Fires of the Desert (Children of the Desert Book 4) (22 page)

Teilo didn’t move, not even when a heavy hoof slammed into the ground within a handspan of her feet. At last Alyea, breathing hard from the struggle, was able to turn the mare around to face the old woman again.

“You regret saving my life?” Alyea said, glaring down at the deceptively frail ha’rai’nin.

“Not as much as I did yesterday,” Teilo said. Her mouth quirked in an almost-smile.

Alyea shook her head, caught between anger and bewilderment. The hard stare of the woman—ha’rai’nin! she reminded herself sharply, not human,
not a woman—
bore no resemblance to the kindness she recalled from the Qisani, when this—creature—had saved her life.

Teilo’s expression hardened, as though she’d caught that thought. For a moment, Alyea thought she would simply turn and stalk away in high offense.

“I’m sorry—” Alyea blurted.

Teilo shut her eyes and seemed to shiver all over for a moment, then looked up once more with a flat expression. “You have a lot to learn about self-control yet, apparently. And some growing up still to do. Nothing’s ever simple,
Lord
Alyea.”

“I’m beginning to see that,” Alyea said, her throat thick with conflicting desires: ride past the old woman and away from whatever game was being set in motion now—or throw herself on the ground to beg forgiveness from the woman who’d saved her life.

“Tanavin’s been good for you,” Teilo said unexpectedly, her flat expression warming a little. “He’s given you the cynicism you need to survive. Pity he’s off on his own course and won’t stay with you; he’d be a tremendous help.”

Alyea held still with an effort, aware that the mare remained restless and jerking back again would set off a second battle. After a few carefully steady breaths, she said, “His name is Tank.”

Teilo made a dismissive gesture with one thin hand. “I knew him as Tanavin. I trained him as Tanavin. I’ll call him what I please.”

“You trained him?” Alyea stared, fascinated. “What did—”

Teilo made another impatient gesture. “Time isn’t particularly flexible. I suggest we move on to important things.”

“If you’re trying to keep me confused and off-balance,” Alyea said in sudden irritation, “you’re succeeding,
ha’inn.
How about telling me what’s going on?”

Teilo’s wrinkled face relaxed into a smile. “And there’s the belligerence you’ll need,” she murmured, so softly that Alyea barely made out the words. Then, louder, she said, “I don’t know what’s going on myself, Lord Alyea. All I can tell you is: don’t trust the teyanain. Not when they say hello, not when they say goodbye.”

“Who
do
I trust?” Alyea demanded, thoroughly ruffled now.

“Nobody,” Teilo said as though the question were a foolish one. “Lord Alyea, you have no idea of the mess you’ve stepped into. There are problems involved that have been coming to a boil for centuries, and I have neither time nor inclination to tell you what they are. If you’d been raised south of the Horn, you’d have a better idea, but you’re dangerously ignorant at the moment. I suggest going back to Bright Bay and sorting out your own family, your own life, before chasing down into the southlands again. You’ll only make things worse by going along this road.”

“I’ve been told that before,” Alyea said tightly. “It didn’t stop me then. It won’t stop me now.”

“But you
did
make things worse,” Teilo pointed out, tilting her head to one side a little. “Your persisting through the blood trial of Ishrai, even though Acana warned you against it, set off a chain of consequences you’ve barely seen the first link of yet.”

Alyea swallowed and blinked hard. “Done is done,” she snapped.

“Yes. But what isn’t yet done can be avoided,” Teilo replied. “Turn around, Lord Alyea. Stay in Bright Bay, where you know the rules; let the southlands sort out their own battles. You don’t have time to learn a thousand years of history, and you don’t have the experience to tangle with the teyanain and come out unscathed, or even alive.”

“So the teyanain
are
involved!”

Teilo stared, unblinking, for a long moment, then said, “The teyanain are involved, eventually, in everything. Lord Evkit may be the most dangerous man walking this earth at the moment.”

