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The Quartz Key Part Four
by Lianne Burwell
June 2002 - December 2002
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Chapter Thirty-Eight
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Nemir scanned the horizon and found it as empty as it had
been the day before and the day before that, but riding
patrol was better than returning to the cave that had been
their home for more than a month now. The strain of living
in close quarters had frayed tempers until the smallest
thing could set anyone off. And in the solitude of the
desert around the valley he could admit that he was one of
the worst.

His jaw tightened until he could hear his teeth grinding
together, and forced himself to relax. His horse danced
under him, feeling the tension in her rider. The storm
season was coming to a close, and travel would be possible
soon. They would need to leave their refuge before the
first Guard riders arrived to check the supplies for the
year, but he still had made no decision on what to do.

Nahanna had made it clear what *she* wanted. She wanted
them to travel south to her homeland. Or more to the point,
she wanted *Judas* to go south. Her only reason for wanting
the rest of them to come, it seemed, was to protect Judas
along the way.

Nemir's hand tightened into a fist around the reins. He
still found it hard to believe her claims that Judas was
the heir to the royal family of the southern clans. The
God-King had killed them all, or so the histories said. But
she claimed that a few survived, mostly babes, cousins to
their king, smuggled out of the southern capital before it
fell and hidden among the other clans and the desert
tribes. She, herself, was also a descendant of those
escapees, but Judas, it seemed, was the first male child
born to that line in more than a century, and heir to its
powers.

If her tale was the truth, then it followed that everything
that had happened, from the assassination attempt on the
night of his presentation to the death of his father had
all been for the purpose of slaying Judas before he could
become a danger to the God-King. The concept that the God-
King could be afraid of a slave was unbelievable, but it
would explain much.

But he did not want to believe, because if he did, then he
would have to accept that his father was dead because of
his Companion. Not just his father, either, but Jorak, and
Konda, and who knew how many since then. Even now, he could
not face that thought. And it was all because of Judas.

He had lost so much, and he faced the loss of even more if
he accepted her tales. He may have lost it already. Judas
had tried to help him, but how could he take comfort from
the person who might be the cause of his woes? Judas was
not to blame for existing, but...

Oh, how he wished that his father had chosen someone else
for him. Anyone else. And yet, he could not imagine having
another.

The muffled sound of hoof beats against sand brought him
out of his haze of recrimination. Blame was of no help,
whether he blamed Judas for being born, his father for
choosing to buy him, or himself for.. He shook his head.
There was nothing he could have done differently, but he
still blamed himself for not finding a better way. None of
the others blamed him, he knew, but they did not
understand.

"Anything?" Dansen asked, coming to a stop next to him. His
gelding tossed its head, trying to escape its rider's
control. Like all of them, the horses were suffering from
their long confinement. They were not meant to spend their
days lodged in caves. They needed to run, to stretch their
legs. Soon, Nemir promised them silently.

"Nothing. But it will not be long. We are too close to the
city." Again, the flash of pain that they needed to worry
about Ajantha as though it were a rival princedom, not the
city of his birth.

"So, do we head south?" The question was delivered bluntly,
but Dansen kept his eyes focused on the horizon, not
meeting Nemir's glare.

After a long moment, Nemir sighed, and slumped in the
saddle. "Do we have a choice?" he asked bitterly.

Dansen laughed briefly. "There are many choices," he said.
"The only question is which choices can you live with. We
could turn north instead, go to Markus's homeland as you
told the Guardsman. Or we could travel east, crossing the
desert and heading for lands where the God-King has no
control. Or go to the city of the Prince of Mathan. He
might be inclined to aide his daughters betrothed. Or--" He
stopped, his expression turning grim. "Or we can return to
the city and you can give Judas to the envoy. If Judas was
what they were looking for, that should satisfy them. You
would be Prince, and everything would be as it was."

For a moment, Nemir felt a dark urge to do just that, but
then he shook his head. "That is not an option," he said
firmly, more to himself than to Dansen. "No matter what has
happened, it was not Judas's fault, and he should not
suffer for it."

"Do you truly believe that?" Dansen said.

"Of course. Why would I not?"

Dansen frowned. "Then you might tell him that, for even if
you do not blame him, he blames himself."

"He has not said anything," Nemir said, surprised by the
other man's words.

"He has, but not to you. You spend little time with him, if
you can avoid it, and the only words you speak to him are
orders. You do not touch him. You act like a stranger. What
can he think, but that you blame him for all that has
happened?"

Nemir felt guilty at the words, for he could not deny them,
for in truth, Nahanna's words *had* turned Judas into a
stranger. The young man he'd known, who'd shared his life,
his bed, and his heart had been revealed as not a simple
desert tribesman made slave, but as the heir to a throne,
and a bearer of divine blood. True or not, everything had
changed, and he still had not yet decided how he felt about
it. Even after being forced into cramped quarters by the
storms and explanations by Nahanna -- although few and
vague -- he still had not decided what to do.

Dansen shifted his mount a little closer, and reached over
to lay his hand on Nemir's shoulder. "Talk to him, or you
risk losing him. He is devoted to you -- anyone can see
that -- but it will not make any difference if you drive
him away. Or is that what you want?"

Nemir refused to look at Dansen. In his mind he could hear
the hurtful responses he could make to drive the man away.
He thought of the man as a friend -- indeed, only a friend
would have followed him into exile this way -- but part of
him raged at Dansen for prying into his relationship with
Judas. And worse, part of him wanted to answer 'yes.' That
part looked at Judas every day and saw the cause of all
their woes. He hated that part.

After a minute, Dansen tugged at his reins, turned and rode
back towards the valley, not having received any answer.

The sun was dipping towards the horizon, and while the
winds were picking up again, they were no longer strong
enough to blow the sands hard enough to do more than sting.
It was time for them to leave this place, and Dansen was
correct; he needed to decide where they would be going.
*They* needed to decide.

Nemir sighed, then turned his horse and headed back towards
the valley where the others were waiting for him.

>>>~~~<<<

Descending into the valley, the last of the light
disappeared, leaving him in shadow. Above, the stars were
coming out, one by one. After stabling his horse in the
other cavern, he crossed the narrow valley to enter the
cavern that they'd made their home, long familiarity
letting him make the passage without a lantern to light his
way.

Nahanna was seated next to the fire, tending the pot that
held their dinner. A fresh kill the previous day had
provided them with more fresh meat to supplement their
diet. Despite their best efforts, they had not been able to
supply much of their own food, and they were growing tired
of grain porridge with dried fruit and meat in it. Markus
was seated against one of the cavern walls, mending the
leather of one of their saddles, with a bridle lying next
to him, waiting for its turn. Dansen was sitting close by,
sharpening a dagger. They had all been working at preparing
their equipment for their eventual departure, and they were
nearly ready. It was also time for them to start cleaning
both their own detritus and that of their horses so that
when they left, nothing would remain to give away the fact
that they'd been there.

But of Judas there was no sign, and for a moment, Nemir was
relieved. Then he felt guilty for that, yet again. It was
not Judas's fault, he reminded himself yet again.

Nahanna ignored him, but Dansen and Markus both nodded
silently, although Dansen was still frowning at him, and he
had to resist the urge to apologize to the man, even though
he did not feel he had done anything to apologize for. But
Dansen was right; he needed to speak to Judas. Perhaps even
apologize to the younger man. And before the night was
over, they all needed to discuss their next move.

He walked over to the two men and crouched down. "Where is
Judas?" he asked, and Dansen's frown eased slightly.

"He left once the shadows were deep enough for him to be
safe," Markus said softly, putting aside the saddle. "He
has been using one of the other caves when he wants some
solitude. It is halfway down the valley, and the opening is
marked by a piece of white quartz embedded in the rock
above it."

Nemir nodded, and stood again. He took up one of the
lanterns and checked to make sure that it had plenty of
oil. Lit, it cast a soft glow that would let him find his
way without injury.

He took a deep breath and set out to find his Companion.

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Chapter Thirty-Nine
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Judas maneuvered through the narrow passage carefully.
There was no light to see his way by, but it wasn't
necessary. After almost daily visits for more than a month,
he was familiar with every stone, every dip in the floor.
He knew where he was going and how to get there without
injury.

As well, although the darkness was complete, he was still
strangely aware of his surroundings on a level other than
sight. It was part of what had drawn him to this place the
first time, hurt and confused. Something had drawn him
there, something comforting.

He wondered if Nemir had returned from his patrol yet, then
pushed those thoughts away. Better not to think of the man
now. Ever since Nahanna had made her claim about Judas,
Nemir had barely looked at him, never speaking to him
unless it was a command. For the first time in many months,
he huddled alone under his blanket, cold and lonely.

He was being torn in two directions. He wanted to be with
Nemir, to follow him wherever the his love led, but Nemir
pushed him away. Nahanna pulled at him, urging him to
listen to her, to come with her, but deep down, he doubted
her. She claimed that he was the only male heir to her
people's rulers. He had a brother, a twin, he told her, but
she shrugged that off. If he did not have the markings --
the markings that had helped to alienate him from his
people -- then he wasn't a true heir. He would not have the
powers of the true royals. He did not have any powers,
Judas had protested. He did, but he needed to learn how to
use them, she told him. She would teach him everything he
needed to know.

He didn't want to learn anything. He didn't want to be a
ruler. He didn't want to be the focus of the God-King's
ire. He did not want to be to blame for all the woes that
had befallen them.

He wanted to go back to what he had been before: Nemir's
Companion. He wanted Nemir to look at him, to touch him,
to... to love him again.

Suddenly the passage widened again, and he found himself in
a cavern that rose up high above him. The river ran through
the middle, cold and clear and fast, and the light from a
small hole in the roof, letting in moon and star light,
made everything sparkle like gems. Almost immediately, his
anxieties fell away, leaving a sense of peace and calm. He
spread out the blanket he had brought with him, and lay
down on his back, with arms and legs spread out. He closed
his eyes and let his breathing slow, listening only to the
sound of water moving and dripping, and the sound of his
own breath.

As he breathed, it seemed to him that he became more aware
of his surroundings. He could feel the moisture on the
walls of the cavern as if it were sweat on his brow. He
could feel the strange, blind fish in the river as if they
were swimming through him, as if he was swimming himself.
He was both fish and river at the same time. And deep below
him, he could feel the pulse of the earth, and the
answering pulse of the piece of quartz hanging around his
neck. Everything was connected, and he was everything.

He had been drifting for a while, happily immersing himself
in the earth where there were no problems, when he felt
Nemir approaching the cave. He wondered briefly at how he
could know that Nemir was coming, carrying a lantern, and
cursing softly when he stepped on a loose stone that
skittered away. Perhaps it was just his imagination.

But when he opened his eyes, he saw the glow of a distant
flame flickering over the stone and knew that it had not
been. A moment later, he heard the sound of footsteps,
accompanied by rock rubbing against rock, and pushed
himself up to a seated position. He had no idea why Nemir
would seek him out on this night when he had not any other.

When Nemir finally arrived, the light from his lantern hit
the walls and reflected back a thousand times, making the
cavern suddenly as a bright as day. He stopped at the
entrance, his mouth slack and his eyes wide. Judas watched
his amazement wistfully. It was the first open emotion he'd
seen from the man in too long. Markus kept reassuring him
that Nemir would come to his senses, but he was no longer
sure he believed.

Indeed, between Nemir and Nahanna, the only thing that had
kept him going was the open friendship offered to him by
both Markus and Dansen. He knew now that they were not
lovers, although they were devoted to each other. And while
he could not deny the draw Markus held for him, he had
quickly figured out that the foreigner had no interest in
any male that way. In a way, it was a relief to learn, and
they had become good friends instead, now that he was
spared the temptations.

"I had no idea that this was here," Nemir said softly,
almost reverentially.

"It is beautiful," Judas said in agreement.

That drew Nemir's attention to him. Nemir set the lantern
down on a large chunk of stone and came over to sit down
next to him. Judas held his tongue, wondering what had
brought the man in search of him after all this time. He
hoped that perhaps it indicated a softening in Nemir's
attitude. And yet, a part of him was angry at Nemir, though
he hid it carefully. To lose his temper would do no good
except to create strife when they could ill afford it.

Nemir was staring up at the ceiling of the cave, glittering
with water and quartz. "The storms are nearly past," he
said, and Judas nodded. "We need to decide what to do
next."

"We will do what you decide," Judas said, his hand
clenching into a fist, gripping the blanket. He did not let
any of the bitterness that he felt bleed through into his
voice, for it was true. It was Nemir's father who was dead,
his city that was taken from him.

"It cannot be my decision alone." Nemir paused, then
reached over to lightly touch Judas's hand. "Is that what
you felt? Uprooted from everything you knew, sent into
foreign lands. Angry and hurt and... lost?"

Judas stiffened for a moment, then softened, his hands
relaxing. With a few simple words, Nemir had managed to
destroy his anger, if not his hurt. He could remember his
own pain at his exile, and even though it had faded with
time, it was still there. "All that and more," he said,
turning his hand over so that he could clasp Nemir's. "But
at least I knew my brother was alive, even if I would never
see him again."

"Nahanna wants you to go south," Nemir said, his hand
tightening around Judas's. "Her people would welcome you
with open arms."

"But would I want them to? When she first arrived, I read
those books on the southern clans. I do not know that I
could live there." He shook his head. If he had thought
Ajantha foreign to him, the southern clans were even more
so. Their royal family had lived locked in a palace, never
leaving unless surrounded by as many as a hundred guards,
and only for ceremonial purposes. They worshiped their
royal family, but they also held them almost as prisoners.
He would have more freedom as a slave, especially
considering what she'd told him about being the only male
heir. They would never let him go.

"Then what would you prefer? North to Markus's lands? East?
Back to your tribe?"

Judas wrapped his free arm around his knees, warding off
the flash of pain that he'd thought was long gone. "They
would not have me back, and my presence would only bring
danger to them, as it did to you." He closed his eyes. "You
could just kill me. Surely that would appease the God-
King," he said, hiding the fear he felt that Nemir might do
just that. It made sense, he had to admit, and the way
Nemir had been around him, perhaps it was something that
the Heir had been thinking of.

The hand holding his clutched so tightly that he could feel
bone grinding against bone. "Dansen pointed that out to me
earlier," Nemir said coldly. "But we all know that I would
no more do that than I would cut off my sword arm."

"Do we?" Judas asked softly, his own doubts bleeding into
his voice.

"I will not willingly sacrifice anyone to the monster on
the throne," Nemir said harshly. "He has taken enough
lives."

"Then what do *you* want?" Judas asked.

"I... want..." Nemir paused, then sighed. "I want this to
have all been a bad dream. I want to wake up tomorrow in my
bed, you at my side, my father waiting for me in his
office."

"Only one of those things is possible," Judas whispered.

"I know." He was silent for a moment. Then, when he spoke
again, his voice was hard. "I want the God-King dead."

"Are you sure?" Judas thought hard, trying to organize his
thoughts into words that would not offend. "The histories
say that clans were constantly at war before he came. If he
were gone, would the cities not start warring again over
territory and trade routes? Would the result be chaos?"

Nemir shook his head. "I believe that we are more civilized
now. We can control our baser instincts. And while the God-
King has stopped that sort of warring, he has brought other
forms of fear to the land. If he ordered the death of a
loyal Prince, what else will he do? The Southern Clans had
no interest in the north, except as a trading partner, but
he raised an army, no matter how unwilling his vassals
might be, and descended in force on the south to conquer
them. Why?"

"If what Nahanna says is true, it was to kill their royals,
my... ancestors. To kill the only people who supposedly had
the power to destroy him."

Nemir snorted. "If they had that power, then why was he
able to kill them so easily? If their kings had the ability
to destroy him, then why were they conquered? No, that part
of her story makes no sense."

Judas blinked in surprise. He had not thought of that, but
it made sense. "Then why would she want me to travel
south?"

"To be a figurehead," Nemir said bluntly. "Father said that
there were rumors that the south was planning to rise up
again. On their own, the rebels might meet resistance from
their own people. But if they have a king to present to the
people, that would become a rallying cry."

Judas winced. "All the more reason not to travel south," he
said, suddenly tired and depressed. "So what do we do?"

----------------------------------------
Chapter Forty
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What should they do: That was indeed a good question, and
one that Nemir did not feel he should decide on his own.
Instead, he stood and held out his hand to Judas. After a
momentary hesitation, Judas took it, and allowed himself to
be pulled to his feet.

That small hesitation cut deeply, as did the way Judas kept
his eyes lowered so that he did not look directly at Nemir.
His behavior was much like it had been in the early days
after Nemir's father had thrown them together. Had his
treatment of Judas truly been that bad? Small wonder Dansen
had been so short with him. He owed a great many apologies,
it seemed, starting here.

Judas had turned back to fold the blanket he'd been lying
on, but Nemir refused to release his hand. For a moment
they stood there, unmoving. Then, finally, Judas met his
eyes, and Nemir flinched from the coolness there.

Trying to bring a thaw to those silver eyes, Nemir brushed
the back of his free hand across Judas's cheek. "I have
been so caught up in my grief and anger that I have been
unforgivably cold to you, have I not?" he said, looking for
some sign of warming, of forgiveness. "And not just to you,
although you have suffered the worst from my ill-temper."

"As it should be," Judas said, and the pain in his voice
was barely hidden. "It is my fault that attention was drawn
to Ajantha, after all." He began to pull away, but instead,
Nemir tugged him closer. They struggled silently for a
moment, but Nemir was the stronger, and Judas finally
yielded.

Nemir reached up and drew Judas down so that their
foreheads rested together. "You cannot be blamed for being
born. And as for drawing the God-King's attention to
Ajantha, it was my father's decision to purchase you, so in
a way, he is to blame. Or Kemel for bringing you to the
city. Or your brother for selling you to him in the first
place. Besides, this all supposes that we can believe
Nahanna, which I am still not sure of."

