Dragonfly (27 page)

"As the Goddess wills," Tashi muttered, knowing there was only one way to find out.

She slowly raised her hands. The men relaxed, thinking she was about to come to them.

"All right, I surrender," she whispered. "I'm sorry, Ram."

Giving up her life to the Mother, Tashi turned and jumped. She heard a snatch of a cry behind her, but then she plunged into the water and went down, whirled away on the current.

Ramil fought on until he saw Yelena hustled into the camp, a knife at her throat. Her attacker had a black

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eye, but he'd managed to rope her wrists. The leader of the slaving party whistled and the other men fell back.

"Now, my friends, you have a choice. If you fight on, I'll have to kill this girl.

Surrender your weapons and we'll treat you all fairly."

Melletin was the first to drop his sword. Ramil followed and Gordoc let his hands fall to his sides.

"Excellent. A slave that sees reason is worth his weight in gold." The leader turned to the man still holding Yelena. "Where are the others?"

"Gone after the other one."

"You two, round up the horses. Kinto, shackle our newest acquisitions."

Ramil watched the path from the river with sick apprehension. He barely noticed the iron collar being bolted to his neck and manacles clamped to his wrists.

Finally, two men emerged from the bushes. They were alone.

"Where is she?" barked the leader.

"She jumped," Mol said with a shrug. "Straight into the river and never came up again. Rather die than be a slave, even though I told her we'd treat her nice."

Ramil felt something snap inside him. It was as if all the strength had gone from his body. He collapsed to his knees, empty.

The southerner sighed with regret. "Well, you can't catch them all. Never mind. Let's get these back to the barn. We deserve a drink. I'm paying!"

The slavers cheered and herded their captives onto the cart. Five horses followed in a string. Thunder had

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not been caught; last seen streaking away to the south, sparks flying from his hooves on the flinty ground.

No one dared say anything to Ramil. Gordoc was moaning softly to himself, clenching and unclenching his hands. Melletin hugged Yelena, who was weeping on his shoulder.

Disaster had come upon them so quickly. One moment he had been joking about the future and cooking Tashi's supper, the next he was a slave and she was . . . Ramil could only think of what the man had said. She would rather die than be a slave. Yes, that was Tashi: the proud princess, unbroken to the last, his darling, brave girl.

And she might still be alive.

This thought was a torment because it allowed him a bitter hope. If it was true, then she was alone somewhere out there, without him. How long would she survive?

He dug his nails into his palm, drawing blood. He was hurting so much inside he had to make his body suffer. If he hadn't been shackled, he would have hurled himself from the wagon. A big hand clamped down on his wrist, chain rattling.

"Don't," Gordoc said. "She wouldn't want it."

Ramil turned and buried his face in the giant's shoulder, his body racked with dry sobs.

The next few days passed in a dark blur for Ramil. He was aware of little but his grief as the chained slaves

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marched north in the wake of the slaver's wagon. Gordoc switched his protection from the missing Tashi to the immediate needs of Ramil, making sure he drank and ate, keeping him on his feet when he sank with despair.

Weak slaves met with no mercy. The whip saw to the slow ones; the knife to the feeble. The slavers were in a hurry to make it to the market in Tigral by the turn of the month so kept up a punishing pace.

Yelena had been separated from the men and now rode with the other female slaves in the wagon. The slavers were keen that the women arrived looking presentable, as premiums were paid for healthy house girls.

Appearance for the men was less important as most were destined for the mines. A few whip strokes would make no difference in price. Strength was the main quality prized and the slavers had high hopes for the big man they had captured, sure he would break all records this year when put to auction.

