Over two weeks, tied to the great white stallion, Raven was lead to the desert. From the mountain valley the temple guards followed the winding river south at an ambitious pace. The charmed silver band cut off her tie to the veil, preventing her from healing the two arrow wounds to her chest. And while they had closed over with time, they burned with each breath, each bump of the ride.
Once they'd neared Norr's boarders, her captors shed their black robes, donning the white and red colors of the Temple of Sekhmet. Rhet took Raven's Hudar clothes, forcing her to wear tan servants' garb. The reason soon became clear. Their path to Kebos teemed with soldiers, all looking for the queen and Hudar witch.
On several occasions she'd contemplated shouting to the soldiers, spoiling Rhet's plan. Surely the temple guards would be overrun. Surely the soldiers would then promptly deliver her to Kenos, and likely a slow, agonizing execution. But death would not help her find Alyssa, and that was her sole purpose. She would allow herself to be returned to Khalimat, because no matter her crimes, the high priestess would not kill her. As Favir had said on the brink of death, Raven was too precious to waste.
Kebos stood in the distance like a dreadful mirage. She'd always hated the heat, and returning to it after experiencing Hudar only added to the oppressive aura of this desert hell. Avarice did not appreciate the climate change either. He sweated and shuffled behind the guard's horses like a delirious old nag. He deserved a lifetime of rest after the journey he'd endured.
"You've done well, beast." She scratched under his mane as far as her chains would allow. "I won't forget it."
The sun had set on the sixteenth day by the time their party reached the stables at the Temple of Sekhment. Two men yanked her from the saddle and escorted her none too gently inside. Everything hurt. She hadn't slept in days. She didn't care what happened to herself—nothing would make up for causing this tragedy in Alyssa's life. Nothing except vengeance.
Rhet marched them through the empty temple proper, past the towering basalt statue of Sekhmet and an alarming sense of déjà vu. Like the very first time she'd been brought here, bound, beaten and enslaved. The utter panic awakened a reserve of strength. She planted her feet, twisted at the hips and sent her elbow sailing into the guard's face.
He grunted and staggered. She spun away from the second guard and delivered a swift kick to his knee before pain exploded behind her eyes. She crashed to the floor, dazed.
Rhet pressed the end of his staff to her chest. "You're being pathetic, witch. Don't you dare disgrace this temple with such weakness." He jabbed her once, twice. "Get up. On your feet."
The guards wrenched her upright and dragged her the rest of the way to Khalimat's private chambers. A wide, lavish room lit with braziers and a central fire pit. Sweet jasmine and incense wafted in the warm breeze through the open courtyard windows. Beside the fire, Khalimat perched on the edge of her chaise, the embodiment of a lioness in pristine white robes.
The guards forced Raven down to the stone floor and took their leave. She sat back on her heels, trying to ease the pressure off her aching knees. Rhet remained beside her, hands folded atop his staff. "She's likely to fight, priestess. Shall I take her to the cellar?"
Khalimat's dark gaze ran over her, cataloging, contemplating. "Not yet. She and I first need to reacquaint."
If she wasn't so tired, Raven would have laughed.
"Understood," he said. "Will you need anything else, priestess?"
She flicked her fingers towards the door. "You may go. See that your men are fed and well-tended tonight."
Rhet bowed and left. The arrogant prick.
"I do hope you've enjoyed your freedom," Khalimat said.
The crushing weight of exhaustion kept her on the ground, but did nothing to temper her loathing. Liberty had lifted the fog, and now the world shown crystal clear. This priestess had no real power over her, charmed silver band aside.
She rolled her shoulders, trying to loosen sore muscles. "I've enjoyed many things while free of you."
Khalimat stood, gold bracelets clinking. She stooped to grab Raven's jaw and jerked her head backwards until she met the old woman's gaze. "You've forgotten your place, Hudar. You are my creature. You shall always be mine, but I will beat you within a breath of death if you speak to me like that again."
"I hope you've rested. It will take effort."
Her grip tightened. "Sharp words with no follow through? You're disappointing."
"On the contrary, I'm quite satisfied" The sharp angle strained her neck, but didn't deter her snark. "Say, isn't it almost Longest Night? Tell me, how are you to part the veil for the celebration? Your precious city of acolytes will discover their high priestess has lost her touch."
"Oh, I'm sure I'll think of something." She clenched Raven's jaw tighter, gave her a hard shake and let go. "I must admit, I'm impressed how far you ran with that queen slowing you down."
The subject change stalled her momentum. How much did Khalimat really know of the situation regarding Alyssa? How much did anyone? Had Favir gotten word out about their relations before he confronted her?
Khalimat retrieved a wine glass from the side table and eased onto the chaise. "Do you know why I sent you to Olisgard?"