Judas sighed heavily. "You say that, and perhaps you
believe it in your thoughts, but do you believe it in your
heart?"

"I'm not sure," Nemir said, needing to be honest. "But the
wounds on my heart are starting to heal, and as they do, it
is beginning to believe it. Will you give me time?"

Judas closed his eyes, and the way he bit into his bottom
lip made Nemir want to kiss it to sooth the small hurt
away. Giving in to impulse, he did just that. When he
pulled back, Judas's eye shone like the walls of the cave,
and he managed a small smile. "No matter what has happened,
I am still yours," he said.

Nearly limp with relief, Nemir kissed him again, wrapping
his arms around the younger man and holding him tightly.

It was a good thing Judas's blanket was still spread, for
they made good use of it.

>>>~~~<<<

When they finally returned to the cave that was their home,
Nemir felt more at ease than he had since the fateful day
when his father had died and Judas had nearly been killed
as well. It was as if a great weight had been lifted from
his shoulders, despite the trials that were surely yet to
come. As they entered the cave, all eyes went to them.
Dansen, especially, scrutinized Judas carefully, then gave
a small nod of approval at what he saw.

The others had already eaten, so Nemir served himself, then
Judas. For the first time in a while, Nemir realized with a
start, Judas immediately took a place next to him instead
of on the other side of the fire. How could he have been so
blind? He closed his eyes briefly and promised that he
would do better. How could he be prince to a city if he
couldn't see what was happening with his own lover? How
could he hope to rule if he drove away those closest to
him?

The stew was the same as they'd been eating for weeks, and
he would be glad when they left and had the chance for more
variety, if only because they would be forced to hunt for
their own food. They could not carry too much of the Guard
supplies with them. What they had eaten could be hidden,
since they'd deliberately taken from the oldest of the
supplies, but to take even more would bring the risk of
revealing their presence. Their hopes were that the God-
King's men would believe that they *had* traveled north,
ahead of the storms. If that were the case, they would be
able to travel in any other direction safely.

Which brought them to the current dilemma. "The storms have
subsided enough for travel, which means that it is only a
matter of time until the first Guard patrol arrives. It is
time to decide what we will be doing."

Nahanna frowned. "We travel south, away from the direction
in which our enemies will be seeking us," she said firmly,
as though she expected none to argue with her. She spoke as
one raised to expect unquestioning obedience, despite the
fact that women had no obvious power among the southern
clans.

"Healer Kale may have suggested that, but it has not been
decided on," Nemir said with a hard look for the woman.
"Indeed, it might be wiser for us to travel east. There, we
would be out of the lands that the God-King controls. The
trade routes are too important for him to risk angering the
kings of the east, no matter how powerful he is. The south,
however, is firmly under his fist."

"Not completely," Nahanna protested, her eyes flashing with
anger. "And not for long. And as a descendant of the true
kings, Judas needs to be there."

"Whether he wishes it or not?" Nemir asked mildly.

"It is his duty. It is his *destiny*. The God-King will not
stop hunting for him. It is only in the south that he will
have the chance to strike back first."

"So you claim," Nemir countered. "But you have offered no
proof for your words. And even if you *do* speak the truth,
it is still Judas's choice to make, and I will not allow
you to pressure him into a choice made unwillingly."

"Enough," Judas said, breaking into the battle of wills.
"We should discuss the options, then decide what is best
for *all* of us." He spoke with a quiet dignity that left
Nemir believing that he *could* be descended from royalty.

"There are four basic directions we can go in," Dansen
said, tracing an outline of a map of the land in the layer
of sand that covered the ground. "If we travel west, we
will first reach the river, and more densely populated
lands. Beyond that is more desert, then lands that border
the salt sea. We could take ship from the ports there. But
the nearest of those lands pay tribute to the God-King, and
word may have already reached them to stop us." They all
listened intently as he listed the benefits and dangers.

"Then there is the north lands, which could be reached by
traveling overland to the north, or over water from the
western ports." He glanced briefly to Markus before
continuing. "The north lands have long worried about the
God-King's ambitions, going so far as to send people to
learn all that they could of our people and lands. If we
can reach him, Markus's father would give us refuge."
Markus nodded in agreement. Nemir frowned, however. There
had been rumors for years that Markus was a spy, and now it
seemed that those tales were true. The knowledge was to
fresh to decide how he felt about it, though.

"However," Dansen continued, "north is the direction we
claimed to be heading as we left the city, and with Markus
traveling with us, it is an obvious choice, and so the God-
King's men will be seeking us along those roads, and he has
his own spies in the northern courts."

"East is the next choice. As Nemir said, the kingdoms to
the east have long resisted the God-King's incursions, with
greater success than any other land, but the trade is so
valuable that the routes through the wilderness remain
open, and caravans travel them unmolested by either side.
The routes are few in number, but if we can buy passage in
one of the caravans, we would be able to escape. But the
eastern lands are far distant, and we would have little
likelihood of returning, at least not for many years." His
eyes went to Nemir, who nodded. To travel east meant that
his revenge would be delayed, perhaps forever.

"And then there is the south," Dansen finally said,
glancing to Nahanna. "Clearly we would be welcome there. Or
more to the point, Judas would be. But the south is firmly
controlled by the God-King and his soldiers, and to reach
the south, we would have to travel through the lands
closest to his capital. However, it may be that they will
not look for us to travel in that direction, if only
because the danger *is* so great."

He sat up straight, wiping away the map with a sweep of his
hand. "Danger in every direction, but possibilities as
well. All things to be considered."

"And there is one other thing to consider," Nemir said.
"There is no rule that says that we must travel together.
If the two of you so chose, you could travel north to
Markus's home, with or without us. Indeed, you would be
safer to strike out on your own." But Markus was already
shaking his head.

"We stay together," he said gravely. In the time they'd
been in the caves, he'd grown a thick red beard, since a
razor was not a part of the supplies they'd brought with
them. He was the only one, though, since none of the other
men tended towards facial hair. "We have come this far, we
will see it through." The rest, other than Nahanna, all
nodded.

"So, then, does anyone have a preference?" he asked.

Nahanna's expression spoke volumes, but they already knew
her choice. He looked to the others.

Markus and Dansen leaned close and held a whispered
conversation. Then they turned, and Dansen spoke for them.
"Let us head for refuge in lands not under the God-King's
rule. North or East."

Nemir looked to Judas, but before the younger man could
speak, Nahanna broke in. "I would speak with Judas first,
privately."

----------------------------------------
Chapter Forty-One
----------------------------------------

After a glance to Nemir for permission, Judas reluctantly
let Nahanna draw him to the back of the cavern, no doubt in
order to convince him to him to urge Nemir to go south.
Back at the fire, Nemir was talking softly with the other
two men, and Judas watched them, longing to be there
instead.

"You *must* go south," Nahanna hissed, her hand on his arm.
"Lives count on it."

"How can lives count on my presence, when it has never been
there?" he asked. "It has not been required up until now."

"But with you there, there will finally be a chance to free
our lands from the God-King's tyranny. Perhaps even all
lands, including Ajantha," she added as an additional
incentive to follow her lead. Her expression turned
cajoling, and she stroked his forearm gently. He stepped
away, trying not to make it insulting. While he found
Nahanna very likeable, it disturbed him how she seemed to
assume that they should follow her lead all the time. It
was reminiscent of Layla's attempts to influence Nemir,
although they were otherwise completely dissimilar.

"How?" Judas said bluntly. She frowned in puzzlement, so he
clarified. "How would my presence be a deciding factor in
rebelling successfully? How can *I* help defeat a man who
has ruled for centuries?" The bitterness he felt leaked
into his voice. All his life, the God-King had been more a
concept than a man, controlling most of the known world
from his throne in Maphis. He had never seemed real to the
tribes who lived on the fringes of the empire, considering
themselves independent of his rule. Now that distant ruler
had reached out and destroyed his life.

She shook her head. "I cannot explain it now. Once we reach
my home, all will be explained."

It was Judas's turn to shake his head now. "You ask me --
*all* of us -- to take your words as truth, but you do not
offer any proof. You ask us to travel through the heart of
the enemy's lands, all on faith. I cannot ask them to
expose themselves to such danger without good reason," he
said stubbornly.

"Then we can travel on alone. They will be safe once you
are gone."

For a moment, Judas was tempted to say yes. Perhaps they
*would* be safer far from him. And yet, he was selfish. He
did not want to be separated from Nemir. Perhaps a few days
earlier, when Nemir was still shutting him out, he might
have thought differently, albeit briefly, but in his heart,
he could not bear the thought of being apart from him. "I
cannot," he said firmly. "Where Nemir goes, so will I."

Nahanna sighed, and seemed to shrink in on herself. "As you
say," she finally said. "If you cannot be convinced, then
so be it. But at least think on it."

The sadness in her voice hurt Judas. From what little she
*had* told them, she had been brought to Ajantha to find
him and bring him south. His refusal meant that she had
failed in that mission. But who had given it to her and
why? And if he did as she asked, what would he find waiting
for him? There were too many questions left unanswered for
him to fully trust her.

He returned quickly to Nemir's side, and the man asked
silently with his eyes if Judas had any information to
change their plans, and he shook his head briefly. Nemir
sighed. "We have been discussing, and we feel that east is
our best choice. While the north is out of the God-King's
direct control, he still has spies and agents in those
lands, and he will expect us to go in that direction. The
east, however, has successfully blocked him. In the east,
we will be safe to live and plan.

"We will travel south and east to one of the trade towns.
There, we should be able to find a place in one of the
caravans heading east. We will leave after the sun sets
tomorrow. The journey will not be easy, especially for
Judas, but it should only take a month, and there will be
the chance to buy supplies from the desert tribes as we
travel further from the river."

Then he turned to Nahanna. "If you prefer to return to the
south, I am sure that we can find you an escort in the
trade towns."

Nahanna met his eyes directly, with pride. "I would prefer
to stay with you. I was charged with protecting Judas, and
I will not abandon that duty." Judas also understood what
she did not say; that she had not abandoned hope of
convincing them to change their minds.

Nemir stiffened, and Judas wondered if the implied insult
was deliberate or not. Nemir's duty, after all, was to his
city and ultimately to the God-King as his ruler. By his
actions it could be said that he had abandoned one and
betrayed the other. But he did not respond in kind. "It is
decided, then," he said instead. "We best sleep now.
Tomorrow afternoon we will pack, and once the sun goes
down, we will set out. I know of a series of oases between
here and the trade towns, and we will likely run into the
desert tribes at several of them. We might even find a
group to travel with."

With that, they moved to clean up the remains of their
meal. The remaining stew would feed them the next day.
After that, they would be eating travel bread that they'd
baked in makeshift ovens over the last week, as well as
whatever they could buy or hunt for themselves. Thankfully,
they had plenty of money for their journey, thanks to
Dansen, Kale, and Ferath. The only potential danger, other
than bandits, was that something might happen to one of the
horses. Without mounts, travel would be next to impossible,
and while they would be able to buy food, the tribes would
not sell horses, at least not at a price that they could
afford.

Well after midnight, Judas took to his bedroll, while Nemir
continued to discuss their plans with Dansen and Markus.
Nahanna had gone to fetch more water for the morning and
would be gone for a while. Judas sighed deeply, and closed
his eyes.

>>>~~~<<<

Some time later, he woke briefly to feel of another body
slipping under his blanket. He stiffened, then recognized
Nemir's scent. He turned so that he could wrap his arms
around the man, enjoying just the simple closeness, a
closeness that had been missing for too long, and sighed.

Nemir stroked his hair and murmured something reassuring,
and Judas slipped back into sleep.

>>>~~~<<<

The next day was spent in a flurry of activity. Although
they'd been careful to confine their activities to caverns
that had shown no sign of previous tenancy, they cleaned
carefully, making sure that there was no sign of their
presence. A small pit was used to dispose of their waste,
as well as their horses, then was filled in and smoothed
over so that the casual observer would not notice it. The
supply caves were slightly reorganized so that the missing
rations would not be so obvious. A count of the sealed jars
would show how many were missing, but some of that number
might be put down to miscounts in previous years, or an
under-stocking.

Nahanna was still visibly unhappy with their choice of
plans, but she did not try again to convince them to change
their minds. Instead, she had helped with the packing of
their supplies, filling all of the water bags that they had
and parceling them out between their mounts and the single
pack horse.

By the time that the sun set, they were ready. The tail end
of the storm season meant that the winds would quickly
cover up their tracks; the last sign that they had been
there. With that last thought taken care of, they set out.

>>>~~~<<<

They traveled quickly by night, but without the same sense
of urgency that they'd felt before. After more than a
month, the sense of immediate danger had faded. Surely,
they all thought, by now attention had been turned north.
None of them knew what the soldiers sent north from the
capital would do in their efforts to find the small group,
but they would be looking in the wrong direction. They just
prayed that no one was hurt for supposedly hiding them or
helping them flee. Judas knew that Nemir was particularly
worried about Ferath and the guards at the way station
where they'd obtained their horses. While they had taken
great pains to make sure that the three guards could not be
blamed for letting them leave the city, nor could they tell
the soldiers what direction they had truly gone, there was
no telling how petty the envoy might be. He might punish
them simply as an example to anyone else who might consider
aiding the fleeing party.

But whatever he might do, he would have already done it, so
there was little point in worrying. For them, the only
thing they could do was to continue on their way, south and
east.

They traveled by night, stopping in the morning to find
shelter. Often, that shelter was just tent canvas spread
over them, since there were no safe oases, and the ground
was not solid enough to pitch the tent properly. Judas used
the cream Healer Kale gave him sparingly, only on the worst
burns. He had survived many years without it -- although
not under such stressful circumstances -- and since they
were not likely to be able to replace it, he tried to use
it as little as possible.

From time to time, they saw evidence of other travelers --
desert tribes, most likely -- but strangely, they did not
see any other human, which was troubling. They'd thought to
trade for or buy food, but the tribes that should be on the
move at the end of the storm season were nowhere to be
seen. The strange absence of the tribes was becoming more
and more worrisome as time went by.

But it was not until the end of the second week of travel,
when they were halfway to the mountains, that they finally
found out why.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Forty-Two
----------------------------------------

The night was half over when they rode over the peak of a
dune and saw the oasis below. Tents were pitched on the
edges, and they could see horses grazing on the grass
around the spring that was at the center of the patch of
green in a sea of sand, although the green was faded to
more of a silver grey by the moonlight.

The sight cheered them for a moment until they looked
closer. "There are no fires," Dansen said.

"And the tents look damaged from the storms," Nemir said.
Not just damaged, in fact. Several had been blown to the
ground, and there was no sign that anyone had tried to
raise them again.

"And no one moving, other than the horses. Even if all the
tribe were asleep, there would be guards. We should have
seen them long ago," Judas said firmly. As son of a tribe,
he would know. Something was very wrong in the camp below,
but they could not simply ride on, Nemir knew. They needed
to know what had happened. As well, their water supply was
running too low to make it to the next oasis.

But they would not ride in blindly. Nemir sent Dansen to
circle right, while Markus circled left. They would enter
the camp from different directions, swords drawn and ready
for any sign of ambush. Then he turned to Nahanna and
Judas.

"No," Judas said before Nemir could speak, shaking his head
firmly. "If there is anyone there, you will need me. I know
the language better than you do, and I may know them. And I
will not let you go into danger alone. Not again."

The pain in Judas's eyes brought to mind the last time
Nemir had left him behind. On that day, his father had
died, and they had been forced to flee the city of his
birth. The city that was his birthright, now stolen from
him. Nemir sighed. "Nahanna will stay here with the
horses," he finally said, giving in gracefully. As well,
Judas was correct. If anyone below was living, he might
have better chance of learning what had happened.

Scanning the tops of the dunes, Nemir saw the signal, first
from Markus, then from Dansen, that the other two men had
reached their planned positions. Then, cautiously, all four
men slipped over the top of the dunes surrounding the
oasis, staying low so that they would not be silhouetted
against the night sky.

The air was silent, other than the buzz of insects and the
whisper of wind across the sands, barely stirring the
grains. It was a far cry from the howl of the storms only a
few weeks earlier. The silence was growing even more
disturbing. There was no sound of voices -- and they would
have carried this close to water.

A sudden gust of wind made a piece of canvas suddenly start
flapping with a sound much like a whip cracking, and both
Nemir and Judas jumped at the unexpected sound.

Finally, they reached a tent at the edge of the camp. There
were still no sounds of human habitation. But the buzz of
flies was stronger than it should have been.

Nemir used the flat of his sword blade to push the tent
flap to the side, then nearly gagged as the stench of death
reached him. One glance told him that none were left alive
inside. Three bodies, two of them heartbreakingly small.
All were long dead, only recognizable because the dry air
of the desert had desiccated the bodied instead of letting
them rot.

"Oh, bright son," Judas moaned next to him, his complexion
even paler than normal in the moonlight. Nemir closed his
eyes and thought a brief prayer for the dead. The wounds on
the three bodies told a story, and he knew already that
they would find no one alive in the camp. They had all been
murdered.

The day of his father's death, he'd been reading reports
speaking of strangers in the desert, as well as the strange
absence of some of the desert tribes. It appeared that they
had the answer to at least one of those mysteries.

"They are all dead," Markus said, coming up behind them.
"Cut down where they stood. Animals have taken some of the
bodies, but other than that, nothing has been disturbed."

"Could it be raiders?" Nemir asked, even though he knew
that it was unlikely. Bandits would have taken the most
valuable possessions of the tribe: their horses. Already
they had attracted the attention of the beasts, and several
of them were clustered nearby, watching them with velvet-
dark eyes. Some still bore marks from the sandstorms, as
well as animal attack, and Nemir wondered how many of their
number were also dead.

