings made me forget all about how they smelled. I lay in a large, ornate room, expensive silks in silver and blue adorning the walls, cushions of blue piled on silver-furred carpeting, small, beautifully carved tables of blue-painted wood standing here and there, wide, lightly curtained windows showing late afternoon. What I lay on was not a bed but a pile of furs two feet high, soft but firm, lined with silk and covered with another soft, luxurious fur. I didn’t know where I was, but if that was the way whoever my captors were treated their prisoners, I didn’t expect to be in too much of a hurry to escape.
Remembering the thoughts I’d had before falling unconscious, I quickly looked around again to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating, but if my mind was playing tricks they were tricks I couldn’t penetrate. In looking around the second time I discovered one of those small, carved tables right near my bed, holding a half-filled metal goblet. I reached for it carefully, expecting a protest from my body, but no more than faint echoes of pain accompanied the movement. The goblet appeared to contain a still-warm meat broth with a sweet taste to it, the sort of taste that said the broth was medicated. I seemed to remember swallowing that broth another time, before I had regained full consciousness, when someone else had been holding the goblet. I didn’t remember who that someone else was, but there had been the feeling of concern. I replaced the now-empty goblet on the table, got comfortable under the covering fur, and fell asleep again.
The next time I awoke it was early morning and I wasn’t alone. The delicious aroma of fresh-cooked food had brought me back to the ornate room, and I’d opened my eyes to see a man putting a laden wooden tray down on the small table beside my bed. He was as large as all Rimilian males are, tall and well muscled and blond, but instead of wearing a haddin or robes, he wore trousers of red-dyed leather, tight and form-fitting, especially around the ankles. His feet were bare of everything including sandals and his waist had no weapons hanging from it, but when he turned from the tray to look at me, I drew back with a small gasp.
“Are you in need of aid, dendaya?” he asked at once, concern flooding his mind. “Shall I send for the healer to attend you?”
“No,” I answered in a rusty voice, surprised beyond anything I cared to show. “I have no need of a healer. Who are you?”
“Your loyal servant, dendaya,” he said, bowing deferentially in my direction. “I have brought you foods which will return the strength to your body after your great ordeal. Allow me to assist you in partaking of them.”
He turned then and went to fetch pillows, which he brought back to put behind me. I was shocked by the title he kept using when he addressed me, a title which translated as the female equivalent of “leader.” Were these people mistaking me for someone else, someone who was high-born and important on their world? If that was so, what would they do when they discovered their mistake? The thought was hardly a pleasant one, but I discovered myself to be too hungry to worry over what would happen at some time in the future. If that was going to be my last meal before discovery, I wasn’t about to let anything ruin my appetite.