MARIAH’S LOVE

A Fantasy novel

by

Louise Crawford

© copyright Louise Crawford, March 2002
New Concepts Publishing
4729 Humphreys Rd.
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank my husband and daughter for living with a writer--not an easy thing to do. Also, thanks and gratitude to my writing buddies who read this book (and many others) and offered not only their criticism but their support as well. Thank you, Jennifer Helgren, Susan Scheibel, Suzanne Suzuki, Cleo Kocol, and John Vester.

Louise Feaver Crawford
Prologue

In the final minutes of daylight, Chadyk Commander Rathyn scrambled up the forested knoll, forcing his way through the tangle of vines and tree limbs. They scratched his arms, stung his face. He silently cursed his height and bulk, sure he'd lost half the skin on his forearms. The tall, slender Syrithian warriors fighting against his men in the clearing below were better suited to this canopied terrain. A limb caught his hair and yanked several ebony strands from his scalp. A black beetle buzzed by his ear. He swore under his breath.

The spot had seemed ideal to watch Captain Stephanos command over a thousand men, to assess the men as a fighting unit, and finally to witness a triumph against the determined Syrithians.

"Victory! For Commander Rathyn! For the Emperor!" Carried on the chill breeze, the cheers of his men rose like a distant echo from two hundred feet below.

Maybe after today, the stubborn Syrithian queen would deign to meet with him and listen to his peace proposal.

"She'd rather die than parley with a Chadyk," Captain Stephanos had informed him before the battle. Rathyn's throat tightened. He did not want the blood of a woman on his hands ever. Not even one rumored to be a barbarian enchantress, a Spirit-woman.

At the top of the knoll, he spied a clearing, then heard a whisper of movement from the other side. Reflexively, he dropped to the thick bed of damp winter leaves. Though his armor breastplate dug into his hips, he took a slow, quiet breath, noting the sharp scent of eucalyptus and the more subtle, pervasive odor of mold.

From the tangle of vegetation a figure emerged: tall, graceful, face shadowed by a hood, swathed in a belted sky blue robe with a white-circled insignia on the shoulder. By Tyryk, a Syrithian council member! Alone?

The curves beneath the robe bespoke a woman's shape. With quick, lithe steps away from him, she strode to the bare patch he'd meant to claim, and peered down at the battle.

A captive member of the ruling council would be a great advantage. He tensed his arms, lifted his hips and brought one leg up beneath him, ready to spring.

He froze as her belt slipped to the ground, then the hooded robe. His breath caught in his throat. Here stood the moon goddess his men whispered of, the enchantress of the night that none could withstand, a sensuous combination of muscle and taut skin, the tiniest of waists sloping into the seductive curve of supple buttocks and long slender legs. Her braided silver hair was wrapped about her head like a thick crown which glowed in the dying light. Her alabaster skin, like pale, glimmering satin, appeared dusted by stars. His hands tingled at the thought of touching her, and he thirsted to taste her perfection. Lightning seared through his veins and engulfed him in a fire unlike any he'd ever imagined. Heat wove through his belly into his groin.

He blinked. Sweat dripped into his eye and stung, yet he remained still, lest the vision of beauty vanish like a twilight mist, become only a dream, tormenting him forever.

A soft sigh escaped her lips, the sound filled with such sorrow, that he was tempted to show himself to comfort her. She would never accept the solace of a Chadyk. She stepped sideways, turning slightly, her gaze fixed on the battle below. He lifted his head higher to better see the rise and fall of her full breasts, high and proud as the tilt of her head, the strong line of her jaw. His gaze slid lower and his mouth went dry as the sun-burnt grass of his distant home.

Lust and obligation warred in his brain. He'd learn more by watching than by taking her prisoner - Syrithian captives never talked unless tortured, which unlike his predecessor, he refused to allow.

His pulse raced with a passion that reminded him of the first flush of manhood and desire. I'm thirty-three, not some love-sick youth, he reminded himself. Yet the woman's presence staggered him, filled him with images of lovemaking. But she was Syrithian. He was Chadyk. He should capture her. Now.

He rose to his feet like a man caught in a dream, strangely reluctant to disturb so perfect a vision. Was he under a spell? Did she have the power his people feared? Four quick strides and you will have her in your arms, a part of him whispered.

A twig snapped under his boot and he cursed his luck. His heart hammered in his chest as she whirled toward him, eyes wide, lips parted. On her forehead shimmered a silver crescent - the fabled shapechanger's mark! His mind reeled. Was she a Spirit-woman? He shoved down alarm.

For a few seconds their gazes met. Like a man might do to a woman he admired, her slightly tilted, wide-set eyes drank him in, their silver-blue hue darkening to azure. Though obviously defenseless, she stood firm, chin set defiantly. Suspicious, he drew his knife and stepped toward her. Desire fought with duty. "Surrender and you won't be harmed."

Her full lips curled with disdain. "Surrender to a Chadyk dog?" she scoffed in his tongue, her voice full and rich as the purest gold.

The knife slipped from his grasp as white light seared his vision. He staggered backward, shielded his face and squinted into the array. The woman vanished into a white haze. Then a new form emerged.

By the gods, the stories were true!

A great white horse reared before him. Hooves large enough to crush a man's chest thundered to the ground, barely missing his toes. Distant cheers of Chadyk victory rose from the clearing below.

He should draw his sword, defend himself, but the steed's fierce majesty immobilized him. Her nostrils flared, warm breath grazing his throat. For a moment she studied him, then she leaped past him and crashed through the undergrowth, her silver mane flashing before she vanished into the trees.

Rathyn stifled the urge to run after her. By now, she was halfway down the knoll.

Annoyed with his own inaction, he bent and traced the hoofmark in the hard, cold earth and vowed softly, "The next time we meet, you will not escape."

Chapter One

"So you think this must be a trick," Rathyn said to Captain Stephanos as he eyed the foreign landscape. Perhaps he'd made a mistake in accepting the Emperor's commission.

The young Captain muttered, "The Syrithians hate us. They're not interested in peace."

Striding through his army, Rathyn nodded at faces he recognized from other wars, other places. Three weeks here and he'd barely spent any time among the men; what did it matter out here in the farthest reaches of the Empire? He might as well be dead. His predecessor, Marcus the Butcher, had driven their age-old enemy, the Kahns, back into the desert, then created a new enemy of the mysterious Syrithians, allies in that struggle. Bordered by ocean and rock on one side, river valley, forest, and desert on the other, this newest battleground was a massacre waiting to happen. He tried to tell himself he didn't give a damn, but some small part of him insisted he did. He glanced at the captain. "Marcus's reports said the Syrithians are incapable of lying." He didn't add that Marcus had tortured hundreds of captives, all of whom screamed prayers to their Goddess with their dying breaths, but nothing else. "So we must be safe enough."

The captain nodded, his face tight.

At the edge of the battleground, Rathyn gestured to two men, his aide and Gathias, to join him. Gathias had fought with him many times against the Kahns and had been here under Marcus's command.

Crossing the neutral plain on horseback would have taken only minutes, but on foot, even with Rathyn's long strides, the field stretched out around him in unending green. Before him, the scurrying movement of silver in sunlight grew larger and more ominous as the blur became individual bodies, faces.

Flanked by the three men, his gaze fixed on the round tent-like shelter three hundred feet behind the enemy ranks. Gathias carried the white flag of truce, and held it aloft as they drew closer. His tone higher-pitched than usual, he said, "Strange the Syrithian queen would change her mind now."

Rathyn answered soothingly, "Maybe this latest loss gave her a taste for peace." His thoughts suddenly veered to his unearthly vision during the last battle's final moments. Half convinced he'd imagined the goddess-woman and the white horse she'd become, the spurt of hope that he might see the woman today irritated him. This infatuation with a dream was ridiculous.

Gathias grinned. "She must have heard of your handsome face."

Rathyn snorted, dark thoughts of his dead wife and son plowing through his mind. His physical attributes had not saved them from the risks of birthing that had taken them. He forced his thoughts back to the queen. He, too, was surprised she had agreed to meet with him.

Wanting to ease his own tension and that of his men as they neared the Syrithian camp, he jested, "By all accounts the queen is a goddess, a witch, a Spirit-woman, a demon, a horse." He lifted a skeptical eyebrow. "More likely she's stubborn as a mule and looks like one too."

His men chuckled. Seconds later, they crossed the enemy line. The Syrithian warriors, men and women, closed in behind him. Daggers of hate shone in their silvery-blue eyes, but not one uttered a disrespectful sound or lifted a threatening hand.

Admiration and curiosity surged through him for a queen who commanded this fierce fighting force with such discipline. He found it hard to believe a woman ran an army and managed complex battle strategies; yet for three years she had successfully resisted Marcus's best efforts to conquer them. The beginning of a headache prickled at his scalp. By the Gods, he had no wish to war against women. She must agree to the Emperor's peace treaty.

Stephanos leaned toward Rathyn and whispered, "The female guard with the crescent mark on her forehead is a shapechanger, sir."

Rathyn swept the area surrounding the tent with his gaze. He found the female guard, felt the sting of disappointment. She bore the striking silvery hair and eyes all Syrithians possessed, but she was not the one. He murmured, "Witches, shapechangers, demons," he snorted derisively, "tales to explain Marcus's failure to defeat a race led by women."

The flicker of fear in the young Captain's eyes said he remained unconvinced.

Over the tent, a blue standard flapped in the autumn breeze. From what Rathyn understood, blue represented the queen's tribe.

Gathias, still holding the white flag, stepped forward as Rathyn halted. "Remember, the rest of the council will be with the queen, watching and measuring your conduct," Gathias said. "They, too, must agree to the treaty."

Rathyn nodded to the grizzled soldier, then gestured to Stephanos to follow him. Stephanos had learned some of the foreign tongue from a Syrithian slave sent back to Chadyk by Marcus. The captain could translate.

The two male Syrithian guards at the entrance were almost Rathyn's height. Although their physical build reminded him of slender saplings, their fierce, unflagging strength and determination in battle more resembled the tenacity of bulldogs back home.

Hand on the hilt of his sword, he bent and shoved aside the tent flap. Inside it was nearly bright as the day, despite only one opening to the tent. Inhaling the scent of oil and wood, he stood in the large circular space, gaze skidding from the torches, to the mail-clad woman flanked by four men and three women. The queen and the ruling council.

His heart skipped a beat as the queen stepped forward, the close-fitting chain mail and leggings accentuating her full breasts, tiny waist, and rounded hips. His blood thundered in his ears. He blinked, his mouth suddenly desert dry.

By Tyryk, it was her! His dream woman. The goddess that had transformed into a great white horse and joined the battle. The queen!

In the flickering light, her silver hair glowed, a thick braid that trailed below her hips. He imagined it undone, a waterfall of silk cascading to her knees. His pulse raced. Her silver-blue eyes showed a flicker of surprise, then regarded him in silence. He drank in her oval face, flawless skin, rosebud lips. Too easily his imagination painted her at his disposal, clothed in fine garments as a woman of her status should be, or better, naked in his bed. By the Gods, the stories of the barbarian enchantress's beauty were true. He wanted to spout poetry, not peace treaty doctrine.

Like a green shoot pushing through the crumbling bark of a dead tree, he felt a quickening, a fire spark in his soul that he'd thought extinguished. He bowed, amazed that at thirty-three he could suddenly feel like an adolescent with his first love. Could she have cast a spell with merely a look? The shapechanger's crescent glittered on her brow. He felt a trickle of fear that he quickly squelched. Spells and witches were for the ignorant.

The queen's set expression challenged his manufactured calm. She inclined her head to him only enough to acknowledge his presence, as one acknowledged a servant. An insult?

His jaw tightened as he gripped his sword hilt, but he forced a tight smile. "I am Commander Rathyn, second in power to the Emperor. Please understand that I speak for him." A man he didn't like. He pushed the galling thought down. "I thank your Majesty for this meeting, and hope we can come to amicable terms of peace." Did she understand? She knew enough to call him a Chadyk dog, he recalled. Uncomfortable because he knew only a few Syrithian words, he stifled the impulse to pace the tent's interior. He motioned to Stephanos to hand over the terms of peace he'd had written and translated. A male council member stepped forward and took the scroll, glanced at it, then handed it to another council member behind him, where Rathyn lost sight of it. Now what? He locked eyes with the queen whose name he did not even know.

She said nothing. The proud tilt of her chin remained, her cool silver-blue eyes measuring him, making him feel like a horse at market. Was she so unimpressed?

Irritated, he murmured to Stephanos, "Maybe she'd like to see my teeth."

For a moment, he could have sworn amusement flashed in her expression. Surprised, he squelched his annoyance and forced a grin. If she wanted to see his teeth, so be it. It would be a cheap price for an end to this war.

Her lips curved the tiniest bit, reminding him of their first encounter, before she'd transformed. Now, as then, the air between them stirred. His skin tingled, heightening his awareness of her. He heard every whisper of breath that escaped her lips, saw every beat of her heart, every blink of her silver-tipped lashes. The only hint of anxiety lay in the way her hand tightened and relaxed around the hilt of her sword. For a moment he found himself wondering what kind of world created such a formidable woman? More astounding, he found her unfeminine attire and confident stance as seductive as every enticing curve. Something shimmered briefly in her eyes. Admiration? Or had he imagined it?

It was all he could do to keep his hands from encircling her waist and drawing her to him. But he was not twenty in some tavern with a willing wench.

One of the councilwomen glided forward, shorter than the queen but with the same voluptuous curves beneath her robes. Hatred burned in the woman's eyes, marring her beauty. As though expecting some signal, the queen glanced at the woman. What were they up to?

The queen's lush lips parted and she murmured something to the councilwoman. Rathyn couldn't tear his gaze from the Syrithian leader. Her mail glimmered in the torchlight, emphasizing her curves, distracting him with thoughts that had no place here. His fingers itched to span her waist, his palms to cup her breasts. He would need to lower his head less than a hand's-width to capture her mouth with his, taste her lips and more. Her proximity fired his blood and he swore he could smell the scent of her skin, like the wild roses in Spartyk. He reminded himself of her position and his. Lovemaking was not a part of the treaty.

The councilwoman spoke Syrithian to the queen. Rathyn caught Marcus's name but little else. Stephanos stepped close and whispered, "The woman, Salia, reminds the queen that you are worse than a Kahn dog, for you are Chadyk and cannot be trusted, that any treaty you offer is worthless." Rathyn felt his jaw tighten, but kept a bland countenance.

The queen gestured at the woman. "This is our Seer."

Her voice teased his ears with its sensuality. A voice made to sing a man's praises and murmur endearments of love.

Her tone hardened. "She believes you to be as evil as Marcus. But I would see for myself if you lie like the Butcher." She spat the last and something in him recoiled at the abrupt angry fire in her eyes, as though the half-smile and admiration had been a mirage brought on by his desire... maybe so. Now, her fingers gripped the hilt of her sword, as though begging for a hostile act to end the truce. The Syrithian council and queen suddenly reminded him of unleashed dogs, fangs glistening, bodies ready to leap and tear out his throat at the slightest provocation. All were swathed in the blue council robes that could easily hide weapons. Only the queen openly wore a sword and knife and battle dress.

After three weeks of attempting to reach her and convince her the Chadyk Emperor wanted peace, every muscle in his body tensed with the apprehension he might instead trigger further war.

"The terms I've given are negotiable. Look them over, then we can discuss any changes you desire." He had the attention of the entire council, could see from the queen's face she had not expected his conciliatory tone. No one spoke. Now came the hard part, an apology that he knew was a damned lie. He said, "Commander Marcus was sent here to drive back the Kahns and keep our borders safe. The Emperor asked me to tell you Marcus disobeyed him in warring on your people and taking slaves. Now that he is dead - "

"Liar!" The councilwoman Salia leaped toward him, yanking a knife from the folds of her robe.

Her blade scraped his brass chestplate. Adrenaline shooting through his veins, aware he could destroy the possibility of peace if he hurt the woman, he sidestepped and caught her arm. Stronger than he'd imagined, she twisted like a serpent. The blade jabbed his wrist, drawing blood, hitting bone, stinging like a snake bite. He cursed as she pulled free.

Suddenly weapons were in everyone's hands except his and the queen's. "Salia, no!" the queen ordered, reaching toward the councilwoman.

In that instant, sword drawn, Stephanos lunged at the Seer.

Rathyn choked out, "No!" caught the captain's arm too late.

The blade pierced the woman's shoulder. She gasped as blood seeped like spilt wine down her blue robes.

Two Syrithian guards appeared. One swung his sword at Stephanos. The clang of metal rang like thunder in the enclosure as the two swords met.

Furious, Rathyn commanded, "Captain, put down your sword!" But the captain's blade had already opened the man's chest.

"Curse it all!" Rathyn lunged toward Stephanos as the second guard swung. The blade missed Rathyn's head, clanged against the captain's chestpiece, then nicked Stephanos's shoulder.

Like a whip, the queen's voice snapped "Stop!" Everyone stilled. The guard bowed his head and sheathed his weapon.

Rathyn grabbed Stephanos's arm and dragged him back a step. "Put away your sword, Captain!" The captain glared, but obeyed.

The queen gestured to a gray-haired councilwoman who knelt beside the wounded guard. Her gnarled fingers probed around the chest wound, and the man moaned. What was she doing? The blood oozing from the wound slowed and the man seemed to sleep. What kind of healing was this? Was it magic? She looked harmless enough as she addressed the queen.

The queen glanced at Rathyn. "She says he will live."

Salia, clutching her arm, fingers bloody, moved to the queen's side, her whisper venomous.

He glanced at his wrist, wiped the trickle of blood on the edge of his undertunic.

The two women continued conversing in low voices.

Rathyn cast a questioning look at Stephanos, who shook his head.

Finally, the queen nodded and stepped forward. Only an arm's-length away, her gaze speared his. "What good is a treaty if your men don't obey it? What if a new commander comes who cares not about this piece of paper?"

"That paper can only begin to build trust between our peoples," Rathyn said. Give me a chance, he entreated with his gaze.

"Trust?" she scoffed, the council members all spoke at once until she silenced them with a look, then listened to each in turn. The talk came fast, angry.

Rathyn glanced at Stephanos who again shook his head.

The queen addressed Rathyn. "The council says the same blood as Marcus the Butcher runs in your veins. You and your men. Only when all of your race are gone, or your blood drunk by the land and your bones trampled into dust shall peace return."

Did the queen agree with the council? Rathyn stood tall, straight, searched for words that might convince her to support the treaty. Before he could speak, the other old woman on the council stepped forward, whispering with quiet conviction. As the queen listened, the lines around her eyes hardened and her lips compressed. Then she said, "Go back to your Emperor and tell him there will never be peace until all Chadyks have left our land."

Rathyn felt as if she'd slapped him. He said in a deceptively soft tone that hid his frustration, "From this day on, the blood of your people and mine is on your hands. I would have your trust and claim peace. This time you are the one who chooses war."

A grim smile stole across her face, the blue in her eyes hard as stone. "No, Commander. The Butcher drew first blood three years ago." She held up her sword as though daring him to draw his own. He didn't move. The blade and its swirled markings glimmered as bright and cold as her eyes. "Marcus represented your Emperor and betrayed our trust. He ravaged and murdered my twelve-year-old sister, the princess Terah." Her voice cracked, pain now pulling at her lips. She took a breath as though to steady herself. "He and his men forced us to take up our swords. The same men you command." She sheathed the blade. "I have given my word you will not be harmed while under the white flag of truce." Her tone held regret. "Blood has been drawn on both sides. Go."

Salia hissed something to the queen, her tone curdling Rathyn's blood. If anyone was a witch, the Seer fit the part.

Shoulders tight, wondering if he and his men would really be allowed to leave, he whirled without a word and stomped from the tent. His aide and Gathias snapped to attention.

Furious, Rathyn ordered, "Stay close and be alert." His long stride carried him through the armed throng quickly, his men hurrying to keep up. All the while he felt the queen's eyes on his back, burning like hot coals between his shoulder blades. The next time they met, he would have the upper hand, no matter what.

#

Mariah watched the new Commander leave, his long raven hair and muscular frame distinctive even at a distance. She should have trampled him upon their first meeting. She told herself her attraction was utter insanity, she was queen, and he the enemy.

A part of her twisted with such longing that she wondered if the dark God Kleyeth's evil had touched her during this parley with the Chadyk leader. For her pulse had raced when he'd entered the tent, torchlight gleaming off his brass chestplate, his purple cape hanging nobly from his broad shoulders, a perfect backdrop for his body, a thick-muscled tree trunk. His hair, jet black, fell below his shoulders in waves, and reminded her of night's velvet mantle. A brutish beauty, she thought again, upset at herself for admiring him.

The words he'd spoken about the war had been a lie, she'd sensed it just as Salia and the others. Had she also sensed his reluctance to speak those words? Sensed a true desire for peace? She told herself it was her imagination.

But he had not drawn his sword as Salia had foreseen, and both sides had spilled blood.

For the first time, doubt about Salia's abilities chewed at her. This Commander had brought written terms and offered to listen to any changes they would require for peace. Another deception, the Seer claimed.

Now, Salia touched Mariah's shoulder. "Cousin, the future is like a pool of water, always in motion. But this I know, the Emperor's heart is black as the charred bones of our dead, and neither he nor those he sends in his stead can be trusted."

The council members murmured in agreement. Mariah worked to keep her voice calm, bothered by the fact she seemed to be the only one who wanted peace. "Why did you draw your blade first? You said my words would be enough to provoke him."

The Seer lowered her eyelids, her tone regretful. "The new commander had his hand on his weapon. I... I was sure he meant to attack you."

Jarad, her friend from childhood and now a council member for the Water Tribe, stepped forward. "The Chadyk Captain wanted to kill Salia and the guard. They are all murderous, lying dogs!"

Then why had she sensed a difference in this Commander? Why had she felt peace within her grasp? Surely her attraction to the man swayed her senses. Yes. She remembered the lust shining in his dark eyes as he studied her. He was an animal like the rest of his kind. He cared nothing for what a woman might think or feel. Like Marcus. Like all Chadyks. Salia spoke truly. No Chadyk could ever be trusted. They took by force what they wanted and respected nothing.

Her husband, Ishian, shuffled toward her, the deep furrow across his brow showing his fatigue. The council had spent the night debating whether to meet the new Commander under truce or attack at first light and take them by surprise. Mariah had won the argument to at least hear the man speak, but now it was for naught and she wished they'd attacked, for this Commander - Rathyn - put treasonous thoughts of passion in her head, made her feel giddy as she'd been at thirteen before her disappointing betrothal.

She pushed thoughts of the Chadyk away, a flush of guilt warming her cheeks under Ishian's gaze. Although not the lover and husband she'd imagined in her youth and twice her twenty- seven years, their marriage bond had healed old wounds between the Wind Tribe and the Fire Tribe. Now the war against the Chadyks bound all four tribes together even more securely. Yet at what price?

Every tribe had losses, but none weighed on her more than the death of her sister who might one day have taken her place. Murdered on the verge of womanhood without blessing or prayer to guide her to the Goddess's light, Terah haunted Mariah's dreams. Her sister had been more a daughter than sibling, and as the years passed, she wondered if she'd ever have her own child.

A wave of sorrow washed over her. Still, she summoned a smile for her husband, touched his arm, grateful he was not yet totally lost to the Kahn drink Khalento. Perhaps this day he would resist its lure, she thought half-heartedly. She'd hoped for fourteen years. Now she saw the Khalento was killing him, just as it had killed any hope of lovemaking in their marriage. His only passion was for his next drink. Would she ever know more than the touch of a man compelled by duty to consummate his marriage? She closed her eyes, unwilling to remember that night. Unbidden, the image of the Chadyk Commander filled her mind. She pushed the ebony-haired giant from her thoughts, told herself he might look different than Marcus, but inside he was the same. She glanced at the others. "Prepare for battle."

"So it shall be," they all agreed in ritual manner.

"So it shall be," she echoed. Something within her rebelled, tempting her to call the council back as they filed out. What would she say, her inner voice scoffed. That they should trust this Commander because she said so? Salia's voice carried as much strength as Mariah's because Salia was a trained Seer, could sense truth and lies, touch another’s thoughts, open the future with her vision, talents Mariah knew she possessed in some small measure, but had never sought to develop. Such skills had frightened her as a child, and as queen she'd had other duties to learn.

"What is it?" Ishian asked, his haggard face concerned, his hand trembling, his next drink overdue.

Surprised he had not rushed off, she shook her head, kissed his cheek in an uncharacteristic gesture of affection.

His gaze searched hers. "I know I have not been a true husband to you... have not given you a child...."

She put her fingers to his lips. She had accepted him and their lack of physical passion just as she'd accepted the responsibility of being queen.

He gently took her hand away. "I must speak."

Her stomach tightened. Never before had he looked so grave and determined. Did he wish to resume their physical relations now? He was older than her deceased father would have been. After fourteen years of letting him play a fatherly role, she had no desire to couple.

"When this war is ended I will free you from our bond and you may choose another."

His offer astounded her. Only the lowest of the low, to be shunned by all, broke the marriage bond and shirked the responsibility of a vow. Emotion choked her. In his own way he had tried to be good to her. She shook her head. "I gave my vow to you and to the tribe. Only death will break it. And I wish for death on neither of our heads. For I am only as honorable as my actions and my words." She hugged him, pressing her cheek against his cool face. "No greater sacrifice could you offer. I thank you, my husband."

A glimmer of relief showed in his eyes. He put his arm through hers and together they left the tent.

Only later, in the midst of battle preparations, did she wonder why her husband made the proposal now. Had he sensed her strong attraction to the Chadyk commander?

No, she told herself as signal horns blared from one end of the battlefield to the other. What she'd felt was but a brief flame quickly extinguished. She lifted her sword and the warriors surged forward around her, the roar of their battle cry filling her ears and blotting all worries from her mind.

Chapter Two

Mariah scraped the edge of her hoof against the wood flooring to mark another day. Twenty days now since Ishian had fallen and she'd been captured trying to give him time to escape with the retreating forces.