Dansen arrived as he spoke. "I saw no sign of search or
theft," he said. "This was butchery, not a raid."

Nemir signed, and shut his eyes. "We should learn what we
can. Then we will pack what we can take, and prepare those
horses that can travel and continue on." He did not like
what seemed like theft to him, but the horses would allow
them to travel faster, by switching mounts through to night
to fresher beasts, and would give them something to sell
when they reached the trade towns so that they could buy
passage on one of the caravans. Honor did not want to take
the horses, but practicality demanded it.

"Karsa?"

The question asked in a strangled tone brought their
attention back to the horses. One of them, almost
completely unmarked, tossed its head in response to Judas's
voice. Judas moved to the horse -- a stallion, and one of
exceptionally fine lines, Nemir noted -- and lifted a hand
to stroke the beast's cheek. Normally, as desert mount
would resist a stranger's touch, but this one not only
allowed it, he pressed up against the slender young man,
nearly knocking him off his feet.

"Judas?" Nemir said, stepping closer. Judas turned, and his
cheeks glistened in the dim silver light.

"This is Karsa. He is... my brother's horse." Judas started
to shake, and Nemir quickly wrapped his arms around his
Companion, holding tight as the younger man tried to regain
self-control.

Then, as suddenly as they started, the tremors stopped, and
Judas pulled away violently. Twisting in place, he started
walking, then running, through the camp. Every body, he
stopped to examine the face, sometimes muttering a name.
They followed, chilled by more than just the night air.
Nemir had never thought to consider that they might
encounter Judas's tribe, but never could he have imagined
something this horrific.

It was at the edge of camp where Markus had entered that
the only true signs of resistance were found. The bodies of
men were scattered, some showing the marks of animal
depredation. Their blades were still in their hands, and
many of them were stained with the dried remains of blood,
although there was no sign of any bodies that did not
belong to tribe members. Either they'd failed to kill even
a single one of their enemies, or their attackers had taken
away their own dead, leaving their victims to lie in the
sun. Either thought made Nemir feel ill.

Judas was sinking to his knees next to one body. "Jamal,"
he whispered, and Nemir recognized the name. This was the
brother who had become chief after their grandfather's
death. Then one who had sold his own brother to slavers to
save him from members of their tribe who wanted to kill
him.

Jamal had not died easily. While the others had obviously
died cleanly from sword-wounds, Jamal had survived the
battle. Wounds covered his body, but none of them would
have been fatal if properly treated. If there had been
anyone left to treat him.

Instead, he'd been staked out, surrounded by the bodies of
his warriors. Small cuts covered him, leaving him crusted
with dried blood. Insects still crawled all over him. His
skin said that he had been left like that, probably alive,
for days. He had been tortured.

Judas's entire body was shaking with silent sobs as he
bowed his head over his brother's body. Nemir knelt next to
him, drawing him close so that Judas could cry on his
shoulder. Unbidden, his own tears came now. Tears for his
own dead -- tears that had refused to come until now --
flowed down his own cheeks. All the pain that he'd kept
locked away since the moment he'd seen his father's body on
the floor of his office, lying in a pool of his own blood,
was unleashed, and deep inside, he knew that the same hands
were responsible for both their pains.

"This is my fault," he heard Judas mumble against his
cloak. "I should never have been born."

Markus and Dansen had moved a respectful distance away, so
Nemir felt no shame at clutching Judas a little closer,
kissing his tear-stained cheeks. "Do not say that," he
pleaded, and was shocked when his voice cracked. "I do not
want to think of that. My world would be poorer without you
in it."

"But your father would be alive, and you would not be
running for your life." The sobs were slowing, but Judas
was clutching his cloak so tightly that Nemir wondered if
he would ever let go, or if he wanted the other man to.

"But it did happen, and I cannot deal with this alone. I
need you, Judas. Don't abandon me." For a moment a
kaleidoscope of images flashed before his eyes, and in
every one of them, Judas lay dead in front of him, often by
his own hands. Nemir's arms tightened until Judas gasped in
actual pain.

"I won't," the other man promised breathlessly, and Nemir
loosened his grip, but only slightly. Was this how his
father had felt about Konda? If so, deep down he was glad
that they had been able to die together. Neither one had
been left with the pain of separation, the guilt of
surviving of the other.

He rocked Judas back and forth, stroking his pale hair,
offering the comfort that he'd refused in return for so
long. Comfort for his brother's death. Comfort for the
destruction of his past, more thorough than his own.

And over the other man's shoulder, he could see Jamal's
sightless eyes staring skyward, his face strangely
peaceful, despite the horror of his death.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Forty-Three
----------------------------------------

When Judas finally came to notice his surroundings again,
it was daylight, and he was inside a very familiar tent.
Thankfully, it was one of the tents that they had carried
with them, not one from his childhood. He did not remember
anything after finding his brother's... body...

Judas shuddered, but he had no more tears left to cry. His
eyes felt as though they were filled with sand, and his
throat was parched. He sat up and scrubbed his face with
the back of a hand that was probably even more filthy than
his face. His head ached and his chest hurt.

"Here. Drink."

He had not realized that Nahanna was also in the tent.
Grateful, he took the water skin from her and took a
mouthful, allowing it to sit in his mouth, soaking into the
dry tissues, before swallowing. When his throat was no
longer so painful, he attempted a question. "Where are we?"

She shrugged. "Not far from the oasis. Nemir felt that it
would not be right to leave your tribe to lie in the sun,"
she said, although it was clear in the way she said it that
she did not understand why. It was not malice or
callousness or even disapproval, just simple
incomprehension. "He and the others are burying the bodies,
as well as collecting the horses."

"Thank you," Judas said, closing his eyes. Even though he'd
been insensible for some hours, he was still exhausted.

But even more, he was thankful to Nemir for taking the time
out of their journey to give the proper rites to a people
not his own. While Judas knew that they should press on as
quickly as possible, he could not bear the thought of his
brother, with whom he'd shared a womb and the first
eighteen years of his life, being left to elements and the
animals any longer than he already had.

Jamal's face rose up in his vision, eyes turned skyward,
and he curled up into a miserable ball. No matter what
Nemir had said, he knew that this was his fault. His
brother had been tortured, then left to die a slow and
painful death, and he was sure that it had been done by
those looking for him. By the God-King's soldiers. The same
ones who had killed the Prince and Lord Konda.

Only his death would stop this madness, and part of him
longed for death. But he had promised Nemir that he would
not leave him, and as long as he was able, he would keep
that promise.

As he slipped into a true sleep this time, his brother's
face filled his mind's eye once more, but this time it was
his brother as he remembered him, laughing, with a sun-
kissed tan, coaxing Judas to sneak out of the camp with him
for a midnight ride. The moon and the stars bathed
everything in a silver glow as they rode through the
desert, just the two of them.

>>>~~~<<<

Judas woke once more, this time to the sound of voices
talking in low tones. The tent flaps were closed, but he
could feel the sun sinking towards the horizon. They would
need to ride on soon, but Judas found himself reluctant.
Once they were gone, the last signs of his tribe would
eventually be erased, by the weather and time, as if they'd
never existed, and he did not want to let that happen. Once
it did, his past would be gone, and he would have nothing
to anchor himself to the world. Nothing except for Nemir.

Having delayed as long as he could, Judas sat up,
acknowledging that he was truly awake. He felt light-
headed, but more alive than he had been earlier.

Immediately, Nemir was at his side, pressing a piece of
fruit into his hand. The vines of the oasis were probably
overloaded with no one to pick their produce but the
horses. To Judas's horror, his stomach growled. The last
part of his past -- the part that he'd comforted himself
with memories whenever he'd been homesick -- was gone, and
it seemed wrong for him to feel hungry.

Nemir looked so worried that he took the fruit and ate a
bite. For a moment, his stomach almost rebelled, but then
the hunger truly hit, and he quickly ate the rest.

When the piece of fruit, and then two more after it, were
gone, he sighed. "My brother?" he asked softly, and Nemir
closed his eyes briefly, his face reflecting Judas's pain.

Then Nemir opened his eyes and stroked the back of Judas's
hand. "We buried him," he said, and his voice was as hoarse
as Judas's, almost as if he'd been crying. "We buried all
that we could find."

For a moment, Judas resisted the urge. Then he gave in and
nearly crawled into Nemir's waiting embrace. "Thank you,"
he whispered. He did not ask how many they had found, since
that would force him to acknowledge those the animals had
taken. If any had survived the attack, the tribe's horses
would not have been left to fend for themselves, since the
horses were almost as dear to his people as their own
children.

Nemir's grip was almost painfully tight, but Judas welcomed
it. The pain made him feel real, a part of the world. But
there were no more tears left in him. Like Nemir before
him, he had grieved, and now was the time to continue on.
He pushed away, breathing deeply. "Did their attackers take
anything?" he asked, his voice steady.

"Not that we saw," Dansen answered from the other side of
the tent. Of Markus, there was no sign.

Judas nodded, and closed his eyes briefly. "Any gems or
coins should be collected. They are portable, and can be
used for trade. There will be little left unspoiled in the
way of food, but the trees should be cleaned of their fruit
to carry us through the next few days. And any grain..." He
paused. "We need to take as many of the horses with us as
we can. They are too valuable to leave behind." The thought
pained him, but selling the horses would give them money
not only for their journey east, but also enough to let
them live comfortably for perhaps several years to come.

Nemir's eyes went wide, and Judas wondered if he'd expected
Judas to protest what must be. But the last year -- and
even more so, the last months -- had taught Judas that he
must be practical. While he did not relish the idea of
selling the tribe's horses to outsiders, the alternative
would be to leave them to the elements. Many would die
without the tribe to care for them. Some would die anyway
before they reached the trade towns, from the injuries he'd
seen.

"Markus is collecting the last of the valuables," Nemir
finally admitted, his gaze sliding to the side. "The
unspoiled bags of grain and feed have already been set
aside. The only problem is that the horses will not come to
us." He looked as though he felt guilty for doing what must
be done.

Judas nodded. "As soon as the sun is down, I will introduce
you to the herd properly," he said. Once a recognized tribe
member presented another as tribe, the horses would obey
them.

That brought a small smile to his lips. What he was going
to do in effect made the others members of his tribe. A new
tribe. His brother was dead -- and he still flinched from
the thought -- but he had a new family.

>>>~~~<<<

Markus returned before the sun set, and they gorged
themselves on fresh fruit, since the fruit would not travel
well in the desert heat. New fruit was already forming on
the vines, so when one of the other tribes inevitably came
-- a tribe had to fight to keep its territory, and other
tribes would be quick to take advantage of this one's
disappearance -- there would be more waiting for them.
Fruit and the remains of tents, and the two large graves
that held the bodies of the tribe. The warriors, including
Jamal, had been buried apart from the rest.

Judas emerged from the tent as Dansen began to strike it.
The western horizon still glowed red, but the starts were
already emerging. None of the herd was in sight, but they
would not have gone far. Followed by Nemir and Markus,
Judas headed for the spring, where the herd was probably
settling.

The majority of the herd were mares, as was to be expected.
Most males were gelded to prevent fighting, although
several must be kept intact for breeding. Those horses, as
well as several of the geldings, showed signs of fighting.
With no humans to prevent their natural behavior, the
stallions had begun to fight for dominance. In time, the
herd would have broken apart, with groups of mares
following the various stallions away to form new herds
small enough to survive on their own. Eventually, another
tribe would have captured them, adding them to their own
herds. By Judas's count, nearly a third of the tribe's
horses had either already done just that, or had died
during the storm season.

As Judas came into sight, Karsa broke away from the others,
coming towards him. The mares that had already made their
choice in him followed behind, whickering softly.

Judas smiled sadly. Jamal had chosen Karsa for his own on
the very day of the stallion's birth. From that day,
Jamal's had been the only hand to train the stallion. More
than one tribe member had learned to leaving Karsa alone,
as the stallion was fiercely loyal, and Jamal seldom
granted others permission to approach. Judas was one of the
few that Karsa would trust as he would his master. For that
reason, getting him to accept a new master might be more
difficult than for the other horses.

"Brave Karsa, beautiful Karsa," Judas said softly in his
birth tongue, almost singing the words. So long since those
words had left his lips. He set his hands on either side of
Karsa's face, gently stroking the signal for trust.
"Greatest of stallions. Fleet of foot. I know you miss
Jamal." His eyes stung briefly, but he blinked the tears
away. "I pray that you will accept a new master, one I
think more than worthy of you." He pressed his forehead to
the bridge of Karsa's nose briefly.

Not letting go of the stallion, Judas straightened, and
turned his head towards Nemir. "Here," he said softly, and
Nemir stepped forward. Karsa started to step away, but
Judas kept stroking the trust signal, over and over again,
until the beast relaxed once more. "Stand behind me, with
your hands over mine," he told Nemir in almost a whisper.
Once Nemir was in place, he stroked the pattern once more.

"Can you do that?" he asked Nemir, and felt the other man
nod. "I will slip out from between you. Keep stroking, and
do not let go. When he settles once more, blow in his
nostrils so that he will recognize your scent. After that,
he will be yours for as long as you live." As am I.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Forty-Four
----------------------------------------

Nemir showed no fear to the stallion as Judas slipped out
of the way. He kept stroking the way Judas had shown him,
and while the beast tensed briefly, he had quickly quieted
once more. Once he was completely relaxed, Nemir leaned
forward and gently blew in his nostrils as Judas had
instructed, a gentle puff of air.

The stallion -- Karsa, Judas had called him -- tossed his
head, but took a step forward instead of away. He was still
wary, but beginning to accept. "Beautiful," Nemir said
softly, and the delicately pointed ears twisted towards
him.

And he was beautiful. The stallion was a rich russet color
that would shine like red gold in sunshine. It was
completely without blemish, other than a white blaze down
the bridge of his nose. His lines were the finest Nemir
could ever remember seeing, and he longed to leap on the
stallion's back and ride, just for the joy of it.

Judas disappeared from view, then reappeared, carrying a
saddle and bridle. The bridle had no bit, Nemir noted.
"This is the saddle Jamal used," Judas said softly. The
leather was dry, and would need to be properly oiled, but
it fit the stallion perfectly when placed on his back on
top of a blanket. Karsa danced away from it for a moment,
then settled, head held high. Nemir took the bridle, and
the stallion lowered his head, allowing it to be slipped
on. Without a bit, it would be difficult to use reins to
control him, but a true rider used the pressure of knees
and thighs to direct. Only a fool or a cruel man would need
to pull on the reins to direct his mount.

The other horses seemed inclined to follow the stallion's
lead, and in short order, they were lightly tethered
together, and the group's bags, supplemented by what they
had taken from the camp, were loaded up. The horses they
had ridden until now were left unburdened, having served so
faithfully until now. Judas introduced the others to
several of the horses, and they were now all mounted on
fresh beasts.

Finally, Nemir mounted Karsa for the first time. The
stallion danced lightly under him, and he sighed in pure
pleasure. Even his personal mount, who had been left behind
in their escape from Ajantha, had not been so fine a beast.
The tribes never sold their finest mounts, and Nemir could
understand why. Karsa responded eagerly to even the
lightest of touches.

Judas came up next to him, mounted on a golden-colored mare
marred only by a scar from a long distant encounter with
something that had both claws and teeth. Karsa leaned over
and nipped her lightly, in a manner that bespoke affection
rather than annoyance. "Do you like him?" Judas asked
softly. He smiled, but his eyes were sad. Nemir wished that
he could wipe that sadness away, but knew that only time
would be able to do so, and maybe not even that.

"He is magnificent," he said, leaning forward to stroke the
strong neck in front of him. Karsa arched his neck and
preened, as though he could understand the compliment. "But
he was your brother's. Should he not be your mount?"

But Judas shook his head. "He is the finest mount of the
herd. He should be yours. I *want* him to be yours."

"But he is your--" Nemir hesitated. "Your inheritance," he
finally said.

"Then he is mine to give as I wish, and I gift him to you,"
Judas said firmly, in a tone of voice that told Nemir that
he was determined.

And truth be told, Nemir did not want to protest, for in
only a few minutes he had fallen in love with the stallion.
He already knew that when they sold the horses before
joining a caravan traveling east, Karsa would be one of the
mounts that they kept for themselves. "Thank you," he
finally said, and this time, Judas's smile was bright and
open.

They set out once more, heading east, and as they rode over
the first dune, Judas and Nemir paused, letting the others
and the more than a dozen horses they had chosen to take
with them. Judas stared back at the silent camp. The mound
of the communal grave on the other side of the camp was
clear in the moonlight, as were the few horses too injured
or too old to be brought with them. Their numbers, much
fewer, would be supported by the oasis easily. Their only
concern would be the predators of the desert. It was harsh,
but it was life.

>>>~~~<<<

Nearly a full month had passed since the fading of the
winter storms when they finally rode out of the desert,
thinner, and showing the strain of long travel. Their
clothing was stained and ragged, and smelled of dust and
sweat. Their supplies were almost exhausted, and they had
not yet reached the end of their journey.

For the end of the desert was merely the start of the
wilderness that separated the Kingdom from the east. The
sand was gone, but the ground was hard and dry, barely able
to support the scrub that the horses eagerly lipped. They
were no doubt as tired of their travel rations as their
riders were.

The herd had shrunk by three, one lost to an infected
wound, one to poisoned water, and the other to a sand lion
during their travel, but the others still showed their
quality, even though their coats were ragged and their ribs
showed. They would bring a fine price once they reached the
trade towns.

A line of mountains now filled the horizon, stretching from
north to south. Passes through the mountains were few, and
none were large enough to allow the passage of an army,
which is why war between east and west had never happened,
no matter how much the east feared the God-King and the
God-King coveted the riches of the east. Indeed, only a few
of the passes would allow the safe passage of more than a
single man on horseback.