They reached Tigral at the end of the second nightmarish week. Ramil barely stirred himself to look up at the walled garden city rising out of the coastal plain. The Inland Sea curled around the rose-colored stone of the walls, ships at anchor in the ports. Fergox's palace stood in the center on the top of an artificial mound, the work of previous generations of slaves. It was painted gold and twinkled in the sunlight--a palace built primarily for pleasure rather than defense. His wives lodged here, each with her own pavilion and garden. Lemon and orange trees shaded the broad

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avenues of the rich men's houses. Cherry trees bloomed exuberantly in the courts of the Great Temple, white petals falling in drifts, covering the bloody gutters that trickled in constant sacrifice to Holin.

The slaves only glimpsed this other world before they were ushered to the holding pens down by the port. The women were escorted to a shed but the men were held in the open. The cages were already full of captives and space was bitterly contested but somehow no one saw fit to challenge Gordoc for his corner, allowing Ramil and Melletin to sit unmolested at his side. The pen smelt of unwashed bodies and human waste. Those who had already been here a week scratched blank-eyed at their scabbed knees, only rousing when the food was poured into the trough at the entrance. Flies buzzed, settling in clouds on mouths and eyelids.

No longer able to bear his thoughts about Tashi, Ramil turned his mind to his father. Lagan would weep to see his son here. But Ramil knew that many more Gerfalians would be joining him in the pens very soon now that their mission to bring the Blue Crescent navy into the war had ended in disaster.

I've failed them,
he thought.
My father trusted me to do what was in the best
interests of my people, but I failed.

And what has my life been about really?
Ramil wondered.
I've reacted to
events, never initiated any action I can be proud of
--
except the escape.

He thought about what he had told Tashi when she had been at her lowest ebb. He had said to her that

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maybe the Goddess had put her there because She wanted her to follow a strange path. They had been glib words from someone who had not known her depth of suffering. Ramil knew that his own faith was a sorry affair compared to Tashi's--a lazy belief in some benign Father God, a creator who had always been on excel ent terms with the ac Burinholts like a jol y old patron. There was little for him to hold on to now that he had reached his own nadir.

So do I give up?
he asked himself.
Not listen to my own advice to trust that
there is a plan?

If there is a God behind all this, it looks like a pretty rubbish plan to me,
his cynical side chipped in.

But what would Tashi want me to do?

No sooner had he framed the question than he knew the answer. She would want him to trust his God; she would expect him to do his duty. He could not honor her by dying here in the filth with a whimper.

If this is where I am supposed to be right now,
Ramil thought,
then I have to
find a way to serve the interests of my people. I don't stop being a prince just
because I'm in chains.

Ramil sat up, the light of battle re-ignited in his eyes.

"Right, Gordoc, Melletin," he said, "we've got work to do."

The river washed Tashi up on a sandbank two miles down from where she had jumped. She was barely

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alive, her spirit wandering between this world and the Peaceful Gardens of the Mother. But it appeared the Goddess did not want her company just yet: She sent Tashi back so that the girl returned to consciousness, coughing and vomiting river water as she lay on her side.

Tashi stayed where she was for a long time, hearing the water chatter by over the stones, and the night chorus of crickets squeak in the long grass.

She didn't want to think because thinking meant admitting that she'd lost Ramil and her other friends. She'd left them with the slavers and there was nothing she could do for them--nothing she could do for herself.

To punish her body for being alive, she sat upright. Her hair hung over her face in pale threads, the dye washed from it after her dousing in the river.

It's stringy,
she thought, and burst into tears. She hugged her body, missing the warmth of Ramil who had held her to him only hours ago. She touched her lips, trying to recall the feel of his mouth on hers, but she was cold and bruised, her face swelling out of all recognition since her passage through the rapids.

Long slow minutes of darkness passed. Then a horse neighed from the bank. Tashi looked up and saw Thunder standing there, clearly wondering what she was doing sitting in the wet. She thought for one wild moment of hope that he might have Ramil on his back, but he was alone, the picket rope trailing from his bridle. Even so, she was relieved to see a friendly face, if not a human one. Tashi crawled out of the shallows

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and pulled herself onto the bank. Teeth gently pulled her up by the back of her tattered tunic.

