The men bowed and left, leaving Helmar with only her two guards and the clansmen. She pulled in a deep breath and sat down so quickly her sword clattered on the chair. “Does that answer your question?” she said to Sayyed.
He leaned back in his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him. His arm hurt and his side throbbed abominably, but he wouldn’t go to his pallet yet. This night was too full of revelations. “What made you decide this?” he asked.
“The mare.” Helmar nodded toward the open doorway where the Hunnuli rested in the courtyard. “When I saw her in all her beautiful living flesh, I knew you had been telling me the truth—all of it. I realized then that our stone walls would no longer be enough. It is time the Clannad shows its true colors.”
Sayyed offered her a slow, conciliatory smile. “Will dawn be a good time to start?”
At that Rafnir’s hands went up in annoyance. “Why wait until then? They like to ride at night; let’s go now!”
“You may leave any time,” his father told him, “because I want you to go back to the Ramtharin.”
A bright flush swept over Rafnir’s face, and he turned on his heel and stamped to the table.
Seeing the look on his son’s face, Sayyed held up his hand. “I need someone I can trust to find Athlone. He said send a message, remember? Well, I’m sending you and Tibor. Get him to come south with the werods to help the Shar-Ja.”
The audacity of such a suggestion took Rafnir’s breath away. “You want him to bring the clans over the Altai? But the Turic will think they’re being invaded.”
“That’s why I want you to go. With you at Athlone’s side, you can tell the Turics you have been summoned by the Shar-Ja in accordance with the peace treaty.”
“A treaty that was never signed!”
“A mere formality. Make a likeness of the Shar-Ja’s banner. Dress like a Turic noble. Make it look official.”
“What if the Shar-Ja doesn’t want any help?” Rafnir demanded.
Sayyed rubbed his temples and said grimly, “I don’t think he is in any position to argue.”
Helmar had been listening to the exchange, her face thoughtful. “Can’t you take your flying horse? It would be faster, would it not?”
Rafnir picked up a full flagon and put it down again, still too agitated to stand still. “No. She can carry me short distances, but I am too heavy for her to carry such a long way. Besides”—he cracked a crooked grimace—“I doubt you could get her any farther away from Kelene than she already is.”
Helmar nodded as if she had already anticipated that answer. “Well, your journey back will be dangerous if you go alone across the open country.” She traced a line north along the foothills of the Absarotans. “One of my rangers could lead you on mountain trails all the way to the border.”
“Lady, that is generous, but I don’t think your horses could keep up with a Hunnuli,” Rafnir replied distractedly.
The lady chieftain laughed softly as if at a private joke. “On the mountain slopes you have not been able to witness the full talents of our white horses, young Rafnir. Be assured, the whites will match your blacks.”
Sayyed pursed his lips and looked thoughtful. “And I suppose your white horses are descended from clan stock, too.”
She nodded, her eyes merry. “Of course.”
When she didn’t add more, Sayyed bent forward, cupped his hands over hers, and said earnestly, “One day will you trust me enough to tell me the full truth of your history?”
Helmar’s eyes fell to their linked hands, and something flickered in the back of her heart, that same heart she thought she had hardened to the attentions of men. “One clay,” she said and pulled her hands free.
Rafnir went back to his pacing, but this time he did not slam the shield as he passed—a good sign, Sayyed thought. The older sorcerer continued with his plans, letting Rafnir stew over his duty. “There is another favor I must ask, Lady,” he said, and hesitated before he went on. “It could be very dangerous, but it is important to me and maybe to the Turics as well.”
“Ask.”
“I need someone to get word to my brother, Hajira, in the Shar-Ja’s caravan. He is the sole guardian of the Shar-Ja’s only living son. That boy has to be protected at all costs.”
Helmar steepled her fingers. “I know nothing of this boy or the Shar-Ja beyond what you have told us, but even that little shines brighter than what I have heard of this Zukhara. I will find someone willing to go.”
“My lady, with your permission,” Hydan said, rising to his feet. “I will go. I speak a little Turic, and I owe Sayyed a favor for shooting his arm and making us late.”
The clansman looked around, surprised. He had not expected help from that quarter. “Can you find your way?”
“Hydan is one of the few who leave the valley on occasion to visit nearby settlements. He is a good man,” Helmar added. “His only faults are a temper he can’t control yet and an overreaching desire to protect what he values.”
The swordsman’s face turned red, but he did not waver when she asked. “You understand what you might have to face?” He nodded. “Then go with my blessing and ride safely.”
After that was settled, Sayyed, Rafnir, and Helmar bent over the map again to finalize their plans. Although Sayyed had made most of the decisions to that point, he was very interested to learn Helmar had a quick grasp of the worsening situation and a sharp mind for tactics. She was the one who suggested sending other rangers out to gather news and who pointed out a rough trail over the Khidar Pass that would take them directly to the Spice Road and cut off leagues of extra travel.
One point confused her though. “What will we do when we catch up with this Zukhara? What if he’s already joined his army of fanatics?”
Sayyed could only shake his head. The same thought had occurred to him with no brilliant inspiration to light its way. “I won’t know until we get there,” he admitted. “So if you have any ideas . . .” He yawned, too tired to finish.
The fire had burned low by that time, and everything that could be planned had been discussed. Sayyed’s swarthy face had washed to a grayish pallor, and he moved with uncomfortable stiffness when he stood. Helmar took one arm and Rafnir the other, and they led him firmly to a bed. He was asleep before they had pulled a blanket up over his chest.
The castle bailey was bustling with activity when Sayyed woke the next morning. After a quick wash and a quiet moment for his morning prayers, he strode out into the sunshine in time to say good-bye to Rafnir and his guide.
Rafnir had not verbally agreed to leave the search for Kelene and Gabria, but Sayyed knew his son well enough to hope he would accept the reasons for this request. He stood out of the way, his arms crossed, while Rafnir buckled one of the Clannad’s saddle pads on Tibor instead of the heavy Turic saddle.
“I’m trusting you to find Kelene,” Rafnir said, his voice sharper than he intended. He modified his tone a little and went on. “I never fully understood how you could grieve for Mother for so long, but when I think what it would be like to lose Kelene, I begin to see.” He clasped his father’s arm and sprang to Tibor’s back. “I will bring the Clans!” he vowed. He was about to go when he turned and tossed out one more observation. “Father! I think Mother would approve of Helmar.” He waved, and in a clatter of hoofbeats, the black stallion and the white cantered out of the fortress and on their way.
“What was that?” Helmar asked, coming to stand by the sorcerer.
A quirk of a smile passed Sayyed’s lips. “He said good-bye.” He wasn’t sure why Rafnir would feel inclined to say what he had, and yet he thought his son was probably right. Tam would have liked Helmar. A gust of wind flounced by, snapping his cloak and sending dust swirling around the bailey in tiny whirlwinds. The sky was achingly blue and cloudless, but the air this high in the mountains was thin and still chilly in the mornings. Sayyed shivered as a finger of breeze brushed past his neck. “Tam,” he whispered. Then he glanced over at a straight nose, a dusting of freckles, and a pair of green eyes set in a frame of red-gold lashes—so different from Tarn’s delicate oval beauty—and he was glad Helmar was there.