----------------------------------------
Chapter Twenty-Two
----------------------------------------

"Excellent!" Nemir crowed as his sparring partner hit the
hard-packed sand-covered floor and smoothly rolled out of
the way of retaliation without missing a beat. Already, he
was back on his feet, his practice knife held ready,
waiting for Nemir's next move.

"Enough," Nemir said, holding up a hand.

Judas straightened, lowering his knife and his guard. The
moment he seemed fully relaxed, Nemir moved to sweep his
legs out from under him.

There was a flurry of movement. When it was over, Nemir was
flat on his back with Judas on top of him, pinning his
upper body to the ground, with the blunt metal of his knife
blade pressed against Nemir's throat.

"And even better," Nemir said softly. "Never let down your
guard, for it is then that a devious enemy will attack."

Judas's face was flushed and he was breathing heavily. His
hair hung around his face in tangles where it had come out
of its braid as he leaned over Nemir, looking down at him.
A quick smile flashed across his face at the compliment,
but the blade never shifted.

After training Judas for more than a season, Nemir wondered
why he'd been so determined not to. Judas had had little
knowledge of blade-work, but had possessed an abundance of
speed, flexibility and an eagerness to learn.

He'd chosen the dagger for Judas, since it was easier to
conceal and less likely than a sword to inspire outrage.

The only difficulty they'd had was finding a space large
enough to practice without exposing Judas to the sunlight
that could cause him serious harm. They had finally settled
on a large building attached to the stables that was used
to exercise the Prince's steeds during the winter storms to
protect them from being damaged by wind-driven sand. During
the winter months, all stayed indoors except when
absolutely necessary when the winds blew. A sudden dust
squall could blind or scar a victim in minutes if caught
unaware.

The only drawback to the arrangement, convenient as the
location was, was the remnants of the building's primary
use. This close to the sand-covered ground, his nose was
reminding him of that use. The scent of generations of
horses and their leavings was thick in his nostrils.

Judas had not yet moved, and Nemir's body was reacting to
his nearness as it always did, and he decided to do
something about it. While Judas had him pinned to the
ground, he had neglected to also pin his arms and legs. In
a quick move, Nemir flipped them over so that Judas was now
pinned beneath *him*. Unlike Judas, he did not neglect to
restrain his student's entire body. The practice knife, he
knocked out of reach.

"I believe I have won this bout," he said softly, pressing
down against Judas's body.

Judas blinked in surprise, then his lips quirked into a
small, wry smile. "Indeed, it appears that you have. I will
pay the forfeit."

Nemir growled softly at the words before claiming that
tempting mouth. Judas responded sweetly, opening up to
Nemir. Their tongues dueled slowly. Although neither was
seeking to win, and so they both won. They were both
familiar, now, with each others' responses, but that only
made love-making that much sweeter.

It was with great reluctance that Nemir broke the kiss, but
duty called and there was little time to clean and dress
before the nightly Court. There was no requirement that the
Prince or Heir had to attend every night, but at his
father's request, he and Judas attended more often than
not. He had not explained why he considered this necessary,
but he was Prince of Ajantha: He did not need to explain
himself to anyone except the God-King.

They returned to their rooms and bathed quickly before
dressing for Court. Judas chose from his growing wardrobe
an unadorned soft grey silk that made his eyes even more
vivid that usual. The exercise had given his cheeks a
healthy pink flush that made him look even younger than his
years. Nemir wanted nothing more than to take him to bed,
but there was no time.

Judas's deceptively delicate looks made an attractive
compliment to Nemir's dark, tanned looks and deep red robes
that were liberally decorated with gold thread and
glittering gems.

As they moved through the corridors, Judas's stride was
strong and confident. His demeanor had changed greatly
since Nemir had started training him to fight, something
else that the Heir found that very appealing. He was also
bolder with others since Nemir had publicly claimed him as
a concubine, not just a slave. Some might say that there
was little difference, but Nemir had been pleased when
Judas had explained what it meant to *him*.

Indeed, he found the Tribe concept of the word far more
appealing. It implied a meeting of wills and a willing
submission, not forced. And in the end, it mattered not
what others thought. What meaning he and Judas gave the
word was all that was important.

It still amazed him how quickly his life had changed. Only
half a year ago, Nemir had still been with the Guard,
traveling Ajantha's borders. Other than bandits or raiding
desert tribes, his only worry had been the occasional
scorpion making a nest in his boot overnight or the
edibility of the evening meal. Now he had politics and
plots and assassins to complicate his life.

And yet, while his companions in the guard had been there
to watch his back and, from time to time, share his bed, he
had never had the feeling that they would sacrifice their
lives to protect him. Judas would. Perhaps in the beginning
it was simply worry over the consequences should Judas
survive his death, but Nemir truly believed that it was
more than that now. It was something he'd never felt
before, this feeling of trust, of... love. It made life in
Court almost enjoyable. Having Judas at his back comforted
him like nothing since the day he'd left the harem to begin
learning what it was to be a man, not a child.

Although Nemir no longer lived his days according to the
rising and setting of the sun, and, in fact, rarely saw
those daily events, his internal sense of time was still
enough to ensure that they arrived at the hall moments
before his father.

Court was familiar to he and Judas both by this time.
Neither of them enjoyed it, but they endured. However, he
had not expected to see his father that evening. The Prince
usually attended only at week end.

Nemir quickly saw why the Prince had chosen to appear that
night. Instead of familiar faces, the seats closest to the
Prince's dais were occupied by strangers with faces tanned
and reddened by resent desert travel.

Three men and a woman shrouded in the heavy robes and veils
of the far south, where it was believed that for a woman to
show her face outside of the harem or home was an insult to
her family and the gods, as well as an incitement to sin.
Even common women working in the fields covered their hair
and faces, or they risked being stoned by outraged
neighbors. The hard looks on the men's faces as they
avoided looking at the bare-faced women in the hall showed
their feelings about the less strict mores of the north.

The question in his mind, though, was why they had traveled
to Ajantha. Their kind rarely traveled further north than
the God-King's city, and never with one of their women. He
assumed that she must be wife to one of the men, but what
little Nemir could tell of her form beneath the layers of
yellow silk suggested that she was much younger than any of
them.

Unfortunately, their proximity to the dais, as was
appropriate for such unusual guests, meant that Nemir could
not question his father about the reason for such a visit.
The men watched the Prince's dais with the eyes of hawks.
As for the woman, she watched them as well, although less
openly. Nemir did not stare, but he was fascinated by her
eyes. They were an strange shade of pale brown, almost the
color of northern amber. Since they were the only part of
her uncovered, it was impossible to guess what she was
thinking.

The meal was served -- Nemir noted that someone had
arranged for only males to serve the strangers -- and Nemir
ate slowly as he considered the puzzle. While his lessons
with Konda came less frequently, such an event would no
doubt lead to a careful questioning the next day.
Unfortunately, he could think of no reason that would bring
them to Ajantha.

It was not until the dishes were being cleared away that he
realized something he had not noticed before. While the men
were watching himself and his father, the Prince, the
woman's gaze was fixed instead on Judas.

That immediately put Nemir on edge. Judas was attractive --
he was ready to admit that since he found him so himself --
but her eyes did not seem to hold the usual lust or
suspicion that Nemir had seen so often. Instead, there was
a sort of sadness there. And recognition, he thought.

Traditionally, after breaking bread with the people, the
Prince and Heir mingled with them. This was intended so
that any with a grievance or request could present it in a
less formal setting, rather than going to the judges.

However, while that might have been the original intent, it
was rarely the case. Instead, the progress had become one
more way for the courtiers to jockey for position, or
simply to make an impression on those of greater power.

But this night, Nemir's Father gestured imperceptibly for
him to remain seated.

The last of the dishes were carefully removed, along with
the low tables they'd been resting on. There were murmurs,
but none were willing to rise before the Prince. All eyes
were turned towards the dais, waiting to see what had
interrupted tradition.

Large cushions were brought out and set out in the open
space at the center of the room. A strange stringed
instrument, similar to a guitar and yet completely
unfamiliar, was set out on one of them. The whispers became
more anticipatory.

One of the strangers nodded, first to the dais, then to the
veiled woman. She stood gracefully, despite the layers of
cloth that she was swathed in, and glided over to the pile
of cushions. There, she sat down once more, her clothing
settling into a perfect arc around her. She took up the
guitar with hands that were bare of rings or bracelets.

That surprised Nemir once again. He had never seen a woman
completely unadorned by jewelry. Even the poorest seemed to
manage to obtain at least bangles made of cheap brass if
nothing else. But this woman's hands, long and slim, did
not even show the sun lines where such should have been.

Then the first string was plucked and all thought vanished.

The sound of that strange instrument was like nothing he
had ever heard before. It was the desert wind, the river
flow. Joy, sorrow and fear. The wordless singing of her
voice filled the room with the warmth of the sun and the
chill of the night. All of these things were in her song.

And as she played, Nemir sat in awe, scarcely breathing.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Twenty-Three
----------------------------------------

As the woman played and continued her wordless song, Judas
sat frozen in place, trembling. Each plucked string sent
vibrations through his body, terrifying and exhilarating at
the same time.

And through it all, her eyes -- strangely colored and far
too wise -- were locked on his own. Their amber depths were
speaking to him, but he could not understand what they
said.

Finally, her song ended and her fingers left the strings.
The last few notes echoed in the corners of the room.
Silence reigned.

Then it was as if everyone in the room had sighed at the
same moment, the sound was so loud. As for Judas, he had to
fight to keep from gasping as the bands that had been so
tight around his chest loosened. No one noticed, all eyes
being focused on the woman shrouded in cloth the color of
sunlit sands. From his position, kneeling beside Nemir's
couch, Judas fought to control himself. The woman was still
watching him, a fact he found unnerving.

Then, thankfully, she bowed low, pressing her forehead to
the tiles of the floor, breaking eye-contact with him.

The oldest of the three men stood and moved over to the
woman, towering over her. He ignored her position, forehead
still pressed to the tiles. Instead, he bowed stiff-necked
to the dais and spoke. His command of the language of the
kingdom was stilted and heavily accented.

"Our lord bids us bring you this gift. We ask you to
accept." He bowed again, ignoring the surprised murmurs
running through the room.

"Gift?" the Prince said, sounding surprised for the first
time in Judas's short experience with the man.

"She is virgin, trained in all arts of high-born women,
former servant to the Goddess. She is for you."

"A most... impressive gift. And most unexpected."

The man made a gesture with his right hand that seemed the
equivalent of a shrug. "The lord bids us bring her. We
obey," he said simply. Obviously, no further explanation
would be offered.

The Prince was silent for a moment, and Judas felt pity for
the girl, even though there was not even the slightest sign
of a tremble in the line of her back. She was the picture
of grace.

"We are honored by the gift, and we accept it," the Prince
finally said. At the words the young woman lifted from her
position and sat back on her heels, her hands folded in her
lap.

The man's expression did not change, but he bowed once
more, then returned to his seat. The young woman, he left
where she was, completely ignoring her. It was as if she
had ceased to exist for him.

The Prince seemed somewhat nonplussed. To Judas, it seemed
as if he were uncertain what to do with his 'gift.' Nemir
leaned over and whispered, barely audible, "Judas and I
could escort her to the Harem." The suggestion seemed to
please the man.

Nemir glanced to Judas. He nodded towards the waiting
woman. Conscious of all the eyes on him, Judas stood and
stepped off the dais. He bowed to her, but was careful not
to offer her his hand. He was not sure how it might be
interpreted. "I will show you to the Prince's Harem," he
said softly, wondering if she would even understand him.

She nodded and stood, waiting. Judas moved towards the main
entrance to the hall, and she fell into step beside him.
Behind, he could hear Nemir following. An escort of the
Heir and his concubine would be above reproach, and an
indication of how much the gift was valued.

He wondered what that felt like, being a gift. Of course,
he had been a gift as well, in a manner of speaking, but it
had been a different situation. He had been bought for a
specific purpose. This woman, however, had been brought a
great distance from her home to be presented to a stranger
who had no idea what to do with her.

"Do you have a name?" he finally asked, finding the silent
walk oppressive.

For a moment there was no response, and he wondered again
if she even understood him. "Nahanna," she finally said in
a soft, musical voice. Where the man's accent had been
harsh, hers was pleasant to the ear.

"A beautiful name," Nemir said from behind them. "For a
beautiful lady. But as my father said, a most unexpected
one. Why did your lord send you?"

Glancing towards her, Judas saw that her eyes were
carefully focused on her feet. And yet, even though he
could not see her face, he had the impression that she was
smiling. "It is not my place to question the Lord," she
said.

Nemir snorted softly. "Maybe so, but it would greatly
surprise me if you did not know the reason. Or are the
women of the south that much different?"

Her laughter was light. Judas wondered how she could be so
calm considering her situation.

They reached the entry to the royal harem before Nemir
could attempt to question her further. Two Palace Guards
stood at the entrance, but they did not challenge the Heir.

A thick, silk rope hung by the side of the door. Nemir
pulled it, and they heard the muffled of a bell on the
other side of the door. The door itself was locked, and
other than the key that the Prince held, the only way to
open it was from the inside.

As they waited for a response, the woman -- Nahanna --
turned to face them. "My presence here was deemed
necessary," she said, again looking at Judas instead of
Nemir. "But I promise, on my honor, that there is no menace
to you or yours in it."

Judas opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the
ornately wrought metal doors opened, revealing a small,
marble-walled room. The other doorways leading from it were
all masked with layers of sheer drapery in soft colors. A
single woman, older than the Prince and holding herself
with great dignity, stood waiting.

Nahanna raised her hands and crossed her forearms over her
chest as she bowed gravely to them one last time. When she
straightened, her eyes seemed to be amused when they met
Judas's shocked expression. Then she stepped through the
entrance and the large doors closed behind her.

Judas stood where he was, completely frozen by what he had
seen. Nemir coughed quietly, then shook his shoulder when
the sound was not enough to shake him out of his daze.

Suddenly wanting to be as far away as possible, Judas
turned and nearly ran down the corridor, back to the main
hallway that ran through the wing holding the Royal
quarters. He stopped there and waited for Nemir. Nemir
surprised him by turning not in the direction of the Court
hall, but the opposite direction, back to their apartments.

Judas made a small sound, the most undignified sound he had
ever made in his life, as the door of their sanctuary
closed behind them. He hugged himself tightly, the earlier
tremors having returned.

"Judas, are you all right?" Nemir asked, touching his
shoulder gently. Judas started, then took a deep breath.

"Did you... Did you see her arms?" he asked, praying that
his eyes had been playing tricks on him.

His hopes were quickly dashed. "She had dark markings on
her forearms. They looked like.. feathers," Nemir replied,
almost reluctantly.

Judas rubbed his own forearms under the cloth, and the
markings there. Bat wings, not feathers, but the similarity
was undeniable. He no longer wore the bandages, but he kept
the markings covered when anyone but Nemir could see.

The markings on Nahanna's arms, combined with her eerie
song, had left him more unsure than he'd been since the day
his brother had tearfully handed him over to slaver.

Nemir's arms were now wrapped around him, and soft,
comforting words were being whispered in his ear. The
tremors faded as he was coaxed towards the sleeping
chamber. Then they returned as Nemir helped him to undress,
but for a completely different and far more pleasant cause
this time.

The thrilling touch of skin against skin filled his senses,
distracting him from his thoughts, as he was tumbled back
onto the bed with Nemir pressing him into the mattress.
Nemir's callused hand drew responses from him that left him
feeling completely wanton as he surrendered himself body --
and perhaps soul -- to the man who owned him.

>>>~~~<<<

Judas woke from a sleep full of disturbing dreams to find
himself alone in the bed. The linens where Nemir had lain
were cool to the touch, telling him that he had been alone
in the bed for some time. His innate sense of the sun's
position confirmed this, informing him that it was well
past the hour where he would normally wake.

Judas sat up and pushed the damp tangles of his hair back
from his face. His lips were dry, and when he licked them,
he could taste the salt of dried sweat. His entire body
prickled with the same, but when he tried to remember the
dreams that had caused the sweat, the images slipped away
like a mirage.

He rose and slipped on a light robe, then headed for the
bathing chamber. A small amount of cool water and a cloth
served to remove the last of the dreams' effects and wake
him fully. He emerged to find a bowl of fresh fruit on the
table, but no Nemir yet. He picked up an orange, and peeled
and quartered it while considering the pervious evening.

In the light of day, his reaction seemed... overwrought.
The marks on Nahanna's arms could have any number of
meanings. Perhaps they *were* birthmarks, much like his
own, but they could also have been tattoos or paint,
ceremonial markings related to her previous live in service
of her people's Goddess, or even intended simply to confuse
and unnerve them. They had certainly succeeded in that.

And yet there was something about the woman that seemed...
familiar. They had never met before, and yet he felt a
sense of kinship with her.

He finished the orange, then fiddled with the peel, his
appetite gone. What was it about the woman that so confused
him? He was happy with his life and did not want a stranger
coming in and disturbing it.

"Oh, good. You're awake."

Judas turned and finally began to relax at the familiar
face. Nemir's skin gleamed with fresh sweat and he was
wearing his practice leathers. His damp hair was spiked up
from a hand running through it. "I wondered where you
were," Judas teased to cover his relief. He set aside his
concerns for the time being. "I see I need not have
worried."

