sand was hiding them or we had made it past the boundaries of the battlefield. Enough. Let it be enough. One more breath, and then I would stop. Another. I reached down deep for yet one more, until at last I had nothing more to draw on. Then I touched my feet to earth and cut loose my tether to the wind, leaving the world enveloped in profound silence.
CHAPTER 7
“How is he?” I croaked. I sat on a hill of hot sand, my forearms resting on my knees, hands dangling limp, head hung forward where the westering sun could not touch the raw flesh of my face. I had been in the same position for at least two hours, forced to hear Aleksander’s muffled agony as Sovari and Malver worked on his shattered leg, but unable to help, to watch, to advise, because I was absolutely incapable of movement, reasoning, or speech. Now silence had fallen over our little patch of desert, I had rested awhile, and I was anxious to know the outcome of their activities.
“Two breaks that we could tell, one of them with the bone sticking out. We did our best, but I don’t know if ... damn all... damn all ...” The nervous man kneeling in the sand just down the hill from me—Sovari, it was—held quiet until he had controlled the shaking in his voice. It had taken him a number of stammered beginnings even to answer me. “He’s insensible. Just as well, as we’ve got to splint it better if we can find the means to do it. All we had was our scabbards to work with. It was wicked for him.”
I knew that much. I’d heard the bones grinding as the two grunting warriors had pulled and twisted to set them back straight.
“And we’ve got nothing to dress the wounding in his flesh. Malver has seen hot oil poured in the wound save such a limb ... but we’ve none, so we’ve had to leave it...”
“You can only do your best.” I tried fruitlessly to moisten my lips. They felt like tree bark, and my tongue like slate. No moisture existed anywhere within me.
I felt the instant relief of shade as the big man squatted in front of me and stuck a sliver of something warm, moist, and pulpy in my mouth. “Carroc,” he said. “You should suck on it. We’ve only a bit of water, so Malver’s gone scouting. There’s good prospects. We’ve found the carroc, and this kind of wasil usually has springs.”
“Thank you. Where are we?”
“We’re not sure. From the sun, we estimated we rode at good speed for almost an hour, which would put us some eight or nine leagues from Zhagad. But in what direction we’ve no idea. The storm wiped out our tracks. We’re in wasil, more sand than rocks, and dunes in every direction.” He hesitated. “We were hoping you’d know.”
My gratitude for the sweet, life-giving flesh of the thick-skinned desert plant was matched only by my respect for Captain Sovari. The captain’s hand displayed only the slightest tremor as he touched a man who had just raised a storm that Derzhi lore attributed to the wrath of the gods. Stars in the heavens, I’d held it an hour. No wonder I felt like the wrath of the gods.
“We’ve made a bit of shade over by the Prince. Of course you are welcome to it and everything we ... everything.”
“Not yet. Thank you.” I was doing very well just to exist. Moving was out of the question.
“Anything else I can do for you?”
“New shoulders, perhaps,” I whispered. “Maybe the loan of your skin.” My wings had disappeared with the last of my melydda, so thankfully I didn’t have to shift, but the muscles that had held them were still quivering. “A little time.” Maybe a year.
“I’ve never seen ... the fire ring ... the storm ... I don’t even know how to say it ...” His deep voice shook a little.
“Not all ex-slaves can do such things, you know.” I wasn’t so sure how I had managed all of it. “Takes a bit of doing even for those who can.”
His awe was diluted by a rueful chuckle. “The Prince is going to be as angry as a trapped kayeet at being pulled out of
CHAPTER 7
“How is he?” I croaked. I sat on a hill of hot sand, my forearms resting on my knees, hands dangling limp, head hung forward where the westering sun could not touch the raw flesh of my face. I had been in the same position for at least two hours, forced to hear Aleksander’s muffled agony as Sovari and Malver worked on his shattered leg, but unable to help, to watch, to advise, because I was absolutely incapable of movement, reasoning, or speech. Now silence had fallen over our little patch of desert, I had rested awhile, and I was anxious to know the outcome of their activities.
“Two breaks that we could tell, one of them with the bone sticking out. We did our best, but I don’t know if ... damn all... damn all ...” The nervous man kneeling in the sand just down the hill from me—Sovari, it was—held quiet until he had controlled the shaking in his voice. It had taken him a number of stammered beginnings even to answer me. “He’s insensible. Just as well, as we’ve got to splint it better if we can find the means to do it. All we had was our scabbards to work with. It was wicked for him.”
I knew that much. I’d heard the bones grinding as the two grunting warriors had pulled and twisted to set them back straight.
“And we’ve got nothing to dress the wounding in his flesh. Malver has seen hot oil poured in the wound save such a limb ... but we’ve none, so we’ve had to leave it...”
“You can only do your best.” I tried fruitlessly to moisten my lips. They felt like tree bark, and my tongue like slate. No moisture existed anywhere within me.
I felt the instant relief of shade as the big man squatted in front of me and stuck a sliver of something warm, moist, and pulpy in my mouth. “Carroc,” he said. “You should suck on it. We’ve only a bit of water, so Malver’s gone scouting. There’s good prospects. We’ve found the carroc, and this kind of wasil usually has springs.”
“Thank you. Where are we?”
“We’re not sure. From the sun, we estimated we rode at good speed for almost an hour, which would put us some eight or nine leagues from Zhagad. But in what direction we’ve no idea. The storm wiped out our tracks. We’re in wasil, more sand than rocks, and dunes in every direction.” He hesitated. “We were hoping you’d know.”
My gratitude for the sweet, life-giving flesh of the thick-skinned desert plant was matched only by my respect for Captain Sovari. The captain’s hand displayed only the slightest tremor as he touched a man who had just raised a storm that Derzhi lore attributed to the wrath of the gods. Stars in the heavens, I’d held it an hour. No wonder I felt like the wrath of the gods.
“We’ve made a bit of shade over by the Prince. Of course you are welcome to it and everything we ... everything.”
“Not yet. Thank you.” I was doing very well just to exist. Moving was out of the question.
“Anything else I can do for you?”
“New shoulders, perhaps,” I whispered. “Maybe the loan of your skin.” My wings had disappeared with the last of my melydda, so thankfully I didn’t have to shift, but the muscles that had held them were still quivering. “A little time.” Maybe a year.
“I’ve never seen ... the fire ring ... the storm ... I don’t even know how to say it ...” His deep voice shook a little.
“Not all ex-slaves can do such things, you know.” I wasn’t so sure how I had managed all of it. “Takes a bit of doing even for those who can.”
His awe was diluted by a rueful chuckle. “The Prince is going to be as angry as a trapped kayeet at being pulled out of
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