---------------------------------------- Chapter Thirty-Eight ----------------------------------------

Nemir scanned the horizon and found it as empty as it had been the day before and the day before that, but riding patrol was better than returning to the cave that had been their home for more than a month now. The strain of living in close quarters had frayed tempers until the smallest thing could set anyone off. And in the solitude of the desert around the valley he could admit that he was one of the worst.

His jaw tightened until he could hear his teeth grinding together, and forced himself to relax. His horse danced under him, feeling the tension in her rider. The storm season was coming to a close, and travel would be possible soon. They would need to leave their refuge before the first Guard riders arrived to check the supplies for the year, but he still had made no decision on what to do.

Nahanna had made it clear what *she* wanted. She wanted them to travel south to her homeland. Or more to the point, she wanted *Judas* to go south. Her only reason for wanting the rest of them to come, it seemed, was to protect Judas along the way.

Nemir's hand tightened into a fist around the reins. He still found it hard to believe her claims that Judas was the heir to the royal family of the southern clans. The God-King had killed them all, or so the histories said. But she claimed that a few survived, mostly babes, cousins to their king, smuggled out of the southern capital before it fell and hidden among the other clans and the desert tribes. She, herself, was also a descendant of those escapees, but Judas, it seemed, was the first male child born to that line in more than a century, and heir to its powers.

If her tale was the truth, then it followed that everything that had happened, from the assassination attempt on the night of his presentation to the death of his father had all been for the purpose of slaying Judas before he could become a danger to the God-King. The concept that the God- King could be afraid of a slave was unbelievable, but it would explain much.

But he did not want to believe, because if he did, then he would have to accept that his father was dead because of his Companion. Not just his father, either, but Jorak, and Konda, and who knew how many since then. Even now, he could not face that thought. And it was all because of Judas.

He had lost so much, and he faced the loss of even more if he accepted her tales. He may have lost it already. Judas had tried to help him, but how could he take comfort from the person who might be the cause of his woes? Judas was not to blame for existing, but...

Oh, how he wished that his father had chosen someone else for him. Anyone else. And yet, he could not imagine having another.

The muffled sound of hoof beats against sand brought him out of his haze of recrimination. Blame was of no help, whether he blamed Judas for being born, his father for choosing to buy him, or himself for.. He shook his head. There was nothing he could have done differently, but he still blamed himself for not finding a better way. None of the others blamed him, he knew, but they did not understand.

"Anything?" Dansen asked, coming to a stop next to him. His gelding tossed its head, trying to escape its rider's control. Like all of them, the horses were suffering from their long confinement. They were not meant to spend their days lodged in caves. They needed to run, to stretch their legs. Soon, Nemir promised them silently.

"Nothing. But it will not be long. We are too close to the city." Again, the flash of pain that they needed to worry about Ajantha as though it were a rival princedom, not the city of his birth.

"So, do we head south?" The question was delivered bluntly, but Dansen kept his eyes focused on the horizon, not meeting Nemir's glare.

After a long moment, Nemir sighed, and slumped in the saddle. "Do we have a choice?" he asked bitterly.

Dansen laughed briefly. "There are many choices," he said. "The only question is which choices can you live with. We could turn north instead, go to Markus's homeland as you told the Guardsman. Or we could travel east, crossing the desert and heading for lands where the God-King has no control. Or go to the city of the Prince of Mathan. He might be inclined to aide his daughters betrothed. Or--" He stopped, his expression turning grim. "Or we can return to the city and you can give Judas to the envoy. If Judas was what they were looking for, that should satisfy them. You would be Prince, and everything would be as it was."

For a moment, Nemir felt a dark urge to do just that, but then he shook his head. "That is not an option," he said firmly, more to himself than to Dansen. "No matter what has happened, it was not Judas's fault, and he should not suffer for it."

"Do you truly believe that?" Dansen said.

"Of course. Why would I not?"

Dansen frowned. "Then you might tell him that, for even if you do not blame him, he blames himself."

"He has not said anything," Nemir said, surprised by the other man's words.

"He has, but not to you. You spend little time with him, if you can avoid it, and the only words you speak to him are orders. You do not touch him. You act like a stranger. What can he think, but that you blame him for all that has happened?"

Nemir felt guilty at the words, for he could not deny them, for in truth, Nahanna's words *had* turned Judas into a stranger. The young man he'd known, who'd shared his life, his bed, and his heart had been revealed as not a simple desert tribesman made slave, but as the heir to a throne, and a bearer of divine blood. True or not, everything had changed, and he still had not yet decided how he felt about it. Even after being forced into cramped quarters by the storms and explanations by Nahanna -- although few and vague -- he still had not decided what to do.

Dansen shifted his mount a little closer, and reached over to lay his hand on Nemir's shoulder. "Talk to him, or you risk losing him. He is devoted to you -- anyone can see that -- but it will not make any difference if you drive him away. Or is that what you want?"

Nemir refused to look at Dansen. In his mind he could hear the hurtful responses he could make to drive the man away. He thought of the man as a friend -- indeed, only a friend would have followed him into exile this way -- but part of him raged at Dansen for prying into his relationship with Judas. And worse, part of him wanted to answer 'yes.' That part looked at Judas every day and saw the cause of all their woes. He hated that part.

After a minute, Dansen tugged at his reins, turned and rode back towards the valley, not having received any answer.

The sun was dipping towards the horizon, and while the winds were picking up again, they were no longer strong enough to blow the sands hard enough to do more than sting. It was time for them to leave this place, and Dansen was correct; he needed to decide where they would be going. *They* needed to decide.

Nemir sighed, then turned his horse and headed back towards the valley where the others were waiting for him.

Descending into the valley, the last of the light disappeared, leaving him in shadow. Above, the stars were coming out, one by one. After stabling his horse in the other cavern, he crossed the narrow valley to enter the cavern that they'd made their home, long familiarity letting him make the passage without a lantern to light his way.

Nahanna was seated next to the fire, tending the pot that held their dinner. A fresh kill the previous day had provided them with more fresh meat to supplement their diet. Despite their best efforts, they had not been able to supply much of their own food, and they were growing tired of grain porridge with dried fruit and meat in it. Markus was seated against one of the cavern walls, mending the leather of one of their saddles, with a bridle lying next to him, waiting for its turn. Dansen was sitting close by, sharpening a dagger. They had all been working at preparing their equipment for their eventual departure, and they were nearly ready. It was also time for them to start cleaning both their own detritus and that of their horses so that when they left, nothing would remain to give away the fact that they'd been there.

But of Judas there was no sign, and for a moment, Nemir was relieved. Then he felt guilty for that, yet again. It was not Judas's fault, he reminded himself yet again.

Nahanna ignored him, but Dansen and Markus both nodded silently, although Dansen was still frowning at him, and he had to resist the urge to apologize to the man, even though he did not feel he had done anything to apologize for. But Dansen was right; he needed to speak to Judas. Perhaps even apologize to the younger man. And before the night was over, they all needed to discuss their next move.

He walked over to the two men and crouched down. "Where is Judas?" he asked, and Dansen's frown eased slightly.

"He left once the shadows were deep enough for him to be safe," Markus said softly, putting aside the saddle. "He has been using one of the other caves when he wants some solitude. It is halfway down the valley, and the opening is marked by a piece of white quartz embedded in the rock above it."

Nemir nodded, and stood again. He took up one of the lanterns and checked to make sure that it had plenty of oil. Lit, it cast a soft glow that would let him find his way without injury.

He took a deep breath and set out to find his Companion.

---------------------------------------- Chapter Thirty-Nine ----------------------------------------

Judas maneuvered through the narrow passage carefully. There was no light to see his way by, but it wasn't necessary. After almost daily visits for more than a month, he was familiar with every stone, every dip in the floor. He knew where he was going and how to get there without injury.

 As well, although the darkness was complete, he was still strangely aware of his surroundings on a level other than sight. It was part of what had drawn him to this place the first time, hurt and confused. Something had drawn him there, something comforting.

He wondered if Nemir had returned from his patrol yet, then pushed those thoughts away. Better not to think of the man now. Ever since Nahanna had made her claim about Judas, Nemir had barely looked at him, never speaking to him unless it was a command. For the first time in many months, he huddled alone under his blanket, cold and lonely.

He was being torn in two directions. He wanted to be with Nemir, to follow him wherever the his love led, but Nemir pushed him away. Nahanna pulled at him, urging him to listen to her, to come with her, but deep down, he doubted her. She claimed that he was the only male heir to her people's rulers. He had a brother, a twin, he told her, but she shrugged that off. If he did not have the markings -- the markings that had helped to alienate him from his people -- then he wasn't a true heir. He would not have the powers of the true royals. He did not have any powers, Judas had protested. He did, but he needed to learn how to use them, she told him. She would teach him everything he needed to know.

He didn't want to learn anything. He didn't want to be a ruler. He didn't want to be the focus of the God-King's ire. He did not want to be to blame for all the woes that had befallen them.

He wanted to go back to what he had been before: Nemir's Companion. He wanted Nemir to look at him, to touch him, to... to love him again.

Suddenly the passage widened again, and he found himself in a cavern that rose up high above him. The river ran through the middle, cold and clear and fast, and the light from a small hole in the roof, letting in moon and star light, made everything sparkle like gems. Almost immediately, his anxieties fell away, leaving a sense of peace and calm. He spread out the blanket he had brought with him, and lay down on his back, with arms and legs spread out. He closed his eyes and let his breathing slow, listening only to the sound of water moving and dripping, and the sound of his own breath.

As he breathed, it seemed to him that he became more aware of his surroundings. He could feel the moisture on the walls of the cavern as if it were sweat on his brow. He could feel the strange, blind fish in the river as if they were swimming through him, as if he was swimming himself. He was both fish and river at the same time. And deep below him, he could feel the pulse of the earth, and the answering pulse of the piece of quartz hanging around his neck. Everything was connected, and he was everything.

He had been drifting for a while, happily immersing himself in the earth where there were no problems, when he felt Nemir approaching the cave. He wondered briefly at how he could know that Nemir was coming, carrying a lantern, and cursing softly when he stepped on a loose stone that skittered away. Perhaps it was just his imagination.

But when he opened his eyes, he saw the glow of a distant flame flickering over the stone and knew that it had not been. A moment later, he heard the sound of footsteps, accompanied by rock rubbing against rock, and pushed himself up to a seated position. He had no idea why Nemir would seek him out on this night when he had not any other.

When Nemir finally arrived, the light from his lantern hit the walls and reflected back a thousand times, making the cavern suddenly as a bright as day. He stopped at the entrance, his mouth slack and his eyes wide. Judas watched his amazement wistfully. It was the first open emotion he'd seen from the man in too long. Markus kept reassuring him that Nemir would come to his senses, but he was no longer sure he believed.

Indeed, between Nemir and Nahanna, the only thing that had kept him going was the open friendship offered to him by both Markus and Dansen. He knew now that they were not lovers, although they were devoted to each other. And while he could not deny the draw Markus held for him, he had quickly figured out that the foreigner had no interest in any male that way. In a way, it was a relief to learn, and they had become good friends instead, now that he was spared the temptations.

"I had no idea that this was here," Nemir said softly, almost reverentially.

"It is beautiful," Judas said in agreement.

That drew Nemir's attention to him. Nemir set the lantern down on a large chunk of stone and came over to sit down next to him. Judas held his tongue, wondering what had brought the man in search of him after all this time. He hoped that perhaps it indicated a softening in Nemir's attitude. And yet, a part of him was angry at Nemir, though he hid it carefully. To lose his temper would do no good except to create strife when they could ill afford it.

Nemir was staring up at the ceiling of the cave, glittering with water and quartz. "The storms are nearly past," he said, and Judas nodded. "We need to decide what to do next."

"We will do what you decide," Judas said, his hand clenching into a fist, gripping the blanket. He did not let any of the bitterness that he felt bleed through into his voice, for it was true. It was Nemir's father who was dead, his city that was taken from him.

"It cannot be my decision alone." Nemir paused, then reached over to lightly touch Judas's hand. "Is that what you felt? Uprooted from everything you knew, sent into foreign lands. Angry and hurt and... lost?"

Judas stiffened for a moment, then softened, his hands relaxing. With a few simple words, Nemir had managed to destroy his anger, if not his hurt. He could remember his own pain at his exile, and even though it had faded with time, it was still there. "All that and more," he said, turning his hand over so that he could clasp Nemir's. "But at least I knew my brother was alive, even if I would never see him again."