Nemir grinned, then moved to pluck an unblemished peach
from the bowl. "You did not wake when I did. You were
sleeping so peacefully that I did not have the heart to
wake you." He took a bite from the juicy fruit, then gave
Judas a flavorful kiss.

Before Judas could puzzle out why he'd been sleeping
peacefully when Nemir had left, yet had woken from
nightmares, Nemir stepped back and started to strip out of
his leathers. Judas bent to pick them up, but Nemir stopped
him. "We have a little time before Konda arrives to
question us about last night's impressions," he said.
"Surely there are better things to occupy your time."

"Such as?" Judas asked boldly.

Nemir grinned, then turned and headed for the bathing
chamber. As he passed through the doorway, he turned his
head. His eyes held the heat of the sun, and Judas followed
him willingly, all other thoughts banished from his mind.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Twenty-Four
----------------------------------------

Because they did more than just bathe, they were just barely
dressed and Judas's hair was still wrapped in a drying sheet
when Lord Konda arrived as Nemir had predicted. Nemir was
using his boot dagger to cut a pear into wedges to go with
the slices of sharp cheese. He handed a fruit and cheese
combination to Judas, who bit into it with great appetite,
then eagerly bit into his own. His morning exercise -- both
kinds -- had left him ravenous.

Konda took up a fresh roll and buttered it with a smile, not
commenting on the late hour of their breakfast or their
barely dressed state.

"So, what did you think of our unexpected visitors?" he
asked without preamble. Nemir sat down in one of the chairs,
while Judas chose the large and comfortable cushion that was
his favorite seat while reading.

"They were certainly unexpected," Nemir said slowly, even
though he'd had all morning to consider his answers to the
questions Konda was sure to ask. "I cannot remember ever
hearing of the southern clans sending representatives this
far north before. And to send them all this way simply to
deliver the present of a woman? Why?"

"Perhaps the woman was simply an excuse?" Judas suggested
from his cushion. It was a possibility that Nemir had also
considered. It made sense, if they had traveled north as
spies. And yet, why would Ajantha be of enough interest to
them to prompt the sending of spies?

But Konda was shaking his head. "I might have thought so as
well, but they have already left, traveling south again."

"They have?" Nemir said in surprise, setting down the goblet
he'd just taken a swallow of ale from.

"Before first light and without ceremony," Konda confirmed.
"They simply loaded their bags onto their pack horse,
mounted up and left without a word of explanation. The
Prince has already met with the lead nobles of the Court to
discuss this unexpected turn of events."

Nemir leaned forward in his seat, all thoughts of his
morning meal gone. "What do they say?"

Konda snorted. "They say that the woman must be a spy, or
worse, an assassin. Their counsel to the Prince is to have
the woman killed quickly and quietly as a danger."

"Quietly?" Judas said in disbelief. "After her introduction
last night," Nemir didn't miss the shiver that ran through
his companion's form as he spoke, "there is no way that she
could be killed without notice."

Judas's reaction still concerned him. The marks on Nahanna's
arms were puzzling, certainly, but to Judas they seemed to
signify more, even if he didn't not seem sure of what.

"What does Mahlia say of the woman?" he asked. His father's
sister, who had been there to meet them when they had
delivered Nahanna into the Harem's care, had been his first
teacher, even before the death of his mother. Her mind was
as sharp and perceptive as his father's, unclouded by the
sentimentality that most attributed to women.

"She is impressed by the young woman and her talents. She
has done nothing to arouse suspicions, but Lady Mahlia
believes that she is concealing something. However, she does
not believe that it is something that would bring harm to
the Prince or Ajantha."

Nemir exchanged glances with Judas before turning back to
Konda. "I believe that to be true as well," he said. "She
would not tell us why her Lord sent her, just that her
presence was necessary, but that there was no menace in it.
I... believe her."

The last was said reluctantly, as Nemir was not given to
trusting those he had just met, not even Judas who had
become the person he trusted most in his life. But there was
something about the lady that encouraged trust. Perhaps it
was her voice, which was so beguiling, or the soft light in
her eyes that spoke of honest caring. He was not sure, and
that was also disturbing to Nemir.

"Lord Konda," Judas said suddenly. "What do you know of the
southern clans?"

The older man leaned back in his chair, considering the
question. "They are part of the God-King's domain, but at
the furthest reaches, so they have little contact with the
rest of the realm. They were conquered by the God-King more
than ten generations ago. When they travel, it is usually
just to the capital to present tribute. Their territory is
the grasslands that sit between the northern deserts and the
southern jungles. As might be expected from the borderlands
they live in, they are a study in contrasts.

"They worship a goddess, but consider their women to be
barely more than chattel. They are the path by which luxury
goods from the lands to the south of the Kingdom travel
north, but they live austere lives. And they breed the
finest horses known anywhere. Other than that, little is
known, as they are a very private people."

"Do they believe in marking their bodies with tattoos or
paint?" Judas asked, and Nemir knew why. Konda just looked
puzzled.

"Not that I know of. Certainly, they do not use make-up or
wear jewelry. Why?"

"The lady had markings on her arms, rather like feathers,"
Nemir said. "We wondered if it might be related to her time
in service of their goddess."

Konda shook his head. "As I said, we know very little about
the clans, but I have never heard of such a tradition."

"So, if she is not a threat," Nemir said, changing the
subject, "why would three men travel so far to deliver one
woman to a Prince they have no dealings with? Even if she
were a danger, the question would remain. Why?"

"Indeed, that is the question," Konda agreed.
"Unfortunately, the only person left who might be able to
answer is a woman who might not be willing to."

"Then perhaps she might be convinced to," Nemir said, eyeing
Judas. "She seemed very intrigued by Judas last night."
Judas blushed most appealingly at that.

"Ah. I wondered if you had noticed that."

Nemir gestured with his free hand. "Others might assume she
was looking at the Prince, or perhaps myself, but it was
obvious to any with eyes who she was watching. Indeed, I am
as interested in the reason for that as I am for the reason
for her presence here."

Konda rested his chin on his palm, a thoughtful expression
on his face. "Neither of you can enter the Prince's Harem,
but if she leaves, perhaps she would answer questions from
the two of you that she might not from the Lady Mahlia."

Nemir glanced at Judas, who nodded reluctantly. "We can
certainly try," he said.

>>>~~~<<<

They may have intended to try to speak with the young woman,
but for the next while she seemed content to immerse herself
in the Harem, not leaving it that they heard. Nemir's father
spoke with her on several occasions, although he did not
inform his son of what they spoke of. Other than that, he
chose not to impose his attentions on her as he might have.

>>>~~~<<<

Every seventh day, the Prince presided over an open court
when any, regardless of birth, could bring forward a
petition. Anyone who felt that they'd been wronged, be it by
a neighbor or a lord, could come forward and expect justice.

Normally the cases were fairly minor issues, but in recent
months there'd been disturbing changes. This day brought a
woman, barely more than a girl, with a fresh cut, swollen
and surrounded by bruising, to the side of her face. It
would leave a scar, Nemir was sure, and came with a story
that happened far too often for his liking.

The tale she had to tell was of a noble riding through the
streets who decided that she had not been prompt enough in
getting out of his way, so had encouraged her with a blow
from his crop. The woman did not know the man's name, but
the description was detailed enough that no one was in doubt
who she meant. It was one of Ber's favorites, Nemir noted.

The Prince ordered the man to pay the woman a handsome sum.
Enough to let her find a husband despite the disfigurement
of her face. Nemir nodded, satisfied at the decision,
although he saw more than one noble shift and frown.

The woman accepted the purse with tears in her eyes, then
bowed low to the Prince before leaving.

As the petitions continued to be presented, Nemir watched
the crowd that filled the room. They came from all walks of
life, and included all the peoples that made up the realm.
Many came, not to present a petition but out of curiosity,
to see the Prince. As such, it was the perfect opportunity
for an assassin. However, Nemir was not the first to think
that. Konda stood at the Prince's shoulder, watching the
room with sharp eyes, and members of the Palace Guard
mingled among the folk, watching for signs of trouble.

After a period of time, one figure drew his eye. A young
woman, slim and conservatively dressed, although in rich
fabrics. Cream colored silk with dark brown embroidery
covered her from neck to ankles, including her arms, which
most women left bare. The only adornments she wore were a
few simple gold bangles and a dark red gem affixed to her
forehead between the eyes, glimmering against dark skin. Her
black hair hung down her back in a simple braid.

Then she lifted her head and her eyes met his. Although he'd
never seen her face, he recognized Nahanna by her eyes
alone. A soft smile curved her lips, telling him that she
knew he'd recognized her. Then she disappeared into one of
the corridors that led into the room.

Nemir tugged at Judas's sleeve and moved to follow the
elusive young woman. Judas appeared confused, but he
followed obediently.

The corridor was deserted when they reached it, and the
guard set there to prevent those without permission from
penetrating deeper into the Palace could not tell them in
which direction the young woman had gone, just that she
carried the marker that allowed her to pass without being
challenged.

Something in the way she'd smiled at him suggested to Nemir
that she'd wanted them to follow, so he moved down the
corridor in the direction of the Harem, not running, and as
he'd expected, they found Nahanna waiting for them, only two
turns away.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Twenty-Five
----------------------------------------

When Nemir had abruptly indicated that he wanted to leave
the petition room, Judas had been surprised. While there
was no requirement that Nemir be present during the
petitions, the Heir never missed the chance to observe his
father in the duties of a ruler. He said that his father
was the ideal which he wished to emulate when the day came
that he ascended the throne.

Despite curious glances, they made their way to the
entryway they'd arrived through. A filigree gate, more
decorative that substantial, bared the way, guarded by a
man in uniform. Recognizing the Heir, he moved quickly to
allow him entry to the more private areas of the Palace,
but Nemir paused.

"A young woman passed this way. Did you see where she was
going?" Nemir asked.

The guard, a young man with a handsome but impassive face,
blinked once in surprise. "No, My Lord," he said, dipping
his head. "She had the correct identification, so I let her
through. I am supposed to watch those on this side of the
doorway only."

Nemir seemed disappointed, but he nodded. A moment later,
the gate was closing behind them. Nemir stood, scanning the
corridor.

"Who was she?" Judas said softly, wondering why Nemir
seemed so impatient to find the woman. He himself had not
seen the woman in question, so was puzzled.

"Nahanna," Nemir said tersely. "She was dressed as a woman
of Ajantha, but I recognized her eyes. Once I had noticed
her, she passed through this way."

"You believe she wanted you to follow?" Judas asked.

"Yes. And if she wanted us to follow, she would not go far,
or in an unexpected direction. Come."

Nemir turned into a side corridor that led to the wing of
the Palace where the Prince's family had its quarters. A
little further, he turned again into the corridor that led
towards the women's quarters. There, a slender figure stood
waiting.

She was a far cry from the woman covered from head to toe,
face included, that he had met briefly a sevenday earlier,
but like Nemir, he recognized her immediately. Her eyes
were far too old for the youthfulness of her face. Indeed,
she looked as though she was barely a year older than
Nemir, her face completely unlined. And unlike the ladies
of the court, she had no need of cosmetics to enlarge her
eyes or make them appear darker, nor did she need
artificial means of putting color in her cheeks.

"I wondered if you would come," she said with a smile. Once
more, a thrill of recognition ran through Judas, although
he did not know what it was recognition of.

Nemir frowned suspiciously. "If you wished to speak with
me, a messenger could have been sent. I would have been
happy to attend you."

"Ah, but then it would be known of by all in the Palace, if
not the city. These places have very few secrets."

Nemir nodded. "Your point is well taken," he said. The
rueful expression on his face said that he had seen proof
of that in the past. Even in the short time that he'd been
with Nemir, Judas had seen that. Thus far he had only kept
two secrets, and he wondered almost daily how long that
would continue.

"Your companions left quite abruptly," Nemir said suddenly,
relaxing a fraction.

Nahanna's head tilted to the side as she considered the
statement. "They had no reason to stay."

"So their only purpose was to deliver you to Ajantha? Why?"

"Because that was what the Lord told them to do," she said
reasonably, her eyes glinting with amusement.

Nemir did not seem amused, however. "Why is it so important
that you be here?" he asked, his spine straight and his
eyes narrowed. For a moment, Judas saw the man that
warriors in battle against him would see: Fire and steel
and determination.

Nahanna did not seem impressed. Indeed, her gaze held as
much steel as the Heir's. "You will understand in time. But
I swear, on my honor and the Goddess, that I mean you no
harm."

"Please," Judas said, trying to break the tension. "What
are the markings on your arms?"

Nahanna ran her hand up the opposite arm, passing over the
silk that concealed the feather-like images there. Her
smile softened again. "I was born with them. They are why I
was sent to the Priestesses. My people say that those who
are marked are touched by the Goddess, and it is very
rare."

For a moment, Judas's arms burned. Then the burn faded,
leaving only an awareness of his own markings. Something in
Nahanna's eyes said that she knew what he had just
experienced.

Touched by the Goddess? He wondered what that meant to her,
but knew, somehow, that she would not explain further. And
if feathers meant she was touched by her people's Goddess,
what did the markings like bat wings mean for him? He
wanted to ask, but could not bring himself to say the words
for fear of what she might tell him.

The sound of approaching footsteps broke the silence, and
Nemir reached out to take her elbow, tugging her into one
of the alcoves that lined the sides of the corridor. There
was nothing in the alcove to conceal them, but the shadows
were deep enough that no casual onlooker would notice them
without looking directly into the alcove.

The footsteps faded once more without passing by them, and
they stepped out of the alcove. The corridor was empty in
each direction. Satisfied that they were still alone, Nemir
turned back to Nahanna. "You keep assuring me that you mean
*me* no harm," he said, and Judas realized that there *had*
been a subtle emphasis when Nahanna said that. "What of
Ajantha?"

She shook her head, making her hair shimmer in the
lamplight. "That does not concern me. It is the safety of
the both of you that is important."

"Why? Safety from what? What is it you are not telling us?"

Again, she shook her head. "You will understand when the
time comes. Until then, I am not permitted to say any
more."

Her words filled Judas with a sense of foreboding, but
Nemir just seemed annoyed. Unfortunately, a sound behind
then distracted him long enough for Nahanna to turn and run
off lightly in the direction of the Harem, where they would
not be able to follow.

Nemir's breath hissed out from between his teeth. Then he
composed himself and turned around.

Layla stood at the junction of the corridors, an expression
on her face that Judas could not interpret. He rarely saw
Nemir's cousin anymore, a fact that he was grateful for,
since she made him uneasy, especially since he was still
unsure of her motives towards Nemir or her connection to
Lord Morlan.

Then she smiled, a warm, friendly smile that did not reach
her eyes, and walked away. Judas slowly began to relax.

"Come," Nemir said brusquely, walking the direction
opposite of what Nahanna had taken.

"Do we return to the Petition Chamber?" Judas asked,
keeping pace easily with his longer legs.

"No. The woman speaks in riddles, and I dislike riddles.
Perhaps the library has materials that can shed some light
on this."

>>>~~~<<<

Unfortunately, the number of volumes in the Palace Library
concerning the southern clans were as few in number as Lord
Konda's bare description of the people suggested, and none
described their religious beliefs or current politics.
Nemir seemed frustrated, but Judas simply arranged with the
librarian to take the volumes that did exist. Perhaps there
would be nothing of practical use in them, but he found
himself curious and wished to learn more of Nahanna's
people.

One of the books he read over the following days was an
account of the war that had brought the southern lands
under the God King's dominion nearly three hundred years
earlier. There was little to explain why the God King's eye
had turned to the south after centuries of peaceful co-
existence and profitable trade. The decision to conquer the
clans was arbitrary and unexpected by his people, according
to the history books.

But decide he did, and none would gainsay him when he
ordered the warriors to their horses. He himself had led
them into battle.

The war had gone on for more than ten years, with the sons
of many a city-state bleeding their lives away on the field
of battle. In the end, though, the north had prevailed. The
clans were broken, and their royal family all killed, down
to the last babe in its crib.

When he finished reading the last page, Judas set the book
aside with a shiver. What it must have been like, seeing an
army sweeping down on your cities, unable to stop them,
knowing that your world would forever be changed, even if
you were not there to see it.

For a moment he could picture it clearly in his mind. The
women gathered on the walls wailed and rent their clothing
as they watched husbands and sons and, in a few cases,
daughters fall on the plains outside the city. Others still
sought to escape the city through the underground passages
that carried water to the city from a lake in the distance,
carrying children and a few possessions, hoping to take
refuge in the far south, beyond the jungles, or to the east
among the desert tribes who were distant relations. For
them, the fight was not over. It might take generations,
but they would return to raise their people up again.

"Judas? Are you unwell?"

Nemir's voice drew him out of his trance, and for a moment
he felt cold. Then, as the visions of the past conjured by
his imagination faded from view, he warmed again. "I am
fine," he said, climbing to his feet. The hour was late, he
realized, and his eyes ached from reading for so long. The
spell cast by the book had been strong.

He stretched, and immediately felt the protest of muscles
that had not been used as he sat. He groaned softly, and
Nemir chuckled.

