"It is called a death adder," he said.
"Lord of the Sky," she breathed. "I could have been killed."
"Not a chance." Prince Ilathor's smiled broadened. "This poor fellow is suffering from a misnomer."
"What do you mean?"
"He is very slow and rarely moves away when approached. So he was named a deaf adder. Over the years the name has become distorted, and now he is a death adder. Yet he harms no one."
"Why do you think the name changed?"
Ilathor shrugged. "Perhaps so that a man like me can impress a woman like you."
"You can let him go now," Ella said, looking askance at the prince.
He flung out his arm, the snake flying through the air to land in a nearby bush.
Ella quickly washed her face, and then was silent as she walked by the prince's side, returning to where the horses were being offered some respite from the journey on the sandy banks of a small river.
As they remounted and Ella kicked Afiri forwards, she looked back the way they had come. The long column stretched as far as the eye could see, tens of thousands of horsemen and many more on foot. Camp followers trailed in their wake: cooks, tinkers, grooms and whores. Ella was glad she rode with the prince and Jehral at the head of the column, otherwise she would have been as covered with dust as those behind. Bartolo and Shani also rode at the head, along with ten Petryan elementalists, friends of Shani's from Tlaxor.
Ella was surrounded by friends, and Prince Ilathor was always nearby, yet she felt alone. Since their night together she'd told the prince she needed time to think, and he'd respectfully honoured her request. Ella felt guilty when she thought about Killian. Did that mean she didn't love the prince?
As Prince Ilathor took them through the Gap of Garl, away from his homeland and towards Tingara, she realised she had never been this far from home. She wondered where Miro was, and whether he was safe. She fingered the pendant on its chain at her neck, and wondered what Prince Ilathor planned to do when they reached Tingara.
The temperature turned cool as they left the warm Petryan lands and the mountain ranges no longer blocked the cold weather from the north. On one side, to the west, Ella could see the jagged tops of the Elmas, the range that separated Petrya from the lands of Altura and Halaran. On the other side of the Gap of Garl, the mighty Emdas rose in the east, looming over the riders, the mountain tops white and covered with clouds, the summits so high they could hardly be seen.
A speck grew on the red horizon, a returning scout from the flat land in the north. Their journey through the Gap of Garl took them first north, and then east. It was a long way around, but it was the only way.
A cloud of dust rose behind the single rider. He was clad in Hazaran costume, and soon his yellow sash could be seen against the black. The man pulled up in front of Prince Ilathor.
"A small army," the scout said, his breath coming between gasps, "up ahead. Just past that rise."
"What banner?" Jehral asked.
"A withered tree on grey," the scout said.
The prince looked first at Jehral, who raised his eyebrows, and then Ella, who shook her head. Bartolo shrugged and even Shani's face said she didn't know the markings.
"How many?" Prince Ilathor asked.
"Perhaps two thousand, it is hard to say."
"Go and speak with them. See if you can find out who they serve."
"Yes, my prince," the scout said, wheeling his horse and riding away.
"If he doesn't come back by the time the sun hits that tree," the prince said, "he isn't coming back."
"You have a cold heart, desert prince," Shani said, low enough that the prince wouldn't hear, but close enough that Ella could.
"This is a poor place for a battle," Bartolo said. "There are hills to either side. We should move to higher ground and fortify our position."
"He speaks sense, my prince," Jehral said.
"Thank you, bladesinger," Prince Ilathor said, "but that is not our way. Two thousand is nothing to an army this size."
~
AS THEY waited, more and more of the Hazaran riders arrived, to be deployed in fighting formation as a long line of riders, but the scout did not return.
Prince Ilathor prepared for battle.
The elders — those women who had been chosen to receive the lore of Raj Hazara — summoned illusionary warriors, storms and whirlwinds. The sky overhead flashed and lightning stabbed down at the earth. Dust rushed one way and then another as the elders struggled to keep control of their lore.
The open field was where the desert warriors fought best, and as Prince Ilathor's deadline for the scout's return approached and then passed, he signalled his captains and launched his mighty army into action. The infantry and Petryan elementalists were to stay behind; they couldn't keep up with the horsemen, and of the Petryans only Shani was comfortable on a horse.