Imprisoned in the castle tower, she clung desperately to the horse form that protected her from the Chadyks. If she resumed her woman shape she would be weak, unable to fight, and she could change from woman to horse only once every moon cycle. Over and over in her mind, she replayed the first meeting on the knoll with the Chadyk commander, wishing she'd trampled him, killed him.

But each time in the past few months when she'd met him on the battle field he'd stayed his men, forcing her and her people to begin the fight, draw first blood. To her chagrin she'd found herself admiring him more and more, doubting Salia, and wondering if he had spoken true in his message for peace, or if it could be a trick. But Salia had foretold Terah's death - and her latest prophecy, that of Ishian's fall in battle also had come to pass. Now concern for her husband's welfare plagued her. Was he dead? A prisoner? Tortured?

She stirred restlessly, the fresh straw rustling under her hooves. The chains on her legs clinked as she tested their strength. They held. The soldiers had tightened the ropes that kept her head still - Commander Rathyn would come soon. To tell her more lies. He pretended to be gentle, caring, but he lusted after her as Chadyks always lusted after the women of her race.

Oh how she craved freedom, if only long enough to crush his skull with her hooves, make Salia's prophecy of peace come true. Her own death would be small sacrifice.

Through the high window a cold rain-drenched breeze blew, making a soft mournful sound. Would she live to see the Spring? Another day?

The bolt scraped, metal against metal, and the Chadyk Commander flung the heavy door open and strode in. His midnight hair and bronze chest armor gleamed under the torchlight. He threw his purple cape back over one shoulder as though readying for battle.

Two soldiers remained at the entry. They wore chest armor, brass helmets topped with red plumes, and red capes fastened at the shoulders.

"Spirit-woman." Commander Rathyn acknowledged her with a slight inclination of his head. The two soldiers shifted their gazes as Rathyn approached her, his powerful hands outstretched. She moved back the few inches her chains would allow, hating him as she hated all Chadyks. Her earlier attraction to him mocked her now.

He ran his fingers through her mane, stroked her neck. She shivered under the heat of his touch, strained against the cross-ties that held her head immobile. His stormy eyes glittered, hiding the lust she knew lurked beneath their dark hue.

If she resumed her natural shape, how many Chadyks could she kill before they dragged her down, used her to satisfy their lust? Would she die as her sister had, killing herself rather than bear a Chadyk's bastard?

The commander loosened a leather bag from his belt and dumped a small bit of what his people called sugar into his palm. He held it out.

Did he really expect her to eat it? If she could speak without resuming her woman's shape, she might have called him a fool. Stretching the few inches the ropes allowed, as if to take the sugar, she snapped at his hand. He was too quick.

His mouth became a murderous line as he brushed what was left of the white granules from his palm.

She felt a flicker of amusement, but despair lurked deep in her heart. Her twenty-seven years felt like a thousand. Married at fourteen, disappointed in her union, she'd yet grown to care for her husband like a mother would care for an errant child, to appreciate the friendship he offered. Now, the uncertainty of his fate and the fate of the council, her own captivity, all threatened to break her like an impossible weight. She was so tired of being strong! Yet she could not vent her grief, or expose her fear. If her emotions ran free, her horse shape would dissolve into the woman she truly was until the next moon cycle.

He stroked her neck again. "Most beautiful of women... Spirit-woman," Rathyn repeated as if to reassure himself. "I only wish to talk. Talk to me...."

The previous Commander, Marcus the Butcher, had said such things before setting his soldiers free to ravage, kill and burn. Flaring her nostrils, Mariah snorted and flattened her ears, wishing she could bite his hand. His plea remained the same as the day before and the day before and the day before that....

For twenty days he'd kept her here. Would his calm turn to anger as quickly as it had the previous day? Could she goad him into making a mistake?

She felt his warm breath on her forehead. He caught her muzzle and forced her to look at him. His obsidian eyes flickered with gold in the torchlight, anger and frustration in their depths. Determination was etched in the chiseled lines of his face. I will never let you go, his hardened expression promised.

Then I will kill you, she whispered in her mind.

His hand dropped to his whip. "I am running out of patience," he whispered. "I have no wish to harm your fellow prisoners. But I will if I must."

Like the previous butcher, Commander Marcus, who had no wish to hurt anyone - least of all the princess Terah? Helpless rage engulfed her, threatened to overwhelm her. No. She must stay calm.

Rathyn turned away, then nodded at the two soldiers. They left, Rathyn remained near the door.

Soon a woman's screams echoed from the bailey. Mariah's stomach clenched. Tears burned in her eyes. She stared out the tower window to the foaming sea below. Her throat constricted and for a moment she lost control, felt her horse shape grow shadowy and weak. No!

She clung to her equine shape while the sound of the whip carried on the wind, hissing and snapping like a twisted leather snake, its fangs drawing new tortured screams. Closing her eyes, she whinnied softly, as the woman below whimpered, "Mercy... mercy...."

The cries stopped.

She must not give in. She felt nothing. But the silence convicted her. As long as she refused to take her natural shape, Rathyn would punish her people.

Had it only been three years since this madness began? She remembered the first Chadyk ship's arrival, their fierce fight to drive the Kahns back across the mountains and into the desert beyond. How quickly her hope of an alliance had died as the Chadyks took the Kahns' place in enslaving, imprisoning, and killing her people, calling them witches, and worse. How many more of her people would die before she believed Rathyn's lies that it would stop when she gave in? That he wanted peace. Never, she prayed.

Wet tears dripped like hot wax down her muzzle. She fought to hang on to her horse shape.

Rathyn stepped closer and brushed them away. "I have no wish to break you, Spirit-woman." His deep voice sounded deceptively kind, not at all matching the threat in his eyes. "But there is only one way we can end this war. We must talk. I know there can be peace between our people. Let us find it together." He brushed her forelock back. "Transform. Talk to me."

Did he really expect her to believe him? She remained still.

He swore, holding her mane with his fist. "You will learn to submit... if that is the only way to forge a bond between our peoples...." He broke off, his mouth compressed into a frustrated line.

Her throat tightened. Violence and force was all Chadyks understood. His very words proved her cousin Salia right.

Pacing the room, he clenched his hands as if searching for something to hit. She watched him cross the small interior with five strides, turn and cross again, then again and again. For nearly an hour he paced, locked in some inner turmoil she couldn't read. Finally, returning to her, he shook his head, his hand absently stroked her mane, her neck, his gaze cloudy. The intimate touch of his large, callused hands disturbed her.

An unexpected gentleness entered his voice as he murmured, "The silver in your hair shimmered like a crown of diamonds under the waning sun when I saw you on the knoll. Your skin shone like a mantle of stars...." A look of puzzlement shadowed his eyes. "Did you cast a spell on me? Or is it the memory of your beauty that distracts me so? I don't feel or act like myself.... Ever since I first met you in your woman's shape you have haunted me. Do you remember?"

She didn't want to remember. Although Syrithian men were tall, Rathyn was taller, broader. Face-to-face that first time, Rathyn had seemed a darkly handsome giant compared to the men of her tribe. Despite the fact she had a husband, Rathyn's magnificent body, his strongly chiseled facial features, his ebony hair framing his face like a black waterfall, had attracted her, overwhelmed her. She should have killed him. If only he'd drawn his sword, she would have trampled him, would have escaped capture later.

He paced the room again, his gaze returning to her. She strained at the ropes, hoping to break free, now, while they were alone. The bonds held. He crossed to her side, stroked her mane, patted her neck, gestures meant to soothe, while his dark eyes burned into hers - burned for that which she withheld.

"I was close enough to touch you." His eyes looked glazed as he spoke. "But the light of your body blinded me and when I could see again you were as you are now... And after that you taunted me, appearing in battle in your horse shape, a warrior on your back...."

She blocked out images of her husband slipping down her side, fingers clutching at her mane, his warm blood splattering her coat.

Rathyn touched the crescent shape on her forehead. She jerked vainly. "Talk to me," he whispered. "Please. I know you understand."

She flicked her tail, sensing the tension building in him at her stubbornness. His jaw tightened. He took the whip from his belt and twisted it around her neck, as though proclaiming his domination. "What must I do?" he threatened.

She smiled inside, sensing that he was near losing all control over his emotions. Kill me, she thought. How she longed to die in battle, but Rathyn would hold her here until he'd either bent her to his will, or she killed him. But if he did release her? If she were wrong about him? The idea shocked her. She rejected it. It would never happen.

His hands fell away.

Her muscles trembled, needing movement, relief. She shifted her weight, the chains clanking, her breath ragged in her ears, the cross-ties holding her head up.

A disappointed frown on his face, he replaced the whip on his belt. Surprising her, he unfastened the lead lines that held her head immobile - a chore he always left to his soldiers - and moved away. "Bring him in!" Rathyn commanded loudly. The key turned in the wooden door and it opened on squeaking hinges. Illuminated by the torchlight, the body of her husband hung limp between two soldiers. No! Mariah screamed, the sound within her mind. How had Rathyn found out?

Ishian's hair, the same silver as hers, shimmered like moonlight. His star-dusted skin was pale and his eyes were wide, their brilliant blue hidden behind death's whiteness. Guilt ripped through her. He had paid for her refusal to transform.

"A Syrithian caught trying to help the prisoners escape," Rathyn said, his tone aggrieved, frustrated.

Ishian. She struggled to tear herself from her chains, wanted to crush Rathyn's head with her hooves. Yanking against the steel, she tried to rear but her bonds held, jerking her back to the floor each time she strained against them. Fiery pain bit into her flesh.

"Hold her still!" Rathyn's order brought the two guards to her side, snatching at the loosened ropes. She jerked her head and tore at the chains.

Ishian. She remembered his gentle touch as she prepared for battle, his offer to break their bond. His gaze would never look trustingly at her again, his lips never smile that childish grin that came with a funny story well told. And it was her fault.

His chest looked like butchered meat, rent with several deep sword wounds. Abruptly, she stopped fighting her bonds. She'd lost! She wanted to scream, Take me instead! but it was too late. The two soldiers tossed the body at her feet. She pressed her muzzle into the crook of his neck, smelled the faint but unmistakable bittersweet odor of death, like fruit rotted on the tree.

"By the Gods, how many more must die, Spirit-woman?" Rathyn asked, his words piercing her heart with arrows of guilt.

Her grief exploded. The heat of transformation burned, an uncontrollable raging fire, robbing her of strength as the familiar white light shot from her skin. For a moment she was the fire of the moon, the flames of the sun, giving painful birth to her true self.

On her woman's legs she pulled free of the manacles, then staggered, weak from the change. But desperation lent her power. She cast off the halter and ropes now loose about her neck. While the soldiers were temporarily blinded, she lunged at the commander, and grabbed his knife. She slashed toward his jugular.

His strong fingers closed around her wrist. She strained against his hold. Before she could pierce his neck with the blade, he shifted his weight, forcing her to turn. His other arm caught her at the waist, yanking her toward him as he shoved away the dagger. Her back suddenly tight against his unyielding chest armor, she struggled to hang onto the weapon.

"Damn it, Lady, stop fighting me!" His grip tightened above her hand, forcing her fingers to open. The knife clattered to the floor.

With a last effort, she jerked free and stumbled to her knees. He kicked the knife away before she could reach it. She bent her head before him. "Kill me and let me join my husband!" She gestured toward Ishian's body.

"Your husband?" Rathyn's incredulous voice repeated her words like a far off echo. He rasped, "Lady, it cannot be...."

So he would deny her an honorable death. Mariah swallowed. So be it. Oblivious to her nakedness, she moved to where her husband lay. She cradled his head in her lap. "Ishian," she crooned, her body racked with sorrow. Guilt squeezed her chest, she was unfit to be queen. She sucked air into her lungs. In the tongue of her race, she sang his favorite song, a song of peace and stroked his hair, her throat tight, her tears bitter rain splashing on his dead flesh.

Purple cloth gently covered her shoulders. She shrugged it off, barely hearing the soldiers and commander withdraw, the door softly close. "Soon I will join you," she promised. "And I will take Commander Rathyn with me."

#

Stunned, Rathyn felt rage replace his shock. A red, seething fury expanded behind his eyes until the pressure became unbearable. On the stairs, he shoved one of the soldiers who had brought the man in, sent him sprawling to the bottom. "A Syrithian spy! You fool - he was her husband - a king!" Rathyn yanked the whip from his belt. Snarling at the other soldier, Rathyn struck him with the grip. He would flay the man alive! The soldier, eyes wide with terror, dodged the leather’s bite, missed his footing on the stairs and fell.

Rathyn jumped after him.

The first soldier ran away. The second rolled clear of Rathyn's next lash and scrambled to his feet, his face ashen. "She's got you under a spell! She's a witch! Burn her and the others!"

Rathyn advanced. "A witch! She cries over her husband as we speak - so where is her power?" A man who prided himself on control, Rathyn felt it being sorely tested by this woman, and her stubborn people. And now this. "How can I ever make peace now, you damn fool!" he swore.

The soldier continued to back away, his mouth working like a pump, first nothing, then a torrent. "He killed one of the guards in the dungeon. There was no way to take him alive." He ducked as Rathyn's lash snapped over his head. "We didn't know who he was!"

The soldier's reasoning tone only increased Rathyn's fury. "He was a king!" The whip hissed, caught the man's arm and drew blood. His next blow cracked against the stone wall behind the man's shoulder. Rathyn raised his arm again, heard the sounds of running footsteps and whirled. A crowd, mostly soldiers, had gathered. The shocked faces of his men stayed his hand. Was a Syrithian king worth so little? Or did they believe the false rumors that the offer of treaty was only a lure to find out the Syrithians weaknesses and wipe them out?

Still, he'd never lost control like this, shown such a poor example of leadership. My God, what was happening to him? He turned in a circle and saw his men move back. Several made X-ing signs over their hearts with their index fingers - signs against enchantment. Rathyn threw the whip down.

He caught the soldier by the scruff of his tunic. "Tell me exactly what happened and who is responsible!"

Cringing, the soldier replied, "Lieutenant Annias found a guard dead, his throat slit. Then he caught the man trying to help the prisoners in the dungeon. Annias defended himself. You said you wanted a Syrithian body brought to the tower...."

"A body from the battlefield!"

"He was dead. None of the prisoners admitted to recognizing him." Rathyn heard the recrimination in the soldier's tone. Many of his men thought him too soft on the prisoners, especially on the Syrithian queen he'd kept locked away in the corner tower for the past three weeks. They speculated that she was a goddess, or a witch.

Reining in his anger, willing his fingers to relax, he released the soldier. "Disperse," he said. The crowd slowly faded back into their normal routine.

Perhaps she is a witch, he thought. Because ever since he first saw her, he'd been besotted with lust.

In battle, when he'd spotted the blue banner of her tribe, he'd searched for her as he fought to get closer. A rider held the banner and he'd realized she was in her horse shape, her mane flying like a silver flag as she whipped this way and that to avoid harm. Rathyn had fought like a madman, trying to reach her, save her from his own men. Then her Syrithian rider had fallen and she'd reared and kicked to protect him from their approach, her eyes wild, hooves lethal. Even as the rest of her people pulled back and regrouped, she stayed in front of the fallen man, giving her people time to drag him to safety.

"Catch the horse. Don't hurt it!" he'd ordered. He'd told no one that she was one of the Spirit-women, a term his people used for Syrithian females who changed shape, yet his own behavior had sparked rumors. Word spread that she was the Syrithian Queen.

Several hours each day, he talked to her, watching and waiting for some sign that he wasn't insane talking to a horse. But his gentleness availed him nothing. And the lack of response... his hands tightened again. Just the thought of her drove him crazy. He'd threatened, begged, even lied - told her just now he was torturing a spy when it was really a Chadyk camp follower who'd stabbed a soldier and stolen his silver. The woman had passed out after only seven lashes. His desire for the Syrithian queen made him feel like a fool with a fool's mission.

Hatred now consumed whatever admiration the Spirit-woman, queen of the Syrithian tribes might have held for him, yet he couldn't get her out of his mind. She was fair, tall and strong, nothing like his petite, dark-haired wife had been. Yet she obsessed him, filled his dreams, ignited his senses, made him feel alive as he had not in years. God, her husband! Cursing aloud, he picked up his whip and fastened it to his belt.

He started across the bailey, the huge interior of the castle occupied by farm animals, women and children, and many soldiers on leave from their posts.

Past the guardhouse, ignoring the dark looks the men cast his way, Rathyn strode. So they disliked him and the rules he enforced. So what? His hand rested at his sword hilt; he itched for a fight to release the tension in his body, to help him forget the Spirit-woman, forget his dead wife and son, forget the male needs he'd so long denied.

"Commander Rathyn." Stephanos, the fair-haired captain that reminded Rathyn of his long-dead brother, stood beneath the parapet near the main castle gate. He strode over, his boyish features drawn in concern.

"Perhaps the men prefer Marcus the Butcher," Rathyn growled. "God, what a miserable thought."

"They don't like the lash, nor seeing a Chadyk woman punished while the Syrithians remain untouched in the dungeon."

"Whatever happened to common decency, Stephanos?" Aggravation welled up in Rathyn's chest. He'd crossed a vast ocean with his men to take over this outpost and negotiate for peace - only to fail. And Commander Marcus's men preferred their old commander to him. At least that was what Stephanos reported.

He gestured at the captain to walk with him along the inner wall. "If only the Emperor hadn't kept Commander Marcus here after he drove the Kahns back to their desert."

Stephanos offered a grim smile. "The Emperor could hardly retire him. Marcus's brutality was effective. He saved us when we needed more land, more slaves, and more wealth to pay our debts."

"Saved the Emperor, you mean." Rathyn wondered if he would now be on the throne had he stayed in Spartyk, instead of here in the Emperor's employ. A pointless thought, he told himself, since he'd made his choice. Yet, he felt a twinge of regret.

At Rathyn's acerbic reply, Stephanos shrugged, but his tone was defensive. "Marcus was useful to the Emperor. This outpost is expensive. The Emperor has an abundance of slaves, even some Syrithians Marcus sent back - none of which have changed shape, mind you, despite Marcus's claims. Although he did send back a great white steed like the one in the tower...."

Rathyn stared. "Did it have the shapechangers mark?"

Stephanos shrugged. "I don't know. That was two years ago. The horse is supposed to be the Emperor's favorite." He said the last with a wry smile.

Rathyn dismissed the notion that the horse could be a Syrithian shapechanger. From what he'd learned, they could not sustain their horse shape indefinitely - certainly not for two years. He turned his thoughts back to the Emperor and animosity flared in his gut like he’d swallowed poison. "So our ruler rides a white horse and eats off gold plates while we rot in this territory with the ridiculous mission of holding back the Kahns, and settling with the Syrithians. The Emperor's last letter stated that he wanted this outpost to remain staffed after we've accomplished both. The land will be our payment." Rathyn grunted and gestured beyond the gates toward the green meadows and forests in the distance.

Stephanos eyed him, obviously surprised by his vehement tone.

Rathyn scoffed, "Does he really believe I'd stay here and farm? Soldiers prefer fighting to farming, or have you changed your boots?"

"Me, wear farming boots?" Stephanos laughed. "No thanks. That's one step up from slavery. When I leave the military I'm moving up, not down."

"You must have a noblewoman in mind for marriage then," Rathyn commented offhandedly. Stephanos never said much about his family, or his women.

"You married a noblewoman."

Momentarily stricken, Rathyn stopped walking. When would he forget his wife's agonized screams, his stillborn son, the blood....

Stephanos immediately looked contrite. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to mention - "

"No." Rathyn felt his jaw tighten. He and his wife had talked about their forthcoming child with such joy. He had not been prepared for the pain that had torn her apart. Pain he could do nothing about. "It's been nearly three years, Stephanos... another lifetime...." He'd left everyone and everything behind. Yet he still dreamed about her. In his dreams she was dead, but her eyes were open and she screamed for help, demanded vengeance. But against whom? Who could he blame for something so commonplace as death in childbirth - except himself?

After a brief silence, the captain cleared his throat and changed the subject. "Some say the Syrithian women are witches and we ought to throw them into the sea or burn them."

Rathyn watched Stephanos eye a young Chadyk serving girl who'd come out on the last ship.

"Jealous women and undisciplined men have loose tongues," Rathyn snapped, but he shook his head, thinking of the woman in the tower. "Our men lust for the Syrithian women because they look like... goddesses. When they catch one who is unable to change to a horse, they use her for their pleasure, and the Syrithians hate us even more."

"The women in the dungeon remain untouched," Stephanos said.

Yes, Rathyn thought, he had installed a semblance of law and order among the soldiers since his arrival four months before. An edge to the captain's voice hinted that he too might disapprove. "Fear of the whip," Rathyn commented, watching the captain's face. "But how long will that work?" he mused aloud. The battalions - first under Marcus, now under him - did not appreciate his brand of law. Many backs bore the whip's mark for unnecessary brutality with prisoners, including taking a woman against her will, which some soldiers considered their due for fighting.

"They may not like you, Commander, but they respect you." The captain stopped near the flanking tower. They had walked nearly half the castle's perimeter. His voice dropped. "Perhaps if the Syrithian changes to a woman and you release her unharmed...."

Rathyn stared down at the captain. Damned if he'd tell him she'd transformed - he'd discover it soon enough. "So she can lead her people to battle again?" he challenged. He had no intention of letting her go until he made her see reason. "After over three years of war with Marcus the Butcher, do you really think one kind act will win them over?" He shook his head. "They use the trees as cover, attack us whenever we leave the castle. They fade into the foliage like praying mantis's in a garden. They know this land as we will never know it and have every advantage. Why should they risk giving it up?"

"What will you do?" Stephanos asked, his green eyes watchful, his expression guarded.

"Treat her as visiting royalty," Rathyn said, but heat threaded its way through his loins. Bed her, make her yours and drive this madness from you once and for all, his mind hissed. The thought shocked him. She was a queen, not some willing serving wench. Had his self-imposed celibacy affected his mind?

The need to possess the Syrithian queen filled him with images of lovemaking, her silver hair spilling over his chest as her lips met his, her kisses and her body warm, eager. He stifled a groan. She hates me.

When he thought of the Syrithians he'd met in battle, every one had met him with courage whether woman, horse, or man. They fought to the bitter end, costing Rathyn too many men and too much blood for every foot of ground won.

He had no way to assess the natives' losses. The people remained too elusive. Under Marcus, torture had brought excruciating death to the Syrithian captives with little information.

Suddenly, realizing that Stephanos still stood beside him in silent observance, Rathyn asked, "Do you trust the Syrithian woman you captured?"

"To spy for us? For gold?" Stephanos kept his gaze straightforward. "It is said that Syrithians speak only the truth - when they speak at all. Salia is the first who has offered to help us - for any price.

The name triggered a flicker of recognition, the memory of a face - but from where?

"She claims to be a Seer." The captain's tone was skeptical.

"A Seer?" Rathyn wondered if such abilities were true. He'd come out here expecting the rumors of transformation and witchery to be only superstitious nonsense and had found at least partial truth. He matched Stephanos's skeptical tone. "Too bad she didn't foresee her capture, isn't it?" He paused, wondered for a moment if she'd wanted to be captured, then dismissed the idea as ludicrous. "You think she has some genuine gift?"

Stephanos raised his eyebrows, "Who can know?"

"When is she to make her escape?"

"She will escape with the other prisoners in her cell in the morning. I've set up a rendezvous in seven days. If she does not show up, the next time we meet I've promised to kill her."

Rathyn told himself the women here were warriors, just like the men, but the notion didn't ease the uncomfortable knot between his shoulder blades. Women did not belong in battle. They were to be protected, sheltered, guided.

He continued to walk with Stephanos around the outer perimeter of the bailey. At the back of the castle like a huge wooden barn rose the main eating hall and living quarters for the soldiers and their families. Livestock were penned next to the horses underneath a second-story walkway. A chicken pecked in the dirt, and Rathyn stepped around it, then turned back toward the battlement. He couldn't get the Spirit-woman's silver-blue eyes out of his mind. "Why did he have to be her husband?"

"Who?"

"The Syrithian caught attempting to help the prisoners escape."

"Is that what you were fighting about back there?" Though the captain's face remained impassive, his tone implied incredulity.

Upset, Rathyn automatically lengthened his strides as if to walk away from his inner turmoil. "He was not just anyone, Captain. He was the Spirit-woman's husband. A king. She cries over his body as we speak."

"She has transformed? To a woman?" The wonder in the young soldier's voice brought Rathyn up short.

"How else would I know?" Rathyn said, dismayed that he had let the captain trick him into a confession.

"By all the Gods, you saw it with your own eyes?"

"I'm not used to being questioned," Rathyn warned. Had he let his favoritism go too far? Given Stephanos too much leeway?

"Sorry, sir." Doubt flickered in Stephanos' eyes.

Rathyn bristled. "For three weeks I have tried to gain her trust - "

"By having her chained?"

Feeling guilty, he ignored the sarcasm. "She nearly trampled me. Now she thinks I purposely had her husband executed."

"What does she look - "

Rathyn glowered at the young Captain.

Stephanos asked, "What do you want me to do now?"

Rathyn shrugged, not ready to answer. Climbing to the top of the battlement, he looked over the land beyond the moat and footbridge. The surrounding hills were green from recent rains. Although Marcus' men had cut down all the white birch trees surrounding the castle, the forest beyond was thick with oak and eucalyptus, white birch and sycamore. Sounds of birds and other wildlife drifted on the breeze.

Overhead the clouds continued to darken, and he felt a drop of rain. Reaching for his cloak, he remembered he'd put it over the Spirit-woman's shoulders.

Stephanos joined him at the wall. "If you don't wish to release her, then burn her and the others."

Rathyn stared. "By the gods, you don't believe that superstitious dung, do you?"

Stephanos's jaw jutted forward. "Obviously, it doesn't matter what I believe. You are in command."

Rathyn felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. He didn't like Stephanos's tone. The young man had yet to witness someone burned to death or he wouldn't look so ready to set the fire. He gave Stephanos a cold look of appraisal. The captain shifted foot to foot. Rathyn warned, "Talk about witches and burnings is to be discouraged, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir." Stephanos went rigid.

