Harvest of Rubies (45 page)

Rice should be ready in 30–40 minutes. Serve it on a large platter, being careful not to break the rice grains. Try to shape the rice like a little hill. If you are using saffron, add a teaspoon of boiling water to powdered saffron and pour over rice. To ensure you don’t waste any of the saffron, put a spoonful of rice back into your saffron dish and swirl so that it absorbs any leftover color.

Serve with
Chicken Kebab
.

I
will always remain thankful to Paul Santhouse, who was the best introduction to the publishing world a writer could ask for, and to my agent, Wendy Lawton at Books & Such Literary Agency, whose instincts seem infallible.

I am very grateful to my best friend, Rebecca Rhee, who shared tons of her precious time and prodigious training on editing
Harvest of Rubies
, making it a far better book than it would otherwise have been, but not nearly so grateful as I am for her irreplaceable friendship. Lauren Yarger and Tegan Willard, a big thanks to you for your excellent and astute editing. Thank you also to Emi Trowbridge, Cindy McDowell, Janice Johnson, and Karen Connors, each of whom made a valuable difference with her suggestions and heartfelt encouragement.

I’m indebted to Kathi and Taylor Smith for providing me with a peaceful writing haven while feeding me amazing food. Thank you also for helping me with the finer details of the art
of horseback riding. I’m grateful to my treasured friends Beth and Rob Bull whose mastiff puppy was the inspiration behind Caspian’s breed, and whose constant support puts a smile on my face. I am particularly thankful to you for the idea of Caspian being the one to carry the key back to Teispes.

My constant appreciation for my brother, Ario Afshar, who has always believed in me more than I deserved, and has supported me in every way possible.

I highly recommend my zany online writers loop—the ACFW Northeast bunch. It’s a relief to hang out with people who speak your language and get your desires, even if it’s just online.

A number of professionals made this writing journey a joy: Bill Chiaravalle, whose magnificent cover designs for both
Harvest of Rubies
and
Pearl in the Sand
have created a beautiful brand for my books; Dr. Torger Vedler, who graciously shared his rare knowledge of the period and answered numerous questions about the mysteries of the Achaemenid Empire, as well as led me to the right resources; three talented editors at Moody—Deb Keiser who added a new depth to
Rubies
by challenging me to let go of Caspian, Betsey Newenhuyse who helped me attend to many important details, and Pam Pugh who was both an encourager and a grammar angel; Janis Backing who fortified me continuously with her sweet emails even though it wasn’t her job. Thank you all for your incredible support and help.

I would be remiss if I did not thank the many folks at Moody who are key to the success of each book, but whose names may not be mentioned often: people like Ros, Brittany, and the nameless sales force who put so much time and effort in each project. Simply, thank you!

(not final title)

D
arius snapped into full consciousness, aware that an unfamiliar noise had dragged him out of sleep. Years of military training had honed his instincts for danger so that he was already taking inventory of the surroundings before his eyes had adjusted to the starless night. With relief he noted that Sarah slept undisturbed next to him, her body squeezed tight against his side in an unconscious effort to ward off the night chill.

Without making a sound he shifted his head to look for Arta, who was on guard duty. In the firelight, he could see the man sprawled on the ground, his head slumped forward at an awkward angle. Darius’s heart pumped with an unpleasant rush as he noticed the dark liquid clinging to the side of Arta’s slack face.

Darius shifted his gaze, careful not to move his head noticeably. Besides Arta, he had three men riding with him. Two were gagged and tied, he saw. He caught the attention of the third man, Meres, who was alert and unbound, faking sleep. Meres pointed behind him with a subtle rising of his brow.

Following his signal, Darius noted that there were four intruders. Five, he amended, taking in the massive shoulders of a leather-bound man skulking toward him, holding a wide, short sword. Darius grasped his knife, the only weapon he had kept strapped against his thigh when he had fallen into his
pallet late last night, after an exhausting journey through treacherous slopes.