She knew. The priestess needed no favor from Kenos. She existed beyond the reach of the monarchy, living in a scorching land of sand and sun and easily swayed citizens. Khalimat enjoyed playing a god. Why indulge her?
Contemptuous silence had always worked in the past.
"I sent you there to gain Kenos' trust. And in that, you succeeded." She sipped from the glass, set it down and resumed her casual pose, just as likely to fall asleep or deliver a killing blow. "That is, until you slayed Favir, stole the queen and led half of Norr on a wild chase into Hudar."
"Not the victory you'd hoped?"
"Actually, you made Kenos look a fool, a far more pleasing result."
"If that was your plan all along, I could've accomplished it without destroying my people."
"No, this effort required a precise series of events that came about marvelously," she said. "And don't be so dramatic. You didn't destroy your people."
"Does betrayed suit your liking, oh great and high priestess?"
"My poor jackal-child, still as wild as the day you were brought to me. I've missed these sparing matches."
"Oh?" Raven lifted her bound hands. "Remove my band and chains, and we shall spar in earnest."
Khalimat tilted her head, gold adornments in her long braids shimmering in the light. "She's dead, you know. Your queen."
The air left her lungs. It took everything she had to remain upright, frozen in stoicism. It was a possibility she'd considered for some time, but hearing it aloud made it that much harder to bear.
"A shame, really. Alyssa Norxis was a fascinating, capable woman. I can't begrudge your tastes, only your timing. I would've liked to see her rule Norr without a man's interference."
She licked her chapped lips. Swallowed. "You don't know for sure she's dead. Rhet left her unconscious on the mountain."
"Come now, Raven. Over two weeks stranded with no horse, no food, and winter bearing down? If she made it through the night, it was only a matter of time before she froze to death or the za'hava found her. And what do you think they did with a Norrian?" She arched a brow. "Hmm? What say you, Hudar?"
In truth, she didn't know. Childhood memories of her homeland had slowly faded over the years, replaced with a Norrian version of her heritage. What little language she'd retained, anchored with fierce instincts, painted a bleak picture of Alyssa's fate.
"Don't worry," Khalimat said. "You'll have plenty of time to think on it where you're going."
O.O.O.O.O
Melissah squinted, shielding her eyes from the mid-day sun. Kebos shimmered on the horizon, a sprawling stone city that rivaled Olisgard. While it lacked the high walls of the capital, Kebos was not defenseless. The citadel towered in the backdrop, a stone fortress housing the standing army's training facility and supplies. Five-thousand soldiers called it home, though from appearances, it was anything but homey. She had a feeling she'd be here quite a while.
It took a day of wandering the streets before she'd located a simple room for rent, and another to get her bearings. Like all cities, the central market fed and fueled it's citizens with all manner of goods, services and most importantly: information. And a month of listening at doors, sneaking looks at messages, and perusing unattended businesses hadn't turned up a single scrap of useful anything—other than discovering the Temple of Sekhmet was more closely guarded than the palace.
It took another week to survey the temple. Three-tiers of granite, with a pillar-lined entrance protected by temple guards. Every entryway into the building had no less than four men, adorned in the white and red robes of Sekhmet and armed with short swords. Patrons were welcome inside from sunrise to sunset, but always escorted by an adept or priest. She aimed to test that theory.
Both attempts at sneaking off were thwarted by an over-attentive priestess. Her initial tour began in the main chamber, housing an enormous basalt statue of Sekhmet surrounded by fire. Several halls lead away from the statue, to rooms for meditation, doctoring, and desires of the flesh. Enticing, but not likely to turn up Alyssa. Certainly a structure as vast and intricate as this had secret chambers, but none caught her eye. Yet.
At the rear of the temple, a modest stone and timber stable served as shelter for patrons' horses, and appeared the least guarded. Melissah had only spotted a guard there five times in ten days, suggesting they left the guarding to the three young stable boys. This development made the stables an appealing point of unsupervised entry into the temple. And on this quest, no stone was too small to overturn.
O.O.O.O.O
Alyssa bundled her robes, covered her head with scarves, and began her daily walk around the settlement. A group of children had taken to following her, stalking in the distance. She'd indulge them, pausing to glance over her shoulder, pretending not to see when they dove and leapt for cover. Today, the January wind howled down the valley, dusting everything in white, making it difficult for the little runts to keep up with her pace.
Life in Hudar was not what Alyssa had expected. And considering she hadn't expected to survive very long once separated from Raven, the passing weeks had accumulated as quickly as the snow on the mountains.
The elders considered her offer to help invade Norr for sometime. Half were convinced it was unwise, while the remaining half ruminated over the potential of such an accomplishment. All the while, the snow grew deeper, trapping the settlement in the valley until the thaw. No decision would be made until then.
She thought of Raven nearly every waking moment. Where she was. How she faired. If she was still alive. Hope was never something she'd put much stock in, but these days she found herself hoping beyond reason.
