Hajira shrugged that away with one good shoulder. “It must be Kelene and Gabria’s sorcery.”
Sayyed scratched his chin. That made sense, so he mentioned something else that had bothered him. “Did the Fel Azureth kill the Shar-Ja?”
“I doubt it. I saw them capture his wagon just before we bolted for the funeral van.” He bowed his head to Helmar, who rode on his other side, Tassilio perched happily behind her. “Thank you for sending your man, Lady. He told me he had ridden day and night to reach us. I am sorry it was his doom to come at such an ill-timed moment.”
She acknowledged his thanks and said, “There is one tiling I would know. How have you two survived for two days?”
The Turic pointed a finger at the boy. “He is a most ingenious scrounger.”
Tassilio blushed beneath his dark tan and blurted, “You would have done the same for me.”
“True.” Hajira’s eyes crinkled with a smile then slid closed, and the man drifted to sleep.
Tassilio solemnly regarded his friend with something akin to adoration. “He wanted me to run away and leave him, but I couldn’t do that! And he was right, too. No one came near the Shar-Yon’s wagon after the battle. Many people came to loot or look for wounded or for the dead, but no one dared approach a royal coffin defended by a large dog and a horse as white as a ghost.” The boy grinned at the memory and almost as quickly his smile slipped away. He sniffled, thankful that the worst part of his ordeal was over, and surreptitiously swiped a sleeve over his eyes.
Then his quick mind found another thought, and he reached back and patted the mare’s white rump. “Hydan’s horse was something special, wasn’t he? He seemed so horribly sad at the death of his master, I could hardly bear it. I told him I was sorry and I thanked him, and you know the odd part, I think he understood.”
“Most horses understand a kind heart,” Helmar replied.
“Don’t try to get direct information from her, boy,” Sayyed warned him dryly. “She is as secretive as a clam.”
“All secrets are revealed in good time,” Helmar retorted. “And the reasons for them.”
Weary and safe for the first time in a long while, Tassilio leaned against Helmar’s strong back. “At least we’ll be in Cangora soon. I hope my father is there.”
The adults made no answer. No one knew what they would find in Cangora, and no one wanted to hazard a guess.
The Clannad rode for the rest of the daylight hours, following the beaten trail of Zukhara’s army. Although they saw other Turics along the way, most of the people looked too suspicious or frightened to offer any further news of the Gryphon. The riders came to the last oasis on the Spice Road near sunset, hoping to find the army camped there, but the oasis was empty, and the tiny settlement close by was deserted. The reason for that dangled in the few tall trees around the four walls. Ten men of various ages, their hands bound and their robes stripped away, had been hung not more than hours before. An edict nailed to a tree forbade any man from removing the bodies until they rotted off their nooses.
“So the Gryphon deals with those who do not accept his will,” Hajira said in a voice heavy with scorn and disgust. “The families who lived at this oasis were Kirmaz tribe. Their leader did not travel with the Shar-Ja’s caravan. He is a stubborn man with a fierce sense of tradition who did not get along well with Zukhara. Once he knows about this”—Hajira jerked a hand at the hanging men—“he will be hard to hold back.” The guard’s words dropped off, and his face grew very thoughtful. “Cut them down,” he said abruptly.
The lady chief started at his sharp voice. “What? Why? Would it not be better to let the families deal with the bodies? Do we risk the time?”
“It is probably already too late to catch the Gryphon before he reaches Cangora,” Hajira replied, intent on his own thoughts. His piercing eyes swept the nearby foothills. The wells and springs of the Spice Road oases bubbled up from an intricate series of underground rivers and streams that flowed from the secret heart of the Absarotan Mountains. They were the lifeblood of the western half of the Turic realm and were granted for safekeeping—and often as favors—into the hands of the different western tribes. Even in times of drought, the oases usually had water. This particular set of wells was doubly important for its proximity to Cangora and its location along a prime road that led into high pastures in the mountains. It had been zealously tended by the Kirmaz tribe for several generations.
Hajira was familiar with their leader and knew his reputation as a firebrand. If he could get the man’s attention, it could be worth the time spent. “The survivors are probably up there now watching us from that cover,” he told Helmar. “They don’t know who we are yet, but if we treat their dead with respect and leave a message for the Kirmaz-Ja, we just might earn a new ally.”
Following Hajira’s advice, the riders cut down the ten men, laid them carefully in a row in the shadow of a mud-brick building, closed their bulging eyes, and covered their bodies with blankets and then stones to discourage scavengers.
When the job was complete, Hajira hobbled to the mounds with Sayyed. “The families will return soon and can bury these men as they see fit, and they will know the Raid are not afraid of the Gryphon.” The two men draped Sayyed’s coat over the first mound where anyone coming to investigate would see the Raid emblem and understand.
After watering the horses, the Clannad continued their journey. They were not far from Cangora, and they wished to push on after Zukhara, in the hope that his army would camp before the gates and they would be able to find the women before the Gryphon entered the city. It all depended on whether or not Cangora would defend itself.
Yet the closer they drew to the capital, the more evidence they found of the Gryphon’s brutal advance. An increasing number of small villages and farms were located along the road, and many had been raided to feed the voracious army. More bodies hung from trees or lay hacked in front of their abandoned houses. One building, a storehouse from the looks of its burned remains, had been blasted to splinters by what they all recognized was magic.
“Would Kelene do that?” Hajira asked, nonplussed by the amount of damage.
“If Zukhara held a knife to her mother’s throat, she might,” Sayyed said heavily.
“That is something I have wondered since you told me this tale,” Helmar said. “Why don’t Kelene and Gabria use their sorcery to escape? They’ve been held for days now, and we know they’re alive.”
“Zukhara has poisoned Gabria, but beyond that I do not know, and I have been thinking about it from the night we realized they were gone.”
She is afraid of him, Demira sent. I know that from her touch, but I do not know why. He kept me asleep for so long and then, when I woke, she made me escape.
Sayyed shook his head. “So what hold does he have over her? Kelene has the courage of a lioness and the stubbornness of a badger. I hope she is just biding her time.”
“And what will you do if Zukhara forces her to fight us?” asked Helmar in her quiet, husky voice.
“We will leave that to our gods,” he replied, so softly she could barely hear him.
The road wound on along the treeless, rolling hem of the foothills. To the west the sun had dropped behind the massive ramparts of the Absarotan peaks. To the east a purplish haze settled peacefully over the flat, arid lands bordering the Kumkara Desert. Ahead of the troop where the road rolled south over a long, easy hill, the riders spotted the first gray clouds of smoke climbing on the still evening air. Soon they noticed a murmur as deep and threatening as thunder rumbling in the far distance.
The riders glanced uneasily at one another. Hajira sat up in his cart and strained to see ahead. The road was deserted now; the countryside was empty of life. A tension hovered in the air as palpable as the sounds that grew louder and more distinctive the closer the troop drew to the top of the hill. By now they could distinguish the din of thousands of voices raised in anger, the clash of weapons, and several large explosions.