The wide-shouldered man stood over him now. Filled with the peculiar calm that often came to him in the heat of battle, Darius realized that the man held his sword at a curious angle, more as a club than a stabbing instrument. He wasn’t intent on killing him so much as subduing him, then.

With a lightning movement, Darius swept his leg, catching his attacker in the ankles. Surprised, the man lost his balance for a moment. Darius rolled to his feet and taking advantage of his opponent’s unsteadiness, kicked him hard in the groin. The man dropped his sword and doubled over, in too much agony to cry out.

Darius grabbed the discarded sword and hit the man on the back of the head with the flat of the blade. With a grunt, he fell over, unconscious.

“Consider it a favor,” Darius said, knowing from old experience that his attacker wouldn’t want to be awake through that pain.

“Darius?” Sarah, awakened by the commotion, was kneeling on her pallet, her eyes wide with shock. Darius swallowed hard. When he had allowed her to join him on their trip, he had not expected anything more dangerous than their daily rides, which upon occasion brought them to high mountain passes. The thought of what might happen to her in the midst of a melee made his gut twist into a tight knot.

He forced his voice to sound calm. “I want you to run behind that outcropping of rock over there, Sarah. Don’t move unless I call you.”

She didn’t stir.
“Now,”
he whispered, a sharp bite underlying the command. To his relief, she obeyed.

The rest of their unknown attackers now became aware
that he was not asleep and could no longer be taken unawares. In the periphery of his vision he saw Meres engaging two men while the other two headed in his direction. Darius frowned, perplexed by the fact that they seemed unarmed, except for a long, skinny stave which one of them held casually in one hand. He used the moments he had before they reached him to try to cut one of his men, Sama, loose. He only had time to cut the ties about Sama’s wrists and grab a shield before his two opponents were almost upon him.

Darius turned, using the time to take note of small details that might give him an advantage in the unequal fight. In a corner of his mind he was aware that the grass was cool and damp beneath his bare feet and the air crisp in his chest. To his astonishment, he saw that only one man approached him, his gait slow. He was slim, shorter and thinner than Darius, but even in the pale light of the fire it was clear that his compact body was covered by muscle. The man’s companion held back, appearing relaxed, in no hurry to come to his aid. They certainly did not seem to expect much trouble from their prey, Darius thought.

Unsure of how the man intended to use such a thin reed of a staff in a fight, Darius flexed his sharp knife in one hand, considering. He stepped forward into a well-practiced stance, and put his weight behind the knife as he lunged at the man. To his surprise the man did not veer either to left or right, but in the last moment, stretched out an arm, and with what felt like almost a soft touch, pushed against Darius’s wrist in an arc. Darius found his knife hand traveling wide off the mark, his own strength being used against him.

He regained his balance and turned to face his opponent again. The white staff suddenly whirled in the air, sounding more like a whip than a stretch of wood. Darius pulled his
shield in front of his face just in time to catch its downward strike. Amazingly, the wood did not splinter as it came into contact with Darius’s thick wicker and leather shield. Instead, it bent and found its way around the shield, whipping the side of Darius’s face with a painful strike. He put a hand to his stinging face; it came away bloody. He had never experienced anything like it in battle before.

Darius gripped his knife harder. The man had taken a strange pose, his knees bent, one arm forward, his palm flat, the other fisted around the staff and pulled back. Darius rushed at him, intending to use the weight of his core body to wrestle the man to the ground. Before he had the opportunity, however, his opponent uncoiled with tremendous speed and brought down the edge of his hand diagonally against the side of Darius’s neck. The blow bore down on Darius with the force of metal instead of mere flesh and blood. He knew he would have lost consciousness if his neck muscles were not unusually strong. Darius resisted the dizziness that enveloped him, swallowing hard to overcome the urge to vomit.

