“Because,” Sevin spat, “they’re not savages. The Hykso are traders, hunters. They’re a careful folk. They’ll wait till we’re out of water, exhausted and wild with thirst. Then—”
“Enough.” Merit brushed Sevin away as she surveyed the mess of broken armor and dead horses. Sevin was right, but he did not have all of the answers. It did not explain why the ash-skinned man had not killed her. Clearly he had been close enough to cut her throat—she could still feel the cool touch of his hand on her shoulder.
Sevin ordered his men to raise tents. The outlanders had retreated from sight, but she could hear their cries, voices that imitated animal sounds: a hawk’s screech, a coyote’s snarl. The outlanders were letting them know they were close, they were watching, waiting to attack.
Merit cursed. She should not have left Feren without Dagrun’s soldiers, his horses, and their fortified armor. She needed a larger company, an army for an escort, she was queen regent, but she had only a small entourage. In Rifka, she’d let her pride interfere with her judgment and now she was suffering because of it.
With his men standing at attention, or patrolling, Sevin and a few others set camp. He ordered the dead girl dragged from the wreckage. Through the bustle, Merit watched the men wrap Ahti in the lap blanket and bury her in the sand. Samia stood, sobbing quietly, too afraid to make a noise. In a few days, maybe less, wolves and wild dogs would come to dig for Ahti’s corpse, and vultures would pick her bones—the second death, if the Hykso did not unearth her first. It was a good reminder, Merit thought, of all that there was to lose.
She sat down next to her captain, watched him stare into the fire as he called out orders to his men. His face was worn, eyes red. I should have ridden out while the last two horses stood. Damn you, Sevin, if you’ve cost me my life. When he was finished with his men Sevin turned to Merit. “What do you think those outlanders are doing on the Feren border?”
“Does it matter?” she said. “Start thinking of how you’ll sneak me out of here.” Merit left the fire. The daylight faded. They spent the night huddled in tents and the morning crowded around the fire. Merit found Sevin and ordered her captain to send messengers: one toward Harkana, a second toward Feren. “Perhaps a lone soldier can elude the Hykso,” she said, her eyes tracing the distant cliffs.
Sevin gave her a doubtful look, but he brought forth soldiers, gave them amber and bread, stripped them of their heavy armor, and told them to move as quickly as they could toward the respective kingdoms. “There’s a Harkan outpost a day’s walk from here,” he said. “Davo, you head in that direction, toward Harkana. Cerrik, you strike out toward the Rift valley and surrender to the nearest Feren soldiers.”
“Sir,” the soldiers said, and, looking warily at Merit, they started off on foot.
The first had scarcely disappeared when a chorus of animal cries bounded from the high cliffs. The snorts and howls echoed like boos from a crowd. They had found her man and were mocking her efforts.
“Should we go after him?” Samia asked.
Sevin gave Merit a cold look: the boy was dead.
Merit searched for the second messenger, the man headed toward Harkana, but the soldier was gone. She waited, eyes wide, skin cold. She listened for the howls that had accompanied the first kill. She stood, heart beating, but heard only her breath and the distant cawing of a crow. No sounds of battle. An hour passed, then a second. Merit sent out a third soldier to survey the canyon, to see if the Hykso had taken her man and left. The soldier wove through the rocks and scrub, his black leather mixing with the dark rocks as he disappeared over the ridge. She waited for the clink of iron, for their captors’ cries, but heard neither. Flies buzzed and hawks screeched. Merit retired to her tent. Sevin lit a fire and the nervous Harkans gnawed at what provisions they had.
Just after midday Sevin’s voice resounded through the camp. “Gather your arms,” he said as Merit pushed open her tent flap. An outlander had crested the hill and was moving quickly toward them. Her captain took three of his strongest and marched toward the man, stopping just short of attack. The men converged, raised their swords, but came up short. The Harkans sheathed their blades and the ashen warrior lowered his spear. The five men stood together and talked for a tense moment, then turned and hastened together toward the camp.
“What’s happening? Are they going to kill us?” Samia asked, panic rising in her voice, and Merit answered, “I don’t know, but keep your voice down. They might kill you just for panicking.”
When they came closer, Merit saw the ash-covered man was too tall to belong to an outlander tribe, his bearing too stiff. He was Harkan, and Merit knew him well. His name was Asher Hacal, a close ally of her father’s, his friend and his captain. Merit immediately stood to greet him.
“Queen Regent,” he said, and bowed.
“What brings you so far from Harwen?”
He told Merit that he had intercepted her messenger en route to Harkana, given the man his horse, and told him to ride hard toward Harwen while Asher continued on foot, following her man’s instructions to reach Merit’s camp. When Asher encountered the Hykso, he had killed one, stolen his guise, and slipped through to the encampment.
Merit stopped him. She was confused—Asher had been escorting her father to Solus, not Harwen. What was he doing on the road to Harkana? “What’s wrong, Asher?”
He caught his breath. “I have news, it’s from Solus. Something only you can hear.”
She brought him to her tent and stood under the billowing blue cloth, where Asher’s face, long known and trusted, looked haunted, bruised. “Well?” she asked. “I assume you have come to tell me my father is dead.”
He swallowed, looking at the cup and clay vessel her servant had set on a narrow table. “May I have a drink of that?” he asked. “I’ve ridden so long, I’m absolutely parched.” Merit nodded. Asher went over and poured himself a drink, then drank it all in one long, smooth gulp. “Better,” he said. “Thank you.”
She folded her arms in front of her. “Don’t make we wait, Asher.”
He shook his head. There was something oddly sorrowful in his face, something hollow. What was it?
Asher told Merit all that had happened to her father in Solus.