further thought. Chieftain’s fate was his own.
Tāseti charged off at a full run. Try as he might, the gelding failed to keep up, letting out a series of high-pitched squeals that nearly broke Tāseti’s heart. But she didn’t look back.
Tāseti ran like this for the rest of the night, taking only occasional sips of water from her skin and eating only two squares of Cirāya. But she refused to give in to thirst or hunger. Besides, the cumulative benefits of the cactus would kick in even quicker if her stomach were otherwise empty.
Near morning, she approached the rim of a broad canyon. She knew this place well. Pale sand filled the canyon, as if an offspring of Tējo had taken residence within the wasteland. The circular rim stood about fifty cubits high. Tāseti scaled it easily and then made her way down. When she reached the canyon floor, a horrendous odor assaulted her. She raced toward the source—and found that she was not alone.
Six armed men had encircled a smoldering campfire. They wore gray head-cloths and long white shirts that hung past their knees. Tāseti recognized them as Kalliks, bandit tribesmen who wandered the desert. They were few in number but wicked, preying on the weak and unwary. The Tugars sometimes sent out hunting parties to weed out the worst of them.
When the Kalliks saw Tāseti approaching, they backed nervously away from the fire, but she was far less interested in them than in what they had been investigating. When she reached the smoldering cinders, she gasped. A blackened body lay upon the coals, tendrils of smoke rising from its scorched flesh. A few cubits away was the skeleton of another man, its white bones stripped clean of hair and flesh.
The Kalliks feared Tugars—and Asēkhas, especially—for the obvious reason that Kalliks were no match for them. The tallest among them was four spans shorter than Tāseti, but he managed the courage to approach her. When she turned to face him, he cast himself onto the sand.
She reached down and cuffed his ear. “Speak clearly, in the common tongue,” she commanded. “I have little time for nonsense.”
“We did not do this thing, Desert Mistress,” the tribesman whined. “The smoke attracted us—and the smell —and we arrived here just a few moments before you, I swear it.”
Tāseti cuffed him again, just because she was annoyed and felt like doing it. “From which direction did you come? And what did you see?”
“From the southeast, across the floor of the canyon. And we saw nothing, Mistress! We are honest men.”
Tāseti grunted. “Since when have Kalliks ever been honest? Don’t toy with me, fool. And I can see that one of your camels does not belong to you. He has been fed.”
“We found him wandering in the canyon. He is ours, fairly taken.”
“He is mine , now,” Tāseti said. “Be off, all of you, before I get angry. And another thing: If you come upon a gelding, do not touch it. It also belongs to me. If I find that you have harmed it, I will make it my life’s duty to butcher every Kallik alive in the world.”
The tribesman backed away, as if grateful to be spared. But he was bold enough to say one last thing before retreating. “This was not the work of a Lyon or wolf,” he said, gesturing toward the carnage. “What could have done such a thing, Mistress?”
“The world is full of monsters, fool. Even Tējo is not immune. If I were you, I would ride east and slink among the dunes until the storms pass.”
Then she mounted the camel and rode northward. The beast seemed grateful to be with her.
3
ON THE SAME morning that Tāseti confronted the desert bandits, Kusala stood atop Hakam, surveying the fortress from above. King Henepola, Princess Madiraa, Yama-Utu and Indajaala joined him. Several senior commanders also huddled nearby, including Palak. It was their third conference since the healing of the conjurer king, though the first held outside the keep.
Henepola’s recuperative powers
Tāseti charged off at a full run. Try as he might, the gelding failed to keep up, letting out a series of high-pitched squeals that nearly broke Tāseti’s heart. But she didn’t look back.
Tāseti ran like this for the rest of the night, taking only occasional sips of water from her skin and eating only two squares of Cirāya. But she refused to give in to thirst or hunger. Besides, the cumulative benefits of the cactus would kick in even quicker if her stomach were otherwise empty.
Near morning, she approached the rim of a broad canyon. She knew this place well. Pale sand filled the canyon, as if an offspring of Tējo had taken residence within the wasteland. The circular rim stood about fifty cubits high. Tāseti scaled it easily and then made her way down. When she reached the canyon floor, a horrendous odor assaulted her. She raced toward the source—and found that she was not alone.
Six armed men had encircled a smoldering campfire. They wore gray head-cloths and long white shirts that hung past their knees. Tāseti recognized them as Kalliks, bandit tribesmen who wandered the desert. They were few in number but wicked, preying on the weak and unwary. The Tugars sometimes sent out hunting parties to weed out the worst of them.
When the Kalliks saw Tāseti approaching, they backed nervously away from the fire, but she was far less interested in them than in what they had been investigating. When she reached the smoldering cinders, she gasped. A blackened body lay upon the coals, tendrils of smoke rising from its scorched flesh. A few cubits away was the skeleton of another man, its white bones stripped clean of hair and flesh.
The Kalliks feared Tugars—and Asēkhas, especially—for the obvious reason that Kalliks were no match for them. The tallest among them was four spans shorter than Tāseti, but he managed the courage to approach her. When she turned to face him, he cast himself onto the sand.
She reached down and cuffed his ear. “Speak clearly, in the common tongue,” she commanded. “I have little time for nonsense.”
“We did not do this thing, Desert Mistress,” the tribesman whined. “The smoke attracted us—and the smell —and we arrived here just a few moments before you, I swear it.”
Tāseti cuffed him again, just because she was annoyed and felt like doing it. “From which direction did you come? And what did you see?”
“From the southeast, across the floor of the canyon. And we saw nothing, Mistress! We are honest men.”
Tāseti grunted. “Since when have Kalliks ever been honest? Don’t toy with me, fool. And I can see that one of your camels does not belong to you. He has been fed.”
“We found him wandering in the canyon. He is ours, fairly taken.”
“He is mine , now,” Tāseti said. “Be off, all of you, before I get angry. And another thing: If you come upon a gelding, do not touch it. It also belongs to me. If I find that you have harmed it, I will make it my life’s duty to butcher every Kallik alive in the world.”
The tribesman backed away, as if grateful to be spared. But he was bold enough to say one last thing before retreating. “This was not the work of a Lyon or wolf,” he said, gesturing toward the carnage. “What could have done such a thing, Mistress?”
“The world is full of monsters, fool. Even Tējo is not immune. If I were you, I would ride east and slink among the dunes until the storms pass.”
Then she mounted the camel and rode northward. The beast seemed grateful to be with her.
3
ON THE SAME morning that Tāseti confronted the desert bandits, Kusala stood atop Hakam, surveying the fortress from above. King Henepola, Princess Madiraa, Yama-Utu and Indajaala joined him. Several senior commanders also huddled nearby, including Palak. It was their third conference since the healing of the conjurer king, though the first held outside the keep.
Henepola’s recuperative powers
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