"Nahanna wants you to go south," Nemir said, his hand tightening around Judas's. "Her people would welcome you with open arms."

"But would I want them to? When she first arrived, I read those books on the southern clans. I do not know that I could live there." He shook his head. If he had thought Ajantha foreign to him, the southern clans were even more so. Their royal family had lived locked in a palace, never leaving unless surrounded by as many as a hundred guards, and only for ceremonial purposes. They worshiped their royal family, but they also held them almost as prisoners. He would have more freedom as a slave, especially considering what she'd told him about being the only male heir. They would never let him go.

"Then what would you prefer? North to Markus's lands? East? Back to your tribe?"

Judas wrapped his free arm around his knees, warding off the flash of pain that he'd thought was long gone. "They would not have me back, and my presence would only bring danger to them, as it did to you." He closed his eyes. "You could just kill me. Surely that would appease the God-King," he said, hiding the fear he felt that Nemir might do just that. It made sense, he had to admit, and the way Nemir had been around him, perhaps it was something that the Heir had been thinking of.

The hand holding his clutched so tightly that he could feel bone grinding against bone. "Dansen pointed that out to me earlier," Nemir said coldly. "But we all know that I would no more do that than I would cut off my sword arm."

"Do we?" Judas asked softly, his own doubts bleeding into his voice.

"I will not willingly sacrifice anyone to the monster on the throne," Nemir said harshly. "He has taken enough lives."

"Then what do *you* want?" Judas asked.

"I... want..." Nemir paused, then sighed. "I want this to have all been a bad dream. I want to wake up tomorrow in my bed, you at my side, my father waiting for me in his office."

"Only one of those things is possible," Judas whispered.

"I know." He was silent for a moment. Then, when he spoke again, his voice was hard. "I want the God-King dead."

"Are you sure?" Judas thought hard, trying to organize his thoughts into words that would not offend. "The histories say that clans were constantly at war before he came. If he were gone, would the cities not start warring again over territory and trade routes? Would the result be chaos?"

Nemir shook his head. "I believe that we are more civilized now. We can control our baser instincts. And while the God-King has stopped that sort of warring, he has brought other forms of fear to the land. If he ordered the death of a loyal Prince, what else will he do? The Southern Clans had no interest in the north, except as a trading partner, but he raised an army, no matter how unwilling his vassals might be, and descended in force on the south to conquer them. Why?"

"If what Nahanna says is true, it was to kill their royals, my... ancestors. To kill the only people who supposedly had the power to destroy him."

Nemir snorted. "If they had that power, then why was he able to kill them so easily? If their kings had the ability to destroy him, then why were they conquered? No, that part of her story makes no sense."

Judas blinked in surprise. He had not thought of that, but it made sense. "Then why would she want me to travel south?"

"To be a figurehead," Nemir said bluntly. "Father said that there were rumors that the south was planning to rise up again. On their own, the rebels might meet resistance from their own people. But if they have a king to present to the people, that would become a rallying cry."

Judas winced. "All the more reason not to travel south," he said, suddenly tired and depressed. "So what do we do?"

---------------------------------------- Chapter Forty ----------------------------------------

What should they do: That was indeed a good question, and one that Nemir did not feel he should decide on his own. Instead, he stood and held out his hand to Judas. After a momentary hesitation, Judas took it, and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

That small hesitation cut deeply, as did the way Judas kept his eyes lowered so that he did not look directly at Nemir. His behavior was much like it had been in the early days after Nemir's father had thrown them together. Had his treatment of Judas truly been that bad? Small wonder Dansen had been so short with him. He owed a great many apologies, it seemed, starting here.

Judas had turned back to fold the blanket he'd been lying on, but Nemir refused to release his hand. For a moment they stood there, unmoving. Then, finally, Judas met his eyes, and Nemir flinched from the coolness there.

Trying to bring a thaw to those silver eyes, Nemir brushed the back of his free hand across Judas's cheek. "I have been so caught up in my grief and anger that I have been unforgivably cold to you, have I not?" he said, looking for some sign of warming, of forgiveness. "And not just to you, although you have suffered the worst from my ill-temper."

"As it should be," Judas said, and the pain in his voice was barely hidden. "It is my fault that attention was drawn to Ajantha, after all." He began to pull away, but instead, Nemir tugged him closer. They struggled silently for a moment, but Nemir was the stronger, and Judas finally yielded.

Nemir reached up and drew Judas down so that their foreheads rested together. "You cannot be blamed for being born. And as for drawing the God-King's attention to Ajantha, it was my father's decision to purchase you, so in a way, he is to blame. Or Kemel for bringing you to the city. Or your brother for selling you to him in the first place. Besides, this all supposes that we can believe Nahanna, which I am still not sure of."

Judas sighed heavily. "You say that, and perhaps you believe it in your thoughts, but do you believe it in your heart?"

"I'm not sure," Nemir said, needing to be honest. "But the wounds on my heart are starting to heal, and as they do, it is beginning to believe it. Will you give me time?"

Judas closed his eyes, and the way he bit into his bottom lip made Nemir want to kiss it to sooth the small hurt away. Giving in to impulse, he did just that. When he pulled back, Judas's eye shone like the walls of the cave, and he managed a small smile. "No matter what has happened, I am still yours," he said.

Nearly limp with relief, Nemir kissed him again, wrapping his arms around the younger man and holding him tightly.

It was a good thing Judas's blanket was still spread, for they made good use of it.

When they finally returned to the cave that was their home, Nemir felt more at ease than he had since the fateful day when his father had died and Judas had nearly been killed as well. It was as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, despite the trials that were surely yet to come. As they entered the cave, all eyes went to them. Dansen, especially, scrutinized Judas carefully, then gave a small nod of approval at what he saw.

The others had already eaten, so Nemir served himself, then Judas. For the first time in a while, Nemir realized with a start, Judas immediately took a place next to him instead of on the other side of the fire. How could he have been so blind? He closed his eyes briefly and promised that he would do better. How could he be prince to a city if he couldn't see what was happening with his own lover? How could he hope to rule if he drove away those closest to him?

The stew was the same as they'd been eating for weeks, and he would be glad when they left and had the chance for more variety, if only because they would be forced to hunt for their own food. They could not carry too much of the Guard supplies with them. What they had eaten could be hidden, since they'd deliberately taken from the oldest of the supplies, but to take even more would bring the risk of revealing their presence. Their hopes were that the God- King's men would believe that they *had* traveled north, ahead of the storms. If that were the case, they would be able to travel in any other direction safely.

Which brought them to the current dilemma. "The storms have subsided enough for travel, which means that it is only a matter of time until the first Guard patrol arrives. It is time to decide what we will be doing."

Nahanna frowned. "We travel south, away from the direction in which our enemies will be seeking us," she said firmly, as though she expected none to argue with her. She spoke as one raised to expect unquestioning obedience, despite the fact that women had no obvious power among the southern clans.

"Healer Kale may have suggested that, but it has not been decided on," Nemir said with a hard look for the woman. "Indeed, it might be wiser for us to travel east. There, we would be out of the lands that the God-King controls. The trade routes are too important for him to risk angering the kings of the east, no matter how powerful he is. The south, however, is firmly under his fist."

"Not completely," Nahanna protested, her eyes flashing with anger. "And not for long. And as a descendant of the true kings, Judas needs to be there."

"Whether he wishes it or not?" Nemir asked mildly.

"It is his duty. It is his *destiny*. The God-King will not stop hunting for him. It is only in the south that he will have the chance to strike back first."

"So you claim," Nemir countered. "But you have offered no proof for your words. And even if you *do* speak the truth, it is still Judas's choice to make, and I will not allow you to pressure him into a choice made unwillingly."

"Enough," Judas said, breaking into the battle of wills. "We should discuss the options, then decide what is best for *all* of us." He spoke with a quiet dignity that left Nemir believing that he *could* be descended from royalty.

"There are four basic directions we can go in," Dansen said, tracing an outline of a map of the land in the layer of sand that covered the ground. "If we travel west, we will first reach the river, and more densely populated lands. Beyond that is more desert, then lands that border the salt sea. We could take ship from the ports there. But the nearest of those lands pay tribute to the God-King, and word may have already reached them to stop us." They all listened intently as he listed the benefits and dangers.

"Then there is the north lands, which could be reached by traveling overland to the north, or over water from the western ports." He glanced briefly to Markus before continuing. "The north lands have long worried about the God-King's ambitions, going so far as to send people to learn all that they could of our people and lands. If we can reach him, Markus's father would give us refuge." Markus nodded in agreement. Nemir frowned, however. There had been rumors for years that Markus was a spy, and now it seemed that those tales were true. The knowledge was to fresh to decide how he felt about it, though.

"However," Dansen continued, "north is the direction we claimed to be heading as we left the city, and with Markus traveling with us, it is an obvious choice, and so the God- King's men will be seeking us along those roads, and he has his own spies in the northern courts."

"East is the next choice. As Nemir said, the kingdoms to the east have long resisted the God-King's incursions, with greater success than any other land, but the trade is so valuable that the routes through the wilderness remain open, and caravans travel them unmolested by either side. The routes are few in number, but if we can buy passage in one of the caravans, we would be able to escape. But the eastern lands are far distant, and we would have little likelihood of returning, at least not for many years." His eyes went to Nemir, who nodded. To travel east meant that his revenge would be delayed, perhaps forever.

"And then there is the south," Dansen finally said, glancing to Nahanna. "Clearly we would be welcome there. Or more to the point, Judas would be. But the south is firmly controlled by the God-King and his soldiers, and to reach the south, we would have to travel through the lands closest to his capital. However, it may be that they will not look for us to travel in that direction, if only because the danger *is* so great."

He sat up straight, wiping away the map with a sweep of his hand. "Danger in every direction, but possibilities as well. All things to be considered."

"And there is one other thing to consider," Nemir said. "There is no rule that says that we must travel together. If the two of you so chose, you could travel north to Markus's home, with or without us. Indeed, you would be safer to strike out on your own." But Markus was already shaking his head.

"We stay together," he said gravely. In the time they'd been in the caves, he'd grown a thick red beard, since a razor was not a part of the supplies they'd brought with them. He was the only one, though, since none of the other men tended towards facial hair. "We have come this far, we will see it through." The rest, other than Nahanna, all nodded.

"So, then, does anyone have a preference?" he asked.

Nahanna's expression spoke volumes, but they already knew her choice. He looked to the others.

Markus and Dansen leaned close and held a whispered conversation. Then they turned, and Dansen spoke for them. "Let us head for refuge in lands not under the God-King's rule. North or East."

Nemir looked to Judas, but before the younger man could speak, Nahanna broke in. "I would speak with Judas first, privately."

---------------------------------------- Chapter Forty-One ----------------------------------------

After a glance to Nemir for permission, Judas reluctantly let Nahanna draw him to the back of the cavern, no doubt in order to convince him to him to urge Nemir to go south. Back at the fire, Nemir was talking softly with the other two men, and Judas watched them, longing to be there instead.

"You *must* go south," Nahanna hissed, her hand on his arm. "Lives count on it."

"How can lives count on my presence, when it has never been there?" he asked. "It has not been required up until now."

"But with you there, there will finally be a chance to free our lands from the God-King's tyranny. Perhaps even all lands, including Ajantha," she added as an additional incentive to follow her lead. Her expression turned cajoling, and she stroked his forearm gently. He stepped away, trying not to make it insulting. While he found Nahanna very likeable, it disturbed him how she seemed to assume that they should follow her lead all the time. It was reminiscent of Layla's attempts to influence Nemir, although they were otherwise completely dissimilar.

"How?" Judas said bluntly. She frowned in puzzlement, so he clarified. "How would my presence be a deciding factor in rebelling successfully? How can *I* help defeat a man who has ruled for centuries?" The bitterness he felt leaked into his voice. All his life, the God-King had been more a concept than a man, controlling most of the known world from his throne in Maphis. He had never seemed real to the tribes who lived on the fringes of the empire, considering themselves independent of his rule. Now that distant ruler had reached out and destroyed his life.

She shook her head. "I cannot explain it now. Once we reach my home, all will be explained."

It was Judas's turn to shake his head now. "You ask me -- *all* of us -- to take your words as truth, but you do not offer any proof. You ask us to travel through the heart of the enemy's lands, all on faith. I cannot ask them to expose themselves to such danger without good reason," he said stubbornly.

"Then we can travel on alone. They will be safe once you are gone."