"I know ways of dealing with those aches," he said, drawing
Judas into his arms. "It is late. Come to bed."

He pulled Judas towards the sleeping chamber, and Judas
followed eagerly, all thoughts of the distant past gone.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Twenty-Six
----------------------------------------

Nemir woke in the depths of the night to the feel of a body
shifting restlessly beside him. Judas made soft, distressed
noises, caught in the grips of his dream.

He'd been aware of Judas's nightmares from the start. When
the boy had slept on a pallet in the corner, with Nemir
doing his best to ignore him, he'd been able to pretend not
to notice. Besides, they had never been loud enough to keep
him from sleep for long. And once Judas had come to his
bed, they'd become rarer, until they had finally
disappeared.

But now they had returned, and Nemir did not think that it
was coincidence that they had started within days of
Nahanna's appearance in Ajantha. Though Judas preferred not
speak of it, the markings she bore and their similarities
to his own had disturbed him greatly.

Nemir wrapped his arms around his bedmate's slender torso,
trying to restrain the fretting, and murmured reassuringly
in the boy's ear. After a time, the movements stilled and
Judas slipped back into a deeper sleep, clinging to Nemir's
side.

Nemir ran his fingers through Judas's long, silky hair,
something that soothed him when *he* was disturbed. Come
morning, he knew that if he asked Judas, the boy would
claim no memory of the dreams that so troubled his sleep,
and Nemir believed him. But the dark circles that had
appeared in recent days beneath Judas's eyes pained him.
Without restful sleep, they would not go away, and the
dreams ensured that he would not get a restful sleep.

Perhaps he should speak to Healer Kale. The wise man might
know of a sleeping draught that would allow Judas to sleep
without dreams.

With that hopeful thought, Nemir rubbed his cheek against
Judas's soft hair and sought for sleep himself. Morning
would arrive soon enough, and he needed the rest as well.

>>>~~~<<<

When dawn came, Judas was still having difficulty waking.
When Nemir had finished dressing for the morning practice,
Judas was still rubbing his eyes as if that would bring
sharpness of mind as well as vision.

Realizing that he was still abed, Judas struggled to stand,
but Nemir quickly moved to restrain him. "Go back to
sleep," he said gruffly, pushing Judas back into a supine
position. Judas struggled for a moment, then relaxed. "When
I am done, I will wake you for the morning meal."

"I will be fine," Judas protested. "You need not coddle
me."

Nemir smiled fondly and tweaked the end of his lover's
nose. "If I wish to coddle you, I will," he said sternly.
"You are exhausted. How can you watch over me through the
day when you can barely keep your eyes open? No, do not
argue," he said when Judas opened his mouth. "I will go
spar with the Guard, then return for you. Perhaps Jorak
will be there," he said idly, and was rewarded by a tiny
flash of jealousy in Judas's eyes. It was a foolish
emotion, but one that swelled his own pride.

But he would not be swayed. Judas did need more sleep to
ease the lines of strain on his face. In the end, it was
his own inability to keep his eyes open that finally
convinced the younger man, and he was already half-way
asleep by the time Nemir left the rooms.

The corridors were silent as he passed through them, other
than the occasional servant or slave, as he headed for the
open courtyard where the Guard still practiced. Soon, the
winter storms would send them inside, but not until there
was no other choice.

When he reached the practice area, he was surprised to find
Layla there. He'd seen her rarely in the last few months.
She moved to his side as soon as she saw him and laid a hand
on his arm.

The gesture made him uncomfortable, even though there was
nothing in it that could be called inappropriate. "You
rarely come to the practices anymore, Layla," he said as
pleasantly as he could.

She smiled hesitantly. "I have been working on a commission
that has taken all my time. But I wanted to apologize for
yesterday. I did not mean to intrude on your conversation
with the young lady." The last was accompanied by a flash of
reproach in her eyes.

Nemir's eyes narrowed at the implication. "It was the first
time I had seen the lady Nahanna since her arrival. I was
inquiring how she was adjusting to life in my father's
Harem."

Layla seemed honestly surprised by that, and he realized
that she had not recognized Nahanna. "That was the girl
given to the Prince? Members of the court have taken to
calling her the Southern Songbird, and wonder why she has
not been called on to sing again. Does the Prince prefer to
keep her hidden?"

Nemir shrugged. "I cannot speak for him, his reasons are his
own."

"As it should be," she said reluctantly, pouting prettily.
"And your shadow, where is he?"

"Abed," Nemir told her. "He has not been sleeping well, so I
told him to sleep a little longer."

"How kind of you," she said. Although the tone was pleasant,
something in it raised his hackles.

Thankfully, Jorak was already on the practice sands, waving
to him. Nemir made his excuses, and headed for the racks of
practice weapons. He selected his favorite, then moved out
to the center of the practice space. Already, he could feel
the sting of sand being blown, telling him that the winter
storms would be on them very soon indeed.

When he looked back to where Layla had been standing, after
he finished his stretches, she was gone.

>>>~~~<<<

A priest found solace in his meditations and Nemir found his
in sparring. There were few things that concentrated his
mind like the almost ritualistic movements of footwork and
blade work, and the sun was well up in the sky by the time
fatigue forced him to stop. Sweat dripped from his body and
stung his eyes.

Jorak was equally fatigued. They both staggered over to the
edge of the courtyard, only peripherally aware of the
comments from the other guards. Nemir took up a handful of
the sweet-sand and began scrubbing away the sweat.

After a moment, he realized that Jorak was watching him with
a solemn expression. "Is something wrong?" he asked the
guardsman.

Jorak scooped up a handful of sand and started cleaning
himself. "I had intended to ask you the same."

Nemir paused, puzzled. "Why?" he asked simply.

"It seems to me that the only times that you are this
intense during a practice session is when you are worried
about something. You look to lose yourself in the familiar.
Does something trouble you?"

The worst of the sweat removed from his skin, Nemir moved
away from the barrel of sand so that another could take his
place. Jorak finished quickly and followed him.

Once he was certain that no ears or eyes spied on them,
Nemir said softly, "Judas has been having dreams. Dreams
that disturb his sleep and leave him drained, but of which
he has no memories on waking."

"That is why he is not here with you?"

Nemir nodded. "He seemed so drained this morning that I told
him to stay in bed and try to sleep. It worries me. He is
losing weight that he can ill afford to."

"Are these dreams a new thing?"

"Not entirely. When he first came to me, he had dreams that
disturbed him, but they eventually faded. These dreams
started more recently, and he suffers from them every
night." He shook his head. "I do not know what to do. This
is not a situation that I have been trained for."

Jorak slapped him on the shoulder. "No one is trained for
these situations," he said cheerfully. "It is like an infant
learning to walk: You must learn by doing."

"And by falling over and landing on my rear?" Nemir asked
wryly.

"Exactly."

Nemir was searching for an appropriate response when a
shiver ran through his frame, starting at the base of his
skull and running down his spine. He shuddered, and pulled
on his shirt to stave off the chill. When the feeling did
not fade, he realized that it was not his environment that
had caused the chill.

"Nemir, what is wrong?" Jorak asked. He looked worried.

"I'm not sure," Nemir said, turning in a slow circle looking
for the cause of his sudden unease. He saw nothing but the
members of the Guard, sparring, exercising, and simply
talking to their fellows. There was no reason for him to
feel unnerved, but suddenly he was certain that something
was wrong, terribly wrong.

Then the feeling faded and he shook his head. "It is
nothing," he said, feeling foolish. Events over the last few
weeks were making him jump at shadows. Perhaps Judas's
nightmares were affecting him more than he thought.

Then the feeling returned, stronger than ever, and he heard
a sound that reminded him of wild things howling their
defiance. For a moment, every hair on his body stood on end
and he shuddered once more. The chorus of defiance rose in
tone, merging until there was only a single voice, screaming
in fury.

Jorak grabbed his arm as he swayed in place. Suddenly, a
sense of urgency ran through him. He pulled away from the
man and staggered towards the exit that would lead him back
to his apartment the fastest. Jorak followed him, but he was
too deafened by the scream to tell the man what was
happening.

With every step, his disorientation faded, but the urgency
increased. If he'd been able to speak, he would not have
been able to explain why he was so certain that he needed to
reach his rooms... No, not his rooms. It was Judas that he
must reach, and quickly.

As he ran, he was only dimly aware of servants and others
moving quickly to get out of his path. There were even a few
screams that merged with the one in his mind, perhaps
because he had a naked blade in his hand, a blade he could
not remember taking up.

Then the door to his rooms was in front of him, and he hit
it shoulder first, driving it open.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Twenty-Seven
----------------------------------------

After Nemir left, Judas lay down again, the cool silk that
covered his pillow soothing against the heat of his cheek,
intent on following the Heir's instructions. It seemed as
though he was exhausted all the time now, his sleep never
seeming to bring him rest. Nemir said that he had
nightmares most nights, but he remembered nothing of them.
Indeed, he rarely dreamed at all, and seldom remembered the
dreams, so it did not surprise him.

However the constant fatigue was worrying. It took all his
will and strength in order to make it through the day. How
could he fulfill his duties to Nemir if he could not keep
his eyes open to watch for danger? And danger was coming,
he knew, although he was not sure why he was so certain.

And yet, now that Nemir was gone, sleep eluded him and he
felt uneasy. The bed was cold and hard beneath him, as well
as very lonely, and he found himself reaching for one that
was not there. He might as well have gone with Nemir for
all the rest that he was getting.

Finally abandoning the attempt, Judas rose and pulled on
his robe. He would bathe and eat. Perhaps that small,
familiar activity would be enough to soothe his unease and
allow him to fall asleep once more.

When faced with food, however, his stomach threatened to
rebel. He forced himself to eat some bread, not being able
to bear the thought of anything else. He knew that he had
not been eating properly for several days, and among other
things, his ribs were quickly becoming more prominent. Food
was fuel that he desperately needed, but he would need to
wait for his stomach to settle.

That chore dealt with for the time being, Judas moved on to
the bathing chamber. The soaking tub was still filled with
water, and after discarding his robe, he sank into it with
a sigh. He began to relax, his body buoyed by the blood-
temperature liquid, and his thoughts drifted. He'd never
bathed before coming to Ajantha, water being too valuable
in the desert, even at an oasis, and he found that he
enjoyed it greatly.

As he drifted, there was a sound that teased at the limit
of his hearing, a distant whisper, like wind across sand,
reminding him that the winter storms were fast approaching.
Perhaps that was why he felt so on edge all of the time.

And yet, when he was a child, the storms had never affected
him in that way. Indeed, they'd had the opposite effect.
While others huddled together at the center of the tent,
drinking and gaming to distract them from the wind that
howled outside and the sand that seemed to creep into
everything, he had sat at the edge, ignored by everyone but
his brother and his grandfather, listening to the wind. It
was exhilarating, and at times it seemed that he could hear
voices in it. He wished that he could go out into the storm
to find those voices that told him stories of far off lands
and great men and women. He no longer remembered the
stories -- he had told his grandfather of the voices once,
and after that, he'd been kept close, far from the tent
walls -- but he did remember the feelings they invoked. The
unease he felt was nothing like that, but the sound brought
the memories back

He was floating in the tub now, more asleep than awake. He
should leave the tub, dry himself, and return to the bed,
but he did not have the energy to stand. He was too
comfortable, and winds were louder now. Perhaps, if he
listened hard enough, he would hear the voices again.

Then the sounds grow suddenly in volume, rising in a
crescendo that suddenly reached a full screech that made
him gasp, his eyes flying open. Before he could take in the
reality of his situation, the water closed over his head.
Two calloused hands had a strong grip on his shoulders,
pushing him down and holding him under the surface.

His throat closed up as he thrashed, trying to escape the
hands holding him down. One chance blow actually weakened
his attacker's grasp, and he was able to pull away,
surfacing long enough to take several desperate breaths
before he was seized and pushed under once more.

The violent movements of the water as he fought created a
broken blur between him and the life-giving air, rendering
his attacker unrecognizable. It also gave the whole thing
an air of unreality. Only the burn in his chest as he
struggled to reach air told him that this was terrifyingly
real.

His struggles were weakening, and the wind's howl filled
his ears, screaming rage and defiance, urging him to
continue fighting. He scratched at the hands that held him,
but it was in vain. The man was not release him. He was
going to die.

With that realization, all defiance drained away, and he
ceased to fight at all. It felt as though a fist was
closing around his chest, forcing the last air from his
lungs, making his heart work twice as hard to keep beating.
His mouth opened, and the wash water filled his mouth and
nostrils. There was nothing he could do. The wail became
grief-stricken.

Then, as suddenly as the attack began, the pressure
vanished, and he rose to the surface, nearly sobbing as he
gasped for air. A hand grabbed his arm and pulled him so
that he was lying over the edge of the tub, out of danger
of sinking under again. He continued to cough, expelling
the water that had tried to fill his lungs, weak as a
newborn kitten.

"Judas, are you--" Nemir's voice cut off as if he expected
the worse.

That concern gave him the impetus to raise his head and
open his eyes. Nemir crouched next to the tub, holding his
hand. There was blood splattered across his shirt and face,
and the expression in his eyes could only be called terror.
"I..." He coughed again, his throat raw. "I will be fine,"
he managed to say. He could not lie and say that he was
well -- he certainly did not feel so -- but he had survived
and he would feel well in time.

Then he looked past Nemir and took in the sight of the rest
of the room.

Jorak was standing over a body dressed in a Palace Guard
uniform lying in a puddle of blood. This was, he presumed,
the man who had attempted to kill him. Jorak's sword was
drawn, but the blade was clean, telling him that it had
been Nemir who had killed the man. He shivered.

Immediately, Nemir lifted him from the tub. The floor was a
mess of blood and water, but he did not set Judas down.
Instead, he carried him to the main room and set him down
on a chair, leaving him only long enough to fetch a drying
sheet to wrap him in and a second for his hair.

Gradually, the shivers faded, but the weakness did not.
Between the fatigue he had already been feeling and his
brush with death, it took all his energy just to keep his
eyes open and answer a few simple questions, first to
Nemir, then to Lord Konda and the Captain of the Palace
Guard when they arrived in response to Nemir's summons.

There was little that he could tell them, though. Because
his eyes had been shut when his attacker had entered the
room, he had not seen the man. How he had gained entry to
the apartment, or even the private wing, was a matter for
investigation, but in all likelihood the uniform he wore
had acted as a pass, with few looking beyond it to his
face. From what the men said, his would-be assassin had not
been known to any of them. That meant that someone had
stolen a uniform for him, since they were not removed from
the Palace unless worn by a guard accompanying the Prince
into the city or beyond. It was the question of the stolen
crossbow bolt all over again.

As the last remaining amount of his strength drained away,
he slumped in the chair, no longer able to keep his eyes
open. Nemir was immediately at his side, helping him to
stand. With Nemir's help, he made it to the bed chamber,
where Nemir tenderly tucked him into their bed, something
that felt disturbingly familiar from the poisoning attempt.

Nemir brushed a still damp lock of hair back from his face.
His expression was concerned, but under it was a burn that
worried Judas. He had seen the edges of Nemir's temper, but
never the full heat of its fire. Now the fire was closer to
the surface than he'd seen to that point, and it scared
him. From what he had seen, it seemed that Nemir had not
even attempted to capture the assassin, he had simply slain
the man. What would happen if that fury ever burst into
full flame?

But the fire was already fading, although the steel
underneath it was still there. Judas just prayed that the
fire was tempering the steel, not destroying it.

With the gentle touch on his forehead, then his neck, Judas
slipped into the sleep that had so eluded him earlier.

>>>~~~<<<

The cave was deep within the earth: He could feel the
pressure of great weight above him. He lay on the ground,
staring up at the ceiling of the natural chamber. Rock
formations covered it, glittering in the cool, unnatural
light as though they were covered in precious stones. They
reflected the light over and over again until the entire
chamber seemed to glow with lights of every hue, but mostly
cool blues and greens and pinks. Indeed, it was as if he
was looking up through still water.

And surrounding him was a deep, pulsing sound, like the
slow beating of a giant heart.

It was comforting. It was soothing. It was familiar, even
though he was certain that he'd never been in this place
before.

Judas.

The sound of his name echoed in his mind, even though he
had not heard any voice. He tried to turn his head to see
who it was who had spoken without speaking, but he could
not move. He might have been concerned, if it was not for
the knowledge, deep down, that this was but a dream.

Silent laughter rang like fine bells whose clappers had
been removed, and he found it reassuring. He felt... loved.

Sleep, little one. I am watching. Storm winds are coming,
but they will blow you in the direction you were meant to
go.

Sleep and heal.

Sleep.

And he slept.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Twenty-Eight
----------------------------------------

Nemir sat on the edge of the bed and watched Judas sleep
for a time, his face drawn into a frown as he considered
the morning's events. The bruises on Judas's neck and
shoulders were brutally dark against his pale skin, and
when touched, he'd flinched in obvious pain. Nemir had used
a numbing cream on them as Judas slipped into sleep.

Finally, it was the sound of new arrivals in the main room
that drew him away from the boy's side, although he was
reluctant to leave.

