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Tom seemed to draw his attention back from the fire. “Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I was daydreaming.”
“We’re all exhausted,” Sara said reassuringly. “I wish I could lie down and sleep.”
Tom smiled faintly. “Not with all those swords pointed at us.”
Tess returned his smile, then twisted to look at the encircling Anari. Giri and Ratha had predisposed her to like their kind, but someone or something among these men filled her with a dark sense of cold, oily evil. One among them belonged to the enemy. One among them was a traitor to his kind.
She wished she could tell which one, but that sight was denied her. Instead she was gifted only with the amorphous ugly feeling.
Suddenly the night sky filled with a red flare to the south of them. All of them gaped, never having seen such before.
Then Tess felt something else. Her head bowed, and her heart ached. “Many are dying,” she said. “Too many.”
Sara gripped her hand and squeezed it. “I feel it, too,” she said in a hushed voice. “The battle has begun.”
Two hours felt like two days as they waited for the return of their companions. Tess’s thoughts kept returning to Acher, leader and friend, a man with strength to lean on. A man who still distrusted her, yet protected her. She closed her eyes, willing his safe return along with Giri and Ratha.
Eventually the sound of heavy, uneven footfalls could be heard approaching across the rocky terrain. The three immediately rose to their feet, and their captors turned their attention and their swords to the sounds.
Moments later, as if born of the very darkness itself, Archer appeared. Giri and Ratha followed, between them holding yet another Anari, who appeared to have trouble keeping his feet. Farther yet behind them came another handful of dark men. Then no more.
“We were the ones ambushed,” Archer announced. “Most of Gewindi-Tel were slaughtered.”
The man being steadied by Ratha and Giri lifted his head suddenly, and the heat of anger blazed from him, almost palpable in the night. “We were betrayed!” Jenah spat. “Betrayed by one of our own.”
Tess hurried toward him. “You are injured!”
“Aye, Lady,” Giri said. “A sword gashed his back as he fought to defend his brothers. Let no one question his valor on this night.”
“Let me see.”
But Jenah straightened himself and shook off the support of Ratha and Giri. “I need no white healer. I need a sword. I want to know who betrayed us!” Then, his last dregs of strength used up, he crumpled to his knees.
“Lady,” said Giri urgently, as he, Ratha and Archer formed a protective triangle around the fallen leader, swords drawn. Tom and Sara drew their weapons, as well, and stood back to back.
Tess needed no further encouragement. She ran forward to the fallen Anari, hoping against hope that she could find in herself whatever it was that had saved a young lad in Derda who had been all but dead from cold and starvation. She had no idea what she had done then, but everyone had been sure she had been the cure.
Now she knelt and laid her hands on the fallen man’s back, against the hot, wet blood, feeling the slash beneath her palms. She closed her eyes, imagining as vividly as she could that the wound beneath her hands was knitting together, muscle to muscle, skin to skin. Her palms grew hot, as if they were aflame, and she nearly cried out.
Moments later, the world faded into blackness.
* * * *
A healer such as the world hadn’t seen since the White Lady, Theriel, Archer thought, as he watched over the unconscious Tess and the steadily improving Jenah. With his own eyes he had seen flesh heal beneath her hands. Now there was nothing but a scar left across Jenah’s back.
But the cost to Tess had been great. As the sun began to rise, painting the red desert in a myriad of fiery colors, he cradled her head in his lap and waited for her to awaken.
All the other Anari, both those who had been in battle and those who had stood guard here, had put away their swords and sat, waiting. Tom and Sara watched Tess with worried eyes. Ratha and Giri alone remained on guard, ready to protect their company and Jenah.
Tess stirred, a murmur escaping her. At once Archer stroked her golden tresses. “Be still,” he said. “You are safe.”
For a fleeting instant a smile fluttered over her lips, then vanished. He had seen her smile so rarely, he realized. But none of them smiled nearly enough these days. The savagery of their time in Lorense, and the horrors of the deaths of thousands of refugees in Derda, had left a deep mark on all of them.
