The Thousand Names Part 43

"Thank you. We won't be going far." I hope.

When they'd pa.s.sed beyond the ring of sentries, Winter risked a smile at Bobby. "Thanks. Has anyone ever told you that you'd make a good sergeant?"

Bobby patted her stomach. "Haven't got the gut for it, sir. As I understand it, a sergeant's got to be able to drink any man in the company under the table."

Winter laughed. As they hiked on, though, her smile faded. Her eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness, and the brilliant march of stars overhead provided at least a modic.u.m of light, but the landscape was still a ma.s.s of looming rocks and deep shadow.

"We'll never find her in this," she said. "If she's gone to ground somewhere . . ."

Bobby pointed to a rock outcropping a few hundred feet ahead. "Up there. We should be able to get a good view."

"Right." They started walking again. "Do you think there really are Desoltai out here?"

"Could be, sir. We know they watch us pretty closely."

"Are you armed?"

Bobby was silent for a moment, as though she hadn't considered that point until now. "No, sir."

Winter grimaced. She hadn't even thought to s.n.a.t.c.h up her belt knife. For a moment she wished she'd been a little slower to follow, or had paused to round up Graff and a few reliable men. There was no helping it now, though.

"Best to stay quiet, then," she whispered. Bobby nodded.

By the time they reached the crest of the little mound of rocks, Winter was surprised to find that she could see quite a distance. Away from the torches and low-burning fires of the camp, the cold brilliance of the stars seemed to fill the world, and they drew gleams from the rocks and painted the sand blue-white. She hoisted herself up onto a low boulder and scanned slowly in a circle, looking for movement.

"Anything?" Bobby hissed.

"I'm not sure." Winter blinked as something caught her eye. She scrambled down again and pointed. "Look over there."

Bobby followed her finger. Another hill, a good half mile off, was a looming black shape against the skyline. The corporal started to ask something, but Winter waved her into silence, waiting. Then light blossomed again, very briefly. A flash of orange-yellow, campfire light, looking like a firefly at this distance. It flickered once, twice, then again after a short pause, and then went dark.

"That looked almost like musket fire," Bobby said.

"No," Winter said. "We'd have heard the shots by now. Besides, musket fire is a bit pinker."

"Think it's the Desoltai?"

"It has to be. They've probably got their campfires screened off somehow." It sounded like a desert nomad trick. "They're a long way off, thank G.o.d."

"Not that far," Bobby said. She peered into the darkness. "There's a little hill over that way. I bet they're on top of it."

Winter squinted, but she couldn't make anything out through the shadows. "You've got good eyes."

"Not really," Bobby said. "I've always-" She paused, and stiffened. "There's someone out there. Heading for the Desoltai."

"So they really are spying on us at night?"

"I don't think so," Bobby said. "A Desoltai would be mounted, wouldn't he?"

"Probably." Winter glanced at Bobby in alarm. "You don't think-Beast's b.a.l.l.s, of course it's her. Come on."

Bobby fell behind briefly as Winter scrambled down the rocky slope, moving dangerously fast in the dim light, but quickly caught up when she reached the bottom and started running across the sandy ground.

"What the h.e.l.l does she think she's doing?" the corporal managed, as she drew alongside.

Winter grimaced. "I think I'm getting the idea."

a a a She'd started running on pure instinct, without any kind of a plan other than a vague hope that she might intercept Feor before the girl reached the hill. It quickly became apparent that this was not going to happen. By the time she and Bobby had crossed the flat ground between the two promontories, Feor-even Winter could see her now, a moving shape against the larger darkness-had started clambering up the slope toward the spot where they'd seen the light. Winter cupped her hands to call out, then thought better of it and kept running.

They were only twenty yards away when a patch of shadow unfolded from the lee of a boulder and took hold of Feor by her still-splinted arm, hauling her off her feet. The Khandarai girl's scream was piercingly loud in the nighttime stillness, and even the Desoltai was momentarily surprised, letting her go and dropping his hands to his weapons.

Winter covered the last few yards at a dead sprint and threw herself at the nomad in a shoulder-first tackle, bowling him off his feet. She'd hoped he'd crack his head on a rock, but no such luck. He grabbed her arms and started to roll her over before they'd stopped moving. Winter slammed her elbows into his ribs, twisting to try to get the leverage to bring her knee up into his crotch. Anything to keep him off balance, so he wouldn't realize he was fighting a girl half his weight. The Desoltai was good, though, squirming out from underneath her and wrenching her into a half crouch with her arms pinioned at her sides. She got a glimpse of a fierce, bearded face, eyes wild in the starlight, before his forehead met hers with a sound like billiard b.a.l.l.s colliding at speed. Stars of brilliant pain exploded behind her eyes, and her stomach filled with bile. For a moment her vision narrowed to thin tunnels.

Bobby, coming up behind the nomad, was short on technique but long on momentum. She swung her heavy army-issue boot into the side of his head as though she were punting a handball, and Winter felt his hands spasm and let go of her arms. She collapsed to the side helplessly, her head still throbbing with violent pain. It took all her strength not to vomit. From behind her there was a brief further sound of a scuffle, and then silence.