For a moment, Judas was tempted to say yes. Perhaps they *would* be safer far from him. And yet, he was selfish. He did not want to be separated from Nemir. Perhaps a few days earlier, when Nemir was still shutting him out, he might have thought differently, albeit briefly, but in his heart, he could not bear the thought of being apart from him. "I cannot," he said firmly. "Where Nemir goes, so will I."

Nahanna sighed, and seemed to shrink in on herself. "As you say," she finally said. "If you cannot be convinced, then so be it. But at least think on it."

The sadness in her voice hurt Judas. From what little she *had* told them, she had been brought to Ajantha to find him and bring him south. His refusal meant that she had failed in that mission. But who had given it to her and why? And if he did as she asked, what would he find waiting for him? There were too many questions left unanswered for him to fully trust her.

He returned quickly to Nemir's side, and the man asked silently with his eyes if Judas had any information to change their plans, and he shook his head briefly. Nemir sighed. "We have been discussing, and we feel that east is our best choice. While the north is out of the God-King's direct control, he still has spies and agents in those lands, and he will expect us to go in that direction. The east, however, has successfully blocked him. In the east, we will be safe to live and plan.

"We will travel south and east to one of the trade towns. There, we should be able to find a place in one of the caravans heading east. We will leave after the sun sets tomorrow. The journey will not be easy, especially for Judas, but it should only take a month, and there will be the chance to buy supplies from the desert tribes as we travel further from the river."

Then he turned to Nahanna. "If you prefer to return to the south, I am sure that we can find you an escort in the trade towns."

Nahanna met his eyes directly, with pride. "I would prefer to stay with you. I was charged with protecting Judas, and I will not abandon that duty." Judas also understood what she did not say; that she had not abandoned hope of convincing them to change their minds.

Nemir stiffened, and Judas wondered if the implied insult was deliberate or not. Nemir's duty, after all, was to his city and ultimately to the God-King as his ruler. By his actions it could be said that he had abandoned one and betrayed the other. But he did not respond in kind. "It is decided, then," he said instead. "We best sleep now. Tomorrow afternoon we will pack, and once the sun goes down, we will set out. I know of a series of oases between here and the trade towns, and we will likely run into the desert tribes at several of them. We might even find a group to travel with."

With that, they moved to clean up the remains of their meal. The remaining stew would feed them the next day. After that, they would be eating travel bread that they'd baked in makeshift ovens over the last week, as well as whatever they could buy or hunt for themselves. Thankfully, they had plenty of money for their journey, thanks to Dansen, Kale, and Ferath. The only potential danger, other than bandits, was that something might happen to one of the horses. Without mounts, travel would be next to impossible, and while they would be able to buy food, the tribes would not sell horses, at least not at a price that they could afford.

Well after midnight, Judas took to his bedroll, while Nemir continued to discuss their plans with Dansen and Markus. Nahanna had gone to fetch more water for the morning and would be gone for a while. Judas sighed deeply, and closed his eyes.

Some time later, he woke briefly to feel of another body slipping under his blanket. He stiffened, then recognized Nemir's scent. He turned so that he could wrap his arms around the man, enjoying just the simple closeness, a closeness that had been missing for too long, and sighed.

Nemir stroked his hair and murmured something reassuring, and Judas slipped back into sleep.

The next day was spent in a flurry of activity. Although they'd been careful to confine their activities to caverns that had shown no sign of previous tenancy, they cleaned carefully, making sure that there was no sign of their presence. A small pit was used to dispose of their waste, as well as their horses, then was filled in and smoothed over so that the casual observer would not notice it. The supply caves were slightly reorganized so that the missing rations would not be so obvious. A count of the sealed jars would show how many were missing, but some of that number might be put down to miscounts in previous years, or an under-stocking.

Nahanna was still visibly unhappy with their choice of plans, but she did not try again to convince them to change their minds. Instead, she had helped with the packing of their supplies, filling all of the water bags that they had and parceling them out between their mounts and the single pack horse.

By the time that the sun set, they were ready. The tail end of the storm season meant that the winds would quickly cover up their tracks; the last sign that they had been there. With that last thought taken care of, they set out.

They traveled quickly by night, but without the same sense of urgency that they'd felt before. After more than a month, the sense of immediate danger had faded. Surely, they all thought, by now attention had been turned north. None of them knew what the soldiers sent north from the capital would do in their efforts to find the small group, but they would be looking in the wrong direction. They just prayed that no one was hurt for supposedly hiding them or helping them flee. Judas knew that Nemir was particularly worried about Ferath and the guards at the way station where they'd obtained their horses. While they had taken great pains to make sure that the three guards could not be blamed for letting them leave the city, nor could they tell the soldiers what direction they had truly gone, there was no telling how petty the envoy might be. He might punish them simply as an example to anyone else who might consider aiding the fleeing party.

But whatever he might do, he would have already done it, so there was little point in worrying. For them, the only thing they could do was to continue on their way, south and east.

They traveled by night, stopping in the morning to find shelter. Often, that shelter was just tent canvas spread over them, since there were no safe oases, and the ground was not solid enough to pitch the tent properly. Judas used the cream Healer Kale gave him sparingly, only on the worst burns. He had survived many years without it -- although not under such stressful circumstances -- and since they were not likely to be able to replace it, he tried to use it as little as possible.

From time to time, they saw evidence of other travelers -- desert tribes, most likely -- but strangely, they did not see any other human, which was troubling. They'd thought to trade for or buy food, but the tribes that should be on the move at the end of the storm season were nowhere to be seen. The strange absence of the tribes was becoming more and more worrisome as time went by.

But it was not until the end of the second week of travel, when they were halfway to the mountains, that they finally found out why.

---------------------------------------- Chapter Forty-Two ----------------------------------------

The night was half over when they rode over the peak of a dune and saw the oasis below. Tents were pitched on the edges, and they could see horses grazing on the grass around the spring that was at the center of the patch of green in a sea of sand, although the green was faded to more of a silver grey by the moonlight.

The sight cheered them for a moment until they looked closer. "There are no fires," Dansen said.

"And the tents look damaged from the storms," Nemir said. Not just damaged, in fact. Several had been blown to the ground, and there was no sign that anyone had tried to raise them again.

"And no one moving, other than the horses. Even if all the tribe were asleep, there would be guards. We should have seen them long ago," Judas said firmly. As son of a tribe, he would know. Something was very wrong in the camp below, but they could not simply ride on, Nemir knew. They needed to know what had happened. As well, their water supply was running too low to make it to the next oasis.

But they would not ride in blindly. Nemir sent Dansen to circle right, while Markus circled left. They would enter the camp from different directions, swords drawn and ready for any sign of ambush. Then he turned to Nahanna and Judas.

"No," Judas said before Nemir could speak, shaking his head firmly. "If there is anyone there, you will need me. I know the language better than you do, and I may know them. And I will not let you go into danger alone. Not again."

The pain in Judas's eyes brought to mind the last time Nemir had left him behind. On that day, his father had died, and they had been forced to flee the city of his birth. The city that was his birthright, now stolen from him. Nemir sighed. "Nahanna will stay here with the horses," he finally said, giving in gracefully. As well, Judas was correct. If anyone below was living, he might have better chance of learning what had happened.

Scanning the tops of the dunes, Nemir saw the signal, first from Markus, then from Dansen, that the other two men had reached their planned positions. Then, cautiously, all four men slipped over the top of the dunes surrounding the oasis, staying low so that they would not be silhouetted against the night sky.

The air was silent, other than the buzz of insects and the whisper of wind across the sands, barely stirring the grains. It was a far cry from the howl of the storms only a few weeks earlier. The silence was growing even more disturbing. There was no sound of voices -- and they would have carried this close to water.

A sudden gust of wind made a piece of canvas suddenly start flapping with a sound much like a whip cracking, and both Nemir and Judas jumped at the unexpected sound.

Finally, they reached a tent at the edge of the camp. There were still no sounds of human habitation. But the buzz of flies was stronger than it should have been.

Nemir used the flat of his sword blade to push the tent flap to the side, then nearly gagged as the stench of death reached him. One glance told him that none were left alive inside. Three bodies, two of them heartbreakingly small. All were long dead, only recognizable because the dry air of the desert had desiccated the bodied instead of letting them rot.

"Oh, bright son," Judas moaned next to him, his complexion even paler than normal in the moonlight. Nemir closed his eyes and thought a brief prayer for the dead. The wounds on the three bodies told a story, and he knew already that they would find no one alive in the camp. They had all been murdered.

The day of his father's death, he'd been reading reports speaking of strangers in the desert, as well as the strange absence of some of the desert tribes. It appeared that they had the answer to at least one of those mysteries.

"They are all dead," Markus said, coming up behind them. "Cut down where they stood. Animals have taken some of the bodies, but other than that, nothing has been disturbed."

"Could it be raiders?" Nemir asked, even though he knew that it was unlikely. Bandits would have taken the most valuable possessions of the tribe: their horses. Already they had attracted the attention of the beasts, and several of them were clustered nearby, watching them with velvet- dark eyes. Some still bore marks from the sandstorms, as well as animal attack, and Nemir wondered how many of their number were also dead.

Dansen arrived as he spoke. "I saw no sign of search or theft," he said. "This was butchery, not a raid."

Nemir signed, and shut his eyes. "We should learn what we can. Then we will pack what we can take, and prepare those horses that can travel and continue on." He did not like what seemed like theft to him, but the horses would allow them to travel faster, by switching mounts through to night to fresher beasts, and would give them something to sell when they reached the trade towns so that they could buy passage on one of the caravans. Honor did not want to take the horses, but practicality demanded it.

"Karsa?"

The question asked in a strangled tone brought their attention back to the horses. One of them, almost completely unmarked, tossed its head in response to Judas's voice. Judas moved to the horse -- a stallion, and one of exceptionally fine lines, Nemir noted -- and lifted a hand to stroke the beast's cheek. Normally, as desert mount would resist a stranger's touch, but this one not only allowed it, he pressed up against the slender young man, nearly knocking him off his feet.

"Judas?" Nemir said, stepping closer. Judas turned, and his cheeks glistened in the dim silver light.

"This is Karsa. He is... my brother's horse." Judas started to shake, and Nemir quickly wrapped his arms around his Companion, holding tight as the younger man tried to regain self-control.

Then, as suddenly as they started, the tremors stopped, and Judas pulled away violently. Twisting in place, he started walking, then running, through the camp. Every body, he stopped to examine the face, sometimes muttering a name. They followed, chilled by more than just the night air. Nemir had never thought to consider that they might encounter Judas's tribe, but never could he have imagined something this horrific.

It was at the edge of camp where Markus had entered that the only true signs of resistance were found. The bodies of men were scattered, some showing the marks of animal depredation. Their blades were still in their hands, and many of them were stained with the dried remains of blood, although there was no sign of any bodies that did not belong to tribe members. Either they'd failed to kill even a single one of their enemies, or their attackers had taken away their own dead, leaving their victims to lie in the sun. Either thought made Nemir feel ill.

Judas was sinking to his knees next to one body. "Jamal," he whispered, and Nemir recognized the name. This was the brother who had become chief after their grandfather's death. Then one who had sold his own brother to slavers to save him from members of their tribe who wanted to kill him.

Jamal had not died easily. While the others had obviously died cleanly from sword-wounds, Jamal had survived the battle. Wounds covered his body, but none of them would have been fatal if properly treated. If there had been anyone left to treat him.

Instead, he'd been staked out, surrounded by the bodies of his warriors. Small cuts covered him, leaving him crusted with dried blood. Insects still crawled all over him. His skin said that he had been left like that, probably alive, for days. He had been tortured.

Judas's entire body was shaking with silent sobs as he bowed his head over his brother's body. Nemir knelt next to him, drawing him close so that Judas could cry on his shoulder. Unbidden, his own tears came now. Tears for his own dead -- tears that had refused to come until now -- flowed down his own cheeks. All the pain that he'd kept locked away since the moment he'd seen his father's body on the floor of his office, lying in a pool of his own blood, was unleashed, and deep inside, he knew that the same hands were responsible for both their pains.

"This is my fault," he heard Judas mumble against his cloak. "I should never have been born."

Markus and Dansen had moved a respectful distance away, so Nemir felt no shame at clutching Judas a little closer, kissing his tear-stained cheeks. "Do not say that," he pleaded, and was shocked when his voice cracked. "I do not want to think of that. My world would be poorer without you in it."