"Make sure the queen is covered with my cloak. Ask her what she wishes done with the king's body. Then escort her to my quarters. Have one of the women stay with her and see to her needs. Have her dressed properly. Assign two men to stand guard outside the door." The brief image of her, her eyes like daggers cutting out his heart when she'd lunged at him, invaded his brain. But her silver hair had brushed his arm, a cascade of silk only rivaled by the smooth flesh of her wrist caught in his grip, the soft swell of her breast against his biceps, and the sweet scent of her female body. And her voice had been so beautiful, he could hear it in his mind, a siren's song of indecipherable words. Rathyn felt a trickle of anticipation. How he longed to hear her talk to him... touch him.

"She will join me for dinner. Have something prepared and brought to my rooms."

"Yes, sir."

"Stephanos?" The captain halted on the first stair, half-turned. "I'll kill anyone who touches her."

Stephanos frowned, his response carefully neutral. "I'll tell the men, sir."

Rathyn sighed and watched from the battlement as the captain strode purposefully toward the flanking tower. By the gods, he was obsessed. He had to stop this insanity, one way or another. He took a breath of the damp air, smelling the ocean and wondering again if he'd made a mistake coming here. His thoughts churned. Was this some trick of the gods, or did some purpose lay in his presence here?

A flash of metal drew his gaze to the bailey. Captain Stephanos and one of the tower guards flanked the queen. Rathyn's long purple cloak covered her from head to foot. People in the bailey stopped and stared as the captain, the guard and the woman passed. Some made X signs against her.

As they passed the guardhouse, Rathyn stiffened, alert for any signs of disrespect from his men. Their silence pleased him.

As the escort approached the battlement, the woman's hair glowed in the torchlight. She suddenly glanced up. Did she see him? Or was she merely studying the battlement and the only way out of the castle?

An unfathomable shadow of emotion flashed across her features before she lowered her face and was led into the keep.

The scattered rain became a downpour. Rathyn let the rain wash over him, hoping for a cleansing of his thoughts, but at the anticipation of seeing the queen in his bed chamber, his body betrayed him with a renewed hardness that made him feel like a boy on the threshold of manhood, with no control over the aching need pressing for release.

With a curse on his lips, he strode down the stairs to the corner tower where he might find a willing woman to ease the heat in his loins and give him back some semblance of sanity. He would not lower himself to Marcus's standards with the Syrithian Queen. Yet since his wife's death, he'd not taken a woman.

Perhaps that was all this infatuation was, a need too long denied. He would find a woman and in her arms forget the one waiting for him in the keep.

Chapter Three

Mariah glanced around the cold room as a young woman lit the torches, taking in with little interest the dark furnishings and scattered scrolls beside the bed. She wanted to retreat deep inside her mind and never return, escape the pain and guilt that gripped and tore at her insides like claws. But she was the queen, bound by duty to think first of the captives, of her people, not herself. She clung to her hatred to hold back the gnawing anguish that threatened to consume her. Antipathy burned like fire in her stomach.

"Please sit and I will wash and bind your wounds," the servant said timidly, putting the bowl of water on the table and wringing a cloth.

Mariah remained on her feet. Cool water stung the cuts on her ankles, the tender skin on her wrists. She let the servant bind the wounds, but when the young woman reached toward her neck, Mariah snapped, "They're only bruises. Do not concern yourself."

Wide-eyed, the servant bowed her head and backed away, then went to a large wooden trunk in the corner and opened it. "You can wear this, My Lady." With a rustle of fabric, the young woman pulled a blue mantle and matching underdress from the heavy chest. Intricate needlework formed a circular pattern at the neck and sleeves; fine stitches made by a sure hand. She held the garments out, but Mariah made no move to take them. The woman's lower lip trembled. "Please, it will cause me trouble if you refuse."

Mariah wanted to despise the servant for being Chadyk, but the servant looked little better off than herself. She slowly removed the purple cloak, then dropped it to the floor, the chill air prickling her bare skin. While the young woman picked it up and laid it on the massive bed, Mariah hurriedly slipped on the underdress. She glanced toward the door. Why wasn't the commander here to enjoy this himself? Why bother dressing her at all? Although she was tall and full-figured, the garment hung from her shoulders, its folds revealing little of the curve of her breasts and hips. Made for someone much shorter and stouter, the gown barely reached her calves.

Frowning, the young woman brushed her dark bangs back from her forehead. "I can take it in and let down the hem."

"No." Mariah slipped into the mantle, a warm sleeveless cloak. She flicked the young woman's fingers away. Why did the woman still look frightened? "What is your name?"

"Lilas, My Lady."

"And what are your orders, Lilas?"

Red flooded the young woman's olive complexion. "To prepare you for the commander, My Lady."

Mariah forced a smile. "Well, you have done so."

She twisted the material of her skirt between her fingers. "But your feet, My Lady. There are boots here that may fit - "

"Like the dress?" Mariah said, her tone harsh, the need to lash out filling her.

"Forgive me! Please let me take it in. I'm a good seamstress, My Lady." Now the young woman's light brown eyes brimmed with tears. The servant was little older than her sister when Marcus the Butcher got her....

Mariah squeezed her eyes shut. "Very well. Show me the boots I am to wear." Lilas handed them to her and watched as Mariah slipped them on. They fit surprisingly well, were soft, made of an animal hide she didn't recognize, and lined with fur. Standing again, Mariah looked down at the serving girl.

The young woman's eyebrows drew together and she wrung her hands, looking flustered. "Would you like a fire, My Lady?"

"No. You may go." Mariah wanted only to be alone with her grief, to ease the pain in her chest, release the sobs choking her.

Lilas made a strange sign with her fingers. "I'm sorry, My Lady. I may not leave you alone."

So the commander would have her watched, make sure she remained alive for his pleasure. "I see." By the Goddess, she felt so alone. Turning, she stepped into the shadows at the other side of the room. A tapestry depicting a forest hunting scene reminded her of her tribal home. The fleeing animal resembled a horse but had smaller flanks and hooves, and tree-like horns sprouted from the top of its head. A spear lodged in its side, blood smeared across its ribs. Thoughts of her husband slammed into her. He had come to rescue her - had died for her.

Locking her jaw tight against her sobs, she closed her eyes and let tears slide silently down her face. Her shoulders shook. She cried until exhaustion made her legs weak, the turmoil of grief within her momentarily spent. Why oh why had he come? Why had he tried to help the captives escape? Salia and the council could have negotiated for their release - traded prisoner for prisoner. Why hadn't he waited? Useless questions, she thought, clenching the fabric of her skirt between her hands, fighting back the sobs trapped in her throat, aware of the servants watchful eyes.

At least Ishian would rest in Syrithian soil, she consoled herself.

If Rathyn kept his word.

She choked back a bitter laugh, and wiped her face. Was Rathyn's word worth more than Marcus the Butcher's?

#

A knock and movement at the door brought Mariah whirling around. Lilas dropped a curtsy as several older women bustled in with a platter of rolls and many ceramic bowls with lids. The smell of spiced meat and vegetables made her lightheaded, conscious of her hunger.

Near the fireplace, one of the guards cleared the table, throwing sidelong glances in Mariah's direction while he did so. The women lit a fire and placed the food on the table. Then they left, making the same strange finger sign across their chests the young woman had made. It was supposed to protect them from evil spells. If only she could cast such a spell now.

Lilas closed the door and stayed by it, quiet and unmoving as a statue. A moment later another knock sounded and Rathyn entered. Dismissing Lilas with a nod, he locked the door behind her.

His long, dark hair dripped rain as he dried it with a cloth. She remained still while scanning the room for a weapon. She saw only the dagger and sword strapped at Rathyn's waist.

For the first time since her capture, she really looked at him: he wore a red tunic edged with gold thread, leather breeches and boots. He was a giant compared to the men of her tribe, and she cursed herself for seeing his differences as attractive. His muscles rippled as he pulled back a chair before the table, every movement controlled as if he held back the unleashed power of his body by sheer will.

"Please, sit."

Knowing her compliance would surprise him, she stepped from the shadows and sat where he indicated. As if her gaze rested too long on his sword, he touched the hilt for a moment. But his expression remained unreadable. He sat adjacent to her and held out a bowl of stew. When she didn't take it, he leaned closer and set it down before her.

Viper quick, she snatched his dagger and lunged at him. He jumped back, knocking his chair over. The cold steel in her hand gave her comfort. He dodged her blow and she knew he'd expected her to make this move. Inflamed at such overconfidence, she feinted a cut to his chest. When he sidestepped and tried to catch her arm, she checked her movement. His fingers brushed her arm. She whirled and slashed at his neck. The tip whisked across his skin. He jerked his head back and reflexively brought his arm up. She slashed again. This time the dagger sliced his forearm and drew blood. His eyes narrowed. Never underestimate an opponent, she thought, feeling a flicker of triumph.

Without a sound, he lunged, knocked her arm back and nearly got her in a lock-hold. She twisted free and found herself in the corner, no room left to maneuver. She whipped the blade up towards his stomach.

He caught her wrist. Who has underestimated whom? his dark eyes asked. With his fingers locked around her fragile bones, he forced her hand back. Pain shot up her arm. She cursed as the dagger dropped to the stone floor.

Rathyn drew her into his arms.

"No!"

He crushed her body against his, his grip excruciating, anger blazing in the tight lines of his face. He looked down at the curve of her breasts, the material pulled tight against her skin. She tried to tear away but he was much too strong. His male hardness pressed against her thigh and she froze. His gaze lifted, the eyes of a wolf stared at her.

"So beautiful - " For a moment his face softened. Then his mouth twisted with a sardonic smile and he shoved her back from him. He retrieved and sheathed his dagger.

Confused, Mariah waited, her body rigid, unable to tear her gaze away from him, her heart a fierce roar in her ears. Why had he let her go?

Ignoring her as though she didn't exist, he went to the chest, took off his weapons, and placed them inside. "I think my game taught us both a lesson, My Lady." His tone and sidelong glance showed respect. He wrapped a piece of cloth around his forearm, then used a smaller strip to tie it in place, yanking the fabric into a tight knot with his teeth. That done, he locked the chest and placed the key in a small pouch he wore under his tunic. His look dared her to try to take it.

She didn't move as he resumed his place at the table and began to eat. He glanced up at her once but said nothing, his face enigmatic. She remained standing, watching, waiting for the inevitable. You will have to kill me before you can take me, she promised him.

He pushed back from the table and turned slightly so that the flames in the fireplace highlighted one side of his face while the other remained shadowed. Stretching out his long legs, he crossed his feet and relaxed, a cup of wine in one hand. Periodically, he brought it to his lips.

How long would he sit there, his eyes lowered, studying the flames as if she didn't exist? More confused than ever, she felt lost, her role as a leader gone, a vulnerable woman remaining. She didn't want to think of what was to come.

Glancing toward the locked chest, she wondered if she could break it open. Needing a closer look at the lock, she slid sideways on first one foot, then the other, noticing he'd set his wine glass down. She held her breath.

The flames continued to snap and Rathyn made no move to indicate he had heard her. As she was about to move again, his eyelids flickered. He was watching her under his lashes.

Knowing she couldn't stand all night, and unwilling to draw his attention to the lock, she moved instead very quietly to the table and took a sip of water. The liquid soothed her raw throat and cleansed her mouth. With small, steady bites, she forced down the cold stew until her hunger pangs stopped. The next time she looked up, she found herself looking into Rathyn's mahogany eyes. She dropped her spoon, drew her hands to her lap, and froze.

What did he see? she wondered. Why did he torture her with waiting?

He cleared his throat. "Would you like anything else to eat?"

She didn't answer. He stood up. Surprising her, he strode across the room and picked up a scroll. He set it beside the bed, took off his boots and after a long look at her, lay down and began to unroll it, reading.

Mariah sat beside the fire and deliberated possible actions. She could hit him over the head with the water pitcher or jug of wine. But that might only enrage him, not knock him unconscious or kill him. She could strip and standing before him, offer herself to him. She needed only to make him vulnerable for a few unsuspecting moments. One well-placed blow could kill. But what about the guards outside the door?

Her stomach clenched at the thought of a Chadyk's hands on her, touching her in all the intimate places only a husband should know. Thoughts of her long-ago wedding night stole into her mind. Ishian had coaxed her into drinking with him until her mind spun, and then he'd taken her quickly, falling asleep afterwards. She'd felt only numbness, no pain, no pleasure.... She eyed Rathyn. What did it matter if he touched her now? Once she killed him, the guards would kill her, and she would be with her sister, and husband for eternity.

She stood up, intending to do it, yet when he looked up at her, a faraway gleam in his eyes, his chiseled features softened in the torchlight, something tugged at her emotions and her confusion returned.

"Yes? Do you need something?" He gestured toward the waste bucket in the corner and she felt her face flush. Was he deliberately trying to embarrass her? Angrily, she shook her head, and sat on the floor next to the fire. If she slept he might attack her. She determined to stay awake.

The fire's heat warmed her body and made her drowsy. Meaning to move away, rouse herself, she shifted, thought she'd rest her head against her arms for just a moment. Instead, darkness closed over her, luring her to sleep, and in her dreams Rathyn held her in his arms, his expression gentle, caring. Nothing like the man she believed him to be.

#

Someone banged on the door. Startled from sleep, Mariah jumped from the raised hearth where she'd dozed off. She stood in the dim light given off by two wall torches and shivered. Could it be morning already? Finding a fur coverlet at her feet, she wrapped it around her, surprised that she'd slept unmolested.

Rathyn stood next to the open chest, his sheathed sword and dagger belt in his hands. As if sensing her movement, he glanced in her direction, but said nothing as he strode to the door. His armored breastplate gleamed, and the muscles of his arms strained against the long-sleeved tunic underneath. Hating the deep attraction he stirred in her, she remembered the strange dream, told herself it influenced her and wished once more she'd killed him when she had the chance.

Two soldiers stepped inside. Rathyn fastened the sword belt at his waist. "Gathias, Stephanos," he greeted them and the three conferred in low tones. Mariah recognized her escort from the previous day, and before that as the soldier who'd wounded Salia and a guard during the truce. The irony of that meeting, her strong reaction to the commander struck her now as she listened and watched. Although the captain was not small, his build and stature seemed diminutive next to Rathyn. Under the torchlight, the soldier's hair shone with gold streaks. His sidelong glance caught her, and she saw a glimmer of hostility mingled with curiosity in his boyish face. The older, grizzled soldier, neck muscles tight, studiously avoided looking her way.

Rathyn stepped toward her. "Morning is upon us. Lilas will bring you breakfast and build a fire." He gestured toward the golden-haired soldier. "Until then the door will remain locked, and Captain Stephanos will stay with you."

She didn't respond. Rathyn scowled before he turned away. "I'll be in the guard tower with Gathias, questioning the men," he said to the captain. "I won't be long."

"Yes, sir."

Rathyn closed the door, leaving her alone with the young man.

His blue eyes looked her over with distrust. She still found it odd that the Chadyks could have so many combinations of eye and hair color, even their skins varied from dark to light.

Anxious and cold, yet unwilling to show it, she remained standing beside the hearth. Should she build a fire or not? In her tribe she labored like all her people, for labor was a part of life, but she'd learned that in the Chadyk culture such action might demean her.

Who cared what this Chadyk soldier thought? She took some kindling from the basket on the floor and threw it in the fireplace. Stephanos caught her hand and she yanked free in alarm. "Lilas will build the fire," he said with a frown. "She will be here in a few minutes. You are a leader of your people and the commander's Lady."

She heard reluctance in the captain's voice. Did he not agree with Rathyn's decision to hold her? She wondered about the relationship between the two men. Could she use Captain Stephanos against Rathyn?

"You speak and understand our language well," Stephanos remarked, his face curious.

She thought of all the hours she'd spent learning about the Syrithians' most ancient enemy, the Kahns, and then their newer one, the Chadyks. The Chadyk language was much simpler to understand. She'd learned it from a Chadyk woman who'd sought refuge with her people when Marcus first landed. "I've had three years of study."

She sat down on the cold hearth. Her bladder hurt, and she cast an embarrassed glance at the bucket in the corner.

The captain nodded toward it. "If you give me your word you will use the bucket and do nothing more, I will step outside."

Mariah felt a flash of gratitude, then anger. Why should she feel grateful for a moment's privacy? "You have my word, Captain."

He inclined his head, and went out. Mariah's gaze flew to the closed chest. Did Rathyn keep other weapons there? She considered breaking her oath to Stephanos even as she knew she would not. A Syrithian's word was a sacred trust.

She quickly finished with the bucket, cleaned herself, then lifted one foot to the hearth to check her bandaged ankle.

A tap on the door preceded the captain's return. Mariah lowered her leg as he closed the door.

He frowned and took several steps toward her. She backed away.

"You have no need to fear, My Lady," he said arrogantly. "Rathyn has ordered your protection. To touch you means death." He shook his head as if he did not understand the order, then his gaze measured her. In a low voice, he asked, "Do you wish to kill him?"

Mariah froze. Goosebumps rippled over her skin, a silent alarm. Yet this could be the way to fulfill Salia's prophecy that peace would return to their land when the commander was dead. No, the Goddess never condoned murder.

He held out his dagger. "Kill him when he comes back and I promise you a quick death."

She didn't hesitate a second. "This is a trick, not a fair trade."

Stephanos spoke earnestly. "You obsess him with your witchery. I've seen your spell grow in his eyes, eating him up like an illness he cannot fight. If you don't kill him I will see you burned."

Her spell? Did he really believe in witchery? Why did he want Rathyn dead? Still, she reached for the blade. No! Her inner voice stayed her hand.

He flipped the dagger so that his hand closed upon the hilt. "If you kill him I will see your people are released. Only you will die. Quickly. Painlessly." His calculating smile brimmed with confidence.

Could she trust him any more than she could trust Rathyn? She would give up her life for her people, but Stephanos wanted both Rathyn and her dead. Why? "Won't your people recognize your blade - know it was you behind the commander's death?"

He raised his chin arrogantly. "I can blame it on someone."

A timid tap sounded. "My Lady?"

Relieved at the interruption, Mariah said, "Come in." This would give her time to think.

The captain smirked at Lilas as she entered, carrying a cloth-covered tray. The look on his face resembled that of a hunter who'd found its prey. He would blame Lilas.

Lilas cast a wide-eyed, fearful glance at the soldier, then a look of concern toward Mariah. Mariah wondered if she'd found a friend in the servant.

The captain bent beside the woodpile and slid the dagger beneath the log at the bottom. Then he tossed several pieces of wood onto the fire.

"I should do that," Lilas said, her face tight. She set the tray on the table.

"You can build my fire later," he promised with a leer, reaching for the girl. She trembled and backed up.

Mariah stepped between them, her heart pounding in her ears like the roar of the great Chenah waterfall. What would the man do?

His hand tightened into a fist at his side, but remained still. With a small inclination of his head, he offered a sardonic grin, then said, "We'll talk again."

As Lilas spread the tray's contents upon the table, her hands trembled.

The girl was terrified. Mariah squelched the urge to comfort her. The captain would perceive such an effort as a weakness.

Lilas dropped an empty wooden bowl and several eating utensils.

Stephanos’s face tightened, his lips disappearing into an angry line. He took a step toward her.

"I'm sorry!" she cried, cringing.

Mariah knelt beside her, annoyed at herself for caring about the girl and showing it. "Let me help you," she murmured.

His mouth twisted and his eyes grew cold. He bowed. "Excuse me, My Lady. Lilas." He spoke the servant's name with menace as he left.

Mariah wondered if Chadyk men took their own women against their will as well as those they captured. It was not a question she’d thought of before.

Lilas shivered, then said with effort, "You must be chilled." She lit the fire, finished arranging the utensils and plates on the table, her quick, fluttery movements reminding Mariah of a nervous little bird. Between the plates Lilas set several covered bowls and a basket of fragrant fresh-baked rolls.

Wanting to put her at ease, Mariah said, "Thank you, the fire feels good." She held her hands toward the heat. Involuntarily, her gaze slid for a second toward the woodpile.

Lilas blushed and said in Syrithian, "I thank you for staying the captain's hand."

Surprised, Mariah went to her. "You are Syrithian? Yet your hair is dark, your features..."

"I am half-Kahn, My Lady." She cast a fearful glance toward the door. "Everyone thinks I am Kahn."

"Help me escape!" Mariah whispered. Even as she spoke she saw the refusal in Lilas's eyes. "Please! You must!"

"He'd kill me!" Her voice trembled.

"I will take you with me. No one will harm you!"

Lilas went to a small chest in the corner and lifted the lid, her expression withdrawn. "I have no place in your world. I am Chadyk." But the words were mechanical as though she'd told herself them many times.

Frustrated, Mariah wanted to shake the girl's stubborn expression from her face. "The Chadyks are murderers! You said yourself Commander Rathyn would kill you if you helped me."

Lilas shivered. "It is not the commander you must fear. He is kind. Perhaps too kind." Her tone said the discussion was finished.

Mariah stared. "What do you mean he is kind? He's a filthy murderer! Just like Marcus the Butcher!" But if she believed that, why had she refused the captain's blade? She felt vexed with herself.

Lilas shook her head. She held out a pale yellow gown. "Would you care to change?"

Mariah wanted to yell, to persuade, cajole, but the girl's wooden expression halted her. More words would do nothing. She would have to wait. Use the dagger, her inner voice whispered ominously. And have the girl's blood on my hands? she argued with herself.

Lilas looked at her, her expression uncertain.

Does she see death in my eyes? Mariah frowned and studied the gown. The more queenly she appeared, the better her chances. One way or another she would survive. For peace or revenge? Pushing away thoughts of her dead husband, her sister, and others lost over the past three years, she promised herself she would mourn them later - with her people.

"Whose clothes do I wear? One of the commander's women?"

Lilas shook her head, her eyes wide and her cheeks reddening. Mariah realized the servant really liked Rathyn. "He has never brought a woman to his bed chamber that I know of, My Lady. Except to serve him when he wishes to dine alone. The clothes were left by Commander Marcus."

Mariah glanced at the dress she wore. Commander Marcus's women had worn this. Perhaps even her sister, Terah. She stroked the soft fabric for a moment, longing for the sister she'd lost, then yanked off the mantle and underdress, ripped it in half and threw it on the floor. With a dismissive wave at the yellow gown, she said, "Bring me something else."

The door swung open. Naked, she found herself face to face with Rathyn. He'd most likely heard every word. He shut the door and leaned against it. Her flesh burned as his insolent gaze raked slowly over her body.

"I will not wear anything that butcher Marcus handled," she said.

"Then I'm afraid you will wear nothing." Rathyn answered easily, a smirk crooking his lips. "The only decent unused clothes are the ones I found in this chest. The chest belonged to Marcus."

"Then I will wear your clothes," Mariah said, savoring the surprise she stirred in his eyes.

He laughed. "By the Gods, I think you mean it!" A bold smile appeared on his lips, amusement showing in the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. "All right," he said, going to a smaller flat-topped chest she'd mistaken for a small table. He opened it and pulled out a dark blue tunic, matching leggings, and a worn leather belt. "These are a gift I outgrew - " He handed them to her and sat on the bed.

"You would watch?"

"Could I trust you if I turned my back?" He looked as if he was about to chuckle, his mirth held behind tight lips curved up at the corners, and raised eyebrows. His amusement infuriated her.

He glanced at Lilas. "You may go."

Her fingers lacing nervously together, Lilas raced from the room.

Mariah quickly slipped on the tunic and stepped into the leggings all the while feeling the weight of Rathyn's gaze.

"The clothes are satisfactory?"

She looked up from the belt-hook she fumbled with. Passionate hunger gleamed in his dark velvet eyes.

The tunic and leggings showed much more of the curves of her breasts, hips and thighs than the dress had. She straightened, and thrust her chest out provocatively, the soft fabric straining against her flesh. Would he attack her? If he did, she would have every right to kill him.

His smile tightened as did the leggings at his crotch, but he didn't move.

She stepped closer, feeling a sense of power as his gaze devoured her.

His voice rasped, "Would you care to share breakfast?" His expression said he wanted her, not food. Why did he deny himself? A bitter thought followed, why could her husband have not looked upon her in such a way? She shoved it down, met Rathyn's gaze.

Last night his behavior had surprised her. It did so again now, and she didn't like it, or him. But because of the captain's bizarre request, and Lilas's assertion, she found herself curious about Rathyn, and questioning Salia's words. He's a murderous jackal, she reminded herself. Aware he waited for an answer, she shrugged like she'd seen a Chadyk man do once to a servant while in her village, before the war. For a moment his jaw became rigid and his eyes narrowed.

Going to the table, he picked up a roll, looking as if he wanted to crush rather than eat it. He took a bite, chewed slowly, swallowed. "You'll be interested to know that some prisoners escaped this morning. Three Syrithian men and four women."

Her heart leapt. Escaped! "Why tell me?"

"I would like to set free the other twenty-three Syrithians as well. Would you be willing to bargain with me on their account?"

She thought of the captain's offer: Kill Rathyn and I will free the rest of your people. Now Rathyn offered almost the same thing. But at what cost? Another trick? Yet she would not ignore a chance for them and herself.

"What kind of bargain?"

He swallowed another bite of his roll. "It is said a Syrithian cannot lie - is that so?"

"No," she admitted.

He hiked a black brow in surprise.

"A Syrithian will speak only the truth to any member of our tribes, but to outsiders the law is subject to individual interpretation," she explained reluctantly.

His head cocked, Rathyn appeared to digest the information before he said, "I'd like your word that you will not lie to me. If you agree to our bargain, will you keep it?"

She felt a strange mixture of curiosity and dread, but she answered, "If I agree to your bargain, I will honor my word."

"I want your oath that for as long as we have occasion to speak you will speak only the truth to me. No lies, ever."

She distrusted his request and hated the sparks of gold she saw in his ebony eyes. Yet she didn't plan to remain in his company. "You ask much for someone who has given nothing."

"Nothing?" he reached for another roll. He pursed his lips in disagreement. Leaving the roll in the basket, he met her eyes with his. "I give you my word that I too will speak only the truth to you, and that your people will be released."

