Lady of the Star Wind (45 page)

Mark led his cavalry crashing into the small Maiskhan encampment at full gallop. Sallea took out the single sentry with a well-thrown lethal knife, the blade choking off the man’s yelled warning. Lakht dropped from the sky to attack a soldier rising from his bedroll, razor-sharp talons making short work of the foe. Riding to the center of the camp, Mark dismounted by the fire, standing over the helpless Khefer and the other man as a Maiskhan officer ran at him, sword in hand. Mark engaged the enemy in a slashing, no-holds-barred battle over and around the bound prisoners. The Maiskhan was a good enough fighter, but Mark was relentless. The skirmish ended with the enemy bleeding out on the ground from multiple wounds. Mark delivered the killing blow, pivoting to meet the next challenge as two more men rushed him. He shot one with the blaster to even the odds as he was raising his sword to blunt the second man’s attack. Seeing his comrade die between one step and the next appeared to demoralize the oncoming warrior, who made a halfhearted show of force before trying to flee. Reluctant to shoot the man in the back but unwilling to let anyone escape, Mark gave chase, tackling the fleeing man to the ground. They rolled over, punching and wrestling, but the Maiskhan was no match for Mark’s hand-to-hand combat skills. He knocked the opponent out with a well-aimed blow to the throat.

Breathing hard, sword at the ready, Sallea ran up. “Is he dead?”

Mark shook his head. “Unconscious. We’ll have to take him with us as a prisoner. I’m not leaving anyone behind to be questioned about us.”

Turning, Sallea yelled to one of her men to bring rope.

“Situation report?” Mark cleaned his sword.

“All the others are dead or dying. Sethmre took Khefer and the other prisoner out of here, per your orders.” She gave quick orders to the Mikkonite who ran to them holding a length of rope.
 

Leaving her to handle the task, Mark was free to assess the situation in the camp. “Leave the bodies here for the jackals,” Mark said. “Take their horses. We can use more mounts, even if we do have to train them to the saddle. I’m going to check the tent, see if there’s anything in there we need. Get going with the Maiskhan prisoner.”

“Where do we meet?” asked Sallea as one of her companions ran to the horse line.

“Don’t stop until you reach the camp where we ate lunch yesterday on the edge of the plateau. Now get out of here. I’ll be right on your heels, I promise.”

“You wish to ride so far before we halt?” Sallea followed Mark toward the small tent. “What if Khefer is badly wounded? What if he needs care?”

“He’s tough, he’ll make it. It’s clear from the way they treated him that the Maiskhan wanted him alive, so I doubt if he’s got any life-threatening wounds. Your men can bandage anything less serious. Now go, no time to talk.” Not stopping to watch her ride out, Mark grabbed a torch and ducked under the tent flap. It took him only a few moments to search the small enclosure, seizing scrolls and maps, which he tucked into his saddlebag. He set the tent on fire before galloping away from the scene himself, hoping to cause a bit more confusion for whoever eventually came to investigate.

A few hours later, Mark rode past the sentry into his own small camp. With obvious pain and difficulty, Khefer rose from a bedroll by the fire. Leaning on Sallea, he came to greet Mark. She kept her grip on Khefer until he’d gotten his balance. Reaching around her, Khefer shook Mark’s hand.

“Thank you for coming after me, my lord.”

“Thank Sallea. She’s the one who realized you were in difficulties.” Mark took a waterskin from one of the Mikkonite soldiers and drank deeply before pouring water on his head and face. The long hours in the saddle, followed by a short but fierce battle and then more riding, had taken its toll.

“I have thanked her and will continue to do so.” Khefer hugged the woman closer. She buried her face in his dusty, stained tunic. With a measure of astonishment, Mark realized she was weeping.

“I feared I’d never see you again,” she said to Khefer, her voice muffled. “I so regretted the anger in our last moments together before you rode away.”

“Shh, all forgotten now.” Khefer tipped her chin so he could kiss her. “You were right, I ran a great risk. I had to go, though. There were things we needed to know. I won’t be going to the city again, not until we return with the king and his army to wreak vengeance on Farahna.”

Mark handed the waterskin to the soldier with a word of thanks and dried his face with his sleeve. He rested his hand on Khefer’s shoulder. “You okay?”