Alyssa had been given her own shador, the traditional hide-and-pole tent, on a plot of land near the central market. Her position in the community was never discussed, but after being shown her new home and where her horse could graze, it was clear she was no longer a captive. Her neighbors didn't seem too pleased to have a Norrian nearby, but aside from long, cold stares, they left her alone. How could she blame them? She was the enemy, transplanted into their settlement, and the irony of the situation was not lost on her.
Amara visited her often, bringing clothing, candles, and dialogue. Alyssa craved conversation, desperately trying to store as much information and language possible. Amara patiently repeated phrases in Hudari over and over again. They traded stories from their experiences living in different worlds, debated philosophical quandaries and military strategy.
She learned this was the largest assemblage of Hudar in their known history. Normally spilt into hundreds of small tribes, it wasn't until Norrians invaded their lands decades ago that the Hudar felt safer in numbers. After soldiers flooded the southern plains surrounding the Spire, the Hudar abandoned their desert and pushed further north. They'd altered their social structure, becoming more inclusive and cohesive. Their za'hava trained together, becoming an army instead of lone wolf warriors.
Norr's rumor of the ruler Daskis, while false, was not without some fact. It was because of Norr that the Hudar united, but unlike Norr's monarchy, the Hudar had chosen a wiser, more diplomatic approach to leadership. A council of twelve appointed elders, who listened to their people and voted on courses of action. It seemed a far more ethical approach to sovereignty, and likely the only reason Alyssa wasn't killed on the spot—aside from her uniquely colored eyes.
A gust of wind cut across the rooftops, cutting Alyssa straight to the bone. She'd acclimated somewhat to the cold, but nothing like the Hudar who walked around unfazed. Her destination was one of the few semi-permanent structures in the settlement, built of logs and stone. A blacksmith ran by a fellow Norrian speaker named Jarl. The very same man she'd known as Claws on the mountain.
She slipped inside the blissfully warm shop, shouldered the door closed against the wind and shook out her robes. A great horned owl crooned on it's roost in the corner, watching her with giant, unblinking eyes.
"Navito laktos," she said. Pleasant weather in Hudari.
"Navita," Jarl corrected. Of typical Hudar physique, he stood well over six feet, with wide shoulders and a head of wild black hair. He hunched at the oven, heating a strip of metal in the white-orange flames. "Navito means fish. And you haven't seen anything yet. Winter's just begun."
"I don't doubt that." She eased along racks of swords, axes, and tools. Barrels of scrap iron and quenching oil. Jarl supplied most of the za'hava warriors with arrow tips and short, curved swords. His impeccable craftsmanship had slain countless Norrians during the skirmishes at the Spire, and seeing the simple beginnings of those weapons made the Hudar's victories all the more impressive.
"What are you making?"
"This will be a skinning knife once I'm finished." He moved the strip to his anvil, hefted his hammer and commenced pounding the molten metal. "Why are you pestering me today?"
"I have a favor to ask."
"Interesting." He'd folded the strip over itself and returned it to the oven, then wiped the sweat from his brow and settled on a stool beside the fire. "What is it?"
"You're za'hava, yes?"
He nodded suspiciously. "Why?"
"I need to send a message to Olisgard."
Jarl snorted. "And you think I can cross the buried mountains and deliver this message?"
"No. But your feathered friend can. I saw him following me up on the mountain. That's how you and Amara knew I was there. He's your scout."
"Perhaps he's losing his touch, then." He leveled the hammer towards her. "You know, we call you Jinx for a reason. Are you having second thoughts about your offer? Hoping to summon a rescue party?"
There was only one thing she hoped for.
"Please, Jarl." Tightness in her throat made the words impossibly fragile. "I need to know if Raven's still alive. It won't change my mind either way, but I need to know."
The Hudar set down his hammer. He glanced to the owl, hard expression softening.
O.O.O.O.O
"Your grace?"
Kenos looked up from his desk in near darkness. The fire in his hearth had burned down to embers. How long had he been sitting? What had he been doing?
He pressed the heel of his palms into his eyes and groaned. "What is it, Captain?"
"This just came for you." Roberts handed him a tiny scroll, then went to stoke the fire back to life. "You missed dinner again. Shall I have the kitchens bring you something?"
"No, I'm fine." He'd subsided on wine, rage and guilt these past weeks. Food wouldn't settle. "Thank you for checking, Roberts."
"Of course, your grace." He dropped a fresh log into the hearth, awakening flames.
But the brightening room did little to soothe Kenos. He'd grown weary of messages. No news. Bad news. All the same. The unknown haunted him without mercy. He inspected his handwritten name on the scroll and paused on the intact seal in black ink, bearing an unfamiliar sigil. He unrolled the message.
Your queen belongs to me.
His heart skipped three beats. "Where is this from?" He leapt to his feet and shoved the note into the captain's hands. "Where?"