To the south, not too distant, was a haze of green that
told them there was water. While water meant that there
would also be humans, the need for clean water was too
urgent to ignore. The last two oases they had stopped at
had been poisoned, like the ones in the reports Nemir had
read so long ago for his father. Nearly a third of the
oases they had found during their travels had been
poisoned, and he was grieved by it. Graves of the dead had
been found at each, naming the poisoners as murderers. The
desert tribes would not survive without the springs, and
the fouling of them made them unusable for at least a full
turning of the seasons, if not two or more.

The result was that even though they had carried as much
water as they could, their water bags were nearly dry, so
they would need to risk discovery by approaching the river,
for there were still several days of travel ahead of them
before they would reach the foothills of the mountains and
the nearest of the trade towns.

The river flowed across the plain from the distant
mountains, working its way through a ravine that grew
deeper as it approached the desert, before finally, in the
distance, disappearing underground completely. Perhaps this
was the source of the river that had brought them water at
their storm camp. Perhaps it was even the source of some of
the many oases that were the lifeblood of desert life.

There was no sign of human life when they approached the
river, although life there was aplenty. Greenery was
abundant in the areas closest to the river, and there were
tracks of many beasts, including a small herd of goats that
winded their way down the far slope of the ravine to find a
drink.

While Markus watched the horizon warily, the rest filled
their water bags, while the horses drank their fill. The
horizon beyond the mountains were starting to glow with the
dawn's light, so they had little time to find a safe
campsite.

They rode away from the river, and as the sun was rising,
set their tents in the shade of several large boulders. The
horses were hobbled, then feed was set out, and Dansen took
the first watch.

From this point, they would need to be more vigilant. The
desert tribes were few enough that they'd only seen two
during their travels, and they'd managed to avoid one, and
talk their way past the second. But only the tribes were
fool enough to live in the desert. In the wasteland, the
risks were greater. Small villages followed the trade
routes, leading to the towns that were the last stop before
the caravans passed through the mountains and into the
east. As well, bandits were plentiful, preying on those
same caravans, returning, loaded with foreign riches.
Caravans traveled with many armed men to protect them.

That would likely be their best way of buying into one of
those caravans. The sale of the horses would give them
money, but the caravans would always welcome more guards.

A small fire was built from scrub and dried dung to cook a
meal, then they went to sleep. The sun was high in the sky
when Dansen woke Nemir to take the second watch. In soft
tones, he told Nemir that there had been no sign of danger,
whether of human or animal kind. Nemir nodded, then left
him to sleep.

Outside, the heat was rising off the hard-baked ground in
waves, making the horizon shimmer. Nemir pulled the hood of
his cloak over his head to protect himself from the sun
beating down.

A nudge to his back nearly sent him to his knees, but he
rolled and came up again, his sword in his hand, only to
find Karsa there, head bobbing in pure equine laughter.
Nemir straightened up, shaking his head. "Some days I
wonder at the things you find amusing," he said, patting
the horse's nose.

Karsa nudged his chest in an affectionate move, then went
back to his mares. Three were heavily pregnant, increasing
their value. Nemir went to one of the boulders that
sheltered their tent from view and scrambled to the top,
keep a wary eye for signs of snakes or scorpions. The tent
could be protected, but in the open, he was a vulnerable to
them as he was to a crossbow in the hands of a bandit out
of his reach.

But there was no sign of any of those dangers, and he sat
down with a sigh, using all the techniques he'd learned in
the Desert Guard to stay awake and aware and alert for the
hours of his watch. As soon as the sun set, they would
travel deeper into the wasteland, heading east, towards
their goal.

He shivered lightly, whether with anticipation or fear, and
settled in to watch.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Forty-Five
----------------------------------------

Judas's slumber was deep, but not completely dreamless. He
woke to a feeling of foreboding, and for a moment it seemed
that he could hear the angry scream of a large feline in
the distance. He froze, but none of the others in the tent
showed any sign of having heard the same. It stirred
memories, but he could not bring them clearly to mind.

"Here," Nemir said, sitting next to him. In his hand he
held a round of simple bread filled with a spiced mixture
of meat. Judas sniffed it, and was surprised to realize
that the meat was fresh. Nemir smiled warmly, recognizing
his surprise. "A small family of wild goats went by just
before the end of my watch, and I killed one with my bow
before they ran. Markus gutted and dressed it, then roasted
the meat during his watch. We have enough meat for
tonight's meal and before we camp in the morning."

Judas bit into the bread-wrapped meat, and sighed in
pleasure. They had few spices with them, but they'd been
used to best effect, and it seemed finer than any of the
Palace banquets to him. The water was warm and tasted of
leather, but it was satisfying.

Then nature called, and he stood. Nemir questioned him
without words, and Judas answered the same way. Nemir
grinned, and nodded.

Outside, on the far side of one of the strange large
boulders, someone had dug a small trench. After checking to
see that no one was watching, Judas relieved himself with a
sigh.

"Judas?"

The sound of his name made him jump, and he quickly
arranged his robes again. "Yes?" he said suspiciously.

Nahanna came around the side of the border. "I am sorry to
startle you," she said, smiling more brightly than she had
since they had set out at the end of the winter storms.
Judas frowned slightly at the sight. "But I wanted to talk
to you alone."

Judas immediately shook his head, anticipating what she
would say. "My place is with Nemir," he said, holding up a
hand to forestall her arguments. "And I have no desire to
travel south, with or without him."

"Are you sure that there is nothing that convince you?
Truly, you are needed. They are your people, and they
suffer greatly under the God-King's rule."

"Then tell me how I can end it," Judas said, frustrated.
"Tell me what it is I can do that would end that suffering.
All you say is that I am needed, but when pressed for
specifics, you say nothing."

"I am not allowed," Nahanna said, her smile vanishing, and
her eyes flashing. "Only in the temple of the Goddess can
you be told."

"Then I will never learn, for Nemir has chosen to travel
east, and I go with him," Judas said firmly. It was not the
first time that they had had this argument, and he doubted
that it would be the last time, which frustrated him
greatly.

Nahanna sighed. "The day may come when you regret that
choice," she said sadly, and for a moment, Judas's blood
ran cold. While there was no menace in the woman's voice,
her words seemed to imply a multitude of dangers. "But I
pray not," she added, and his misgivings started to fade.

A whistle broke the silence that followed, telling them
that the others were preparing to mount up. If fortune was
on their side, two more nights of travel would bring them
to the closest of the trade towns. Then their danger would
increase even more, since there would no doubt be agents
loyal to the God-King there.

Nahanna turned away first, heading for their camp. Judas
kicked the pile of dirt next to the trench over it to
conceal it before he followed her, considering her slender
form with a frown. Even now, she showed no signs of long
travel, other than the grime on her clothing. Perhaps she
was a little more slender, but there were no new lines on
her face, and she did not slump in her saddle at the end of
a long night's ride, even when the rest of them could
barely find the energy to set up one of the tents to sleep
in for the day.

Back at the camp, everything was already packed and placed
on the backs of their pack animals. Judas mounted up on the
mare that carried him most nights, while Dansen helped
Nahanna on her own mount. As was usual, Nemir was seated on
Karsa, who despite poor feed and difficult conditions,
still gleamed with health and energy. He was the finest
stallion that his tribe had produced in many years, and
seeing Nemir on his back made Judas smile. Jamal would have
approved, he thought.

They examined their surroundings carefully to ensure that
there was as little sign of their passage as possible, then
set out again.

>>>~~~<<<

When dawn came, they were still an hour's travel from the
tree-line at the base of the mountains, and the decision
was made to press on, as the trees would provide better
cover for them to camp. While there had been no sign that
they were being followed, or even that anyone suspected
their direction of travel, they were still cautious. Tales
of the God-King's mystical abilities traveled far,
hopefully gaining in power as they went, exaggerating the
truth. But to hear the minstrel's sing, the God-King could
see anything that happened in his realm. If those tales
were true, then their flight was doomed from the start.

Judas huddled under the hood of his cloak. Through great
care, more than half of the cream Healer Kale had included
in the supplies he had given them still remained, but
obtaining new would be difficult, and the caravans
traveling east would likely do so during the daytime.

Indeed, the exposure to the sun's light, greater and more
frequent than any time in his life, had had an effect,
giving his skin a light tinge of color. It was not much,
but as he had never been anything but the palest of white,
so pale that the blue veins showed clearly through his
skin, it was amazing to him.

The sun was rising above the mountain peaks and Nemir was
leading when Karsa screamed, the loud scream of an enraged
stallion. Judas looked up to see the stallion rear up, and
Nemir fall from his back. At the same time, he heard the
roar of an enraged lion, although they never traveled this
far east.

Confusion reigned for a moment as the stallion struck out,
again and again, with his hooves, while Nemir lay deathly
still. The other horses, reacting to their leader's screams
of rage, attempted to bolt back the way they had come, back
into the wilderness, but they were quickly stopped by
Markus who came us behind them. One horse alone managed to
break away, one of the pregnant mares.

Then the stallion settled back down, slowly and
reluctantly. Dansen dismounted and slipped around the
stallion's side, sword drawn, to find out what had so
enraged the beast. He stooped and prodded something with
his sword, then stood. A snake, trampled into a bloody
mess, was draped over the end of his sword. "A Diamond
Strike," he said softly.

"Impossible," Nahanna said firmly. "Diamond Strikes live on
the edges of rivers, and they are never seen this far
north."

"Be that as it may, see for yourself. This is a Diamond
Strike." He held out the snake, and she looked at it
carefully, examining the pattern of white and blue scales
against a black background. After a moment, she swallowed
hard.

"You are right," she said. "But how can this be?"

"I know not. But I know that such a snake can strike a man
on horseback down, and its poison is fatal in only a few
heartbeats. If it had bitten Nemir, he would be dead. He
may owe his life to the stallion."

Judas, in the meantime, had rushed to Nemir's side. He
still lay senseless, and a trickle of blood ran from the
corner of his mouth. Checking, Judas found that the other
man had bit the end of his tongue, causing the small flow
of blood, but had done no permanent damage. Indeed, the
flow had already stopped.

However, a lump was already growing on the back of his head
where it had struck the ground, and when his lids were
lifted away, the centers of his eyes were different sizes,
indicating that the head injury might be serious. Very
serious, indeed. "We need to make camp here," Judas said,
breaking into the discussion about the presence of a snake
that should not have been.

"There may be more Diamond Strikes," Dansen protested.
Markus had already dismounted and was unloading the pack
with the tent.

"That may be, but we cannot move Nemir, at least not far.
He is unconscious and injured. He cannot sit on a horse,
and even if he could, it would risk further injury.
Tonight, perhaps he will be able to travel, but I cannot
say. But to continue on now would risk permanent, if not
fatal, injury." He glared at the man, daring him to
protest.

Dansen did not look happy, but he finally nodded. If
anything, he seemed surprised at how forcefully Judas had
overridden his objections.

By this time, Judas's hands were badly burnt, and he tucked
them into his sleeves, ignoring the pain through long
practice. He held up the canvas as Markus set up the tent
directly above Nemir, protecting the unconscious man from
having even that little weight press down on him in case
there was any injury to the neck. Such an injury would be
even worse, perhaps permanently crippling him.

Still protesting, although too softly to make out the words
clearly, Dansen scoured the surrounding area, looking for
any sign of other snakes, but found nothing, He returned,
just as Markus finished erecting the tent. Judas had
removed his cloak and carefully slid it under Nemir's head
to cushion it from the hard ground, and Nahanna was pulling
out bread and dried meat. "I will take the first watch,"
Dansen said, accepting a chunk of travel bread and chewing
slowly on some of the dried goat meat. "We will get little
sleep, but Markus and I can keep watch. You two should
sleep."

Judas shook his head. "I will stay awake and watch Nemir.
If he woke and tried to move, he could do himself damage."

"How is he?"

Judas looked to his lover, far too still. "He sleeps. The
bleeding has stopped, which is hopeful, but from the size
of the lump on the back of his head, his skull could be
cracked." Judas bit into his lower lip, then reached over
and pinched the thin skin of the webbing at the base of the
fingers. For a moment there was nothing, then Nemir's hand
twitched away from the small pain, and he breathed a sigh
of relief. "There is no sign of paralysis," he said, and
saw his relief mirrored on the faces of the other two men.
Nahanna's expression was impossible to read.

"All we can do is wait," he finally said, settling down at
Nemir's side to do just that.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Forty-Six
----------------------------------------

When Nemir woke, it was to a pounding pain in his head and
aches everywhere else. He started to turn to his side to
push up, but that small movement made him cry out, then
start to retch, although there did not seem to be anything
in his stomach to void. He curled up into a ball and tried
to control his heaves.

A cool hand stroked his forehead, and a soft voice murmured
reassurances, and he moved towards it. The touch was as
comforting as that of his nurse when he'd suffered from the
red fever as a small child. But Judas was even dearer to
him.

"What... happened...?" he asked when the shudders started
to fade. Judas helped him sit up, and everything spun
around him for a moment. Eventually, everything settled
into firmer patterns. Judas held a water skin for him, and
he sipped the warm water gratefully. It settled his stomach
and cleaned the foul taste from his mouth.

"A Diamond Strike nearly killed you," Dansen said from the
other side of the tent. There was no sign of Markus, and
Nemir assumed that he was keeping watch. "Your horse killed
the snake, but it also threw you, and you struck your head
on the ground."

"A Diamond Strike?" Nemir started to shake his head, then
thought better of it. "They do not travel this far north or
this far from a ready water source," he said. Diamond
Strikes were water snakes.

Dansen glanced around the tent to the others, then
shrugged. "Be that as it may, but it was a Diamond Strike.
I traveled south along the river, years ago, and I have
seen them. I have also seen the result of a bite, and it is
not a pleasant death."

Nemir smiled slightly at that. "Then I owe Karsa my life. A
headache is a fair trade for my life, I think. Where are we
now?"

The expression on Dansen surprised him, turning sour as his
eyes met Judas's. "We made camp where you fell. Judas did
not want to move you until we could be sure that it would
not injure you further. I checked the area, though, and I
found no nest, no signs of any other snakes. But there was
also no sign of how the snake came to be here. It simply is
not natural."

That made Nemir's eyes narrow. "Then is it possible that
its presence was unnatural?" he asked.

From the expressions on the faces around him, no one had
thought of that possibility. But it was also an unthinkable
one. How could a single snake have been placed directly in
their path when their path was not wholly planned? And had
it been planned for them in particular, or any traveler?
And if for them, was he the target or Judas?

And who?

The thought that the God-King might be capable of this was
terrifying, but unlikely. If he could kill -- are at least
*try* to kill a man -- at this distance, then surely he
would have been able to do so in Ajantha, which would make
the sending of an envoy and soldiers to kill the Prince
unnecessary.

Nemir's head started to ache even more than before, and he
pushed those thoughts away. Unlikely as it seemed, surely
the presence of the deadly serpent must have been
coincidence.

The ache might be stronger, but Nemir's stomach had settled
enough to eat. His vision was still slightly blurred, but
when he stood up, he only swayed for a moment before
regaining his balance. His neck pained him greatly, but
considering the size of the lump on the back of his head -
and after touching it once sent shards of pain through his
head, he refrained from doing so again -- he was lucky to
be alive and not paralyzed. If he had been paralyzed... He
pushed such thoughts away.

"How long until sunset?" he asked instead, thinking in
practical terms. He was not dead or paralyzed, and they
still needed to reach the trade towns.

"Nearly two hours," Judas said, his eyes glancing to a
point on the tent's canvas that Nemir knew would mark the
sun's current position as it dipped towards the horizon.
Normally, he would have known himself, but after being
unconscious for most of the day, his time sense was not
working as it should.

Nemir closed his eyes and swayed in place for a moment as
he considered his current condition. "As soon as the sun
goes down, we will continue on," he said.

"You need more rest," Judas protested.

"Perhaps, but we also need to reach the trade towns. Once
we are there, it is not likely that we will be able to find
a caravan traveling east immediately. I will have at least
a few days, if not a full week or more, to rest. But we
will not be safe until we are on our way through the passes
and out of the Kingdom."

Then what strength he had abandoned him, and he collapsed
into a seated position, and managed to keep from retching
again by pure force of will. Judas was next to him in an
instant, keeping him from collapsing further. "Reconsider,"
Judas pled. "You are in no condition to remain seated on a
horse."

"Then sit behind me and hold me up," Nemir said, leaning
against Judas, resting his head on his Companion's
shoulder. "But we need to continue." Especially if the
snake *was* somehow a deliberate attack.

Judas sighed. "If we must," he said at last. "But we travel
slowly, and we stop if you are in any distress."

"Judas," Nemir said sternly.

"No," was the iron-willed response. "We will continue if we
must, but we will not risk you. Without you, what would we
do?" Judas touched the back of his head, and for a moment,
Nemir felt as though it had gone warm, but the touch was so
light that there was no pain. Thankfully, the pounding
eased. "An extra day or two of travel is not likely to cost
us anything if it will takes as long as you say to find a
caravan traveling east that will take us."

Caught by his own words, Nemir could do nothing but
acquiesce.

"Good. Now, sleep. You will need all the rest you can get
before we set out."

Obediently, Nemir lay down again, closing his eyes. Judas
was stroking his hair, humming a soft tune that he didn't
recognize. He could hear the sounds of the others moving
around, but it was a distant thing. Judas coaxed him back
to sleep.

And as he drifted away, he wondered at how forceful Judas
was in this. It had been more than half a year since Judas
had become his Companion, and in that time, the younger man
had always deferred to him. Now, Judas was asserting
himself more and more. He had obviously argued with Dansen
over whether or not to continue on immediately. And Nemir
had the feeling that if he were to try to insist on
traveling longer than he should that night, Judas would
force them to stop.

Judas could be such a contradiction. Quietly accepting when
Nemir pushed him away, but refusing to shift when he felt
that Nemir's health or safety was at risk.

