Jajuka and his brother stood in the doorway, staring out into the garden,
where their father gathered vegetables in the shade evening provided from
the summer heat. The air was dry and hot, and the wind brought sand along
with it, ready to blow into eyes, noses, and every nook and cranny of the
little brick hut the dog-men called home. Jajuka's father was blessed with
four children, and cursed with the memory of a dead wife
Jajuka's older sisters were working in the fields beyond the tiny cluster of dog-built houses. His father's leg was bandaged, and he walked with a limp, and thus earned the privilege of staying home with his youngest children, who stood in the doorway, watching him work in the little garden.
"You -could- come out to help, you know," his father said, with a grin. "Jajuka, pull your brother out here and gather up these roots, hmm?"
The black furred dog-child wrinkled his nose and looked up at Jajuka. "You go help with the garden. I'm. uh. I don't feel good."
"Madeke, that's not going to work. He's looking right at you." Jajuka dutifully stepped outside, pulling along his little brother by the scruff of the neck. Madeke grinned and wagged his tail.
"Aww, come on, we could all take a walk or something, we don't have to -garden-."
"Afraid we do, little one." His father waived a tuber at the pup. "These are all ready to be picked, and if we don't take them now, the bugs will. Unless, of course, you like to eat buggy food."
"I don't mind buggy food," Madeke insisted. Jajuka laughed.
"Big, fat, waxy beetle grubs, crawling all over your salad. You don't mind that?"
Madeke put his hands on his hips. "Nope! Not at all!"
"Big, fat, waxy -maggots-, crawling all over."
"Jajuka!" Father laughed, tongue lolling out of his mouth. "You keep going, and you'll put -me- off my dinner. Now give your father a hand."
Madeke and Jajuka knelt in the soil, and dug around, rooting up the tubers and piling them into the basket at their father's feet.
"Marsele is gonna get a chicken tonight, right?" Madeke's ears perked.
"Really, a chicken, she said?" Jajuka cocked his head, and looked from his little brother to his father.
"I hope so," Father said, shaking dirt off a cluster of tubers. "We can cook it with some of that honey she brought home the other day. It'll be real good."
The dog-people worked the land that belonged to one Lord Bestian, in exchange for meager pay, and the occasional extra reward. The children didn't understand that they were trapped, that if their father went anywhere else, they stood a good chance of being enslaved. It was only here, on the Zaibach border, where no one else wanted to be, that their lord was eccentric enough to entice the beast-men, rather than force them, to stay.
Marsele and her sister, Sati, came home as the sun set. Their darkened silhouettes showed that one carried a struggling, much anticipated bird. Madeke ran out to greet the two, hopping up and down, tail going back and forth like a whip, as he jabbered on. Marsele would only get in a word or two, before Madeke would pick up again. The two were similar in appearance, both with their mother's black fur. Sati was silver, almost white, the odd one of the family. Jajuka and his father were the splitting image of each other. Sati was anybody's guess. She held the chicken up out of Madeke's reach.
"Come on, pup! You'll scare it to death before we have a chance to slaughter it!"
Jajuka watched from the doorway, smiling, and holding back his laughter. His father stood behind him, and put a hand on his calmer son's shoulder.
"Go get my knife. Let's get this over with."
Jajuka nodded, and ducked past his father, back into the hut. He went over to his father's bedroll, and pulled a knife out from under the pillow. It was a curved blade, in a battered, leather sheath. It was older than Jajuka's father, and probably older than his grandfather as well, but when he drew it, the polished steal gleamed in the dim light inside the hut. He stared at it for a moment, imagined that it was a sword he was swinging at some vile foe. He sheathed the blade, and pretended, as he walked to the door, that he was returning, triumphant, from this heroic deed. The purpose in his step, and the way he handed the knife over to his father, hilt first, with a little bow, gave him away.
Father reached down and ruffled his hair. "Aren't you the proper knight, then?"
Jajuka woofed, embarrassed, and smiled, sheepishly, down at the ground.
"Hey, no harm there, my good sir. Shall we dispatch this foul, draconic chicken, before it burns down the entire manor?"
Jajuka looked up, and his smile widened.
"Oh, father, it's not the chicken's fault it's gonna be food. Let's just go take care of this and make some dinner."