Tess’s eyes fluttered open and met his, blue meeting gray for an electric instant. Her mouth formed a surprised O; then she abruptly sat up. At once she raised a hand to her head.
“Who hit me with the hammer?” she asked.
“’Twas the healing,” Archer reminded her.
Recalled to what had passed, she looked toward Jenah and appeared as stunned as any of them by what she saw. “Oh!”
At that moment, Jenah rolled over onto his back with a groan. His eyes opened suddenly, taking in the dawning day, and Giri and Ratha standing guard. “What happened?” he demanded.
“Sit up and see,” Giri said. “The Lady Tess healed you.”
Jenah pushed himself up gingerly, as if he did not believe what he was told. But upon discovering he no longer hurt, he leapt to his feet and looked around.
“Thank you,” he said, bowing to Tess. “And please forgive my words, Lady. My people are not used to such kindnesses from yours.”
“You were in pain,” Tess said, smiling. “People oft say things they do not mean. Think nothing more of it.”
But then his gaze returned to his fellows.
“So this is all that remains of Gewindi-Tel, the proudest of the northern clans.” His voice was already sparking with anger again. “A handful of stalwarts and a traitor.”
The men who had fought beside Jenah last night stirred not at all. Their faces were as impassive as if they had been carved from the stone the Anari worked with such unparalleled skill. The five who had remained to guard the campsite were not quite as impassive, however. Though they betrayed little except by the flicker of their eyes, it was obvious that they knew suspicion fell upon them.
“You have nothing to say?” Jenah asked.
“I wish only that I had died in my brother’s place,” one of the men said. “First came he from my mother’s womb, but only by the moments it took for me slip out after him. I spent my life chasing him. If now I must follow him into death, then so be it.”
Jenah seemed to weigh the man’s words for a long moment, then nodded. “Be at peace, Jahar Gewindi. Your brother died at my side, valiant to the last. Let not your mother lose two sons on this day. Already too many mothers will bear that burden.”
Archer watched as Jenah interrogated each of the men, one by one. As long as he had spent in the company of Ratha and Giri, he could not yet read the faces of Anari except in the most obvious of moments. What Jenah sought, and whether he was seeing it, Archer had no idea.
“It is not safe to remain here,” Tom said, quietly. “Master Jenah, I know you are angry, and that one thought alone burns in your mind. But we are not far removed from the Bozandari who killed your kinsmen last night. There will be time enough to sort this out once we have found a suitable resting place.”
“And what of a resting place for my brothers?” Jenah asked. “Am I to leave them in the sand, to be picked over by the vultures, their bleached bones to be swallowed up into the vast, empty memory of the desert?”
“We cannot bear them with us,” Archer said. “And the lad is right. It is too dangerous for us to remain here. The gods will embrace the spirits of your fallen, whatever may befall their bodies.”
“Anari never leave their dead behind,” Jenah said.
“There is much that Anari have never done,” Archer said. “But I fear you will need to learn to do most of it before this war is over. Come, let us away, for the safety of those who remain in your Tel, lest all your mothers weep in vain.”
Tom walked beside Sara, occasionally reaching over to grasp her hand. The sun was nearing its zenith, and even in the middle of winter, faint shimmers of heat rose from the red sands. Their horses walked beside them, pausing from time to time to graze from the occasional bunches of pale green grass or the leaves of the bushes that dotted the landscape.
“This is a beautiful land,” Tom said. “But a hard land, as well.”
“Yes,” Sara said. “It is a land to make one’s heart weep—with beauty and with pain.”
“That feeling I know well,” Tom said, giving her hand another squeeze. “I feel it every time I look at you.”
“Now, now,” Sara said, suppressing a smile. “Speak not every word that is in your heart, Tom Downey, lest I come to long for the days when you spoke none at all.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, quickly looking away.