A timeless interval of agony pa.s.sed, during which Winter found herself looking forward to the Desoltai coming over to slit her throat. Eventually she heard someone calling her name, as though through thick cotton earplugs. She rolled over, fighting another wave of nausea, and saw Bobby's silhouette against the stars.

"Winter? Sir? Can you hear me?"

"I can hear you," Winter croaked. "I'm . . . I'm okay."

That was a bald-faced lie, but she felt obliged to tell it. Her hands came up to explore her face and found it surprisingly intact. The nomad's head b.u.t.t had been slightly off target, or else it would surely have broken her nose. Her right eye was already puffy to the touch.

"Where'd he go?" she managed.

"Dead," Bobby said. "And Feor's okay."

Winter sat up.

The Desoltai was indeed sprawled motionless nearby. The hilt of a long knife, presumably his own, stuck up from his throat, just above his collarbone. Nearby sat Feor, huddled protectively around her injured arm.

"We have to get out of here," Winter said. She grabbed Bobby's outstretched hand, and between them they managed to get her to her feet. "Everyone for a mile around heard that scream."

Bobby glanced at Feor. "I'm not sure she'll walk, sir."

"Then we'll f.u.c.king carry her." Pain still throbbed in Winter's temples, and she could barely open one eye. "Come on."

The Khandarai girl didn't look up as they approached. Bobby prodded her shoulder cautiously, and got no response.

"What was she thinking, coming all the way out here?" Bobby looked up at Winter. "Was she trying to go over to the Desoltai? I thought they were going to kill her."

"They would. Which, I think, is what she wants." Winter switched to Khandarai. "Stand up."

"No." Feor's voice was tiny. "Leave me."

"I told you to stand up!"

When she didn't obey, Winter nodded to Bobby and they hauled Feor to her feet. She hung between them, limp as a rag doll.

"I don't understand," Bobby said. "You think she wants-"

"To die," Winter spat. "Just as her Mother ordered."

"Oh." Bobby was silent a moment. "If she's going to kill herself . . ."

"She can't kill herself." Winter gave a vicious chuckle. "Suicide is a terrible sin by Khandarai lights. But she can try to get herself killed."

"Just leave me here," Feor whispered. "If the Desoltai do not return, it will not be long before the desert takes me."

"The h.e.l.l I will," Winter said in Khandarai. "I need you. We need to know what's happening to Bobby." She paused for a moment, then continued in a softer tone. "Besides. Your brother gave you your life back, didn't he? Are you going to throw that away?"

"I . . ." Feor choked back a sob. "He should not have done that. It was not proper."

"Who cares what's proper? You're really ready to roll over and die just because some old woman told you to?"

"She is our Mother," Feor said. "We sahl-irusk would not live at all, except by her grace. She provided us with our lives, our purpose. We owe her everything."

"Just because she gave you a place to live doesn't mean she owns you."

"It's more than that." Feor shook her head. "You are Vordanai. I do not expect you to understand."

Winter nearly spat at her. "That's right. I'm just a barbarian, and I've given my word I'll take care of you. Now am I going to have to drag you back to camp, or are you going to walk?"

Feor climbed shakily to her feet. "I will walk."

"Good." Winter turned to Bobby, who'd watched uncomprehendingly throughout the argument. "She's coming. Let's-"

She was interrupted by the shattering bang of a pistol at close range. Winter ducked, instinctively but uselessly, and heard the whine of the ball going wide. The shot had come from up the slope, but the flash had ruined her night vision, and all she could see against the starlight was two dark shadows charging down the hill. More obvious was the glitter of the faint illumination on drawn steel.

"Die, raschem!"

The lead man closed with a shout, headed for Feor. He charged right past Bobby, and Winter realized that the Desoltai must be as near-blind as she was. The corporal bulled into the raider as he pa.s.sed, pus.h.i.+ng him sideways off his feet. She managed to get her hands around his wrist, keeping his sword out of the way, but he grabbed her shoulder and pulled her down to meet a vicious knee to the stomach. Bobby grunted but hung on.

Winter, meanwhile, blinked away the afterimages of the single shot and dove for the spot where the corpse of their first a.s.sailant lay. He had a sword at his belt, too, and after a panicked second of scrabbling she wrenched it free. The second Desoltai had closed in on Bobby, his own sword drawn, but he was wary of striking his comrade. He reached out with his free hand and grabbed the corporal by the back of the collar, wrenching her free and tossing her roughly to the ground.

That left the first raider stumbling backward, off balance, and Winter surged to her feet and went after him. He barely saw her coming in time to bring his blade around in a desperate attempt to parry, but Winter threw the whole weight of her body behind the thrust, wielding the curved Desoltai weapon like a lance. It struck the raider high in the chest and sank half a foot of steel in him, and he went down without a sound. His own weapon dropped from nerveless fingers, and Winter abandoned hers and s.n.a.t.c.hed it up.