Why would he make such a bargain? She didn't believe it. Yet the honest expression on his face, and the earnest look in his eyes impressed her. She did not have to speak to keep such an oath. "All right," she agreed.

"Good. Now, our breakfast is getting cold. Shall we eat?" He pulled out the same chair for her that she'd used the night before.

She remained standing. "What about freeing my people?"

"Later," He said with a bold twist of his lips. His ravenous look made her aware once again of the tight clothing. She found it hard to believe Lilas's claim that he'd never brought a woman here. He appeared to be a man of consuming passions, and he'd been in command over four months. She imagined a progression of women in his bed, all lovely, and the spurt of jealousy galled her.

"I'm not hungry," she said in her most imperious tone.

Rathyn stood up abruptly, the lines of his face hard and angry, as if she'd pushed him too far. "I am," he said.

Backing away as he advanced, she dodged his hand and reached for his dagger. This time he caught both of her wrists in a firm grip before she could touch the hilt's cold steel. Yanking her toward the door, he pressed her between the wall and his body until she couldn't move. The intimacy outraged her. His scent, unlike any Syrithian smell and yet not unpleasant, filled her nostrils as he leaned over her, his lips brushing her cheek.

In a ragged whisper, he said, "I want you more than any woman I have ever known, but I swear I will not force you."

Liar! Her mind shrieked as she felt him hard against her thigh. The length of his body burned hot against hers, igniting flames in his eyes. She shuddered involuntarily as his hand brushed through her hair, his touch remarkably gentle. Strange fire flickered through her and she stiffened against him, readying to fight.

But he stepped back, studying her face, then dropping his view lower. He sucked in his breath.

His dagger and sword were so close, yet she sensed him waiting for another attempt, anticipating it. If only she had the captain's dagger now!

He brought his lips to her ear. She could feel his warm breath. "You don't believe I will keep my word, do you? Then I will prove it." Holding her wrists with one hand, his other at her waist, he pulled her with him out the door, into the hallway, and past the guards who snapped to rigid attention.

Ignoring them, Rathyn continued at a fast stride, practically lifting her from the ground. Down four flights of stairs they went and then out into the bailey. All appeared quiet and dark. The stars overhead winked and glittered. The first gray tinges of dawn lit the horizon. She shivered. Despite her resistance, Rathyn pulled her closer, and whisked her through the guardhouse. They passed under the guarded archway into the inner sheltered area below the battlement. The drawbridge was down.

A group of soldiers stood shadowed by the wall, something stretched out at their feet. They bent, lifted what looked like a carrier or litter. Was someone ill? Why had Rathyn brought her here?

"Wait!" His voice brought the soldiers to a halt at the beginning of the bridge. He hurried her across the courtyard, pausing only to take a torch from the wall. Mariah noticed a strange odor, strong and pungent like hundreds of crushed flowers poured over something old and stale. Then she recognized Stephanos at the front of the group and felt a trickle of fear. The captain wanted her dead, she saw it in a brief flash of his cold eyes. The other three soldiers, one the man Rathyn called "Gathias" glanced at her with suspicion, then their gazes skidded away under her scrutiny.

Rathyn held the torch closer, illuminating the ghostly features of her husband's face at their feet. She bit back a cry, unable to resist bending next to him and touching his cheek one last time. Guilt consumed her. Neither had felt passion for each other, yet they'd honored their vows. That she should like, even desire the commander's touch burned her with shame.

She fingered the cloth they had covered Ishian with - it held a scent to kill the stench of death, and it choked her. She deserved death not him. He lived with the Moon Goddess, Syrith, she told herself. He lived in splendor and eternal happiness.

Standing, she held her head high, her body rigid as though she wore her queenly robes. "Why have you brought me here, Chadyk?" she said, slurring the name in a acerbic tone that implied the infinite differences between him, a mere army commander, and a queen. Her throat ached with held back sobs as she turned away from the soldiers and her husband's body.

"I would have you see with your own eyes that I keep my word." Rathyn said in a gentle tone.

The pain within her swelled. "Am I to watch as your men carry him away?"

"If that is the only way you will believe. Yes." He nodded at the men and they lifted the litter and began their walk across the drawbridge. He moved closer, his shoulder behind hers, his voice whispering, "They will leave him in the forest by the brook." A pause. "By Tyryk, if there were any way for me to undo what has been done, I would."

Mariah heard the truth in his voice, but even his regret, and the return of her husband's body to her people, did not dispel the guilt in her heart, or the turmoil in her soul. Should she trust in her cousin's words, murder Rathyn without provocation - gain peace while condemning herself to the dark god's domain - or should she trust the commander? She remained silent all the way back to Rathyn's room.

Inside, he left the door unlocked. Turning to her, his face shadowed in the flickering firelight, he said, "I'm sorry about your husband."

He didn't seem a man who apologized often, but she allowed this thought to stay in her mind only a second. "Your apology will not bring him back."

He wore a mask of pain. Some remembered grief? She told herself it was only fatigue.

"I know it isn't much," he said, "but an apology is the only beginning I can make."

When she didn't respond, he motioned toward the chair at the table. She sat. He offered her a tankard of wine and she shook her head. She felt sick. As always, she carried the burdens of the tribes on her shoulders. Her personal feelings, like her personal life, had always come last. Now she had to think of the prisoners Rathyn had offered to release, to put aside her own anger and sorrow. Yet she was always aware of him.

Sitting in the chair adjacent to hers now, his knee brushed hers and she flinched.

"I want peace. Please believe that."

She said nothing.

With a sigh, he reached for some wine, took a sip and put the tankard down. "I don't even know your name," he said softly. "What is it?"

She answered just as softly, "You didn't know my husband's name and yet he is dead - killed by one of your men."

Something flickered in his eyes, the strong lines of his face drawn, his eyes cloudy with some memory. "He was caught trying to help the prisoners escape. He murdered a guard before he was killed. I cannot punish a soldier for defending himself."

"You lie as well as Marcus did, Commander."

He leaned forward, his eyes level with hers. "I am not Commander Marcus. I admit I lied to you in the tower - about the woman being whipped. She was a Chadyk servant who'd stabbed a soldier and taken his silver. But the other... your..." he hesitated as though he disliked the thought of her married. "...husband... I only wanted a body brought in from the last battle. A Syrithian whom you would think suffered because of your obstinacy. I wanted you to see how pointless your resistance was, that it cost lives."

She didn't want to believe him.

When he grabbed her hand she jerked it back, but he held on, tightening his grip until she stilled. As though making a point that in a test of strength he’d win, he surprised her and let go. "Are you afraid to tell me your name?"

She glared at him. She did not want him speaking her name, ever. "Tell me your bargain, and if I agree to it, I will tell you what I am called."

Scowling, he turned toward the fire. When he looked at her again, his expression softened. "I offer you the freedom of your people, held in the northern tower, in exchange for your personal agreement to stay here at the castle with me, in your woman's shape, for three months. If you wish to leave at the end of that time, I will let you go."

"If I wish to leave?" she repeated. "You think that I would want to stay - with you?" She laughed, the sound angry.

His jaw tightened.

"And where would I sleep? Eat? Dress? Bathe?" She knew the answer. She saw it in his face as he frowned, but she wasn't about to make this easy.

Body stiff as wood, he said, "You would stay with me in this room."

"And share your bed?"

He lowered his eyelids as if guilty, but despite the venom in her tone, his voice was calm when he spoke. "I have given you my word, woman. I will not force you to couple with me. If you agree to this bargain then these are my conditions. Accept them or say no."

She hesitated for only a moment. He would keep her here whether she agreed or not. And she would learn if he could be trusted. "For my people, I accept. With one condition."

He eyed her suspiciously.

"I want to talk to the prisoners before they are released."

"Why?"

"I want them to know of our bargain. There will be a three months truce. If you keep your word, then perhaps I will bury the past with my husband and we will talk of peace."

Did he believe her? she wondered.

"Is that all you wish to say to them?"

She remained silent.

"I see it is not, but you do not wish to tell me the rest. So be it. I will accept your condition."

Why are you so confident? she wanted to shout. He should be angry, threatening. If he stayed angry, she could hate him as an enemy. When he smiled, as he did now, she saw him as a man. An admirable one.

Rathyn looked pleased. "You promised to tell me your name."

"Mariah," she answered softly as she eyed his sword and dagger, and studiously ignored the woodpile.

"Mariah," he repeated softly, speaking her name like a lover, as though he savored it on his tongue.

She shivered, unaccountably cold, even as she noticed the beads of sweat on Rathyn's brow.

"Does it mean something?"

She looked away, not wanting to answer.

"We swore to speak the truth to each other."

Thought of the prisoners jabbed her. "Yes. The name means something." She glanced up and swallowed at the intensity of his expression. As though he really cared.

Moving his chair farther from the fire and her, he brushed his long hair back from his face, his skin reddened from the heat. Pushing up the sleeves of his tunic, he exposed his tanned forearms. Absently, he rubbed his arm where she'd cut him. His biceps bulged under the tight fabric above his elbow and she stared a moment before pulling her gaze away, annoyed at herself. He eyed her, his expression curious. "What does your name mean?"

"It has two meanings," Mariah answered reluctantly. "One is known by all, the second is secret. The one you would know is Magic Wind."

Rathyn spooned some cooked grain into his bowl, his face thoughtful. "Magic Wind," he murmured the words like a caress, irritating her. Then he asked, "Does no one know the second meaning?"

She wished he would drop his inquiry. "Each of the four tribes is led by a Spirit-woman we call a Seer. The Seer gives each female child a second name, ordained at birth."

He leaned forward slightly. "You didn't answer the question. Do you share your second name?"

Her stomach tightened. She knew she could remain silent, but her people’s lives were at stake. "Only with my husband."

He stopped eating. "Do you have children?" He looked uncomfortable. Was he one of those who believed Syrithian females were witches who spawned spirit-babes? Why did it matter?

"No." She dropped her gaze, not wanting him to read anything in her eyes.

"I lost a babe once. A son - " he began, then stopped as if embarrassed by the pain lacing his admission. He was a man who loved deeply, she saw it in his expression, and his vulnerability tempted her to reach out and touch him in a way nothing else would have. He was like a Chadyk on the outside, Syrithian on the inside. The thought startled her. No, he was playing a game, trying to trick her.

A rap sounded on the door and she jumped.

Rathyn answered half-crossly, "Come in," as if he was both glad and unhappy for the interruption.

Captain Stephanos entered and he snapped to rigid attention for a brief moment as his hand crossed his chest. "They left the Syrithian's body in the forest as you ordered, sir."

Mariah knew from the tension in Stephanos' face that he had something more to say, something he did not want her to hear. Or had he expected to find Rathyn dead at her feet? An intense dislike for the young soldier bubbled up inside her. She told herself she didn't have to like the man to use him.

Rathyn went to the door. "I will send Lilas to keep you company," he said before closing it. Dare she trust him to keep his word to release the prisoners? Or should she use the captain's dagger when he returned?

Chapter Four

As soon as they were on the stairs, Rathyn grasped Stephanos's arm, "What is it?" while inside images of Mariah taunted him. For a second, he'd felt a connection with her, known that if he touched her she'd melt into his arms, let him persuade her into his bed. It would not have been force....

Stephanos's hand opened and closed on the hilt of his sword and snapped Rathyn to the present. The man's tunic was damp with sweat. He looked more agitated than Rathyn had ever seen him. "Trouble, sir."

"The Syrithians?"

Stephanos shook his head. "A rider just came in from our outpost on the Kahn mountain border. The Kahns are assembling another army."

Tension spread through Rathyn's shoulders. Would the Syrithians negotiate peace to get Mariah back? Or join with the Kahns? Would he and his people face two enemies? How could he release the captives now? His men would call him a fool. Mariah had promised a three month truce, but what did she plan to tell the prisoners before they were released? Rathyn's men had killed her husband. How easily would he forgive someone who did the same? These and more questions crowded in his mind for attention.

"Who else knows about the Kahns?" he asked.

"No one, Commander. The messenger is alone in the flanking tower. I told him to speak to no one but you."

"Good." What a mess. He'd given his word to her. His stomach tightened. He knew he should break his promise, that the men who had once been under Commander Marcus's control might turn against him with such a perfect excuse. Would the Kahns try to bypass the castle garrison? Probably. He would need to move his men to the other outpost at the base of the Kahn mountains. Such a trip would take several weeks, maybe more, depending on the weather. He had to prepare his men, and assign a squad to stay and man the castle.

"Come with me." Rathyn led Stephanos to the small third floor chamber where charts and papers lay strewn across a huge table. Hastily, he scrawled a note, affixed his seal and gave it to the captain. "Take this to the messenger and see that he is fed and rested, then send him back."

Moving toward the door, Rathyn warned, "No one is to know of the Kahns."

"Yes, sir."

Rathyn started out.

"Where can I find you, Commander?"

"I will accompany the Lady Mariah to the tower, where she will speak to her people before I let them go."

"You can't do that!" Stephanos looked appalled.

Glaring at him, Rathyn responded in a calm, razor-sharp voice, "I know what I am doing, Captain. Don't try to second-guess me now."

"Sir?" Stephanos said, his expression uncertain.

Leave it, Rathyn wanted to tell him. Don't push me into a fight. "Say whatever is on your mind." Rathyn said.

"Keep the woman and her people as hostages. Send a message to the Syrithian council that they live only as long as the Syrithians remain un-allied to the Kahns. Or burn the queen as a witch and parley with the Kahns by promising them Syrithian spoils." He paused. "You haven't been yourself since her capture." His tone challenged Rathyn.

Shaking his head, Rathyn said harshly, "There is nothing wrong with me, Stephanos. The Syrithian queen is not a witch. I have made a bargain and I intend to keep it. We will release the prisoners and there will be a three-month truce, hopefully to lead to the peace the Emperor so desires." He said the last part derisively, knowing the Emperor cared only about conserving gold and if peace were cheaper, so be it. "The queen will remain here as our guest, while we prepare for battle against the Kahns. Once they are taken care of, and once peaceful negotiations are settled with the Syrithians, I will most certainly let her go. In the meantime, you will do your job. Now, do you have anything else you wish to say?" His hand strayed to his sword, his expression firm. Still, his mind chewed Stephanos's words. Could she be a witch? How could he be sure? He felt bewitched at times, not quite himself.

Stephanos’s face reddened in anger, but he lowered his gaze and said in a low voice, "No, sir. I will see to the messenger, Commander."

"Thank you," Rathyn called after him sarcastically.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he entered his bedroom without a knock. Mariah stood in the middle of the room, facing the door as if she'd expected him. Could he take her with him to fight the Kahns? To leave her here without protection would be a risk to her life as well, his inner voice whispered persuasively. Take her with you... take her....

#

"I hope you have spoken the truth." Rathyn's eyes glowered, dark, dangerous. Mariah wondered why he was angry.

Had Lilas told Rathyn about Mariah's plea for help? She wished now she held the captain's dagger in her hand. "What is it?" she asked.

"Nothing. Let's go." Rathyn took her arm and led her out the door. Gathias, one of the guards outside the door, joined them at Rathyn's command and they moved down the stairs, Rathyn first, Mariah second, the gnarly soldier last.

Her sight blurred, dimmed into a gray fog, then went black. A vision! Startled, she slowed, felt the next step with her foot, then the next, while in her mind she saw someone drive a dagger in her back. She gasped, and almost fell from the pressure. The captain's blade? Her shoulders tightened instinctively.

The gray stone and rough steps returned to focus. Rathyn waited ahead, his face impatient. She felt the guard's breath on her neck and hurried her steps. Did Rathyn know how Stephanos felt about him? Did he know his men hated her and wanted her dead? Was her vision true?

As she followed him down the winding stairs floor after floor, she thought of the visions. She recalled four since she'd become queen. And this one. Of the four, three had happened just as she'd seen, and the fourth's warning had saved her from invading Kahns.

They reached the bottom. Rathyn wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close.

She jabbed her elbow against his ribs.

His grip only tightened.

"Don't hold me so. I won't run away."

His mouth turned down. "I'm worried about my men."

The words shocked her. By Syrith, he would protect her against his own people?

In tandem, they passed the drawbridge and paused outside the guardhouse, where two soldiers immediately snapped to attention. Whatever he saw in their faces satisfied him, because he drew her through the doorway.

Inside, the dank air seeped through her skin like a chill fog. The room reeked of stale sweat. Three soldiers stood across the room watching them, dark brows drawn together, lips compressed. She was grateful for Rathyn's presence.

The guard behind touched her free arm and took the lead, opening a door that led into a huge hallway. Torches lit both sides of the dark enclosure, but little else. A stairway to her right descended into the earth. Where did it go? Glancing back, she looked directly into Rathyn's face. His eyes were not on her but beyond her, however, and his face looked tight, his hand on the dagger at his side.

Walking faster, she hurried after the forward guard. Would Rathyn's men try to kill her? This must be a trick. Rathyn wanted to win her trust. It was the only answer and it added to her confusion about him.

At the other end of the hall, she heard drifting sounds of children, animals and activity; morning sounds. Rathyn called out and the door opened.

She recognized the flanking tower. In her horse's shape, they had brought her there, forced her up the narrow stairs to the topmost room. Watching the commander as he spoke quietly to the two sentries, she saw them nod and speak in return, saw the respect on their faces as he turned back to her. But the dark looks of the other three soldiers were not as respectful. Under their watchful eyes, Rathyn led her across the room to the opposite door. Everyone ceased talking and in the hush Mariah heard her own soft footfalls brushing lightly across the stone. She shivered as the men stared at her, fascination and fear in their eyes. Did they think her a witch too?

A new vision flashed stronger behind her eyes, blurring her sight with the shimmering fog she could not stop. She clutched the commander’s arm.

In her mind, the fog faded, exposing a darkened room or cave. A woman, dressed in the pale blue robes of her tribe, stood with her back toward the entrance of some dank, dark place. Me? Yes, her inner voice whispered. She gasped at the glimpse of her swelled belly. She was pregnant and both happy and sad about it! Her thoughts jumped to Rathyn as the father, shocking her. She would never couple with a Chadyk.

In the vision, someone approached behind her. Whoever it was held a dagger tightly in one hand. A woman's hand. The thought came clearly that she trusted the person. The blade came down and struck her in the back. No!

Mariah staggered, choking for air. The blade was yanked free, then plunged into her flesh again. A scream lodged in her throat. Her breath rasped in her ears. Why would a Syrithian strike her? Within the vision, she struggled to see her attacker.

Suddenly she found herself back in the tower, struggling against Rathyn's hold. Her cheek stung. Had he slapped her?

"Are you all right, Mariah?"

Had she seen a Syrithian hand wielding the blade? She told herself she was mistaken. "Yes," she murmured, closing her eyes for a moment and shutting out the mental image of the bloody dagger and the dull sensation of pressure in her back. Then she realized that Rathyn still held her, became aware of the hard muscles of his chest and arms. Pushing him away, she felt her face flush with heat.

"You fainted," he said, concern in his face. Again he confounded her. Had she?

"I can walk," she said more sharply than she intended when he tried to take her arm.

Yanking the door open, he led her into another huge hall. The other guard followed her in and they continued toward the northern tower. As they drew closer, she felt shaky inside. Would he really let her people go? Why would she be happy in her vision, pregnant with the commander's seed? Such a thing would be a curse, for she could marry only one of the tribesmen, or a king, the child would have no father.

She glanced around, filled with doubts. Did she want a child so badly she'd be glad even for his? What of the sorrow she'd sensed?

Rathyn's face, half in shadow seemed ominous, threatening. Suddenly, she was sure he'd brought her here for another purpose. Her mind mentally jumped to her sister's fate. Would this commander and his men try to ravage her in front of her people?

I am a Queen, she told herself.

Your sister, Terah, was a Princess, her mind hissed in reply.

Stiffening, she forced her feet to move forward through the doorway, holding down her fear so that she could think. Visions could be a warning, not a future set in stone. If he tried to take her, she would die fighting, a weapon in her hand. A fierce determination shot through her and gave her courage. She could not transform into a horse again so soon, but she could fight.

#

"Where are the prisoners?" Rathyn asked the tower guard. He eyed the other two men who'd stopped speaking upon his entry.

"Below, sir," the duty guard answered with a snap to attention.

"Take us down."

The guard unlocked the prison door, and shoved it open, an unhealthy stench wafting from the dark stairs. Rathyn turned to warn Mariah about the steep steps and caught a flicker of panic in her eyes. By the Gods, what was wrong with her? She looked as if she were about to die. Seeking to reassure her, he touched her arm. She flinched and her face became an impenetrable mask.

"Are you ready, Lady?" he asked.

She looked at him as if she didn't recognize him, her eyes cloudy. Was she ill? She'd shown no sign of sickness until she'd fainted along the rampart.

Goosebumps ran over his flesh. If she died in his care, the Syrithians would believe him guilty of murder and worse. The war would never end.

The guard paused on the stairs and waited. Rathyn gestured the soldier forward, and followed Mariah down. Her steps were slow and careful, her head bent as if she could hardly see.

He hated the unnatural quiet that existed down here. The cells dug into the walls were like burial chambers and the smell of fear hung in the air, as bad as the reek of filth and decay.

Beyond the bottom stair was a large space where two guards could sleep and rest off duty. Across the room was the door leading into the dungeon. A sentry stood at attention beside it.

"Bring the prisoners out," Rathyn ordered.

If the guards were surprised they hid it well. Rathyn turned to Mariah and gestured toward one of several chairs placed against the wall. "Would you like to sit down?"

She shook her head, her expression reflecting what looked like bewilderment, yet her eyes were angry. Her gaze lingered at his waist, his sword belt, and he felt alarmed at the determined lines forming on her face. He glanced at the sword and spear rack on the wall. Even though it was locked, he felt uneasy. He had given her his word, however, that she could talk to the prisoners alone. Twenty-three Syrithians and their queen, armed, would be a small army inside the castle, his mind warned.

He heard the clinking of chains and turned as the inner door opened and the Syrithian prisoners came out. All wore leg irons, chained together.

Mariah looked surprised, shocked, unsure. As if she expected something else to happen.

He nodded toward Gathias. "Get ten men ready to escort the prisoners to the drawbridge." The man left, leaving him with only his personal guard, the sentry, and the prisoners. Rathyn took the key from the wall and handed it to the nearest prisoner. He didn't need to say anything for the man to understand. The Syrithian bent and unlocked his chains, then passed the key along. Soon they were all standing free, looking dirty, sickly pale, and tense. All eyes strayed from him to Mariah.

"Mariah?" he said her name softly. "You may talk to your people as we agreed."

She looked as if he'd awakened her from a dream and the reality was surprisingly pleasant. Had she thought he'd lied? Perhaps she'd expected to be put in leg irons. Would this gain the trust he sought?

With a curt gesture to his men, Rathyn backed away, turned and went upstairs, leaving her. He'd almost expected a riot, and now he breathed a sigh of relief. But the narrowed eyes, sharp whispers of witches and demons, and dark looks of his men still worried him. Would they mutiny? He stared them all down and waited near the three soldiers as they murmured among themselves. He was almost certain she was not a witch, but he wasn't sure. At odd moments she looked at him so strangely.

The outside door swung open and revealed the other guard and the ten soldiers Rathyn had requested. The murmuring stopped.

A few minutes later, he heard the footsteps on the stairs. Mariah appeared. "My people are ready." The tunic and leggings clung to her body, outlining her full breasts, her tiny waist, slim hips, and long, slender legs. For a moment he saw her naked as she had been in his bed chamber, her silver-blue eyes defiantly glaring at him. Now the soldiers leered at her. Yet, no one dared make a remark. Rathyn felt lust too, but her posture made him think of a she-wolf protecting her young, and a surge of protectiveness welled up in him. Turning to his men, he gestured toward the door. To the sentry, he ordered, "You, follow behind. I'll lead."

This time he met no resistance when he put his hand on Mariah's arm and led the group out the door, along the ramparts. Those few soldiers and servants who rose early gaped at the procession. Boots scuffed stone while Rathyn watched his men carefully for any sign of betrayal.

His hand tightened on her wrist, perhaps transmitting his uneasiness, because she shot him a sidelong look that questioned him, and he realized with surprise that she could have grabbed his dagger and attempted to use it, but she hadn't. Was she unwilling to risk the deaths of her people, or had her gaze softened toward him?

Captain Stephanos and the four soldiers flanking him snapped to attention beside the gateway. The portcullis had been raised and the drawbridge lowered.

Rathyn stopped with Mariah beside him, her people behind in a double line of ten, five guards on each side.

"Did the messenger leave?" Rathyn wondered why he doubted Stephanos now when he never had before. Because of the antagonism he read in the captain's expression as he stared at Mariah?

"Yes, sir." Stephanos tone rang with obedience.

Rathyn nodded, relieved at the response. He could rely on Stephanos. "You will lead these people across the drawbridge. Then return and assemble all the men in the hall after breakfast."

"Yes, sir." Stephanos threw another dour glance at Mariah before stepping to the center of the gateway. At a nod from Mariah, the Syrithians moved forward in pairs and followed the captain across the drawbridge. The water in the moat appeared blood red as the sun broke the horizon and cast its first light through the shifting clouds. An omen? He shoved the dark thought down.

Leading Mariah up the steep staircase, he said, "You can see better from the battlement." At the top, he observed her, her gaze fixed on her people. He stepped beside her. Her nearness stirred him, heightening his awareness of his leg, his hip, his arm, touching hers lightly. He didn't move; neither did she. Why didn't she break the contact? Was she beginning to like it? Him?

When the Syrithians were in the forest, out of eyesight, and Stephanos on his way back, she faced him. "You have me for three months, Commander." What now? she seemed to ask with the defiant tilt of her head.

"I hope that today we've both taken a step toward trusting one another, Mariah. If you can manage to take a further step, I would like you to call me Rathyn."

She looked longingly over the rampart as if she might jump.

"Mariah..." What could he say that had not been said? He stopped and stood beside her in silence.