Outside the sleeping chamber, he found Konda and the
captain of the Palace Guard. Two more guards were carrying
the body of the assassin from the bathing room opposite.
The captain stared at the dead man's face intently, then
shook his head. "I do not know him" he said, and Nemir
believed him. No man became captain without a perfect
memory. If he did not recognize the man, the assassin was
not a guard, and was not even likely to be an inhabitant of
the palace in any other occupation.

"But it is a Guard uniform," Nemir said, and the two older
men turned to him.

"It would appear so," the grizzled man said with a
reluctant nod. "There are details to it that would not be
obvious to someone making a copy of a uniform that they
have merely seen from a distance."

"So, an assassin obtains a Guard uniform, unnoticed, and
uses it to reach these rooms, planning on killing the Heir,
then attacks his Companion when he finds the Heir not
here?" Konda said, but Nemir shook his head, the burn
flaring again.

"No. Any who knows enough to reach these rooms would be
likely to know that I would not be here. Do you remember
the crossbow bolt?"

For a moment, Konda looked as if he did not understand
Nemir. Then he nodded. "Yes, but there was been no success
in tracing how it was obtained. I presume that you believe
that it was obtained the same way that the uniform was."

"It would be beyond belief that such items were obtained at
two different times by two different persons," Nemir
pointed out reasonably. The captain looked upset, as well
he should. He was captain of the Guard, and now Guard
equipment had been used in two separate assassination
attempts.

"Exactly. But if he was not looking to kill you, then what
was his purpose?"

Nemir glanced back at the bed chamber. This new attempt had
made matters clear in his mind. "He was attempting what he
nearly succeeded in doing. He was here to kill Judas."

The other two men frowned, but they considered the
statement. "Why would he want to kill a mere slave?" the
captain said dubiously, although he seemed willing to
consider the concept. Jorak, still present, leaning against
the wall silently, nodded slightly.

"I do not know," Nemir said. "What I do know is that this
is the second... no, the third time, I think, that there
has been attempt to kill Judas. Once from a distance, once
by poison, and now by direct action. That cannot be
coincidence."

Konda looked puzzled for a moment. Then he realized what
Nemir was suggesting. "The attempt by crossbow, the night
of your presentation. You believe that it was an attempt on
Judas, not yourself?"

Nemir sighed. "Yesterday I would have told you that the
attempt was on myself. I might even have said that the
poisoning was intended to harm me. But this new attempt
makes me doubt that belief. Much as it does not make sense,
I must assume that there is someone who seeks Judas's
death."

Neither man objected to the statement out of hand, which
pleased him. Instead, Konda tapped his fingers lightly
against the table top, something Nemir knew that he did
often while thinking intently. "The question remains, why?
If you are correct, then who would have wanted him dead the
night of your return? None in the Palace knew him then. Why
kill him?"

Nemir shook his head. "I do not know. All I know is that
someone wishes him dead, and has the ability to obtain
Guard equipment in order to do so. At first I thought it
might have been related to his tribe, since he told me that
there were those who tried to convince his brother to have
him killed. But since a desert tribesman would not have the
ability to arrange these attempts, that theory is
discounted."

"It is a pity that you killed the assassin," Konda said,
glancing back towards the bath chamber. "Perhaps he could
have told us who it was who ordered his actions."

Jorak straightened, moving away from the wall and speaking
for the first time. "The Heir tried to capture him, but
when he saw that he could not fight his way past the both
of us, he threw himself on Nemir's sword deliberately. He
killed himself."

"That is an unusual level of loyalty for an assassin," the
captain said, one eyebrow arching.

"Indeed," Nemir said sourly. The four men lapsed into
silence, each considering the morning attack, Nemir's
suggestions, and what that could mean for them all.

The silent speculation was ended by the arrival of a
servant, visibly shaken at being greeted by four men with
naked blades in their hands. The sheathing of those blades,
accompanied by rueful chuckles, did little to reassure the
poor boy. "M'Lord Konda," he said, still trembling. "The
Prince is calling for you."

"Do you know why?" Konda asked, heading for the door.

"No, m'lord, but there are visitors, from the capital!" The
serving boy's nervousness evaporated in the face of his
excitement. "From the God-King himself, they say."

The Captain immediately stood again, cursing softly. As he
left the room, Nemir heard a guardsman arrive at a run, no
doubt to inform his Captain of the same news. A bellowed
command had Jorak following quickly, after a rueful shrug
to Nemir.

Nemir hesitated, torn. The arrival of a delegation from the
capital was rare. So rare as to be unthinkable. A
representative from the city carried tribute to the capital
once a year, immediately after the winter storms, then
returned carrying the God-King's orders, if any, for the
year. A delegation had not been sent to Ajantha since the
call for warriors to fight the southern clans had arrived
several generations earlier.

But while the arrival was worrisome, and he knew he should
go to his father immediately, Nemir did not want to leave
Judas unguarded. Although there was no proof, he knew that
he was correct that Judas was in grave danger. That the
assassin failed did not mean that there might not be
another, waiting for the chance to strike again. And Judas
looked so frail and defenseless, laying on their bed.

No. If his father required his presence, he would send for
him. Until then, he would remain where he was, on guard,
until Judas woke.

>>>~~~<<<

The day passed quietly. The servant who brought the noon
meal could tell him little, except that the delegation
included several nobles, their servants, and an entire
troop of soldiers to protect them on the journey. Why they
had come, no one knew. Why they would travel this close to
the winter storms also was unknown. How long they were
staying... That would have to be at least until the end of
the storm season, a season away.

Early afternoon did bring a visitor in the form of Healer
Kale. "How is he?" Kale asked from the doorway of the
sleeping chamber, waking Nemir from a light doze.

Nemir cursed softly for a moment, angry at himself for
having so let down his guard. "He has not waken since I put
him to bed after the attack," he said, managing to summon
the proper respect for a man of Kale's age and knowledge
despite his tension and fatigue. He stood from his seat
next to the bed. "I would worry more, but his slumber seems
natural, and is untroubled by the dreams that have been
plaguing him."

Kale moved to the side of the bed and brushed the hair from
Judas's eyes. Judas murmured something indistinct, but did
not wake. "Such a sleep is normal when recovering from
grievous injuries," Kale said, appearing undisturbed by the
lack of response, and Nemir sighed, relieved. Although he
already knew that a deep, healing sleep was to be expected,
it was reassuring to hear the same from a respected healer.
"But what of these dreams you mentioned?"

Nemir grimaced. "I can tell you little. He tosses in his
sleep, calling out in a language I do now recognize, but
when he wakes, he does not remember dreaming, let alone the
content of those dreams."

Kale frowned. He held his hands over Judas's head, and it
seemed to Nemir that a faint glow emitted from his hands.
He slow ran his hands down the length of Judas's body, then
back again, his hands just above the surface of the sheet
covering his sleeping patient. Then he pulled back the
sheet to expose Judas's arms.

Nemir gasped in spite of himself. The birthmarks on Judas's
forearms, eerie in their resemblance to bat wings, were
glowing a pale silver in the dim light of the room. After a
moment, the glow faded, and Judas looked as he always did.

Judas's eyes opened, and he looked up at the two men
staring down at him. "Is there something wrong?" he asked
in a voice made husky by sleep.

"How do you feel, young Judas?" Healer Kale asked, humor in
his voice.

Judas sat up and stretched, his spine twisting sinuously,
like a cat, then froze. "Well rested?" he said, sounding
surprised. "Nemir?"

Nemir reached out to touch Judas's neck, just lightly
brushing the skin with his fingertips. Pale, unblemished
skin. "The marks are gone."

"Marks?" Judas asked.

"There were bruises, from when the assassin held you. Dark
and painful. They are gone." Nemir stroked the skin in
wonder. He knew that Judas healed quickly, but this was
beyond belief.

Judas lifted his hand to his throat, a confused expression
on his face. "Sleep and heal," he whispered to himself. It
sounded as though he was repeating something that he had
heard.

"Who told you that?" Kale asked softly.

"I don't know."

----------------------------------------
Chapter Twenty-Nine
----------------------------------------

Judas felt like he was floating in a haze, even though he
was completely awake. He felt well-rested and gloriously
alive, but there was a barrier between himself and the rest
of the world, leaving only Nemir in focus. The Heir nearly
glowed to his eyes, as though he stood illuminated by
midday sunlight. Judas sighed and leaned towards the man's
touch. On occasion he'd thought of Nemir as his sun, but
that light had never been so warm, so blessed.

"Who told you that?" Healer Kale said again. His words were
light, but his eyes were sharp with interest.

"I'm not sure," Judas said, unwilling to reveal what he had
dreamt for some reason. "A voice in my dreams, I suppose,
but I do not remember."

Healer Kale looked disappointed, but Judas was relieved
when he did not press. The dream seemed too personal to
discuss with others. Even now, he could still feel the
warm, protected, loved feeling of the dream, and the soft
vibration of the female voice crooning to him. Was this
what it felt to be held by a mother, he wondered? It was a
feeling he'd never experienced before, since while his
brother had had substitute mothers aplenty in the tribe,
none had been interested in caring for a demon-born child.

The silence in the room was suddenly broken by the sound of
a stomach too long denied. Judas pressed his hand to his
stomach and felt it contract in hunger pangs. "How long
have I slept?" he asked.

"A part of a day," Nemir said with a chuckle. "It is midway
between noon and evening meal."

That surprised him. He felt as though he'd been asleep for
days, and his stomach seemed to agree with that. However,
he also felt in better health than he had for days.

He moved to stand, then realized that under his sheet, he
was completely unclothed. While Kale was a healer, and he
trusted the man as much as he trusted any person other than
Nemir, but he was still reluctant to expose himself.
Thankfully, Nemir seemed to understand this, and a robe was
wrapped around him. Then Nemir helped him to his feet.

Nemir kept an arm around his waist as they walked out to
the outer chamber, even though Judas needed no help.
Indeed, he felt strong enough to cross a desert on foot
with no help. But the touch was soothing, so he did not
object.

Food was produced -- cold meats, cheese, fresh fruit, and
bread -- and Judas fell on it with a will. His appetite had
always been light, and even more so for the last while, but
his stomach demanded food, and he supplied it as quickly as
he could chew.

When he finally began to slow, he looked up to find both
Nemir and Healer Kale watching him with amused expressions.
Looking back down at the table, he found that he had eaten
nearly everything there, more food that he normally ate in
a single day, or maybe even two. Worse, he had left little
for either of the other men.

"I--"

Nemir waved off the apology before it could be said.
Indeed, he looked pleased by Judas's appetite. "Eat. More
can always be sent from the kitchens."

Judas ducked his head, but found that his appetite had
finally been satisfied. He set down the core of the apple
he had been eating and pushed back with a satisfied sigh.
"What of the man who tried to kill me?" he asked, curiosity
reasserting itself.

"He is dead. He threw himself on my sword rather than risk
being captured," Nemir said, his eyes darkening.

Judas nodded, strangely relieved. He had though that Nemir
had deliberately killed the man out of anger. To hear that
it had been suicide was reassuring, albeit worrying.

He glanced towards the bathing chamber, and shuddered
slightly. While he could see through the archway that the
room had been cleaned while he slept, as there was no sign
of blood or body on the floor, the memory of the attack was
too fresh on his mind to be comfortable. He wondered if he
would ever be able to find the strength of will to
willingly enter the room again. Then he turned back to
Nemir. "Is there any indication of who he was?"

Nemir shook his head. "He wore a Guard uniform, but we have
found no one who recognizes him. And because he is dead, we
have little way of identifying him."

"A Guard uniform?" Judas said, sitting up a little
straighter. "The other assassin..."

"The one from the night of my presentation who used a Guard
crossbow bolt?" Nemir finished for him. "We have thought on
that as well. That there is no connection seems unlikely."

Judas smiled. He should have realized that the Heir, with
his training, would have thought of that already. "But why
attack me? To attempt to kill the Heir is easy to
understand, but why me? Was it intended to harm you, after
a fashion?"

"Perhaps," Nemir said slowly. "But I think not. Twice,
there have been attempts to kill you. Perhaps even three,
for the crossbow bolt could have been intended for you, not
myself. But why assassins would come to Ajantha to kill
you, I do not know."

Judas shivered lightly, not liking what Nemir suggested.
Why would someone wish him dead? There might be those here
who thought him demon-born, as there was in his own tribe,
but such a belief would not prompt such extreme lengths, as
he'd been told just how difficult stealing Guard equipment
such as the uniform and the crossbow bolt would be, let
along making it through the Palace to the royal wing. After
all, the Prince's suite was not far away, which meant that
the Palace Guard were very careful in executing their
duties.

He noted that Nemir glanced towards the doorway to the hall
often, as if he expected a messenger any moment, or perhaps
another assassin. "What is it?" he asked the Heir,
concerned.

Nemir shook his head. "A delegation from the capital
arrived this morning and met with the Prince. It is an
unusual event, and I have heard nothing of what bring them
here an such an unusual time of year." He glanced to Healer
Kale. "Have any rumors reached your ears?"

Kale shook his head, his normally smiling face turning
serious. "Nothing, which is also extremely unusual. Just
that they have met with the Prince, and several of the
nobles. Why they have come to Ajantha, no one seems to
know."

Nemir bit into his lower lip for a moment, then stood. "Now
that Judas is awake, I should attend my father," he said,
glancing to Judas regretfully. "Healer Kale, would you
remain with him? The guard in the royal wing has been
doubled, and have instructions to let no one pass that they
do not recognize, but I would prefer that he not be alone."

Kale bowed from the waist without rising from his seat. "I
would be honored, My Lord," he said formally.

Nemir still looked reluctant, so Judas touched his elbow
and said, "Go. I will be well." Privately, he would have
preferred Nemir to stay, but he knew the demands of duty.
He just wished he could shake the feeling that there were
things in the Palace that were not right. He tried to tell
himself that it was just anxiety from the attempt on his
life, but he was not convinced.

Nemir quickly dressed in slightly more formal robes, his
sword buckled at his side. He picked up the knife he
normally kept in the top of his boot, then hesitated.
"Here," he said, handing it to Judas. "Keep it hidden, but
keep it close. If a stranger enters, be prepared to defend
yourself."

If anything, Nemir's warning heightened Judas's fears even
more, but he put on a brave face and smiled as the Heir
left to attend to his duties. But when he turned back to
Healer Kale, he found the man undeceived. "Trust him," the
older man said softly. "And if you will not, then trust the
Gods. They have a purpose for both you and your Master,
though I know not what."

Judas frowned. "What do you mean?" he asked. The cryptic
comment was somewhat reminiscent of Nahanna's circular
assurances the other night. But the Healer's smile was as
unreadable as his words.

Judas's attention kept drifting back to the door through
which Nemir had departed, much as the Heir's attention had
been drawn before he had had to leave. "What do you think
that it means, that the God-King has sent a delegation to
Ajantha?" he asked. Among the tribes, there had been no
contact with the ruler of the land they lived in. Indeed,
many tribes refused to acknowledge the God-King's dominion,
although none were foolish enough to let the more settled
lands know this. The God-King had been known to quash those
who offended him and destroy those who opposed him.

Kale looked serene, but he seemed troubled to Judas. "We
shall know when Nemir returns from his father. Now, you
look as though you could use some more rest, so to bed with
you."

Reluctantly, Judas went into the sleeping chamber, but he
did not feel ready to return to sleep, having slept most of
the day. He could feel sunset quickly approaching, and he
worried that if he slept again, he would not wake until
morning, and he wanted to be awake when Nemir returned.

Instead, needing some measure of comfort, he turned instead
to the small, battered chest that sat next to his side of
the bed. It was carved of a fragrant wood that still held
its scent after many years in the desert. It had belonged
to his grandmother, and her grandmother before her, and
when he had reached manhood, his grandfather had given it
to him. The chest was locked, and he kept the key on a
leather thong around his neck. He removed it now and used
it to unlock the chest. He lifted the lid, then removed,
one by one, the items contained within.

First was a length of white silk, stained dark brown in
places. This was the cloth with which he had been caught as
he emerged from his mother's womb, shortly before she took
her last breath. That cloth was always given to the child
and kept for life, guarded carefully since there were those
who believed that the birthing cloth could be used for
casting spells.

Unable to explain why, Judas tucked it carefully inside his
tunic, making sure that it would not show or be dislodged.

Second was a dagger, also stained on the hilt, although
he'd been careful to ensure that the blade was clean and
sharp. It was one of the blades his father had carried into
his last battle. His sword had been given to his brother.
He tied the sheath to his belt, next to the knife Nemir had
handed him.

Finally, he pulled out the necklace. A piece of rose
quartz, carved into a shape that made him think of a
sleeping cat, hung on a chain that looked like silver, but
had never required polish to fight tarnish. It still shone
as bright as the night his mother had looked down at her
second born, and told her father that the quartz would go
to him. Where it had come from, no one knew. All that was
known was that it was passed down through the line of
chiefs.

He hung the necklace around his neck, then closed the chest
and locked it once more. He did not know what impulse had
driven him to these actions, but he felt more relaxed now.
Ready.

He settled down to wait.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Thirty
----------------------------------------

Leaving Judas behind when he knew that there were those who
wanted his Companion dead and had the power to steal Guard
uniforms and weapons was one of the most difficult things
that Nemir could remember having done in his life. But his
duty was a bond he could not break, so he left Judas to go

to his father to find out what was happening in Ajantha.