Judas was much stronger than he'd ever thought possible,
Nemir realized as he fell asleep. Subjected to events that
would have broken anyone else, Judas had not only survived,
he had thrived. He was like sword steel: fire just made him
stronger.

>>>~~~<<<

When they moved on that evening, Nemir wanted show that he
was strong enough to ride alone, but the first time Karsa
moved, he nearly slid off the stallion's back. Judas, who
had been standing at his stirrup, prevented him from
slipping out of the saddle altogether, and mounted up behind
him.

Nemir took several deep breaths to clear his head, and
leaned back against Judas's lean frame. He closed his eyes
and relaxed, trusting Judas to support him, and dozed off as
they set out once more.

That night's travel passed in a dream-like haze, and left
Nemir with a pounding headache, but feeling much better.
They had not covered as much ground as they would have had
he been uninjured, but by they time they stopped to set up
camp, sheltered by the mountain trees, they were only two
days travel from the distant trade town, even at their
slower rate.

Judas helped him to dismount, but he was able to stand
steadily on his own, with none of the nausea or
disorientation that had plagued him the day before. He was
not allowed to help set the tent, and he fell asleep quickly
once he was set inside.

Again, Judas was stroking the back of his head, and he felt
warm, basking in the care.

>>>~~~<<<

Three days after the accident, with the sun brightening the
sky on the other side of the mountains, they were within
sight of the town, and pressing on, determined to reach the
small village before stopping. The stunted trees that marked
the edge of the wastes had grown thicker and taller, even
more numerous than along the banks of the river.

Nemir, now able to ride on his own, having healed with
amazing quickness, restrained the urge to laugh as Judas
turned in his saddle so that he could take it all in. "It is
not that amazing," he teased.

"So many trees!" Judas exclaimed, his eyes as wide as a
young child. Raised in the desert, he would have only seen
the palms and few fruit trees that grew in the oases, and
were nothing like the forest that blanketed the sides of the
mountains.

Markus snorted. "If you think this is impressive, you will
have to come north some day," he said in his deep, rumbling
voice. "There are places were you can stand on the side of a
mountain like this and see nothing but the green of the
treetops for as far as the eye can see."

The rest of them were silent at that. All of them being
desert born and bred, the concept of trees, and not the
small ones that graced the banks of the river, as far as the
eye could see was beyond their comprehension.

The trade town sat on the crest of a hill, overlooking the
trade route that wound its way from the south and west,
passing the town and heading for the mountains beyond. From
where they were, they could see the gap between the
mountains that the road passed through, although not the
road itself. Nemir had heard the tales of sheer cliffs
rising on one side of the road, dropping on the other,
barely wide enough for three men to ride abreast, or for one
of the heavy covered wagons carrying trade goods.

To prevent two caravans traveling in opposite directions
becoming ensnarled one of the narrow roads, a system had
been developed. One caravan headed through the pass from
east to west until it reached the trade town on the western
side of the pass. Once there, a caravan headed east set out
through the pass. Again, once it reached the town on the
other side of the pass where the caravans waited, the next
caravan set out. This ensured that an equal number of
caravans were able to traverse the gap in each direction.

However, the passage took nearly a week, so if a caravan had
left recently, and the next caravan was not willing to take
on passengers -- although that was unlikely if they could
pay -- they might have to wait a month or more in the town.

As they rode towards the town, Nemir could see one of the
guards on the wall gesturing in their direction. The height
of the town meant that they could see more than just
caravans emerging from the pass. Surrounded by steep slopes
on all sides, any traveler was seen well before they reached
the town, and bandits or an army would be seen any sooner.
The terrain also heavily favored the defenders, and they
would have stores of food ready in case of a siege.

Once they were inside the city walls, even an army would
have difficulty extracting them.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Forty-Seven
----------------------------------------

The sun was disappearing behind them as they rode into the
town, so Judas was able to pull his hood back enough to
look around. The trade town was nothing like Ajantha, being
much smaller with fewer people, but it was only the second
city he had ever seen, and he found himself cataloguing the
differences between the two.

Ajantha was by far cleaner, he noticed immediately. The
streets of the town were packed earth instead of cobbled,
and there were no gutters to carry away the waste left by
pack animals or thrown from the windows of the buildings
above. The buildings were of rougher design, with none of
the ornamentation he had seen in Ajantha on his night rides
with Nemir, although those rides had normally been through
the more prosperous areas of the city. While
intellectually, Judas understood that there were segments
of the town that were poorer, he had never seen them, and
had no mental image of what they might look like.

But the trade town seemed to have more energy than Ajantha.
The locals bustled from location to location as they were
on urgent errands. They also looked to be of many races.
Some had skin as fair as Markus, while others were so dark
as to look like ebony, men and women from the far south.
The latter looked like savage gods, muscular and dressed in
skins, with weapons hanging from hips and sashes across the
chest. Desert tribesmen who watched them and their horses
suspiciously and the yellow-skinned eastern men with their
strangely-shaped eyes were everywhere.

All this Judas took in without every letting the hood of
his cloak fall back completely. His pale hair had resisted
all attempts to dye it, and was far too distinctive. If
there were any spies from the capital searching for them,
all that would be needed for them to be discovered was for
him to uncover his head.

Instead of looking for one of the boarding houses that
apparently made their business by housing the members of
caravans waiting for their turn through the pass, Nemir
questioned one of the locals softly, then led the way to
the east side of town where they could smell the animal
pens long before they saw them. Once there, Nemir led the
way to the area closest to the wall and, Judas noted
carefully, another gate. The pens there were cleaner, and
the people looked better prepared to leave quickly. Perhaps
each group's location in the encampment was determined by
the order in which they would go through the pass, so that
those who would leave first were closest to the gates
through which they would exit.

As they approached, the man who was obviously the caravan's
leader came forth to meet them. He was of a height with
Nemir, and so much shorter than either Judas or Markus, and
he had the strangely yellow skin of the easterners, and his
dark eyes were nearly hidden in a mass of wrinkles. But
though the wrinkles implied age, his bare arms showed the
lean muscles of a man much younger.

"I am told that you head through the pass in a few days,"
Nemir said without preamble.

"As soon as the caravan from the other side emerges," the
man confirmed.

"I have horses to sell."

The man looked past them to the horses in question. His
expression did not change. "They are in need of proper
care," he said, and Judas bristled at the implied
criticism. Nemir, on the other hand, did not so much as
blink.

"Travel through the desert is difficult for both horse and
rider," he said mildly. "However, the quality of the beasts
is such that it would require little for them to be the
envy of all."

The two of them hunkered down and began to bargain. It was
quickly obvious that the man wanted the horses, but he was
still a shrewd trader, and he was not so desperate that he
would part with his money easily. Still, the price he gave
Nemir in the end seemed more than reasonable to Judas,
putting enough money in their pockets to live frugally for
more than a year, if not two, leaving them with seven
horses for their own use.

The payment, in gold coins and gemstones that were easily
used as cash, was delivered, and after Nemir verified the
quality of the stones and the purity of the gold, the
horses were led away by handlers.

Nemir separated the money into five purses, not all of the
same size, and passed them out. If one was robbed, not all
would be lost. If they were separated, each would have a
means of support for a while at least. Then Nemir moved on
to their other, and perhaps more important piece of
business. "We are looking to travel east. Do you have a
place for travelers?"

The man's gaze sharpened, and he examined each of them in
turn. "You do not look like traders," he said.

"Because we are not."

The frown grew. "Only traders and fugitives travel east."

"We are not criminals. We are hunted for no crimes."

The phrasing was quite clever, Judas thought to himself.
Nemir spoke the honest truth. They had committed no crimes.
However, they were fugitives, as the trader had said.

"Wait here a moment," the trader finally said, then turned
and walked over to one of the tents set to the side of the
pens. Judas wondered why the tents were there, since there
were many places for waiting traders to live if the signs
along the roads could be believed. Perhaps he thought he
might be robbed. Perhaps the tents were for those who
guarded and cared for the animals.

The trader emerged from the tent a few minutes later. "You
will have to bring your own supplies. We have none for five
extra mouths. As well, you will be expected to be swords in
defense if we are attacked for any reason. And if you
intend thievery of your own, you will be slain without
mercy and left for the scavengers. If you become ill and
cannot continue, we will not wait."

Nemir nodded respectfully. "As you say," he replied. "And
the price?"

The trader shook his head. "Since you will have to buy all
your own supplies, there is no price. Chan-li has a list of
what you will need for the journey."

Chan-li was barely more than a boy, several years younger
than Judas. The half-awed, half-fearful expression in his
eyes told them that this was probably his first journey
west. He bowed quickly, then held a piece of paper rolled
into a tight scroll. "This is needed for one person
traveling," he said in a broken accent. "Water, food, and
others. Beasts of burden you will also have need."

The trader smiled slightly as Nemir took the scroll, and
Judas thought that perhaps the two were related, although
he could not tell if there was a resemblance between them,
since all of their kind that he had seen resembled one
another, probably since this was the first time he had ever
seen one of the eastern men. The skin color and the shape
of the face and eyes were so unfamiliar to him that they
made them seem as kin to each other.

"How long do you expect it will be before the caravan
leaves?" Nemir asked.

The trader studied the sky, then the ground. "The caravan
coming through from the other side is the first of the
season, so it will depend on when they were able to set out
and if there was any damage to the trail during the winter.
However, I would expect to leave before the end of the
week."

Nemir nodded again. "We will find lodging, then. We will
send you word of which inn we choose so that you can notify
us when it is time to leave."

That prompted a laugh and a large smile. "We will need to
send no notification. When the first rider emerges from the
pass, the entire town will know. At that time you will need
to pack quickly and come to the gate here," he said waving
towards the gate his camp was next to. "We will not wait.
Once the caravan is ready to go, it leaves."

"Understood."

>>>~~~<<<

Finding lodging for five was not as easy as Nemir had made
it seem. Several caravans had assembled, waiting for the
end of the winter storms, which were in many ways harsher
in the foothills of the mountains than in the desert. Most
of the establishments that offered rooms were full already,
and it began to seem that they would have to find someplace
outsider the city walls to camp.

Then, as the sun rode high in the sky, they found a
building on the edge of town, near the walls but far from
either of the two main gates, with a sign indicating that
it had rooms for rent. A stable was off to the side, large
enough to hold a dozen or so beast, with a small exercise
ring next to it. Everything was aged, but scrupulously
maintained.

Unlike the last five establishments, when Nemir emerged, he
was smiling. Every other inn had been filled with men
waiting for caravans to leave or arrive, and their party
would have been subjected to intense scrutiny, even if
there had been rooms for them.

"There are two rooms available," Nemir said. "And four of
the horses will have to stay in the paddock, as there is
not enough room for them all in the stable."

"Nahanna can share with us," Dansen said, earning a sharp
glance from the woman. Judas was not sure if she had
expected one of the rooms for her sole use, or if she had
intended to share with Nemir and Judas. However, she said
nothing.

They began to unload their baggage from their remaining
horses, and a small child emerged from the inn and began
leading the unburdened beasts towards the stable. Karsa,
Judas's mare and one of the other desert horses would be
put in stable, away from larcenous eyes, while the others
would have to be content with the paddock.

The shadows were beginning to grow again, so Judas was able
to safely pick up his share of the burden without risking
burns to his hands and forearms. But as he stood again, a
flicker of movement at the end of the street caught his
attention. Looking up, he saw a man disappearing around the
bend, his back to the group. Judas frowned, for there
seemed something very familiar about the man, although he
could not say what.

Shaking his head, he followed Nemir into the cool, dim
interior of the stone building.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Forty-Eight
----------------------------------------

The inn was not the best that the small town could offer,
but neither was it the worst, and it was an inn, not a
field on which to set their tents, vulnerable to thieves
and bandits. That was especially important, since each
carried enough gold and gems to support a farmer and his
family for many years. Anyone who had seen Nemir bargaining
with the caravan leader, or who had heard of it, might be
tempted to make an attempt, no matter how honest.

The stable was small, but the child who cared for it and
the horses -- son or perhaps grandson of the innkeeper --
kept the dirt floor well-swept and the stalls carpeted with
clean straw. The horses kept in the paddock did not have as
many amenities, but again, the ground was kept clean of
droppings, and a large trough under a small shed roof was
filled with fresh water.

Nemir introduced the boy to the horses with the command
that Judas told him meant 'trust to a limited extent' to
the desert-born horses, and warned the child of the
limitations of that trust, then went back into the inn.

The inn's walls were of stone more than an arm's length
thick. From their travel from the desert to the town, Nemir
knew that stone was probably the most plentiful building
material to be found, unlike in Ajantha, where both stone
and timber had to be brought by barge, one from the
quarries down-river, and the other from the forests at the
sea coast. The poorest houses were made of dirt dug from
the banks of the river and compacted until it was nearly as
hard as stone.

The stone walls were practical for more than just ease of
building, though. The stone kept the interior cool during
the heat of the summer, and protected from the winter
storms. Several large fireplaces provided heat as needed.

Upstairs were several private rooms, along with the attic
space where individual beds were let out to those without
the money for pay for an entire room. Behind the inn was a
second stone building where water from a natural spring was
collected, not just for cooking and the beasts, but also
for bathing.

The two rooms they were able to rent, since the previous
tenants had been waiting only for the end of the storm
season before heading west again, were tucked against one
outside wall. Each had a single shuttered window, high in
the wall and too small for a body to fit through, although
Nahanna might be able.

In one room, Markus was laying out his bedroll, since there
were only two narrow beds, and neither was long enough for
his large frame. Nahanna was examining the bedding of one
of the beds as though she expected to find it filled with
vermin, even though she had been sleeping on the ground for
more than a month. She would not find any, though. The
cleanliness of the inn had impressed Nemir enough to part
with more of his coin than he had planned for lodging.
Still, for the beds, with meals included, it was not an
outrageous sum.

Nemir left them to decide on their own arrangements. In the
room next to it, a stroke of luck, although unfortunately
there was no connecting door, Judas was making their own
beds.

Like the other room, there were two beds. Both were narrow
and hard. They had been given clean linens on payment of
the first night's stay. The linens were discolored by age
and soft with use, but they were clean, and Nemir
anticipated slipping between them for the first night's
sleep in months almost as much as he did that first bath to
wash the grime from his skin. The innkeeper had also
recommended a launderer -- a relative, no doubt, but then
most of the permanent residents of the town were probably
from the same clan -- down the street who could wash their
clothing.

Nemir's only regret was that the beds, which barely fit in
the tiny room, the smaller of the two rented, were too
narrow to allow him and Judas to sleep together. Still,
they were not separated.

"What shall we do while we wait?" Judas asked as he set the
last blanket onto one of the beds. Their dust-covered bags
were slipped under the beds, out of the way but within easy
reach.

Nemir leaned against the room, wanting to get clean before
he sat down on the pristine bed. He pulled the scroll from
inside his tunic and unrolled it. "According to the inn-
keeper, the market will open an hour before sunset and
continue until midnight, taking advantage of the cooler
night air. We should go and purchase most of the items on
the caravan's list. It may be that we will have a week or
more to wait, but it may also be that we will leave
tomorrow. We need to be ready for either possibility.
Clothes and food and better travel gear than we have had up
until now."

Then he smiled. "But first, I intend to bathe, dress in the
cleanest of the clothing I have, and take the rest to the
laundry house down the street. After that, a hot meal and a
night in a clean bed, and I will feel much refreshed."

Judas ran the fingers of one hand through his own hair and
grimaced. "I agree." Then he paused, and frowned. "Are the
baths here communal?" he asked. The need to keep his
appearance a secret would make communal baths impossible.

Nemir had thought of that. "They have both. I have paid for
the use of a private bathing room with heated water. You
and I can bathe together, and Nahanna can have her privacy
for her own bath."

He tucked the scroll into one of his bags, then
straightened. "However, someone will need to remain with
the rooms at all times. Stories will travel quickly of what
money we have, and even though the guards keep the peace
well in town, that will not stop the truly determined."

He searched through the bags and found a tunic and loose
pants that had been taken from the camp of Judas's tribe
that were barely dirty, and tucked them under his arm. The
clothing was thankfully not obviously in the style of the
tribes, since to any familiar with the tribes, he would
never be able to pass. "Let's go tell the others that we
are heading for the baths."

>>>~~~<<<

Nemir luxuriated in the feeling of heated water against his
skin, the rough cloth rubbing against his back, coated with
a thick foam of soap. Then Judas found the place in which
his muscles had become a thick knot and set aside the cloth
so that he could work the spot more easily. Nemir groaned,
and closed his eyes as muscles made tight by weeks in the
saddle eased, then relaxed completely.

He had spent nearly a year after being recalled from the
Guard in luxury, and in that short time he had been spoiled
by the opportunity to bathe every day in water whatever
temperature he desired, and while he had readjusted quickly
to the long journey from Ajantha, when bathing water was
difficult to find, he had dreamt of the chance to be
completely *clean*.

"I have finished," Judas whispered in his ear, far too soon
for Nemir's liking, but he opened his eyes and shook off
his near-slumber, then turned in the small tub to wrap his
arms around the lithe form of his lover. There was really
only room for one in the tub, but they had managed somehow.

"Are you sure?" he asked, pulling Judas closer, feeling the
urge to purr like one of the felines that wandered the
palace of his birth.

Judas pressed against him with a smile. "What is your
desire, my lord?" he said coyly, peering through his
eyelashes.

Nemir laughed, and showed him.

>>>~~~<<<

After, Nemir returned the favor, cleaning Judas carefully
from head to toe. They dried off, using the thin sheets of
nappy fabric that the inn had supplied, then dressed in
clothing that was the cleanest they had, but was still
rough with sand and sweat. Nemir mourned that, but they
needed to have their clothing cleaned.