With a growl, he threw aside the shield and rushed at his attacker, hoping to surprise him with an unexpected counterattack. The man grasped a hold just above Darius’s elbow and pressed. It was as if a string had been pulled from his elbow all the way down into his fingers; Darius lost his grasp on the knife, his fingers nerveless.

He managed to break contact and took up a defensive stance, but he realized that he was losing control of the fight. It was clear that his opponent was proficient in a form of combat hitherto unknown to Darius. With sudden speed, the man rushed toward him and flew high in the air as if he had grown a set of wings, landing a kick that felt like the trunk of a tree straight into Darius’s solar plexus. Darius collapsed, unable to breathe.

From the corner of his eye he saw his opponent’s companion standing to the side, his arms crossed, a relaxed grin on his face as he watched. No wonder he wasn’t exerting any effort. He must have seen his friend pull this trick with success more than once. Without warning, the man’s grin wavered and his eyes rolled back before he slid to the ground with a noisy crash. Sama stood behind him, holding a fat rock in his hand.

Darius’s opponent was distracted for a moment by the noise of his companion dropping to the ground. It was the opening Darius needed. The thought of what this man could do to his wife gave Darius the strength to get back on his feet, ignoring the fire in his ribs. Taking advantage of his opponent’s slack-jawed surprise, he landed his elbow into the man’s belly and knocked him in the side of the head with a double-handed punch. The man staggered to one side. Darius swept a kick against his knees in the opposite direction and his opponent toppled. On the ground, he was unable to use the staff. Sama joined the melee, and finally between the two of them, and Sama’s flat rock, they were able to subdue the adversary, who lay unconscious, a thin trickle of blood falling sluggishly from his fast swelling lip.

They rushed to help Meres; Darius was relieved to note that although the others in the gang of attackers were good fighters, they were nowhere near as extraordinary as the man whom he had faced. Within minutes, Meres’s two challengers were quashed, tied with severe knots that held them helpless against one another. The other three men in the gang who were in various stages of unconsciousness were restrained in similar fashion.

Sarah ran to his side. “Are you all right?” She was unable to hide a small quiver in her voice.

“You were supposed to wait until I called you.” He tried to
sound stern, but heard relief drown out every other emotion in his words.

“They can’t pose much danger now, unconscious and tied up as they are. You took a few hard hits. Anything broken?”

Barefoot as she was now, the top of her head came to his chest. Her hair, wild from sleep and her haphazard run, tangled about her face, and her full mouth, trembling with fear only moments ago, was now flattened into a stubborn line. He found her utterly beautiful. “I may have a few cracked ribs.”

“And your cheek is bleeding. It will probably scar. Too bad. You won’t be nearly as good looking as Meres anymore.”

Darius swallowed a smile. “Then you’d better attend me, woman. Or will you faint at the sight of a little blood?”

He would have laughed at her offended expression if the moan of one of the captives hadn’t forced him back to the present situation.

“Search them,” Darius said through gritted teeth as Sarah bound his ribs with bandage. “Strip them naked if you have to. I want to know who they are and why they attacked us.”

Arta, who had regained consciousness and was nursing a prodigious headache, growled. “Thieves and rascals—that’s who they are. Looking for our silver, no doubt.”

Darius made a noncommittal sound in his throat. The five men did not strike him as thieves. They fought like professionals, not bandits. Their high-quality horses were well cared for. He could still picture the unusual moves of the slim man he had fought; if not for Sama’s help, he had no doubt he would have lost that clash. Those were not the combat moves of a common thief.

He deliberated for a moment on whether to take the time and solve the puzzle of this mysterious attack, or bundle the culprits on their horses and deliver them to the magistrate in
Susa and let him untangle this enigma. After all, the king, who had summoned him and Sarah for a special audience, expected their speedy presence in Susa. No doubt after months of respite in honor of his new marriage, Artaxerxes had decided that he had shown enough grace; the empire required the services of all its able men if it was to function properly.