Sedun motioned the way he’d come. “There are over a dozen of them. We must go.”
Maran was panting, her face gray. “Maybe if we’re all silent they won’t find us.”
Sedun pressed his palms to the top of his head as if to keep it from exploding. “Why else would they come this way if they didn’t know about this mine? We go, now!”
Maran’s face was white, her fresh blood flowing onto the rocks around her. “You must fight,” Havva said to Sedun. “You must protect us.”
He backed away. “I can’t fight over a dozen Clansmen!” His gaze landed on Maran, his expression torn. “You have to understand. If I stay here, I’ll die.”
“Sedun, please,” his wife begged. “Please don’t leave me.”
He pivoted on his heel and fled. Nelay shot Havva a look. “Look after Maran. I’ll be back.”
Trying to ignore the pain of her wound, Nelay followed him. Sedun grabbed children from the ground and deposited them on the horses’ backs. “This way,” he muttered, as if to himself. “I’m saving the children.”
“You really think the guilt of abandoning your wife and child will ever leave you?” Nelay said.
His head whipped around but he quickly looked away. “What do you want me to do? If I fight them, I’ll die.”
“Let them take you both.” Nelay couldn’t believe she’d suggested it even as the words left her mouth. “You might be slaves, but you’ll be together. When the time comes, you can try to escape, like I did.”
Sedun gave the oldest child the reins. “Ride for Dalarta. Don’t look back and don’t stop.” He slapped the horse on the rump and it disappeared into the tunnel that led out.
“Come with me,” Sedun said. “Take this horse. Get the children to safety.”
Nelay shook her head. “I can’t just leave them.”
His face tightened. “If she stays still and hidden, perhaps they won’t find her. If not, perhaps they’ll take pity on her and let her live.”
Nelay’s fingers itched for her swords. “Do you know what they do to women they take pity on?” she choked out, thinking of Kalla.
Sedun refused to look at her. “I won’t be their slave.”
Nelay took a step toward him, barely containing her anger. “We fight! And if we die, at least we’ll die well!”
He sent off the second horse, loaded with five children. He pushed the remaining children on the last horse and climbed up behind them.
He looked down at her, his face hardened. “You want my advice? Run and hide.” He spared a glance into the dark tunnel and then kicked the horse.
Nelay chased him out into the predawn gray, trying to grab at the reins, to force him to stay and fight. But he quickly outdistanced her, and she dared not shout for fear she might be heard by the Clansmen.
Heart knocking against her ribs, she hugged the edge of the mountain and moved to where she could see down the path. Clansmen slunk forward, their multitudes of colors and dull skin looking dirty in the dimness, their axes dark with blood. They would arrive at the mine within minutes.
Nelay darted back to the entrance and tugged the brush over the opening. She backed into the shadows. Her mind spun with the players and objects she could use to her advantage. She cast aside the ideas that didn’t work and latched onto those that did. She grabbed the few items the children had abandoned. The air was heavy with the scent of smoke, but there was nothing she could do about that. She could only hope the Clansmen didn’t search the back tunnel.
After crossing the open cavern, she stepped into the tunnel and deposited the items she’d gathered. She and Havva exchanged a glance and without a word took hold of Maran under each arm and dragged her deeper into the tunnel, as far back as Nelay could go before the pain forced her to stop.
In the all-consuming darkness, Nelay crouched for a moment, letting the agony ease from her body as she listened to the heavy silence. She reached for her swords, but she couldn’t lift her left arm over her head. “Havva, give me my swords,” she gasped out. The old woman searched in the darkness and pushed the weapons into Nelay’s hands. With the familiar weight of her blades in her hands, she felt a familiar calm seeping into her. “Don’t come out for anything,” she said quietly.
Nelay slid forward, Havva’s voice following her. “Let’s feed him again. It will keep him quiet.”