They returned to their room, and found that Dansen had
anticipated them. While Nahanna headed for the bath room,
Markus told them that the other man had collected the rest
of their clothing and had taken it to be laundered. Then,
since Nemir and Judas were there to watch their belongings,
he followed Nahanna to protect her from unwanted advances.

They settled in to wait, taking a set of dice that Dansen
had carried all the way from Ajantha to game the time away.
Dansen returned quickly, with the news that their clothing
would be brought to the inn, cleaned, before morning. He
joined the game as they waited for Nahanna and her guard.
She took her time, as most women did given the chance, then
Dansen and Markus took their turn, although they were
quicker than any of the others, obviously choosing to
simply bathe.

Then, after a meal in the inn's common room of a robust
stew made mostly of root vegetables and a bit of dried
meat, they set out for the market, Markus remaining behind
to guard their possessions, and the currency that they did
not carry with them.

The sun was setting, and the shadows of the town's
buildings were long enough to protect Judas, but Nemir
added an item to the list of supplied that they needed to
purchase; a variety of hair and skin dyes. Perhaps they
would find something that would work better than the dyes
they had made from nuts during the storms, or the dye that
Kale -- Nemir wondered what had happened to the elderly
healer after their flight -- had thought to put in the bag
with the jars of cream for Judas's skin.

Torches were lit and set around the perimeter of the
market, with lamps at every stand, lighting the square as
bright as day. It seemed as though every person who lived
in the town was wandering the stalls. Traders from the east
were either looking to sell any last goods before they
returned home, or to buy western goods to take home to
sell. Likewise, the western traders were looking to buy at
lower prices from the traders who did not want to return
home with goods they had brought west to sell, while also
waiting in anticipation for the first new caravans of fresh
goods.

Silks and incense. Carvings and delicate seedlings. Jewelry
and ornamental weapons. Every form of luxury good was
available, although no longer the finest of what had been
brought. And local merchants were there also, selling more
basic merchandise. Simple woolen and leather clothing.
Grain and dried meat. The necessities of life.

The list they had been given was in Nemir's pocket, but in
his mind he had reordered it, so that they could find the
most necessary items first. Travel food, then fresh
clothing, with new tents and bedrolls last.

"This way," he said, indicating the direction that seemed
most promising to him.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Forty-Nine
----------------------------------------

It took less time that Judas expected to make their
purchases. While at first glance, to him the market looked
crowded and chaotic, as Nemir guided them through he
started to see the order. It was still loud and bright, and
he kept his hood well over his eyes to protect them. Light
from lanterns reflected off of anything made of metal,
sending shards of color in every direction. Voices, all
loud, and many speaking languages he did not know, echoed
in his ears, making his head pound. He began to wish that
he had stayed with Markus, even though he wanted to stay
close to Nemir.

Merchants, seeing new faces, new potential customers,
plucked at their sleeves, calling out to them to stop and
look at their wares. The close contact made Judas even more
uneasy, and he moved closer to Nemir.

Nemir, however, ignored them all without effort, his eyes
focused ahead, looking for whatever was next to be found.

Judas, however, had more difficulty. It had been more than
a year since he had been surrounded by this many people,
and never this many strangers. Wandering through the crowd
were also women, but dressed in ways so immodest that he
had to avert his eyes. The words they called out made it
plain that they were also there to sell their wares, but
that their wares were their bodies. Although the slaver,
Kamal, had trained Judas to be a bed-slave, the thought of
callously selling your body to strangers for a single span
of time, and doing so many times in a night, turned his
stomach to think of it. Death would seem a better fate, he
thought.

Also running through the crowd were children, grubby and
dressed in ragged clothing. Some begged for coins in
pitiful voices, mostly ignored, and Nemir warned them to
keep an eye on all in a hushed voice, unless they wanted to
find their purses gone, along with most of the possessions
they carried.

Their travel food was quickly found and purchased, and sent
to the inn. Fodder for their horses was likewise purchased
and sent to the caravan, as the scroll had instructed. Then
new clothing was purchased, which was pleasing to them all.
Although they had been able to take some clothing from the
tents of his tribe, other than Judas, none were completely
comfortable in the loose, enveloping robes. Breeches and
tunics were purchased, along with new cloaks since the old
were ragged and threadbare.

Once the basics had been found, Nemir turned to them. "Is
there any other goods that we should have?"

"I need a new whetstone for my blades, and the oil to use
with it," Dansen said.

"Jewelry is easier to carry than coins, and could have more
value at our destination," Nahanna said, and Nemir nodded.

"Trade goods would be useful, as long as they are small and
easily carried."

"Leather and a repair kit for the saddles and our boots,"
Judas said as the thought occurred to him. "Needles and
threads and cloth to do the same for our clothing, since we
still have long travel ahead. Soap as well, perhaps?"

Nemir smiled. "Very practical," he said ruefully, shaking
his head as though he should have thought of those items
himself. "I suggest that we part company, then. Nahanna and
Dansen shall search out metal goods, while Judas and I look
for other trade goods. Spend only what we brought with us
to the market. Nothing that will take time for delivery,
for we may need to leave on a moment's notice."

>>>~~~<<<

Now that the essentials had been dealt with, they were able
to take their time and browse the booths that they had
passed by earlier. In the leather quarter, two repair kits
were purchased, as well as a tailor's travel case. Leather
was also easy to find, and they bought a selection,
including finely tooled leather that could be used for
vests or belts or shoes that would be good for trading.

Then they came on a booth that sold books, and Judas
stopped to peruse the selection. Some were from the east,
and he stared at the strange symbols, trying to puzzle out
their meaning, but there was there that he could wrap his
mind around.

"Do you have anything that would teach the eastern tongue?"
he asked the seller after a nod from Nemir.

After a few minutes, two books intended to teach the
language to foreigners had been purchased, along with a
child's primer for the written language. Two history books
and a volume of folk tales joined them, and Judas's fingers
itched to open them and start reading immediately. His
grandfather had taught him to read, but his time in Ajantha
had given him a love of the written word that he had never
thought possible. Shallow though it might be, he mourned
the loss of the library at the Palace where he had spent
many an hour browsing the shelves, free to chose any that
he wanted to read.

They moved on.

Nemir bought tools and raw wood for carving. Judas was
surprised to learn that the other man was apparently a fine
carver, a pastime that was easy to store in a saddlebag.
The caravan would take more than a month to reach the
nearest of the Eastern cities, so pastimes would be
essential.

Bit by bit, they worked their way towards the jewelry
quadrant of the market. They had not visited the animal
market at the far end of the square where the smell would
not offend the delicate of nose, but they had not interest
in that. They had their horses, and no need of hunting
hounds or herd animals.

Judas's gaze roamed in every direction, taking in
everything, and there was much to see. The package
containing his books was tightly held as they were jostled,
and he fought to keep his hood up, even though he received
many strange looks as a result.

Then, as Nemir stopped to examine the wares of one of the
jewelry booths, he caught sight of a familiar form. Nahanna
was down at the end of the aisle, talking intently to one
of the merchants. Dansen was nowhere to be seen, but
Nahanna seemed unconcerned. Judas frowned, wondering if it
was safe for her to be alone.

"Judas, what do you think of this?"

Judas glanced at Nemir, then back down the aisle again.
Nahanna was gone, and for a moment he wondered if he had
truly seen her, or if fatigue was leading him to see things
that were not there.

"Judas?"

The question drew his attention back to Nemir, and he shook
off all thoughts of Nahanna. "Yes?" he said.

"What do you think of this?" Nemir said, lifting his hand.

Hanging from it was a silver chain, plain and simple, and
yet completely elegant. It was heavy in weight, and gleamed
strangely in the torchlight. When he looked closer, he saw
that each link was etched in delicate patterns that caught
the light. "It's beautiful," he breathed. And it was. He
had never seen anything of its like. It was fine work, and
to his eyes, obviously intended for a male throat.

Nemir smiled and turned back to the merchant, handing over
a number of coins. Then he turned back to Judas. "For you,"
he said, holding the chain out.

Judas blinked, and for a moment his throat closed up.
"It... it is too much," he protested.

Nemir waved that off. "Never," he said. "And you deserve
it. The pendant you wear deserves something finer to hang
from."

Judas's hand came up to touch the quartz pendant that he
had not removed since the night they had fled Ajantha.
Nemir could not have missed it, but he had never made
mention of it for some reason, at least not until now.

At Nemir's gesture, he removed the pendant and its rough
leather thong from around his neck. While the merchant
watched curiously, he took the pendant from the thong and
strung the wire wrapped around the piece of quartz onto the
silver chain. When he placed it around his neck, the
crystal nestled warmly against his chest, just below his
collarbone. He touched it, and smiled at Nemir.

"Perfect," Nemir said with a smile. If they had not been in
the midst of a crowded square, Judas would have kissed him.
To some it might seem a small gesture, albeit an expensive
one, but it said more to Judas. It said that Nemir had
noticed the quartz pendant and its value to Judas, but had
chosen not to ask, waiting for a time when Judas would
chose to speak.

As he turned, he thought again that he saw a familiar face.
It was not Nahanna or Dansen, but he only caught a quick
glimpse, barely enough to see that the person had been
male. He frowned for a moment, then dismissed the thought
as a trick of the torch light. That anyone here might be
someone he recognized was a foolish thought. Like the man
he had seen the night before near the inn. It was the
months of flight, fearing pursuit, he told himself, that
made him think that he saw faces he recognized.

They were both burdened now by goods and materials. Nemir
shifted the canvas bag he had bought to carry some of those
goods to a more comfortable position. "It is nearly
midnight," he said, glancing up to see where the moon was
in the sky. "We should find the others and return to the
inn before Markus comes searching for us," he said with a
wry grin.

Judas looked around and frowned. "How do we find them in so
large a market?" he asked, baffled. Even though it was the
middle of the night, the market crowd seemed even larger
than when they arrived, with bodies pressing against them
as people moved past. Twice, enterprising hands had sought
for his purse, but it was inside his clothing, protected by
several layers of cloth, and he had fended off those hands.

Nemir paused, and considered the question with a frown. "We
head to the edge of the market, to the avenue that leads to
the inn. Eventually, they must come that way," he said.
That seemed reasonable to Judas.

They were working their way through the crowd when a bell
started ringing. It was picked up by others, and the
atmosphere of the crowded market turned excited. "What does
that mean?" Judas asked, looking around.

A stranger, one of the merchants, answered him. "A caravan
is emerging from the pass," he said, packing his wares. "It
will be here by morning."

Nemir hissed. "It is just as well that we bought the
necessities tonight," he said. "Hurry. We must find the
others and return to the inn to pack."

He began to push his way through the crowd, less
considerate this time. Judas followed, his eyes fixed on
Nemir's back, even though there were quickly many bodies
between them.

He was so intent on Nemir that the hand that seized his arm
caught him by surprise. He turned, and found himself face
to face with a familiar face. His eyes went wide as he
recognized one of the men who had escorted Nahanna to
Ajantha. He froze.

Then his vision sparked as something impacted the side of
his head, sending him into darkness.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Fifty
----------------------------------------

The press of people around him was making it difficult for
Nemir to work his way to the edge of the market. The
ringing of the bell that announced that the first caravan
had emerged from the pass, and so was less than a day away
from the town, had energized everyone. People were rushing
to the walls, wanting to see with their own eyes the proof
that the new season had begun.

Judas was quickly separated from him, and when Nemir
turned, he was nowhere in sight. Since the younger man was
taller than most in the market, he should have been
obvious, and yet he was not.

Nemir worked his way back to where he had last seen Judas,
then turned in place, searching for any sign of his
companion. There was none, other than a few abandoned
packages that Judas had been carrying, lying on the ground.
Nemir stooped to pick up the package of books that Judas
had been holding so close.

"Watcha lookin' fer?"

Nemir looked down and found one of the street kids staring
at him. The child -- he could not tell if it was male or
female -- was dressed in ragged clothing, obviously
someone's cast-offs, and had not seen a bath in too long.
The large eyes looking up at him were an unusual shade of
blue, not a color common to the Kingdom.

"My friend," he said, with little expectation that the
child would be of any help. "He's a little younger than me,
and taller. Very slim. He was wearing a brown cloak, with
the hood pulled over his head, and desert robes underneath.
Have you seen him?"

"Yup!"

Nemir waited for more, but the child just stared at him.
Then the child rolled its eyes, and held out a hand. Nemir
grimaced, then pulled a small silver coin from his pocket
and handed it over.

The coin disappeared quickly, and Nemir had no idea where
the child had secreted it. "Sother hit 'im. Took 'im that
way," he was told, and a finger pointed in the direction of
the animal market, with a gate beyond it. "Two more Sothers
helped 'im."

"Sother?" Nemir asked, trying to puzzle out the
guttersnipe's strange dialect.

"Y'know. Sother. From the south. Clanner. Don see 'em much
round 'ere. These, they got 'ere couple weeks ago."

Nemir went blank for a moment, then his breath hissed out
between his teeth. "Many thanks," he said, digging out a
second coin and tossing it to the child, who looked amazed
at its good fortune, then turned and disappeared into the
crowd.

This time, nothing was going to stop his progress. He
pushed through the crowd, headed in the direction that the
child had indicated. Some might laugh and say that he was a
fool, that the child had taken him as an easy mark, but the
story given was too plausible. Sother. Southern clans. The
ones who wanted Judas for whatever purpose.

He reached the gate, then tapped the guard on the shoulder.
"Have any left through this gate recently?" he demanded,
out of breath. The guard frowned at him, so he pulled
another coin from his purse. "My friend has been abducted,
by three southerners. Have they left the city?"

"Aye. On horseback, not too long ago. Three Sothers, a
fourth man they said was drunk, and a woman."

"A woman?" Nemir said dangerously.

"Aye." The guard grinned, revealing stained teeth, with one
missing. He gestured with one hand to indicate the
exaggerated curves of a woman. "A toothsome one she was
too, from what I could see, although her clothing had seen
better days." Then he spat. "Did not take an invitation for
a tumble too kindly though. Bitch. Did ya want out?"

For a moment, Nemir was tempted, but knew that it was
foolish. The ones he pursued were on horseback, and he was
alone and on foot. As well, Dansen would be searching for
him. "No. Thank you for the information," he added, handing
the man another coin, then turning away. There was no offer
to help pursue, but he had not expected it. The town guard
was only to prevent brawls and bandit attacks. An
abduction, unless it were of one of the town grandees, was
beneath their notice.

It felt as though an eternity had passed by the time he
reached the edge of the market and found Dansen waiting for
him, pacing in his agitation. "Nemir," he said, catching
sight of the Heir. "Nahanna is gone!" Then he paused.
"Where is Judas?"

Nemir headed down the avenue in the direction of the inn at
a trot. Dansen had to hurry to keep pace with him. "Judas
has been abducted," he told the man tersely. "He was taken
from the city on horseback and unconscious by three
Southern men and a woman."

"A... woman."

"We need to get Markus and the horses. I know which gate
they left by, and if we are to follow them, it must be
soon."

They hurried through the dark streets, still carrying the
purchases that had been so important earlier in the
evening. The further they got from the market square, the
darker the streets became, but if any common thugs had been
thinking of robbery, a look at Nemir's face was all that
they would have needed to convince them to look elsewhere.

They reached the inn unmolested, bursting in on Markus, who
had his blade drawn before he realized who it was. Nemir
brushed past him into the small room he'd shared with Nemir
for less than a day, thankful that there had not been time
to unpack their bags. What had been removed, he quickly
repacked, including the night's additions.

"What happened?" Markus demanded from the doorway, watching
in confusion as Dansen did the same in their room. "Where
are Judas and the woman?"

"Gone," Nemir said, his shoulders stiff with tension.
"Judas was taken, right in the center of the market. A
child saw him struck by a southern clansman. Three left
through the animal market gate, along with a cloaked man
and a woman, on horseback, say the guard."

Markus took the bags Dansen tossed his way, his face dark
with anger. "How is it that they knew where to find us?" he
asked. "Why were they waiting in this town, when there are
three others we could have reached. How did they know that
we would travel east."

Nemir frowned, and stood, his bags and Judas's in his
hands. It was a thought that had not occurred to him.
"Nahanna," he finally said. "Somehow, she told them."

"Witchcraft," Dansen hissed softly.

Witches were feared throughout the Kingdom. If discovered,
they were executed. The cause was that they trafficked with
dark powers, by Nemir suspected that it was done so that
they could not threaten the God-King. He had never seen
evidence that witches worked in the Kingdom, either for or
again the God-King, although the powers attributed to the
God-King might seem like witchcraft, although no one was
foolish enough to say so.

"Ready the horses," he said briefly. "I will inform the
innkeeper that we will not be staying."

"You intend to follow?" Markus asked. Nemir stiffened,
though there was no censure in the man's voice.

"Yes." He considered the man. "The first caravan has
emerged from the pass. By the end of tomorrow, the caravan
we found passage with will be leaving. If you prefer to
leave with it, or to head north..."

Markus snorted. "I go where you go. I just wanted to verify
your intents." He took one of bags from Nemir. "We will
have to hurry if we are to overtake them. It is good that
there is only three of them, though. More and we would have
little chance of freeing Judas."

"Unless Nahanna is truly a witch," Nemir said, following
the man down the narrow stairs to the main level. "Unless
there are others waiting outside the town walls." He
sighed. "I would understand if you chose not to come," he
said, even though he knew what the answer would be, as it
had been every time he had said the same since their flight
from Ajantha. It seemed as though a lifetime had passed
since then.

"We ride," Markus said firmly.

>>>~~~<<<

Nemir dealt with the innkeeper quickly. The woman was
disappointed to loose paying custom, but they would have
been gone within a day in any case, and Nemir paid for a
second night's lodging even though they would not be there
to use the rooms. He refused to answer any questions
though, even though she pointedly asked about the woman who
had been with them.