Finally, she spoke, her voice a whisper, the wistful voice of a young girl mixed with the strength of a ruler, "My life and my heart belong to my people... Rathyn." It can never belong to you, her eyes seemed to say as she looked at him sidelong. Her gaze went back to the land beyond the battlement. Another long silence passed. She said, "You must like it up here."

Was there a conciliatory note in her voice? "Sometimes it can be lonely," he said. "But I would be happy to escort you up here whenever you wish - whenever I am free."

"Free...." She repeated the word with such yearning that he felt guilty. Yet she had come a long way from the day before when she'd tried to kill him. It gave him hope that she might someday forgive him and his people for all that had passed.

Rathyn sighed. He had to tell his men the Kahns were readying for war. Had to tell them to prepare to depart. Had to decide who would stay and who would go. "I'll take you back to my chamber. Lilas will attend you. There are scrolls. Can you read Chadyk as well as you speak it?"

Mariah shook her head.

"Lilas could read to you. Or perhaps you might wish to alter some more clothes to your, uh, liking."

"While you plan battle, I do women's work?"

Men fought, women ran the home, saw to a man's comfort, he almost blurted. He forced a smile. "I would like you to learn about our culture, and I want to learn about yours. Perhaps then we will understand each other."

"What is there to understand? Your men are warriors. You are happiest in battle with your women at your feet like dogs." She smiled coldly. "Marcus the Butcher may have fooled me, but you will not. Neither your faked gallantry nor this truce will change anything."

She moved past him and he grabbed her arm, responding to her sudden anger with his own. "Are your words for my benefit or to convince yourself? Will you cling to hatred until it eats your heart away and leaves you worse than dead?" He pulled her closer, until their bodies touched, and turned so that her back pressed against the wall. "If I were Marcus, your people would be dead, not free, and you would be in my bed chamber awaiting my pleasure."

"If I were a simple warrior instead of a queen I would have killed you at my first opportunity," Mariah shot back, her tone an arrow that struck at his pride. "You will never have me, Commander, not even by force."

"What I want and what I take by force are two different things," he said, unable to keep the ragged need from his voice. He inhaled the flowery scent of her skin, imagining her silky hair spread across his chest. The soft pressure of her breasts tormented him. Her nearness was about to drive all scruples from his mind. He moved back, sucked in the cold air, and looked toward the drawbridge where Stephanos walked. Soon he would face his men and those left from Marcus's command; two forces he'd merged into one fighting unit - a good one. Today loyalties might be tested.

Would the Emperor send reinforcements as Rathyn had requested? Rathyn brushed his hair back from his forehead. Or would the Emperor leave them here to survive as best they could? There is no love lost between you and the Emperor, his mind whispered. The Kahns would do him a service to kill you. You are still a threat to him, to his power, even out here.

I have no wish to rule an empire, I told him that, he mentally argued with himself.

Yet if he led the army against the Emperor and won, he would be more than a Commander. He would be Mariah’s equal. Many of the soldiers grumbled against the Emperor because he sent so few ships and supplies. Did they know Rathyn had paid them this last time from his own pocket? Gathias did. Would he and the others follow Rathyn against the Emperor?

Aware of Mariah's scrutiny, he let the desire he felt show in his expression. She quickly looked away and crossed her arms as though to ward him off. Would she respond differently to him if he were king? Chadyk women desired men of high position and power. He had no idea what Syrithian women valued in a man and that irked him.

First, he needed to worry about the Kahns, he told himself. Excitement lifted his mood. Victory was the best way to win men's loyalty. And surely, he’d win Mariah’s admiration as well.

Feeling a smile tug at his lips, he considered his men again. He would need to organize them into companies headed by leaders he could trust. And he would need to leave someone in charge here at the castle. He had to prepare the men, assign a squad to stay here. And he had to let Mariah go.

The thought brought him up short, hit him like a blow. Yet he knew in his heart to take her into battle against the Kahns would be dangerous - warrior queen or not, she was still a woman. He wanted to protect her, make love to her, see her eyes shine with adoration for him as his wife's had. By the gods, he didn't want to release her. Could he keep her here? If he were gone, could he trust his men not to burn her as a witch?

Images of Mariah tied to a stake, flames licking at her skin jolted him. Before he could change his mind, he called down to Stephanos to leave the portcullis up. Pulling Mariah to him, he caught a handful of her long satin hair and covered her full, vulnerable mouth with his. If he was going to let her go, he damn well was going to taste her first.

She tried to turn her face away, but he tightened his grip, crushing her soft lips, all his pent-up desire and frustration driving him to force her mouth open. He sampled the sweet, hot cavern and thrust his tongue deeper. The touch of her tongue shot fire through his veins. Only a kiss, he told himself. But he wanted more, much more.

He slid his hand to her breast and cupped it. So soft. He rubbed his thumb across the tender tip. She shuddered and his blood felt like lava burning through his veins. He was falling into her like a man drowning. For a second, she melted against him. Then her hands shoved against his chest, fighting, hitting. He released her.

Fear and anger flashed in her silver-blue eyes. Had he imagined that moment of response?

He clenched his hands at his sides. Inwardly, he groaned, stifled his burning desire to tear off the tunic and leggings she wore and take her there on the battlement.

She pressed back against the wall. Her breasts fell and rose with each breath, the hardened nipples clearly outlined by the tight tunic. By the gods, she was as aroused as he. He reached for her, knowing this was too fast, that she needed time to grieve, time to adjust. Damn, there wasn't time!

Turmoil glimmered in her eyes. She put one foot up on the battlement edge and leaned out. "Stop or I'll jump!"

No! He lunged, grabbed her, wrestled her to the floor, rolling with her until she was beneath him. She thrashed and kicked, clawed and punched, but he had the advantage of size and weight. Over and over, he deflected her punches, wincing from the pummeling, managing to keep her from drawing blood or hitting any vital spots.

Chest heaving, gasping for air, she finally stilled. Aware of her soft curves intimately held against his, aware that he wanted this, her forever, he ground out, "I release you from your vow, Mariah. You don't have to stay." His heart twisted. How could he release her?

"Then let go," she commanded, bucking against him with renewed energy.

Lust raged through him. By the Gods, if she didn't cease thrusting her hips against his, he was going to take her right there and damn the consequences.

She stopped abruptly, and swallowed at whatever she saw in his face. His mouth was inches from hers and she had nowhere to go. She looked wildly at his eyes as though beseeching him to stop. His heart thundered.

One more kiss. "Mariah," he murmured before covering her lips, smothering a gasp of protest. He tasted her again, slanting his mouth one way then the other, gliding his tongue across hers, forcing her to remain open to him, then gentling his touch as her mouth relaxed, accepted. Heat shot through his loins. Fire consumed him. Her scent filled his nostrils as he plundered her mouth, lost in sensations of her body yielding to his, reveling in her softness, maddened by the barrier of her clothes. Whether she admitted it or not, she too wanted, needed.

He yanked at her tunic, slid his hand beneath the fabric, her silken skin taut and warm under his exploring palm.

A cry, of pain or pleasure he couldn't tell, escaped between her lips.

Abruptly, the cold, hard floor, the stone wall, everything returned to focus. His mind reeled. This was madness! He rolled off her and staggered upright, his breath raspy in his ears, his body burning for release. For a moment she looked shocked, dazed, her eyes silvery blue, passionate. Then she scrambled to her feet. He grabbed her arm and pulled her down the stairs, aware that all it would take was one little sign from her and he would drag her to his bed chamber and finish what he'd started, keep her there regardless of the outcome.

But fury shone in her eyes, defiance etched in the tempting swell of her lips. She would never admit feeling anything but hatred for him. She would never submit to his will. In a perverse way, her strength and determination both pleased and frustrated him. Before he could change his mind, he threw her into Stephanos's arms. "Take her across the bridge. To the edge of the forest. Let her go." She was no witch, but a woman so desirable he must release her or let her proximity drive all honor from his mind.

#

Rathyn's words rang in Mariah's ears. She gaped at him. Stephanos's gaze widened. Was he as shocked as she felt? He saluted, "Yes, sir."

Silently, he led her from the castle, across the moat and toward the forest. The trees grew larger as they approached the dense woods. She remembered the captain's wish that she kill Rathyn, his accusation that she'd bewitched the commander. She felt the soldier's malevolence now and wondered if he'd try to kill her away from the castle. But at the edge of the forest, without a word, he turned away. Mariah watched him return to the fortress.

Was the small figure on the battlement Rathyn? Why had he released her? What was his motive? He was an unfathomable brute of a man.

Her skin burned where he'd touched her, and her bruised lips still felt the heat of his mouth, the taste of him. He wanted her so much - this Chadyk - and yet had let her go. For a moment she had wanted to stay with him forever, locked in his embrace. Wanted to feel his skin against hers, answer his passion with her own, let the wild thunder of her heart have its way. It made her feel hot and weak.

Pushing down the ache his need had aroused within her, she turned away and darted through the trees, headed for the brook where she expected to find members of her tribe and the body of her husband.

#

That night, near the unnamed brook, Mariah led the six council members and two assistants to the pyre where her husband lay. She had spent the day in funeral ceremony for those lost in the last battle, done everything demanded of her. But the worst lay ahead, the ceremony for her husband - with the knowledge of her own treacherous response to Rathyn.

The cold air smelled of fresh rain and a half moon lit the sky. Twigs and leaves cushioned her steps as she positioned herself beside the scaffold. The three men and three women followed suit and formed a circle around the body. She carefully withdrew the bone knife from her belt and held it up. The ceremonial blade gleamed, pale as grass burned away by the summer sun.

The two assistants, bearing torches, stepped forward so her movements could better be seen. Because her husband had died two days ago, the blood of the living was necessary to give energy to his soul, make it possible to follow Syrith. In a quick motion, she sliced her wrist. It stung, the pain easing her guilt as her blood dripped warmly across her palm and through her fingers. Each of the council members did the same. As one, they chanted for Syrith's light to take Ishian's spirit with Her this night. They moved in unison around the small scaffold until drops of blood circled it.

Mariah gestured toward the first assistant who stood in the tree shadows with the second. The woman quickly wove her way among them and bound their wounds.

"It is time to light the fire and make the naming." Mariah announced. No new babe had been born since the previous battle to receive a name of one of the dead so that the spirit might live again. She would give her husband's name in another way.

She raised her hands and the three men stepped back. Her mother, Anna, lit the tinder from their storehouse. It was dry and brittle and it crackled and blazed. Soon smoke filled the air and it reeked of burnt flesh.

"So your spirit has a resting place," Mariah said in her strongest voice, "I give you the brook, my husband. It shall be called Ishian's spring and here will I come to speak with you when I am troubled."

Her mother, Anna whispered, "You give him great honor. His tribe will be pleased."

A murmur of agreement flowed around her. If only they knew she did it more out of guilt than love. "It is time for the dance," Mariah commanded, suddenly exhausted.

In single file, she led the way through the forest, left the two assistants behind to tend the fire. Her robes caught on branches, roots tripped at her feet, and she wished only for this night to end. Finally she saw the welcome sight of the tents. Small group fires had been lit and the performers were ready, dressed in ancestral robes and intricately carved masks of the gods. Only one stood out, ugly, twisted, bulging eyes, scar-covered face: the dark god Kleyeth. A myth?

She'd always told herself so. But now she wondered if Kleyeth wasn't laughing at her awakened passion in a Chadyk's arms?

She dismissed the idea, forced her feet forward. All the tribal representatives were gathered. Since Mariah's capture, Anna had called her people together using the Seer, Bahleal.

The strongest Seer, Mariah's cousin Salia, Bahleal’s daughter had been captured along with Mariah and thirty others. Ishian had been dragged from the battlefield by Jarad. Once Ishian’s wounds were almost healed, he had insisted on trying to help the captives escape on his own. Not a good strategist, or great warrior, she wondered why he'd been so determined to go. The question swirled in her brain until the dying embers of the fire flickered out.

The last dancer moved past her, his grass skirt swishing like the wind, his face blackened with coal. His steps and the strong way he moved reminded her of Rathyn.

Why had he let the rest of her people go? And herself as well? She didn't understand him. Lilas called him kind; was he? When she thought of him she felt torn by confusion, by a wanting deep within herself that had no name, and by an anger that he should affect her so. "Syrith's will be done," she prayed silently, trying to dismiss Rathyn from her mind. But the Chadyk Commander followed her into her dreams that night, stroking and caressing her with his callused hands, igniting a fire in her body that consumed her and left her empty and defenseless with wanting, hungry for his kiss and yearning for more.

Chapter Five

Rathyn trudged through the mud as the rain slashed against him. Hard, driving pellets of water and ice plastered his hair to his skin and numbed his body with a bitter cold that made him ache for shelter. Even conjured images of Mariah, memories of her lips captured by his, her body beneath his, failed to warm him any longer. Now, the early darkness slowed the column even more. He had hoped to cover the first half of the journey to the mountains quickly, for once they crossed the river tomorrow they would lose their cover of trees.

For his plan to succeed, speed was essential, but for over two weeks he'd led his company of men upriver trying to find the crossing place while bad weather slowed them to a snail's pace.

His horse faltered behind him and pulled on the lead-line. He noticed the drooping shoulders of his soldiers, and knew they could push no further that night. Arm raised, he yelled, "Halt!" Its exhausted echo rippled down the company line.

Thick stands of trees edged both sides of the river and he had the uncanny sense he was being watched as he unloaded his sleeping mat and gave his horse over to his personal guard. The sensation had followed him from the moment he'd crossed through the forest to the river. As he approached the Kahn mountains, his foreboding grew.

The rain eased into a fine drizzle for the first time in hours and he saw the slow, tired movements of his men as they lashed a roughshod corral together for the horses, spread thick canvas across the ground for sleeping mats and with the last of their dry wood built a small fire. Cloaks were hung to dry on low tree limbs. With the rain and only a sliver of moon, visibility was poor. At least he could be grateful for that. The Kahns wouldn't see anything.

He wondered if Mariah's people tracked him and his men along the water. If it were the Kahns, he'd already be up to his neck in blood. But if Syrithians tracked them, what would happen? If not for the nape hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, he'd think he and his men alone in their march.

At least the grumbling had stopped. He saw Stephanos near the fire talking to Lieutenant Annias and joined them. They snapped to attention.

"Where are the other captains?" Rathyn demanded.

Stephanos spoke first. "I'm sure they'll be here."

Rathyn's cloak clung to his skin. Shrugging it off, he hung it over his arm where it might benefit from the fire's warmth. Water from his hair dripped unpleasantly down his neck to his sodden tunic. "And you, Lt. Annias? You're with the third company aren't you?"

Lt. Annias raised his eyebrows, obviously surprised Rathyn remembered. Such personal comments had helped make Rathyn the most popular commander in Spartyk. Although he had never liked Lt. Annias, would never forget that Annias had killed Mariah's husband, he hoped his gift of memory would work his popularity here.

"Captain Leeyek sent me ahead to tell you we'd stopped. He told me to stay with your camp and ride back in the morning."

Rathyn nodded while inside he considered Captain Leeyek's failure to report personally. It was a challenge of authority he would have to address. Stephanos and Annias's conversation turned to unimportant matters. Annias complained about the weather.

"With any luck it will hold for another day or two," Stephanos disagreed. "The Kahns will never see us come."

"We need the element of surprise." Rathyn said, as he took in Annias's swarthy face, wiry, almost comical limbs, and dripping dark mustache. Annias looked like a thoroughly miserable drowned rat.

"It wouldn't be so bad if we'd brought a few women," Annias whined. "To warm our beds at night."

His whiny voice set Rathyn's teeth on edge. "Women would slow us down, get in the way. We need our minds focused on the enemy," he chastised.

Annias glared at Rathyn but said nothing. He hawked and spat in the fire, then skulked over to his bedroll.

"He was just griping," Stephanos said.

"I hate his whining voice and I'm tired of hearing complaints," Rathyn said as he watched the activity around him. Like worker ants, his men finished their tasks. Some chewed hard-tack, some crawled directly into their bedrolls.

Horse-hooves sounded through the trees but there was no call to alarm. The captains in charge of Company Four and Five rode up simultaneously and dismounted. They saluted Rathyn. After a brief report that all was well, they warmed themselves by the fire.

Rathyn pulled hard-tack from the leather pouch he'd attached to his sword belt and tore a bite. It was dry and tough, but tasted of meat and salt, and he needed both.

He picked up a torch from the fire and held it aloft. "Come with me to the river," he addressed Stephanos and the other two captains. From the trees, they followed him across the rocky bank and down to the water.

Bending, Rathyn used his hands to drink. Despite the muddy sand, the water tasted cool and sweet. He filled his water skin and drank some more.

The captains crouched beside him and Rathyn spoke in a low voice. "Tomorrow we'll cross here. We won't have another water source until we reach the mountains. Tell the men to fill every skin and to drink sparingly for the next two days. Once we reach the edge of the mountains we'll need to send out trackers to find out where the Kahns are gathered." He passed a map to Stephanos and waited until each man had a good look at it. "Stephanos, I want you to ride with Lt. Annias back to Company Three and tell Captain Leeyek that the next time he sends another in his place he will lose his command."

"Yes, sir."

The three captains shuffled their feet and shot sidelong glances at each other.

The wind picked up and blew cold wet tendrils of Rathyn's hair into his face. Brushing it back, his gaze shifted and he saw movement on the other side of the riverbank.

He caught Stephanos's arm in a tight grip and gestured with his other hand.

"What is it?" Stephanos whispered, his eyes tracking the movement too.

Rathyn narrowed his eyes and searched the far riverbank, saw nothing and shrugged. "Could be an animal." Or a spy. Were the Kahns and Syrithians working together? Would he and his men be slaughtered three days from now? Who would ambush who?

Stephanos started into the water as if to cross and Rathyn stilled him. "No. We'll never catch it. Not in this poor light. The pickets might cross its path. Let them do their job."

"But if it's a spy... If the Kahns know where we are. That we're coming...."

"I know." Rathyn sighed. He had taken a calculated risk the last two days and ordered no defense fortifications be made at each camp. They'd traveled day and night with little sleep and only the sentries stood between them and a possible enemy. "It doesn't matter. We must go. We have to take them by surprise."

"But we could be outnumbered two to one!" Stephanos repeated what he'd said before they left. "We should return to the castle. Wait for the promised reinforcements."

Rathyn snapped, "And be trapped in the castle and starved out?" He would not put his life in the Emperor's hands.

He scowled at Stephanos. They’d argued about this since leaving the fortress. He found himself wondering about Stephanos’s loyalty, then shook off the notion. He was overtired. At thirty-three, he felt old next to the captain's twenty. The other two men had fought with Rathyn many times and were his age or older, but Stephanos had only two previous battles to his credit. Yet he'd performed well and had been promoted twice for valor. How much was favoritism from the Emperor and how much had Stephanos earned? Stephanos's smile seemed forced, yet it reminded Rathyn of his younger brother.

Tempted to put his arm around the captain’s shoulders, Rathyn stood instead. "Yes. Without the element of surprise this could well be our last battle." What if they were too late, and the Kahns had already wiped out our small garrison in the mountains? The thought disheartened him.

They walked back to the eucalyptus and elms, where the fire flickered, barely alive. Would he be alive next week? Would any of them? After the two captains mounted up, he glanced around. The camp had settled into a relative quiet, guards walked the periphery, noiseless, well-trained shadows. But training could not make a man invincible against a greater foe.

The pungent odor of smoke and menthe, mixed with the fresh crispness of the halted rain smelled good. He took a deep breath, and let it out. Stephanos warmed his hands over the fire.

"Once I would have welcomed death," he murmured.

Stephanos raised his eyebrows at Rathyn's confession, but Rathyn didn't care. He was aware of the boundaries of their friendship, how much he could say as commander and friend, how much he must hold back. But he needed to acknowledge what everyone seemed to know. That he'd been a man in search of death when he'd accepted the Emperor's commission. That the assignment had given him a reason to go on living for one more day.

"But not anymore?" Stephanos queried.

Rathyn smiled and stared tiredly at the fire. "Not anymore," he agreed. He visualized an image of Mariah’s bewitching face within the flames. His eyelids drooped, and he realized how dead-tired he was. Too tired to talk. His muscles ached, his belly rumbled and his bones felt so damn cold.

"Goodnight." He turned away, took his vision of Mariah with him to his bedroll and closed his eyes. And in his mind he finished his conversation to Stephanos. I want to live, I want to hold Mariah in my arms and finish what I started on the battlement. I want to feel her flesh beneath mine, soft and hot. In his thoughts he saw her in his chamber when she'd stood naked before him. But this time instead of dressing in his tunic and leggings, she smiled seductively and came to him, pulled him to his feet and slowly peeled off his garments as she rained light kisses on his face, shoulders, chest, her silken hair whisking like feathers of delight across his skin. She placed his hands on her full breasts and moaned softly in her throat as he kissed and stroked her. Her arms were strong. She clung to him as he gripped her backside and pulled her with him onto the bed. Her hot channel fit snugly around him as he slowly lowered her hips over his.

Rathyn stopped the fantasy abruptly. The pressure of his erection was becoming unbearable. Feeling like he had an extra leg, he slipped from his bedroll, moved softly between the sleeping soldiers and down to the water's edge. The sentry signaled without speaking and Rathyn replied with a hand gesture, "All is well."

But the message mocked him as he dove into the frigid water. All would not be well until he'd claimed Mariah as his woman, loved her so thoroughly she could not resist. But would he live to gain the chance?

Chapter Six

Mariah entered Salia's tent. Just roused from sleep, her eyes felt gritty while a yawn pulled at her mouth. What was so urgent? She extinguished her torch and slid it into the stone amphora where it would soak in oil.

Only a single candle burned in the center of the large tent. Beyond it lay Salia's empty sleeping mat, strewn with soft pillows. A small table, like the one in the center of the room, stood beside the bed. On it were two small cups and a bottle of khalento, an intoxicant the Kahns had introduced to the Syrithians hundreds of years before. Her husband’s favorite drink. Most used it now only for ceremonies.

"Salia?" She called, moving further into the tent. What game was her cousin playing? She recalled her vision in the castle, the knife in her back wielded by a Syrithian hand. The tent flap rustled and she felt a draft of cold air. She whirled toward the entry. "Jarad." She exhaled in relief. He was a strong and agile warrior, and a friend from birth. "Where's Salia?"

Jarad smiled, his face a false gold in the tent's flickering light, his eyes murky. "She's coming. But first I wished to speak to you - alone." She did not see the sweet, open-faced Jarad she remembered from her girlhood. Now, his eyes glittered with darkness - and lust. His look reminded her of his words before the last battle.

"You and I feel the same heat of passion and hate," he had said. "If I die this day I want you to know that I love you more than a council brother should."

Instead her husband had died. Jarad would ask to join her tribe, marry her. Dismay wound through her. She could put him off for the six months she would be allowed to grieve. But then what? As inexplicable as it seemed, her heart burned for the Chadyk Commander. Thoughts of him made her pulse quicken. Though she could never have him, she would not try to fill her need with a substitute; a lie. She would perform her duty, live with honor, and dream of a man she could never have.

Mariah took a step back as Jarad advanced. "You've been avoiding me ever since your return. And I do not think it is because you grieve for your husband."

A brittle anger filled her. What did he know of her loss? Of being a woman expected to fight as well as a man in battle and in council, yet also expected to marry as duty decreed, a man she felt no passion for. Syrith had denied her a child. Yet she had fulfilled everyone's expectations. But not her own.

The unflagging determination of her youth had disappeared in Rathyn's arms. She had come back to her people torn in two. Although she'd belittled the Chadyk culture where the woman's place and man's place was so securely known, a part of her felt it would be a blessing to rest in such a role. To look to someone else for answers. But she was Queen. She cut off her silent laments. Self-pity was a nasty habit. Next she'd be tearing her hair and wailing like a mad woman about her lot. "What do you want, Jarad?"

His gaze grew intimate, but his words were harsh. "I want you to release the council from your vow to the Chadyk Commander for the truce." He spat the word Chadyk.

Mariah's mind whirled. Or what? Over the last few days she had heard the discontented murmurs, the dark questioning looks of her people that said they wanted war, but this? She remembered Rathyn's unvoiced fear of his own men. God, what had he faced when he'd let her go?

Jarad's wide-legged stance, his posture and the hard lines of his face clearly challenged her authority and made her think the Chadyk word mutiny. She felt her stomach tighten with queasiness. A queen had not been challenged in over two hundred years. She had no wish to fight Jarad.

She forced out calm words, hoping he would back down, wondering, was her desire to believe in Rathyn now to be her undoing? "I will never go back on my word."

In two strides Jarad had her shoulders in a tight grip and his face bent so close to hers she felt his warm breath. "Why?" His gaze searched hers. "We are not bound by our vows to outsiders. No one would hold it against you."

"I made a bargain. The commander kept his word and more. Can I do less? It is not a question of what others think, it is a question of honor."

"Even if you risk The Challenge?"

Her breath caught. Suddenly she knew the council had talked about this behind her back, had made a plan, and had sent Jarad to carry it out.

His arms closed around her. "Take back your foolish promise, Mariah," he whispered. "Help us... help me..." He tried to kiss her and she pushed him away. He glared at her. "So it's true..." His words rang with bitterness. "Salia said you would never agree with the council or accept a meeting with the Kahns." His hands curled into fists. "She said you love the Chadyk Commander. She knew it the moment you returned, but she didn't want to believe it. Not until the Kahns sent the message, and offered their help in exchange for ours, to wipe out the Chadyks. You turned them down without an audience, without speaking to us first."

Mariah swallowed, wishing she could deny it.

"Tonight I had hoped to find in you a lover. Instead I find a Chadyk woman, not a queen!" Disgust and anger seethed in his tone. "Shall I take you the way a Chadyk would?"

Salia threw back the tent flap and entered. "That will not be necessary." Her silky voice cut between Mariah and Jarad. She stopped at Jarad's side, her silver-blue eyes nearly black in the candle's glow, contempt for Mariah evident.

A cold righteous anger ripped through Mariah. "You are not in command here, Salia."

Salia smirked. "I challenge your right to lead, Cousin. Jarad is my witness."