"That sounds good, too. I'm starving."
Sati handed Jajuka the squawking, squirming rooster. The pup struggled to hold onto the bird, grasping it around the middle in both arms. Its legs flailed about, scratching him.
"No, no, get it by the legs! Ow. careful there, little brother." Sati grabbed the bird again and demonstrated the right grip to Jajuka, as Marsele stepped towards her father.
"By the way, Father," she whispered. "Lord Bestian said he would be by, when his evening supper's done, and we've had time to eat and such. He wanted to talk to you about something."
The older dog cocked his head. "What of?"
"I'm not sure. It's a private matter, I imagine."
"Ah. The pups should be in bed by then, at any rate."
"Father, the chicken's biting me!"
"Whoops! Be right there!" Father followed Jajuka, and drew the knife to dispatch the doomed bird. Sati steered Madeke back into the hut, since he was still too little to watch a rooster run around with its head cut off.
* * *
Madeke slept by the fire, curled up in a fuzzy black ball of contentment, his stomach full of chicken. Jajuka, on the other hand, kept one eye open. His father and sisters always stayed up later than the boys did, but while Marsele and Sati finally settled down in their bedrolls and fell asleep, his father never even came inside.
Jajuka listened carefully to his sisters, as their breathing slowed. When he was certain they were both asleep, he crept outside.
The locusts chirped and the wind whistled, the constant, forgettable night sounds of the desert. It was cold here at night, and the winds bitter, but Jajuka's thick fur made for perfect insulation. He stepped, barefoot, around the house. There was no sign of his father here.
Jajuka canted his head and listened again, then sniffed the air. It carried the faint sent of human, mixed in with the familiar home smells. His father was there, too, so he walked off in that direction.
The two stood at the edge of the field, talking in voices too quiet for Jajuka to hear from this far away. He sneaked closer, hid in the grasses, and strained to hear.
".but it's been very hard, sir, after Jelre died."
"I understand that, Marja. I don't want to do this any more than you want to, believe me. It's not right. Know that I know it's not right. But my orders demand it, and I must obey, or they'll take my land, and then all of us will suffer."
"But why must you take one from me?!" His father's hackles rose. Jajuka could barely make out that detail, he could clearly smell the fear and anger coming off the older dog-man. Jajuka shivered.
"Your boys and Tenra's are the only ones the age they want." Lord Bestian put his hand on Marja's shoulder, but the dog took a step back. "Marja, I waited so long to tell you because I tried to get them to change this. I tried to get them to take care of this somewhere else, but I couldn't. They're here now, at my manor. They only want two. I can't take two of Tenra's instead, just the same as I can't take two of yours."
"No," Marja growled. "No, I suppose you can't. Let them pluck gecko whelps from the woods, if they want children. I can't let you take my boys."
"Only one."
"You would have me choose?!" The dog man bared his teeth, but averted his gaze. It wasn't his place to challenge.
"You don't have to," Bestian said. "I can do it for you."
"When will you?"
"Now."
"Now?!"
"Would later be any different?"
Marja woofed, and turned away from the human, who sighed.
"I've decided to take Madeke."
"He's so young!"
"He's more outgoing than Jajuka, and less stubborn. I think he'll adapt better."
"I don't want your justifications, Bestian!" Marja's voice rose to a howl. "Do what you must, and go, but do not expect me to forgive you for stealing my youngest child from me!"
"Marja."
"Go!"
"I'm sorry, Marja."
Marja snarled and stalked off into the field, leaving Lord Bestian standing there at the edge.
Jajuka sucked in a deep breath, and stood. "I'll go with him," he said. Bestian jumped, then saw the slight figure of the gold-furred pup against the blackness of the surrounding grasses.
"Jajuka? What are you doing here?"
"I'll go with him," the boy repeated, ignoring the question. Marja stopped in his tracks. He turned to face Jajuka, and ran over to him.
"You have no idea what you're saying. Lord Bestian is turning your brother over to Zaibach servitude."
"I figured," Jajuka said softly. "And someone should go with him. Otherwise there's no one there he knows to look after him."
Marja covered his eyes with his hand. "No, I couldn't bear to loose the both of you."
