Asena Blessed, page 2
part #2 of Altaica Series
‘The dead, my lord?’ Niaz asked.
Ratilal looked at the corpses in disgust. He drew Niaz aside. ‘We need to burn them. They’ll be ripe by the time wagons get back.’
Niaz moved closer to him, whispering, ‘You can’t leave them here.’
‘Of course not,’ Ratilal said quietly. ‘We’ve no oil and in our state we can’t gather wood to burn them.’ His nose wrinkled with distaste. ‘And we need to show Faros and those who supported my father that the old ways will not be forgotten. In the face of our dedication to the dead, how can they not follow me?’ Loudly, he finished, ‘If you have room, take them. If not, send wagons back. It is only fitting that they have a proper farewell before their families.’
Niaz bowed deeply. As he rose his eyes locked with Vikram’s and a flash of sympathy danced across them before he spun on his heels and left.
Ratilal swept his gaze over Vikram’s battered face. ‘Well, what happened?’
Vikram related the night’s events in detail.
‘Had you seen any of these men earlier? Were they part of his original force?’
‘No, High Lord, I do not think so.’
‘Think?’ Ratilal asked icily.
‘They were not, High Lord.’
Ratilal debated scenarios to himself. ‘Karan must have had a force of men hidden somewhere. Could they have split off from the main force during our ambush?’
If he keeps going, he’ll figure it out; they need more time. ‘Either way, High Lord, they killed your father and took what they wanted. And they must have wanted those strangers very badly,’ Vikram said bitterly.
Ratilal glanced up quickly, distracted from his musing. ‘Yes, you say they took some of the strangers.’
‘In fact, High Lord, I believe that was their only purpose. They said that Clan Lord Shahjahan had promised the strangers to them. They were only interested in the unconscious girl and the young boy and his family—no others.’
‘Why? He risked much by this. What could be worth it? Did you notice anything special about them?’
‘If they were sent by the gods, High Lord …’
A horse, lathered and exhausted, rounded the road’s bend. Vikram leapt protectively before Ratilal, drawing his kilij. Warriors drew beside him shielding their lord. The horse skidded to a halt.
The rider slid from its back shouting, ‘High Lord! I must see the High Lord!’ Jabr, the young warrior Ratilal had sent out scouting with Mas’ūd, floundered his way towards him.
Ratilal cocked his brow imperiously at the breathless young warrior and ordered, ‘Report!’
‘High Lord! Mas’ūd found them. They passed, via a hidden trail, down to the river and were resting their horses.’ Jabr wheezed and gulped air.
‘For the love of the gods, someone give him some water so he can finish.’
Jabr gratefully took a water skin.
‘Drink, boy! Finish your report!’
Jabr’s voice shook as he continued, ‘High Lord, Lord Karan was not with them …’
‘I know that.’
‘The one we thought was Lord Karan was in disguise …’
‘I know that!’ Ratilal bellowed, spittle flying from his mouth, as he barely resisted beating the dolt.
Jabr, ashen, replied haltingly, ‘High Lord … I …’
‘How many men were in the group you saw? Did it look to be the full force? Did Mas’ūd notice if any had turned off anywhere?’
Jabr quailed under Ratilal’s intense scrutiny.
‘High Lord, forgive him his tardiness—he is green and nervous. Report, lad. Slow down. Breathe. The high lord is fair; he’ll not punish you for the truth.’ Vikram smiled at him. C’mon lad, pull yourself together.
Ratilal coolly appraised Vikram before he replied in an even tone, ‘I need the truth—speak.’
Jabr licked his lips nervously, then drew himself up. ‘High Lord,’ Jabr continued, his voice gaining confidence as he did so. ‘Mas’ūd saw no sign of the enemy splitting the main force. Other than the absence of Lord Karan, the entire force seemed to be there. We killed one of their sentries. When we left they were still resting their horses. Mas’ūd has gone to warn the crossing guard, hoping to stop them at the bridge.’
‘Dismissed, join the others,’ Ratilal absently ordered.
Jabr bolted.
‘Don’t assume that you know the extent of my benevolence, Captain Vikram,’ Ratilal said harshly.
Vikram bowed, contrite. ‘High Lord, what would you have us do?’