The mood of those he passed in the halls was of disquiet
verging on panic. Servants hurried in every direction with
drawn expressions, and Guards stood straighter, with a
greater wariness that before. From time to time he glimpsed
strangers walking the halls, wearing armor and determined
expressions. These would be part of the delegation from the
Capital, since an envoy would not travel so far without an
escort. But why they were allowed to move so freely through
the Palace, he did not know, and that also worried him.

"Nemir!"

At the sound of his name being called, Nemir turned. Dansen
quickly moved to his side, walking with him, although at a
slower pace, towards the Prince's receiving room. "What
have you heard?" Nemir asked, noting the lines of strain on
the other man's face.

"Very little, which is disturbing, since the servants
gossip as you and I breathe."

"And Markus?" Nemir asked, surprised not to see the foreign
fosterling away from his friend's side. Dansen and Markus
had been inseparable from the day Markus arrived in the
court of Ajantha, from what Nemir had heard. They were a
strange pairing, and yet they were a perfect compliment to
each other.

"In my room," Dansen said with a faint frown. "He says that
he believes that the God-King's representatives would not
take kindly to seeing one from outside the realm wandering
freely about the Palace. He says that they might take
offense, and that it would reflect badly on your father."

The words sent a chill along Nemir's spine. For the envoy
to take offense would imply that he would already be
looking for signs of... disloyalty, perhaps, in the court
of Ajantha. If that were so, then the unlooked for visit
took on darker meanings.

Indeed, in Nemir's mind, he was already apprehensive.
Assassins prowled the Palace's corridors, and a delegation
from the southern clans appear suddenly, but stay only long
enough to present a woman to his father as a gift, and now
the God-King sends an unprecedented delegation. Nemir could
not shake the conviction that all three events were in some
way connected.

"Dansen, would you do me a favor?" he asked, the thoughts
in his head starting to coalesce.

"Of course, Nemir," was the instant reply.

"Take Markus and go to my rooms. Judas and Healer Kale are
there. Arm yourselves, and take with you anything you
cannot bear to part with. And move quickly."

"Nemir?"

"Please, do as I say, and ask no questions." For he had no
answers to give, Nemir thought to himself. He did not fully
understand why he was asking what he was, but he knew that
his actions were correct.

"As you say," Dansen said, bowing low as he had not since
the hunt: why would bows be needed between friends? Then he
turned and left, walking quickly towards the wings where
the lesser nobles lived.

Nemir turned the corner into a corridor that was wider than
the one he had been following. The door to his father's
smaller receiving room, which also served as workspace for
the Prince, was within sight, and he could see several
Guards standing outside. One of them was Jorak, freshly
dressed in the ceremonial armor he had complained bitterly
about to Nemir in the past. It was more gilt than armor,
and would not stop a training blade, let alone one with an
edge, the man had said more than once with a snort. He did
not so much as blink as Nemir passed him.

Inside, he found his father and Konda pouring over a formal
scroll. They were alone in the room. A low table stretched
the length of the room, along one wall. Practical books
were set on it in decorative piles, along with scrolls,
writing materials, small statuary, and bowls of incense and
blossoms floating in water. The wall above it was painted
with a fresco showing the God-King leading his army into
battle against the cities of the south. It was an image he
had seen many times growing up -- he'd found it grand and
exciting as a child -- but since Nahanna's arrival, he'd
begun to question the events it portrayed.

"How is Judas?" Konda asked, straightening with a smile
that seemed reluctant to come to his face.

"Remarkably unhurt, considering the attempt on his life.
Healer Kale is with him, but more for company than as a
healer." Nemir could not hold back the small sigh of relief
at being able to say that.

His father smiled. "I am glad to hear that. I would hate to
have to find you another Companion. I doubt I would be as
fortunate in the choosing a second time."

Nemir knew that his father was teasing him, but he was
unable to respond in kind. "What of the delegation?" he
asked, taking a seat in the same chair he used when
watching his father deal with his duties. "What brings them
to Ajantha?"

The Prince frowned slightly, and Konda's expression was now
studiously blank. "They have not said much, other than that
I should be honored by their presence. In a few hours there
will be a feast in their honor."

"No explanation, and yet their soldiers make free of the
Palace? They are searching for something, it seems to me."

His father's expression turned tired. "The leader of the
men spoke of possible rebellion in the far south. When I
asked if the God-King was going to call up the army again,
he refused to answer yay or nay."

Nemir suddenly realized how tense he had become. "There are
those suggesting that the envoy is here to assess your
loyalty," he said, and his father's eyes flashed a warning.

"If that is so, there is nothing for them to find. I have
always been loyal to the God-King."

Nothing, Nemir thought to himself, suddenly more than
simply worried, unless they went into the Harem and found a
woman of the south. If there was the chance of war, the
presence of Nahanna could be misinterpreted. Indeed, he was
beginning to wonder again about her purpose in Ajantha. If
the south were considering rebellion, then was she a spy?
But if she were a spy, why would she be in Ajantha? They
were so far north that the southern clans were closer to
the Capital.

It was obvious to him that the same thoughts had occurred
to his father, but the Prince was warning him with his eyes
to say nothing. Nemir did not know why that would be
important, since they were alone in the room.

And yet, there were ways of listening to the conversations
of others. Could the God-King's people have suspicions that
would lead them to spy on one of the God-King's Princes?
Perhaps, if they felt that they had reason.

"If the feast is not for a while, what duties need tending
in the meantime?" he asked lightly, although he felt
anything but light. He was torn between wanting to stay by
his father's side and returning to Judas. If these
suspicions were true, both were in equal danger.

"The reports have arrived from the desert borders. There
are reports of disturbances. Since your experience with
those regions is more recent, perhaps you could read
through the reports and summarize them for me."

"Agreed," Nemir said, and reached out to take the scrolls
his father was holding out.

>>>~~~<<<

Some time later, Nemir's eyes were dry and his back ached
from being bent over the reports, even though it had been a
relatively short length of time. "There is little definite
here," he said, straightening up. His father had also spent
the time productively, going over the reports on the city's
preparations for the winter storms. Food needed to be
stored, along with fuel for lamps and stoves, and guards
needed to be set to prevent stealing. The only deaths
during the winter storms in Ajantha were those of the few
foolish enough to leave their homes at the wrong time.

"What do they say?" his father asked, sitting back in his
chair and folding his hands together as he waited.

Nemir glanced down briefly at the last report before
speaking. "There are rumors of foreigners in the desert.
Two of the oases that the tribes depend on have been
deliberately fouled, and one tribe that trades regularly
with the outlying villages of Ajantha and its neighbors
failed to arrive for the fall fair for the first time in
generations. No member of the tribe has been seen in more
than a season. Then there are the tales of demons seen
riding the winds, and strange colors in the sunrises, but
those are likely to simply be imaginations allowed too free
a rein."

"Perhaps," the Prince said with a frown. "However,
deliberately fouled oases is a different matter. While
caravans normally follow the River to the lake country and
the Capital, the oases are essential to the survival of the
desert tribes, and are often used by the Guard. If someone
is fouling them, we need to learn who it is and stop them,
quickly."

Nemir nodded, agreeing whole-heartedly. "And the
disappearance of an entire tribe is equally worrying.
Perhaps they arrived at an oasis at the same time as the
poisoners?"

"As you say," his father said. "Tomorrow we will set the
Guard to watch more closely for signs of such acts.
However, for now, you should go dress for the celebration."
The slight hesitation before the last word told Nemir that
his father was still greatly worried.

"Indeed," Nemir said, realizing how late it was. He had
been fooled by the lack of windows in the lamp-lit room and
his concentration on the task at hand. "Judas should also
be recovered enough to attend."

"No." His father paused, then said, a little less
forcefully, "Do not bring him."

Nemir frowned, puzzled. "Why?"

"I have a feeling," the Prince said, exchanging glances
with his own Companion, "that he might be safer out of
sight."

"I... see," Nemir said slowly. In part, he was not
surprised after all that had happened since that morning,
but for his father, the Prince, to express such
reservations... "I will do as you ask."

"Good. I will see you shortly, then."

Recognizing the dismissal, Nemir stood and bowed briefly
before leaving.

Outside his father's receiving room, the tension in the
hallways was even higher that before, and Nemir found
himself agreeing with the Palace mood. His pace was quick
and deliberate as he headed for his rooms to bathe and
change before the evening's entertainment.

"Nemir?"

Nemir paused in his path, interrupted by the soft voice.
Layla emerged from an alcove, a worried expression
darkening her face. He had seen her seldom in recent times,
and had been embarrassed at his relief at her distance.
"What is it?" he said, trying to keep the impatience from
his voice, but from her expression he was not completely
successful.

"Do you go to the feast tonight?" she asked.

"Of course. For me not to sit beside my father this night
would be an insult to our visitors."

"Perhaps. And yet, you might be wiser not to."

One quick stride and he had her arm tightly clenched. Tight
enough to bruise. "What do you mean, Layla? Speak plainly."

"Change is coming and you would be wise not to interfere,"
she said haughtily, meeting his eyes directly. Then she
smiled. It was not the warm smile he remembered. "And
perhaps you should reconsider past decisions."

Nemir shook her harshly, but she just laughed. Then she was
gone and he stood alone in the corridor, uncertain of how
she had escaped his grip.

Then he glanced down the hallway, and for a moment he saw
another figure, male this time, but it was as quickly gone.

Moving a little slower, distracted by his thoughts, he
continued on his way.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Thirty-One
----------------------------------------

When Judas, still unable to sleep, emerged from the
sleeping chamber, dressed in a tunic and breeches that
would be more appropriate to visitors, he was surprised to
find Healer Kale no longer alone. Two men sat with him,
both of them looking equally wary. He remembered them as
Dansen and the foreigner, Markus, to whom Nemir had
introduced him after the nearly disastrous hunt. As
unexpected as their presence were the travel bags set
against a wall and the weapons they wore openly.

"What has happened?" he asked, chilled. Silently, he cursed
himself for having let Nemir convince him to stay behind.

"Nothing," Dansen quickly said, rising to his feet. "Just
idle concerns on Nemir's part and ours. Nemir asked us to
come here and be with you, since with the King's men
wandering the halls, foreigners may be suspect."

"Myself most of all?" Judas suggested, exchanging glances
with the tall, red-haired Markus. The man's expression
reflected his own frustration and carefully concealed fear,
for like Judas, he would be easily recognized, and even
with Dansen by his side, his size and strength would not be
able to save him if the city turned on him.

Judas glanced down towards the floor, rubbing his forearms.
The skin around the marks was burning, but he did not dare
pull up his sleeves to examine them, mostly for fear of
what he might see.

He briefly touched at his waist, then his chest, where the
fabric of his tunic concealed the knives and quartz
pendant. When he had dressed, he had transferred those
items, not willing to let them out of reach. The anxiety
that had been building since he had woken was growing, and
either it would break soon or he would.

He did not reveal any of this to the other men, though.
Instead, erecting a façade of unconcern, he plucked a peach
from the basket of fruit that had been delivered since
Nemir's departure, then settled down on his usual cushion
with a book and pretended to read, even though he found it
impossible to focus on the words. Markus and Dansen
conversed softly, while Markus sharpened a dagger of a
design Judas did not recognize, and Healer Kale wrote on a
small scroll of paper. It seemed to Judas that they were
all waiting, but for what, he did not know.

The sound of the door opening slowly brought the two
warriors to their feet, and Judas dropped his book, his
hand reaching under his tunic to grip the handle of Nemir's
blade. Somehow, he was unsurprised when Nahanna slipped
into the room.

"Where is the Heir?" she asked, urgency filling her voice.

"With his father, the Prince," Judas said before either
Markus or Dansen could speak. The two young men were
watching her with suspicion plain on their faces, but Judas
found it difficult to mistrust her. Perhaps it was the
eerie sense of familiarity he felt in her presence.

She looked concerned at that. "Best that he return soon,
then," she said. Ignoring the armed men, she crossed the
room and sat down on a cushion next to Judas. "Are you
well?" she asked softly, and Judas wondered how far the
tale of his morning adventure had traveled. Slowly, Dansen
and Markus retook their seats, but they seemed even more on
edge than before.

"I will be fine," he assured her.

"Good," she said, and he wondered what she meant by that.

It was not long after that that the door opened once more,
announcing Nemir's return. He looked pleased to see the two
men and surprised to see Nahanna.

"So, what news?" Dansen asked, standing. Markus set the
blade he'd been sharpening on the table, along with his
whetstone.

"Not much," Nemir said with a shake of the head. He seemed
unsettled to Judas's eyes. "Whatever the envoy's business
in Ajantha is, he has not seen fit to share it with anyone,
not even the Prince."

"Ominous," Markus said gruffly, and Judas nodded in
agreement, his eyes fixed on Nemir's face.

"To say the least," Nemir said. "There is going to be a
banquet shortly." His eyes turned to Judas. "The Prince is
worried. He suggested that Judas stay away, for his own
safety." Judas shivered at that.

Dansen reached over and squeezed Markus's shoulder.
"Perhaps you should do the same," he said softly to his
friend.

Markus did not look any more pleased at the suggestion than
Judas felt, but if the Prince did not think he should not
accompany Nemir, Judas would obey. Markus had no such
limitation, but he nodded reluctantly, persuaded, no doubt,
by his friend's obvious worry.

"None of you should go," Nahanna said, speaking for the
first time since her arrival. She had sat quietly next to
Judas, her eyes shut, as though she were asleep or
meditating, while they waited for Nemir's return, but now
her amber colored eyes were open and alert.

Nemir's eyes flashed, and the fire Judas had seen earlier
was back. "I am tired of cryptic warnings," he said,
clenching his fists. "My father does not speak of what
worries him, my cousin tells me not to go to the banquet,
and that I should not have spurned her attentions, and now
you add to the list. If you have something to say, speak
plainly or not at all!"

"I cannot speak plainly of things I do not know," she
rebutted, standing up. "All I know is that the priestess of
Annala said that a storm was coming, and that I should be
sent here to protect." That surprised Judas, since it was
more than she'd told them before.

"Protect who?" Nemir demanded.

The question puzzled Judas, as he would have thought the
answer obvious, but then Nahanna looked at him, and he
realized that it was not Nemir. "But why?" he asked,
shaking his head. "What would I need protection from? I am
just the son of a small tribe, and not even that now. I'm a
slave in the house of the Prince of Ajantha. I am supposed
to protect Nemir, not require protection."

But Nahanna shook her head. "That is not for me to say. I
follow the dictates of the Lord and the Lady. I thought I
would have more time, though," she added softly, speaking
more to herself than any of the others in the room.

For a moment, Judas fully understood Nemir's frustration.
There was more, he was sure of that, and he fought the urge
to shake it from her. But he was equally sure that Nahanna
would say nothing until *she* felt it was time.

But after more than a year of slavery, most of that time
spent in the House of Kamal where he had no freedom, and
his days were spent in either lessons or waiting for
lessons, he had learned patience. Still, he found it
difficult at times.

"Be that as is, I cannot simply stay here. I will be
expected to be present for the envoy's banquet, and if I am
not, it will raise questions. And suspicions"

Judas set the book he was still holding aside, and stood to
follow Nemir into the sleeping chamber. There he found the
older man opening the door to the small room that held
their formal robes on racks designed to keep them free of
wrinkles. Nemir was considering the choices with an intent
look, but the set of his jaw told Judas that it was not
clothing that held the man's attention.

"Nemir?" Judas said, touching the Heir's shoulder.

For a moment, Nemir remained stiff, face turned from Judas.
Then he sagged and sighed heavily. Judas stepped closer and
wrapped his arms around the shorter man. Nemir melted
against him, and Judas buried his face in Nemir's dark
hair. "It will be alright," he murmured, and Nemir
snorted.

"We both know that that may not be true," Nemir said, and
Judas was relieved that the Heir's voice was so steady. "If
assassins can reach you here, then there is no telling what
could happen. All the mysterious warnings simply underscore
that."

"What did Layla say?" Judas asked, tightening his arms
around the man. He mistrusted Nemir's beautiful cousin, and
not just because of her obvious intentions towards Nemir.

"Only that I would be wiser not to go to the banquet, and
that I should reconsider past decisions."

Judas hissed. He could imagine just what sort of decision
she had referred to, and his dislike for the woman grew.
And yet, he found himself agreeing with the first part of
Layla's warning. He wanted to ask Nemir not to go, beg if
need be, but he knew that it would do no good. To Nemir,
duty was everything, and duty would send him to his
father's side, no matter what the warnings. "Let me go with
you," he said instead.

But Nemir shook his head, stepping away. The moment in
which he had leaned on Judas's strength -- and Judas felt
guilty for enjoying it so -- was over. "My father has his
reasons for suggesting you stay here, even though he did
not share them. And I..." He paused. "While I am selfish
enough to want you with me, I am also selfish enough to
want you safe, and at the moment, you are safer here, with
Markus to guard you, than you would be with me."

He reached up and used Judas's hair to pull him down for a
soft, sweet kiss. "I am uneasy today. Promise me you will
keep my dagger close by, and be ready to defend yourself if
need be."

