“Your son?” Hajira asked, eyeing his new nephew.
“Yes,” Sayyed said. He leaned forward to study this brother he had known so long ago. Hajira did not look very different. He had matured, of course, but he still wore his mustache long to help elongate his broad face. His wide-set eyes were deep and large above a hawk-nose and a strong jaw, and when he stood, he still topped Sayyed by several inches.
What had changed, and what disturbed Sayyed, was the cut of Hajira’s hair. His brother’s long, thick hair and the intricate knot of a tribesman had been shaved off close to his skull—a cut that was usually reserved as a punishment for some crime of dishonor.
Sayyed took another sip of the wine and said, “And what of you? If you have heard tales of me then half of them are probably true and you know my life. How is yours? Tell me of the family.”
Hajira laughed a short, sharp bark of amusement. “The family goes on as always. Alset is Raid-Ja now, and he is as unforgiving as Father ever was.”
“Father is dead?”
“Four years ago. He died in his sleep.”
“And Mother?”
“Well and happy and rejoicing in her grandchildren.
She will be overjoyed to know you live.” He paused and glanced at the two Hunnuli standing protectively behind Sayyed and Rafnir before adding, “As for me, I chose to join the Shar-Ja’s guard, and there I have been for twenty years.”
Sayyed was impressed. The Shar-Ja’s personal guards were the elite warriors from every tribe. Initiates went through several years of rigorous training and conditioning and had to swear undying loyalty to the overlord. All would give their lives for the Shar-Ja. Almost unwillingly his gaze lifted to Hajira’s head, and his brow furrowed.
His brother recognized his unspoken question. He cocked a half-smile. “Things have been changing in Cangora the past two years. I made the mistake of voicing my opinion of Counselor Zukhara rather forcefully. He could not dismiss me, but he had me reprimanded and transferred to guard Tassilio—a huge step-down in honor, he thought, sentenced to ‘babysit the idiot.’” He chuckled as he repeated the counselor’s words in a good imitation of Zukhara’s sonorous voice.
A glow of humor lit like a lamp in Tassilio’s face. “Smartest thing Zukhara ever did, and he doesn’t even know it,” Hajira went on. “This imp’s mother sent him to court a year ago. He took one look at the political situation and has been acting the fool ever since to save his hide. He is the accepted, right-born second son of the Shar-Ja, and his heir after Bashan. You saw what happened to the Shar-Yon.”
“The Fel Azureth have sworn to kill the Shar-Ja and all his offspring,” Tassilio said in a flat voice. “When Father got sick, I pretended to go crazy. The law protects lepers and fools.”
Sayyed blinked, both amazed at the boy’s wit and dismayed by the circumstances that drove him to such desperate measures. “What does your father think of your subterfuge?”
The boy looked away quickly, but not before Sayyed saw the glitter of unshed tears in his eyes. “I doubt Father has even noticed. He saw only Bashan.”
Sayyed sat straighter to draw the boy’s attention back to himself. “Who do you think killed the Shar-Yon?” he asked Hajira and Tassilio with deliberate emphasis. His brother and the boy, young as he was, would make good allies in the caravan, and Sayyed wanted to put to rest any suspicions they might have.
“Perhaps we did. Do you think we are here to assassinate the Shar-Ja as well?” Rafnir put in. “As Zukhara said, only clan blood carries the talent to wield magic.”
Tassilio squirmed and looked as if he would say something, but this time he waited and deferred to the warrior sitting beside him.
It was Hajira who spoke first. He put more fuel on the fire, poured more firza, and thought carefully before he made his answer. “I didn’t know what to think when I heard a clan magic-wielder was in the caravan. The thought that this sorcerer was here to harm the Shar-Ja crossed my mind. But I know you. Twenty-six years would not be enough time to turn my brother into an assassin.”
Tassilio’s head shook vigorously. “Not the half-breed who turned sorcerer, fought gorthlings and plagues and stone lions, who tames the black Hunnuli and rides with the Lady of the Dead Clan,” he blurted out. “Do you really have a diamond splinter in your wrist?”
Sayyed’s lips twitched at the boy’s outburst. He was amazed that Tassilio knew so much about his past and viewed it with such enthusiasm. Sorcery was supposed to be outlawed, but obviously the stories of the clans had traveled over the borders. Obligingly he pulled back the long sleeve of his robes and revealed a tooled leather wristband on his right arm. As soon as he loosened the lacings, the band slid off, revealing the pale glow of the splinter just beneath his skin. About two inches long, the slender diamond gleamed dusky red through the blood that flowed around it.
Tassilio’s eyes grew wide. “So you are not here to kill Father. Why are you here?” he asked directly.
“To find Bashan’s murderer?” Hajira suggested.
Sayyed pulled the armband back on. “If we can, and to find the Lady of the Dead Clan and the healer with the winged horse,” he told them in a terse voice.
Both guard and boy sat up with a jerk and shared a bewildered look. “Lady Gabria and—”
“Kelene,” Rafnir finished for them. “My wife. She and Lady Gabria disappeared the night your caravan left Council Rock. We are trying to find them.”
Hajira did not ask why they had come to search the caravan. The fact that they had risked doing so gave enough credence to their news. “I can promise you they are not with the Shar-Ja or any of his immediate servants. Tassilio or I would know if they were there. Where else have you looked?”
Sayyed told him everything they had seen and examined so far. “We were checking wagons in the baggage train when we were jumped.”
“Odd place for an ambush,” Hajira said, scratching his neck thoughtfully. “I wonder if someone has something to hide and has set guards. They obviously didn’t know you were sorcerers, or they would have killed you instantly.”
“There are several big covered vans that could carry two Hunnuli,” Tassilio pointed out. “We could check them tomorrow night.” His sadness put aside, he turned his youthful enthusiasm to the thrill of the mystery.
His dark-clad guard turned on him. “What is this we? You will stay in your tent where you belong.”
Tassilio drew a long, quivering sigh, but one eyelid drooped in a quick wink to Sayyed.
They doused the fire and thoroughly erased every sign of their presence in the hollow. With Tassilio and his dog leading the way, the two brothers walked side by side back to the sprawling camp. Tibor carried Rafnir, who still suffered the ill-effects of the vicious blow to his head. Sick and weak, Rafnir decided to find his blankets and sleep in a sheltered nook where Tibor could watch over him. Sayyed helped him find a place and settled him comfortably.
Tassilio dubiously eyed the big black horse standing over Rafnir. “Is that your Hunnuli? Where is its lightning?”
Tibor obliged his curiosity by turning his right shoulder to Tassilio. The boy dug his fingers into the stallion’s hair and crowed with delight when he found white skin beneath the black dye. To the brothers’ amusement, Tassilio asked if he could join Rafnir, saying he’d rest better if a Hunnuli guarded his bed.
Hajira acquiesced, and Tibor gently sniffed the boy all over and nickered his acceptance. Tassilio quickly bedded down next to Rafnir, his dog cuddled beside him, before Hajira could change his mind.