The Third Scroll by Dana Marton Page B

pain.
    As my eyes rolled back in my head, I reached for the sweet oblivion of death, welcoming it.
    “Stop!” Kumra’s voice snapped from far away. “Cut her down. I want her conscious so she can fully appreciate the rest.”
    The rope suddenly gave, and I fell to the ground, scraping my face, the gravel under the thin layer of snow cutting my lip. I did not feel cold. Flames danced on my back with unbearable heat.
    I could neither move nor see.
    “She was found in shame, no longer a maiden,” Kumra declared. “Any of you may have her as you please.”
    I forced my eyes open a slit. The hem of her crimson gown swept by my face, swirling in the powdery snow as she walked away, her charms jingling.
    “Cut off her hair. All of it,” she called back, probably to a servant woman. Then her hem disappeared.
    I heard Onra’s voice, pleading with the warriors. “Give her to us.”
    To my horror, she offered herself in exchange. I lay helpless, my lips unable to move to protest such sacrifice.
    But she pleaded in vain. Rough hands lifted me up, and the warriors carried me away.
     
     
    ~~~***~~~
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER SEVEN
    (Batumar, High Lord of the Kadar)
     
     
    I had no strength left to care about what would happen to me next—the pain could scarcely grow worse. But the warriors did not hurt me. They cared for me as if I was one of their own, as I had cared for them in the past. They kept me safe at Warrior Hall, out of Kumra’s reach.
    I remained with them day after day, Talmir bringing soups from the kitchen, made from tender kiltari liver and whuchu greens, and bread too, baked with spicy shugone nuts. Onra stayed with me whenever she could, and Lenya sent messages.
    I healed fast, my mother’s spirit working within me, and by the next moon crossing, I stood ready.
    I planned on sneaking away through the fields to the hills as soon as the sun set, to give myself as much time as I could before they discovered my absence in the morning. As much as the warriors liked me, they would have to report a runaway slave or pay the heavy price when accused of aiding my escape.
    Only Onra and Talmir knew of my plan. I asked both to join me, but both chose to stay, Talmir for the sake of his family, Onra for the sake of her mother.
    Talmir brought me a small bundle, shoes of tough leather strips that would stand up to the rocks of the hills, a flask for water, and food. He returned the length of cloth I had given him, clean and beautiful as ever, ready to provide me with my disguise.
    I could scarcely believe that Kumra had not missed it yet. A whole winter had passed since I had owned anything other than my ill-fitting Kadar dress. I could not fathom a life of such abundance that someone would not miss a possession of such beauty for this many days.
    I catalogued my supplies as I catalogued my injuries—both would greatly influence the outcome of my escape. Itchy and new, the skin on my back still pulled as I moved, but I could walk without much pain. And I had to walk only as far as the next port. I could finish healing on the ship.
    But I would not sail home, not yet. I would journey to Karamur first to find my mother’s grave and to find out how she had died exactly. As great a healer as she had been, as strong as the spirit had worked within her, I could not imagine her succumbing to a simple traveling illness. Now that I knew the Kadar better, I suspected foul play.
    Onra popped in to bring me a handful of healing herbs at the last moment. I was tying them into my bundle after we had said our last tearful goodbye, when suddenly the horn sounded at the War Gate.

My whole world stilled, then restarted again with a great rush. The few warriors in the Hall ran outside, and after a while I could make out some of the shouting in the courtyard, even through the sudden pounding in my ears.
    “Lord Tahar returns!”
    Fear locked my muscles in place until I realized I had nothing to worry about Lord Tahar’s feast. I was no