"Thunder!" she said, falling against him when she reached the top. "Thank you."

Her shaking hands explored his back. She touched a saddle and bags, then a bedding roll. Ramil had not taken them off, which was unexpected because he usually saw to the horse before himself. She then remembered that he had promised he'd have her supper waiting for her when she returned from her wash. He must have rushed to start cooking, for once leaving the horse till later. She took off the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders, then opened the bags. They were full of Ramil's gear. The familiar smell of his shirts was heart-rending and wonderful at the same time.

She slipped out of her own wet things and dressed herself in his spare clothes, closing her eyes and trying to imagine that he was with her.

"Well, boy, what next?" she asked the horse.

Thunder nudged her with his soft nose, inviting her to mount.

"I'm not as good a rider as Ramil. You'll have to do all the work," she said wearily, hauling herself into the saddle. The slaver had said the river would mash her and he had been right. Every limb cried out with pain as she moved.

Thunder trotted smoothly back up the road.

"Which way?" she wondered.

Thunder made up her mind for her. He headed south, smelling the horse pastures on the desert's edge.

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Tashi slumped over his neck, letting him take her where he wanted.

The miles passed by but Tashi did not notice. She only woke up when she hit the ground. In her exhaustion, she had fallen asleep and rolled off Thunder's back. He nuzzled her in puzzlement, wondering what his rider was doing on the road. Groaning, she stood up, her whole body shaking.

"I've got to sleep," she explained. "This will do as well as anywhere else."

She led him off the side of the track, down a dry ditch and behind a tumbled wall. It was shelter of a sort, and she could go no further. Thunder stood guard while the pale human slept, her sleep broken with bad dreams. He heard his master's name on her lips and knew she was missing him too. He scared off the wild dog that came sniffing around and stamped on a snake that slithered out of the wall when the sun hit the stones. Still the human foal slept.

The sun was high in the sky when Tashi opened her eyes, though it had turned into a cloudy day and a damp warm rain was falling. If anything she felt worse now that the numbness had worn off. Her body was battered and bruised, her spirit too. Only determination kept her moving. Swathing herself in Ramil's spare cloak, she returned to the road and doggedly set off once more.

Over the next couple of days she saw few people, and those she did see galloped past. Tashi did not want to risk speaking to anyone. The landscape was

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changing. The meadows and fields were giving way to treeless plains. The only things that flourished here were tough grasses and low scrubby bushes spiked with thorns. Even the road seemed to peter out, becoming little more than a hint of a track through the waving grass. Thunder raised his head and let out a whinny of joy: this was his land, the home of the horse. He darted forward, lengthening his stride, feeling the little human tighten her grip with her knees. His dark mane rippled behind him, as did hers, streaming gold.

They abandoned themselves to the pleasure of the race, with no idea but to run until their breath failed them. Tashi had tears on her cheeks as she remembered Ramil shouting to her on the first ride "Don't you love the speed!" Now she knew what he meant.

This was how the Horse Followers first saw Princess Taoshira racing across their pastures. The leader of the scouting party called a halt on the ridge and watched silently as the girl and the blue roan streaked across the grass.

Finally, the horse slowed, tiring after its long canter. The leader signalled his men to move out and they galloped down the hill to meet the strangers.

Tashi heard the thunder of their hooves before she saw them. She sat up straight in the saddle, too weary to be afraid. The horsemen made a fearsome spectacle: their dark purple robes flowing, their swords out.

Well, if they cut me down, at least it will be a swift end,
she thought with resignation.

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The leader, a wiry black-skinned man with a gold ring in his earlobe, galloped his men around her, then drew to a halt, a line of fighters barring her way forward. He pointed his sword at her throat.

"What does a pale girl do riding on a horse fit for a prince?" he asked in Common.

He had not been fooled by her lack of skill, Tashi thought sadly.

"The horse does belong to a prince, but we have lost him," she replied, trying to hide her trembling hands under the long cuffs of Ramil's shirt.