Fall of a Kingdom (The Farsala Trilogy) (27 page)

S
ORAYA WAS YAWNING
as she came back from her hunt in the late afternoon. She’d returned to the croft almost a month ago, but she still got sleepy during the day. At least her hunting skills had improved—four rabbits lay in the game bag over her shoulder. Yes, her hunting had improved. Her magic…Maok had said her abilities would grow even without guidance, but it would be slower. Slower meant a total standstill, as far as Soraya could tell. Of course, it was an unladylike occupation for a deghass.

Soraya sighed. One of the hardest things about returning to the croft had been being treated like a deghass again. She found she liked Golnar, and even Behras, a little better than she had, though Behram was nothing but an annoyance. And not even Hejir made up for the Suud’s absence. She did miss Maok—and not only when she attempted magic. She missed Elid, too. She almost missed Abab!

But things were what they were. She was a deghass, of a proud house. But that didn’t keep her from being…

The croft came in view, familiar now, with its peasant-garish, painted shutters. A strange horse was tied to the post beside the shed—not even the peddler’s mule. Had her father come? Soraya’s heart pounded, but the horse wasn’t good enough for a deghan to ride. It must be a messenger, a messenger from her father. And if he was sending messages openly, then he must be almost ready to bring her home!

Soraya began to run, the rabbits thumping against her side.

Yes! Behras had gotten out the big handcart and was loading the family’s possessions into it. But where was a horse for her to ride? And they’d told her that her father’s aide had hired a wagon to bring their things to the croft. Why wouldn’t he do that now?

Soraya’s steps began to slow, but her heartbeat didn’t. She walked up to Behras. “What are you doing?”

The look on his hard face was not embarrassed compassion. It wasn’t.

“I’m packing.”

“I can see that. Why are you packing?”

Quick steps sounded in the house. Golnar appeared in the doorway, her embroidered apron twisted in her hands. Hejir clung to her skirts, wide-eyed, like a much younger child. A man stood beside her, dirty and unshaven. Under the grime and bloodstains, his tunic was the black and gold of the House of the Leopard.

Soraya turned back to Behras. She tried to sound confident, but her voice came out in a whisper. “Why are you leaving?”

He looked helplessly at his wife, then shrugged. “We’re leaving because your da’s not paying us anymore. Without his money, we can’t live here, so we’re going back to find a place we can farm.”

“We’ll take you with us, Lady, if…if you like,” said Golnar. There were tears in her eyes.

Soraya didn’t need tears. She turned to the soldier, who sighed and straightened to face her.

“I’m sorry, Lady Soraya, but the high commander is dead, the army’s dead, and the Hrum are coming.”

“You’re lying,” said Soraya with certainty. This couldn’t be true.

The man’s tired eyes filled with the same embarrassed compassion as in the others’. “I’m sorry, Lady. I saw it myself. In the end, the bastards had surrounded them. The commander, your father, told everyone still standing to put down their weapons, that he’d end it. Then he drew the circle of challenge around him and waited for them to send out a champion. But the cowards sent archers instead and shot him full of arrows, like—Um, it was quick, girl. Lady. As quick as death in battle can be. The young commander, Jiaan, he told me where you were. Said you’re to go with Behras and his family and hide yourself with them for a time.”

“Which you’re welcome to, I’m sure,” Golnar added. “Though if you’re to pass as one of us, you’d have to, well…Oh, Lady, I am so sor—” She started forward, her arms outstretched. Soraya took a step back. Then another. Then she turned and fled, throwing the game bag aside when it hindered her.

It isn’t true!
It couldn’t be true. Her father wasn’t dead. The Hrum weren’t coming, and—

She never knew what tripped her—a fallen branch, a stone. She hit the ground hard, skinning her knees and palms. The shock brought her back to herself, a bit.

A deghass didn’t run in panic when given hard news. A deghass didn’t lie to herself; in her heart Soraya had known it for the truth when the soldier described her father ordering his men’s surrender. He cared too much to sacrifice his men in a battle they couldn’t win. And he had too much farr to surrender himself. The Hrum enslaved their prisoners, didn’t they?

Soraya blinked back tears. A deghass didn’t weep. Besides, she had things to do.