"Then Tenra wouldn't have to loose anybody, and Madeke wouldn't be alone." Jajuka looked from his father to Bestian. "Would that work?"
"Your father doesn't approve."
"I don't approve of any of this!" Marja threw down his hand and made a fist. "Jajuka, you'd give your entire life away."
"And if Madeke has to, so should I."
Marja shut his eyes, and turned back to the field. He stalked off, without another word, but at least he could shed his tears in private.
Jajuka sank down and sat in the grass, pulling at a dry stem. Bestian looked down at him, with amazement on his face.
"You really want to do this?"
"No. But I have to. Father understands that, I think. I hope. That's why he left, right? You're. not going to take us tonight, are you? I won't have any time to say goodbye." He whined, and tucked his knees up under his chin. "I don't want to leave, sir. Where are we going?"
"I don't know. The capital, I'd imagine."
"Will we be separated?"
"I don't know."
"So we don't have to go tonight? Please?"
"No, no, not tonight. Not until tomorrow night."
"That's soon."
"I know, I waited as long as I could."
Jajuka nodded, and hugged his legs. Bestian was quiet for several minutes.
"You're a brave boy, Jajuka, braver than I would have been. Don't let me condescend to your age. you're a brave man. They should recognize that in Zaibach, make a soldier out of you."
"I want to be a knight," the boy said sullenly.
"You should have been born in Asturia. They would have made you a knight there."
Jajuka looked up at the man, teeth flashing in anger.
"There's way more things that should be, than actually are. You said you don't want to do this, but you're doing it anyway. You could fight it, but you aren't, because it's easier. I'm not going to sit around thinking about how things could be easier while having to go along with what's not."
Lord Bestian looked away from the boy. "You're eloquent for a nine year old, but that won't help you when they teach you your place. They've taught me mine, Jajuka, and I've learned not to argue. You'd do best to learn the same." He walked back towards the manor house, on the other end of the field.
Jajuka walked back to his house. Halfway there, Marja ran up behind him, and grabbed his son by the arm. "We're leaving," he said, roughly. "We have to leave -now-."
* * *
Madeke, whimpering softly into the blanket he clutched to his chest, stood close to his brother. Sati, Marsele, and Marja scrambled to tie all their meager belongings together into their bedrolls. Marja held his father's knife in his teeth as he worked.
"Where are we going, Jajuka? Madeke asked between whines. Jajuka put his hand on the younger pup's head.
"I don't know. The people who boss around Lord Bestian wanted to take you and me away, so we're leaving. Father wants to stand strong, instead of give in to bad orders." His face was bright with pride as he watched his father work.
"We do that by running away?"
"Yep."
"Oh." Madeke gnawed on the corner of his blanket. Sati dropped a bound bedroll into Jajuka's arms, with a grimace. "There you are, little brother. That too much for you to hold onto?"
"Nope."
"Let's get going," Marsele said, as she rushed by, holding onto her own, larger bundle. Sati picked up another roll, and Marja ducked out of the hut carrying two.
"Head along the south edge of the field. We need to stay as far from the manor house as possible," Marja whispered, and motioned for his family to follow him into the night.
* * *
Sergeant Ceaslin Rahn rode through the desert, with five of his men riding at his side. Their mount's hooves clamored on the stones and hard packed earth of the northern road. Without light, they moved at a slow pace. The desert was full of burrows and rocks, both of which the horsemen would rather avoid, in the dark hours right before dawn.
Lord Bestian, grim and shrouded in a black wool traveling cloak, rode behind the others, on his spotted horse. He alone was unarmed. The others carried swords at their sides.
"Are you certain they'll come this way, sergeant?"
"You said they would leave Zaibach." Rahn narrowed his eyes and stared ahead.
"But not by the roads," Bestian said.
"But on foot, they won't have traveled so far as the first border stone."
"Once dawn comes, then, they'll stand out plain, from the hill ahead." Bestian pointed off into the dark.
"Good. How far is it?"
"Five miles."
"Good."
Bestian nodded once. The party plodded on, silent as they could, down the road.
* * *
The wind still blew strong, and the night was quiet. Sound and smell carried far, in the open lands, where Marja and his little band stumbled through prickly desert scrub. Their heads were draped with cloth, which kept out some of the blowing sands.