He read the message and frowned. "The outpost said the raven came from the east."
"East? From Marsinkos? Duul?"
Roberts shook his head. "I've never seen this sigil. Neither kingdom has ever sent something like this."
Nor had either kingdom ever given him trouble. Duul provided grains. Marsinkos traded in spices and fine linens. Why would they claim to have Alyssa? Did this mean she really was kidnapped? Why would the Hudar witch have taken her east? None of this made sense—and the whole ordeal hadn't made sense since inception.
"This feels off, Roberts. Something foul." He paced around his desk, gnawing the inside of his cheek. "How many soldiers are left in Olisgard?"
"One hundred and three in first company, plus fifty sentries and a few dozen recruits. We're down one guard, killed by the witch."
"And Northgate?"
"Fourth battalion still has around three-hundred. A company of fifty were diverted into northern Hudar. They met up with Lieutenant Whelms, who had tracked the queen and witch from the western gate. Whelms and twenty men never returned."
Too many casualties for chasing one Hudar. Especially if she wasn't working alone. His first instinct was to push out a company to the east as precaution, but he'd run his men thin enough already. Three-quarters of Norr's army currently resided in the south, and he dare not pull them back from the Spire route. After the anguish and blood spilt in conquest, that ground could not be lost.
He stormed to the hearth, planted both hands on the mantle and glared into the fire. "Get the rest of fourth battalion back to Northgate. Notify the wall sentries. I want every person coming and going from this city inspected and questioned."
"And the message, your grace?"
Flames lapped around the fresh log, charring the pale wood black. "Send a reply back demanding proof," he said. "I've been a fool, but no more."
O.O.O.O.O
Nothing aided a well-motivated sleuth quite like darkness. Melissah crouched in the shadows beyond the temple stables, waiting for the stable hands to finish their evening chores.
The three young boys shuffled down the road, huddled in the soft glow of their lantern. She waited until they'd made it out of earshot before she darted across the street and slipped into the unlit stables. The warm, familiar scent of horses and hay greeted her. She picked her way along the aisle, one hand on the wooden stall fronts, petting the occasional horse snout as she passed.
A beam of moonlight painted a large shape in her path, forcing her to hug the adjacent stall to remain out of sight. As she took a step, a large white head appeared over the door, startling her. The horse sniffed. Snorted. Tugged on her headscarf with curious lips.
"Psst, quit that." She shooed, but the horse wasn't deterred. She placed her hand on it's nose and felt up across a broad head. Far larger than any thin-boned southern horse. This beast was massive. She leaned over the stall door to get a look of the rest of him, and even in the darkness, recognition struck like a bolt of lightning. "Holy mother of hell."
The white stallion Alyssa rode the day she and Raven fled Olisgard! What was he doing here? More importantly, where was Alyssa? This raised far more alarming questions—
"Goodevening, Rose."
Sweet Gods! She nearly fell over. Scrambling to the cover of shadows, she tried to hear over her thundering heartbeat. It took a few moments for the panic to clear. Only one person had ever called her by that name.
"Just what are you up to in the dark?" Santiago's voice drifted from above.
Where was he? The hayloft? She couldn't see him. And what in seven hells was he doing in Kebos? "I shall ask you the same."
"Clearly I'm sneaking." The creak of wood drew her gaze left. In the dim shadows she could just make out a figure descending from above. "And doing a better job of it than you." He appeared at the bottom of the steps, cloaked in black.
"Why are you here?"
"Something suggested I might find answers in this godforsaken oven. Trouble is, I'm not sure I've asked the right questions."
This wasn't the time for riddles. "What have you asked?"
"Not what, my dear. But how. It's difficult conversing in an unfamiliar language."
"You're maddening, you know that?" She crossed the aisle and returned to the white stallion's stall. "I've more direct answers. This is the stallion the queen rode out of Olisgard."
Santiago eased closer, passing through a beam of light, highlighting his one eye in the sea of black. "You're certain?"
"Without doubt. See that brand on his flank? Northern bred. See how lean he is? The scars on his legs? He's been on quite the journey. Why would Alyssa's horse be here if she is not? Something's amiss in this city, Santiago."
He tilted his head. "It's peculiar her horse is here, yes. And I agree, something's amiss. However, it's not surprising the queen isn't here. Not yet, at least."
"What?" She blinked a few times too many, as if the action would somehow clarify the words she'd just heard. "What do you mean, not yet? Why would she come here? Do you know where she is?"
"This isn't the place for this conversation." He took her hand and pressed a note to her palm. "Finish your sneaking, then come find me." He retreated into the shadows, and before she could protest, Santiago had vanished.
Like smoke in the wind.
She clutched the folded parchment and stared at the white stallion, wishing for all the world that he could speak and she could understand. Instead, he nipped at her shirt and nickered.