“More or less. The Maiskhan beat me when they caught us, but their commander said he was saving the serious punishment for Farahna’s pleasure later in the city.”

“So who did we rescue with you? One of the good guys, I hope.”

“Indeed.” Khefer exuded triumph despite his bruised face and disheveled appearance. “My companion is Sapair.”

“Name sounds familiar.” Mark frowned, trying to make the connection.
 

“He served as Seroj’s deputy at the royal palace. After Seroj died in the earthquake, the night you and our king were taken prisoner, Farahna elevated Sapair to chief official of the royal household.”

Snapping his fingers, Mark said, “I remember Seroj. Fat little ass kisser. He deserved what he got—I shed no tears over him. Can’t say I recall this Sapair, but if you vouch for him, that’s good enough for me.”

“Sapair’s injuries are far more serious than mine,” Khefer said.

“We’ll camp here tonight,” Mark told Sallea, who waited nearby in expectation of orders. “And leave at first light. We need to get to the general’s compound as fast as possible. Will Sapair be able to sit a horse by morning?”

“Sethmre works on him even now, my lord,” Sallea answered. “He has the healing touch and is trained as a physician’s assistant, but this Sapair we rescued has been much tortured and hasn’t regained consciousness.”

“I want to see him for myself.” Mark glanced at Khefer. “I’m going to need a debrief from you. Are you able to give details now, or do we need to wait?”

“Now is fine of course, my lord.” Khefer saluted without his usual grace and fluidity, grimacing as the move apparently aggravated his injuries.

Mark frowned. “I’m no expert, but I think you have a broken rib or two. Let Sallea’s trooper strap your chest before we ride out. Sandy’s waiting to examine you when we get home.”

Trailed by Khefer and Sallea, Mark walked to the fire, where the Mikkonite healer was on his knees in the flickering light, bandaging the stranger’s hands.
 

Mark leaned over to study the unconscious man’s face in the moonlight, augmented by the ruddy glare of the flames. This was the official who’d been so sympathetic to them in the holding cell the morning of Hutenen’s burial. He was the one who’d brought them food, warm water to bathe in, and clothing.

“And now he’s on the run from Farahna?” Mark asked Khefer. “What happened? And why should we trust him?”

“Sapair is a good man, loyal to the true gods. His partner is Ebnar, captain of the household guards. Ebnar is the one who helped me hide in the ranks after Hutenen’s murder. He and Sapair have been my greatest sources of information about Farahna’s plans all this time,” Khefer answered. “She trusted them. Both men held key positions and overheard much of her planning with the Maiskhan. What one wasn’t privy to, the other often supplied to me.”

“What happened to Ebnar?”

“I’m not sure. Somehow he was betrayed. He played an even more dangerous game than I. When I entered the city this last trip, a trap had been laid for me at the inn where I was to meet Ebnar. After my narrow escape from the snare, I couldn’t find out what happened to Ebnar, whether he was dead or imprisoned. I did learn Sapair had also been seized and was being held in a cell in the palace, awaiting execution. Even in these treacherous times, he has friends in the royal household who helped me rescue him and get out of the city. He was so badly injured we couldn’t travel fast enough, and the Maiskhan managed to pursue and capture us on the trail. How did you know where to find us? Was it mere chance?”

Mark glanced at Sallea, uncertain how much of her private worry and premonition she wanted to discuss. The Mikkonite shook her head ever so slightly, and Mark said, “My Lady used the mirror to search for you. The vision she received made it obvious you were in danger. Then Sallea tracked you with Lakht’s help.” Hunkering down beside the fire, Mark studied the unconscious man as Sethmre finished bandaging his injuries. “What’s wrong with his hands?”

“The queen’s torturers broke them,” Khefer said, face set in grim lines. “One bone at a time until all were shattered, I was told. In front of the whole court. She intended the torture as an object lesson in case anyone else thought of betraying her.”

“Why ruin his hands?” Sallea asked, pale and swallowing hard.

Khefer grimaced as if he shared Sapair’s pain. “His hands were the most important tools he had to practice his profession, keeping the records and the books.”