Mariah forced a cold smile and said haughtily, "Then I accept with pleasure. I will show you what a Queen can do." As she took a step toward her cousin she narrowed her gaze. "Since you make the challenge, I will choose the weapon."

Salia's brow creased worriedly for a moment. Then she smiled, smug confidence in her eyes. "So it shall be."

"So it shall be," Mariah repeated. She strode past Jarad to the tent flap and lit a torch. She would go back to her own bed, and in quiet meditation find the inner confidence to match her outward facade.

"Wait."

Mariah stiffened. Damn her. "I do not take orders from you," she said.

Salia's mouth tightened. She ground out, "Forgive me, Cousin. But I do not wish to wait three days for the challenge. It is my right as challenger to name the time. I choose tomorrow, when the moon is overhead."

And in the darkness Salia would have the advantage as a Seer. Mariah agreed, an inner trembling striking her before she left. As her vision had warned her, she had been stabbed in the back by a Syrithian. But no, the vision had shown her pregnant with Rathyn's child. Did that mean she would win the challenge? Hope surged through her, then she recalled her cousin's words: the future is like water, always in motion. Only when the challenge was over would she know the outcome.

In the quiet, she moved through the tribal camp and further into the trees. With long strides and an energy she'd thought lost, she kept on, until Ishian's Spring spread before her. She sat by the brook, on the large, flat stones and sought comfort there. For she knew, as did everyone, that in a challenge, a Seer had never been defeated. Mariah was an untrained Seer; Salia had a great advantage. As a queen other responsibilities and training had taken her time, and she kept the gift secret, uncomfortable with it. Now it might be the only thing to save her. For every challenge ended in death.

#

Near dawn, Mariah was kneeling beside her sleeping pallet when the tent flap opened and her mother, Anna, entered.

Mariah smiled her gratitude at the welcome company. "Mother, come in." She gestured toward a large woven pillow. "Please, sit."

Anna, face drawn and lined, brow furrowed, eyes worried, slowly sank into the pillow beside her. Her gaze skidded across the floor. "Although I don't agree with your vow to the Chadyk Commander, I want you to know I voted against the others, against this." Her voice broke. She cleared her throat, fixed on the weapons beside Mariah. "You have your chain-mail shirt, sword, knife. Have you chosen a weapon then?"

Mariah nodded, wondering what her mother had come to say. She waited, then picked up her husband's mail shirt and stroked its cool metal rings. "It's so beautiful...." In the candlelight, it shimmered like pale silver. She put it down, gratified at its weave and sorrowed that it had not saved him.

Her mother mutely touched Mariah's shoulder, unshed tears in her eyes. "I have lost my husband to the Kahns, my youngest daughter to the Chadyks, then my son-in-law. Now the council would take my last daughter from me...." She swallowed, and bent her head, her silver hair streaked with the white of age.

Mariah sought to comfort her with a hug. As she pulled away she felt a wisp of cold air, the light touch of young fingers. Her sister's soft familiar laugh teased her ears, then faded. "Strange that your words make Terah seem close..." An ill omen? She shivered.

Anna reached out and put her hand on Mariah's arm. "I dreamed of Terah while you were held by the Chadyks." She closed her eyes for a moment. "She warned me of the challenge and said you must use all your gifts...."

Mariah felt her mother tremble. "What is it?"

"She said you should follow your heart and not be afraid. And that she would see you soon...."

A prophecy of death? Mariah pushed away the notion. Soon could mean a lifetime. She gave her mother an encouraging smile and drew her to her feet as she stood. "As Syrith wills, my mother."

"As Syrith wills," her mother murmured.

Mariah hugged her again, felt the beat of her mother's heart, the uneven texture of her wrinkled skin, the strength of her aged hands as they clung to each other.

"I love you, daughter," her mother whispered, "so much...."

Tears stung Mariah's eyes. "And I you." After a moment, she stepped back. "Let us join the council." Her mother nodded and led the way through the camp. No one approached or spoke to either of them. A somber quiet followed them.

Outside the council tent, Mariah closed her eyes and within her mind drew a curtain across all she had meditated on the night before, and on all her thoughts that morning. She only hoped it would be enough to keep Salia from knowing her plan. She focused her mind on Syrith, the moon-goddess, and pushed open the tent flap.

The tent was large, to accommodate a map table in one corner and a serving table for food and drink in the other. The council members sat in their traditional places, three on each side of the table. There were two members from each tribe, wearing tribal colors, sitting on large pillows. Mariah and her mother wore blue - for the council and all tribes.

No one smiled. No one offered a greeting. It was the first time in Mariah's life she'd looked into these faces and seen either such open animosity or blank sadness. Did they consider her already dead? Head high, she passed between them and took her place. Her mother sat to her left, beside Salia.

The tension in the room tightened Mariah's throat. She stood, throwing off her fear and holding Syrith's image in her mind under Salia's sharp gaze. Using a softer, sadder tone that projected despair, she said, "Last night I accepted Salia's challenge, as I must." She gazed searchingly in the familiar faces of Herodotus and Nahil, then Bahleal, Jarad, and finally Salia. Jarad did not meet her eyes. The others first met her gaze, then looked away. "Will no one speak against this challenge, this madness? Herodotus? Nahil? You have always been men of peace. You taught me to value peace above all else; not only in my home-life but with all peoples."

Guilt shone in the two men's eyes, but they said nothing.

Salia spoke instead. "Peace has led us nowhere! The Kahns and Chadyks perceived us as sheep to be slaughtered when we offered peace! They respect only war - only blood and victory will give us peace!" Her eyes burned into Mariah's.

Mariah felt the touch of Salia's will and thoughts, prying, questioning, wanting answers within Mariah's mind. She clasped Syrith's chant to her heart and repeated the prayer in her mind. Then she spoke, "I have chosen the empty hand as my weapon."

Salia gasped, so did Anna. Around the table, eyebrows pulled together in consternation or lifted in surprise.

"That cannot be," Salia cried. And Mariah knew Salia had expected Mariah to choose the knife, for it was a weapon Mariah handled like an extension of herself.

"Quiet!" Herodotus demanded. A flash of respect gleamed in his eyes, and Mariah knew she'd won points with him and Nahil. "The hand is a weapon of combat. It is a fair choice."

Salia's face flushed. Hands clenched at her sides, she stood and faced Mariah without asking for permission.

Many traditions were being broken this day, Mariah thought.

"I accept your choice of weapon. It will not save you," Salia spat. "I will see you at moon-rise."

"So it shall be," Mariah acknowledged, slumping her shoulders slightly. It was the first time she'd ever done so consciously. She didn't like the feelings of doubt that came with it, but she wanted to convince Salia she had all but given up. With a curt nod at the others, she shuffled slowly from the tent.

Her personal messenger approached her outside, his voice low, "The Chadyk army will be crossing the Syrith river by now."

Mariah waited.

He swallowed. "Salia and the council have amassed a secret army for battle," his voice tightened with disgust, "to help the Kahns." He lowered his head for a moment, a gesture of respect. "Many of us, especially those released by the new Chadyk Commander feel as you do. You must win the challenge, Your Majesty. Stop this folly."

Mariah thanked him and slowly walked back to her tent. If Salia assumed leadership, the army would march. She could almost see the paths they would take to save time - to reach the Kahn mountains on Rathyn's heels. But if she won? Would the army obey her? If she ordered her people to help the Chadyks, what would they do? Again the Chadyk word mutiny came to mind.

No. If she won against Salia, the strongest Seer of all the tribes, she would win her people back to her. She knew it, felt it. She must win!

#

The day passed slowly. Tribespeople who questioned the council's vote to allow the challenge visited Mariah, wanted her to know she hadn't lost her friends. She felt thankful for the show of support.

As darkness fell, she impulsively slipped on Rathyn's blue tunic and leggings, then her light chain mail, and another tunic to hide it. Did she really expect Salia to cheat? She and her cousin had played together, had always known one of them would be queen. Had Salia's envy deepened to hatred?

The disturbing questions only made her anxiety worse. She pushed them away and finished braiding her hair, and picked up the polished abalone barrette her husband had carved for her as a wedding gift. She closed her palms around it and knelt. "You offered to break our bond, Ishian, so now I pray to you - if you disapprove of my feelings, if your will and Syrith's is against my treaty with the Chadyks, then let me die honorably this night."

As though to answer, a single, lone horn sounded. It was time.

Her toe nudged her knife as she stood. She picked it up, felt its comforting weight and wondered if she'd made the right choice. Although she hated it, uncertainty crept into her mind as she eyed her blue cloak, spread like the sky across her bed. Would she wear it as a shroud?

She had gone over the upcoming combat with every conceivable move and countermove, focused her subconscious on automatic responses she'd practiced since childhood, and opened herself up to the Seer's gift. But if it made a difference in her preparation she did not feel it. Now, her stomach felt tight and sick. Fear crawled with cool fingers down her back. Her mouth felt as dry as the Kahn desert, and she wished she were not about to face her cousin in challenge, wished she were anywhere but here.

With a deep sigh she pushed back her tent flap and stepped out. The night sky rolled with dark, ominous thunderclouds, briefly blocking the full moon, looking about to burst with rain. She could smell the life-giving water in the air. It would come soon.

The drummer began pounding out the ritual song. Voices chimed in, "Hey, ya, Syrith, sho, ya, Syrith...." In clusters of three and four, people stood, dressed in their most somber robes as tradition decreed. All except Mariah who wore the tunics and leggings. Yet the fact she had strayed from tradition made her feel taller, stronger, more powerful than the robed figures around her. She was Mariah, the Magic Wind, fast, strong, courageous, and she was queen.

No one spoke except in song. From across the camp, one hundred yards away, Salia approached. She'd had the audacity to wear the blue celebration robes of the wind tribe, Mariah's tribe, not Salia's. The Seer's confidence knew no bounds. Mariah clenched her hands, realizing Salia must have anticipated her anger. Anger caused mistakes, impatience. She closed her eyes, took several deep breaths, listened to the chanting, the murmurs of concern and uneasiness. Many were disturbed by Salia's blatant disregard for tribal respect.

Mariah's thoughts flowed to Rathyn's blue leggings and under tunic that she wore. Never had she needed a warrior's strength, a wolf's cunning, and an old man's wisdom, more than now. She smiled as Rathyn's image filled her mind, then emptied her thoughts and focused on the opening ritual.

The two opponents would stay within a large circle of fires. After a brief embrace they would each pray for Syrith's will, and fight to the death.

As challenger, Salia held out her hands first, her wrists turned up to show the scars of the dead for whom she had bled. Also to show she held no weapon. "I, Salia, challenge your right to lead. May the Goddess shine bright upon the one who should stand in victory tonight." Her shoulder-length hair was held back by a strip of cloth that matched her robe. Her eyes taunted Mariah.

Mariah stifled her irritation, calmly held out her hands and turned her wrists up in one crisp motion. The thin scars at her wrists and on her arms appeared surreal, silver ribbons that might slip away like a snake.

Suddenly the fires vanished in a dark mist which engulfed her. A vision! Not now! But the silver ribbons on her arms became chains, dragged at her, yanked, and she felt a multitude press in around her, push, shove, then pull and tear at her clothes, her hair. Kahn cries, then Chadyk, filled her ears, "Burn the Syrithian witch! Burn the Queen!" Flames rose high into the sky before her.

Then they were the flames of the surrounding fires again. The vision mist swept away in a blink. She found herself still standing in place, her arms out. Her heart pounded in her chest while blood roared in her ears. What did it mean? The chains had been of Kahn origin. But she'd heard Chadyk voices. Her thoughts jumped. To see such chains she would have to win tonight. Then she realized Salia could have sent her the vision, could have discovered her secret. She had never needed to hide her thoughts from a Seer before, perhaps she had failed.

Her eyes sought Salia's and as the drum beat they moved forward in unison, paused only a few feet from each other. Mariah saw uncertainty in Salia's eyes, in her furrowed brow and tight lips, then a mask of confidence. Mariah spoke loudly, "I accept the challenge. May the victor lead our people as Syrith wills."

Nahil stepped forward. "Before we begin, I would have you both swear to using only the hand and body in combat."

"I swear," Mariah said first.

Salia echoed her, jealousy and hatred in her eyes, and Mariah wondered if her cousin would keep her people's most sacred trust, that of truth.

They embraced. As children they had hugged with love, Mariah mourned its loss as Salia whispered, "You have the gift of Sight. Still, I am younger and faster than you. And I know how to use my power while you still tremble with it." She smiled, malevolence in her drawn brows and narrowed gaze. "You had a vision tonight. I saw it pass your face and leave you pale. Was it your own death you saw - and your lover's?" She backed up a step and lashed out with her fist.

Mariah leapt sideways, thoughts concerning Rathyn vanquished as Salia's knuckles grazed her shoulder. She pivoted on one foot, and kicked at Salia's side. Her heel skimmed material, missing her target point.

Salia smirked and lashed out again with a two-fist combination of blows. Mariah pulled back. Tucking her elbows in toward her ribs, she blocked the first two punches with her forearms. She threw a left jab at Salia’s jaw, grazing it as Salia ducked. Salia came in close, pushing up on her feet, driving her fist in an uppercut to Mariah’s midsection. Mariah staggered backward, sucking air through the pain.

She must act in unexpected ways. She dive-rolled past Salia, and jumped to her feet. Next, she rushed straight at her cousin as if she'd had no combat training at all. The impact jarred her shoulder, but Salia fell back. Mariah slammed her into the dirt, on top of her like two kids in a wrestling match. She locked her hands around Salia's throat and squeezed. Salia's elbow drove into her ribs like a spike. Mariah fought to hang on, each breath filled with fiery pain.

Salia writhed and twisted. Her hands locked around Mariah's wrists in desperation. Mariah sensed Salia's fear, like a rush of cold in her own veins, as she cut off her cousin's air and held her down. "Do you really wish to die?" Mariah ground out, her tone rough, ragged.

The silver of Salia's eyes blotted out the blue, began to bulge from her head.

She couldn't do it! Couldn't kill her cousin. She loosened her fingers and Salia twisted free, scrambled to her feet, her face blotched red as she gasped.

Mariah wiped the irritating trickle of sweat from her nose and eyes. Her under tunic clung like skin.

Smoke from the fires rolled overhead like mist from a valley of clouds. She backed up as Salia closed the distance between them, murder in her eyes. Mariah circled, her knees bent, her body forward. She waited, circling Salia, weight on the balls of her feet, dancing within the border of flames. If she made no move to strike, how could Salia anticipate her?

Yet how could she win without killing Salia?

Salia leapt, brought her body in close. Her fist connected with Mariah's shoulder. She moved with Salia’s power, spun around and blocked another blow. Salia's fist slid past her ear.

Fighting the urge to strike back, Mariah circled away again. She felt the eyes of her people follow her, sensed their puzzlement. She had let Salia escape when she had the advantage. Now she was letting Salia set the pace and reacting to it.

With a smug smile of confidence, Salia feinted left. Mariah shifted her weight to her right foot. Instead of throwing a jab, Salia surprised her, thrusting her leg forward and hooking back to catch Mariah's ankle.

Mariah saw the night sky, the blur of Salia’s robes, felt the hard ground jar her shoulder, steal her breath. She rolled sideways to avoid Salia's next blow, felt Salia's heel slam into her temple. Dizzy, she tried to stand. Salia threw dirt in her eyes. Stumbling backwards, blinded. Mariah swiped at her eyes, tears of pain welling up.

An explosion of agony struck her side and she realized Salia had hit her in the ribs with a side-handed blow. Open your mind, her inner voice commanded, see the white diamond in the black box - the Seer's box. Within her mind, Salia's blurred image closed in for a killing blow. She saw the blow before it came, sensed the double-fist movement aimed for her nose, for the bridge of bone that would pierce her brain and kill.

Mariah crouched, blocking Salia's kick, then the killing jab. Stepping forward, using her momentum, Mariah drove her elbow into the Seer’s abdomen. Salia grunted in pain. Yet, her cousin's arms snaked around Mariah's unprotected neck and yanked. They rolled in the dirt. Mariah felt water and mud and realized it'd begun to rain. Salia pressed her face in the mud, all her weight behind it. Coughing, choking, Mariah struggled for air. Her lungs burned. She shoved sideways. Salia's weight bore down on her back. Mariah twisted, elbowed her cousin again, felt her hold loosen. Tucking her head, she grabbed Salia’s robes and yanked, flipping her cousin to the ground.

In seconds they were both on their feet. Rain-streaked stripes of mud marked Salia’s face. Mariah felt the wet mud caked on her own. Focused on the enemy before her, the enemy she must kill, Mariah gave her fiercest battle cry, like the gut-wrenching scream of the eagle sounding victory.

She dove for Salia's waist, slamming her cousin to the ground, then scrambling for a choke hold. Salia backhanded her on the cheek, but the off-target blow only stung. With another eagle scream, Mariah looped her forearm around Salia's neck, rolling sideways for leverage, then jerking back to cut off her cousin's air.

Salia kicked and lashed out with blind fists, but though the blows hurt, Mariah kept her arms locked around Salia’s throat. Suddenly, the hard point of a rock or blade jabbed at her forearm. A trickle of warmth. Her grip loosened even as she wondered if Salia had a weapon hidden in her robes?

Another sharp blow caught her in the belly and doubled her over. Salia slipped free as Mariah blinked against the pain. She saw the flicker of surprise in Salia’s eyes as she staggered upright. Was Salia’s gaze searching for blood? Mariah’s chain mail had stopped the sharp edge.

Mouth agape, Salia stumbled back a step, breath loud and raspy.

Fatigue dragged at Mariah’s arms. She only had a few moves left before she’d be flailing like a drunkard. Ignoring the twinges of pain every move brought, she whirled and kicked Salia's arm. Something small flew from her cousin's hand.

Turning sideways, Mariah brought her knee up, then kicked straight out, her heel striking Salia’s chest in a killing blow. At the last second, she pulled back slightly.

Blood drained from Salia’s face. She crumpled to the ground. Mariah crouched, touched her neck. A light flicker of life. She hurriedly searched the ground with her gaze for the shimmer of Salia’s weapon, saw the glimmer of metal nearby, and saw Bahleal, Salia’s mother, bend and scoop it up, tucking it out of sight. Their eyes met, Bahleal’s expression acknowledging her daughter’s wrongdoing.

Satisfied that her aunt would be an ally, Mariah stood. The drizzle of rain lightened to damp mist as she turned slowly, searching faces, daring anyone to challenge her now.

No one moved.

In a queenly stance, Mariah raised her arms over her head and shouted the chant of victory. Her bitterness ebbed, became euphoria. Others joined in the chant. Invigorated, her heart soared with relief. Guilt left her. She had won, and she knew what she must do.

She pointed at Salia. "Take her back to her tribe. I give her back her life, but take from her the right to sit at council and the right to speak. Her mother, Bahleal will take her place. Salia will remain in her tribe's holy place for the rest of her days. If she leaves, then by Syrith's law she forfeits her life to the tribe and the tribe loses its voice on the council for one year."

Mariah started toward Jarad, but Nahil stepped between. "You break tradition. Salia must die!"

Murmurs of agreement flowed around her.

Mariah held up her hands. "Many traditions have been broken this day. Tonight we start a new future; one that moves toward peace." Again she searched the faces closest to her, challenging, watching, pleased by the willingness she read. Nahil stepped aside.

She fixed on Jarad. Childhood memories hit her hard. Could he accept her now? He knelt as she moved towards him, perhaps expecting banishment too - for he had thrown his persuasive voice against her. "What does Syrith will?" he asked.

Mariah gripped his hands and brought him to his feet. "Can you follow me, Jarad? Can you put away your hatred and work for peace, or must I send you with Salia?"

He swallowed. "You would trust me now?"

"If you would pledge that trust."

Jarad nodded. "Only Syrith could have saved you tonight. Salia swore she saw your death...." He paused, then gave her a brief, formal hug, stepped back and placed his hand on her shoulder to make a formal oath. "I swear my loyalty to you, Queen Mariah. I will follow you."

She smiled. She needed Jarad on her side. Her people loved and respected him. As she turned toward the council tent, Mariah's mother ran and embraced her. Over Anna's shoulder, Mariah saw Nahil and Herodotus exchange a look of not only acceptance but pride. Hadn't they taught her what she knew? Trained her?

She was aware again of the murmurs of approval amongst her people. Some questioned her punishment of Salia, but most thought it lenient. Mariah thought it fitting. The fire tribe would watch over Salia and keep her on holy ground. For if they failed, their own needs would be forfeit. Her cage was secure.

Mariah stepped away from her mother, but her mother stopped her. "You're bleeding."

"A scratch." Mariah bent the truth, praying for Syrith's forgiveness, knowing her people would demand Salia's death if the tribes knew her cousin had cheated. Even now, Mariah could not cause her cousin's death. Whatever her mother believed, she said nothing more but motioned to Bahleal, Seer and healer. The old woman stepped forward and while binding the cut, whispered, "My daughter has been foolish, full of her own power. But as a mother, I thank you for her life."

Mariah nodded. Forearm bound, exultant, holding her head high, she addressed everyone present. "As Syrith wills, I will lead - and there will be peace with the Chadyks. Now I go to Ishian's place to wash and cleanse my body and heart so that I may hear Syrith clearly."

Jarad broke the silence with a cheer. More joined in and soon she heard her name being chanted all around her. They followed her as she made her way toward the brook. Giddy with relief, Mariah's thoughts flew to Rathyn. Please, dear Syrith, she prayed, let me arrive in time to save him.

Chapter Seven

The next day, Rathyn made Stephanos second in command. If Rathyn were killed in battle, Stephanos would take charge of the entire army. There were murmurs of surprise, but no one openly challenged Rathyn's choice. It heartened him. This upcoming battle with the Kahns united his men. Respect gleamed in their eyes. And faith. Slowly, he and his men crossed the river and moved toward the chasm known as Golgath Pass.

In the distance, the pass appeared between two craggy mountains that resembled old men arguing, their heads tilted back at awkward angles, their mouths spewing forth boulders and rubble that lined the crevice. High above, snow capped the peaks and Rathyn wondered if more snow would fall before the battle. He also wondered how his men would feel about his command when sword met flesh. He pushed his doubts away.

The weather was clear and fine, a beautiful early spring day. As he watched the wagons roll forward, men beside them to push them through the muddy sandbanks, his good feeling evaporated and he felt a chill move down his back. He recognized the sensation; he'd had it before many battles that had not gone well, and before the Kahns had wiped out his home village, murdering his sister and brother, and his parents. He also had it before his wife's early labor began.

Now, for no reason, he thought of Mariah. Was she in danger, or about to betray him?

He told himself it was just a cold breeze at his back, not an omen. But being in Syrithia, this mystical place, seeing the wonder of shapechanging had heightened his awareness, his belief in things unseen. The feeling of foreboding grew stronger.

Frustrated, he wheeled his horse around, cantered downstream, trying to leave the sensation behind, pushing it to the back of his mind as men passed in long rows, some on horses, most on foot, some hitching rides on the supply wagons. He paused often to speak to soldiers he recognized, to cheer them if possible, and encourage them. And soon he forgot the strange chill.

It was nearly midday when Rathyn met up with the fifth company. Captain Yuelle saluted. A worried frown on his face, he reported the detachment that trailed them to confirm they would not be ambushed from behind had not yet made contact.

Rathyn asked the captain to round up ten scouts and send them downstream. "Tell them to return as soon as they find any indication of what happened to our detachment."

"Yes, sir." Yuelle fell back.

As Rathyn moved forward with the company, the nape hairs on the back of his neck suddenly stood on end. Sure he was being watched, he searched the trees and the river bank for any quick, secretive movement. He saw only his own men.

Toward late afternoon he crossed the river with the fifth company. He filled his water skins, drank and prayed to Gods he wasn't sure of for guidance, and moved on. The sun dipped on the horizon behind him, casting his shadow ahead like a black cloak.

At the base of Golgath Pass he called a halt and the men made camp. A barren plain spread out before him, bordered by mountains on three sides and rocky terrain which allowed very little vegetation. This time, he ordered trenches dug and rudimentary defenses built. Extra guards were assigned to the perimeter of each company.

Rathyn checked with his captains, then sent a messenger ahead with a scout team. The team would cross the pass in darkness, find the small detachment from the garrison that was supposed to meet them on the other side and then return by morning. Two of his forward pickets had seen signs of the Kahns' camp far beyond the pass, in the valley. There, they would meet their enemy. He almost wished the moment was upon him; waiting was always worst.

The ten men sent out that afternoon had not yet returned. Rathyn knew the word had spread that something had happened to the trail guards and the scouts. He saw it in the scowls of his men, in the way they sharpened their swords and spears, as if they knew they would need every advantage in the days to come.

And what words of wisdom would he tell them tomorrow when battle lay ahead? He was not a politician, yet tonight he prayed for a politician's tongue that would inspire his men and lead them to victory. Victory was possible, he knew. But any victory they might have over the Kahns could be wiped out by another army, attacking from the rear.

Would Mariah break her word? Did she now gird for battle and revenge? Did she bewitch him as Stephanos claimed? How much had she clouded his judgment? He still wanted to believe in her despite the fact that his rear detachment and the ten scouts had not returned.

Why had he let her go? But the sliver of heat through his belly answered. He should have kept her with him, he thought. Then he'd have a guarantee against the Syrithian's attack - but he would have dragged her back to his bed chamber and kissed away her protests, ignored her hands pushing at his chest, and taken her. And though he sensed a part of her wanted him, he knew she would never have forgiven him. So now he had nothing but the faint hope the detachment had run into other troubles.

He hated his doubts. Especially now when he needed to generate confidence to lead his men; needed to inspire courage and faith. Yet his own faith appeared misguided by lust. He felt like a fool.

#

Halfway through the night a murmur ran through the camp. Stephanos half carried, half dragged the wounded soldier toward Rathyn. "One of the scouts, sir, just returned. His horse threw him and his leg is injured, but he swore he must talk to you before we treat him."

Rathyn gestured the man closer. The men around him watched. "Gathias?"

The man cracked a smile and opened his eyes. "Good to see you, Commander." He straightened, balanced on one leg, the other bloody, the lines of his face furrowed with pain, but his eyes clear.