"I smell him," Marja said, his words barely more than the wind itself. "Marsele?"
The young woman pulled back the gray cloth from her face, and held her muzzle up into the air. Taking in a deep breath, she rolled the air around on her tongue, then nodded.
"He's to the northwest, far, and with others," she whispered.
"We'll go east from here." Marja set down, and rearranged his load, before scooping it up again and turning in that direction.
Sati shook her head. "Would he not be headed east, father? He's not a stupid man. He'll try to head us off at the border."
"Where would you take us, then? Further into Zaibach."
Sati shrugged.
"We could head south. We'd meet up with the coast eventually, and we could west into the forests near Fanelia. The wolves live there. We would be safe, if they'd let us enter," Marja said. Sati and Marsele nodded.
Jajuka and Madeke stood behind their sisters. Jajuka held his bundle under one arm, and a gnarled stick in his hand. It was hardly his father's knife, which the older dog carried openly, but, at least, it was something.
"Horses," he said, rubbing his nose. "There's horses, too."
Marja's ears went back. He sniffed again, and nodded. "Aye. They're on horseback."
"Father, we can't keep walking. They'll spot us as soon as the sun rises, and if they're on horseback. we need to hide." Marsele sighed. "But I don't know where. If we keep going, they'll catch us."
"I wish there was somewhere -to- hide," Marja said grimly. "We'll have to keep moving, and hope to find cover ahead." Sati opened her mouth, but Marja raised his hand. "I don't like this either, but we have to." The girls nodded again.
Madeke was young, and the hour late. He struggled to keep up with the others, lagging further and further behind. Marja had to put the boy on his shoulders, giving one of his bundles over to Sati, as the pup snuggled against his father's back and drifted off into an uneasy sleep. Jajuka fought to keep his eyes open. He focused on putting one foot in front of the other, the bite of the stick's bark against his palm, the chill air, the locust buzz, but found his thoughts continuously straying to home, and his warm bedroll by the fire. His eyes fixed on his sleeping little brother, and he imagined what sort of dreams one would have, being carried through the desert like that.
It was his turn to lag behind. Marsele slowed down, and went to walk beside him. She smiled, her eyes just as weary, down at her little brother, and offered him a hand. Jajuka threw the stick into the brush, and grabbed his sister's paw, as they continued through the desert near the border.
Jajuka's older sisters were working in the fields beyond the tiny cluster of dog-built houses. His father's leg was bandaged, and he walked with a limp, and thus earned the privilege of staying home with his youngest children, who stood in the doorway, watching him work in the little garden.
"You -could- come out to help, you know," his father said, with a grin. "Jajuka, pull your brother out here and gather up these roots, hmm?"
The black furred dog-child wrinkled his nose and looked up at Jajuka. "You go help with the garden. I'm. uh. I don't feel good."
"Madeke, that's not going to work. He's looking right at you." Jajuka dutifully stepped outside, pulling along his little brother by the scruff of the neck. Madeke grinned and wagged his tail.
"Aww, come on, we could all take a walk or something, we don't have to -garden-."
"Afraid we do, little one." His father waived a tuber at the pup. "These are all ready to be picked, and if we don't take them now, the bugs will. Unless, of course, you like to eat buggy food."
"I don't mind buggy food," Madeke insisted. Jajuka laughed.
"Big, fat, waxy beetle grubs, crawling all over your salad. You don't mind that?"
Madeke put his hands on his hips. "Nope! Not at all!"
"Big, fat, waxy -maggots-, crawling all over."
"Jajuka!" Father laughed, tongue lolling out of his mouth. "You keep going, and you'll put -me- off my dinner. Now give your father a hand."
Madeke and Jajuka knelt in the soil, and dug around, rooting up the tubers and piling them into the basket at their father's feet.
"Marsele is gonna get a chicken tonight, right?" Madeke's ears perked.
"Really, a chicken, she said?" Jajuka cocked his head, and looked from his little brother to his father.
"I hope so," Father said, shaking dirt off a cluster of tubers. "We can cook it with some of that honey she brought home the other day. It'll be real good."
