They camped that night along the trail, and Zukhara brought their food and drink as usual. He spoke not a word to them, but roused Gabria, watched them eat, and swiftly returned outside.
As soon as she was finished, Gabria went back to sleep. Kelene lay beside her, worried at her mother’s lethargy. Sometime during the night, Gabria tossed in her sleep in the throes of a powerful dream. Kelene woke to her mother’s voice calling low and insistently, “Sayyed!”
The dream faded away, and Gabria lay still, her breathing so shallow Kelene had to strain to hear it. Was this another of her mother’s visions? Was it Sayyed who had come after them? That made sense to Kelene. He had the best chance of making his way through Turic territory. She dozed again, thinking of Sayyed and, most of all, his handsome, dark-haired son.
Zukhara’s entrance startled Kelene awake, and she lay blinking in the morning light that streamed through the open door while he laid out their food, dosed the mares, and departed, all without a word spoken. As soon as the door closed behind him, Kelene worked her way to Demira’s stall, and again she wiped off the thick sedative onto her rag. She put her hand on Demira’s warm hide. Her probing mind immediately touched the mare’s consciousness straining against the drug that imprisoned her body.
Ever so gently Kelene formed a spell that loosened the fabric confining Demira’s wing’s. The Hunnuli, sensing Kelene’s closeness, shifted restlessly.
Be easy, Kelene soothed. Wait and be patient. When you are alert enough, fly and escape.
No! Demira’s resistance rang in Kelene’s head. The mare was fighting the sedative with every ounce of her will. I will not leave you!
Please, Demira, you must! Mother has been poisoned. She will die if we do not have help. I think Sayyed has come to look for us. Find him! Bring him to us! You are the only one who can.
I cannot leave you, Demira repeated, but her thoughts were weak and confused.
Kelene leaned her head on the mare’s rump. “Please try,” she whispered. She returned to their table, roused Gabria. and tried to eat some food. Their breakfast that morning was simple—trail bread, dates, a wedge of cheese, and mugs of a sweet, red juice Kelene had never tried before. She eyed the juice suspiciously, wondering if Zukhara had slipped a poison or sedative into her drink. Thirst finally won over, and she drained the drink to the dregs. It was overly sweet but had a rich, fruity taste.
Gabria merely sipped hers and lay back on the pallet. Zukhara returned to gather the mugs and plates. He smiled his cream-eating leer when he saw Kelene’s empty mug. “Did you enjoy the juice, my lady?” he asked pleasantly.
A warning buzzed in Kelene’s mind; her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“It contained a mixture I prepared especially for you.” He moved close to her, trapping her against the wagon’s wall. “If you are to be my chosen handmaiden, you must be receptive to my seed. I intend to father a dynasty of sorcerers with you.” He brushed a strand of hair away from her face and softly kissed her forehead.
Kelene froze. The mingled smells of his clothes and the warmth of his body enveloped her; his tall weight pressed against her. She tried to struggle, but the ropes held her hands, and his strength trapped her helplessly against the wooden wall. “I can’t have babies,” she ground out between clenched teeth.
“You will,” he chuckled close to her ear. “This is an old Turic midwives’ remedy. It works well to light a fire in a barren womb.”
“The better to burn your seed,” she hissed.
Zukhara laughed outright. He stepped back and picked up the mugs. “Today we reach my fortress, where my last weapon awaits. There your work will begin . . . and our pleasure.” Still chuckling, he left, and in moments the van jerked forward on its last leg of the journey.
Kelene could keep her anger down no longer. A raging scream tore from her throat, and she picked up the small bench and smashed it against the table. Both table and bench cracked and splintered into pieces. Outside, Zukhara’s voice rose in derisive laughter.
The travel that day was long and difficult as the wagon lurched and bumped along a poor, unkempt road. Although Kelene had no idea where they were, the wagon seemed to be climbing ever higher. Hours passed. She felt the electrical energies of the coming storm long before she heard the muted rumble of the thunder.
The light in the wagon’s interior dimmed to a grayish pallor. The wind began to pummel the vehicle’s sides. Kelene could hear the crack of the driver’s whip and the nervous neighs of the team. Voices shouted on both sides, and the thunder boomed closer.
In her stall Demira lifted her head. Her nostrils flared at the smell of the coming storm. “Patience,” Kelene said to the mare.
The light was nearly gone by the time the wagon rumbled off the dirt road and clattered onto a stone-paved surface. The van made one final rush upward, then came to a stop. New voices called, orders were shouted, and Kelene heard the creak and thud of what sounded like a large door being opened. The wagon rolled forward a short distance.
Abruptly the door opened, and Zukhara climbed in. He untied their ropes and hurried both women outside. Gabria was hollow-eyed and groggy and had to lean on Kelene’s arm. Kelene glanced quickly around. The storm was almost overhead, and the lightning cracked around them. She could barely make out a high stone wall with several dark squat towers, and to her left a long hall and a high keep.
“Bring the Hunnuli!” Zukhara shouted, turning to hustle his prisoners out of the storm. Rain splattered on the stone paving.
Suddenly a ringing neigh sounded above the wind’s roar. There was a wild crash of hooves and a scream of terror. The Turic and the women whirled in time to see Demira rocket forward through a door in the front of the wagon. Hands reached to grab her halter, but she screamed and reared, flailing her hooves over the heads of her enemies. The fabric covering ripped and fell away; her wings spread like an eagle’s, ready to launch.
“Catch her!” Zukhara shrieked. His words were lost in a crash of thunder.
The winged mare rolled her eyes at her rider. “Go!” shouted Kelene, and the mare obeyed. Like black thunder she charged the open gateway. Her legs were swollen from standing so long, her muscles were stiff and slow, and she was still slightly disoriented by the sedative. Yet carried by her desperation, Demira spread her wings and threw herself into the teeth of the storm. At once the clouds opened, and the rain poured down in blinding sheets. In the blink of an eye, the Hunnuli had vanished.
For one shattering moment Kelene thought she had pushed Zukhara too far. Quivering with furious passion, he turned on her and whipped out his dagger to press against her throat. His lean visage snarled at her like a wolf’s.
“You didn’t need her,” Kelene forced herself to say calmly. “Like any horse, she will go home.” She prayed he did not understand enough about Hunnuli to know they were not like any other horses.
Her cool words had some effect, for instead of ramming the blade into her neck, he spat a curse and dragged her inside the hall. She saw servants take Gabria away, but she had no chance to see where before Zukhara wrenched opened a door and flung her down a flight of stairs. Kelene scrambled to stay on her feet. The counselor’s hand clamped more tightly about her wrist and dragged her down several more spiraling stairways that wound deeper and deeper into the subterranean depths of the fortress.
Silent and implacable, he hauled her on until her hand was numb and her legs were tired. At last he dragged her through a narrow archway and thrust her forward. She banged painfully against a low stone wall and had to grab at it to keep from falling.