"But your father would be alive, and you would not be running for your life." The sobs were slowing, but Judas was clutching his cloak so tightly that Nemir wondered if he would ever let go, or if he wanted the other man to.

"But it did happen, and I cannot deal with this alone. I need you, Judas. Don't abandon me." For a moment a kaleidoscope of images flashed before his eyes, and in every one of them, Judas lay dead in front of him, often by his own hands. Nemir's arms tightened until Judas gasped in actual pain.

"I won't," the other man promised breathlessly, and Nemir loosened his grip, but only slightly. Was this how his father had felt about Konda? If so, deep down he was glad that they had been able to die together. Neither one had been left with the pain of separation, the guilt of surviving of the other.

He rocked Judas back and forth, stroking his pale hair, offering the comfort that he'd refused in return for so long. Comfort for his brother's death. Comfort for the destruction of his past, more thorough than his own.

And over the other man's shoulder, he could see Jamal's sightless eyes staring skyward, his face strangely peaceful, despite the horror of his death.

---------------------------------------- Chapter Forty-Three ----------------------------------------

When Judas finally came to notice his surroundings again, it was daylight, and he was inside a very familiar tent. Thankfully, it was one of the tents that they had carried with them, not one from his childhood. He did not remember anything after finding his brother's... body...

Judas shuddered, but he had no more tears left to cry. His eyes felt as though they were filled with sand, and his throat was parched. He sat up and scrubbed his face with the back of a hand that was probably even more filthy than his face. His head ached and his chest hurt.

"Here. Drink."

He had not realized that Nahanna was also in the tent. Grateful, he took the water skin from her and took a mouthful, allowing it to sit in his mouth, soaking into the dry tissues, before swallowing. When his throat was no longer so painful, he attempted a question. "Where are we?"

She shrugged. "Not far from the oasis. Nemir felt that it would not be right to leave your tribe to lie in the sun," she said, although it was clear in the way she said it that she did not understand why. It was not malice or callousness or even disapproval, just simple incomprehension. "He and the others are burying the bodies, as well as collecting the horses."

"Thank you," Judas said, closing his eyes. Even though he'd been insensible for some hours, he was still exhausted.

But even more, he was thankful to Nemir for taking the time out of their journey to give the proper rites to a people not his own. While Judas knew that they should press on as quickly as possible, he could not bear the thought of his brother, with whom he'd shared a womb and the first eighteen years of his life, being left to elements and the animals any longer than he already had.

Jamal's face rose up in his vision, eyes turned skyward, and he curled up into a miserable ball. No matter what Nemir had said, he knew that this was his fault. His brother had been tortured, then left to die a slow and painful death, and he was sure that it had been done by those looking for him. By the God-King's soldiers. The same ones who had killed the Prince and Lord Konda.

Only his death would stop this madness, and part of him longed for death. But he had promised Nemir that he would not leave him, and as long as he was able, he would keep that promise.

As he slipped into a true sleep this time, his brother's face filled his mind's eye once more, but this time it was his brother as he remembered him, laughing, with a sun- kissed tan, coaxing Judas to sneak out of the camp with him for a midnight ride. The moon and the stars bathed everything in a silver glow as they rode through the desert, just the two of them.

Judas woke once more, this time to the sound of voices talking in low tones. The tent flaps were closed, but he could feel the sun sinking towards the horizon. They would need to ride on soon, but Judas found himself reluctant. Once they were gone, the last signs of his tribe would eventually be erased, by the weather and time, as if they'd never existed, and he did not want to let that happen. Once it did, his past would be gone, and he would have nothing to anchor himself to the world. Nothing except for Nemir.

Having delayed as long as he could, Judas sat up, acknowledging that he was truly awake. He felt light- headed, but more alive than he had been earlier.

Immediately, Nemir was at his side, pressing a piece of fruit into his hand. The vines of the oasis were probably overloaded with no one to pick their produce but the horses. To Judas's horror, his stomach growled. The last part of his past -- the part that he'd comforted himself with memories whenever he'd been homesick -- was gone, and it seemed wrong for him to feel hungry.

Nemir looked so worried that he took the fruit and ate a bite. For a moment, his stomach almost rebelled, but then the hunger truly hit, and he quickly ate the rest.

When the piece of fruit, and then two more after it, were gone, he sighed. "My brother?" he asked softly, and Nemir closed his eyes briefly, his face reflecting Judas's pain.

Then Nemir opened his eyes and stroked the back of Judas's hand. "We buried him," he said, and his voice was as hoarse as Judas's, almost as if he'd been crying. "We buried all that we could find."

For a moment, Judas resisted the urge. Then he gave in and nearly crawled into Nemir's waiting embrace. "Thank you," he whispered. He did not ask how many they had found, since that would force him to acknowledge those the animals had taken. If any had survived the attack, the tribe's horses would not have been left to fend for themselves, since the horses were almost as dear to his people as their own children.

Nemir's grip was almost painfully tight, but Judas welcomed it. The pain made him feel real, a part of the world. But there were no more tears left in him. Like Nemir before him, he had grieved, and now was the time to continue on. He pushed away, breathing deeply. "Did their attackers take anything?" he asked, his voice steady.

"Not that we saw," Dansen answered from the other side of the tent. Of Markus, there was no sign.

Judas nodded, and closed his eyes briefly. "Any gems or coins should be collected. They are portable, and can be used for trade. There will be little left unspoiled in the way of food, but the trees should be cleaned of their fruit to carry us through the next few days. And any grain..." He paused. "We need to take as many of the horses with us as we can. They are too valuable to leave behind." The thought pained him, but selling the horses would give them money not only for their journey east, but also enough to let them live comfortably for perhaps several years to come.

Nemir's eyes went wide, and Judas wondered if he'd expected Judas to protest what must be. But the last year -- and even more so, the last months -- had taught Judas that he must be practical. While he did not relish the idea of selling the tribe's horses to outsiders, the alternative would be to leave them to the elements. Many would die without the tribe to care for them. Some would die anyway before they reached the trade towns, from the injuries he'd seen.

"Markus is collecting the last of the valuables," Nemir finally admitted, his gaze sliding to the side. "The unspoiled bags of grain and feed have already been set aside. The only problem is that the horses will not come to us." He looked as though he felt guilty for doing what must be done.

Judas nodded. "As soon as the sun is down, I will introduce you to the herd properly," he said. Once a recognized tribe member presented another as tribe, the horses would obey them.

That brought a small smile to his lips. What he was going to do in effect made the others members of his tribe. A new tribe. His brother was dead -- and he still flinched from the thought -- but he had a new family.

Markus returned before the sun set, and they gorged themselves on fresh fruit, since the fruit would not travel well in the desert heat. New fruit was already forming on the vines, so when one of the other tribes inevitably came -- a tribe had to fight to keep its territory, and other tribes would be quick to take advantage of this one's disappearance -- there would be more waiting for them. Fruit and the remains of tents, and the two large graves that held the bodies of the tribe. The warriors, including Jamal, had been buried apart from the rest.

Judas emerged from the tent as Dansen began to strike it. The western horizon still glowed red, but the starts were already emerging. None of the herd was in sight, but they would not have gone far. Followed by Nemir and Markus, Judas headed for the spring, where the herd was probably settling.

The majority of the herd were mares, as was to be expected. Most males were gelded to prevent fighting, although several must be kept intact for breeding. Those horses, as well as several of the geldings, showed signs of fighting. With no humans to prevent their natural behavior, the stallions had begun to fight for dominance. In time, the herd would have broken apart, with groups of mares following the various stallions away to form new herds small enough to survive on their own. Eventually, another tribe would have captured them, adding them to their own herds. By Judas's count, nearly a third of the tribe's horses had either already done just that, or had died during the storm season.

As Judas came into sight, Karsa broke away from the others, coming towards him. The mares that had already made their choice in him followed behind, whickering softly.

Judas smiled sadly. Jamal had chosen Karsa for his own on the very day of the stallion's birth. From that day, Jamal's had been the only hand to train the stallion. More than one tribe member had learned to leaving Karsa alone, as the stallion was fiercely loyal, and Jamal seldom granted others permission to approach. Judas was one of the few that Karsa would trust as he would his master. For that reason, getting him to accept a new master might be more difficult than for the other horses.

"Brave Karsa, beautiful Karsa," Judas said softly in his birth tongue, almost singing the words. So long since those words had left his lips. He set his hands on either side of Karsa's face, gently stroking the signal for trust. "Greatest of stallions. Fleet of foot. I know you miss Jamal." His eyes stung briefly, but he blinked the tears away. "I pray that you will accept a new master, one I think more than worthy of you." He pressed his forehead to the bridge of Karsa's nose briefly.

Not letting go of the stallion, Judas straightened, and turned his head towards Nemir. "Here," he said softly, and Nemir stepped forward. Karsa started to step away, but Judas kept stroking the trust signal, over and over again, until the beast relaxed once more. "Stand behind me, with your hands over mine," he told Nemir in almost a whisper. Once Nemir was in place, he stroked the pattern once more.

"Can you do that?" he asked Nemir, and felt the other man nod. "I will slip out from between you. Keep stroking, and do not let go. When he settles once more, blow in his nostrils so that he will recognize your scent. After that, he will be yours for as long as you live." As am I.

---------------------------------------- Chapter Forty-Four ----------------------------------------

Nemir showed no fear to the stallion as Judas slipped out of the way. He kept stroking the way Judas had shown him, and while the beast tensed briefly, he had quickly quieted once more. Once he was completely relaxed, Nemir leaned forward and gently blew in his nostrils as Judas had instructed, a gentle puff of air.

The stallion -- Karsa, Judas had called him -- tossed his head, but took a step forward instead of away. He was still wary, but beginning to accept. "Beautiful," Nemir said softly, and the delicately pointed ears twisted towards him.

And he was beautiful. The stallion was a rich russet color that would shine like red gold in sunshine. It was completely without blemish, other than a white blaze down the bridge of his nose. His lines were the finest Nemir could ever remember seeing, and he longed to leap on the stallion's back and ride, just for the joy of it.

Judas disappeared from view, then reappeared, carrying a saddle and bridle. The bridle had no bit, Nemir noted. "This is the saddle Jamal used," Judas said softly. The leather was dry, and would need to be properly oiled, but it fit the stallion perfectly when placed on his back on top of a blanket. Karsa danced away from it for a moment, then settled, head held high. Nemir took the bridle, and the stallion lowered his head, allowing it to be slipped on. Without a bit, it would be difficult to use reins to control him, but a true rider used the pressure of knees and thighs to direct. Only a fool or a cruel man would need to pull on the reins to direct his mount.

The other horses seemed inclined to follow the stallion's lead, and in short order, they were lightly tethered together, and the group's bags, supplemented by what they had taken from the camp, were loaded up. The horses they had ridden until now were left unburdened, having served so faithfully until now. Judas introduced the others to several of the horses, and they were now all mounted on fresh beasts.

Finally, Nemir mounted Karsa for the first time. The stallion danced lightly under him, and he sighed in pure pleasure. Even his personal mount, who had been left behind in their escape from Ajantha, had not been so fine a beast. The tribes never sold their finest mounts, and Nemir could understand why. Karsa responded eagerly to even the lightest of touches.

Judas came up next to him, mounted on a golden-colored mare marred only by a scar from a long distant encounter with something that had both claws and teeth. Karsa leaned over and nipped her lightly, in a manner that bespoke affection rather than annoyance. "Do you like him?" Judas asked softly. He smiled, but his eyes were sad. Nemir wished that he could wipe that sadness away, but knew that only time would be able to do so, and maybe not even that.

"He is magnificent," he said, leaning forward to stroke the strong neck in front of him. Karsa arched his neck and preened, as though he could understand the compliment. "But he was your brother's. Should he not be your mount?"

But Judas shook his head. "He is the finest mount of the herd. He should be yours. I *want* him to be yours."

"But he is your--" Nemir hesitated. "Your inheritance," he finally said.

"Then he is mine to give as I wish, and I gift him to you," Judas said firmly, in a tone of voice that told Nemir that he was determined.

And truth be told, Nemir did not want to protest, for in only a few minutes he had fallen in love with the stallion. He already knew that when they sold the horses before joining a caravan traveling east, Karsa would be one of the mounts that they kept for themselves. "Thank you," he finally said, and this time, Judas's smile was bright and open.