She looked up in time to see Bobby on her feet again, backing away from the other Desoltai. He advanced cautiously, burdened by some kind of heavy leather pack, but when he finally understood that she was unarmed he charged. Bobby tried a feint to one side, then dove the other way, but the raider followed with a swordsman's grace and intercepted her with a vicious overhand slash. The girl hit the ground with a spray of blood.

Winter wanted to scream, but she didn't have the breath. She came up fast behind the Desoltai. His pack blocked her from a straight thrust into his back, so she went low, swinging two-handed for his legs. The weighted Desoltai blade bit deep, and the force of the blow snapped the bone and took the leg out from under him. He fell on his face with a m.u.f.fled shriek, sword spinning away. Winter wrenched her blade free and circled him, lining up carefully on the back of his neck, and chopped down hard. The blade bit deep and refused to budge, and so she let go and took a step back while the man's convulsive throes subsided.

"s.h.i.+t," she said, when she had enough breath to speak aloud. Then, louder, "s.h.i.+t." She skirted the dead man and hurried to where Bobby had fallen.

She lay on her stomach, surrounded by a dark stain on the dusty ground. Winter knelt and rolled her over, already dreading what she would see. The heavy downward cut had opened her from collarbone to navel, and the tattered edges of her torn uniform fluttered loose, already soaked in gore.

But, underneath the blood, there was something else. Light was seeping out, a soft white glow tinted with aquamarine, all along the cut. It spread as Winter watched, as though Bobby had starlight in her veins instead of blood. Mild at first, it swelled quickly to an actinic glare almost too bright to look at, then began to fade. Bobby twitched, arching her back, fingers scrabbling in the b.l.o.o.d.y sand; then she drew a long breath and let it out, and her body went limp. The breath caught in Winter's throat for a moment, but the girl's breathing was slow and regular, and the flow of blood had stopped entirely.

"Obv-scar-iot." Winter hadn't heard Feor approach, but the girl spoke from just behind her shoulder. "She truly has become the Guardian. I did not think . . ."

She trailed off. Winter tore a piece from Bobby's s.h.i.+rt and mopped carefully at the blood, until she could see the flesh beneath. Somehow she knew what she would find. Where the Desoltai weapon had done its vicious work, the flesh was now whole, the skin unbroken, but with the color and glittering black specks of marble.

"She'll be all right?" Winter asked Feor. When the girl nodded, Winter let out a shaky breath. "Will she wake up soon?"

"I do not know." Feor frowned. "She is no servant of our G.o.ds. I thought that the spell would reject her, in the end. But now . . ."

Another sound, rolling across the plain, drew Winter's attention away. It was like distant thunder, or the skirl of a company full of drummers barely brus.h.i.+ng their instruments. She turned to look back toward the campfires of the Vordanai encampment and found that the night was alive with tiny flashes. They were white, tinged with pink, and she could already see columns of smoke rising against the stars.

"You see?" she said, to no one in particular. "That is musket fire."

Chapter Twenty-one.

MARCUS.

Marcus woke to the faint gray light of dawn, the warmth of Jen pressed against his side, and the sound of urgent knocking at his tent pole.

"Come in," he called automatically, already sitting up and groping fruitlessly for his uniform coat. By the time he remembered he wasn't alone, the tent flap was already open. Fortunately, the figure in the gap was Fitz, who could be counted on to be discreet.

"Sir," he said, "you have to get up now."

Something in the lieutenant's tone jolted Marcus' mind to full awareness faster than a hot cup of coffee. Fitz never shouted, unless it was to be heard over the noise of battle, but now he gave the strong impression that a lesser man would have been screaming.

"I'm up," Marcus said, rolling off the bedroll. He found that he was naked, and started hunting for his underthings. "What's going on?"

"Desoltai. An ambush."

Marcus paused for a moment, listening. No rattle of musket fire broke the predawn stillness. Fitz, apparently reading his mind, shook his head.

"Not here. About a mile farther on."

"What the h.e.l.l was anyone doing a mile outside of camp?"

"Captain Roston," Fitz said, "led his battalion-"

"G.o.ds-d.a.m.ned f.u.c.king Adrecht," Marcus roared. "Is he-? Never mind-fill me in later. Tell the drummers to beat a.s.sembly. Have you woken the colonel?"

"The colonel's not here, sir."

Marcus blinked, then remembered his brief conversation with Ja.n.u.s the night before. The colonel was off on another of his woolgathering expeditions. Of late he'd taken to spending every night outside the camp, perched on one of the rock formations with only a small escort. Marcus had complained, but Ja.n.u.s had been adamant. A few trustworthy men on the colonel's detail had reported that Ja.n.u.s did nothing but stare into the dark and occasionally make notes in a little journal.

He spent much of the day following each of these outings napping in one of the wagons, but even so the colonel had taken on the pallor and hollow eyes of someone who wasn't getting enough sleep. Marcus had undergone a similar transformation, since the responsibility of keeping the column in motion had devolved entirely on his shoulders as supplies tightened and the invisible, ever-present Desoltai raiders grew bolder. What sleep he did manage to grab was plagued by vicious dreams, and he woke sheathed in sweat in spite of the chill of the desert nights.