“Even considering Deiq?” Alyea said before thought stopped her.

Teilo let out a soft snort. “Deiq’s not a man. He’s a First Born ha’ra’ha. The last one surviving above ground.” A strange twitch passed across her face briefly. “Stop thinking of him as human.”

“Are
you
still human?”

Alyea couldn’t believe she’d actually asked that question aloud, and apparently neither could Teilo: the flat, unblinking stare returned.

“Not any longer,” Teilo said finally. She shut her eyes, that odd shiver racking through her again, then looked up at Alyea, a translucent, golden overlay appearing in her eyes.

“Damn you,” the ha’rai’nin whispered. “Damn you for reminding me.”

“I’m sor—” Alyea began reflexively, then stopped as an abrupt gust of chill wind drove the thin mist into hard prickles against her face. The mare snorted and turned sharply away from the wind, head lowering in protest. The reins nearly pulled from Alyea’s hands, and she leaned forward to hang onto them.

The gust dissipated, leaving only the chill, dreary fog behind. Blinking her eyes clear and bringing the mare back around, Alyea found herself alone.

“Teilo?” she said uncertainly, pulling the mare in a slow circle and scanning her surroundings. “Teilo? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...remind you...I didn’t know...Teilo?”

Silence, broken only by the pattering of condensed mist through the leaves of nearby bushes.

Alyea let out a hard breath. The mare tossed her head, as though agreeing with her rider’s disquiet, and sidled a few restless steps.

“Bloody
hells,”
Alyea muttered at last, and urged the mare south once more.

As she had months ago, Alyea stood on the edge of a steep drop and stared out at the Goldensea, far to the west. This time, the view was obscured by a persistent, foggy drizzle, and the sense of disorientation only increased the longer she stood there. At last she turned away to wander restlessly through the sprawling settlement, something she hadn’t had the luxury of doing on her previous visit.

Practicality, rather than politics, held her to the same pace she’d followed with Chac at her side; unfamiliar with the terrain, without any accompanying guards, pressing on through the broken paths of the Horn at night was an invitation to suicide. She’d also been experiencing a prickly sensation on the back of her neck ever since entering the Horn proper, which told her that the teyanain were aware of her presence and watching closely.

Impatient as she was to begin finding clues as to Deiq’s whereabouts, she’d learned enough about the southern mindset to know that, paradoxically, sitting still and letting people come to her was the only way to get anywhere.

The homes in the way-stop were small, compared to northern buildings, and sturdily built of stacked chunks of stone, the gaps filled in with mud and straw. Few offered windows, and those that did had heavy shutters set in place against the current weather. Smoke curled from chimneys all along the way, giving the air a rank, bitter taste, and the ground underfoot was a slick, treacherous mixture of mud and large rocks.

Alyea came to a steep set of stairs carved into a sharp rise, which led up into the mist; idly curious, she turned away from the main road and began to climb. At the top she discovered a simple gate in the form of a sideways V connected to an anchoring post on either side: the wide end was hinged; the point swung inwards.

Unwilling to push through, Alyea stood on the ledge before the gate and peered into the mist. A thick form loomed out of the grey at her with startling speed, and she backed up instinctively, her heels catching the edge of the step. Reflex pushed her into a forward lunge to avoid tumbling backwards down the steep stairway; her hands closed around the top bar of the gate for balance, and she found herself face to face with the ugliest sheep she’d ever seen.

Great gold-rimmed black eyes stared at her incuriously from a wide, lumpy face. The nose was a mottled pink-black, one ear had been reduced to shreds at some point in the distant past, and the thick fur was a dirty grey erratically streaked with black and red. It lifted its nose, sniffing the air, then snorted, sending a thick spray of sheep-snot through the air. Alyea ducked, raising an arm defensively, and felt her hair slick down even further with the added moisture.

“Oh, terrific,” she muttered, caught between laughter and annoyance, and straightened to find the sheep plodding away into the mist, a bizarrely long, tufted tail swinging back and forth behind it.