They set out once more, heading east, and as they rode over the first dune, Judas and Nemir paused, letting the others and the more than a dozen horses they had chosen to take with them. Judas stared back at the silent camp. The mound of the communal grave on the other side of the camp was clear in the moonlight, as were the few horses too injured or too old to be brought with them. Their numbers, much fewer, would be supported by the oasis easily. Their only concern would be the predators of the desert. It was harsh, but it was life.

Nearly a full month had passed since the fading of the winter storms when they finally rode out of the desert, thinner, and showing the strain of long travel. Their clothing was stained and ragged, and smelled of dust and sweat. Their supplies were almost exhausted, and they had not yet reached the end of their journey.

For the end of the desert was merely the start of the wilderness that separated the Kingdom from the east. The sand was gone, but the ground was hard and dry, barely able to support the scrub that the horses eagerly lipped. They were no doubt as tired of their travel rations as their riders were.

The herd had shrunk by three, one lost to an infected wound, one to poisoned water, and the other to a sand lion during their travel, but the others still showed their quality, even though their coats were ragged and their ribs showed. They would bring a fine price once they reached the trade towns.

A line of mountains now filled the horizon, stretching from north to south. Passes through the mountains were few, and none were large enough to allow the passage of an army, which is why war between east and west had never happened, no matter how much the east feared the God-King and the God-King coveted the riches of the east. Indeed, only a few of the passes would allow the safe passage of more than a single man on horseback.

To the south, not too distant, was a haze of green that told them there was water. While water meant that there would also be humans, the need for clean water was too urgent to ignore. The last two oases they had stopped at had been poisoned, like the ones in the reports Nemir had read so long ago for his father. Nearly a third of the oases they had found during their travels had been poisoned, and he was grieved by it. Graves of the dead had been found at each, naming the poisoners as murderers. The desert tribes would not survive without the springs, and the fouling of them made them unusable for at least a full turning of the seasons, if not two or more.

The result was that even though they had carried as much water as they could, their water bags were nearly dry, so they would need to risk discovery by approaching the river, for there were still several days of travel ahead of them before they would reach the foothills of the mountains and the nearest of the trade towns.

The river flowed across the plain from the distant mountains, working its way through a ravine that grew deeper as it approached the desert, before finally, in the distance, disappearing underground completely. Perhaps this was the source of the river that had brought them water at their storm camp. Perhaps it was even the source of some of the many oases that were the lifeblood of desert life.

There was no sign of human life when they approached the river, although life there was aplenty. Greenery was abundant in the areas closest to the river, and there were tracks of many beasts, including a small herd of goats that winded their way down the far slope of the ravine to find a drink.

While Markus watched the horizon warily, the rest filled their water bags, while the horses drank their fill. The horizon beyond the mountains were starting to glow with the dawn's light, so they had little time to find a safe campsite.

They rode away from the river, and as the sun was rising, set their tents in the shade of several large boulders. The horses were hobbled, then feed was set out, and Dansen took the first watch.

From this point, they would need to be more vigilant. The desert tribes were few enough that they'd only seen two during their travels, and they'd managed to avoid one, and talk their way past the second. But only the tribes were fool enough to live in the desert. In the wasteland, the risks were greater. Small villages followed the trade routes, leading to the towns that were the last stop before the caravans passed through the mountains and into the east. As well, bandits were plentiful, preying on those same caravans, returning, loaded with foreign riches. Caravans traveled with many armed men to protect them.

That would likely be their best way of buying into one of those caravans. The sale of the horses would give them money, but the caravans would always welcome more guards.

A small fire was built from scrub and dried dung to cook a meal, then they went to sleep. The sun was high in the sky when Dansen woke Nemir to take the second watch. In soft tones, he told Nemir that there had been no sign of danger, whether of human or animal kind. Nemir nodded, then left him to sleep.

Outside, the heat was rising off the hard-baked ground in waves, making the horizon shimmer. Nemir pulled the hood of his cloak over his head to protect himself from the sun beating down.

A nudge to his back nearly sent him to his knees, but he rolled and came up again, his sword in his hand, only to find Karsa there, head bobbing in pure equine laughter. Nemir straightened up, shaking his head. "Some days I wonder at the things you find amusing," he said, patting the horse's nose.

Karsa nudged his chest in an affectionate move, then went back to his mares. Three were heavily pregnant, increasing their value. Nemir went to one of the boulders that sheltered their tent from view and scrambled to the top, keep a wary eye for signs of snakes or scorpions. The tent could be protected, but in the open, he was a vulnerable to them as he was to a crossbow in the hands of a bandit out of his reach.

But there was no sign of any of those dangers, and he sat down with a sigh, using all the techniques he'd learned in the Desert Guard to stay awake and aware and alert for the hours of his watch. As soon as the sun set, they would travel deeper into the wasteland, heading east, towards their goal.

He shivered lightly, whether with anticipation or fear, and settled in to watch.

---------------------------------------- Chapter Forty-Five ----------------------------------------

Judas's slumber was deep, but not completely dreamless. He woke to a feeling of foreboding, and for a moment it seemed that he could hear the angry scream of a large feline in the distance. He froze, but none of the others in the tent showed any sign of having heard the same. It stirred memories, but he could not bring them clearly to mind.

"Here," Nemir said, sitting next to him. In his hand he held a round of simple bread filled with a spiced mixture of meat. Judas sniffed it, and was surprised to realize that the meat was fresh. Nemir smiled warmly, recognizing his surprise. "A small family of wild goats went by just before the end of my watch, and I killed one with my bow before they ran. Markus gutted and dressed it, then roasted the meat during his watch. We have enough meat for tonight's meal and before we camp in the morning."

Judas bit into the bread-wrapped meat, and sighed in pleasure. They had few spices with them, but they'd been used to best effect, and it seemed finer than any of the Palace banquets to him. The water was warm and tasted of leather, but it was satisfying.

Then nature called, and he stood. Nemir questioned him without words, and Judas answered the same way. Nemir grinned, and nodded.

Outside, on the far side of one of the strange large boulders, someone had dug a small trench. After checking to see that no one was watching, Judas relieved himself with a sigh.

"Judas?"

The sound of his name made him jump, and he quickly arranged his robes again. "Yes?" he said suspiciously.

Nahanna came around the side of the border. "I am sorry to startle you," she said, smiling more brightly than she had since they had set out at the end of the winter storms. Judas frowned slightly at the sight. "But I wanted to talk to you alone."

Judas immediately shook his head, anticipating what she would say. "My place is with Nemir," he said, holding up a hand to forestall her arguments. "And I have no desire to travel south, with or without him."

"Are you sure that there is nothing that convince you? Truly, you are needed. They are your people, and they suffer greatly under the God-King's rule."

"Then tell me how I can end it," Judas said, frustrated. "Tell me what it is I can do that would end that suffering. All you say is that I am needed, but when pressed for specifics, you say nothing."

"I am not allowed," Nahanna said, her smile vanishing, and her eyes flashing. "Only in the temple of the Goddess can you be told."

"Then I will never learn, for Nemir has chosen to travel east, and I go with him," Judas said firmly. It was not the first time that they had had this argument, and he doubted that it would be the last time, which frustrated him greatly.

Nahanna sighed. "The day may come when you regret that choice," she said sadly, and for a moment, Judas's blood ran cold. While there was no menace in the woman's voice, her words seemed to imply a multitude of dangers. "But I pray not," she added, and his misgivings started to fade.

A whistle broke the silence that followed, telling them that the others were preparing to mount up. If fortune was on their side, two more nights of travel would bring them to the closest of the trade towns. Then their danger would increase even more, since there would no doubt be agents loyal to the God-King there.

Nahanna turned away first, heading for their camp. Judas kicked the pile of dirt next to the trench over it to conceal it before he followed her, considering her slender form with a frown. Even now, she showed no signs of long travel, other than the grime on her clothing. Perhaps she was a little more slender, but there were no new lines on her face, and she did not slump in her saddle at the end of a long night's ride, even when the rest of them could barely find the energy to set up one of the tents to sleep in for the day.

Back at the camp, everything was already packed and placed on the backs of their pack animals. Judas mounted up on the mare that carried him most nights, while Dansen helped Nahanna on her own mount. As was usual, Nemir was seated on Karsa, who despite poor feed and difficult conditions, still gleamed with health and energy. He was the finest stallion that his tribe had produced in many years, and seeing Nemir on his back made Judas smile. Jamal would have approved, he thought.

They examined their surroundings carefully to ensure that there was as little sign of their passage as possible, then set out again.

When dawn came, they were still an hour's travel from the tree-line at the base of the mountains, and the decision was made to press on, as the trees would provide better cover for them to camp. While there had been no sign that they were being followed, or even that anyone suspected their direction of travel, they were still cautious. Tales of the God-King's mystical abilities traveled far, hopefully gaining in power as they went, exaggerating the truth. But to hear the minstrel's sing, the God-King could see anything that happened in his realm. If those tales were true, then their flight was doomed from the start.

Judas huddled under the hood of his cloak. Through great care, more than half of the cream Healer Kale had included in the supplies he had given them still remained, but obtaining new would be difficult, and the caravans traveling east would likely do so during the daytime.

Indeed, the exposure to the sun's light, greater and more frequent than any time in his life, had had an effect, giving his skin a light tinge of color. It was not much, but as he had never been anything but the palest of white, so pale that the blue veins showed clearly through his skin, it was amazing to him.

The sun was rising above the mountain peaks and Nemir was leading when Karsa screamed, the loud scream of an enraged stallion. Judas looked up to see the stallion rear up, and Nemir fall from his back. At the same time, he heard the roar of an enraged lion, although they never traveled this far east.

Confusion reigned for a moment as the stallion struck out, again and again, with his hooves, while Nemir lay deathly still. The other horses, reacting to their leader's screams of rage, attempted to bolt back the way they had come, back into the wilderness, but they were quickly stopped by Markus who came us behind them. One horse alone managed to break away, one of the pregnant mares.

Then the stallion settled back down, slowly and reluctantly. Dansen dismounted and slipped around the stallion's side, sword drawn, to find out what had so enraged the beast. He stooped and prodded something with his sword, then stood. A snake, trampled into a bloody mess, was draped over the end of his sword. "A Diamond Strike," he said softly.

"Impossible," Nahanna said firmly. "Diamond Strikes live on the edges of rivers, and they are never seen this far north."

"Be that as it may, see for yourself. This is a Diamond Strike." He held out the snake, and she looked at it carefully, examining the pattern of white and blue scales against a black background. After a moment, she swallowed hard.

"You are right," she said. "But how can this be?"

"I know not. But I know that such a snake can strike a man on horseback down, and its poison is fatal in only a few heartbeats. If it had bitten Nemir, he would be dead. He may owe his life to the stallion."

Judas, in the meantime, had rushed to Nemir's side. He still lay senseless, and a trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. Checking, Judas found that the other man had bit the end of his tongue, causing the small flow of blood, but had done no permanent damage. Indeed, the flow had already stopped.

However, a lump was already growing on the back of his head where it had struck the ground, and when his lids were lifted away, the centers of his eyes were different sizes, indicating that the head injury might be serious. Very serious, indeed. "We need to make camp here," Judas said, breaking into the discussion about the presence of a snake that should not have been.

"There may be more Diamond Strikes," Dansen protested. Markus had already dismounted and was unloading the pack with the tent.

"That may be, but we cannot move Nemir, at least not far. He is unconscious and injured. He cannot sit on a horse, and even if he could, it would risk further injury. Tonight, perhaps he will be able to travel, but I cannot say. But to continue on now would risk permanent, if not fatal, injury." He glared at the man, daring him to protest.

Dansen did not look happy, but he finally nodded. If anything, he seemed surprised at how forcefully Judas had overridden his objections.

By this time, Judas's hands were badly burnt, and he tucked them into his sleeves, ignoring the pain through long practice. He held up the canvas as Markus set up the tent directly above Nemir, protecting the unconscious man from having even that little weight press down on him in case there was any injury to the neck. Such an injury would be even worse, perhaps permanently crippling him.

Still protesting, although too softly to make out the words clearly, Dansen scoured the surrounding area, looking for any sign of other snakes, but found nothing, He returned, just as Markus finished erecting the tent. Judas had removed his cloak and carefully slid it under Nemir's head to cushion it from the hard ground, and Nahanna was pulling out bread and dried meat. "I will take the first watch," Dansen said, accepting a chunk of travel bread and chewing slowly on some of the dried goat meat. "We will get little sleep, but Markus and I can keep watch. You two should sleep."

Judas shook his head. "I will stay awake and watch Nemir. If he woke and tried to move, he could do himself damage."

