He waved, and the company started forward. Tasaio marched them up the slope toward the saddle between two knolls, where Mara and her honour guard held position. He made no effort at concealment; indeed, it would only be a satisfaction to him if his quarry trembled in fear at his approach. If the Lady broke in terror before his threat, he would bring home to his cousin and Lord the gratifying story of Mara’s shame. Very much he would enjoy seeing her cringe before him at the end.
The warriors crested the rise. Tasaio had time to notice that the curtains of Mara’s litter were drawn closed, her form but a shadowy presence through layers of gauzy silk. Eyes narrowed against sun glare, Tasaio also saw that the honour guard who stood vigil was exceptionally tall, and red-haired. His greaves were too short for his long shanks. The helm pressed over his unkempt locks was not snapped in the heat. As he sighted the advancing ranks of the Minwanabi, he widened eyes of a rare deep blue.
Then, to Tasaio’s ultimate surprise, the redheaded guardsman, who should have been the first pick of Mara’s warriors, gave a gasp of alarm. He plucked at the gauze curtains and whined, ‘Lady, the enemy comes!’
Enjoying the moment hugely, Tasaio signalled the charge. Around him, his warriors leaned into full stride for the attack.
With a strange expression on his face, the Acoma guard braced his spear. Then, as if he rethought the matter, and as his attackers came within arrow range, he dropped his weapon with a noisy clatter, spun on his heel, and ran.
Tasaio loosed a startled laugh. ‘Take the bitch!’ he called and waved his following onward.
The strike patrol raced for the kill, sandals scattering stones as they pressed eagerly into the draw. Tasaio, in the lead, loosed an ululating cry that was half battle yell and partly a paean to the Red God. He dashed to the green-lacquered litter, slashed the silken curtains aside, and thrust his sword deep into the silk-clad figure inside.
A cloudy puff of jigabird feathers burst outward from the pillow his blade impaled. Caught between fury and reflex, Tasaio struck again. Silk split, and a second gutted cushion disgorged its contents into the air.
Tasaio inhaled a lungful of down and cursed aloud.
Enraged and forgetful of decorum, he slashed a third time in an explosion of sheer temper. The litter contained only pillows, wrapped up in a lady’s fine robe. The honour guard, the redhead, had too obviously been a slave set up as decoy, and this litter a gambit and a trap.
Tasaio’s mind reasoned quickly, even though he was irate. This minute, hidden in the surrounding rocks, Mara was certainly enjoying a rich laugh at Minwanabi expense.
Tasaio scanned the nearby knolls to glean some clue where to send his shamed patrol of warriors, who were now as mortified and hot for blood as he was. To follow after the fleeing slave was too obvious; Mara surely would be more clever –
That moment, the arrows began to fall.
The man next to Tasaio caught one just above his cheek guard. He fell, clawing at his face. Tasaio saw other warriors stagger out of their ranks, and he himself took a glancing blow to his armour that scored deeply through hide layers before rebounding and leaving him unharmed. His instinctive reaction as a commander was to call orders and prevent a sloppy retreat. His warriors were seasoned. They responded as the trained elite they were and withdrew in orderly fashion into the cover of rocks and outcrops. At once Tasaio began to trace the flights of the arrows, and to formulate a counterattack to obliterate the Acoma archers.
But a clattering of loose rocks sounded on the ridge he had only recently climbed. Distracted by the disturbance, Tasaio spun, and saw the plumed helm of an Acoma officer flash past a gap in the rock. Green-armoured shapes followed, accompanied by the unmistakable hiss of blades being drawn. Voices added to the din, ordering ranks to close in preparation for a charge.
‘They seek to cut us off,’ the Minwanabi Patrol Leader said quickly.
‘Impossible!’ Tasaio snapped. There was no way Mara could have moved warriors so swiftly to flank Tasaio and attack from the rear.
More canny to the ways of his superior than the Strike Leader, the Patrol Leader said nothing but waited for his senior to issue commands.
‘Cho-ja,’ Tasaio said abruptly. ‘She must have kept some of them in reserve.’ They could move swiftly enough in this uncertain terrain — and yet the voices and the noise from beyond the ridge sounded distinctly human. Tasaio hesitated only a moment more. He could not afford a mistake; if Mara had lured him here, surely she had means to cut him off and annihilate both him and his men. And that would spell disaster for his Minwanabi master.