“No!” Sara replied. “Tom, you really must learn to recognize when I jest. I like your words. So many nights I lay in bed, wishing that you would voice your thoughts, afraid I was mistaken when I read your eyes. Now I have no such doubts, and that lightens the burden of my heart.”
“Then let me lighten it more,” Tom said. “For in all the world, there is no soul with such sparkle, no other face that I would wake to, no other voice that I would carry into my dreams. Please do not ache for the past, Sara Deepwell. Whatever you have done, you have done for the love of all that is good and right in this world.”
“I would that your words were enough, Tom. But I bear the stain of my blood, the stain of my heritage, it seems. When I heard tales of the Ilduin in my father’s inn, they were tales of lightness and beauty, hope and joy. Never did I imagine that I would be one of them. And never did I imagine that Ilduin blood would be so dark.”
He could hear the aching loss in her words, and he knew she was once again seeing the dead and dying forms of her mother and the dark mage Glassidor. If only Lady Tess had not stilled his blade, he would have spared Sara this burden. Instead he had stood mutely by as the final act was played out in soul-chilling screams.
“You are of love, Sara Deepwell,” he whispered. “That is all I know of such things. But it is enough.”
Near the front of the small column, Tess rode beside Jenah, whom she had insisted take Archer’s mount. She rode at Archer’s demand, for he was not sure she was yet strong enough to walk. And, she thought, he might well be right. A deep, aching fatigue seemed to press through every muscle and sinew in her body. She longed for sleep but could not bring herself to relax.
“You should rest, Lady,” Jenah said quietly. “Your body cries for it.”
“As does yours,” Tess replied. “And yet you also hold yourself awake. So we are both stubborn.”
Jenah laughed, and for an instant Tess saw once again the infinite beauty of the Anari people. She had seen it in the fleeting moments when Ratha and Giri joked amongst themselves. They were a people who, when the cares of the world could be set aside, seemed to glow with an inner joy that shimmered in the iridescent blues of their black skin. They were, she thought, the most beautiful people she had ever seen.
“What?” Jenah asked.
“Oh,” Tess replied, “I was just thinking how lovely your people are to behold. If the finest gold were spun into human form, it would not approach the Anari.”
“You mock me,” Jenah said, though the warmth in his eyes belied the accusation. “We are but humble desert stonemasons.”
“And I but a simple blond woman,” she said. “Take good words where you find them, Jenah Gewindi. I fear you have heard too few.”
“That much is true,” he said, smiling. “And thank you, White Lady, for your kindness. Someday, perhaps, you will tell me by what grace of the gods you were sent to me in my time of need.”
“I do not know whether it be a grace of the gods or a curse of men,” Tess said. “Perhaps some of both. The road to this place has been long and filled with heartache. But here we are, and on we go.”
“Tell me of your journey?” he asked. “Perhaps it will distract me from the ache in my back. While you have saved my life, I still feel the pain of the blow.”
“I am sorry that my healing was not more complete,” Tess said. “But of my journey, there is both too little and too much to tell. I awoke in the wreckage of a slaughtered trade caravan, far to the north, with no memory of who I was or whence I came. Archer and his Anari companions came upon me and took me to Whitewater, where we met Tom and Sara. Then we set out together to learn who had murdered the caravan, and that led us eventually into the city of Lorense, where we confronted the dark mage Lantav Glassidor and slew him.
“After that, we came south, for Ratha and Giri had heard of the uprising here and wanted to lend their swords to the cause. We skirted the edge of the Deder Desert, dodging Bozandari patrols, until we reached the borders of the Anari lands and came upon you last night. And that, my friend, is my journey.”
Jenah studied her for a moment and nodded. “There is much that you do not tell me, Lady Tess. I accept that, for I can see in your face that what you tell me is true. And your friends certainly bore true their oath last night. Perhaps in time I will learn more of you and your story. For now, however, I accept that you are here of free will and with pure heart.”
“I thank you for your trust, Lord Jenah.”
