Helmar brought her troop to a stop. “We may not ever know if we do not look,” she said to Sayyed, who was grateful for her concern.
They spread out in pairs along the long strip of road and carefully searched each wagon, body, and heap that belonged to the Shar-Ja’s caravan. No one had a real hope that they would find Hydan, Hajira, or Tassilio among the wreckage, but if they found the bodies, at least they would know. Sayyed worked tirelessly in the search, since he and Afer were the only ones who could recognize Hajira and Tassilio, and while he saw a few faces he vaguely recognized, he found no one to match I he description of the boy and his black-clad guard.
He reached the last cluster of wagons near what had been the front of the caravan and walked slowly among the ruined vehicles. Several of them had been stripped of anything usable by looters, but there was one on its side some distance from the others that looked familiar and still intact. He strode toward it, and suddenly two things happened at once. A horse neighed somewhere behind it, and a large dog leaped out of the interior and charged toward Sayyed. Its wild barking filled the quiet and drew everyone’s attention. A warrior nearby drew his bow, but Sayyed yelled at him to put it away, and he held out his hands to welcome the dog. The big animal, whining and barking in delight, planted his paws on the man’s chest and licked his face clean.
“Sayyed!” cried a familiar voice. A lean young figure burst out of the wagon’s door and joyously flung himself in the embrace of the sorcerer. Between laughter and tears, Sayyed calmed down boy and dog enough to get a good look at them. They were both stretched tight with hunger and the shadows of fear, and Tassilio’s face had lost what was left of its boyish innocence. But, the god of all be praised, he was unharmed.
He gazed up at the clansman with huge eyes, and every pent-up word came tumbling out. “Sayyed, you’re here! I prayed you would come. And look at the horse with wings! Is that Demira? Did you find Kelene and Gabria? Who are these people? Where is—”
Sayyed raised a hand to stem his msh of wild words. “Tassilio, where is Hajira?”
The boy led him to the wagon, talking rapidly as he went. “Hajira knew it would happen, you know. A strange man told him just before it started. Hajira stayed close to the Shar-Yon’s wagon, and the minute he realized we were under attack, he threw the driver off and drove as far as he could before we were hemmed in by the fighting; then he loosed the horses, tipped the wagon over, and forced me inside. He thought no one would bother the funeral wagon.”
He scrambled inside. Sayyed stooped to look in the covered vehicle. The Shar-Yon’s sealed casket had been respectfully covered with the royal blue hangings and pushed to the side that had once been the roof, forming a narrow space between the wagon floor and coffin. There on a makeshift bed lay his brother, a crude bandage on his shoulder, another tied to his thigh.
“He was awake a while ago,” Tassilio said, his voice quivering. “But now he won’t wake up.” Despite his strength and growing maturity, tears filled his eyes, tears brought on by exhaustion, grief, and overwhelming relief. He swiped them away with a dirty sleeve.
A grimace on his face, Sayyed stood to call Helmar and her healer. She was already there behind the wagon, standing with a crowd of her riders by a lone white horse and looking stricken. Something long and very still, wrapped in a shroud of royal blue, lay on the ground at the horse’s feet. Sayyed felt a hand on his arm, and he looked down at Tassilio’s unhappy face gazing at the mound.
The boy cleared his throat and said, “I don’t know who he was. He came that morning, looking for Hajira. They were talking when the fighting started. He stayed with us and defended the wagon when some of the Fel Azureth came after us.” Tassilio paused to wipe his eyes again. Helmar and her warriors had turned to listen to him, and he met the chief’s regard directly as if he spoke only to her. “He was very brave. He fought beside Hajira, and he saved my life, you know. He took a sword thrust that was meant for me. When the attackers went away, they thought everyone was dead. I helped Hajira into the wagon, but I couldn’t help the stranger. I could only cover him and keep the vultures away. I don’t even know his name.” The tears suddenly came in earnest and slid unchecked down his cheeks.
The lady chieftain knelt on one knee in front of Tassilio and offered a cloth for his face. “His name was Ilydan,” she said softly. “He was my swordsman, and yes, he was very brave. Like you. I am glad to know he died well, and I thank you for taking care of him.”
Her simple, direct words were what Tassilio needed to hear. He took the proffered cloth, giving her a tremulous smile in exchange, and vigorously scrubbed his face. When he emerged from behind the cloth, his tears were gone, and he looked closer to his normal self.
Sadly the Clannad riders tied Hydan’s wrapped body onto the back of his horse. Helmar took the horse’s muzzle in her hands and leaned her forehead against his to say good-bye. “Take him home,” she murmured. The horse neighed once, a grief-filled, lonely call; then he trotted away with his heavy burden.
“Where is he going?” exclaimed Tassilio, astonished.
“He will take his rider home to be buried with honor,” the chief answered, distracted by her own thoughts.
“How does he know where to go? Do you live close by? Who are you, anyway?” Tassilio was definitely returning to normal. He didn’t even wait for an answer but grabbed Helmar’s arm and pulled her to the wagon where Sayyed had returned to tend Hajira.
The Clannad healer quickly answered Helmar’s summons, and willing hands moved Hajira out to a shelter rigged by the wagon box that gave the healer more room to tend the injured man.
After a thorough examination, the healer told Sayyed and Tassilio the good news. “His wounds are not dangerous. The worst of his malady is dehydration. He needs liquids and plenty of them. If he can get through the next few hours and stave off infection, he should be fine.”
Tassilio whooped and danced around the tent with his dog.
True to the healer’s word, Hajira revived under a steady treatment of water, honeyed tea, and finally broth. In the late afternoon, he surprised everyone by sitting up and insisting rather forcefully that Sayyed take him and the boy out of this stinking, fly-infested, pestilential wreck. The healer agreed, and the riders very thankfully obliged. They built a makeshift cart for the guardsman out of several broken wagons, hitched it to a horse, and left the massacred caravan behind.
Sayyed rode beside Hajira part of the way and told him what had been happening. The wounded man listened, his eyes half-closed, and when Sayyed completed the tale, his haggard face lit with amusement. “Only you, my brother, could go into those mountains to find two magic-wielders and come out with over seventy.”
“Just not the right ones.”
Hajira’s mirth fled. “No. Not yet. This is worse than we feared.” Ignoring the pain in his shoulder and leg, he pushed himself up against the back of the cart until he was propped upright. “Zukhara is using your women to help him fulfill an ancient prophecy from The Truth of nine that he thinks applies to him.”
“And you do not believe it?” Helmar asked.
Hajira snorted. He knew enough Clannish to understand her. “Prophecies are not exact. They can be bent to fit any number of events.”
“What then is the Lightning of the North?” asked Sayyed.
“Where did you hear that?”
“From what little bit of news we have been able to gather. It is rumored Zukhara carries the Lightning of North in his hand.”