"How is he?"

Judas looked to his lover, far too still. "He sleeps. The bleeding has stopped, which is hopeful, but from the size of the lump on the back of his head, his skull could be cracked." Judas bit into his lower lip, then reached over and pinched the thin skin of the webbing at the base of the fingers. For a moment there was nothing, then Nemir's hand twitched away from the small pain, and he breathed a sigh of relief. "There is no sign of paralysis," he said, and saw his relief mirrored on the faces of the other two men. Nahanna's expression was impossible to read.

"All we can do is wait," he finally said, settling down at Nemir's side to do just that.

---------------------------------------- Chapter Forty-Six ----------------------------------------

When Nemir woke, it was to a pounding pain in his head and aches everywhere else. He started to turn to his side to push up, but that small movement made him cry out, then start to retch, although there did not seem to be anything in his stomach to void. He curled up into a ball and tried to control his heaves.

A cool hand stroked his forehead, and a soft voice murmured reassurances, and he moved towards it. The touch was as comforting as that of his nurse when he'd suffered from the red fever as a small child. But Judas was even dearer to him.

"What... happened...?" he asked when the shudders started to fade. Judas helped him sit up, and everything spun around him for a moment. Eventually, everything settled into firmer patterns. Judas held a water skin for him, and he sipped the warm water gratefully. It settled his stomach and cleaned the foul taste from his mouth.

"A Diamond Strike nearly killed you," Dansen said from the other side of the tent. There was no sign of Markus, and Nemir assumed that he was keeping watch. "Your horse killed the snake, but it also threw you, and you struck your head on the ground."

"A Diamond Strike?" Nemir started to shake his head, then thought better of it. "They do not travel this far north or this far from a ready water source," he said. Diamond Strikes were water snakes.

Dansen glanced around the tent to the others, then shrugged. "Be that as it may, but it was a Diamond Strike. I traveled south along the river, years ago, and I have seen them. I have also seen the result of a bite, and it is not a pleasant death."

Nemir smiled slightly at that. "Then I owe Karsa my life. A headache is a fair trade for my life, I think. Where are we now?"

The expression on Dansen surprised him, turning sour as his eyes met Judas's. "We made camp where you fell. Judas did not want to move you until we could be sure that it would not injure you further. I checked the area, though, and I found no nest, no signs of any other snakes. But there was also no sign of how the snake came to be here. It simply is not natural."

That made Nemir's eyes narrow. "Then is it possible that its presence was unnatural?" he asked.

From the expressions on the faces around him, no one had thought of that possibility. But it was also an unthinkable one. How could a single snake have been placed directly in their path when their path was not wholly planned? And had it been planned for them in particular, or any traveler? And if for them, was he the target or Judas?

And who?

The thought that the God-King might be capable of this was terrifying, but unlikely. If he could kill -- are at least *try* to kill a man -- at this distance, then surely he would have been able to do so in Ajantha, which would make the sending of an envoy and soldiers to kill the Prince unnecessary.

Nemir's head started to ache even more than before, and he pushed those thoughts away. Unlikely as it seemed, surely the presence of the deadly serpent must have been coincidence.

The ache might be stronger, but Nemir's stomach had settled enough to eat. His vision was still slightly blurred, but when he stood up, he only swayed for a moment before regaining his balance. His neck pained him greatly, but considering the size of the lump on the back of his head - and after touching it once sent shards of pain through his head, he refrained from doing so again -- he was lucky to be alive and not paralyzed. If he had been paralyzed... He pushed such thoughts away.

"How long until sunset?" he asked instead, thinking in practical terms. He was not dead or paralyzed, and they still needed to reach the trade towns.

"Nearly two hours," Judas said, his eyes glancing to a point on the tent's canvas that Nemir knew would mark the sun's current position as it dipped towards the horizon. Normally, he would have known himself, but after being unconscious for most of the day, his time sense was not working as it should.

Nemir closed his eyes and swayed in place for a moment as he considered his current condition. "As soon as the sun goes down, we will continue on," he said.

"You need more rest," Judas protested.

"Perhaps, but we also need to reach the trade towns. Once we are there, it is not likely that we will be able to find a caravan traveling east immediately. I will have at least a few days, if not a full week or more, to rest. But we will not be safe until we are on our way through the passes and out of the Kingdom."

Then what strength he had abandoned him, and he collapsed into a seated position, and managed to keep from retching again by pure force of will. Judas was next to him in an instant, keeping him from collapsing further. "Reconsider," Judas pled. "You are in no condition to remain seated on a horse."

"Then sit behind me and hold me up," Nemir said, leaning against Judas, resting his head on his Companion's shoulder. "But we need to continue." Especially if the snake *was* somehow a deliberate attack.

Judas sighed. "If we must," he said at last. "But we travel slowly, and we stop if you are in any distress."

"Judas," Nemir said sternly.

"No," was the iron-willed response. "We will continue if we must, but we will not risk you. Without you, what would we do?" Judas touched the back of his head, and for a moment, Nemir felt as though it had gone warm, but the touch was so light that there was no pain. Thankfully, the pounding eased. "An extra day or two of travel is not likely to cost us anything if it will takes as long as you say to find a caravan traveling east that will take us."

Caught by his own words, Nemir could do nothing but acquiesce.

"Good. Now, sleep. You will need all the rest you can get before we set out."

Obediently, Nemir lay down again, closing his eyes. Judas was stroking his hair, humming a soft tune that he didn't recognize. He could hear the sounds of the others moving around, but it was a distant thing. Judas coaxed him back to sleep.

And as he drifted away, he wondered at how forceful Judas was in this. It had been more than half a year since Judas had become his Companion, and in that time, the younger man had always deferred to him. Now, Judas was asserting himself more and more. He had obviously argued with Dansen over whether or not to continue on immediately. And Nemir had the feeling that if he were to try to insist on traveling longer than he should that night, Judas would force them to stop.

Judas could be such a contradiction. Quietly accepting when Nemir pushed him away, but refusing to shift when he felt that Nemir's health or safety was at risk.

Judas was much stronger than he'd ever thought possible, Nemir realized as he fell asleep. Subjected to events that would have broken anyone else, Judas had not only survived, he had thrived. He was like sword steel: fire just made him stronger.

When they moved on that evening, Nemir wanted show that he was strong enough to ride alone, but the first time Karsa moved, he nearly slid off the stallion's back. Judas, who had been standing at his stirrup, prevented him from slipping out of the saddle altogether, and mounted up behind him.

Nemir took several deep breaths to clear his head, and leaned back against Judas's lean frame. He closed his eyes and relaxed, trusting Judas to support him, and dozed off as they set out once more.

That night's travel passed in a dream-like haze, and left Nemir with a pounding headache, but feeling much better. They had not covered as much ground as they would have had he been uninjured, but by they time they stopped to set up camp, sheltered by the mountain trees, they were only two days travel from the distant trade town, even at their slower rate.

Judas helped him to dismount, but he was able to stand steadily on his own, with none of the nausea or disorientation that had plagued him the day before. He was not allowed to help set the tent, and he fell asleep quickly once he was set inside.

Again, Judas was stroking the back of his head, and he felt warm, basking in the care.

Three days after the accident, with the sun brightening the sky on the other side of the mountains, they were within sight of the town, and pressing on, determined to reach the small village before stopping. The stunted trees that marked the edge of the wastes had grown thicker and taller, even more numerous than along the banks of the river.

Nemir, now able to ride on his own, having healed with amazing quickness, restrained the urge to laugh as Judas turned in his saddle so that he could take it all in. "It is not that amazing," he teased.

"So many trees!" Judas exclaimed, his eyes as wide as a young child. Raised in the desert, he would have only seen the palms and few fruit trees that grew in the oases, and were nothing like the forest that blanketed the sides of the mountains.

Markus snorted. "If you think this is impressive, you will have to come north some day," he said in his deep, rumbling voice. "There are places were you can stand on the side of a mountain like this and see nothing but the green of the treetops for as far as the eye can see."

The rest of them were silent at that. All of them being desert born and bred, the concept of trees, and not the small ones that graced the banks of the river, as far as the eye could see was beyond their comprehension.

The trade town sat on the crest of a hill, overlooking the trade route that wound its way from the south and west, passing the town and heading for the mountains beyond. From where they were, they could see the gap between the mountains that the road passed through, although not the road itself. Nemir had heard the tales of sheer cliffs rising on one side of the road, dropping on the other, barely wide enough for three men to ride abreast, or for one of the heavy covered wagons carrying trade goods.

To prevent two caravans traveling in opposite directions becoming ensnarled one of the narrow roads, a system had been developed. One caravan headed through the pass from east to west until it reached the trade town on the western side of the pass. Once there, a caravan headed east set out through the pass. Again, once it reached the town on the other side of the pass where the caravans waited, the next caravan set out. This ensured that an equal number of caravans were able to traverse the gap in each direction.

However, the passage took nearly a week, so if a caravan had left recently, and the next caravan was not willing to take on passengers -- although that was unlikely if they could pay -- they might have to wait a month or more in the town.

As they rode towards the town, Nemir could see one of the guards on the wall gesturing in their direction. The height of the town meant that they could see more than just caravans emerging from the pass. Surrounded by steep slopes on all sides, any traveler was seen well before they reached the town, and bandits or an army would be seen any sooner. The terrain also heavily favored the defenders, and they would have stores of food ready in case of a siege.

Once they were inside the city walls, even an army would have difficulty extracting them.

---------------------------------------- Chapter Forty-Seven ----------------------------------------

The sun was disappearing behind them as they rode into the town, so Judas was able to pull his hood back enough to look around. The trade town was nothing like Ajantha, being much smaller with fewer people, but it was only the second city he had ever seen, and he found himself cataloguing the differences between the two.

Ajantha was by far cleaner, he noticed immediately. The streets of the town were packed earth instead of cobbled, and there were no gutters to carry away the waste left by pack animals or thrown from the windows of the buildings above. The buildings were of rougher design, with none of the ornamentation he had seen in Ajantha on his night rides with Nemir, although those rides had normally been through the more prosperous areas of the city. While intellectually, Judas understood that there were segments of the town that were poorer, he had never seen them, and had no mental image of what they might look like.

But the trade town seemed to have more energy than Ajantha. The locals bustled from location to location as they were on urgent errands. They also looked to be of many races. Some had skin as fair as Markus, while others were so dark as to look like ebony, men and women from the far south. The latter looked like savage gods, muscular and dressed in skins, with weapons hanging from hips and sashes across the chest. Desert tribesmen who watched them and their horses suspiciously and the yellow-skinned eastern men with their strangely-shaped eyes were everywhere.

All this Judas took in without every letting the hood of his cloak fall back completely. His pale hair had resisted all attempts to dye it, and was far too distinctive. If there were any spies from the capital searching for them, all that would be needed for them to be discovered was for him to uncover his head.

Instead of looking for one of the boarding houses that apparently made their business by housing the members of caravans waiting for their turn through the pass, Nemir questioned one of the locals softly, then led the way to the east side of town where they could smell the animal pens long before they saw them. Once there, Nemir led the way to the area closest to the wall and, Judas noted carefully, another gate. The pens there were cleaner, and the people looked better prepared to leave quickly. Perhaps each group's location in the encampment was determined by the order in which they would go through the pass, so that those who would leave first were closest to the gates through which they would exit.

As they approached, the man who was obviously the caravan's leader came forth to meet them. He was of a height with Nemir, and so much shorter than either Judas or Markus, and he had the strangely yellow skin of the easterners, and his dark eyes were nearly hidden in a mass of wrinkles. But though the wrinkles implied age, his bare arms showed the lean muscles of a man much younger.

"I am told that you head through the pass in a few days," Nemir said without preamble.

"As soon as the caravan from the other side emerges," the man confirmed.

"I have horses to sell."

The man looked past them to the horses in question. His expression did not change. "They are in need of proper care," he said, and Judas bristled at the implied criticism. Nemir, on the other hand, did not so much as blink.

"Travel through the desert is difficult for both horse and rider," he said mildly. "However, the quality of the beasts is such that it would require little for them to be the envy of all."

The two of them hunkered down and began to bargain. It was quickly obvious that the man wanted the horses, but he was still a shrewd trader, and he was not so desperate that he would part with his money easily. Still, the price he gave Nemir in the end seemed more than reasonable to Judas, putting enough money in their pockets to live frugally for more than a year, if not two, leaving them with seven horses for their own use.

