She concentrated instead on the magic, turning it inward to seek the damage to her upper right arm. At least that part of the arm had only one bone to work with, unlike an ankle and foot that were a puzzle of small bones and tendons. She knew the bone was not shattered, but it felt badly bruised and probably fractured.
Using only a small pulse of magic in her spell, she smoothed over the crack in the bone and gently increased her body’s natural defense against pain.
The throbbing eased to a dull ache and, as the spell ended, Kelene became drowsy. In spite of the dust and the hard floor, she bowed to her own medicine and soon fell asleep.
9
Zukhara.
Kelene’s eyes flew open in surprise at the name that appeared so clearly in her mind. She stared up through the darkness and wondered why she should think of the Turic counselor now. He was an unpleasant person who had little regard for the Shar-Ja or the peace council. He was well out of her life. Here, Kelene’s thoughts faltered. Something had brought him to mind. Some memory or clue had jogged her overworked thoughts and brought him clearly and vividly to her attention.
She glanced around and saw night had come. The wagon had stopped swaying, and the world had fallen quiet beyond the wagon walls. The words of their visitor came back to her—he would be coming with food and water when the caravan halted at an oasis.
Kelene stiffened in her bonds. The words and the man’s voice echoed in her head. The voice had meant nothing to her when she was distracted by her own pain and discomfort, but it struck a note of recognition now. Of course, she growled to herself. The silhouette now had a face: Zukhara’s.
Soft footsteps crunched on gravel outside. The door opened, and the same lean figure climbed into the wagon and closed the door behind him. He was so tall he had to stoop under the wagon roof. He carried a small lamp, a waterskin, and several plates of food which he laid on the fold-down table.
Saying nothing, he bent over Kelene, picked her up, and set her effortlessly on the bench on the wall. Gabria, too, was shifted off the pallet and placed beside Kelene. Both women glared in unspeakable hatred at the man who had taken them prisoner.
Zukhara ignored their silent anger and set the food and water in front of them. He sat on the edge of the bed and let them stare for a long while at the refreshments set so tantalizingly close.
“Listen to me,” he said finally. The tiny lamp flickered. sending harsh shadows shifting over the sharp angles of his face. “You are in the middle of the Turic realm. There is no escape. Your Hunnuli are safely sedated and will remain that way until we reach our destination. I know you will not leave them, but if you foolishly try to escape or cause any trouble while we travel with this caravan, I will not hesitate to kill them. Do you understand?”
Both women nodded, their eyes wide.
Zukhara continued, his words forceful and precise. “As long as you obey me, I will bring food and water twice a day. Defy me and one of you will die.” He paused and pulled something out of the front of his robe. “I also have this.” He showed them a small ball on a golden chain.
Kelene looked blank, but Gabria jerked in recognition. The ball was a beautiful piece of handcarved ivory, cut in a delicate tracery of interlocking knots. Within the ball were two more, one within the other, equally as intricate. Gabria had had a similar ball once, given to her by the high priest of the Cult of Krath. The balls, creations of an older age, were magic wards that protected their wearers from spells. There was no guessing how a Turic had found one or if he knew how to use it.
Zukhara acknowledged Gabria’s recognition with a nod. “Now, if we understand each other, you may eat.”
With surprising gentleness, he untied the horsehair ropes around their arms and carefully eased the gags from their mouths. He left their feet tied.
Kelene and Gabria could do nothing more for a while than work some feeling back into their hands and arms. Their jaws ached miserably from the release of the tight gags, and their mouths were so dry they could barely swallow.
Zukhara poured water in mugs for them and watched impassively as each woman painstakingly sipped the liquid.
The first question Kelene thought to ask as soon as she could voice a word was, “Why?”
The counselor stroked his long, elegant chin while he considered how much he wanted them to know. “Let’s just say I have need of you and your abilities.” He would not elucidate further, and the clanswomen were too desperately thirsty and hungry to force the question. They ate and drank as best they could. The food was stew, surprisingly soft and tasty, and the water had been drawn from the fresh, clean springs of the oasis. It tasted marvelous to their parched mouths.
As soon as they finished, Zukhara swept away the dishes and faced them both over the empty board. “I brought you here,” he said without preamble, “because I need your help.”
A look of surprise slipped over Kelene’s face at the change in the counselor’s attitude and tone. The belligerent aggression had been tempered by politeness; the cold harshness in his voice was gone, and the rigidity of his shoulders and limbs had relaxed into an almost neighborly slouch.
He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, and went on. “You must understand, it was not an easy decision to kidnap two sorceresses.”
“Why?” Kelene said sarcastically and gestured at the wagon’s walls. “You had plenty of room.”
The counselor shrugged off the question as he might a fly. “I did not wish to disrupt the peace council, but after Bashan’s death, I thought I had no choice. When the Shar-Ja left Council Rock last night, I brought you with us.”
“We didn’t kill Bashan,” Gabria spoke for the first time.
“I know, Lady Gabria, but I’m afraid I do know who did and, because of that, I had to move fast.” He smiled then, and Kelene drew a sharp breath at the amazing transformation. The predatory anger that lined his face was wiped away by a pleasant, disarming smile of friendliness and good humor. If Kelene had not felt his rage and seen the hate in his eyes at the council, if she had not spent the last twenty-four hours in misery and been threatened by this same man, she would have liked him for this smile alone. She knew then that Zukhara was even more dangerous than she imagined, for he was not only influential, powerful, merciless, and ambitious, he could wear charm like a beautifully crafted veneer.
“What do you want?” Gabria replied warily.
“You have in your clan a man who is half Turic and half clan. His parents had twelve children, yet only he inherited enough clan blood to be a magic-wielder.” The man steepled his fingers and met Gabria eye to eye. “There have been other half-breed children along the border; this aberration could turn up again.”
Gabria’s expression tightened into a frown. “Of course that could happen again. But such a child has not yet been brought to my attention.”
His mouth widened to what most people would have seen as an expression of delight. To Kelene and Gabria, his broad grin resembled more the victorious leer of a wolf about to eat its kill.
“Perhaps now, then,” said Zukhara, and he opened out his palm, spread his fingers, and formed a small sphere of greenish light directly over his hand. The implications struck both women at the same time, and they shrank away from the harmless little light.
“How can you do that?” gasped Kelene.
“My mother was raped by a Wylfling while she was on a journey. She was so terrified of her husband’s jealousy she told him the baby was his. It wasn’t until he died a few years ago that she found the courage to tell me.” He gave them another friendly smile. “It explained some questions that had been bothering me.”