Judas drew up the edge of his tunic to show the blade
sheathed at his waist rather than say anything. His
father's blade was tucked into the back of his breeches,
also hidden from casual view. Nemir smiled, and stroked his
cheek briefly before stepping back and turning to the
choice of clothing.

Judas took a deep, silent breath, then helped Judas choose
something appropriate to the occasion. To press further
would have no benefit, and would simply make Nemir unhappy.

>>>~~~<<<

Nemir emerged from the sleeping chamber wearing a blue
tunic with silver embroidery, and black breeches, tucked
into the tops of his boots. He also wore a silver chain
studded with sapphires around his neck and rings on his
fingers. Nemir seldom wore jewelry, but for this occasion
it was all part of the image that he needed to project.

Not part of the image was the plain sword hanging from his
belt. The blade was the one he had carried during his time
in the Guard. It had none of the ornamentation that was
popular with young nobles. No one would be foolish enough
to think it was anything but a utilitarian blade, designed
to be used.

While Nemir had changed, Dansen had slipped away and was
now back, dressed in his own finery. The bags sitting near
the doorway were larger than they had been before.

Dansen noted Nemir's look. "I thought that if the envoy's
men are looking for foreigners, that perhaps Markus should
be ready to leave the city, at least for now. If he headed
north at speed, he should outrun the winter storms."

"And you?"

"I..." Dansen actually hesitated, and Judas could see the
conflict in the man's eyes. "My duty is to the Prince and
his Heir."

"And to your friend. If it comes it, you will go with him."
Dansen seemed equal parts relieved and upset at that. "And
if possible, Judas will go with you."

Judas's blood ran cold at the words. "No, I will not," he
said steadily. Nemir opened his mouth to speak, but Judas
did not give him the chance. "I will not leave you, " he
said, trying with his eyes to convey his resolve.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Thirty-Two
----------------------------------------

Nemir sighed, but knew that he would not find the words to
change Judas's mind. His Companion's eyes were hard as
stone, hard as steel, and he knew that there were no words
to convince him. If Nemir wanted to send him away, he would
have to knock him unconscious, bind him, and strap him to
the back of a horse, and he was reluctant to do so.

Indeed, he was almost relieved by the refusal. Despite a
desire to ensure his lover's safety, he did not want to
send him away. Perhaps it was selfish of him, but he nodded
his acceptance. "And Nahanna?" he asked, looking to the
young woman who was a source of such trouble and
frustration.

"I will stay as well," she said, her eyes flickering to
Judas in a way that made him want to growl.

"Very well. But it may be that all this worry if for
naught," he said, although none of them believed it. "For
now, it is time."

Dansen squeezed his friend's arm, and Nemir wondered to
himself again how the two men had become such close
friends. He also wondered if they were more than just
friends, but he would never ask. Privacy would be difficult
for a foreigner, so he would grant them what privacy he
could.

Then the other man was at his side and it was time for them
to go.

The hallways were strangely quiet. The servants and slaves
who serviced the Palace were as abundant as ever, but they
did not speak to each other, did not laugh. They did not
meet anyone's eyes. Nemir was disturbed that such a change
could be wrought in the space of a single day.

The banquet hall was a different matter. It was filled with
every high-born in the city. Even those who rarely came to
Court were there. Nemir wondered if they were there simply
to see the Envoy, or if they thought that to not appear
would give the impression of disloyalty.

After they entered the room, Dansen bowed to Nemir, then
moved away, heading for the area of the room furthest from
the dais, where he usually sat. Nemir briefly wished that
he could go with him, then squared his shoulders and headed
for the dais and his proper seat. His father had not
arrived yet, nor had the envoy and his entourage.

Nemir took his seat, and glanced towards the door that led
to his father's office. He'd left the man there only a
while ago, but perhaps the Prince had returned to his
private apartments to dress for the evening.

Nothing could begin, though, until the Prince arrived, and
the assembled nobility was already becoming restless. As
the minutes passed, Nemir found himself becoming equally
restless. Finally his patience came to an end. He rose, and
with every eye in the room on him, he went to the door that
the Prince used to enter the banquet hall.

He ignored the guard that stood at the door. Instead, with
every eye in the room on him, he passed through the wrought
iron gate that guarded the passage, then moved down the
short hallway to the solid door that led to the office. His
nose prickled, and as he hesitated at the door, he
recognized the scent. Blood.

Nemir drew his sword, then was distracted by the sound of
footsteps behind him. He turned quickly, only to find
Dansen behind him, likewise armed. Dansen was prudently out
of reach, knowing the danger of coming up behind an armed
and trained warrior.

Dansen tilted his head in a manner that asked a question,
and Nemir nodded. He took the handle of the door and slowly
eased it open. The hinges were well oiled, and the door
opened silently. Partially concealed by the doorframe,
Nemir looked into the room.

Darkness. A single lamp hung from the ceiling in the
corner, but the oil was low and the flame flickered,
creating shadows that danced wildly. Shadows that could
conceal anything. And the blood scent was even stronger,
heightening his disquiet.

But there were no sounds of movement, so Nemir moved into
the room, Dansen close on his heels. In the banquet hall,
world away, he could barely hear the rising murmur of
conversation. Needing light, Nemir moved to the lamp, took
it down, and trimmed the wick, creating a more even light,
though it would not last long. Then he turned, lamp in
hand, to survey the room, and drew in a sharp breath at the
same time as Dansen made a horrified sound.

The Prince was prone on the floor next to his desk, a pool
of blood spreading from under him. The blood shone slickly
in the lamplight, telling them that the death had been
recent and violent. The short sword in his hand was
likewise stained with blood, telling Nemir that his father
had died fighting. Konda was also dead, closer to the
room's other door, which led out to the corridor leading to
the royal family's residential wing. He had been wounded
many times, and again, the sword clenched in one hand and
the dagger held in the other were both thick with blood. As
would be expected, his body, where it had fallen, was
between where the invaders would have come in and his
Prince. Nemir bent down long enough close the man's eyes.
His father's face was turned away, and he could not bring
himself to shift the man.

"How was this possible?" Dansen asked, his voice thick with
emotion. "Who could have breached the security of the
Palace so soon after an assassin reached your rooms? Where
was the Guard?"

"Questions that will have to be answered," Nemir replied
softly. So many question and thoughts whirled through his
mind like the debris in a dust devil, but one became clear.

The Prince was dead. He was now Prince. And his father's
assassins were probably still in the palace.

Screams broke the silence of the room, and both men turned
towards the corridor they had come through. More shocked
screams followed, although none were of pain. Not yet.
Dansen immediately moved to stand between him and the doors
as best as he could. "Nemir..." he said, his tone pleading
with the Heir to tell him what they should do.

But Nemir was frozen with indecision. For this to have
happened was unthinkable, and he could not form a plan.

But then there were footsteps in the hallway, and a
decision needed to be made immediately. "Move!" he said
hoarsely, heading for the other exit. Dansen was right
behind him, and they went through the door at a run, not
knowing what they might find outside.

In the hallway were three guards. Two were members of the
Palace Guard, and they were as dead as the men they were
supposed to protect. One of them was Jorak, still dressed
in the ceremonial uniform he so hated, he noted with a
strange calm.

The third man, very much alive, wore an unfamiliar uniform,
and in a flash Nemir understood. The envoy from the God-
King had come accompanied by a contingent of guards, and it
was they that had killed his father.

The stranger had his sword drawn, as though he had expected
them, and likely he had. However, he had not expected two
armed and well-trained fighters. The calm vanished, and his
vision went red with fury. Nemir bellowed a challenge, and
attacked before the other man was ready to defend himself.
In short order, the man had joined the other two on the
bloody floor, dead or nearly so.

"Run!" Dansen hissed, pulling at Nemir's arm when the Heir
stopped to glare at the would-be assassin.

Run they did. Operating on instinct, Nemir led the way
along the corridors, following the familiar path through
the corridors. As they ran, they heard shouting behind
them, which only added speed to their feet.

It was only as they came to the corridor to his rooms that
Nemir began to wonder what would be waiting there for them.
Would Judas and the others be waiting there with no idea of
what had passed? Or were they dead or prisoners, and it was
armed men that they would find waiting?

Then the door was in front of him, and he pushed through,
bloody sword held before him.

And everything was as he had left it. Healer Kale and Judas
sat at the carved chess set that had been a gift from his
father, playing a game. Markus was reading one of the many
books that had accumulated in the rooms, more for Judas
than for Nemir. Nahanna was sitting in a corner on a
cushion, her eyes shut and deep lines on her forehead,
between her eyes. On their entrance, all eyes were fixed on
them.

Nemir brushed past them all, ignoring their questions. In
the bed chamber, he grabbed the saddlebags that he kept his
Guard equipment in. During the race through the hallways,
he had come to realize that there was little choice.

They needed to leave. Leave the Palace. Perhaps leave the
city, leave Ajantha, altogether. But they needed to leave
*this* place quickly.

"We go, now," he said, emerging from the room a moment
later.

"What happened?" Judas asked, already on his feet.

"The Prince is dead. Murdered," Dansen said for him. The
other man sounded like a boy after his first battle, dazed
and confused.

"And they will be coming," Nemir finished for him. "So
move!"

Dansen and Markus had their bags, left there due to Nemir's
misgivings. For the others, there was no time for anything
to be collected. Quickly, they emerged into the hallway,
straining to hear the sounds of armed men coming. There was
nothing yet, but Nemir knew that they would be there before
much time had passed.

But which direction to take? Which direction would they be
able to escape by?

The answer came from an unexpected source. "Follow me,"
Kale said, walking briskly, which was as fast as a man of
his advanced years could move, and as Nemir and the rest
followed, he wondered how they would possibly be able to
bring the man with them.

Healer Kale led them to one of the smaller apartments, one
that would have been taken by Nemir's younger brother if he
had one, or perhaps a brother of his father, if his father
were not also the only son of *his* father. As it was, the
rooms had not been used for many years, although the Palace
servants kept it clean.

Nemir wondered where the healer was leading them, but the
sound of booted feet coming made him hold his tongue as the
man leading them went into the bed chamber, and then even
into the tiny dressing area.

And there he pressed on a piece of carving and they watched
in amazement as a piece of wall shifted, revealing a dark
space behind. The mechanism was as well-maintained as the
rooms, moving almost silently. "Quickly," Kale whispered,
and they all passed him, moving into the dark, and the door
shut behind them.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Thirty-Three
----------------------------------------

It seemed to Judas that the sound of their breathing in the narrow space
was so loud that it was unthinkable that their pursuers would not hear it,
revealing their dark hiding space. But they did not remain where they were
for long. The space was revealed to be a passageway, although it was too
dark for them to see the details, and Healer Kale urged them on with
whispers so soft that he could barely be heard.

They moved slowly and cautiously, since in the dark it would be far too
easy to stumble. Eventually, though, Judas's eyes adjusted to the dark, and
he was able to make out the faint outlines of his companions' shadows.
They did not cluster too tightly as that would make defense impossible if
they were discovered, but were not so separated that they could not reach a
companion in less than a single stride. The Healer led the way, with
Markus right behind him. Next was Nemir, and Judas stayed close by him,
not wanting to let the Heir out of his reach. If he had known that assassins
were going to kill the Prince, he never would have let Nemir leave their
rooms without him. And finally, Dansen followed at the rear.

The Healer paused several times at junctions to make a choice of turns.
Judas was amazed at how extensive the hidden corridors were. He did not
think that Nemir had been aware either, despite the short passageway that
they had used once going from the Healer's office to one of the main
corridors. It was beginning to seem that any part of the Palace could be
reached by secret mean: not a comfortable thought.

Finally they reached what appeared to be a dead end. Healer Kale moved
to Nemir's side. "This is one of the entries to the Healers' area. I will go
through, collect what supplies I can, then return. Stay here and be silent."
Nemir nodded, and they all moved back while Kale triggered the latch for
the hidden door.

Minutes stretched to hours, it seemed to Judas, even though he knew that
it really had been only minutes. Sweat dripped down his spine, and he
moved closer to Nemir, leaning against the other man and trying to convey
what little comfort he could. If they were discovered, there would be little
he could do to protect Nemir, and the thought of failing him was
unthinkable.

Finally, the door cracked open and Healer Kale slipped through holding a
large bundle. "Take these," he whispered, holding out his burden to
Nemir. The bundle proved to contain several cloaks and a bag containing
food and coins, as well as several jars. "Word has already spread. The
God-King's representative has declared the Prince a traitor, and you with
him. His soldiers are searching the Palace, but have not moved past its
confines yet. If you move quickly, you may be able to escape the city."

"Run?" Nemir said, his distaste for the idea evident, as they wrapped
themselves in the cloaks that managed to disguise everything other than
Markus' great height.

"There is little you will be able to do if you stay. Already many nobles are
flocking to the envoy in the hopes of improving their position under
whoever is chosen to replace your father. If you stay, you will die. Your
best chance is to run now. Perhaps some solution can be found later, but
not now. Now come, I will show you how to leave the Palace unseen."

Nemir seemed determined to protest, but Dansen waved him quiet. "Our
duty is clear, My Prince," he said, and Judas felt Nemir flinch at the title.
"Your safety is paramount, and if you protest, I will knock you senseless
myself and we will carry you to safety." Even though he spoke in the
faintest of whispers, his resolve was clear, and Nemir had no choice but
submit, although not very gracefully.

"Now, let us go," Healer Kale said anxiously, "before the soldiers stumble
onto one of the entrances to these passages."

A sense of urgency seemed to grip them, and this time silence was
sacrificed in favor of speed, although they tried to make as little sound as
possible. There was little hesitation this time in the Healer's path, until
they reached another door that seemed more like a blank wall. "This is the
outside wall of the Palace, on the east side, far from any of the guard
posts. Move quickly. Go to the desert gate. Only the Guard use it, and
there is a small garrison there. You should be able to take horses there.
Once the envoy's soldiers move their search beyond the Palace walls, they
will expect you to head to the river, so go to the desert instead. They will
expect you to seek refuge in the north, as far from the God-King as you
can go, perhaps even among Markus's people, so travel south," he said,
looking to Nahanna with an unreadable expression. "Whatever they would
expect you to do, do the opposite."

"What of you?" Nemir asked, frowning. "Surely they will quickly learn
that you were in my rooms at the time of my escape, but you speak as
though you were not coming with us."

Kale shook his head. "I am an old man, and I would only slow you down. I
will find a story that they will accept. If not, there is little that they can do
to me, and I doubt that they would dare harm a master healer. Besides, this
is my place and I will not abandon the people whose care I have been
entrusted with. Now go, before it is too late."

There was fire in the man's voice, and it ended all arguments. He worked
the hidden latch and a portion of the wall swung open, just wide enough to
allow the members of the group to squeeze through. They made the
journey from the wall's shadow to the shadows of buildings across from
the palace one at a time, watching for guards who might be watching for
them. No cry was sounded, though, and they made their way through the
city, hidden by the darkness.

All of this was completely unfamiliar to Judas. He and Nemir had ridden
through the city at night together from time to time, and once even beyond
the city gates, but they had stayed on the wide boulevards, well lit by
lanterns. Now they crept through the gardens of the mansions of the
nobles, then the alleyways behind buildings once they were further from
the Palace and the residences grew smaller and less opulent.

By the time they began to near the city walls, the buildings had become
ramshackle affairs that housed the poorest of the city that could actually
afford to pay for a roof over their heads, and those that could not lurked in
the dark. They all kept their hands on the hilts of their weapons, for those
who would likely slip a blade between their ribs for whatever they carried.

They were nearly to the city walls, past the last of the buildings that
provided residences, and into the realm of the storehouses, built inside the
walls where they were protected from any raiders foolhardy enough to
come this close to the city, when a portion of the shadows detached from
doorways, moving towards them.

Their little party came to a stop, and it did not escape Judas's notice that
Nemir, Dansen, and Markus shifted to surround himself and Nahanna.
Despite the fact that his training at the hands of Nemir meant that he was
not helpless to defend himself, Judas appreciated the thought, especially
since it had been just that morning that an assassin had attempted to kill
him. Indeed, it made his head reel to realize how much had happened in
that time. One day earlier, life had been without worry, other than small
ones. Now they were on the run from forces who had slain the Prince and
were no doubt searching for them at that very moment.

Nemir stood between them and the bandits. He was steady as a rock, his
feet firmly planted on the rough stone cobbles of the street, one hand on
his sword hilt and the other hanging by his side. "You would be wise to
turn around and leave," he said softly, his voice filled with a menace that
any wise man would have recognized. A pity that the five men advancing
were not wise. Indeed, the lead man laughed. He was tall and heavy, with
a scar causing the skin on the side of his face to pucker and twist. His
clothing was of fine materials, but filthy and ragged; no doubt the product
of past robberies.

"A toll is required to pass through this part of town, little boy," the man
said with a sneer that would have been easy to hear in his voice even if the
moon had not provided enough light to see his face. "I can smell the gold
on you. Hand it over and we might let you live."

The other men were moving to surround them, and one of them stopped in
surprise. "A woman!" he said, feinting towards Nahanna. The ability to
read minds was not necessary to know his intentions. Dansen, who was
closest to him, moved to intercept him with the edge of his blade. The man
cried out and clutched his now bleeding arm to his chest. The other men
drew long knives that were more suited to tight quarters than the sword
that Nemir carried and advanced, growling curses.