Dansen had the horses ready by the time they emerged. Three
were saddled, while the others, fewer than there had been
on arrival in town, thankfully, were tethered together. For
a moment, Nemir considered abandoning the extra horses, but
he knew that they would need them. If they had more mounts
than the men they pursued, they would be able to travel
faster, since they would be able to switch mounts more
frequently.

They left the town by the nearest gate, then circled around
to the one which Judas's captors had used. Nemir dismounted
and examined the ground. The ground was too hard to show
much of a trail, but there was enough to show that the most
recent travelers leaving the town had headed directly
south. He mounted up on Karsa and led the way without a
word.

He might have been silent, and his face stony cold, but
inside, Nemir's stomach roiled with fear. He should have
known not to let his guard down. Everything had seemed to
be going so well, and within the week they would have been
beyond the God-King's reach forever. He should have
realized that the Southern Clans, having gone to the
trouble of sending Nahanna north to find Judas, would not
have let him escape them so easily. Whether they had been
followed to the trade town -- which he found difficult to
believe -- or Nahanna had some way of contacting them, they
had acted, desperately it seemed, to prevent Judas from
leaving.

As the town receded behind them, the trail became easier to
follow. There were fewer other trails to confuse it with.
There were only the tracks of four horses that he could
see, meaning that Judas, no doubt trussed like a calf for
slaughter, was not on a horse of his own. That meant that
it would be more difficult to separate him from his
captors, but it also meant that they would be further
slowed by the double burden on one beast.

Indeed, he wondered how it was that they thought that they
would be able to travel far with no spare horses. Perhaps
there were more waiting for them.

He found the idea worrying.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Fifty-One
----------------------------------------

The first thing that Judas became aware of was the
uncomfortable pressure of a horse's withers against his
belly. That was followed by the throbbing in his head and
the realization that he was hanging over the neck of the
horse with his hands tied. In a blind panic, he kicked
away, and fell from the horse, landing hard on the ground.
The hood of his cloak fell back, and he cried out in pain
as the rising sun struck him full in the face, blinding and
burning.

He curled into a ball, protecting sensitive tissues. Then
the panicked shouts reminded him that he was in danger, and
he pushed to his feet and ran. Even with his hood back in
place, his eyes watered so badly that he could not see, and
he could already feel the skin of his face starting to
blister.

As a result, it was no surprise than his kidnappers caught
him quickly. He could hear the thunder of hooves behind
him, then a man's weight landed on his back, forcing him to
the ground once more, and driving all the air from his
lungs. A harsh voice, speaking a language that he did not
understand, spat angry words at him.

A moment later, he was pulled to his feet, unkindly, and he
hunched forward to protect himself from the sun's rays and
any blows to ribs that were pained. He sucked in deep
breaths, praying for deliverance that did not come.

Then a female voice, also angry, rang out. Nahanna's voice.
Judas began to curse himself for a fool. They had accepted
that she had given up on her attempts to convince him to
travel south rather than east, but they had never thought
that it was because she had other plans. He had thought
that he had been seeing things when he had seen familiar
looking men. He should have spoken up, told Nemir. And now
it was too late.

"Judas," Nahanna said, crouching down next to him. He
flinched away from her, furious at both her and himself.
Himself for having trusted her even a little, and her for
being so unworthy of trust. "How bad is it?" she said.

"Bad enough," he spat at her. His eyes were not clearing,
and the pain was growing worse.

She called out orders in the other language. One of the men
-- he assumed that they were all men -- brought her
something. "Here," she said, and he heard the sound of a
clay stopper being removed from something. "I have a jar of
your cream. Let me help you."

He wanted to push her away, but he wanted the numbing
relief of the cream even more, and he cursed himself for a
weakling. She did not give him the cream. Instead, she
spread it on his face and hands herself, then secreted the
jar away, he did not know where. It was deliberate, he
knew. To escape without the cream in his possession would
result in great pain, he knew, so as long as she had the
jar in her hands, he could not leave. Or so she believed.

But she underestimated him in this. If the chance came, he
would take, pain or no pain. For every step taken was a
step away from Nemir.

"Better?" she asked, sounding very concerned.

He considered refusing to answer, then dismissed the idea
as childish. "Yes," he said, then paused. "But my eyes..."

"What?"

"The light... I cannot see. Everything is a wash of
whiteness." And he spoke the truth. He could feel the tears
running down his face, and he could see nothing but
brightness. He was blinded, and until he healed, he was
helpless. It was a risk, telling her this, but in his mind
he was already planning. There was little reason to guard a
blind man, for where would he go? And when they healed...
He could continue feign blindness until his chance to
escape came.

"Let me see," she commanded, and he lifted his head and
opened his eyes. She wiped the moisture from his eyes, then
was silent for a moment. "Can you see nothing?" she asked,
and in his mind he could see the frown on her face.

"I see nothing but white," he told her again, blinking away
moisture. For a moment, despair struck him dumb. What if
they did not heal? He had always healed quickly from
injury, but if his eyesight did not return, he would be
forever helpless.

"Come. You will ride with Zahar. If you promise not to try
to escape again, you will be allowed to ride with your
hands unbound."

He nodded, and let her help him to his feet. He swayed in
place, and nearly collapsed. His head throbbed in time with
the pulse of his heart, and he shivered, despite the heat
of the day. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, his voice
catching.

"I told you many times, we need you."

"But I am useless now. How can a blind man be of any use?"

She touched his arm gently, intending, no doubt, to comfort
him, but he flinched away from her. "When we reach our
destination, your eyes will be healed. But even if your
sight never returns, you are still needed."

She guided him back to the horses. The men with her were
silent, and he found himself twisting back and forth,
trying to use his hearing to find their locations, but he
could not tell where they were. Even in the dark, he'd
always been able to see, so his hearing had never been as
well trained as the rest of his senses.

Helpless.

>>>~~~<<<

Judas rode behind the mysterious Zahar, head down and hands
tucked into his sleeves. He kept one hand on the back of
the man's sash, but otherwise avoided contact with the man
as much as he could. From time to time, he could hear
Nahanna talking with one of the others, always in a
language that he could not understand, but Zahar never
spoke, to him or anyone else. Indeed, once they started
riding again, no one spoke to him at all.

Instead, he had too much time to think. He wondered how
long it would take for Nemir to discover what had happened
to him, if he found out at all. And if he did learn who had
abducted Judas, would he follow? Or would he and the others
join the caravan and head east as they had planned?

In his heart, Judas knew that no matter what happened,
Nemir would follow, but in the depths of his mind, doubts
lingered. It would be safer for Nemir not to come. He could
tell from the warmth of the sun beating down on them that
they were traveling south, heading for the heart of the
Kingdom, and into the grasp of the God-King. He wondered
how it was that Nahanna and her confederates intended to
evade the God-King's guards to reach the south lands.

The sun was beginning to set, but they pressed on, even
though Judas could feel the horse laboring underneath him.
As for Judas, his head continued to pound, making him
wonder if perhaps permanent damage had been done.

In the tribe there had been a man addled and rendered blind
by a blow to the head. Judas tried to imagine what his life
would be like if his sight never came back, and cringed in
fear. Then he pushed such thoughts away. There was no time
for doubts and fears. He was a prisoner, and Nemir would be
coming for him. He needed to be ready to aid him when he
caught up with them, which would not take long if his
captors had no other beasts to carry them.

Finally, late in the night, one of the other riders called
for a halt. Judas was helped down, although not gently, and
lead to the side. He was allowed to relieve himself, for
which he was immensely grateful, then a rope was tied
around his ankle, leading to what, he did not know. Food
was put in his hands, and he ate. Wine was given him, and
he drank.

It was not long after that that he was assailed with a
feeling of dizziness. He had to put his hand to the ground
to steady himself.

"It is time to sleep," Nahanna said, and it was as if he
was hearing her through a thick fog.

"You drugged me," he said accusingly.

"We cannot take the chance that you might try to escape in
the night. You might cause yourself harm."

His strength melted away, and he collapsed. Someone broke
his fall, then slid a folded cloak under his head. "Rest,"
Nahanna said gently, brushing the hair back from his
forehead in a way that reminded him painfully of Nemir. "We
will reach our destination far sooner than you might think.
Then your true work will begin."

Protecting Nemir was his true work, he tried to tell her,
but his voice would not work, and his eyes closed as he
slipped into sleep, fighting every step of the way.

>>>~~~<<<

The cavern he walked through was larger than any he'd ever
imagined. From one end, he could not see the other. Light
came in through gaps in the ceiling through which the
occasional patch of blue sky could be seen, then reflected
of crystals, filling the air with a many-colored glow. It
reminded him of the cavern in which he and Nemir had
reconciled, but many times the size.

Judas wandered the cavern, watching as the light shifted.
The sun above was going down, but here, beneath the ground,
it remained bright.

He followed the sound of rushing water and found himself on
the banks of an underground river, He knelt in the soft
sand and dipped his cupped hands in the cold flow, then
brought them to his lips. The water was so cold that it
burned going down his throat.

A soft growl caught his attention, and when he looked up he
found a lioness crouched next to him, lapping up water.
Beyond fear, he reached out and touched her shoulder. She
purred softly, and he stroked her head.

She got to her feet, and walked a few steps, then turned
her head to look at him.

Understanding what was required of him, he stood, and
followed.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Fifty-Two
----------------------------------------

The trail they followed grew clearer as the sun rose higher
in the sky. The ground may have been hard, but Judas's
abductors were doing nothing to hide the signs of their
passage. They were also pressing their horses hard, with no
sign of having replaced them which told Nemir that they
would be tiring quickly.

Strangely, that did not reassure him. To ride their mounts
so hard said that either their destination was close by, or
there were more men waiting for them with fresh horses.
Either possibility would bring them great danger.

Equally dangerous was the fact that they were riding south.
The clans were obviously desperate to have Judas, but to
take him through the heart of the God-King's lands seemed
the height of folly, and while Nahanna had been many
things, foolish was not one of them, he thought.

But whatever their folly, their quarry was pulling away
from them. They had left the trade towns only a short time
after them, but now, by the signs, they were nearly twice
that behind. Their only hope was that the abductors would
eventually stop to rest. Since Nemir, Dansen, and Markus
were changing mounts frequently, they would be able to
continue to ride until they were too tired to ride any
further.

Nemir just hoped that they would be able to fight once they
did catch up, for there was no doubt that their quarry
would not let Judas go easily.

Nemir bit back a curse. Perhaps he should have been
suspicious that Nahanna had not tried harder to convince
Judas to her way of thinking. Perhaps he should have
watched her more carefully. Perhaps he should have been
suspicious when a serpent from the southern waters had
nearly killed him.

And yet, who would have thought that Nahanna or her people
could have arranged this? The men who had brought her north
must have stayed in the Kingdom, waiting for her to arrange
for Judas to be taken south, whether he wanted to go or
not. But how had she told them that they were traveling
east? How had she directed them ahead of them, if indeed
she had. It all seemed so... impossible. Nemir had never
believed in witchcraft, but it seemed more and more as
though he had no choice.

Markus, who had ridden ahead, rejoined them. "Any sign?"
Nemir asked, trying to keep his anxiety out of his voice.

Markus hesitated, and Nemir's heart froze. "I found signs
of a struggle. And blood." Then he saw Nemir's expression,
and quickly said, "Not much blood. And no sign of any great
harm. But no sign of Judas or his kidnappers."

"Show me," Nemir ordered.

>>>~~~<<<

It was just as Markus had said. There was the sign of a
body hitting the ground, with traces of blood. The person -
- Judas, he knew in his heart -- had tried to run, but had
been driven to the ground a second time. Then, the traces
vanished, but the hoofprints led away once more.

"Judas woke, then tried to run," Nemir said, standing up.
"But he did not go far before being stopped. But he will
try again." Nemir smiled, even though the blood pained him
to see. "Once we catch up with them..."

"What if we do not catch up?" Dansen said. Nemir turned to
glare at his friend, but Dansen persisted. "What do we do
if there is are more men and more horses waiting for them.
What if we cannot overtake them, or if we do, there are too
many men to fight?"

"Then we will follow them until they stop, and we will
watch them until they make a mistake. When that time
comes..." He stopped, and looked at Dansen carefully. "Or
perhaps I should not make such assumptions. I intend to
follow them. If you chose not to--"

"Of course we are coming with you," Markus interrupted, and
Dansen nodded. "Judas has become our friend as well, and we
will not abandon him, or you."

"All I meant was that when the time came, we need to know
what is our plan. I never meant to imply that I thought we
should just let them take Judas," Dansen said, and Nemir
could hear the injured pride in his voice.

"Forgive me," Nemir said, dipping his head. "It is my fears
speaking through me."

"There is nothing to forgive," Dansen said generously. "But
while we talk, they are riding, and there are still several
hours until the sun goes down."

Judas mounted up on Karsa's back, and the stallion
whickered softly to him, as though he were trying to
comfort his rider. "Indeed. And as for what we will do if
we do not catch them... We shall face that obstacle when we
reach it."

He squeezed Karsa's flanks lightly, and the stallion leapt
forward, following the trail without hesitation.

They would recover Judas. Nemir refused to allow any other
thoughts. He had lost too much already.

>>>~~~<<<

As the night wore on, Nemir's confidence began to fail him.
Once the sun went down, following the trail had become more
difficult, forcing them to slow their pace. As the moon
set, there was no sign that their quarry had stopped to
rest, even though their horses had to be close to
foundering, and Nemir was forced to face the fact that they
would have to stop soon themselves. Without even moonlight,
the trail would be impossible to see.

"Enough," Markus said, reining in his horse. "It is too
dark. If we continue, we risk a horse being injured, or
losing the trail."

"A little further," Nemir said stubbornly.

Dansen leaned over and grabbed his reins, pulling Karsa to
a stop. "No further," he said firmly. "The horses are
tired, there is no light, and we are all exhausted. We stop
here. As soon as the sky starts to lighten in the morning,
we will continue on, and faster for the rest."

Nemir wanted to protest, but a wave of dizziness swept over
him, so strongly that he thought he might fall from his
seat. Dansen was right. To press on at this point was pure
folly. And yet, he desperately wanted to. "All right," he
finally said.

He dismounted, and almost immediately his legs gave way
under him. Only his grip on the leather of the saddle kept
him upright. Markus moved to his side.

"Let go, Prince. I will catch you," he said softly as
another wave of dizziness made Nemir moan. He let go, and
Markus's grip kept him from collapsing to the ground. The
large man moved to the side, then gently lowered Nemir to
the ground.

The earth seemed to heave under him, and he realized that a
cloak rolled into a ball was being placed under his head. A
second cloak was spread over him, protecting him from the
chill of the night air. He wanted to get up and help the
other two men as they quickly put together the rough camp,
but his limbs did not want to cooperated. He closed his
eyes -- no, they were already closed -- and tried to banish
the fear he was feeling.

Why was he so weak all of the sudden? Was this because of
the blow he had taken days before? Had some damage been
done that was only know making itself felt?

Whatever the cause, he quickly slipped into
unconsciousness.

>>>~~~<<<

When he woke, he knew that he was not truly awake, for the
landscape he saw before him was one that he had never seen
before. He stood on the edge of a cliff. A great city, far
larger than Ajantha, spread out before him like a great
wheel. Wide avenues made up the spokes of the wheels,
leading from the city gates to the center.

The buildings closest to the walls were like those of any
city. Some were made of mud brick, while others were of
quarried stone. Small figures moved to and fro, going about
the their business. But closer to the center, the spaces
between the buildings widened, and the buildings took on
forms he had never seen before. Grand temples, he thought,
with columns and statues. And the one at the center of the
city...

That structure rose up, taller by far than any of the
others. He could not tell, but it looked to be half a
league around its base. The sides, sloping inwards as they
rose to a peak, were covered in smooth stone that gleamed
white in the sunlight. And at the top, a flat space was
crowned by the grandest temple of all, with a roof of gold
that sent rays across the city, so that it seemed bathed in
color. He had never seen anything like it.

From that place, the top of the pyramid, every part of the
city would be spread out before you, nothing hidden. What
would it be like to stand there, at the pinnacle, the
highest point of the city?

"You had but to ask."

Nemir spun around to see a grand building behind him.
Columns, elaborately carved and bright with paint, held up
a sloped roof. Through the columns he could see a grand
reception hall. And standing on the steps leading up to the
building was a man.

"What?" Nemir asked, confused.

The man waved his hand, and Nemir realized that he was no
longer on the cliff. He turned slowly, and found that he
was now standing on the top of the pyramid. He walked to
the low wall that guarded the edge of the platform and
looked out.

Far below, he could see the inhabitants of the city, going
about their daily lives. Some, in the plaza, stood looking
up, pointing towards the pinnacle of the pyramid. So tiny,
he thought to himself.

"Yes, they are," the man said, coming to stand next to
Nemir. He was taller than Nemir, but not so tall as Judas.
Strongly built, with skin that glowed a golden brown in the
sunlight. His hair was yellow, and his eyes were amber. He
smiled, and the teeth that showed were brilliant white,
with none of the staining that was so common. He was the
image of health. Sunlight personified.

The man laughed. "Indeed I am. I am the sun, and I shine
over all the land. Without me, darkness would fall, and men
would despair. Without me, this land is *nothing*."

His words rang through Nemir's mind, and for a moment he
was afraid. Then the man smiled at him again, and his fears
were washed away. "Why am I here?" Nemir asked, even though
deep inside, he knew that this was nothing but a dream.

The man turned towards him and stepped closer, reaching up
to brush a fingertip across Nemir's cheek. Nemir gasped, as
an incredible warmth ran through him. "Because I want you
to be. Come to me, princeling. Come to me, and I will make
all your desires come true." He leaned even closer. "Come."

Then his lips brushed Nemir's, and Nemir cried out.

