the first ride "Don't you love the speed!" Now she knew what he meant.

This was how the Horse Followers first saw Princess Taoshira racing across their pastures. The

leader of the scouting party called a halt on the ridge and watched silently as the girl and the

blue roan streaked across the grass.

Finally, the horse slowed, tiring after its long canter. The leader signalled his men to move out

and they galloped down the hill to meet the strangers.

Tashi heard the thunder of their hooves before she saw them. She sat up straight in the saddle,

too weary to be afraid. The horsemen made a fearsome spectacle: their dark purple robes

flowing, their swords out.

Well, if they cut me down, at least it will be a swift end, she thought with resignation.

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The leader, a wiry black-skinned man with a gold ring in his earlobe, galloped his men around

her, then drew to a halt, a line of fighters barring her way forward. He pointed his sword at her

throat.

"What does a pale girl do riding on a horse fit for a prince?" he asked in Common.

He had not been fooled by her lack of skill, Tashi thought sadly.

"The horse does belong to a prince, but we have lost him," she replied, trying to hide her

trembling hands under the long cuffs of Ramil's shirt.

"Thunder lets me travel with him for a while."

The man examined the girl closely: she was injured and weak. It would be the work of a moment

to take the mount from her. The horse, as if sensing his thoughts, reared up, almost unseating

Tashi, flailing his hooves in the direction of the leader. It appeared the horse would not be so

easily parted from its rider; this called for a change of tactic.

"Who are you and where are you going?" the man asked imperiously.

"I'm Taoshira, the Fourth Crown Princess, also known as the Blue Crescent Witch, and I'm going

home," she said, beyond caring what they thought of that.

What they thought was that she was joking. Laughter rippled through the line of riders.

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"I like your imagination, girl," the leader said. "Come, you ride with us while I decide what to do with you."

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"That is not your decision, sir. My fate lies in the hands of the Goddess."

He gave her a crooked smile. "Then maybe I'm her instrument." He reached down and took the

picket rope still tied to the bridle. "Follow me."

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Chapter 16

As they rode, Tashi tried to stay awake this time. Falling from the saddle in front of these men

did not seem a good idea: they'd probably just leave her on the ground, taking Thunder with

them.

"What is your name, sir?" she asked the leader.

"Zeliph of the Horse Followers."

"And am I your captive, Zeliph of the Horse Followers?"

"I have not decided. We return to my tent. There you will tell me your true name and your story.

Then I will decide."

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Tashi accepted that there was nothing more she could do. The scouting party travelled over the

featureless steppe with an unerring sense of direction. Once they gave a shout in unison,

greeting a herd of horses galloping free the other way, but they did not stop. By late afternoon,

they approached a collection of white tents pitched by a pool. Beyond lay the first dunes of the

true desert, golden in the setting sun. As Tashi watched, the light changed and they flushed

blood red.

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Zeliph reined in the horses outside the largest tent. Tashi slid stiffly from the saddle and almost

continued going to the ground but caught herself on the stirrup. Zeliph whistled and a young boy

bobbed out of the tent and took the horses.

"He'll be well looked after," Zeliph assured her, seeing Tashi's worried frown.

Tashi hadn't doubted that, but she was thinking if she would ever see Thunder again.

Not bothering to welcome her to his tent, Zeliph took the saddle bags inside and upended them

on the rug. He picked through the shirts as if looking for some clue to his guest's identity.

"Men's clothes, not yours," he said, stating the obvious.

Tashi nodded.

"Did you steal the horse?" he asked bluntly.

"No."

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"But he doesn't belong to you?"

"No." It was clear Thunder was the only thing this man was interested in.

"Then who does he belong to?"

"That's a difficult question." Tashi was feeling lightheaded and very tired.

"May I sit?"

He gave a curt nod.

"I suppose he belongs to Fergox Spearthrower, but Ramil liberated him when we escaped from

Felixholt."

She wondered faintly when was the last time she'd eaten properly. She'd survived on a canteen

of water and scanty rations since her plunge in the river.

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The man was oblivious to his guest's distress.

"Ramil? Ramil ac Burinholt? Zarai's son?"

Tashi nodded. "I'm sorry, but I think I'm going to ... " She didn't complete her sentence, as the 290

world suddenly turned sideways and she passed out on the cushions. Alarmed, Zeliph called his

wife to assist him. Together they carried the unconscious girl into the women's quarters at the

back of the tent.

His wife did not stop berating him. "What were you thinking of?" she scolded. "Questioning the poor child like that? Can't you see she's been through an ordeal?" She flapped him out of the

room and efficiently set about nursing the stranger, stripping off her rags, washing her cuts,

putting ointment on her bruises, and finally burning a feather under her nose to rouse her.

Tashi opened her eyes to see a dark brown pair gazing down on her.

The woman touched her chest. "I'm Larila."

"Tashi," she replied, touching her own chest. She then realized she was naked under her cover.

"Where are my things?"

"I have sent them to be washed."

The girl burst into tears, clutching the blanket to her chest. "Don't do that!

They won't smell of him anymore if you do that."

"It is too late. They have already gone," Larila replied, wondering at this irrational response. Was the child mad?

The girl turned her head to the pillow, her shoulders heaving, and refused to answer more

questions.

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Ramil chose to look upon his situation as a war and plan his strategy accordingly. Sitting in the

filth of the pen, he was in retreat and had to move on to the attack. His greatest and only

strength was that many others shared his predicament. All the slaves penned for the sale the

following day would be potential recruits. There was no advantage in waiting for a better

opportunity because he was unlikely to find one. But he had to allow for some being too fearful

to get involved and others that might see it in their own interests to betray any conspiracy to the

masters. The captives had no weapons but their bare hands and chains. Looking round the slave

market with its guards and whip-bearing overseers, Ramil knew that the first task would be to

break out of the pens and hold a defensible area of the city, before he could get involved in

more ambitious plans. Ramil had already set upon Fergox's palace as his ultimate target. Like a

flea biting a man in armor, Ramil's hope was that he would distract the warlord from his fight

with Gerfal by attacking his soft part underneath.