At the branch where the tunnel met the cavern, Nelay peered at the ashy, early morning glow from the entrance. As she watched, the brush shifted. She jerked back, her heart thumping. Firelight touched the sides of the cave with tongues of gold. Her back against the tunnel wall, she took a deep breath and concentrated on centering herself.
She might die. It was fairly likely at this point. She accepted that, and her fear settled and her pain receded like a viper slinking back into its pit. She took the players and objects she had and began arranging them.
Obviously, their best chance was if these men simply moved on. In the probable event that they didn’t, she would use her only advantage—surprise, which meant her knives. With only five, she would have to be judicious in their use. Then she would defend the entrance to the tunnel for as long as she could.
Easing her swords down tip first, the handles resting against the cave wall, she slipped her knives into her hands and twisted a little to loosen her back. She peered out to watch about ten Clansmen enter the mine with their torches held before them and their voices thick with their tumbling language.
“Keep your shields up,” ordered a man with a pockmarked face said.
Ducking out of sight, Nelay tightened her grip on her knives and listened as they carefully placed their steps and examined the cavern. Soon they noticed the tunnel she hid inside. Their steps shortened as they came closer, the torchlight growing brighter.
She darted into the opening and launched her first knife at the nearest man’s middle. When he looked up, she realized he was more boy than man. The knife struck true. A gut shot. He stumbled back, as good as dead. The man to the boy’s right shifted to catch him before he fell. Enough to expose his left side.
Nelay let her second knife fly. It sank hilt-deep and he shouted something unintelligible. When the man next to him straightened, her other knife found a home in his thigh. Hunched over, the three wounded men staggered out of range of her knives. “I told you to keep your shield up!” the pockmarked man barked. Two knives left.
Nelay took out her sling, loaded it with a rock from her pouch, and aimed for the men’s legs, which weren’t protected by their shields. Her first stone struck a man’s leg, her second his other leg. “We need bigger shields!” he cried.
“Codin and Ven, see to them. Darvy and Marb, on me. Shield wall,” the pockmarked man said. When the Clansmen hesitated, he growled in exasperation, “She’s just a woman.”
He yelped when Nelay’s stone struck his leg. Cursed when she struck his other leg. He gestured to two more men—the natural bridge only allowed for three abreast. “Use your shields to push her against the wall and we’ll tie her hands.”
She dropped her sling, picked up both her swords, and assumed a classic defensive position.
“Careful, she looks like she knows what to do with those swords,” one of the remaining four Clansmen said as they formed up. Three hefted their round shields and charged her. Nelay waited until the last possible second before dropping. She slashed both swords across their bare legs, carving deep cuts across the fronts of their shins.
Clearly well trained, the men didn’t panic. Instead, they fell on her, the pockmarked man pinning her under his shield. They scrabbled for her hands, trying to jerk the swords free. But then they gave a shout and the man on top of Nelay went still. She shoved him off and clambered to her feet to find Havva launching rocks as fast as she could. Nelay whipped around, bringing out her knives. The Clansmen were dragging away their pockmarked leader, who blinked as if trying to bring his senses back.
Her first knife struck hilt first. It would leave a nasty bruise,
but little else. Nelay didn’t draw the remaining knife, not when her injury made her aim so poor. Instead, she pulled out her sling again and sent more rocks at them.
“Should have kept your shield up,” the boy commented sarcastically. He’d been laid on the ground, her knife sticking up from his belly. The pockmarked man flashed him a rude gesture and then struggled to his feet. He shook his head again and lifted his shield.
“They’re not going to come quietly,” said a man with an enormous bulbous nose. “The girl is too dangerous to capture, and the old woman probably won’t survive. It’s kinder to kill them both.”
Nelay’s heart beat painfully in her chest and part of her wished she could go quietly, but it just wasn’t in her.
The pockmarked man gestured to two more men, who joined his side.
“If you don’t fight, they might let you live,” Nelay said to Havva without looking back.
“I’d rather be dead,” the old woman replied flatly.
Nelay braced herself, knowing she probably wouldn’t survive a second charge. They rushed her, axes raised. Unable to raise her left arm, her solitary option was to drop down again.