----------------------------------------
Chapter Fifty-Three
----------------------------------------

When Judas woke, he knew that the sun had not risen yet,
but that was all he could tell. For an instant, he thought
that perhaps everything had been a dream; that they had
returned to the inn and he had fallen asleep.

Then he opened his eyes, and all his saw was whiteness,
terrifying in its uniformity. There were no shapes or
shadows to be seen.

"Judas?" Nahanna's voice said from behind him. "How do you
feel?"

Judas closed his eyes, resisting the urge to cry. "I itch,"
he said, answering her honestly. "I need more of the cream,
but we cannot have much left, and there is no way to
replace it." And the journey south, if Nemir was not able
to find them first, would be long.

"And your eyes?" Nahanna asked, sounding genuinely worried,
even though it seemed to Judas that blind, there would be
less chance of him escaping.

"Nothing," he said bitterly.

She stroked his forehead softly, then pressed a piece of
journey bread into one hand, and a small water skin in the
other. "Eat. We ride soon."

Judas did as he was told, then one of the men led him to a
spot where he could relieve himself. He wondered if the man
had stayed to watch him do so, but pushed such thoughts
away. Blind, it did not matter to him, so there was no
point in shame. Then he mounted up. It was not Zahar, this
time, since the man in front of him was taller and broader.
He was given no name, though.

"Do we continue on this way, for the months it will take to
travel south?" he asked the air.

"The journey will not take quite so long," Nahanna replied
from somewhere behind him. "Indeed, it will not take much
longer at all."

She spoke smugly, and Judas wanted to ask how that could
be, but something inside told him that she would not
answer. He could not think how she should could say such a
thing, though. In Ajantha, he had seen maps of the Kingdom,
and the distance between the trade towns and the south
lands was much further than from the trade towns to
Ajantha, and that would take them through the heart of the
God-King's lands. To reach the south safely, considering
that he was actively being hunted, would require a more
circuitous route. But Nahanna made it sound like a matter
of days, if even that.

He continued to worry at the thought as they rode on,
nearly as hard as the day before. The horses had rested
through the night, but they would not be able to hold this
pace for much longer. Where did they travel so fast that
they were willing to risk the death of the horses? It
seemed to Judas, more and more, that there was more to this
than what met the eye. After all, the three men who had
delivered Nahanna to the Prince in Ajantha had then gone to
the trade town to wait for them, before they'd known
themselves that they would be there. Or had they been told
to travel there afterwards? How could they have known where
their party would end up?

As he tried to puzzle through it, Judas's head began to
pound in time with the horse's hooves. The sun was starting
to beat down on them, and it was all he could do to
continue to clutch at the cloak in front of him so that he
could remain on the horse, while not exposing any skin to
the burning rays. He began to hope that Nahanna was right,
for he did not think that he could continue on this way for
too many more days. His skin burned, his eyes ached, and
the headache, while it was no longer getting any worse, it
was nearly blinding in its intensity.

To distract himself, he concentrated on the images from his
drugged dreams. For a moment it seemed as though he could
feel the cool comfort of the water, and the soothing purr
of the lioness, as real as it had seemed in his dream, and
the pain began to recede, leaving his light-headed and
barely aware.

>>>~~~<<<

The sun was still high as Judas was shaken from his daze
when the horses were brought to a stop. Between his legs,
he could feel the one he was mounted on heaving as it tried
to draw in deeper breaths. Judas swayed in place as the man
he'd been riding with dismounted.

A rough hand grabbed his arm, just above the elbow, and
tugged him. He slid from the horse's back and landed on the
ground in an undignified heap, his headache suddenly
returned, full force. He moaned softly, and stayed were he
was, hiding deep inside his cloak.

"Judas! Are you all right?" He did not answer her. He did
not dare even move, the pain was so great.

A moment later, someone lifted him up. Another set of hands
-- Nahanna's, he thought dimly -- tucked the cloth of his
cloak around him, protectively. "We are almost there," she
said soothingly. "Just a little further and all will be
well."

"No," he moaned around the pain, his vision now filled with
sparks of color. "Never well. Nemir!"

For a moment he thought he heard his beloved's voice. Then
his captors started moving, and a sound like the storm
winds roaring filled the air. Every hair on his body stood
on end, and tremors ran through his limbs. His head fell
back, and he trembled. Something was happening, like a
storm building on the horizon, and he was scared. He wanted
to strike out, try to escape again, even though he knew
that it was hopeless, but his limbs refused to cooperate.
He could not so much as twitch a finger.

Then a voice could be heard, humming softly, barely audible
beneath the wind. There were no words, just song. He
recognized it as Nahanna's voice, singing as she had when
she'd first come to Ajantha. Her voice rose and fell,
weaving a complex pattern of notes that was both strange
and familiar to him.

Gradually the tone and tempo increased, until she was
almost out-shouting the wind. One final note, held
triumphantly, and the one carrying him strode forward,
directly towards where the sound was loudest.

The wind tore at them, shredding their clothing, and it
seemed to Judas that the ground underfoot was none too
steady. Whatever they were moving towards seemed to be
resisting them, pushing them back, but the southerners
refused to give. They pressed forward, step by slow step,
until, without warning, the pressure was gone.

Judas was dropped to the ground, and dimly, he could hear
the sound of others collapsing. Then there was silence.

And darkness.

>>>~~~<<<

All the world was made of pain. Hands were lifting him, but
when he tried to fight back, they restrained him easily. He
was set down on something soft and yielding, and even that
small bit of movement made him cry out in pain. His head
throbbed, and he no longer saw the whiteness. Instead, eye-
piercing colors danced before him until he could no longer
tell whether he was looking up or down. The world was in a
constant spin.

But he was not alone. Another set of hands -- female, but
not Nahanna's he thought -- stroked his forehead, and he
could hear her humming. "Am I dying?" he whispered
painfully.

The stroking stilled for a moment then continued. "Zahar
was too eager in his blow," the woman said, her voice soft
and pleasant to his ears. "There is swelling beneath the
bone in your head."

Judas relaxed. "Then there is nothing you can do," he said.
He had heard of such injuries before. The pressure would
increase, as would the pain, until he could bear it no
longer and he would die.

"No, little one. Trust me, you will not die. The goddess
takes care of her own."

He wanted to protest that he was not her goddess's, but she
started humming again, and he found that he could no longer
move, not even enough to speak. Her hands cupped the sides
of his head, slowly pressing inwards, and it seemed to him
that they were almost painfully warm. Then that warmth
moved from her hands to his skull, sinking in, and the pain
reached a crescendo.

And if he hadn't been prevented, he would have screamed
before the darkness took him away.

>>>~~~<<<

He was back in his dreamland, and he welcomed it. In the
dreams, the pain was gone, even the pain of being separated
from Nemir.

He heard the purring, even before he opened his eyes. The
lioness was stretched out on the ground next to him,
watching him. Sound filled the air. The purring. The sound
of water lapping against the shore. And above it all, a
woman singing, wordlessly.

Judas stood. It was the same cavern he had dreamed of so
many times before. The lake stretched out before him,
fading into the distance, so far away that he could not see
the other shore, nor the end of the cavern. High above him,
lights glittered, reflecting off of the wet stone and
quartz embedded in the ceiling, building until, to his
eyes, it was as bright as day.

The lioness also stood, and moved away from him. She went a
few steps, then stopped and looked over her shoulder at
him. Quickly realizing what she wanted, Judas followed.

The lioness led him through the cavern, passing among a
forest of stone pillars, embedded with more of the light-
reflecting quartz. He reached out and touched one in
passing, and it felt as though he had been cut by it, but
there was not blood. He paused, looking at his hand, but a
soft cough from the lioness encouraged him to continue
following.

The pillars grew less numerous, and more widely spaced, as
they walked, until, finally, there were none left. Then he
saw it, rising up before them. A wall that extended in each
direction as far as he could see, with a single gate set in
it, tightly closed. Beyond the wall he could see a
building, its dome rising up, covered in silver that seemed
to glow softly. The lioness continued forward, leading him
directly to the gate.

But the gate was locked. No matter how hard he pushed, it
refused to open, until he was almost ready to cry bitter
tears. He hammered his fist against the surface, but it did
not help.

Then he saw it. An irregular indentation in the surface,
just above his head. The shape of it was familiar. Working
on instinct, he removed his pendant from the chain hanging
around his neck; the chain that had been a gift from Nemir.
He held the piece of rose quartz in his hand for a moment,
considering it, then lifted it up to press it against the
gate. He twisted it slightly, and it sank into place.

Immediately, the gates slowly swung open, soundlessly. The
faint singing that had been hanging in the air grew in
intensity until it reached a crescendo.

"Welcome, Judas. You have much to learn."

----------------------------------------
Chapter Fifty-Four
----------------------------------------

Nemir woke well before dawn. They ate quickly, cold bread
from the saddlebags and a few sips of water. By the time
they were back in the saddle, there was just enough light
to see the trail, and he set off at speed. It may have been
his imagination, but it seemed that Karsa was as eager as
he to find Judas, and soon, Dansen and Markus began to fall
behind. In his haste, he did not notice.

The sun was not far in the sky when he found the signs of a
camp, and Nemir cursed himself for having stopped at the
urging of the other two men. They had been so close. But he
knew they were right. The trail had taken a turn not long
before the campsite, and in the dark, there would have been
no way that he would have seen it.

But still, he was worried. Their quarry was still riding at
full speed, by the trail, and he worried about what that
might mean. It just didn't make sense, unless they had a
reason to believe that they would not need their horses for
much longer. Nemir could not shake the feeling that they
were running out of time. If they did not reach Judas
soon...

Nemir pushed such thoughts aside, not for the first time,
and continued on, trusting that the other two would catch
up.

As the sun rose, the sense of urgency grew. Something
inside of him urged him on, telling him that time was
short. He had to reach Judas.

That was when the wind started to pick up. At first there
was little to notice, other than the occasional dust devil,
swirling on the horizon. But it grew, and so did the dust
devils, until the sand blowing made visibility poor. Nemir
cursed as he realized that the wind was destroying the
trail. There had been little to follow up until then, but
now even those traces were gone.

He pressed forward, even faster, into the heart of the
wind.

As he continued, the howl of the wind increased, but above
it he could hear another sound, like song. It reminded him
of the song Nahanna had sung the night she was presented to
his father as a gift. A poison gift, it now seemed. How he
wished that they had not brought her along. For months she
had traveled with them, always planning this treachery. If
he had known what she intended...

He used his anger to push forward as the song increased in
tempo. He could now see a light just over the next rise,
one that was unnatural in its color. Any other horse would
have refused to continue, but Karsa pressed on as eagerly
as he.

"Nemir!"

The voice, thin and barely audible, was Judas's. "Judas!"
he cried over the howl of the wind and the hum of the song.
There was no reply, and he worried that perhaps he had been
hearing things, wishful thinking.

He crested the hill and saw before him a sight
unbelievable. The wind and the light originated from the
same spot, a whirlwind of force, the likes of which he had
never heard of before. Nahanna stood in front of it with
her arms out stretched and her face raised to the sky as
she sang, her expression almost blissful.

Behind her stood arrayed three men, all of whom he
recognized from the party that had brought her to Ajantha.
Obviously, they had not returned home, as they had thought.
Instead, they had remained, waiting for their chance to
abduct Judas.

And one of them held a limp figure with white hair trailing
down until it nearly touched the ground. Judas did not
move, and Nemir's rage boiled up within him. He drew his
sword, and with a wordless cry, he squeezed his thighs and
sent Karsa down the incline at full speed.

What followed went to quickly for him to take in. The light
and wind coalesced together, and for a moment, he thought
he saw something on the other side; something besides the
hills of the wasteland. Then the man holding Judas stepped
forward and was gone. He was quickly followed by the other
two men, and finally Nahanna, before he could reach them.
At the last, Nahanna turned around, and the expression on
her face was one of pure triumph.

Then she lowered her arms and the vortex vanished. The
winds died down, and it was as if there had never been any
sort of disturbance.

They were gone, and Judas with them.

Nemir slipped down off of Karsa's back, his blade still in
his hand. He stumbled forward until he reached the place
where the vortex had been. The ground was scoured down to
bare rock, and the rock appeared scorched; mute evidence
that he had not been dreaming. That and the abandoned
horses that the clansmen had been riding. One had collapsed
to her knees, and looked to be on the verge of death from
exhaustion. Bloody marks on her flanks told him how hard
she had been ridden.

"Nemir!"

Nemir looked up to find Dansen coming to a stop next to
him. Markus was just coming into sight. "They are gone," he
said, not rising from his knees in the place where his
Companion had vanished.

Dansen looked around, taking in the exhausted mounts and
scorched stone. "How?" he asked, bewildered.

Nemir shook his head, closing his eyes in defeat. "Magic.
He is gone." He wanted to wail his grief and anger to the
skies, but he did not have the energy. Now he had truly
lost everything. Not just father and city, but lover as
well. Everything they had done to escape now seemed so
pointless. Perhaps they had evaded the God-King's wrath,
but they had brought betrayal along with them.

He stayed were he was, unable to summon the will to do
anything, even rise from his knees. Dimly, he could hear
the two companions remaining to him talking, but the words
meant nothing. All their efforts, for nothing.

"Nemir, come. You need to sleep."

Dansen tugged insistently at his arm until he stood and
turned. Somehow, the new tent that they had bought to
replace the old ones had been pitched, and a small fire
started. Had so much time passed? Nemir could not find it
within himself to care.

He followed Dansen's urging and undressed. A tunic --
purchased or the ones they had sent to be cleaned, he was
not sure -- was pressed into his hands, and he put it on
before lying down on the bedroll. A blanket was spread over
him and he closed his eyes.

>>>~~~<<<

He was back in the plaza that topped the pyramid, watching
the city below, luxuriating in the warmth of the sun above.
The grief was still inside of him, but it seemed distant,
somehow. Everything seemed distant from this height. And he
was alone.

"Not so very alone." A warm hand touched his shoulder, then
ran down his arm. He leaned into it, feeling the heat
spread through him, easing some of the pain. No. Not so
alone.

He looked over his shoulder and saw the same man he had
before smiling down at him. For a moment, he lost himself
in the amber eyes. Then he pulled back to himself. "They
took him," he said, feeling a burst of anger. The feeling
of distance was rapidly fading. "He was mine and they
*took* him!" His fists clenched, and he was filled with the
need to lash out.

The man sighed. "The southern clans were always grasping.
They are convinced that theirs is the only way, but they
are wrong. They turn away from the true power. If they had
simply accepted their place in the scheme of things, they
would not have been so severely punished." Then his face
hardened. "And now they will need to be punished again.
Wind and fire will scour their land until there is nothing
left. They will learn the folly of disobedience."

Then he turned to Nemir. His hands came up to cup Nemir's
face, and his eyes were like fire. "They will learn, and
you will be the instrument of that lesson."

His eyes blazed, and Nemir started to fall. Fall and fall
and fall...

>>>~~~<<<

Nemir woke with a start, rolling over and reaching for his
sword before he was fully awake. It was not where he
expected to find it, and he jumped to his feet, nearly
tangling himself in his blanket before he realized where he
was. The sun was beginning to set, and he was in a tent
pitched so that the sunlight came in through the open flap.

Now that he was awake, he had vague memories of Dansen and
Markus caring for him after the clansmen disappeared -- he
still could not believe what he had seen -- taking Judas
with them. But he had no idea how much time had passed
since then.

Their packs, including Judas's, were set in the center of
the tent. Nemir opened his own, and dressed. He felt no
sense of urgency anymore. Indeed, if he felt anything, it
was a sense of numbness. Judas was beyond his reach.

Decently clothed, he emerged from the tent to find Markus
sitting next to an open fire, roasting some sort of meat.
Goat, from the scent. Seeing Nemir, he was so startled that
he nearly dropped the roast into the fire. "You are awake,"
he said needlessly, rescuing what was obviously intended to
be dinner.

Nemir sat down next to the fire, staring at the dancing
flames, fascinated by their color and movement. Markus
handed him a water skin, and he drank, but said nothing.

Sometime later, Dansen reappeared, carrying two more water
skins. He glanced to Markus when he saw Nemir, and the
other man shook his head.

Food was distributed, and Nemir ate, each bite bringing him
more fully into the world, until he set aside the last of
the meat with a sigh, and stretched. He felt tired, and was
tempted to find refuge in sleep once more, but refused to
give in to the urge just yet.

"Nemir? Are you all right?"

He looked up at the question, and found both his friends
watching him with worried expressions. "How... how long did
I sleep?" he said, his voice feeling rusty with disuse.

"More than three days," Dansen said, and Nemir was shocked.
He had thought only a day, or even just the part of a day.
He shook his head.

He remembered dreaming. Dreaming about Judas. Dreaming
about telling someone about Judas. How Judas had been
stolen from him, taken away south. How he was going to find
Judas, retrieve him, destroy those who would come between
them.

"Nemir. Maybe you should sleep again." Nemir wondered at
how Dansen had been able to reach his side without him
knowing, when he had been on the other side of the fire
only a moment earlier. "In the morning we can decide what
we will do next."

Nemir glared at him. "You can decide what you want to do. I
am going to find Judas."

Dansen frowned. "How? We do not even know where he is."

"South. Nahanna and her people have taken him. I will take
him back."

"Nemir," Markus said softly. "It will take months to reach
the south lands."

Nemir shook his head. "I do not care. I will go south. If
you want to return to the trade town, you can find another
caravan traveling east. Or go north for all I care. I am
heading south as soon as the sun rises."

He picked up the last of his dinner and returned to
chewing, ignoring the concerned looks of the two men. If he
had to travel alone, he would. But he would be damned
before he let the clans take the only thing of value left
to him.

"Then we travel south," Markus finally said. Dansen looked
unsure, but he nodded his agreement.

"South."

END PART FOUR