“A man’s mind is the most important thing,” Mark countered. “If he can think and walk and talk, then there’s hope. I don’t know what Sandy might be able to do about this type of injury, but she’ll try all her techniques.”

“I’ve set the major bones in his hands as best I can, my lord.” Rising to his feet, the Mikkonite healer stretched. “But I can tell the queen’s torturers took extra care to smash the smaller finger bones to splinters. I’m glad he was unconscious while I worked. I marvel he survived.”

Reminded too much of his own past, Mark didn’t want to dwell on the details of the torture. “Can he ride tomorrow? Or be carried on a horse?”

“If he wishes to live, then he must, is that not true, my lord?” The soldier shrugged as he packed his kit. “We can’t linger here. I’ve given him a distillation of the painkilling herbs we grow in Mikkon, which should give him relief for some hours.”

“You speak the truth about not staying here. I’ll sit with this man tonight. You need rest,” Mark told Khefer. “We’re going to be riding hard tomorrow. On second thought, I’ll wait for your report—you can debrief the king and me together once we’re safely home. Go, have something to eat and then sleep. That’s an order.”

Khefer saluted. Sallea helped him limp toward the meal being set out across the fire by the Mikkonites. Seating himself where the healer had been a moment before, Mark pulled the blanket over the unconscious man’s shoulders before leaning against the tree sheltering his camp. A soldier brought him a plate of the simple trail food, which he ate before dozing off, having no doubt his men would guard the small camp well, especially with Sallea in their midst.

Some time in the middle of the night, a low moan from the patient woke him. Reaching for the waterskin, he propped the man up so he could drink, careful not to disturb Sapair’s bandaged hands.

Wiping his lips on his sleeve, blinking, Sapair studied Mark in the scant light from the dying fire. “The Warrior of the Star Wind—how can this be? Have I gone to the afterlife?”

“Easy, you’re not dead. You’re with friends. We got you and Khefer away from the Maiskhan, and we’ve given you something for the pain. Tomorrow we’re heading into the mountains, with General Intef’s stronghold as our destination.”

“There are rumors in the city about General Intef rallying the southern provinces and mounting a rebellion. There is speculation about the general setting up a king of his own or maybe trying for the throne himself.” Sapair studied Mark’s face. “Rumors abound of someone impersonating Rothan, as if he’s miraculously returned from the afterlife.”

“Rothan did survive, as I did, and he’s king, the rightful king.”

“He has royal blood, as his mother is Princess Sharesi, the last king’s sister,” the official mused. “In the absence of a full-blooded heir, he’d be next in line, if the gods so willed.” Exhaling with a sound of relief, Sapair said, “These are glad tidings. Captain Khefer believed in a one-way flow of information, almost never discussing details of what transpired here in the south. Ebnar and I learned not to waste time asking him questions, which eventually proved to be a wise precaution on Khefer’s part as I had nothing to tell the queen when she had me tortured.” He shifted a bit on his pallet, trying to find a more comfortable position without jarring his bandaged hands. “I never became acquainted with Hutenen. He fell ill—or was poisoned, I should say—within a few days after he arrived at the city from the expedition to the far lands. My duties didn’t take me into his presence more than twice. But Captain Rothan I dealt with. I judged him to be a good man, an honorable soldier.”

“He is.” Mark confirmed the assessment with no hesitation. “His grandfather General Intef is a tough, wily old campaigner too. I think the odds are in our favor to drive Farahna out.”

Sapair lifted his bandaged hands as if to make a gesture, then winced. “I had no other choice but to serve her, you know. Ebnar and I kept our honor intact before the true gods by providing Khefer with as much information as we could gather. Farahna is a creature of the Maiskhan, for all she claims to be our queen. Their strange temple will be complete in a few months, and for the dedication, the enemy intend to demand ten firstborn sons from each province to be sacrificed. That atrocity is only the start of their harsh levy. Their leaders plan to sell Nakhtiaar citizens into slavery.” Sapair gazed into the fire. “We’re to be a subjugated territory of the Maiskhan king, stripped of all dignity, wealth, and freedom. I believed General Intef’s rebellion might be our only chance to escape the fate she plans for our nation. Now I have increased hope, seeing you and hearing your news. It may be too late for me to serve as chief official in the palace any longer—”