the desert, did he adopt the final layers of his Banbarra self: the veil, the looping headcloth, the indigo-and-tan robes.
He spent the journey through the hills in a kind of meditation, his thoughts pressed inward by the rhythm of Laye-ka’s sure gait and the monotonous scenery of sun-seared rock. He had conceived a hundred plans along the journey in, but on this trip his thoughts were occupied by something altogether different.
Did you enjoy that, my Prince? Let me show you more.
Tiaanet. Gods, what a woman. He would marry her, of course. That had been Sanfi’s intention, as obvious as the day was bright, and Wanahomen meant to oblige him. Despite the heat of the day he shivered at the memory of her lips, of her hands working magic on his flesh, of her patience in drawing out his release until he thought he might die of pleasure. How had she learned such skill? It didn’t matter. He had to have her again, and if that meant making Sanfi grandsire to the next royal heir, then so be it.
By midday he had lost himself in fantasies, hardly bothering to direct Laye-ka as she plodded along the trail between two jagged outcroppings. When Kite-iyan was his again, he would install Tiaanet in his own suite, just as his father had honored his mother. And would not his mother be pleased by his choice of a shunha maiden as firstwife? Sanfi’s lineage was a fine old one, eminently respectable—
Pebbles rattled on a ledge above.
Startled out of daydreaming, Wanahomen scrabbled for his knife and Laye-ka’s reins at once, scanning the heights for movement or an out-of-place shadow.
Nothing.
Laye-ka grunted loudly as if chastising Wanahomen. He ignored her, continuing to scan the ledges as she plodded onward. There was no further movement, but Wanahomen’s nerves were still a-jangle. The rock slopes on this part of the trail were too close and too littered with small caverns and boulders. He should never have allowed his attention to wander in a place so perfect for ambush.
Prompted by instinct, he dismounted and led Laye-ka off the main trail and up a narrow gulley carved by the springtime rains. It ran near the same slope from which he’d heard the pebbles, but there was more cover here than on the other side or the trail itself. He even spied a small cave as he moved behind a set of boulders twice Laye-ka’s height—
—And then he spied a man, crouched in the cave.
Wanahomen whipped his knife up. “Who—” He cut the sentence off in surprise as the stranger put a finger to his lips, then pointed down Wanahomen’s backtrail. In nearly the same breath, Wanahomen heard voices echoing over the hills, coming from the very direction in which the man had pointed.
What—
But he tapped Laye-ka’s shoulder in a quick Banbarra signal to be silent and still. She jerked her head once but obeyed, and Wanahomen peered between the boulders to try to see who was coming.
There, two hills back: the gleam of bronze and cloth dyed as green as rain forests. A four of Kisuati soldiers.
Wanahomen glanced back at the man in the cave, who nodded quietly. From this vantage, the man had probably seen them from even farther away. If Wanahomen had not heard and reacted to that pebble-rattle—something he now suspected the man had made to warn him—the soldiers would’ve seen him as they crested the last hill.
The man returned Wanahomen’s gaze with an odd, somehow familiar calm. Something about that calm unnerved Wanahomen, though not as much as the nearness of the soldiers, so for the time being he focused on the greater threat.
That the soldiers were not searching for him was obvious almost at once. They kept their horses at a leisurely walk, the metal-shod hooves making far more noise on the rocky trail than a camel’s toes. They talked loudly in some backcountry Sua dialect that Wanahomen could barely comprehend, but he gathered they were talking about a wager. One of them made some boastful-sounding statement, and their raucous
He spent the journey through the hills in a kind of meditation, his thoughts pressed inward by the rhythm of Laye-ka’s sure gait and the monotonous scenery of sun-seared rock. He had conceived a hundred plans along the journey in, but on this trip his thoughts were occupied by something altogether different.
Did you enjoy that, my Prince? Let me show you more.
Tiaanet. Gods, what a woman. He would marry her, of course. That had been Sanfi’s intention, as obvious as the day was bright, and Wanahomen meant to oblige him. Despite the heat of the day he shivered at the memory of her lips, of her hands working magic on his flesh, of her patience in drawing out his release until he thought he might die of pleasure. How had she learned such skill? It didn’t matter. He had to have her again, and if that meant making Sanfi grandsire to the next royal heir, then so be it.
By midday he had lost himself in fantasies, hardly bothering to direct Laye-ka as she plodded along the trail between two jagged outcroppings. When Kite-iyan was his again, he would install Tiaanet in his own suite, just as his father had honored his mother. And would not his mother be pleased by his choice of a shunha maiden as firstwife? Sanfi’s lineage was a fine old one, eminently respectable—
Pebbles rattled on a ledge above.
Startled out of daydreaming, Wanahomen scrabbled for his knife and Laye-ka’s reins at once, scanning the heights for movement or an out-of-place shadow.
Nothing.
Laye-ka grunted loudly as if chastising Wanahomen. He ignored her, continuing to scan the ledges as she plodded onward. There was no further movement, but Wanahomen’s nerves were still a-jangle. The rock slopes on this part of the trail were too close and too littered with small caverns and boulders. He should never have allowed his attention to wander in a place so perfect for ambush.
Prompted by instinct, he dismounted and led Laye-ka off the main trail and up a narrow gulley carved by the springtime rains. It ran near the same slope from which he’d heard the pebbles, but there was more cover here than on the other side or the trail itself. He even spied a small cave as he moved behind a set of boulders twice Laye-ka’s height—
—And then he spied a man, crouched in the cave.
Wanahomen whipped his knife up. “Who—” He cut the sentence off in surprise as the stranger put a finger to his lips, then pointed down Wanahomen’s backtrail. In nearly the same breath, Wanahomen heard voices echoing over the hills, coming from the very direction in which the man had pointed.
What—
But he tapped Laye-ka’s shoulder in a quick Banbarra signal to be silent and still. She jerked her head once but obeyed, and Wanahomen peered between the boulders to try to see who was coming.
There, two hills back: the gleam of bronze and cloth dyed as green as rain forests. A four of Kisuati soldiers.
Wanahomen glanced back at the man in the cave, who nodded quietly. From this vantage, the man had probably seen them from even farther away. If Wanahomen had not heard and reacted to that pebble-rattle—something he now suspected the man had made to warn him—the soldiers would’ve seen him as they crested the last hill.
The man returned Wanahomen’s gaze with an odd, somehow familiar calm. Something about that calm unnerved Wanahomen, though not as much as the nearness of the soldiers, so for the time being he focused on the greater threat.
That the soldiers were not searching for him was obvious almost at once. They kept their horses at a leisurely walk, the metal-shod hooves making far more noise on the rocky trail than a camel’s toes. They talked loudly in some backcountry Sua dialect that Wanahomen could barely comprehend, but he gathered they were talking about a wager. One of them made some boastful-sounding statement, and their raucous
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