Four dead bodies were sprawled on the ground; the man whom Kyra had bound with the Inner Speech sat in front of a yurt, a vacant look in his eyes. It would be a long time before he remembered who he was.
Three Kalam men and one woman had been injured by arrows; Kyra stopped where they lay whimpering and tried to soothe them with the Inner Speech as best she could, although she hadn’t much of herself left to spare. Fatigue stole up her limbs and spine, and she longed to lie down on the grass and close her eyes.
A hand grasped her shoulder. “Enough,” said Tonar, her voice hoarse. “Don’t empty yourself, or you’ll be the one in need of healing.”
Kyra got to her feet, but it was hard; her legs felt like rubber. She took in the scene of destruction around her—the bodies, the burned and broken yurts—and shuddered. It was beginning to sink in, what had happened. She had taken down her second and third marks, and not one of them had been a Tau. “Goddess,” she muttered.
“It could have been worse,” said Tonar. “The Goddess watched over us all right.” She wiped her damp brow with a sleeve. “Let’s get those fools back here so they can clear up the mess and explain themselves.”
Kyra glanced at Tonar’s exhausted face. “Who was Asindu Matya?” she asked quietly.
“My first mark,” said Tonar. She pointed with a boot to the body of a man who lay crumpled on the grass a few feet away, his head caved in. “His father was my fourth.”
Kyra swallowed as she gazed at the corpse. She couldn’t help feeling sorry for him, whoever he was. Then she remembered the children kept hostage in the yurt—the children these people had been ready to kill—and her pity vanished.
“Don’t be sorry for them,” said Tonar, as if she had read Kyra’s mind. “His son killed a woman after abducting and violating her. A violent criminal, who deserved to be put down.”
Kyra nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
Tonar walked to the edge of the camp and summoned the Kalams, using the Inner Speech.
One by one, they straggled back. Some were wounded and limping, leaning on their kinsmen for support. Some wept openly. A few hurried to help the injured, headed by the black-robed medicine woman of Kalam. Parents had their arms protectively around their children. The sight smote Kyra. She hoped Tonar wasn’t going to punish them.
Aruna Kalam was one of the first to return. She knelt in front of Tonar, her face gray. The elders of Kalam clustered behind her, looking equally abject. “I have betrayed you, Markswomen of Kali,” Aruna quavered. “I beg the mercy of your blade.”
“Oh, do get up, Auntie,” said Tonar irritably. “Tell me what happened, although I think I can guess.”
The headwoman stood and wiped her eyes. “They arrived a week ago,” she said. “Four men and two women, four armed with swords, two with bows . . .”
“That means one escaped,” interjected Kyra in dismay.
Tonar’s face hardened. “She won’t get far. The Order of Kali will find her, sooner or later. Go on, Auntie.”
“They had two of our children at sword-point,” said Aruna, wringing her hands. “They must have found the children on the steppe, grazing the horses. They threatened to kill them unless we did as they asked. They rounded up all the other children, and made us write a letter to the Mahimata, asking for your presence.”
Tonar pursed her lips. “Fools,” she said loftily, “thinking they could fight a Markswoman of Kali.”
Kyra didn’t say anything, but she knew Tonar would have been dead in the first hail of arrows if she hadn’t pushed her aside.
“We apologize deeply,” said one of the Kalam elders. “We will accept whatever punishment the Mahimata deems fit.”
“One of our elders will be here tomorrow,” said Tonar. “I am quite sure the Mahimata will send Eldest, our healer. As for punishment, I cannot speak for Shirin Mam, but I doubt she will be angry. You have been foolish, but not malicious. You were trying to protect your children, after all.” She glanced at the scene of carnage around them. “Bury the dead. Bind the one who still lives; his mind is gone, but it may decide to return. Eldest will deal with him.”
Aruna Kalam bowed. “Thank you, Markswomen, for your mercy. May we . . . may we offer you our hospitality?”
Tonar gave a short laugh. “No, thank you. We’ll be on our way. You have much to do before nightfall. Take care of your injured and your young. Till we meet again, the Goddess be with you.”
“The Goddess be with you,” they echoed.
Tonar and Kyra mounted their horses and cantered away, leaving the damaged camp behind. It was late afternoon now, and the golden, slanting rays of the sun made it seem as if the foothills were on fire. The wind had picked up—a sign that the night would be cool. Kyra inhaled deeply, grateful to be on her way back home. Grateful to be alive.
“Lucky I was with you today,” she said, glancing at Tonar sideways. “Shirin Mam’s penance turned out to be good for something.”
Tonar snorted. “Shirin Mam sent you with me today for a reason—a reason that had nothing to do with penance or luck.”
“Surely you don’t think she knew what would happen?” said Kyra, skeptical. If Shirin Mam could have predicted this, she would have sent the Hand of Kali. Tamsyn could have taken on all six outlaws single-handed without so much as flinching.
Tonar shrugged. “The Mahimata must have sensed something amiss. Perhaps in the way the letter was phrased.” She paused and said in a different tone, “I’m glad you were with me.” She smiled at Kyra—an event so rare that it struck Kyra speechless. They were quiet for the rest of the ride home, and did not arrive at the caves of Kali until dusk had deepened the sky to violet.
Chapter 7
The Maji-khan of Khur
“No,” said Barkav, his voice implacable. He knelt opposite Rustan, a huge, gray-bearded man with power radiating from every sinew of his massive frame. Clad in white robes with the symbol of Khur—the winged horse—embroidered on his chest, he could not have been anyone other than the Maji-khan, the head of the only Order of Peace in Asiana composed of men.
“But the Kushan elders . . .” began Rustan.
“Ghasil will take care of them,” said Barkav. “Do you not agree that the Master of Mental Arts is the most capable among us to delve into their minds? They will fall over themselves in their hurry to tell him everything. Ghasil will make an example of them.” His gray eyes darkened. “No one will dare lie to us again. No one will dare try to frame an innocent man.”
But what about me, Rustan wanted to shout. What role will I play?