The payment, in gold coins and gemstones that were easily used as cash, was delivered, and after Nemir verified the quality of the stones and the purity of the gold, the horses were led away by handlers.

Nemir separated the money into five purses, not all of the same size, and passed them out. If one was robbed, not all would be lost. If they were separated, each would have a means of support for a while at least. Then Nemir moved on to their other, and perhaps more important piece of business. "We are looking to travel east. Do you have a place for travelers?"

The man's gaze sharpened, and he examined each of them in turn. "You do not look like traders," he said.

"Because we are not." The frown grew. "Only traders and fugitives travel east."

"We are not criminals. We are hunted for no crimes."

The phrasing was quite clever, Judas thought to himself. Nemir spoke the honest truth. They had committed no crimes. However, they were fugitives, as the trader had said.

"Wait here a moment," the trader finally said, then turned and walked over to one of the tents set to the side of the pens. Judas wondered why the tents were there, since there were many places for waiting traders to live if the signs along the roads could be believed. Perhaps he thought he might be robbed. Perhaps the tents were for those who guarded and cared for the animals.

The trader emerged from the tent a few minutes later. "You will have to bring your own supplies. We have none for five extra mouths. As well, you will be expected to be swords in defense if we are attacked for any reason. And if you intend thievery of your own, you will be slain without mercy and left for the scavengers. If you become ill and cannot continue, we will not wait."

Nemir nodded respectfully. "As you say," he replied. "And the price?"

The trader shook his head. "Since you will have to buy all your own supplies, there is no price. Chan-li has a list of what you will need for the journey."

Chan-li was barely more than a boy, several years younger than Judas. The half-awed, half-fearful expression in his eyes told them that this was probably his first journey west. He bowed quickly, then held a piece of paper rolled into a tight scroll. "This is needed for one person traveling," he said in a broken accent. "Water, food, and others. Beasts of burden you will also have need."

The trader smiled slightly as Nemir took the scroll, and Judas thought that perhaps the two were related, although he could not tell if there was a resemblance between them, since all of their kind that he had seen resembled one another, probably since this was the first time he had ever seen one of the eastern men. The skin color and the shape of the face and eyes were so unfamiliar to him that they made them seem as kin to each other.

"How long do you expect it will be before the caravan leaves?" Nemir asked.

The trader studied the sky, then the ground. "The caravan coming through from the other side is the first of the season, so it will depend on when they were able to set out and if there was any damage to the trail during the winter. However, I would expect to leave before the end of the week."

Nemir nodded again. "We will find lodging, then. We will send you word of which inn we choose so that you can notify us when it is time to leave."

That prompted a laugh and a large smile. "We will need to send no notification. When the first rider emerges from the pass, the entire town will know. At that time you will need to pack quickly and come to the gate here," he said waving towards the gate his camp was next to. "We will not wait. Once the caravan is ready to go, it leaves."

"Understood."

Finding lodging for five was not as easy as Nemir had made it seem. Several caravans had assembled, waiting for the end of the winter storms, which were in many ways harsher in the foothills of the mountains than in the desert. Most of the establishments that offered rooms were full already, and it began to seem that they would have to find someplace outsider the city walls to camp.

Then, as the sun rode high in the sky, they found a building on the edge of town, near the walls but far from either of the two main gates, with a sign indicating that it had rooms for rent. A stable was off to the side, large enough to hold a dozen or so beast, with a small exercise ring next to it. Everything was aged, but scrupulously maintained.

Unlike the last five establishments, when Nemir emerged, he was smiling. Every other inn had been filled with men waiting for caravans to leave or arrive, and their party would have been subjected to intense scrutiny, even if there had been rooms for them.

"There are two rooms available," Nemir said. "And four of the horses will have to stay in the paddock, as there is not enough room for them all in the stable."

"Nahanna can share with us," Dansen said, earning a sharp glance from the woman. Judas was not sure if she had expected one of the rooms for her sole use, or if she had intended to share with Nemir and Judas. However, she said nothing.

They began to unload their baggage from their remaining horses, and a small child emerged from the inn and began leading the unburdened beasts towards the stable. Karsa, Judas's mare and one of the other desert horses would be put in stable, away from larcenous eyes, while the others would have to be content with the paddock.

The shadows were beginning to grow again, so Judas was able to safely pick up his share of the burden without risking burns to his hands and forearms. But as he stood again, a flicker of movement at the end of the street caught his attention. Looking up, he saw a man disappearing around the bend, his back to the group. Judas frowned, for there seemed something very familiar about the man, although he could not say what.

Shaking his head, he followed Nemir into the cool, dim interior of the stone building.

---------------------------------------- Chapter Forty-Eight ----------------------------------------

The inn was not the best that the small town could offer, but neither was it the worst, and it was an inn, not a field on which to set their tents, vulnerable to thieves and bandits. That was especially important, since each carried enough gold and gems to support a farmer and his family for many years. Anyone who had seen Nemir bargaining with the caravan leader, or who had heard of it, might be tempted to make an attempt, no matter how honest.

The stable was small, but the child who cared for it and the horses -- son or perhaps grandson of the innkeeper -- kept the dirt floor well-swept and the stalls carpeted with clean straw. The horses kept in the paddock did not have as many amenities, but again, the ground was kept clean of droppings, and a large trough under a small shed roof was filled with fresh water.

Nemir introduced the boy to the horses with the command that Judas told him meant 'trust to a limited extent' to the desert-born horses, and warned the child of the limitations of that trust, then went back into the inn.

The inn's walls were of stone more than an arm's length thick. From their travel from the desert to the town, Nemir knew that stone was probably the most plentiful building material to be found, unlike in Ajantha, where both stone and timber had to be brought by barge, one from the quarries down-river, and the other from the forests at the sea coast. The poorest houses were made of dirt dug from the banks of the river and compacted until it was nearly as hard as stone.

The stone walls were practical for more than just ease of building, though. The stone kept the interior cool during the heat of the summer, and protected from the winter storms. Several large fireplaces provided heat as needed.

Upstairs were several private rooms, along with the attic space where individual beds were let out to those without the money for pay for an entire room. Behind the inn was a second stone building where water from a natural spring was collected, not just for cooking and the beasts, but also for bathing.

The two rooms they were able to rent, since the previous tenants had been waiting only for the end of the storm season before heading west again, were tucked against one outside wall. Each had a single shuttered window, high in the wall and too small for a body to fit through, although Nahanna might be able.

In one room, Markus was laying out his bedroll, since there were only two narrow beds, and neither was long enough for his large frame. Nahanna was examining the bedding of one of the beds as though she expected to find it filled with vermin, even though she had been sleeping on the ground for more than a month. She would not find any, though. The cleanliness of the inn had impressed Nemir enough to part with more of his coin than he had planned for lodging. Still, for the beds, with meals included, it was not an outrageous sum.

Nemir left them to decide on their own arrangements. In the room next to it, a stroke of luck, although unfortunately there was no connecting door, Judas was making their own beds.

Like the other room, there were two beds. Both were narrow and hard. They had been given clean linens on payment of the first night's stay. The linens were discolored by age and soft with use, but they were clean, and Nemir anticipated slipping between them for the first night's sleep in months almost as much as he did that first bath to wash the grime from his skin. The innkeeper had also recommended a launderer -- a relative, no doubt, but then most of the permanent residents of the town were probably from the same clan -- down the street who could wash their clothing.

Nemir's only regret was that the beds, which barely fit in the tiny room, the smaller of the two rented, were too narrow to allow him and Judas to sleep together. Still, they were not separated.

"What shall we do while we wait?" Judas asked as he set the last blanket onto one of the beds. Their dust-covered bags were slipped under the beds, out of the way but within easy reach.

Nemir leaned against the room, wanting to get clean before he sat down on the pristine bed. He pulled the scroll from inside his tunic and unrolled it. "According to the inn- keeper, the market will open an hour before sunset and continue until midnight, taking advantage of the cooler night air. We should go and purchase most of the items on the caravan's list. It may be that we will have a week or more to wait, but it may also be that we will leave tomorrow. We need to be ready for either possibility. Clothes and food and better travel gear than we have had up until now."

Then he smiled. "But first, I intend to bathe, dress in the cleanest of the clothing I have, and take the rest to the laundry house down the street. After that, a hot meal and a night in a clean bed, and I will feel much refreshed."

Judas ran the fingers of one hand through his own hair and grimaced. "I agree." Then he paused, and frowned. "Are the baths here communal?" he asked. The need to keep his appearance a secret would make communal baths impossible.

Nemir had thought of that. "They have both. I have paid for the use of a private bathing room with heated water. You and I can bathe together, and Nahanna can have her privacy for her own bath."

He tucked the scroll into one of his bags, then straightened. "However, someone will need to remain with the rooms at all times. Stories will travel quickly of what money we have, and even though the guards keep the peace well in town, that will not stop the truly determined."

He searched through the bags and found a tunic and loose pants that had been taken from the camp of Judas's tribe that were barely dirty, and tucked them under his arm. The clothing was thankfully not obviously in the style of the tribes, since to any familiar with the tribes, he would never be able to pass. "Let's go tell the others that we are heading for the baths."

Nemir luxuriated in the feeling of heated water against his skin, the rough cloth rubbing against his back, coated with a thick foam of soap. Then Judas found the place in which his muscles had become a thick knot and set aside the cloth so that he could work the spot more easily. Nemir groaned, and closed his eyes as muscles made tight by weeks in the saddle eased, then relaxed completely.

He had spent nearly a year after being recalled from the Guard in luxury, and in that short time he had been spoiled by the opportunity to bathe every day in water whatever temperature he desired, and while he had readjusted quickly to the long journey from Ajantha, when bathing water was difficult to find, he had dreamt of the chance to be completely *clean*.

"I have finished," Judas whispered in his ear, far too soon for Nemir's liking, but he opened his eyes and shook off his near-slumber, then turned in the small tub to wrap his arms around the lithe form of his lover. There was really only room for one in the tub, but they had managed somehow.

"Are you sure?" he asked, pulling Judas closer, feeling the urge to purr like one of the felines that wandered the palace of his birth.

Judas pressed against him with a smile. "What is your desire, my lord?" he said coyly, peering through his eyelashes.

Nemir laughed, and showed him.

After, Nemir returned the favor, cleaning Judas carefully from head to toe. They dried off, using the thin sheets of nappy fabric that the inn had supplied, then dressed in clothing that was the cleanest they had, but was still rough with sand and sweat. Nemir mourned that, but they needed to have their clothing cleaned.

They returned to their room, and found that Dansen had anticipated them. While Nahanna headed for the bath room, Markus told them that the other man had collected the rest of their clothing and had taken it to be laundered. Then, since Nemir and Judas were there to watch their belongings, he followed Nahanna to protect her from unwanted advances.

They settled in to wait, taking a set of dice that Dansen had carried all the way from Ajantha to game the time away. Dansen returned quickly, with the news that their clothing would be brought to the inn, cleaned, before morning. He joined the game as they waited for Nahanna and her guard. She took her time, as most women did given the chance, then Dansen and Markus took their turn, although they were quicker than any of the others, obviously choosing to simply bathe.

Then, after a meal in the inn's common room of a robust stew made mostly of root vegetables and a bit of dried meat, they set out for the market, Markus remaining behind to guard their possessions, and the currency that they did not carry with them.

The sun was setting, and the shadows of the town's buildings were long enough to protect Judas, but Nemir added an item to the list of supplied that they needed to purchase; a variety of hair and skin dyes. Perhaps they would find something that would work better than the dyes they had made from nuts during the storms, or the dye that Kale -- Nemir wondered what had happened to the elderly healer after their flight -- had thought to put in the bag with the jars of cream for Judas's skin.

Torches were lit and set around the perimeter of the market, with lamps at every stand, lighting the square as bright as day. It seemed as though every person who lived in the town was wandering the stalls. Traders from the east were either looking to sell any last goods before they returned home, or to buy western goods to take home to sell. Likewise, the western traders were looking to buy at lower prices from the traders who did not want to return home with goods they had brought west to sell, while also waiting in anticipation for the first new caravans of fresh goods.

Silks and incense. Carvings and delicate seedlings. Jewelry and ornamental weapons. Every form of luxury good was available, although no longer the finest of what had been brought. And local merchants were there also, selling more basic merchandise. Simple woolen and leather clothing. Grain and dried meat. The necessities of life.

The list they had been given was in Nemir's pocket, but in his mind he had reordered it, so that they could find the most necessary items first. Travel food, then fresh clothing, with new tents and bedrolls last.