He laughed and shook his head. “I am hardly a lord, my Lady. I was simply chosen by my Tel for this mission. Chosen, it seems, to lead my brothers to their deaths.”
“Bear not that burden alone,” Tess said. “From what Archer has told me, you did all that could be asked for, and more besides. Your brothers’ blood is not on your hands, but on the hands of he who betrayed you. And in time, we will know who that is.”
“That time will be soon now,” he said, looking up at a jagged ridgeline. “Beyond that rise lie the villages of Gewindi-Tel. And there the truth will out.”
3
At the top of the rise, Giri looked out at the village below and paused for a long moment. Tess came up beside him and saw the glistening in his eyes.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I’ve waited a long time to see a telner, m’Lady. I thought I would never see one again.”
“Gewindi-Telner,” Jenah announced with a sweep of his arm. “Home of Gewindi-Tel, my clan.”
Tess at once noticed the odd configuration of the village: a large, round central building surrounded by a plaza that seemed to mimic flames spreading out from the sun. From there radiated three winding paths that led to smaller round buildings, each of which was set amidst even smaller stone buildings and fallow fields.
“All Anari villages are constructed in this form,” Giri said. “It symbolizes the end of the First Age.”
“What does it mean?”
Giri’s eyes clouded with sorrow. “In the end,” he said quietly, “the gods were so angry with the Firstborn that they tore the world asunder. It is a reminder that the world today is but a small part of what it once was.”
Tess looked down on the village with new appreciation, then realized they had been spotted. Even from this distance she could see the villagers beginning to gather, facing in their direction.
Jenah sighed heavily, but when he spoke, his voice was taut with anger. “Let me ride ahead and tell the story, lest the lady and her party be misunderstood.”
Giri nodded. “A good idea, cousin. I will ride with you as a token of our good faith.”
Jenah nodded. Giri turned, and in one sleek movement he swung into his saddle. “Wait here,” he said to Tess. “I’ll come when it is time.”
Tess was surprisingly ready to dismount and just rest for a few minutes, even though she had been dreaming of the comforts of civilization for these many hours past. She had hardly begun to dismount when strong hands clasped her waist and aided her.
Archer. She turned and managed a wan smile. “Thank you.”
He gave a slight bow of his head. “Let us make a small fire and eat something. Perhaps Lady Sara will be good enough to create one of her stews. You need to regain your energy, my Lady.”
Since events in Lorense and the discovery that Sara, the innkeeper’s daughter, was one of the fabled Ilduin, she had become Lady Sara. Tess herself had been referred to as such much longer, but she was still finding it difficult to accept the obvious implication: that she was set apart from her fellows.
She turned her gaze from Archer and looked down the long slope. Jenah and Giri were riding slowly, as if they dreaded delivering the message they bore. And in the town below, new stillness seemed to indicate that the people guessed what that message would be.
Sara and Tom seemed only too glad for the distraction of preparing a meal. Ratha gathered some wood and laid the fire before returning to his position against a rock. It was clear he was still on guard, though now it was against the traitor among the Anari. The remaining Anari, a group of less than twenty, merely sat stone-faced, awaiting their moment to return home…and their moment to be judged.
While the horses grazed among the sparse vegetation, Tess sat crosslegged on the brow of the ridge, looking down on the valley spread before her. Archer settled beside her, one knee raised, leaning back on his arm.
“The flower of the Gewindi Clan is mostly gone,” he said soberly.
“What did they hope to accomplish by attacking that patrol?”
“Exactly what came to befall them.” He sighed. “You dozed for a few minutes during the ride, and I spoke with Jenah. He said that Bozandari patrol was on its way to the Telnah, to take more slaves. Most of the men who died last night would have been taken. And some of the women, as well. They chose to fight instead, to preserve their Tel. From stories they have heard, the slave patrols have lately been killing many of those they don’t take, or burning the villages’ food supplies and leaving the Tels to starve.”