The dog-people worked the land that belonged to one Lord Bestian, in exchange for meager pay, and the occasional extra reward. The children didn't understand that they were trapped, that if their father went anywhere else, they stood a good chance of being enslaved. It was only here, on the Zaibach border, where no one else wanted to be, that their lord was eccentric enough to entice the beast-men, rather than force them, to stay.
Marsele and her sister, Sati, came home as the sun set. Their darkened silhouettes showed that one carried a struggling, much anticipated bird. Madeke ran out to greet the two, hopping up and down, tail going back and forth like a whip, as he jabbered on. Marsele would only get in a word or two, before Madeke would pick up again. The two were similar in appearance, both with their mother's black fur. Sati was silver, almost white, the odd one of the family. Jajuka and his father were the splitting image of each other. Sati was anybody's guess. She held the chicken up out of Madeke's reach.
"Come on, pup! You'll scare it to death before we have a chance to slaughter it!"
Jajuka watched from the doorway, smiling, and holding back his laughter. His father stood behind him, and put a hand on his calmer son's shoulder.
"Go get my knife. Let's get this over with."
Jajuka nodded, and ducked past his father, back into the hut. He went over to his father's bedroll, and pulled a knife out from under the pillow. It was a curved blade, in a battered, leather sheath. It was older than Jajuka's father, and probably older than his grandfather as well, but when he drew it, the polished steal gleamed in the dim light inside the hut. He stared at it for a moment, imagined that it was a sword he was swinging at some vile foe. He sheathed the blade, and pretended, as he walked to the door, that he was returning, triumphant, from this heroic deed. The purpose in his step, and the way he handed the knife over to his father, hilt first, with a little bow, gave him away.
Father reached down and ruffled his hair. "Aren't you the proper knight, then?"
Jajuka woofed, embarrassed, and smiled, sheepishly, down at the ground.
"Hey, no harm there, my good sir. Shall we dispatch this foul, draconic chicken, before it burns down the entire manor?"
Jajuka looked up, and his smile widened.
"Oh, father, it's not the chicken's fault it's gonna be food. Let's just go take care of this and make some dinner."
"That sounds good, too. I'm starving."
Sati handed Jajuka the squawking, squirming rooster. The pup struggled to hold onto the bird, grasping it around the middle in both arms. Its legs flailed about, scratching him.
"No, no, get it by the legs! Ow. careful there, little brother." Sati grabbed the bird again and demonstrated the right grip to Jajuka, as Marsele stepped towards her father.
"By the way, Father," she whispered. "Lord Bestian said he would be by, when his evening supper's done, and we've had time to eat and such. He wanted to talk to you about something."
The older dog cocked his head. "What of?"
"I'm not sure. It's a private matter, I imagine."
"Ah. The pups should be in bed by then, at any rate."
"Father, the chicken's biting me!"
"Whoops! Be right there!" Father followed Jajuka, and drew the knife to dispatch the doomed bird. Sati steered Madeke back into the hut, since he was still too little to watch a rooster run around with its head cut off.
* * *
Madeke slept by the fire, curled up in a fuzzy black ball of contentment, his stomach full of chicken. Jajuka, on the other hand, kept one eye open. His father and sisters always stayed up later than the boys did, but while Marsele and Sati finally settled down in their bedrolls and fell asleep, his father never even came inside.
Jajuka listened carefully to his sisters, as their breathing slowed. When he was certain they were both asleep, he crept outside.
The locusts chirped and the wind whistled, the constant, forgettable night sounds of the desert. It was cold here at night, and the winds bitter, but Jajuka's thick fur made for perfect insulation. He stepped, barefoot, around the house. There was no sign of his father here.
Jajuka canted his head and listened again, then sniffed the air. It carried the faint sent of human, mixed in with the familiar home smells. His father was there, too, so he walked off in that direction.
The two stood at the edge of the field, talking in voices too quiet for Jajuka to hear from this far away. He sneaked closer, hid in the grasses, and strained to hear.
".but it's been very hard, sir, after Jelre died."
"I understand that, Marja. I don't want to do this any more than you want to, believe me. It's not right. Know that I know it's not right. But my orders demand it, and I must obey, or they'll take my land, and then all of us will suffer."
"But why must you take one from me?!" His father's hackles rose. Jajuka could barely make out that detail, he could clearly smell the fear and anger coming off the older dog-man. Jajuka shivered.