Ratilal shook his head and sneered. ‘We can do nothing and you know it as well as I. We are too depleted. Better they had not killed the sentry—doubtless they’ve discovered him and moved on. Too much time has passed, Vikram; we wouldn’t catch up and if we did,’ his hand encompassed the wounded around him, ‘we could do little. We must trust that Mas’ūd made it to the crossing.’
Anger and hate welled within Ratilal, begging to be unleashed. It roared like a living flame inside him. He constantly struggled to control it, yet it bubbled to the surface all too often; it felt so good to unleash his anger and let it burn. He loathed that his father had been right about him needing patience and control.
Ratilal breathed deeply. ‘Right now, we look after the men. After that, we plan.’ Pre-occupied, he resumed pacing while slapping his gauntlet impatiently against his thigh. ‘How did they get extra troops in undetected? Have you any ideas?’ Ratilal demanded.
Vikram scrambled for an answer. ‘High Lord, I do not.’
‘Nothing? Surely a man of your experience has some ideas.’
* * *
Deo and Nada had been discretely listening while they worked with the wounded.
‘Deo, get me the spare bag from the wagon,’ Nada said. He looked at her as if she were mad. She glared back at him. ‘Just do it, you lazy old bugger.’
He shrugged and went to the wagon to look. In consternation she said to the warrior she was treating, ‘Oh, for the love of the gods. He won’t find it, daft old sod that he is.’ She moved hastily to the side of the wagon.
‘Well?’ Deo hissed.
‘Help him,’ Nada said, shifting her eyes to Vikram. Deo glowered at her, but her scowl silenced him. ‘Just do it. There’s more going on here than you think.’
‘You better be right,’ he mumbled as they both turned and wandered back. ‘High Lord,’ Deo said deferentially, ‘I … we couldn’t help overhearing your conversation.’
‘Well?’ Ratilal demanded.
‘There is a way they could enter Boar Clan lands, High Lord,’ Deo replied. Ratilal stiffened, his gaze predatory. ‘It’s an old way and not well known anymore. They could have come by Hunters’ Ford.’
Ratilal spun to Vikram. ‘How is it you did not think of this?’
‘A lad like Captain Vikram wouldn’t know of it,’ Deo said hastily.
Vikram apologised. ‘High Lord, it is an ancient track. In truth, I am ashamed to say I had forgotten its existence.’
‘You’d have to be a local to know it, High Lord.’ Deo shook his head and casually hawked up a gob of phlegm before continuing. ‘Entrance is totally overgrown. Be bloody stupid to use it this time of year anyway—river usually floods. Treacherous bloody crossing at the best of times.’
Ratilal fisted his hands; his head pounded. ‘Idiots, all around me—idiots!’ His hand strayed to the flask hidden in his pocket; quickly he stopped himself.
He summoned Niaz. ‘Old man, tell us how to find the entrance.’
‘Entrance?’ Niaz asked.
‘To the track to Hunters’ Ford,’ Vikram said.
‘Oh that.’
Ratilal’s face turned puce and a vein throbbed in his temple. ‘You knew!’
‘I did not think …’ Niaz paled. ‘By the gods! Karan, that’s how …’
Ratilal’s face contorted in rage. The urge to punch his friend in the face nearly overwhelmed him. ‘Niaz, find us some horses. I need to see this track.’
‘Will you not take some men with you, High Lord?’ Vikram asked.
Ratilal hesitated. ‘Yes, only a few. Karan will be long gone and you’ll need all the help you can get. Sort things out here and head back to Faros; be careful. I don’t want these men put at more risk. I need them tended and back to fighting strength. We’ll catch up with you before the Four Ways. Gods only know what we’ll find there, but we’ll tackle it together.’
* * *
Karan carried Isaura from the sacred site where the Ritual of Samara had been held into the main camp and sat on the ground near the campfire with his legs stretched out. The early morning fog was slipping away through the trees and the glow of the sun was shifting from grey to golden.
Isaura sat nestled between Karan’s legs, leaning against his chest. The Asena had followed and lay stretched alongside them. Isaura shuddered and she held her arms tightly against herself trying to warm them. More cloaks were thrown around her. Her arms and legs were grabbed and rubbed vigorously.