"This way," he said, indicating the direction that seemed most promising to him.

---------------------------------------- Chapter Forty-Nine ----------------------------------------

It took less time that Judas expected to make their purchases. While at first glance, to him the market looked crowded and chaotic, as Nemir guided them through he started to see the order. It was still loud and bright, and he kept his hood well over his eyes to protect them. Light from lanterns reflected off of anything made of metal, sending shards of color in every direction. Voices, all loud, and many speaking languages he did not know, echoed in his ears, making his head pound. He began to wish that he had stayed with Markus, even though he wanted to stay close to Nemir.

Merchants, seeing new faces, new potential customers, plucked at their sleeves, calling out to them to stop and look at their wares. The close contact made Judas even more uneasy, and he moved closer to Nemir.

Nemir, however, ignored them all without effort, his eyes focused ahead, looking for whatever was next to be found.

Judas, however, had more difficulty. It had been more than a year since he had been surrounded by this many people, and never this many strangers. Wandering through the crowd were also women, but dressed in ways so immodest that he had to avert his eyes. The words they called out made it plain that they were also there to sell their wares, but that their wares were their bodies. Although the slaver, Kamal, had trained Judas to be a bed-slave, the thought of callously selling your body to strangers for a single span of time, and doing so many times in a night, turned his stomach to think of it. Death would seem a better fate, he thought.

Also running through the crowd were children, grubby and dressed in ragged clothing. Some begged for coins in pitiful voices, mostly ignored, and Nemir warned them to keep an eye on all in a hushed voice, unless they wanted to find their purses gone, along with most of the possessions they carried.

Their travel food was quickly found and purchased, and sent to the inn. Fodder for their horses was likewise purchased and sent to the caravan, as the scroll had instructed. Then new clothing was purchased, which was pleasing to them all. Although they had been able to take some clothing from the tents of his tribe, other than Judas, none were completely comfortable in the loose, enveloping robes. Breeches and tunics were purchased, along with new cloaks since the old were ragged and threadbare.

Once the basics had been found, Nemir turned to them. "Is there any other goods that we should have?"

"I need a new whetstone for my blades, and the oil to use with it," Dansen said.

"Jewelry is easier to carry than coins, and could have more value at our destination," Nahanna said, and Nemir nodded.

"Trade goods would be useful, as long as they are small and easily carried."

"Leather and a repair kit for the saddles and our boots," Judas said as the thought occurred to him. "Needles and threads and cloth to do the same for our clothing, since we still have long travel ahead. Soap as well, perhaps?"

Nemir smiled. "Very practical," he said ruefully, shaking his head as though he should have thought of those items himself. "I suggest that we part company, then. Nahanna and Dansen shall search out metal goods, while Judas and I look for other trade goods. Spend only what we brought with us to the market. Nothing that will take time for delivery, for we may need to leave on a moment's notice."

Now that the essentials had been dealt with, they were able to take their time and browse the booths that they had passed by earlier. In the leather quarter, two repair kits were purchased, as well as a tailor's travel case. Leather was also easy to find, and they bought a selection, including finely tooled leather that could be used for vests or belts or shoes that would be good for trading.

Then they came on a booth that sold books, and Judas stopped to peruse the selection. Some were from the east, and he stared at the strange symbols, trying to puzzle out their meaning, but there was nothing there that he could wrap his mind around.

"Do you have anything that would teach the eastern tongue?" he asked the seller after a nod from Nemir.

After a few minutes, two books intended to teach the language to foreigners had been purchased, along with a child's primer for the written language. Two history books and a volume of folk tales joined them, and Judas's fingers itched to open them and start reading immediately. His grandfather had taught him to read, but his time in Ajantha had given him a love of the written word that he had never thought possible. Shallow though it might be, he mourned the loss of the library at the Palace where he had spent many an hour browsing the shelves, free to chose any that he wanted to read.

They moved on.

Nemir bought tools and raw wood for carving. Judas was surprised to learn that the other man was apparently a fine carver, a pastime that was easy to store in a saddlebag. The caravan would take more than a month to reach the nearest of the Eastern cities, so pastimes would be essential.

Bit by bit, they worked their way towards the jewelry quadrant of the market. They had not visited the animal market at the far end of the square where the smell would not offend the delicate of nose, but they had not interest in that. They had their horses, and no need of hunting hounds or herd animals.

Judas's gaze roamed in every direction, taking in everything, and there was much to see. The package containing his books was tightly held as they were jostled, and he fought to keep his hood up, even though he received many strange looks as a result.

Then, as Nemir stopped to examine the wares of one of the jewelry booths, he caught sight of a familiar form. Nahanna was down at the end of the aisle, talking intently to one of the merchants. Dansen was nowhere to be seen, but Nahanna seemed unconcerned. Judas frowned, wondering if it was safe for her to be alone.

"Judas, what do you think of this?"

Judas glanced at Nemir, then back down the aisle again. Nahanna was gone, and for a moment he wondered if he had truly seen her, or if fatigue was leading him to see things that were not there.

"Judas?"

The question drew his attention back to Nemir, and he shook off all thoughts of Nahanna. "Yes?" he said.

"What do you think of this?" Nemir said, lifting his hand.

Hanging from it was a silver chain, plain and simple, and yet completely elegant. It was heavy in weight, and gleamed strangely in the torchlight. When he looked closer, he saw that each link was etched in delicate patterns that caught the light. "It's beautiful," he breathed. And it was. He had never seen anything of its like. It was fine work, and to his eyes, obviously intended for a male throat.

Nemir smiled and turned back to the merchant, handing over a number of coins. Then he turned back to Judas. "For you," he said, holding the chain out.

Judas blinked, and for a moment his throat closed up. "It... it is too much," he protested.

Nemir waved that off. "Never," he said. "And you deserve it. The pendant you wear deserves something finer to hang from."

Judas's hand came up to touch the quartz pendant that he had not removed since the night they had fled Ajantha. Nemir could not have missed it, but he had never made mention of it for some reason, at least not until now.

At Nemir's gesture, he removed the pendant and its rough leather thong from around his neck. While the merchant watched curiously, he took the pendant from the thong and strung the wire wrapped around the piece of quartz onto the silver chain. When he placed it around his neck, the crystal nestled warmly against his chest, just below his collarbone. He touched it, and smiled at Nemir.

"Perfect," Nemir said with a smile. If they had not been in the midst of a crowded square, Judas would have kissed him. To some it might seem a small gesture, albeit an expensive one, but it said more to Judas. It said that Nemir had noticed the quartz pendant and its value to Judas, but had chosen not to ask, waiting for a time when Judas would chose to speak.

As he turned, he thought again that he saw a familiar face. It was not Nahanna or Dansen, but he only caught a quick glimpse, barely enough to see that the person had been male. He frowned for a moment, then dismissed the thought as a trick of the torch light. That anyone here might be someone he recognized was a foolish thought. Like the man he had seen the night before near the inn. It was the months of flight, fearing pursuit, he told himself, that made him think that he saw faces he recognized.

They were both burdened now by goods and materials. Nemir shifted the canvas bag he had bought to carry some of those goods to a more comfortable position. "It is nearly midnight," he said, glancing up to see where the moon was in the sky. "We should find the others and return to the inn before Markus comes searching for us," he said with a wry grin.

Judas looked around and frowned. "How do we find them in so large a market?" he asked, baffled. Even though it was the middle of the night, the market crowd seemed even larger than when they arrived, with bodies pressing against them as people moved past. Twice, enterprising hands had sought for his purse, but it was inside his clothing, protected by several layers of cloth, and he had fended off those hands.

Nemir paused, and considered the question with a frown. "We head to the edge of the market, to the avenue that leads to the inn. Eventually, they must come that way," he said. That seemed reasonable to Judas.

They were working their way through the crowd when a bell started ringing. It was picked up by others, and the atmosphere of the crowded market turned excited. "What does that mean?" Judas asked, looking around.

A stranger, one of the merchants, answered him. "A caravan is emerging from the pass," he said, packing his wares. "It will be here by morning."

Nemir hissed. "It is just as well that we bought the necessities tonight," he said. "Hurry. We must find the others and return to the inn to pack."

He began to push his way through the crowd, less considerate this time. Judas followed, his eyes fixed on Nemir's back, even though there were quickly many bodies between them.

He was so intent on Nemir that the hand that seized his arm caught him by surprise. He turned, and found himself face to face with a familiar face. His eyes went wide as he recognized one of the men who had escorted Nahanna to Ajantha. He froze.

Then his vision sparked as something impacted the side of his head, sending him into darkness.

---------------------------------------- Chapter Fifty ----------------------------------------

The press of people around him was making it difficult for Nemir to work his way to the edge of the market. The ringing of the bell that announced that the first caravan had emerged from the pass, and so was less than a day away from the town, had energized everyone. People were rushing to the walls, wanting to see with their own eyes the proof that the new season had begun.

Judas was quickly separated from him, and when Nemir turned, he was nowhere in sight. Since the younger man was taller than most in the market, he should have been obvious, and yet he was not.

Nemir worked his way back to where he had last seen Judas, then turned in place, searching for any sign of his companion. There was none, other than a few abandoned packages that Judas had been carrying, lying on the ground. Nemir stooped to pick up the package of books that Judas had been holding so close.

"Watcha lookin' fer?"

Nemir looked down and found one of the street kids staring at him. The child -- he could not tell if it was male or female -- was dressed in ragged clothing, obviously someone's cast-offs, and had not seen a bath in too long. The large eyes looking up at him were an unusual shade of blue, not a color common to the Kingdom.

"My friend," he said, with little expectation that the child would be of any help. "He's a little younger than me, and taller. Very slim. He was wearing a brown cloak, with the hood pulled over his head, and desert robes underneath. Have you seen him?"

"Yup!"

Nemir waited for more, but the child just stared at him. Then the child rolled its eyes, and held out a hand. Nemir grimaced, then pulled a small silver coin from his pocket and handed it over.

The coin disappeared quickly, and Nemir had no idea where the child had secreted it. "Sother hit 'im. Took 'im that way," he was told, and a finger pointed in the direction of the animal market, with a gate beyond it. "Two more Sothers helped 'im."

"Sother?" Nemir asked, trying to puzzle out the guttersnipe's strange dialect.

"Y'know. Sother. From the south. Clanner. Don see 'em much round 'ere. These, they got 'ere couple weeks ago."

Nemir went blank for a moment, then his breath hissed out between his teeth. "Many thanks," he said, digging out a second coin and tossing it to the child, who looked amazed at its good fortune, then turned and disappeared into the crowd.

This time, nothing was going to stop his progress. He pushed through the crowd, headed in the direction that the child had indicated. Some might laugh and say that he was a fool, that the child had taken him as an easy mark, but the story given was too plausible. Sother. Southern clans. The ones who wanted Judas for whatever purpose.

He reached the gate, then tapped the guard on the shoulder. "Have any left through this gate recently?" he demanded, out of breath. The guard frowned at him, so he pulled another coin from his purse. "My friend has been abducted, by three southerners. Have they left the city?"

"Aye. On horseback, not too long ago. Three Sothers, a fourth man they said was drunk, and a woman."

"A woman?" Nemir said dangerously.

"Aye." The guard grinned, revealing stained teeth, with one missing. He gestured with one hand to indicate the exaggerated curves of a woman. "A toothsome one she was too, from what I could see, although her clothing had seen better days." Then he spat. "Did not take an invitation for a tumble too kindly though. Bitch. Did ya want out?"

For a moment, Nemir was tempted, but knew that it was foolish. The ones he pursued were on horseback, and he was alone and on foot. As well, Dansen would be searching for him. "No. Thank you for the information," he added, handing the man another coin, then turning away. There was no offer to help pursue, but he had not expected it. The town guard was only to prevent brawls and bandit attacks. An abduction, unless it were of one of the town grandees, was beneath their notice.

It felt as though an eternity had passed by the time he reached the edge of the market and found Dansen waiting for him, pacing in his agitation. "Nemir," he said, catching sight of the Heir. "Nahanna is gone!" Then he paused. "Where is Judas?"

Nemir headed down the avenue in the direction of the inn at a trot. Dansen had to hurry to keep pace with him. "Judas has been abducted," he told the man tersely. "He was taken from the city on horseback and unconscious by three Southern men and a woman."

"A... woman."

"We need to get Markus and the horses. I know which gate they left by, and if we are to foll