"Your boys and Tenra's are the only ones the age they want." Lord Bestian put his hand on Marja's shoulder, but the dog took a step back. "Marja, I waited so long to tell you because I tried to get them to change this. I tried to get them to take care of this somewhere else, but I couldn't. They're here now, at my manor. They only want two. I can't take two of Tenra's instead, just the same as I can't take two of yours."
"No," Marja growled. "No, I suppose you can't. Let them pluck gecko whelps from the woods, if they want children. I can't let you take my boys."
"Only one."
"You would have me choose?!" The dog man bared his teeth, but averted his gaze. It wasn't his place to challenge.
"You don't have to," Bestian said. "I can do it for you."
"When will you?"
"Now."
"Now?!"
"Would later be any different?"
Marja woofed, and turned away from the human, who sighed.
"I've decided to take Madeke."
"He's so young!"
"He's more outgoing than Jajuka, and less stubborn. I think he'll adapt better."
"I don't want your justifications, Bestian!" Marja's voice rose to a howl. "Do what you must, and go, but do not expect me to forgive you for stealing my youngest child from me!"
"Marja."
"Go!"
"I'm sorry, Marja."
Marja snarled and stalked off into the field, leaving Lord Bestian standing there at the edge.
Jajuka sucked in a deep breath, and stood. "I'll go with him," he said. Bestian jumped, then saw the slight figure of the gold-furred pup against the blackness of the surrounding grasses.
"Jajuka? What are you doing here?"
"I'll go with him," the boy repeated, ignoring the question. Marja stopped in his tracks. He turned to face Jajuka, and ran over to him.
"You have no idea what you're saying. Lord Bestian is turning your brother over to Zaibach servitude."
"I figured," Jajuka said softly. "And someone should go with him. Otherwise there's no one there he knows to look after him."
Marja covered his eyes with his hand. "No, I couldn't bear to loose the both of you."
"Then Tenra wouldn't have to loose anybody, and Madeke wouldn't be alone." Jajuka looked from his father to Bestian. "Would that work?"
"Your father doesn't approve."
"I don't approve of any of this!" Marja threw down his hand and made a fist. "Jajuka, you'd give your entire life away."
"And if Madeke has to, so should I."
Marja shut his eyes, and turned back to the field. He stalked off, without another word, but at least he could shed his tears in private.
Jajuka sank down and sat in the grass, pulling at a dry stem. Bestian looked down at him, with amazement on his face.
"You really want to do this?"
"No. But I have to. Father understands that, I think. I hope. That's why he left, right? You're. not going to take us tonight, are you? I won't have any time to say goodbye." He whined, and tucked his knees up under his chin. "I don't want to leave, sir. Where are we going?"
"I don't know. The capital, I'd imagine."
"Will we be separated?"
"I don't know."
"So we don't have to go tonight? Please?"
"No, no, not tonight. Not until tomorrow night."
"That's soon."
"I know, I waited as long as I could."
Jajuka nodded, and hugged his legs. Bestian was quiet for several minutes.
"You're a brave boy, Jajuka, braver than I would have been. Don't let me condescend to your age. you're a brave man. They should recognize that in Zaibach, make a soldier out of you."
"I want to be a knight," the boy said sullenly.
"You should have been born in Asturia. They would have made you a knight there."
Jajuka looked up at the man, teeth flashing in anger.
"There's way more things that should be, than actually are. You said you don't want to do this, but you're doing it anyway. You could fight it, but you aren't, because it's easier. I'm not going to sit around thinking about how things could be easier while having to go along with what's not."
Lord Bestian looked away from the boy. "You're eloquent for a nine year old, but that won't help you when they teach you your place. They've taught me mine, Jajuka, and I've learned not to argue. You'd do best to learn the same." He walked back towards the manor house, on the other end of the field.
Jajuka walked back to his house. Halfway there, Marja ran up behind him, and grabbed his son by the arm. "We're leaving," he said, roughly. "We have to leave -now-."
* * *
Madeke, whimpering softly into the blanket he clutched to his chest, stood close to his brother. Sati, Marsele, and Marja scrambled to tie all their meager belongings together into their bedrolls. Marja held his father's knife in his teeth as he worked.