"Do no hurt the woman," their leader ordered, drawing a dagger with each
hand. "She could be worth money from the slave houses."

"And if she is not, she can certainly provide an hour or two of
amusement," the injured man snarled, falling back, letting his fellows take
the fight without him.

The remaining four men attacked as a pack, two of them going for
Markus, the largest of the group, while the other two focused on Dansen
and Nemir. Blades were quickly drawn, and metal met metal in a clash
that echoed off the stone walls of the buildings around them.

Judas drew his own blade, the knife that Nemir had given him earlier, and
shifted until Nahanna was pressed between him and a wall where he could
protect her.

What followed was a deadly dance that would take your breath away.
Their attackers might not have the training, but they had a raw talent for
violence that made them very dangerous. But the three men they faced
were equally dangerous, and all three had the training to raise them to the
level of lethal.

Dansen ducked the swing of his opponent's dagger, and swung his own
blade in a graceful arc that slit the would-be robber's throat, spraying the
area with blood. Before the man's body hit the ground, Dansen had already
turned to go to Markus's aid. Between the two of them, Markus's attackers
were dispatched almost as quickly as Dansen's had been.

That just left the man already injured -- that one, Judas noted, was already
heading away from them at a run, leaving a trail of blood splatters behind -
- and the leader. Markus and Dansen moved to help Nemir, but the Heir
growled for them to stay back.

The bandit and Nemir were actually closely matched. Nemir's sword was
the a longer blade, but the other man's two daggers were better suited to
the tight confines, and he knew how to swing to good effect. However,
Nemir was well trained and practiced regularly, and bit by bit, he forced
the other man back. First blood was drawn, and it was not Nemir's blood,
then second. Judas could tell from the man's expression that he saw his
own death in Nemir's face, and a desperation took hold.

And yet it was a surprise to all when the man broke away from Nemir and
lunged towards Judas and Nahanna.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Thirty-Four
----------------------------------------

The men who had looked at their party and thought them easy
pickings were fools, Nemir thought to himself. Only five
men against a party of five? For cut-throats, those were
poor odds. The fact that three of their targets were
trained and armed men made those odds even worst.

Nemir was almost glad that they had been such fools,
though. There had not been enough time yet for him to
absorb the realization that his father was dead, slain on
the God-King's orders. He wanted to rage, to howl his grief
to the skies, but there was no time. No matter what his own
wishes were, there were lives that depended on him.

Indeed, the lives of everyone in the city depended on him,
but there was little he could do for them. While the Guard
would no doubt follow him against the envoy and his
personal soldiers, and they would be able to easily kill
them, it would only bring greater danger to the city. The
God-King would not hesitate to send an army to destroy the
city and everyone in it. Much as he hated to admit it, Kale
had been right. All he could do for his city was leave. The
only lives he could directly protect were the four who had
chosen to come with him.

But still, the rage simmered within him, and the cut-
throats were a perfect target for it. When the leader drew
the two long and wicked-looking daggers, he nearly laughed.
They did not have time for this, but he would kill this man
and his followers and rejoice in their pain. Their blood
would cool the raging in his.

With one part of his thoughts he tracked the other members
of the gang. Three moved against Markus and Dansen, but he
knew that the two men were well able to defend themselves.
He had sparred once against Markus, and the foreigner had
strength and reach and a strange fighting style that made
him impossible to predict. And Dansen, although smaller,
was quick on his feet. He knew that he had no need to worry
about them. The man Dansen had already cut was staying well
out of reach, his injured arm clutched to his chest. By the
amount of blood splashed on the stones, he would be a
danger to no one.

But the leader was good, surprisingly so. With a blade in
each hand, he weaved a dance that was crude and brutal, and
probably effective against most foolish enough to wander
into his reach. But Nemir was not like most. He was
hampered by the closeness of the walls in this passage
between warehouses, but that was of no concern to him.

He ignored a feint from one blade, and ducked a swing from
the other. Taking advantage of the other man's mistake, he
struck out, deliberately only going for a shallow cut. A
small, cruel part of him wanted to make the man suffer, the
way he could not make his father's killers suffer. A second
attempt at a feint and strike by the man -- it seemed to be
the sum of his fighting style, and was doubtlessly very
effective against someone who had not trained to counter it
-- led to a second cut, a little deeper this time.

The man knew that he could not win; Nemir could see it in
his eyes. They darted to each side, looking for an escape
that he was not going to find. The blood-lust was rising in
Nemir, and he grinned at the thought of sliding his blade
between the other man's ribs, the man's lifeblood running
down the steel to his fist.

That was when the cut-throat did the unexpected, the
unthinkable. With Nemir in front of him, Markus and Dansen
behind, and no hope of running, he lunged towards Judas and
Nahanna.

The two non-fighters were pressed against the outside wall
of a warehouse, with Judas between Nahanna and the cut-
throat. Nemir moved quickly, but not quick enough. The
bandit did not kill Judas, though. Instead, he dropped one
of his daggers so that he could seize Judas, with the sharp
edge of his other dagger held to the throat of Nemir's
Companion. Nahanna froze, then at a gesture from Dansen,
moved away until she was out of reach.

Nemir went cold, and he cursed himself for a fool. In his
desire to make someone, anyone suffer for what had happened
to his father, he had not gone for the quick kill, and now
Judas was going to pay for it.

"There's no place you can go," he told the man. "Release
him and we *might* let you run."

"I could kill him," the man blustered.

"Then we will kill you," Nemir responded with steel in his
voice and fear in his heart.

"If I take him with me, you will not follow."

"If you take him with you, you will kill him," Nemir
replied, praying that the man would not follow through on
his threat. "So, if you try to take him with you, we *will*
follow, and eventually, you will die. This night. Your only
hope is to let him go and run."

The sweat was rolling down the man's face, and Nemir could
see the blade tremble as the man's hand shook. He prayed
that it was far enough from Judas's throat that he was not
at risk of having his throat cut by mistake, but he did not
let any of the fear show on his face. If he did, then Judas
was as good as dead. As well, the injured man had run, and
might return with more of his kind. They were too far from
the Guard gate and the station there for help to come for
them. Their only hope was for this to be resolved quickly,
then make for the gate as fast as they could.

"If I let him go, what stops you from killing me then?"

Nemir took a careful step forward, and the man stepped
back, his blade pressing a little closer to Judas's throat.
Nemir stopped again. "Nothing. But if you run, we might let
you go."

Markus and Dansen moved aside, presenting the man with a
clear path towards one of the wider streets. His eyes
darted towards the escape route, back to Nemir, then to the
escape route again.

Time slowed, and Nemir could almost see the man considering
all of the options. Then the man tensed. Nemir dropped into
a ready stance, but before he could move, the cut-throat
shoved Judas directly at him. Then he spun and ran, passing
between Markus and Dansen.

"Do we...?" Dansen started to ask, but Nemir shook his
head.

"Let him go. If the other one went for help, we do not have
time. We need to get out of the city quickly."

He hugged Judas quickly, then set him on his feet. Their
few possessions, which had been dropped in the fight, were
reclaimed, and they set out again, but at a quicker pace,
and this time with their swords drawn and still red with
blood.

No one was foolish enough to try to interfere with them.

>>>~~~<<<

The night was quickly coming to an end by the time they
reached the small gate the was used solely by the Guard.
There was a small stable, with horses used when urgent
messages needed to be sent to either the Palace or to other
cities. Messengers could remount, leaving exhausted horses
behind as they rode on to their destination. The small
station itself was lightly manned. A handful of guards who
patrolled the section of wall and cared for the horses.

This was the highest risk that they would have to face in
their escape. If the envoy had thought to send his men to
each of the city gates, then they would be stopped here,
unable to leave the city, and eventually they would be
captured.

"Stay here," Nemir said in a low voice. Using a rag from
his saddlebag, he cleaned, then sheathed, his sword. "I
will go in and arrange for horses."

"Nemir--"

"No," he said, cutting Judas off. "There will be no
argument. Stay here until I signal for you."

Judas's expression was rebellious, but he finally nodded
his agreement. Relieved, Nemir turned and strode towards
the lit door of the Guard station. As he emerged from
shadows to cross the open area in front of the station, a
challenge was called, and he breathed a sigh of relief when
he recognized the voice.

"Ho, Ferath! Have your fellows not yet strangled you? Or
have you stopped winning at dice quite so often?"

"Nemir! What brings you down from your lofty hill?" The
words might be resentful, but the tone was pure jollity.
Ferath was the always the one with a ready joke to lighten
the mood, and if his words could be considered hurtful, no
one took them that way, since there was never any spite
behind them.

But fortune was definitely with them, since Ferath was
definitely one he would trust with his life, having served
in the same Guard company with him for a year before his
father summoned him back to Ajantha. "Dark deeds," he said,
stepping through the door into the Guard station. Ferath
was not alone, but the other two men -- and the dice and
pile of coins told him how the three men had been spending
their time, even though it was against the rules -- were
both men he'd served with in the past.

Ferath's expression immediately turned serious. "What has
happened? We have heard that foreign soldiers have entered
the city, but nothing since then."

Nemir's throat clenched. "The God-King's envoy declared the
Prince a traitor and executed him only hours ago. His men
are seizing control as we speak. What they intend next, no
one knows." For a moment hot tears scalded his eyes, but he
held them back through force of will.

Identical expressions of shock spread on all three faces.
"The Prince is dead? Murdered?" Murdered, not executed, was
the word used by one of the other men. Nemir could not
remember his name, but he was pleased with the reaction.

"Dead. And now they hunt for me. While I hate the thought,
there is little I can do here for now except die, along
with those who follow me."

Ferath exchanged glances with the other two men, then
nodded. "How many horses will you need?"

Nemir sighed in relief. "There are five of us, with little
baggage. There was no time to do more than grab what was
close at hand before leaving."

Ferath turned to his fellows. "Saddle five of the horses.
And collect any food or water bags that are on hand. Move
quickly, before word can come from the Palace." The other
two men moved quickly, one headed for the stable, the other
to the back room.

Nemir was grateful, but he also felt guilty. These actions
would endanger the three men. But Ferath grinned, obviously
seeing Nemir's concern. "When they come to ask why we gave
you horses, we can honestly say that we had no word telling
us not to. What direction should we say you went?"

Nemir smiled in spite of himself. All Ferath would need to
do was tell the truth, and he would be absolved of blame.
The envoy would not be able to punish these three without
antagonizing the entire Guard; something he would not dare
do with so few men of his own. "Well, since Markus is with
us, we should head north. Once we reach the sea, we could
take ship to his father's land, well away from the God-
King's reach."

Ferath nodded. "Perfectly sensible," he said, but his eyes
acknowledged the truth: Nemir had no intention of fleeing
the Realm. He needed to avenge his father, as well as
Konda, Jorak, and any others who died as a result of this
night. He needed to clear his father's name and regain the
city. The only problem was, he had no idea of how he would
do so.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Thirty-Five
----------------------------------------

Watching Nemir enter into the Guard station alone was
difficult, but Judas bit into his lower lip and waited
silently for the long minutes that Nemir was gone.

He was so focused on the door of the station that the hand
on his shoulder came as a surprise. He turned to find
Markus standing behind him, a sympathetic expression on his
face. "Be at ease," he said in a soft, gruff voice that
reminded Judas of his grandfather. "Nemir knew the man and
went in with him. He would not have done so if he thought
there was any danger."

"Unless he felt there was no other choice," Judas said
softly, but he felt calmer, more relaxed, at the other
man's words. His head had known it was true, but his heart
needed to hear the words from another before it began to
believe.

Markus squeezed his arm reassuringly, and he leaned briefly
against the other man, letting the man's strength comfort
him. Then he pulled away again guiltily; He should not be
leaning on someone other than Nemir. And yet, Markus drew
him in ways that Nemir never would. They were both
strangers to this place, set apart from everyone else by
their appearance. From just their conversations that
evening while they all waited for Nemir, he had discovered
so much that they had in common.

Judas shuddered slightly, angry with himself. Markus
murmured one last reassurance, then moved back to speak
with his friend, Dansen, in tones so low that Judas could
not understand what they were saying. He wrapped his arms
around himself, squeezing hard. How could he be having such
thoughts? Nemir was the one he loved. Nemir was the one
whose service he was pledged by the man who had bought him.
A man who was now dead. To look at another man, to think of
him, however briefly, in such a way was a betrayal of the
purpose he'd been given, the feelings he had for Nemir. And
he did love Nemir, with all his heart. And yet, Markus...

He shut his eyes and forced those unwelcome thoughts away.
He did not want them, and more, now was not the time.

Finally, the door of the station opened again. One figure
came out and headed for the stable at a run. There was a
soft sound as Dansen drew his blade.

"What are you doing?" Judas hissed.

"If he is planning to carry a message to the Palace, he
will have to be stopped," Dansen said flatly. Judas's
stomach clenched, but he knew that the man was right. While
he did not want to see any more deaths, it could be a
choice between their deaths and the death of a single man.

But before any decision could be made, for good or ill, the
door opened again. This time it was Nemir, and he waved for
them to come. Dansen hesitated, then sheathed his sword
again. Their small group of four moved towards the light.

Five men and one woman crowded the small room almost
unbearably. Judas pressed against Nemir's side in an
attempt to conserve space, or so he told himself. Truth
was, he needed to contact to reassure himself, and to
remind himself of who and what he was. The smell of sweat,
both old and new, made the air difficult to breathe.

"This is Ferath. We were in the Guard together. He and the
other two here will supply us with horses, and tell any who
ask that we left the city and immediately headed north,"
Nemir said tiredly, breaking the thick silence.

"I will help ready the horses, then," Markus said, then
slipped from the room when Nemir nodded.

Shortly thereafter, a stranger emerged from the back room
carrying sacks. "We don't have much, but whatever travel
supplies are in here, along with lanterns and a sealed jar
of oil for them. You will have to travel fast to outrace
the storms. The winds have been increasing, and I would say
that you only have a three, maybe four days at most before
travel becomes too dangerous."

"Well, with any luck we will have reached the coast by
then," Nemir said with a nod, and the other man grinned.

"Right. Heading north is probably the best choice you could
make," the man said in a tone that said that he knew they
weren't going north. And yet he was right; heading north
towards Markus's homeland *would* be the sensible choice to
make. And yet, at Kale's urging, they would be heading
south, directly into face of the storms and towards the
heart of the God-King's domain, and Judas wasn't sure why.

The door to the station opened, and immediately weapons
were drawn, but it was Markus and a stranger, not the
envoy's men. "The horses are ready," Markus said.

Nemir nodded. "Ferath--" he said, turning to his old
friend.

The man raised a hand. "Don't say it, sir. Just keep your
hide in one piece, that is all I ask."

Nemir smiled. "I will do my best, and if I cannot, I am
sure that my companions will."

Indeed he would, Judas promised himself.

>>>~~~<<<

They mounted quickly, Markus taking the largest horse, and
Nahanna seated behind Dansen. Their meager baggage went on
the fifth horse, which was tethered to Markus's mount. Then
Ferath and one of his fellow guardsmen pushed the gate
open, letting them into the short passage that lead through
the thick walls that surrounded the city of Ajantha. Nemir
clasped forearms with Ferath and the other two guards.

"The gods be with you, my Prince," Ferath said formally,
bowing from the waist.

"Be careful, Ferath. All of you," Nemir said. "Say nothing
that would make the envoy or his men suspect you. I expect
you to be waiting when I return to Ajantha."

Ferath grinned fiercely. "We will be here," he promised.

With one last wave, the tiny party set out. It took only a
minute to pass through to the other side of the wall, where
they paused. This was a point of great danger, as guards
patrolled the walls of the city, watching for bandits
foolish enough to try for the city.

After a hushed conversation from the shadow of the wall, it
was decided that Dansen, who had the sharpest eyes of the
group would go first. He and his mount moved forward,
slowly, with Dansen twisted in the saddle to look up to the
top of the walls, watching for movement that might be a
guard.

Once he was to the edge of the dunes that marked the start
of the desert to the east of the city, he stopped, scanned
the walls, then gestured for the next rider.

One by one, Judas, then Nemir, and finally Markus made the
ride, each no doubt wondering if this was the moment when a
cry would go up, telling them that they had been seen. But
the dark of the night, the moon being low on the horizon
and sinking lower, cloaked them, allowing them to move away
from the city, heading deep into the desert. The wind was
already erasing the evidence of their passage behind them,
and the wind stung of sand. Judas thought that the guard
had been optimistic in his estimate of how long they had
until the storms hit, full strength.

Despite the rising winds, the sky was crystal clear, and
the stars sparkled brighter than Judas had seen in nearly
two years, yet he found his anxiety rising. Within the city
there was always enough lights, on those occasions where he
had found himself out of doors at night, to dim the stars,
and he had missed them. As well, he had not been beyond the
city gates since he had arrived as part of the slave
caravan, well over a year earlier. The last time he had
been free in the desert, his brother had betrayed him by
selling him to the slavers. While he knew that it was the
only way that Jamal could stop the others in the tribe from
killing him, it still hurt that his twin brother had sent
him away.