She knew they were trying to get the blood flowing through her limbs, but with each touch it felt as if a thousand pins speared her. Isaura moaned, trying to raise her leaden hands and move away. Karan held her fast with one arm around her middle. Her head rested against his chest while he caressed her brow. He tipped his head forward and, as she fought the pain in her legs, Isaura heard him murmuring in a soothing tone.
Isaura concentrated on his soft voice. Karan’s lips were right next to her ear; his breath warm against her skin. ‘Ssh, bright one. All will be well, hush now. I’ve got you. You are home, ssh.’ Karan repeated this mantra until Isaura began to settle.
Asha summoned Āsim. ‘We need her to try to move her legs some more.’
Āsim placed a hand around Isaura’s foot and under her knee, bending each of her legs repeatedly, while Asha continued to rub them. Isaura groaned as the pain increased, crested, then eased as more of the feeling returned.
‘Stop.’ Isaura’s words were foreign, but her intent was clear.
Āsim looked up and tightened his grip on her leg.
‘Stop!’ Isaura’s voice growled a low, bass tone, which rumbled through those nearest her. The Matriarch watched her closely.
Āsim stopped, the hairs on the back of his neck rose, and he shivered visibly.
The Matriarch pushed him out of the way and sat on her haunches directly between him and Isaura, baring her teeth.
Karan’s hand tightened around Isaura’s waist. ‘Āsim, I think you’ve been told.’
‘Aye. Asha, I’m sorry. You’re on your own.’
‘Karan?’ Asha asked.
‘Leave her be. Just bring me some food.’
Karan tipped Isaura’s face to his, scrutinising it carefully under the protection of the cloak’s hood. He said softly, soothingly, ‘You must learn control—relax.’
The hood of the cloak slipped back as Asha returned and Isaura’s eyes met hers. Asha gaped. Karan quickly shook his head at Asha to remain silent. He pulled the hood back up, sheltering Isaura’s face.
Asha knelt before them with a bowl of watered-down stew. She stirred it slowly, thoughtfully. ‘Karan, what just happened with Āsim?’
Karan turned a stony gaze upon her. ‘I believe we’ll find out in due course, but for now, not a word.’ Asha nodded reluctantly.
The motion of Asha’s hand as it stirred the stew mesmerised Isaura. I hope I’m not drooling. Asha moved the bowl up to Isaura’s lips. Karan laughed as she licked her lips and she wriggled impatiently. Isaura frowned at him. Laugh, will he? It’s not him who’s bloody well starving. He caught her annoyed look and schooled his features. Yes, that’s right, but your damn eyes are twinkling. You still think this is funny. Isaura pursed her lips, glaring at Karan, daring him to laugh again, but she could not resist returning his smile. Her stomach grumbled loudly. She chuckled hoarsely, wincing at the dry irritation of her throat. A water skin was pressed against her lips.
‘Slowly,’ Karan said softly. ‘Sl-ow-ly.’
Nodding, Isaura raised her eyes to him again, scowling. ‘I’m not an idiot.’ She attempted to sit up properly. The effort exhausted her and made her dizzy. Isaura leaned back against Karan’s chest with an exasperated huff. His hand rubbed her shoulder sympathetically.
‘Here,’ Karan said to Asha. ‘Give me the bowl. Go see to Umniga. I’ll take care of her.’ He held Asha’s hand firmly when she handed him the bowl and in a voice that brooked no disobedience said, ‘Not a word to her, Asha, not yet.’
CHAPTER TWO
Karan held the steaming bowl before Isaura. It took all her concentration to grip the wooden spoon. She managed two mouthfuls with a shaking hand and the spoon slipped from her fingers. I’m like a damn baby.
Though physically exhausted, Isaura’s mind raced. The language she was hearing fascinated her; its complex rhythm and cadences were lyrical and it resonated deep within her. Isaura leaned back, closing her eyes to listen.
Karan’s arm draped loosely around her waist. He had much to plan and they needed to reach Bear Tooth Lake and rendezvous with Baldev, yet it felt wonderful to rest after their flight. Karan was surprised at his reluctance when he lay Isaura on the ground. ‘Rest, bright one,’ he murmured as he left her. The Asena, ever her sentinels, promptly spooned alongside Isaura, one facing her feet while the other faced her head.