Something about the sight of that swaying tail added the final touch to the absurdity of the situation, and she began hooting with uncontrollable laughter.
First casualty of my search,
she thought,
turns out to be my dignity. How appropriate.

At last she turned back to the steps and began descending, considerably more cheerful than she had been on the way up.

The room held silent for a breath, two, three; then one of the men rose. Broader than Eredion, with a shock of pale hair and a wide face, he glared at the desert lord.

“I know you,” he said.
“Lord
Eredion Sessin.” The title held only acid contempt. “You don’t remember me, do you? No reason for you to—”

One of the nearby women—barely more than a girl, in truth—stirred, her face going several shades paler, and reached for the man’s sleeve.

“Lenni,” she said. “Lenni, don’t—”

He jerked his arm away, continuing to glare at Eredion.

The shortened name had been enough for Eredion to place the man: Lennimorn, a prominent noble whose family had fallen into severe disgrace during the Purge. The girl beside him must be his new wife. Eredion set his teeth and tried to keep his expression placid. He had been avoiding the man for months; not difficult, as Lennimorn seemed disinclined to appear in court these days.

He’d sent a few letters to Eredion, though. Nasty ones. Eredion hadn’t responded.

“You watched my Aima,
my daughter,
my only daughter, raped and tortured and
murdered,
making no effort to stop it,” the man went on, a heavy flush coloring his face now. His grey-green eyes glinted.
“No
effort at
all.
You let my Aima
die,
and rescued our servants instead.
Servants!”

The women murmured and blinked anxiously, their gazes flickering from Lady Peysimun to Eredion to Lennimorn, clearly not sure what to do. Two looked shocked and outraged, the rant appparently new to them.

Of course the situation hadn’t been so simple, but none of these people wanted to hear the truth behind that horrible day.
I lost good friends and lovers myself during the Purge,
Eredion wanted to say.
Damnit, I couldn’t save
everyone
, and I paid outrageously every time I intervened.
But again, nobody would hear that as anything but a whiny excuse. He’d chosen servants over nobles: that was the only thing that mattered to them.

Lennimorn roared on, unstoppable: “And now you dare, you
dare,
to come into the home of a respectable noblewoman, whose own daughter was nearly whipped to death because of another barbaric fool of a southerner, and issue an order to her—in front of her guests, no less? Your gall is
incredible.”

“Yes,” Eredion said urbanely. “You’re not the first to remark that I do have rather an admirably large set.”

Most of the women gasped and put their hands to their mouths, their faces going, variously, deep pink or deeper bronze. Lady Peysimun’s only reaction was to narrow her eyes and thin her lips; no polite appearance of innocence for her, apparently.

Lennimorn swelled with indignation and took a step forward, fists clenching.

“Please do remember,” Eredion said, keeping his voice deliberate and low, “that I have immunity.”

Lennimorn stopped. “Hiding behind politics,” he sneered. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Eredion didn’t react. It didn’t matter what the man thought of him. The warning had been delivered, in front of witnesses.

“I must speak with Lady Peysimun,” he said. “Now. If you will all excuse us,
s’ieas?”

The guests glanced in varying degrees of anxious bewilderment at their hostess; after a taut moment, she waved a hand sharply.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to gather again another night,” she said. “Pardon the
rudeness,
please.”

Eredion moved well clear of the doorway, keeping his back against the wall and one eye on Lennimorn; the man glared but allowed his young wife to tug him from the room without further incident. Eredion made a mental note to cultivate the girl. She had some wits, at least. Lennimorn’s first wife, the mother of his daughter, had been the screeching, whiny type and would have escalated the moment instead of trying to calm it.

Unfortunately, Lennimorn would probably take out his temper on her as thanks for interfering. Eredion restrained a sigh, watching the guests hurry from the room. At last, as the mansion grew quiet again, Lady Peysimun faced Eredion’s glare with trembling hands laced together tightly and a defiant tilt to her chin.