“Well, that’s true. You always did have a good sense of timing.”
“So trust me. Come with me to Solus. Adin, this is about more than just our freedom. There is a reason why we ransoms are so often feared. We are strangers to our kingdoms, but comrades to each other. We are three regents with an alliance that runs deeper than blood. Two kings and a king’s daughter. Between us, we hold the claims to the thrones of Harkana, and Feren. Can’t you see it? A pact between the lower kingdoms? A chance to take back what is ours. Isn’t that worth risking our lives?” he asked Adin, kicking sand to extinguish the flame, making his way toward the ladder that led down to the base of the wall.
Adin glanced at his family’s broken fortress, wiped his tears, and hurried toward the ladder to join his friend.
44
Merit crossed the Rift valley in her calash, the wheels rattling, the tarp whipping in the wind, a bright wedge of forest framed between granite cliffs. Her caravan wound down the mountain trail and out over the first low hills of the desert plain. She sat with her back facing the horses, her eyes fixed on the Feren wood as it disappeared behind a stand of gray-leafed willow. Merit watched the forest for as long as she could. I should have waited a night, I should have stayed with Dagrun. One night for the two of them. It was all he asked and she had refused him once again.
For two days her caravan skirted the basin of Amen. She pursued a long but safe route, hugging the Shambles as she made her way toward Harwen. At night her soldiers made camp with the horses huddled between the tents. Merit and the soldiers lit no fires, ate dried meats, and drank tepid cups of amber. They woke and rode out again. By noontime on the third day, the sun was hot and the sweat on Merit’s neck and back was mixing with the dust, making her itch. Her caravan had not stopped since morning meal, riding hard through the desert to reach Harkana. Now the soldiers were coated in a mud made of road dirt and sweat, the calash groaning. She needed air. Pushing open the tarp, she called Sevin Mosi, her captain, and ordered the caravan halted. The wheels ground to a stop. Merit stepped out, her waiting women, Ahti and Samia, following as she went a few paces up the trail. Ahti moved to dab the sweat from Merit’s brow, but she brushed the servant off. “It’s no use,” she told the girl. “The dust will be back in a moment, and the sweat too.”
A little hiss of wind preceded the thunk of metal striking rock. A long black dart shattered against the stones, then another, its loud whistle dying into something soft. Ahti was clutching the shaft of a blackwood dart that had pierced her through the neck. Already her limbs were going slack, her body slumping to the ground. Merit remained calm, but Samia gave a little strangled noise of mute horror. Then battle cries, shouting.
A dart sailed past Merit’s ear, nipping the flesh. They came from behind, the sun at their backs, their skin mottled in ash. Men with slings and blowguns dashed through the caravan. Darts flew through the air, and two of the four geldings fell. A cold hand gripped Merit’s shoulder. She reached for her mother’s short sword, but the blade was gone, lost in the chaos. She turned, seeing a warrior in chalk-white desert robes slipping past her in the dust. He stared at her with strange golden eyes, put one hand on her shoulder, and the other on his lips—shhh—and disappeared. Spooked. Like a ghost in the darkness.
“Did you see that?” Merit said. “Did you see him?”
“Where?” Sevin shouted, and without warning he was there, holding Samia with one hand and his sword with the second. He either had not seen the outlander or had not reached him in time. Merit had seen the man and she recognized his strange golden eyes. The Hykso were traders and slavers from the Salt Barrens. While they shared much in common with the San, they were a more civilized tribe. They valued life, if they thought it could fetch a price.
The dull clinking of swords rattled the air. Two horses remained, their bodies shielded by a ring of Harkans.
“You take one, Sevin, and I will take the other. The soldiers will stay with Samia. We’ll ride hard for the Hornring. When we are safe within the walls, I’ll send the army to fetch the others.” A hail of stones struck the calash; a blackwood dart scraped the nearest horse. The creature turned violently, knocking two soldiers to their knees. A second dart whistled past the horse’s head. They didn’t have long. Merit grasped the horse’s reins and moved to pull herself up, but Sevin blocked her with a cautioning hand. “The horses are already at their limit. This one here,” he said, indicating one good-sized gelding with foam on his flanks, “he won’t make it. He’s done. We’ll be stuck on foot and forced to walk.” Merit cursed, her fingers turning white as they tightened around the reins. Risk the road or wait here while the outlanders wore them down—neither was an acceptable option.
Before she could consider the matter further, a piercing whistle broke the silence. From high on the cliff the hiss of darts sliced through the air, howling war cries echoing from all sides. Merit dropped the horse’s reins, but she would not hide from her enemy. She stood tall, commanding the soldiers. A blackwood dart struck the man standing in front of her, the shaft, thick as her thumb, broke through his chest, through armor and flesh. The tip sprang from his back, shedding blood on her blue dress. The wounded soldier collapsed, but she pushed his body aside, knocking him into Sevin. Beside her, Samia was screaming, the blood pounded in Merit’s ears but she stayed calm, trying to find the archers’ location. The outlanders were firing high, their projectiles often sailing over her men’s heads. What are they doing? Too late, she realized their true target: the horses. “Raise shields!” she cried, but the darts and stones were already arcing over the soldiers’ heads and finding their targets. The horses collapsed. The raiders had done their work: Merit’s company, what was left of it, was trapped.
As the cries of the Hykso faded into the hills, as the soldiers fanned out to form a protective ring, Merit remained standing, her guards clustered around her. She searched for her mother’s short sword, spotted it on a pierced seat cushion, and pulled it forth. She sent out a soldier to test the perimeter, to see if the Hykso were watching, if they were truly trapped, but when her man stepped beyond the ring the Hykso leapt from behind the rocks, hurtling spears and loosing darts. The soldier fell dead on the ground, a black stave protruding from his chest. They would not escape on foot.
“Why?” Samia called from behind Merit. “Why have they trapped us like this?”