Karan found the Kenati away from the main camp, deep in discussion. He strode into their midst. ‘Effective immediately—Hadi, you will return to the High Citadel in Targmur and work with Chancellor Khayrat. I want him to send word across the High Plateau and mobilise all my forces. Hadi, Khayrat is in charge while I am absent. You’ll assist him in any way he deems fit and I need you there to ensure communications. Munira, I need to send you and your guardian to reconnoitre the Four Ways. I need to know how Lord Baldev fared. Then you will go to the squad at Hunters’ Ford. Keep me informed of any developments through Asha or Umniga. Anil, Suniti, go to the Bear Tooth Lake. You’ll make better time on your own. Find Baldev, I’m sure he’ll have need of you. Spread the word of what has happened to any homesteads on the way. Tell them we’ll do our utmost to protect them, but we offer the protection of the High Citadel for any young children. Their parents must bring them to the lake in two weeks’ time. From there they’ll be taken to Targmur.’
Shocked looks passed amongst the Kenati. No low-lander had ever visited Targmur.
Seeing their astonishment, Karan laughed harshly. ‘These people are under my protection, mine and Lord Baldev’s; they are ours.’ How better to cement their loyalty than by protecting and educating their children. ‘I will endeavour to protect them, but this is a large territory … I’ll not suffer their children to be victims if I can help it. Asha, Umniga, you remain with this lot and teach them—quickly. The sooner they learn and are useful the better.’ His glance encompassed them all. ‘Now go. Not you, Umniga.’
Karan watched them leave then addressed her. ‘What do you know about the Ritual of Samara?’
She frowned. ‘Not a great deal. It was the time of the last Bard Kenati. Samara was dying; he loved her and wanted to save her. He conceived the ritual in desperation, and she lived.’
‘How did it change her?’
Puzzled, Umniga said, ‘There are no accounts of any change. She lived to an uncommonly old age, though. Why?’
‘The girl—Isaura.’ It felt odd saying her name aloud. ‘Her eyes are flecked with the blue of the Asena. I’ve already seen a glimpse of Undavi in her.’
Umniga’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened.
Good, she’s off guard, maybe I’ll get the truth. ‘Tell me exactly what happened in this ritual.’
* * *
Baldev was confronted with the horrified face of Mirza’s rider. ‘He’s gone, my lord … Mirza is gone,’ he said.
‘Was he among the dead?’
‘No, my lord. I checked twice. What will I tell Lord Karan?’
‘What? That you’ve lost his horse … no, not just his horse, but his guardian too.’ Baldev’s lips twitched.
Another warrior looked up from tending an injured horse and took pity on the man. ‘Bloody horse has always been trouble, ever since he was a young ’un.’ Mirza’s rider looked between the two of them in confusion. ‘Don’t worry about it, man. Damned horse hightailed it out across the bridge at the end of the battle.’
Baldev laughed at his look of relief. ‘He’s gone back to Karan, that’s all. Find another horse to ride to the lake—you’ll be safer anyway. Go on.’ He turned to the warrior. ‘What do you think has made him happier: that he won’t have to tell Karan, or he won’t have to ride him again?’
‘Not getting on that bloody horse, I reckon.’
Yadav approached Baldev. His arms were no longer gloved in red, yet his clothing was stiff and darkened from crusting blood.
‘How goes it?’ Baldev asked.
‘Not as bad as it could’ve been, but bad enough.’
‘The young one who saved his horse—the one I carried to the hospital?’
‘Dead.’
Baldev gripped the side of a wagon and hung his head. Yadav put his hand on his shoulder, squeezing it in sympathy. They had both seen this before—too often—but it never got easier. Baldev breathed deeply and raised his head, looking squarely at Yadav.
‘He was going to die anyway. You couldn’t have changed it,’ Yadav said. Baldev nodded in thanks.
‘We’re lucky there’s only a handful of severely injured men and women.’
‘How many of them will survive the journey to Bear Tooth Lake?’
‘Gods alone know,’ Yadav said tiredly.