They rode on through what remained of the night, ever alert
for the signs of pursuit that never came. Unthinkable
though it was, it seemed that they had successfully escaped
the city, despite all the obstacles.

But now the horizon in front of them was beginning to pale,
reminding Judas of one of the dangers of travel that he
alone would have to face. As well, Judas still had no idea
whether or not Nemir had a destination in mind, or if they
were just striking out blindly into the desert, an act
which would kill them as quickly as their enemies.

But for Judas, the sun was the greater danger. He pulled
the cowl of his cloak over his head and low over his face
until he was nearly blind, and the sleeves -- thankfully
overlong for him -- down over his hands. It was little
protection, but under the circumstances, the best that he
could do. But he knew from experience that even with what
protection to cloak could provide, once the sun was in the
sky, he would be in pain.

Nemir dropped back briefly, bringing his mount alongside of
Judas. "Give me your reins, and I will tie them to my
saddle" he said. "There is an oasis I have visited, but it
will take until nearly midday to reach it. Once we are
there, there is a tent in the supplies that Ferath was able
to give us, and you can get out of the sun. I am sorry, but
we dare not stop until then."

Judas handed the reins over and lifted his hood long enough
to smile at Nemir. "I understand," he said reassuringly,
then dropped it again when the light made his eyes water.
"I will be fine."

Nemir kissed his hand briefly as he took the reins from
Judas. Then, with the need to hold the reins gone, Judas
tucked his hands deep inside his sleeves and dropped his
head and prepared for the long day of travel, wondering if
one day would be such a challenge, how was he going to be
able stay with the rest for the long journey ahead of them
with no end in sight.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Thirty-Six
----------------------------------------

The winds had died down with the dawn, and as the sun rose
higher in the sky, so did the temperature, until sweat
rolled down Nemir's forehead and into his eyes, making them
sting. From time to time he swayed in his saddle, fatigued
from lack of sleep and the emotional wear and tear of the
last day. All of them were at the limits of their strength,
and they would need to stop soon to rest, Judas and Markus
most especially.

Markus was from the far north, and despite years in
Ajantha, he still had difficulty with high heat, preferring
to stay within the cooler confines of the Palace during the
sun's height. And Judas...

Nemir glance back to his Companion. Judas was covered
completely by his cloak, other than the lower parts of his
legs, which were covered by breeches and boots. No portion
of his skin was exposed to direct sunlight, but Nemir could
vividly remember their first day together when Judas had
demonstrated his vulnerability to the sun by holding his
hand in a patch of light for the space of only a few
breaths. In that short exposure, Judas's skin had been
burnt so badly that it had blistered. For his sake, they
would need to do as much of their travel as possible at
night.

Of course, that led to the larger question: where were they
traveling to? He knew what his goals was -- avenging his
father's death and reclaiming his city -- but ideas of how
he was to do so eluded him. The God-King himself had
ordered his father's death. To meet his goals was to set
himself in direct conflict with the God-King. No one who
had ever done so had survived.

The God-King had ruled the empire for generations beyond
memory. Legend said that he had come out of the desert and
united warring tribes, teaching them to build cities and
grow crops, and demanded absolute obedience in payment. Who
and what he was, no one knew. He ruled, undying, ever
expanding his empire outwards. How could you defy a man who
could not be killed, as assassins had found to their dismay
in the past.

Only slightly distracted by dark thoughts, Nemir lead them
over one last dune to the sight of an oasis spread out
before them. From a distance, it looked unoccupied, but he
let his right hand drop to his sword hilt. He did not
expect to find anyone there, since it was too close to the
city and to small for a tribe to use it for shelter for the
length of the storm season, but there was always the chance
that a small raiding party or Guard scout might be using
it. But it looked like luck was with them.

"There are two tents in the equipment that Ferath supplied
us with," he told Dansen, twisting in the saddle. "We'll
set them up and sleep until sunset. Once the sun is down,
we'll continue on."

"Do we have any idea where we're going?" Dansen asked,
putting to words what they were probably all thinking.

"There's a valley, two days travel south and east from
here. The walls of the valley are riddled with caves deep
enough to hide an army in. The Guard use several of them to
store travel supplies for patrols to re-supply. If we can
reach the valley before the storms make travel impossible,
we can stay there until the storm season passes."

"And after that?"

Part of Nemir shied away from thinking that far ahead, but
he had to be honest with those who had chosen to follow him
into the unknown. "I don't know. But we will have more than
a month to discuss and decide."

Nemir helped Judas, while the others all dismounted, and
his two friends went through the baggage, looking for the
tents. They would have several hours to sleep, as well as
prepare for the rest of the trip. The frantic pace of their
escape, first from the Palace, then from the city itself,
meant that they had taken what they could grab, as well as
what was given to them by Kale and Ferath, but they had not
had time to actually see what those items were. They could
not afford to carry useless items, so they needed to know
what they had.

He tucked Judas in the shade of one of the oasis trees for
what little protection from the sun it could give him.
Nahanna, showing no signs of discomfort from the day's
travel, joined him there, while Nemir went to help Markus
and Dansen in setting up the tents and settling the horses.

The winds would not pick up again until after dark, which
meant that the horses would be fine for the day once they
were hobbled near the spring at the center of the oasis
where they could crop and drink easily. However, traveling
at night meant that they would be traveling during the
worst of the winds, which would take its toll now that they
were nearly into the storm season.

"Is Judas well?" Dansen asked in a soft voice as they
struggled to unfold the bundle of canvas and rope that made
up one of the large guard tents. Of the three of them,
Nemir was the only one who had any experience with the
shelters, making the process a confused one.

"He will be once he is under cover," Nemir said, starting
to pound the long stakes into the ground. Thankfully,
Ferath's man had thought to include a hammer for just that
purpose.

Dansen frowned. "I thought he was desert born. Surely the
heat should not affect him this strongly."

This was something he had not discussed with Judas yet:
Telling the others of his affliction. However, there was
little reason to conceal it from allies with whom they
would be traveling. "Because he was born with skin so pale,
it burns quickly in sunlight. I once saw it burn to
blistering in a few heartbeats when exposed to direct
sunlight."

Comprehension spread across Dansen's face quickly. "That is
why he did not accompany you on Ber's hunt," he said.

Nemir nodded in confirmation as they raised the center pole
of the tent and tied the ropes tightly to the stakes. It
would not hold up to storm winds, but it would protect them
during the day when the winds were at their weakest.

Before moving on to the second tent, he waved to Nahanna.
She stood, then helped Judas to his feet. While her recent
journey from the south meant that the day's travel had been
little hardship for her, Judas walked slowly and painfully.
Indeed, all of them, other than Nahanna, were showing the
effects of hours in the saddle with little sleep.
Unfortunately, they had little choice but to press on as
quickly as possible or the storms would be on them before
they reached the valley and the more permanent shelter
there.

Judas seemed to breath a sigh of relief as he entered the
tent and was finally able to remove his cloak. His face was
reddened, but not blistering, Nemir was relieved to note.
He quickly passed in the bags. "I seem to recall there
being several jars in the bundles Kale gave us. I am sure
that some of it, at least, is the cream he supplied before
for your burns."

"Thank you," Judas said softly. He looked exhausted beyond
belief.

Nemir caressed the side of Judas's face gently. "Try to get
some rest. We need to continue on as soon as the sun sets."
Judas nodded tiredly, and was already settling down with
his cloak as a pillow before Nemir left the tent.

Markus and Dansen already had the second tent laid out, and
it took little time to set it up, close to the first with
the entrances facing each other. In truth, they probably
could have all fit into one, but it would have been almost
unbearably crowded.

Nemir nodded to the two men. "We will need to take watches.
The two of you, get some sleep. I will keep watch for a
while, then wake Dansen. Markus can take the last watch
before sunset. As soon as the sun is down, we need to pack
and continue on. There is an oasis, nearly halfway between
here and the valley. If we travel through the night, we
should reach it early tomorrow morning, soon after the sun
rises."

"Is it likely to be occupied?"

Nemir shrugged. "It is possible. It would be large enough
to support one of the smaller tribes, but they generally
prefer to avoid it, since the Guard also use it frequently.
However, most of the Desert Guard have already returned to
the city in preparation for the winter storms. We will have
to wait and see."

"And be prepared," Markus said grimly.

"Exactly. When it comes to your watch, wake us before
sunset. We need to go through all that we are carrying so
that we know what we have and can discard what we cannot
use."

Markus nodded, then disappeared into the tent. Dansen
hesitated. "Are you sure that you do not want company?" he
asked, concern plain on his face, but Nemir shook his head.

"No. I doubt I could sleep yet. But both of you look tired.
Get some sleep. The next few days will be hard, and you
will need all of the rest you can steal. Go. I will be
fine."

Dansen looked dubious, but he finally nodded. "Wake me if
there is trouble."

"Go. You will need to be awake soon enough for your watch."

Dansen disappeared into the tent after his friend. Nemir
looked into the other tent, and smiled fondly at the sight
of Judas curled up with one hand in a fist under his cheek.
Nahanna had also succumbed, although she was more elegantly
laid out, with her cloak wrapped around her. Then he let
the tent flap fall shut, and went to check the rest of
their small camp.

The horses were cropping the grass, contented to stay in
one place. Nemir knelt next to the small spring that had
created the oasis and splashed cool water on his face, then
used his cupped hands to drink.

Somewhat refreshed, he started to walk a slow circle around
the edge of the oasis, his eyes on the horizon, watching
for any signs of discovery. Their escape had been
successful, but he was still waiting for something else. He
could not shake the feeling that the worst was yet to come.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Thirty-Seven
----------------------------------------

Judas's sleep was deep and undisturbed by any dreams, and
he felt refreshed when Nemir shook him awake again. He sat
up, brushing sand from his hair and clothing. There was
travel bread, made with pieces of dried fruit and meat, and
cool water. Plain fare, but it filled the hollow space in
his belly.

They were all together now, other than Markus, who was
dismantling the second tent and preparing the horses. The
sun had started its slow descent, and they needed to be
under way before it set. Travel would be difficult after
that, at least until the moon made its appearance.
Traveling by day would have been easier, but it would have
been nearly impossible for Judas.

His skin was red and sensitive to the touch, and Judas took
the jar Nemir handed him gratefully. The cream inside was
the same fragrant mix that the master Healer had supplied
him with before, and silently, he thanked the man for his
foresight. He spread the cream on his face, neck, and
hands, where the burning was worst, and sighed as the heat
and itch started to fade.

Nemir and Dansen had their packs open and the contents
spread across them. Judas moved to Nemir's side. "What are
you doing?" he asked softly.

"Going through what we have so that we know what we have to
sustain us while we travel, and so that we can discard
anything we do not need that might slow us down."

Judas thought that a sensible plan. Among the tribes,
nothing was carried that was not needed. That did not mean
that there were no personal items, or that they were
without art, but their art was practical, and the personal
items small and light. Much like his mother's carved box
which he'd had to leave behind in Ajantha. At least he'd
been able to bring its contents, Judas thought to himself,
lifting a hand to check the small lump of the quartz piece
under his clothing. It, his father's dagger, and his own
birthing cloth were the only things he had left of his life
in the tribe, and he was grateful to still have them.
Grateful, and yet feeling guilty that Nemir had not been
able to bring away the same. He could see the grief still
hanging heavy on his beloved.

Their meager possessions were quickly divided into three
piles -- food, healing supplies, and others, such as
clothing. The most perishable of the food they partitioned
out to be eaten before they set out. Other than that, there
was little that was not worth taking with them, which was
good, since they had so little to begin with.

Then everything was repacked, carefully balanced out this
time so that it would sit easier on the back of the horses,
and water bags were filled from the spring. When they were
ready, Judas pulled his cloak on so that all his skin was
shielded and went to stand next to one of the palm trees,
the trunk between him and the setting sun, and waited while
the second tent was struck and packed. Then they were back
on the horses, riding away from the sun, back into the
desert.

>>>~~~<<<

The next two nights were much like the first. They rode
through the desert, starting before the sun set and
continuing well into morning. Judas's skin continued to
burn, and even started to peel and crack, although
thankfully there were no blisters. But even without that,
he was in pain. His clothing, crusted with sand as they had
become, grated against his tender skin until he could not
bear to have anyone touch him. By the second morning, he
was also becoming fevered.

Judas worried about him, he could tell, but there was no
choice. They needed to reach Nemir's safe haven before the
storms began to blow in earnest. They had little time to
spare for his weaknesses. He felt badly enough already that
he was unable to help with setting and striking their
camps.

The second night, they rode on well into the morning until
the sun was high in the sky. The sand gradually thinned out
until they could hear the ring of hoof on rock, and the
walls of a valley rose up around them. If it had been
earlier in the day, they would have even been in shadow,
but the sun was reaching its full height, and even at the
lowest part of the valley, the sun still reached them.
However, they were mostly shielded from the winds that
continued to grow in intensity.

From under his hood, Judas could see Nemir scanning the
sides of valley, although to Judas's eyes it was more of a
ravine or canyon. There was even evidence that a water had
flowed down it at some point in the distant past. The walls
hid pools of shadow, some of which would conceal the mouths
of caves. Finally, Nemir pulled to a stop.

"There," he said, pointing to a dark spot, halfway up the
rock face. "That is one of the caves that the Guard uses to
store supplies. There is even a water source, deep inside."

"Is it safe for us?" Dansen asked, shielding his eyes as he
watched the cave entrance.

"To stay in? Probably not. A patrol could possibly come by.
However, the valley is filled with caves, and we can easily
find one untouched that we can use. And the supplies will
still be within easy reach, and if a patrol *does* come by,
they will assume that another patrol has been there before
them. It is why such caches are maintained, after all. But
it will be fine for today, I think, while we search for a
better home for the storm season."

The cave in question seemed small as they entered, but
quickly widened into a space large enough to hold all of
them, as well as the horses. There were side passages, and
looking into them, they found jars, all carefully sealed
with wax to protect their contents, and labeled with marks
that described the contents. Dried meat and fruit. Grain.
Oil for lamps. One extended passage contained enough wood
and dried dung to build cooking fires for a year. There
were even uniforms, for those whose clothing was in
tatters, for which they were all grateful. After only three
days, their clothing was full of sand and desert fleas, and
the thought of clean clothing and wash water was welcome
beyond belief.

The water came from the back of the cavern, where a passage
led downward to a sight that made Judas gasp. A river,
small, but fast moving, that ran beneath the desert. He had
never heard of such a thing. But there it was, clear and
cold, running through a cavern that dripped with moisture,
so that the rock walls glittered in the light of their
lamps like diamonds. The water was too fast moving to bathe
in, but they filled buckets and carried them up to the main
cavern to wash and cook with.

Nemir disappeared with Dansen to hunt for the cave or caves
that would be their permanent home while they waited out
the storms, leaving Markus behind to protect Judas and
Nahanna. It was not likely that they would need that
protection, but Judas did not argue. The last few days had
been so stressful that Nemir could be forgiven for being
overly cautious. Instead of worrying, he took a flint and
steel set from one the storage passages and used it to
light a small fire to cook a hot meal.

It was simple, just a grain porridge with some of the dried
meat and fruit added to it for flavor, but it was hot and
filling and a welcome change from the travel bread they'd
been subsisting on for the last few days. And perhaps
during lulls in the storms, they would be able to hunt,
bringing in fresh meat to supplement their diet.

The sun was getting low on the horizon, and the winds were
picking up again when Nemir and Dansen reappeared. "We've
found our campsite," Nemir said, sitting down and accepting
a bowl from Judas. "It is almost at the end of the valley,
where it narrows. The entrance is narrow, but passable, and
there is plenty of space inside. There is also no sign that
it has been used in the recent past, so it should be safe.
It does not have access to the river directly, but the next
cave, which is too small to live in, does."

"And the horses?" Markus asked.

"There is another cave, directly across from the one we
have chosen, that is large enough to house the horses,
close enough to care for them, but not so close that
everything will stink of horse," Dansen said around a
mouthful of food.

"Sounds good," Markus said.

"And none too soon," Nemir added as the howl of the winds
outside increased even more. The winter storms were upon
them, and to continue traveling would be too dangerous. In
a few more days, the night winds would be strong enough to
strip the skin off man or beast with the sands it carried.
Until the storms died down once more, more than a month
away, they were trapped.

"The question remains, though," Dansen said slowly, as
though reluctant to put into words his thoughts. "What will
we do after the storm season?"

Nemir set down his bowl, still nearly half full. "I am not
sure. We still do not know why it is that the God-King
would target my father. What possible benefit would there
be to him to kill the Prince of Ajantha? We have no idea."
Then his eyes turned to Nahanna. "But I think you do."

Nahanna met his eyes unflinchingly, losing none of the
grace and dignity that had carried her through the desert
without complaint. "Your father was not the God-King's
intended target," she said in a soft voice that seemed to
ring with authority. The demeanor of a simple woman of the
harem, a musician, and gift to a prince, slipped away,
leaving her seeming... other.

"Then who was?" Nemir demanded. Judas set down his own
bowl, a chill running down his spine. He did not know what
the answer would be, just that he did not want to hear it.

"It was Judas's death he sought. Judas is the only male
descendent of the kings of the south, and the only person
who can break the God-King's rule."

END PART THREE