This time, they anticipated the move, shoving their shields into her so she fell back on the ground. She reached around to slash with her sword. The other two men snatched her arms, pinning them beneath their knees while raising their shields to protect themselves from Havva’s flying rocks.
Nelay couldn’t breathe with their weight on top of her. The leader knelt on her chest and lifted his axe. She glared at him, wanting her face to haunt his nightmares.
A shout made him turn. At the mine entrance, men stood silhouetted in the morning light. And these men carried swords. Hope flashed through Nelay, for the Clansmen didn’t wield swords.
The pockmarked man turned toward her as if to finish her off. But his distraction had already been his undoing; he just didn’t know it yet. For a brief moment, one of the Clansman flanking him had dropped his shields, long enough for Havva’s rocks to find their mark.
Stunned, the leader shook his head. Nelay wrenched her body to the side, managing to free one arm, snatch her last knife, and swing it, smashing into the man’s neck. He collapsed in a heap. She pulled the blade free, twisted, and stabbed at the man holding her other arm. It bit into his back and he arched up and screamed.
Nelay sensed more than saw an axe swinging toward her. She tucked the knife to her chest and rolled. The axe bit into the rocks below her with a loud crack. Using the momentum from her roll, she shot to her feet, the knife slippery in her bloody hand.
The stunned Clansman had come around. He squared himself behind his shield and leveled his axe at her. She couldn’t defend herself—not with just a knife. She had no choice but to drop, scramble back, and roll to the side to grab a fallen shield. Just in time, for his next swing nearly knocked it from her hands. She struggled to her feet and danced back, nearly tripping over something. An axe! She snatched it, then righted herself and swung again. The axe glanced off his shield. He hit her shield, sending a painful shock that made her arm go numb.
Burn it, he was strong. She tried to go on the offensive, but his swings came too fast and hard. A rock glanced off his shield. When their shields locked, the Clansman shoved so hard Nelay stumbled back and fell to one knee. Instinctively, she brought up her shield and caught his downward stroke.
She started to stand, even as she knew she wouldn’t recover from another swing. But that swing didn’t come. She peeked over her shield and saw her enemy’s shocked face. He fell to his knees and then tipped forward.
Behind the Clansmen stood a man dressed in desert robes. Wincing, Nelay let her shield fall to her side. “Smuggler?”
He hurried toward her and gathered her in his arms. She winced in pain and he pulled back and glanced at the blood on his palm. He spun her around. “You’re bleeding again.”
As soon as he said it, she felt the pain, deep and sharp. “You all made it?” she asked in disbelief.
“What kind of smuggler would I be if I couldn’t sneak a half dozen men out of an occupied town?” Rycus’ heart didn’t seem to be in the joke though.
“How?”
“We followed the same owl—Nelay, you know better than to bargain with such creatures.”
“I didn’t, but someone did.”
His gaze moved past her. “How many more are in that tunnel?”
Scand took one look at her wound and set down his bag.
“Two,” she said without thinking.
“Three now,” Havva reminded her. “The girl’s just given birth. I need someone to carry her.”
Rycus nodded for Delir and Cinab to go. Scand pulled out wide sheets of linen and wrapped them tightly around Nelay’s middle. “It’s a miracle you haven’t bled to death.”
She rolled her eyes. “How many times do I need to say it, Scand?” He grumbled a response she ignored. “How are we going to get out of here?” She directed the question to Rycus.
“Luckily for us, these Clansmen left their horses nearby,” he replied.
Nelay let out a breath of relief. She turned at a sound and saw Delir carrying Maran, and Cinab carrying the baby. Scand had finished with Nelay’s bandage.
Bahar, his expression grim, brought her knives. He’d tried to wipe them off, but there was still blood where hilt met blade. She winced before taking them and shoving them into their sheaths.
“Get her to the horses,” Rycus said.