"You found the detachment?"

"What was left of it, sir. They were attacked, ambushed."

Rathyn's scouts hadn't reported any Kahn raiding parties that far out. That left only one alternative. By Tyryk, God of all Gods, no! The silence around Rathyn felt like death, the pain in his heart like a sword wound. Anguish ripped through him, then anger. His hope in Mariah flickered out. So, she would have her vengeance, ten-fold. And after helping the Kahns she would know how it felt to be fooled. For the Kahns were no better than Marcus the Butcher. They honored nothing but themselves.

"I found this, sir." Gathias pulled a blade from his belt and held it out. "There were others of the same make."

Rathyn took the blade by its hilt, felt its familiar weight, and doubted his senses. "A Kahn blade?"

Gathias nodded. "I met up with two of our scouts on the way back, sir. One had a Kahn soldier with him, the other had some of our wounded and is with Company Five." His breath wheezed, yet he refused Rathyn's offer to sit. "It was a small detachment, sir. Maybe fifty men. It appears our detachment and theirs surprised each other."

Fifty against thirty. Yet some of his men survived. "What of the other seven scouts?" Rathyn asked.

"Lieutenant Rufius, the one who found the Kahn's camp, counted only ten or fifteen men left. Rufius and the others attacked. All but his prisoner were killed."

Rathyn frowned at the loss.

Gathias said defensively, "Rufius was afraid if he rode here for orders the Kahns would get by undetected and warn the rest of the army."

With a nod, Rathyn quickly said, "A decision I would have made." His allayed fear now made him feel light, almost floating. "Where is the Kahn prisoner?"

Gathias sank slowly to the ground. "Rufius and the prisoner were both wounded, sir. They're being brought on stretchers."

Rathyn gestured two of his aides forward. "Take Gathias back to Company Five and see that he is well tended." They lifted him to his feet.

"Gathias?" The group paused, half-turned. "Today you have earned your star. Heal fast, Lieutenant."

Smiling fiercely, Gathias nodded.

Rathyn turned to Stephanos. "Rufius is to be given Captain's status immediately. When he is able, he will take joint command over Leeyek's company. If Captain Leeyek objects, tell him I expect obedience and wisdom in my men and he'd be wise to attend to his duties himself, not send another in his place."

"Yes, sir." Stephanos grinned and Rathyn felt the relief of the men around him. For the moment disaster had been averted. Stephanos's green eyes gleamed, reminding Rathyn again of his sibling. The captain’s confident stride, the way he moved as he went to fetch his horse, was so like Rathyn’s brother, Rathyn almost called his name. Squelching sudden homesickness, Rathyn gestured toward the prisoner's stretcher. It was brought forward. The Kahn's eyes were open and unblinking.

The healer spoke first, "We knew you would want to question him, sir, but there was nothing we could do to keep him alive."

Rathyn looked at the bloody corpse, the multiple stab wounds in the man's torso and congealed cuts on his legs and arms. A moth landed on the dead Kahn's face.

He ordered the man buried under the rocks and after a brief conference with the captains, commanded his army forward. This was the beginning.

#

A twig snapped and roused Rathyn from sleep. Someone moved through the trees in the darkness. Rathyn slid his hand to the sword belt at his side.

"Sir, the men are almost ready," said Stephanos.

Rathyn relaxed his hand. But the captain's words brought a surge of adrenaline. He rolled to his feet and fastened his sword belt. Excitement and fear tingled through him. Soon they would face each other again - he and the Kahns. The last time he had faced the Kahns it had been on Spartyk soil. The enemy had overrun Spartyk and the surrounding villages. They'd butchered his family.

His hatred had made him the best Spartyk soldier for generations, driven him to work for ever higher commands and to seek greater social status through marriage to a noblewoman. Yet over the last three years his hatred and the fire to rule had paled. First, through his wife and infant son’s death, then through what he’d found in the wake of Marcus’s rule here. What Marcus had done to the Syrithians was no better than what the Kahns had done to his people.

Not the best thoughts to have on the eve of battle, he thought wryly. He followed Stephanos through the oppressive darkness to where the men had gathered and wondered what by Tyryk he would say. His mouth felt parched. The full moon overhead had grayed. Dawn approached.

He climbed the slow rise of the hill until he was a man's height above the crowd. Beneath him a fire raged and cast an eerie red glow across the field of men. It threw gigantic shadows over the rocks. The flames warmed Rathyn's face, took his white billowy breath and vanquished it.

"Men, hear me!"

The hum of expectant voices quieted.

He felt a surge of energy and lifted his arms. "Today we fight not only for the Emperor, but for ourselves! To avenge our people, preserve and protect our families, and maintain our honor." The words came from his heart, his voice strong and deep. It echoed among the mountain walls. He could still remember his first commander's words, words of courage and conviction. He used them now. "Duty demands that we fight. Honor demands that we fight with everything we have and hold nothing back! With honor, we shall win!"

A cheer broke out and charged the air.

Chapter Eight

Would she be in time? Mariah nodded at the men and women of her lead force. All faces wore grim expressions, but she heard no arguments, not even from Jarad. Golgath Pass lay ahead. Her scouts said the Kahns and Chadyks were battling in the valley beyond; that the Kahns had greater numbers as well as better knowledge of the terrain.

She could wait no longer. Time to lead her people into battle. She stripped, closed her eyes and urged the heat of transformation. The liquid fire burned through her like the strong drink of the Kahns and brought a shimmery quality to her flesh. The light brightened. Her flesh became ethereal, a brilliant shadow of itself. She felt a tightening, quickening sensation throughout her limbs as muscles bunched and expanded. Filled with strength, she reared up, the image in her mind becoming sharp: a great, white horse with Syrith's mark upon its forehead. She reared again and leapt forward, ground flying beneath her as she galloped through the pass.

#

Rathyn swung his broadsword in a wide arc, and felt the blade rip flesh and bone. Warm Kahn blood splashed against his face. By the Gods, he was covered with it and still they came! His arm ached and his fingers felt numb, not from the icy wind or bursts of rain, but from gripping the metal so hard for so long.

His horse whinnied, then stumbled, throwing Rathyn to the ground. He rolled to one side, saw the blood spurt from his mount's neck and a gash in her leg, and swore under his breath. Before he could move to put her out of her misery, more Kahns attacked.

Lungs burning for air, Rathyn raised his shield, deflected the blow and made one of his own. His blade slashed through the man's unprotected side. The Kahn fell, his scream ending in a gurgle of blood.

More men rushed at Rathyn. The smell of death clogged his nostrils, sticky and horrible, as he hacked his way forward. His feet slipped in the mud and he stumbled, regaining his footing with difficulty. There has to be an end, he kept telling himself. But when he glanced back, he saw more Kahns and carnage.

Cries of his own men sounded a wave of alarm. At first he didn't understand. Then the one word, yelled over and over again, became clear. "Syrithians!"

By the gods, she’d betrayed him! Anger and despair scorched his insides like bitter poison. He lifted his sword intending to command a final charge when he realized the Syrithians had not joined the battle. But the Kahns were pulling back! Regrouping!

Leaning heavily on his sword, he fought for breath as he waited. Give me a sign, Mariah, he pleaded silently. At least she could give him that much. The Syrithians formed a line behind the Fifth company. Beyond them lay Golgath Pass. There would be no retreat for him or his army.

He searched the long row of tall, slender forms for Mariah's blue robes, for her blue banner, but they were too far away. Would the Syrithians attack? Perhaps Mariah's people had given her no choice. The specter of facing her in battle squeezed his insides. Tired, his body sore from combat, he felt defeat spread through his bones.

Overhead, lightning flashed and the first thunder of the afternoon roared like a great beast. Time seemed to stop. Slowly he shook off his fatigue. He ordered his men to stand ready, even as he wondered where the garrison troops were or if the Emperor had even sent another company of men as he'd requested before he left the castle. Would they arrive only to see a field of corpses? Be wiped out in the same way?

Determination blazed through him. He would die on his feet, the hard hilt of his sword in his hand, as a commander should.

The battlefield quieted until all he heard were gasps for breath, whispered prayers and screams of pain. Then another scattering of hard rain. Icy dampness dripped inside his boots. His toes felt numb. He signaled "no retreat" to his captains. Then he prayed for a miracle.

Lightning flared across the sky, dazzling his eyes as it split the black billowy haze overhead. A glimmer of white broke from the Syrithian line. The white spot moved closer, shimmered in a rhythmic pattern of movement. He wondered if the strange vision would suddenly vanish. He wiped the rivulets from his face, blinked again. A riderless horse! It moved with almost human forethought, picking its way through his men, coming towards him. His heart leapt.

The great horse whinnied softly and stopped, its head held high and proud. The mark of a crescent moon shone underneath the forelock's partial covering. Mariah!

Rathyn felt the eyes of his own men and the eyes of the enemy as he touched her neck.

She pawed the ground as if impatient. The Syrithians were here to aid him! The incredulous thought sparked another one. He shifted his weapons and shield, grasped her mane and pulled himself onto her back. Her strong muscles responded to his own and he raised his sword so that all might see the Syrithians were allies in this battle.

A fierce, ebullient cry rang around him, gave him a fresh rush of energy. His own voice joined with the men, and he led them in a new charge against the Kahns. Mariah sped into the thick of the fighting, seeming to anticipate his every move. He felled soldier after soldier, his grip slippery with sweat and blood, and waved his men on. The number of Kahns, although diminished, were still great. They swarmed against him. Then he heard the Syrithians' battle cry: a frightening high-pitched yell. It echoed through the field and the battle began to turn.

But fatigue wore at him. His fingers felt stiff and numb, his body also. When Mariah stumbled, he knew she too was near exhaustion. He lifted his arm to signal retreat, to regroup and rest. A hard, dull, clank sounded in his ears, echoing in his helmet. The world spun and blackness closed in as he fell, his hand finding only air as he clutched at Mariah's mane. A warm, dampness flowed down his ear, then the world faded.

#

Rathyn! Mariah reared up as her emotions churned in a panic of how best to protect him. The Chadyks needed time to reach her, reach him. In a dazzling flash, an iridescent wave washed over her. It briefly blinded those closest to her. Her muscles contracted, shrank. Her horse shape faded in her mind, consumed by the white light. In its warm cocoon, she resumed her woman's shape. Naked, weak and disoriented, she wiped her wet hair from her face and saw that as she'd hoped, the Kahns had fallen back. Rathyn's men grabbed him and dragged him toward safety. Mariah stumbled after them, but the Kahns surged forward and cut her off. She saw the young captain and yelled his name, "Stephanos!" He was close enough to help her, yet other than the flicker in his eyes that told her he'd heard, he made no move to come to her aid. Chadyk filth!

Mud squished between her toes as she whirled and grabbed Rathyn's sword, gripping it with both hands, its heaviness awkward. She felt impossibly clumsy. Transformation had robbed her of the last of her strength. Now, fear gave her a short spurt of adrenaline that would end all too soon. She managed to lift the blade and cut down one attacker. Elation filled her when she saw how few Kahns were left. Before she could raise the heavy sword again, more Kahns rushed her, grabbed her arms and legs, and carried her toward their line.

Far behind her she heard Jarad scream her name, heard the distant sound of renewed fighting. She twisted free of one man's grip only to be caught by another as they dragged her behind their final line of defense. They threw her to the ground before the Kahn battalion leader, a hulking giant of a man nearly as big in girth as he was tall. Icy tendrils of fear gripped her insides.

#

When Rathyn regained consciousness he couldn't see. Rolling to his side, he blinked his eyes. Why was it so dark? Why was he so tired? His head ached with a pounding rhythm that threatened to split his skull in two. He raised his hand to his face, and slowly traced its curves and angles. He felt his eyelids, eyelashes. His eyes weren't bandaged, but he could see nothing, not even a trace of light! Where the hell was he? Had he been captured? Blinded? Why couldn’t he remember?

He sat up, slid his fingers along the rough edge of a sleeping cot and swung his legs over. Was he in the healer's tent? "Stephanos?" he croaked and realized he was parched.

Stephanos voice startled him. "Sir?"

"I can't see!" Rathyn rasped, his tone angry while his stomach tightened with fear.

"You’ve been wounded." Stephanos put a goblet to Rathyn's lips, "Drink this, sir."

He drank the wine greedily, then remembered the great white horse and pushed the goblet away. Mariah! They'd fought together against the Kahns. In spite of his body's pain-filled protest, Rathyn rocked to his feet. His foot knocked something over. He heard a metallic thunk. Someone grabbed his arm.

"Please sit, Commander. You're in your tent." Stephanos sounded shaken. "I'll get the healer."

"No! Wait! Where's Mariah? What happened?"

"We won, sir! A small contingent of Kahns escaped is all. The Syrithians have a group tracking them. They won't get far."

Rathyn heard a lack of conviction in Stephanos's voice. Was he lying? Was his blindness coloring his perception? "Where's Mariah?"

Stephanos didn't answer and Rathyn cursed his eyes, cursed the fact he couldn't watch the captain's face and see what he hid.

"As your commander, I order you to tell me!"

"Y-Yes, sir."

"Well?" Rathyn forced himself to remain standing.

"She was captured by the Kahns that escaped. We haven't found her body, but - I believe she's dead."

Stephanos could have said nothing worse. A macabre vision of Rathyn's mother, brother and sister danced inside his head. Only Tyryk knew what they suffered before death. He'd recognized them only by what remained of their clothes and hair, by the fine silver birthday ring - Rathyn's gift - on his sister's hand. He instinctively reached for the soft leather pouch hidden beneath his tunic that held the ring even now.

His legs buckled abruptly. Stephanos grabbed his arm, bore his weight and guided him to the bed. He sat and bowed his head. "What happened?" He hated the boyish hope he heard in his haggard tone. Tears pricked his eyes.

"I saw her fall, sir. Under a Kahn's sword." Stephanos's voice cracked.

"Yet her body remains undiscovered?" Tell me there is a chance! he wanted to plead.

"There were so many dead, sir. Hacked to pieces. She could be there and we'd never know. You've been unconscious for nearly two days. The rains stopped. The field's been searched for survivors. I've ordered it to be burned."

Rathyn nodded. Two days! He was blind! Mariah was dead? Wouldn't he know it in his heart? His throat closed as he struggled to keep his composure. "Where are we?"

"We set up temporary camp on the other side of Golgath Pass."

"Where's my sword and knife?"

"Your knife was recovered. Your sword has not yet been found." Rathyn felt the cold steel of his knife hilt and accepted it like a friend. The pain in his head had lessened, but the pain in his heart was worse. "Give me a few minutes. Then send the healer to me."

He listened to the captain's soft footfalls, heard the tent-flap open and close, then lay back on the cot.

"Mariah..." he whispered, and felt as if he'd awakened into a black hell.

#

Mariah's wrists were rubbed raw from the manacles locked around them. The ragged clothes they'd thrown on her did little to keep her warm. She lurched forward, nearly fell as the Kahn leader tugged on the chain. Soon he was half dragging her, half carrying her through the mountains. Exhaustion robbed her of her senses, made everything but survival unimportant. She knew she should be studying the route, noting landmarks, things she might remember if she were to escape and find her way back. But escape seemed impossible when she saw nothing but the next footfall of dirt and rubble.

For three days and nights, the bone-weary nightmare continued. The Kahns bore her weight across their shoulders like a bundle of kindling. She'd expected rape or torture. Would it come later? And after they abused her would they burn her? They too, like the Chadyks, believed in witchery and distrusted Syrithians because of Syrith's gifts of transformation and their Seer abilities. Their cruelty to those captured in battle withered the strongest warrior’s courage.

Fear twisted in her gut like a snake, threatening to cripple her thoughts. She clung to the hope of rescue. Surely Rathyn would come. But he'd fallen in battle, was injured or dead. Then Jarad, she told herself. But would he? She'd never felt more alone.

As they rested the fourth night, Mariah drank from the water skin the Kahn leader offered her. Although a frost glazed the ground and the mountains were cold, she heard more and more desert creatures, night-calls that grew closer, and knew they would soon reach the Kahns destination. She shivered, grateful for the rough skirt and tunic.

Were they waiting until they reached their camp before they humiliated her in every possible way, until she forgot who she was and begged for mercy?

A sharp cramp cut through her stomach. Hunger gnawed at her insides. She'd had only a piece of bread in three days. They were rationing their food. Water might soothe her rumbling belly for awhile, but then the pain would strike again along with the ever constant, gut-knotting fear. Her limbs felt like lead, so heavy. She leaned toward the ground, felt it reach up to greet her, and dozed.

A sharp stinging kick in the ribs awakened her. Clutching her side, she sat up. The Kahn leader sat beside her. He broke off a piece of his bread and gave it to her. "Eat," he commanded.

Mariah knew enough of the Kahn tongue to understand, but her speech was limited. Yet she tried, "Why I alive?" She pointed to herself.

His eyes narrowed and a menacing grin formed on his lips. When he spoke, she caught only three words, "hostage, witch," and "friends." A hostage for friends? Or he wanted his friends to see the hostage witch? Her vision of Kahn chains came back to her. Oh Syrith, what were they saving her for?

Chapter Nine

Rathyn heard soft footsteps approach from the other end of the tent, felt the warmth of a torch, smelled the burning oil. He sat up abruptly, his hand on his knife, disoriented by the complete, bitter darkness that even after a week the healer could not dispel. "Who is it?"

"Lt. Gathias, sir."

Rathyn remembered he'd rewarded the soldier Gathias with a promotion. "Please, sit."

He heard the man pull the corner stool forward.

"So, how is your command, Gathias?"

The newly promoted Lieutenant cleared his throat. "My company is well, Commander." He paused and Rathyn heard a tremor of nervousness in his next words. "They ask about you, sir."

"Me?" He was blind. What else was there to know?

"Sir, some of the men, well...."

Rathyn waited, silent, although he wanted to shout, "Well, what?"

"Second Commander Stephanos is inexperienced, sir. You are our commander. We're worried -"

"Thank you for your visit, Lt. Gathias," Rathyn cut him off, aware of approaching footsteps. The tent flap rustled.

"Gathias?" Stephanos's tone questioned the lieutenant's presence.

Gathias stood. "Captain, I mean, Commander Stephanos, good evening."

Don't choke now, Gathias, Rathyn thought ungraciously. The man had shown courage and fortitude in his skirmish with the Kahn raiding party before the battle. But Rathyn sensed the man's uneasiness now. Of course, going over your commander's head was akin to mutiny - if Rathyn chose to pursue it. He said, "You may go, Gathias. Tell the men I thank them for their concern for my health." His light words turned bitter, "Although you can see I am not fit for command." The men needed to work this out without him.

He heard Gathias' boots as he snapped a salute. "Yes, sir." Heard his footsteps as he left.

"I am so sorry you were disturbed, Commander," Stephanos apologized in an over-solicitous tone that annoyed Rathyn. Now that he couldn't see Stephanos, he didn't feel the same connection - the visual reminder of his younger brother and the resulting closeness seemed wiped away.

"Blindness is not contagious, Stephanos."

"I thought you might prefer to remain alone, sir."

"Until my vision returns?" Rathyn snapped, resentful of the fact Stephanos could see, and was really in command although he "conferred" with Rathyn once a day. By the gods, he felt useless as a broken sword.

"If you wish for an escort, I can send an aide to take you around camp. You could talk to the men." Even if you can't do anything else, his tone seemed to imply.

Rathyn felt his eyes narrow at the lack of respect he sensed in the slight condescending tone. Was it his imagination? Or did Stephanos see him as a helpless cripple? Or was the young commander uncomfortable with his promotion? Whatever it was, Rathyn didn't like it.

He thought of himself paraded around like a useless blind veteran, imagined derisive snickers from those he had whipped for disobedience. His blindness humiliated him. Worse, for the first time in his life he felt extremely vulnerable. He hid his fear behind a mask of irritation. "I would like an current assessment of the camp, of our losses," Rathyn ordered. "And I would like to know when we will be ready to move out."

Stephanos gave him a quick rundown of each company's losses. Rathyn imagined Stephanos's words covertly emphasizing his blindness and inability to command. He told himself he was wrong, yet he fumed, and he could not deny the truth: he was blind. The fact settled over him like a sentence of death as Stephanos told him the Syrithians had formed a camp near the edge of the mountains and still awaited the return of the small contingent of warriors they'd sent out after the escaping Kahns.

"You think they are dead?" Rathyn questioned, thinking after a week they would have heard otherwise.

"There's a good chance they are, sir." His tone was final.

Rathyn wished he'd died on the battlefield, wished he and Mariah were together in Tyryk or Syrith's heaven. For his existence now was surely worse.

Finally, Stephanos finished, "We will be ready to move out in a few more days." He paused, "Can I have one of the men bring you something? Food? Wine? Or would you like to join us later?"

Rathyn thought he heard a note of amusement. Yet Stephanos's questions were perfectly in order. "No. I am going to rest. Send an aide to wake me in the morning. You can go."

"Yes, sir." Stephanos retreated.

Rathyn went to the tent flap and tied it closed. His bladder hurt and he needed to find the damn piss pot. But he was not about to ask for help to do that.

#

That night he dreamed of Mariah. Her image appeared so vividly that he thought he'd regained his sight, regained her. She ran to him. Her body nude and wet, glistened like silk webs covered with dew. Yet her skin felt warm, vibrant with life as he embraced her. "I'll never let you go again," he promised, his heart filled with love.

"You are my soul," Mariah whispered as she clung to him, lifted her lips to meet his.

Then she faded from his arms, and everything turned dark. "Mariah?" Rathyn sat up, realized it had been a dream, then froze. Someone had entered his tent.

He felt a figure stop before him, appraise him. Fumbling for his knife, he pulled it from his belt. "Stephanos?" No, the aide was supposed to wake him. Why didn't the man speak? "Come to look at the blind Commander?" he asked, irritated, and still uneasy.

Silence.

Rathyn's hand tightened around his knife hilt. "Is it morning already?" he said in a more conciliatory tone, as he strained to hear the slightest sound.

"No, Commander, it's not." The answer came from directly in front of him.

An old woman's voice? Rathyn doubted his hearing.

"So, it's true. You are blind." The words were stated softly, and matter-of-fact. Did he hear a Syrithian accent? Why was she here?

"You, Madam, seem to have the advantage," Rathyn snapped. "I am Commander Rathyn. Who are you?"

"Blindness hasn't robbed you of your tongue. Good." The woman's words hinted at something important, something hidden.

A Syrithian who spoke passable Chadyk; a council member? "If you have something to say, say it, woman, and then get out!"

"Be quiet fool!" Alarm flared in her voice. "Do you want to die?"

Rathyn nearly laughed. "Yes, as a matter of fact. Have you come to dispatch me?"

"No," the woman said sharply, as though she might have been thinking just that. "And I have no wish to be discovered, so speak softly."

Definitely a council member. Rathyn dropped his voice to a furious whisper and wondered why he cared if he woke the whole damn camp. "Either tell me who you are and what you're doing here, or get out!"

He felt pressure against his dagger as she pushed the blade aside. "You don't need that against me." It won't do you any good, her tone implied. "The young Commander would not let me speak with you. He said you are blind and ill, of no use to anyone."

Ill? Uneasiness rippled through Rathyn. Gathias' words, and Stephanos' condescending tone ripped through his consciousness. "Who are you?" he demanded.

The woman chuckled and the sound reminded him of Mariah. "I am Anna, council member for the Syrithians, mother of Mariah. And I have come for you."

"What?" Rathyn hated the desperate hope her words brought him.

"Mariah is alive. And you must save her."

Rathyn's hope became a strangled laugh as he sheathed his knife. He growled, his voice rough as pebbles crunching under heavy boots, "Save her? What do you mean? I am blind, woman. Surely you are joking."

"I wish I were, Commander." She touched his arm. "Please stand. I will guide you."

Rathyn had on only a tunic and leather breeches, his soft boots and his knife. He remained seated. No armor, no cloak, no battle dress suitable for the presence of a queen, or in this case, her mother. This woman must be mad with grief. Yet she sounded calm and rational and far too much in control. Like Mariah. A smile tugged at his lips. Although Stephanos had told him Mariah was dead, Rathyn believed this woman. He clamped his lips shut. Why would Stephanos lie?

"Do you know what a Syrithian Seer is?" The woman's tone held a note of coaxing, and desperation. So, she would convince him with some Syrithian tale. Something in his expression must have angered her. She leaned close and whispered hotly, "Listen to me, Commander, or my daughter will die. Or do you care nothing for her?"

Rathyn stood and grabbed the woman's arm, felt her muscles tighten as she tried to jerk free. Suppressing the urge to throw her from his tent he rasped, "I owe your daughter more than I can ever repay! If she lives, tell me how you know. If I must save her, tell me how, but I'm sick of your riddles and I'm in no mood for games!" He let go, but remained on his feet.

"I apologize, Commander." The woman replied in a shaken tone. "I wanted to provoke you, to know if you care enough for my daughter to risk your life." She paused and he heard the rustle of fabric. "One of our Seers had a vision. She says Mariah lives, held captive by the Kahns. She says our men cannot save her. Syrithians are too distinctive. She saw you in her vision. She said, Mariah's only hope is in the one who cannot see. That you must find the Kahn camp and help her escape."

Rathyn's mouth felt dry. Why should he believe a crazy story like this?

"The Seer said you would not believe. She offers this proof: on your person is a small leather pouch. Within it you keep a silver ring, a gift from you to your sister, who is now dead."

No one knew that. Rathyn felt confusion, exuberance, amazement, hope. "Mariah's alive?" he whispered.

"And I must guide you through the mountains. You and one other will go into the Kahn camp."

His hand strayed to his knife hilt. "With a plan like that how can I fail?" he said sarcastically, but he knew he would go, no matter. "Where's my cloak?" Anything was better than this hopeless despair. Perhaps Mariah's mother might tell him more about her, might make her live again in his heart. And if the Syrithians plotted revenge, so be it. He felt a calm settle over him as the woman fastened his cloak around him.

"You will need to get us past the guards and pickets," she said as she led him forward. "I will do my best to help. Now, take hold of the back of my gown, here. Press your hip against mine and match my steps as closely as you can."