"Where are we going, Jajuka? Madeke asked between whines. Jajuka put his hand on the younger pup's head.
"I don't know. The people who boss around Lord Bestian wanted to take you and me away, so we're leaving. Father wants to stand strong, instead of give in to bad orders." His face was bright with pride as he watched his father work.
"We do that by running away?"
"Yep."
"Oh." Madeke gnawed on the corner of his blanket. Sati dropped a bound bedroll into Jajuka's arms, with a grimace. "There you are, little brother. That too much for you to hold onto?"
"Nope."
"Let's get going," Marsele said, as she rushed by, holding onto her own, larger bundle. Sati picked up another roll, and Marja ducked out of the hut carrying two.
"Head along the south edge of the field. We need to stay as far from the manor house as possible," Marja whispered, and motioned for his family to follow him into the night.
* * *
Sergeant Ceaslin Rahn rode through the desert, with five of his men riding at his side. Their mount's hooves clamored on the stones and hard packed earth of the northern road. Without light, they moved at a slow pace. The desert was full of burrows and rocks, both of which the horsemen would rather avoid, in the dark hours right before dawn.
Lord Bestian, grim and shrouded in a black wool traveling cloak, rode behind the others, on his spotted horse. He alone was unarmed. The others carried swords at their sides.
"Are you certain they'll come this way, sergeant?"
"You said they would leave Zaibach." Rahn narrowed his eyes and stared ahead.
"But not by the roads," Bestian said.
"But on foot, they won't have traveled so far as the first border stone."
"Once dawn comes, then, they'll stand out plain, from the hill ahead." Bestian pointed off into the dark.
"Good. How far is it?"
"Five miles."
"Good."
Bestian nodded once. The party plodded on, silent as they could, down the road.
* * *
The wind still blew strong, and the night was quiet. Sound and smell carried far, in the open lands, where Marja and his little band stumbled through prickly desert scrub. Their heads were draped with cloth, which kept out some of the blowing sands.
"I smell him," Marja said, his words barely more than the wind itself. "Marsele?"
The young woman pulled back the gray cloth from her face, and held her muzzle up into the air. Taking in a deep breath, she rolled the air around on her tongue, then nodded.
"He's to the northwest, far, and with others," she whispered.
"We'll go east from here." Marja set down, and rearranged his load, before scooping it up again and turning in that direction.
Sati shook her head. "Would he not be headed east, father? He's not a stupid man. He'll try to head us off at the border."
"Where would you take us, then? Further into Zaibach."
Sati shrugged.
"We could head south. We'd meet up with the coast eventually, and we could west into the forests near Fanelia. The wolves live there. We would be safe, if they'd let us enter," Marja said. Sati and Marsele nodded.
Jajuka and Madeke stood behind their sisters. Jajuka held his bundle under one arm, and a gnarled stick in his hand. It was hardly his father's knife, which the older dog carried openly, but, at least, it was something.
"Horses," he said, rubbing his nose. "There's horses, too."
Marja's ears went back. He sniffed again, and nodded. "Aye. They're on horseback."
"Father, we can't keep walking. They'll spot us as soon as the sun rises, and if they're on horseback. we need to hide." Marsele sighed. "But I don't know where. If we keep going, they'll catch us."
"I wish there was somewhere -to- hide," Marja said grimly. "We'll have to keep moving, and hope to find cover ahead." Sati opened her mouth, but Marja raised his hand. "I don't like this either, but we have to." The girls nodded again.
Madeke was young, and the hour late. He struggled to keep up with the others, lagging further and further behind. Marja had to put the boy on his shoulders, giving one of his bundles over to Sati, as the pup snuggled against his father's back and drifted off into an uneasy sleep. Jajuka fought to keep his eyes open. He focused on putting one foot in front of the other, the bite of the stick's bark against his palm, the chill air, the locust buzz, but found his thoughts continuously straying to home, and his warm bedroll by the fire. His eyes fixed on his sleeping little brother, and he imagined what sort of dreams one would have, being carried through the desert like that.
It was his turn to lag behind. Marsele slowed down, and went to walk beside him. She smiled, her eyes just as weary, down at her little brother, and offered him a hand. Jajuka threw the stick into the brush, and grabbed his sister's paw, as they continued through the desert near the border.