Havva turned to him, her eyes flashing with anger. “She’ll bleed to death. I know some herbs to restrict the flow. She’ll be ready to go by tonight.”
“That might be better anyway,” Ashar commented. “These mountains are crawling with Clansmen patrols.”
Rycus gave a curt nod. “All right.” He motioned for Nelay to sit down. “Both of you get some rest.”
She couldn’t help but glance at the bodies. The boy was dead, crumpled in a heap, which suggested he’d died fighting. He was too young to be in a war. Then there was the pockmarked leader and the man with the bulbous nose—she’d killed them herself.
A flash of regret tore through her. They had seemed so human, teasing and working together. They’d even tried to spare her life. Yet they had attacked a village, killing who knows how many. They were monsters. And they were not. She didn’t know how to reconcile the two in her head.
“I’m not staying here,” she said, her voice trembling.
Rycus glanced at her in surprise. “Nelay, we can move the bodies—”
Her panic sprang up. “I’m not staying here!”
Still in Delir’s arms, Maran shook her head. “Me either.”
“Where the Clansmen hid their horses—it’s secluded,” Bahar said quietly. “Let Ashar and me go ahead and take care of it.”
Rycus sagged. “All right.”
Nelay left that horrible mine and stepped into the blood-red dawn. She glanced back and saw Maran holding her hand out to shield her eyes. Even in the weak light, she looked ashen.
They moved down the road and found the agitated horses tethered inside a crevasse. Bahar and Ashar were hauling dead men out of sight behind a rise.
Nelay cringed. She didn’t want to be here either, but at least it was better than the cave where she’d killed so many men.
Delir set Maran down, and Cinab handed her the baby. Rycus looked the animals over with a critical eye. “Go through all the saddlebags. Take anything useful. Ashar, keep watch.”
Nelay and Maran settled down while the men sorted through the saddlebags. Havva went in search of a plant.
Nelay didn’t think there was any way she could ever sleep, but she did. Hard and dreamless. She woke when Delir offered them food from the Clansmen’s packs. Then she fell asleep again. She spent most of the day like that, getting sleep and nourishment—both things her body desperately needed. When dusk settled over the land, Rycus crouched in front of her. “Nelay, I’m sorry, but we can’t afford to rest anymore. We have t
o go”
“I’ll be all right,” Maran insisted.
Nelay wasn’t convinced. She leaned toward Havva and said under her breath, “You said Maran couldn’t travel last night. How is this tonight any different?”
Havva shot a worried glance Maran’s way. “Last night she was bleeding, more so when we moved her. As long as she doesn’t start up again, she should be all right.”
Nelay still wasn’t convinced. She sought out Scand. “Are you sure she can travel?”
He looked affronted and horrified at the same time. “What do I know of birthing and women?”
The men had already loaded their spoils into the saddlebags of the animals they had chosen. Cinab and Delir hurried over to help Maran into the saddle, while Havva took the baby.
When Maran was situated, Havva handed the baby carefully to Delir. “You have to support his head.”
He held the infant away from him as if it might bite. “What . . .”
Havva wagged her finger at him. “Maran needs her strength. Nelay is hurt. And—”
“You’re old,” Delir finished for her.
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “I’m tired. You will hold the baby until he needs to be fed.”
Delir opened his mouth to argue. At the look on Havva’s face, he seemed to think better of it. He stuffed the swaddled baby down his shirt and wrapped his sash around the bulge three times. Then he held still while Havva inspected the arrangement.
Satisfied, she motioned for him to mount his horse. “Be careful with him,” she admonished. “He’s fragile.”
Rycus helped Nelay onto a horse. Without the need for communication, Ashar took one of the finest horses and started off immediately. Each leading two pack horses, Bahar and Cinab positioned themselves at the rear. Rycus took the front, with the women directly behind him and Scand behind them. They climbed the road. At a break in the brush, Nelay had a view of a ranch farther north. A couple of buildings were burning. Even from this distance, she could see bodies around the yard. Farm animals wandered, their pens empty.