She rose to her feet, ignoring the pain in her knees, and set out, walking purposefully.

She should make sure her father was buried properly. No, her mother would do that. If she could. Would the Hrum allow it?

Soraya spent some time envisioning the difficulties her mother must have faced, arranging a proper burial in the midst of a conquest. She fought back tears again, because she hadn’t been there. Then she realized that the Hrum would have taken Sudaba, and Merdas, too, as captives. As slaves.

Soraya’s breath caught, and she stumbled, which wasn’t good since she was halfway down the trail to the desert, and the slope below her ended in a sheer cliff.

Then that was the first thing she had to do. She had to find Merdas and free him. He was the sole heir of the House of the Leopard, and continuation of the house was a deghass’ first duty. At least she could rely on Sudaba to keep him safe, until Soraya reached them. Yes. Sudaba was indifferent to the daughter she had borne, but she loved Merdas. She would keep him safe, till Soraya could find and free them.

Soraya rose to her feet and went on. In the forest you couldn’t see clouds unless they were right overhead. Here she could watch them gather, as dark and rich as the sea.

Her next duty was to avenge her father. Finding a way to hurt the Hrum might be harder than freeing Merdas and Sudaba.

In the moments when her mind functioned, she tried to come up with a plan to destroy, or at least damage, the Hrum army. But the moments her mind worked were getting farther apart, even as the thunderclaps grew closer and more frequent. So it was no wonder that she’d almost reached the Suud encampment before she realized she’d need help.

Of course! With the Suud’s help, she could kill any number of people. And their magic would help her rescue Merdas, and her mother, too. That was why she’d come here instead of going back to the croft.

Soraya began to run again. The curves of the rock maze as she neared the camp were even more familiar than the approach to the croft.

They’d be asleep when she got there, for the sun was just setting, though the gathering storm made it seem darker. But Maok wouldn’t mind being awakened early. Maok was wise. Maok would help her think and plan and…

Soraya burst around the last turn of the trail and then stared in shock. The Suud were gone. The hutches were gone, the lovely baskets packed up and taken away. Only the fire pit remained, cold and filled with dry, dead ash.

They were gone.

Her father was gone.

He hadn’t come for her. He had
promised,
and he hadn’t come for her, the bastard. She was glad she hadn’t said she loved him too. Glad, glad,
“Glad!”
she shouted to the empty rocks.

Thunder answered, along with a cold, rising wind. Soraya had always been able to sense the shilshadu of storms. This one surrounded her, opening itself as she reached for it. Closing her eyes, she grasped it whole—a violent, turbulent spirit that filled the boiling clouds above her. It began to shiver, a humming tension forming in its core. Soraya’s mind touched the birth of lightning. With this, she could destroy—

She gasped as the thunderbolt blazed to life, yanking her mind back, pushing it away. It hit nearby, the crack of thunder like a physical blow. If she had kept hold of it, would it have struck her?

She wasn’t a good enough Speaker to command storms. Or anything else. Destroy the Hrum? That was a joke. She didn’t know how to save Merdas. She didn’t even know how to find him.

Cold rain pattered down, mingling with her hot tears. Soraya welcomed it, soothing her face, freezing her heart. Perhaps it would freeze her to death, if she sat and wept long enough, and solve all her problems.

But even as the rain embraced her, so did two warm, white arms. Soraya turned slowly, hiding her face in Maok’s robe, and cried.

But as she wept out her grief, anger, and fear, her resolve hardened. She would find Merdas and save him. And then, somehow, she would find a way to avenge her father. The Hrum would pay and die. She was a deghass. She would see to it.

Like any book, this one owes a debt to a great many people. My two faithful writers’ groups, Wild Women of the West and a Few Good Guys, and the Denver Science Fiction Writers’ Guild. My good friend Kara Schreiber, who gives me the best advice. My excellent agent, Irene Kraas, and my wonderful editor, Julia Richardson. I’d also like to acknowledge the debt of inspiration I owe to
The Lion and the Throne,
a wonderfully readable edition of Ferdowsi’s
Shahnameh,
rendered in prose by Ehsan Yar Shatar and translated by Dick Davis. If anyone wants to read the actual ancient Persian myth of Rostam, Tahmineh, and Sohrab, I highly recommend this edition.