Rathyn thought of a million arguments against the madness he was embarking on, yet he voiced none. A blind Commander was an impossibility. He was not about to return to Spartyk a retired, "old" war hero that the Emperor carted out on Victory Day.

Like a crippled thief, he stole from his tent with the woman, Anna.

#

They traveled the night on foot. Rathyn knew it was dark by the cold, quiet air. Twice they were halted by a curious soldier. He was surprised by the concern he heard in their voices when they recognized him.

A sentry stuttered in his surprise, "C-Commander Rathyn."

"Yes, I haven't died yet," he replied caustically. "I have decided to visit our neighbors. Our allies have kindly offered a guide."

"But you're supposed to be too ill - "

Rathyn threw back the hood of his cloak. "As you can see, I am blind, not ill. Let us pass!"

"Yes, sir!"

They moved on. Rathyn whispered, "You can lengthen your stride, Madam. I seem to walk quite well."

She gave an embarrassed chuckle.

Rathyn could not stop his uneasy thoughts. It was obvious no one expected him to leave his tent. Their voices had revealed disbelief and shock, as though they thought him dead. What had Stephanos told them? Perhaps more importantly, why?

As they traveled, Rathyn continued to ruminate, concluding: it didn't matter what Stephanos said or why. Rathyn didn't expect to return from this quest.

Occasionally the distant echoes of restless horses pierced the cold air, giving him an idea of how far they'd traveled from First Company. Beyond the wide traverse of mountains lay the Kahn desert. Some of the men from the garrison had sent reports and maps, but few had ever gone there. The desert burned fiercely hot during the day and bitterly cold at night. Could Mariah be there? Why would the Kahns keep her alive?

"Wait here," Anna whispered.

Rathyn felt an outcropping of rock beside him and sat. Where had she gone? He questioned his decision to go with this woman. Yet he must do something, if not for Mariah, then for himself, to regain some small peace of mind.

More thoughts about Stephanos bothered him. He'd heard rumors on the ship in route to Syrithia and ignored them because he hadn't really cared who Stephanos was or could be. He'd been too wrapped up in his own misery. Besides, rumors abounded about anyone with connections to Spartyk. Jealousy bred rumors like fleas bred on a dog.

Rathyn shifted and wondered what took Anna so long. Had she abandoned him here? He squelched the worry and turned his thoughts back to the Emperor. Because of Rathyn's influence with the army, and his wife's properties and monies, he'd been allowed to say what other men might have been imprisoned for - that the Emperor was not God's chosen, but a man with money and influential friends. In the midst of Rathyn's political rise, his wife had died, and he had withdrawn from his verbal sparring matches with the Emperor. Then the Emperor had offered him this commission, called it a peace offering between them. Had he been manipulated into coming here?

He heard voices and unsheathed his knife, feeling ridiculous and vulnerable, as whispers in Syrithian moved toward him. He wished he understood more of the language, for the bits and pieces made no sense to him. His stomach clenched and he fought his sudden fear. By the Gods, did he want to die or not? His mind held no answer, but his hand tightened on the hilt.

He recognized Anna's voice, but not the male one.

"Commander, this is council member Nahil. He has procured two Kahn mountain ponies. You shall ride with Lilas so that she can guide your mount. I shall lead on my pony."

Rathyn sheathed his blade. "Lilas?" The serving girl from the castle. "What are you talking about?"

"She is here. She brings news. She will tell you directly."

Rathyn felt more unsettled than ever. Instead of voicing his suspicions, he said, "What about food? Provisions? A map?"

More muffled conversation. Anna spoke, "We have an extra pony carrying bartering goods and enough provisions to cross the mountains, plus a day or two more. I will accompany you only to the other side of the mountains, then you and Lilas will go alone."

Nahil spoke, "This old one wishes he could go with you, Anna. But I will bring Jarad and Bahleal to meet you as agreed."

Anna thanked him, her voice cracking with emotion. A brief silence fell. Footsteps retreated.

"Commander. Please, climb up." Anna guided Rathyn to the small, sure-footed horse, and he swung his leg over easily. A moment later he felt Lilas' weight in front of him, her back against his chest, her thighs touching his.

"I will do my best to guide you, Commander," Lilas whispered. He wished her body, so intimately pressed to his, was Mariah's.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

She hesitated, but he sensed it was not to lie, but because he intimidated her somewhat. She'd always been terribly shy around him and he felt rather fatherly toward her.

Her whisper barely touched him. "We will talk when we are further on."

Sounds from the Chadyk and Syrithian camps grew distant. Soon all he heard were small stones and pebbles dislodged by their horses' feet. He pulled the rank smelling cloak tighter about his shoulders and wrapped it around Lilas. She shivered and he tightened his hold as bone-chilling cries of strange birds carried on the breeze.

He wondered what could have driven the servant from the castle, but he did not press her. As they traveled on, his thoughts turned to his blindness. He had enough money and property that he could live well for the rest of his days, but could he ask Mariah to marry him when she would forever be fetching things or guiding him places? She wasn't just a woman - she was a queen.

She would never marry him anyway, he thought, and then he gaped at himself. At how easily his mind had slipped into thoughts of marriage and forever. If she lived, that's what he desired.

The gentle rhythm of the horse stopped. Lilas said softly, "We'll stay here and sleep for a few hours, then go on." He felt the light saddle lean as she slid off. He swung his leg over and dismounted, then allowed her to guide him to a place to sit. She left him. He heard her voice, and realized Lilas was talking to Anna in the Syrithian language!

"How do you know their tongue?" he demanded when she returned.

She chuckled, a lightness in her tone he'd never noticed before. "I am half-Syrithian, half-Kahn. What you Chadyks call a bastard. I lived with the Syrithians until I was seven. A Kahn raiding party kidnapped me, kept me as a servant for three years. I escaped them and was captured by a Chadyk slaver."

"But you have no accent," Rathyn said.

"My Chadyk master wished me to speak without one. I was a playmate for his daughter as well as her servant. He did not wish his daughter to pick up my accent."

Rathyn wondered if she'd been beaten as an incentive, wished brutality weren't so common among slave owners. "So you speak Syrithian, Kahn and Chadyk?"

"Yes."

"Any more languages?"

He imagined a smile. "No."

"How did you come to leave the castle? You're not safe out here." How many more surprises? Maybe he was asleep back in camp and dreaming this entire escapade. That made more sense than the hard rock digging into his backside, and Lilas' voice now calmly answering him.

"When the soldiers left, I ran away to the woods, to the Syrithians. I had found some letters from the Emperor to Captain Stephanos. It suggested a "war" as a means to discredit, then kill you." She touched his arm. "Stephanos never sent your request for more men. Just as he never sent your messages to the mountain garrison. Even when he told the men you were under Mariah's spell they wouldn't turn against you. So he manufactured the messenger and the battle, and planned an ambush."

Rathyn discerned no deceit in Lilas' words. She only reinforced Lieutenant Gathias's words and those of the sentry; and Rathyn's own new perceptions about his Second Commander. Had he been fooled? Betrayed by his own need for the brother he'd lost, the need for family? Had he trusted Stephanos for the wrong reasons? "Yet the battle was real," he said. "Why would the Kahns fight? The Syrithians were there...."

"Yes. You and your men would have been wiped out if the Syrithians had sided with the Kahns." She paused. "That was Stephanos's plan - but he said Mariah would not be leading their army - that they'd have a new queen. Salia."

He remembered the name, and Stephanos's arrangement for her escape. Anger surged through his veins like hot lava. Evidently there'd been more to their bargain than spying for gold.

"Of course, Stephanos would not be harmed. He is the Emperor's nephew."

"His nephew? You’re sure?"

"Yes."

That meant Stephanos would be next in line for the throne unless the Emperor had a child. Rathyn frowned. The Emperor's list of childless wives who'd died mysteriously had grown to six.

Lilas added in an earnest tone, "You are highly respected by your men, whether you realize it or not, and by your people back home. Stephanos said you were a threat no matter what you promised the Emperor."

Rathyn almost scoffed. Marcus's men hated him. Even his own men had bridled under his demands. Stephanos's whispers of the men's unhappiness, of what they were saying behind his back, returned. "I believed it!" he muttered, squeezing his fingers into tighter fists, furious at his impotence.

"Once you were down, the Kahns and his army were to attack the Syrithians." She mimicked Stephanos's arrogant tone, "We will conclude our treaty with the witch, Salia, and her people by getting rid of them once and for all, then divide the spoils. Rathyn’s death will never be questioned."

A hero's death. Could it be true? Rathyn struggled with the concept - the Emperor and Stephanos conspiring with the Kahns against him. "All this was in some letters you conveniently found?" he challenged.

A soft, hesitant, "No."

He sensed discomfort in the quiet reply.

"Stephanos forced me to couple, Commander." She paused and took a deep breath, her tone bitter. "Sometimes he liked to gloat, tell me things, what he would do when he gained the throne."

Rathyn found himself blindly pacing, wanting to strike something, someone. No, wanting to flay the skin from Stephanos’s back. He'd treated Lilas like a trusted servant while Stephanos had ravaged her. How the captain must have laughed at him! And now the bastard commanded his army.

There was an awkward silence.

"But I am alive," he said. "So is Mariah - if the Seer is correct. Why would the Kahns keep her alive?"

Lilas answered, "Perhaps Salia suspected Stephanos would not keep his word, and somehow fixed it that Mariah should be kept alive in such case."

A clever thing to do. Still he did not understand why Mariah had led the army to help him against the Kahns, and not Salia. He asked Lilas, but she didn't know.

"Talk to Anna," she suggested.

He nodded, but he sensed Mariah's mother would talk to him only when necessary. He heard the soft fall of pebbles as Lilas stepped toward him, heard her soft breath. She was studying him. He felt uncomfortable. What did she see? What would Mariah see?

She touched his shoulder. "Your men are loyal to you, blind or not. The captain was very concerned about appearing your friend and representing his orders as direct from you."

He strangled his knife hilt wishing he could sheathe it in Stephanos's chest.

Lilas touched his arm as though to put him at ease and somehow it did, made him believe this plan to save Mariah was not some wild scheme, but a mission that could succeed. "I will get you some food and drink."

"Wait." He suddenly felt awkward. He thought of the few Syrithian phrases he knew, practiced under the assumption he'd have a chance to use them when he met Mariah the first time. Now, the compliment to her talked-of beauty seemed trite, and the words, "You have a fine family," tragically absurd. She'd introduced neither husband nor children and he'd assumed she was unmarried. "Will you teach me some Syrithian words?"

"We are going into a Kahn camp," Lilas said, a question in her tone. He imagined her eyebrows lifted in surprise.

"There is something I want to say to Mariah in her tongue," he admitted. He felt heat crawl up his neck as he told Lilas what he wished to learn. But to her credit she did not laugh or show amusement in any way he could decipher.

"After we eat, Commander, I shall start your lesson."

He heard her humor then, but it was kind and he found himself smiling in the darkness. With a start he realized that after nearly a week of blindness, he was getting used to not seeing, that his ears, nose and fingers often filled his mind with images as if he saw what went on around him.

Lilas returned shortly with cold food and water, and blankets. She taught him the Syrithian word for love as he chewed the dried meat. "Ka-ah-sho-lee-ah. It means, I give you my soul."

"Ka-ah-sho-lee-ah." Rathyn repeated, wishing he could embrace Mariah now and say it to her.

Lilas chuckled. "You must sing it, or say it with deep feeling or it has a different meaning, not so nice. 'I will eat your soul.' A threat."

Rathyn tried again, semi-successfully.

"Like this - " Lilas demonstrated, accenting the "sho." Rathyn repeated the syllables, feeling frustrated at his tongue's lack of response. Damn it. He would not give up. Mariah knew his language. He would learn hers if it killed him! He laughed at the irony until his sides hurt. He didn't expect to live long once they reached the Kahn camp anyway. A blind man and a chit of a girl against a Kahn clan?

Lilas told him to sleep. He lay back, but could not get comfortable, every pebble and rock digging into his back and legs. He pulled his cloak to his shoulder, closed his eyes.

He could smell Lilas, he thought, surprised. The smell reminded him of an exotic flower that rarely bloomed, but when it did, the perfume was soft and light like roses. Like Mariah. A shaft of heat coursed through him as he visualized Mariah in his outgrown tunic and leggings. With infinite patience, he peeled them away, exposing her full breasts, tiny waist, slender hips and long legs. He could only imagine what it would feel like to touch the downy softness between her thighs and arouse in her the same passion she elicited in him.

Lilas's gentle sigh interrupted the fantasy. Was she laying down? He could learn more Syrithian words, divert his mind from seduction. He crawled toward the sound. Silence.

He stopped. "Lilas?"

No answer.

"I would like to learn more Syrithian," he offered, thinking she might have thought he wanted her.

A deep breath. "If you wish, Commander." Her voice touched him, a light, girlish whisper laced with relief. "What would you like to learn?"

Cold and uncomfortable on the ground, Rathyn felt ridiculous but murmured, "A poem - something romantic."

A smile in her voice, Lilas taught him a love poem in the sing-song words. He wished it was Mariah who taught him, wished he could hold her in his arms. He closed his mind to such thinking, but it would not be excluded. Finally, the poem committed to memory, he fell asleep with Mariah's image drifting with him into darkness.

A short time later Lilas woke him. "It's time to travel."

They moved on foot, leading the rugged beasts through what Lilas described as a narrow gap between two mountain ridges. "There are bound to be Kahn sentries in this area. We will travel as Kahn traders. Should anyone stop us, you are my father. Anna is our Syrithian slave. Behind us, on another pony we carry goods to barter with; cooking utensils, cloth, spices."

Lilas made it sound reasonable.

All on foot, they traveled upwards, the trail an uneven path. Rathyn felt awkward and clumsy, as time and time again he stumbled on loose rocks, and Lilas took his weight. Finally, the trail evened out, then sloped down. He tried to visualize where they might be in their trek across the mountains, found it too galling to ask. It would be like admitting he was tired. If an old woman and a chit of a girl could keep this pace, so could he.

"Slow down, there's a sharp descent ahead," Lilas warned.

He put his foot down cautiously, felt the slanted ground, the loose dirt and steadied himself. Two steps later, more confident, he tripped over a large jutting rock and if not for Lilas would have fallen. "Damn it! Tell me what's ahead!" he snapped.

"I told you to slow down."

By late afternoon, sweat trickled down Rathyn's back, plastered his tunic to his body like a second skin. He felt hot and irritable and ready to tear a Kahn's head off.

When he tripped yet again, he cursed his handicap, the Kahns, the Syrithians, Lilas, and then the bloody ground. Frustrated he raised his fist toward the heavens and the gods who mocked him and cursed again.

Anna cried, "What's wrong?"

"He fell and he's complaining." Lilas answered without sympathy.

Rathyn thought of Lieutenant Annias's whining voice and realized his own sounded horribly similar. How long had he been wallowing in self-pity?

"He does not appreciate me as a guide. Chadyk men think women are unsuitable leaders," Lilas said, a smile in her tone.

Anna's voice was harsh, yet a similar note of amusement crept into it. "Then he should not have fallen in love with my daughter."

Rathyn bit back a scathing comment about women's wagging tongues leaving work to be done. More than likely the old saying would make them laugh more. How did Syrithian men stand being told what to do? He wanted to say "I don't need you!" But he did. And it made him miserable.

They passed the night under a shelter of rock, either his scowl or his foul mood keeping the two women at bay.

The next morning, they started again. The two women flanked him once there was room on the narrow track and guided him with gentle words. The hours passed slowly. At mid-day, Lilas handed him a chunk of bread, and he ate it on the move. Although fatigued by evening, he stepped with more confidence and much as he hated to admit it, his trust in his guides had grown.

He listened to them banter back and forth in Syrithian, their voices soft, the language melodic, so unlike the sharp bite of the Chadyk tongue. As he walked, he thought about the differences between his culture and Mariah's. Chadyk women were not allowed to make decisions. They were viewed with distrust, like errant sheep that needed constant supervision; things to be used, coveted, shown off and owned. By Tyryk, how could he think of taking Mariah back there? She'd hate it! If she changed to please him, would she still be the woman he desired?

Long after the sun no longer touched his face and hands, Anna said, "We'll sleep here. There's a pass up ahead that we can't afford to miss." Her footsteps receded.

"Anna?" Rathyn listened to her slow steps as she returned.

"Yes, Commander?"

What could he say? "I would like to talk to you."

She sighed, the sound reluctant. "About my daughter?"

"About your ways, your beliefs," Rathyn said. About marriage with an outsider, he bit back.

She shifted on her feet. Was she surprised?

"What do you wish to know?"

Lilas murmured something about seeing to the ponies and he heard her scurry off. Anna took her place beside him.

Rathyn cleared his throat, feeling Anna's silent disapproval. He was not the man she would choose for her daughter.

"Mariah said you all have two names. One known to all, one secret." His words came out stilted.

"Yes, that is true." Suspicion sounded in her tone. "Each tribe selects a name for the newborn, usually the name of one recently dead. But as a child grows, she or he claims a secret name, one to be shared only with a spouse. It is a bond that is given in marriage."

Anna started to say good-night and he interrupted. "Do your people ever marry outsiders?"

He imagined her face, an older version of Mariah's regal features, and thought he shouldn't have asked.

"Our people marry whom they wish. Except the Queen." Anna's tone was matter-of-fact. "She may marry only of the tribes, or a king. Unless... she relinquishes her title." She said the last as though she knew her daughter would never relinquish her title to wed him.

Rathyn clenched his knife hilt, a habit of reassurance he couldn’t seem to break. And yet she lives, he told himself in an effort to remain hopeful. But already he felt his resolve dissipate like fine mist under the morning sun. If he were whole, he wouldn’t hesitate to ask her to give up her rule, but now he was only a blind Chadyk. Her people would despise him, ostracize her. She and he would be outcasts here or in Spartyk. But you will be together, his mind whispered. Was that enough?

Chapter Ten

Mariah woke up and rolled over on her sleeping mat. Chains clinked softly as the manacles on her wrists dug into her skin. Despite the flare of pain, she tried to hang onto her dream of Rathyn, her mother, and her sister, to feel the golden aura that had surrounded them and given the dream a mystical quality. A Seer's vision. Though all her visions had occurred while awake, this dream had the same vivid quality. Except in this dream her sister Terah, driven to suicide by Marcus the Butcher over two years ago, stood beside her mother and Rathyn.

Her mother and Rathyn had sat together somewhere in the mountains, conversing, becoming friends. And her sister had stood before them crying soundlessly for help, unseen and unheard. Had she died that way? Crying for help?

Mariah thought she'd fully grieved her sister's death, accepted it. But this dream squeezed her heart, tore the wound open. Salia had accused Mariah of overprotecting her sister, not teaching Terah her warrior lessons. Mariah had paid little attention. Then Terah disappeared. And Salia used her Seer's vision to learn of Terah's capture by Marcus the Butcher.

Looking around the barren tent, wincing at the sharp bite of the wrist manacles, Mariah wondered if this was how Terah had felt. Perhaps it was Syrith's judgment that Mariah suffer the same fate as her sister - only at the hands of the Kahns.

She pushed the despairing thought aside, focused on Rathyn's face in her dream. He'd been very much alive, not like Terah, who'd shimmered like rain on the grass.

Could this dream be true? Mariah felt renewed hope. She closed her eyes and conjured Rathyn's face again. Now, as in her dream, he seemed different, softer somehow, more vulnerable. She wondered why.

The thickness of her tongue turned her thoughts to herself. She needed water, food. As she grew weaker, she grew more susceptible to the power of others. But except for the filthy blanket wrapped around her, the tent was empty. The night had been cold and she shivered still from the lingering chill and her fears.

When she'd arrived with her captors at the desert camp the afternoon before, she'd expected to be ravaged, tortured, and killed; a violent, horrible death. Instead, her wrists had remained chained together and an old woman had used hand signs and words to show Mariah she was to stay inside the tent.

The dark interior of the tent stank of sweat as did her clothing. She was as filthy as the blanket. The skin at her wrists stung, raw from the brutal bracelet's grip. She listened to the wind rustle the flaps of the tent, heard the first sounds of morning and sat up.

Why did the Kahns let her live? She closed her eyes, remembering her terror as the Kahn soldiers dragged her naked from battle. The huge barbarian, Roark, had pulled her hair back and examined her birthmark. In the Kahn's guttural tongue, he'd said something to the men that made their lecherous gazes drop, made them move back. But his gaze had raked her body from head to toe, as though his words were meant only for the others.

The sound of footsteps drove away the memory of her forced march. Roark stepped inside the tent. "Draug lakya!" Get up!

Mariah obeyed, yet he frowned. Did he expect her to cower? He grabbed the chain between her manacles and jerked her forward, out into the light. She blinked and squinted, unable to shield her eyes. Roark yanked again and her feet slid in the sand. The muscles in her calves contracted painfully as she caught herself, then stumbled after him. With long strides, he pulled her through the circular camp, forcing her to keep up. The soles of her feet were bruised and cut, the sand awakening new torment. She sucked air, filling her lungs, trying to exhale away the sting of each step.

Ignoring the stares of those who were rekindling fires, readying food, she tried to count tents, made a guess at thirty or forty. How many people lived in each tent? How many soldiers?

A goat bleated and drew her gaze to her left, made her forget her mental calculations. Beyond the tents she glimpsed a pen with several camels and some goats inside. Could she steal one of the humped animals? She’d never ridden one.

As Roark jerked her forward, her breath burned in her lungs, her body screamed for food, water, rest. The metal at her wrists drew warm blood which trickled down her fingers. Her stomach roiled, burning like she'd swallowed fire.

At the far side of the camp, Roark led her past the tents and kept going. She smelled the human excrement before she saw the shallow pit.

Roark stopped, unfastened his pants, and relieved himself into the short trench.

Her stomach heaved and she gasped as bile burned her throat. Nothing came up.

An ugly smile crossed his face as he refastened his clothing and his eyes met hers. He pointed at her, then gestured toward the cavity.

Humiliation burned her cheeks as she lifted the ragged skirt and squatted, only too aware of his eyes on her. She averted her gaze until she was finished, then stood, wishing she could bathe.

Another soldier approached, spat at her feet, and babbled too quickly for her to understand. Roark laughed unpleasantly. A chill coursed down her spine. Roark grabbed the chain again and led her back amidst the camp.

Several men, women, and children milled around a central fire pit. Among them Mariah saw the old woman who had given her the skirt and blanket. The woman was younger than she'd thought, her face darkly tanned and wrinkled from the sun. Her broad curves beneath her robes still held the tone of youth and her dark eyes burned with fire.

Roark spoke to the woman and nodded toward Mariah as he let go of the chain between her wrists. Through their words and gestures, Mariah understood she was to help the woman prepare the morning meal.

At Roark's orders, the woman's mouth formed a stubborn line, her eyes rebellious. She said something that sounded like a refusal. Roark slapped her, the loud smack like the crack of dry twigs. Sprawled on the ground, fury burned in the woman's gaze as she slowly got up. Angry Eyes, Mariah thought. The woman rubbed the red welt on her cheek.

Roark raised his hand again. The woman quickly lowered her head and spoke in an obedient tone. He smiled. Mariah glanced around and realized everyone had watched the spectacle. Her throat tightened as the gazes of those nearest switched from Roark and Angry Eyes to her. She read curiosity and perhaps pity in some of the women’s’ eyes; lust or fear in the men’s’.

Who was the woman and why had she challenged Roark's authority? Could Mariah gain her help?

By the end of the day, she still didn't know, and fatigue made her unable to focus. Put to work at a weaving loom, her rough, uneven rows looked childish, yet no one seemed to care. Although several other women were present, no one spoke to her. Her mind numbed as she tried to recognize words and follow their conversation.

Darkness fell as she passed the cradle between the loom strands over and over again, lengthening the cloth she wove. The tent became quiet when Angry Eyes entered. The guard following, offered a water bladder to Mariah. She drank until Angry Eyes grabbed it away and threw the bladder at the soldier. They exchanged furious words. Staring at the ground as if they heard nothing, the other women in the tent bent their heads.

The soldier scowled. His half-raised hand said he wanted to hit Angry Eyes, but didn't dare. Instead, he said Roark's name and gestured toward Mariah.

The woman glared, but she didn't argue. Under the soldier's gaze, she signed that Mariah should follow her outside. She led Mariah past the big central fire, and inside another tent.

The first thing Mariah saw as her eyes adjusted was Roark, seated on a sleeping mat, pillows and blankets behind him. She smelled the big barbarian's sweat, the stale drink on his breath and saw wine stains on his shirt. Was he drunk?

His lascivious gaze traveled down her body. Her stomach knotted. He wouldn't try to take her, she told herself, otherwise he would have before. But he'd never been drunk before.

Her gaze flickered to the small table, wine decanter and ceramic goblets, some kind of bread and meat beside them, to the rugs on the ground. No weapons except perhaps the wine decanter.

The woman pushed her farther inside.

Roark continued to eye her. "Skholya." Sit.

Mariah sat near the tent opening.

He frowned.

Angry Eyes kicked her in the side.

Mariah gasped, more surprised than hurt. When the woman raised her foot again, she caught it and twisted. Angry Eyes fell, knocked a goblet of wine from the small table, and a scarlet stain spread across the rug. "Nvaskav sha dhag!" The woman jumped to her feet, her face as crimson as the stain. Grabbing the glass from the ground she lifted it.

Mariah brought her arm up to take the blow.

"Pashlif kaya!" Roark's sharp command stopped the woman. She glared a moment. Then without another word, the woman righted the table, poured more wine and left.

Roark waved his hand at Mariah. "Ya klemensh vaishi."

She didn't move.

He stood up, apparently not as inebriated as she'd hoped. He gestured her to come forward. "Ya klemensh vaishi!"

She took a small step closer. Her skin crawled at the thought of his touch. The water she'd drunk sloshed in her stomach, and she felt ill.

He unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a hairy, doughy paunch that revolted her. "Ya klemensh vaishi," he repeated, motioning her closer still.

She forced herself to take another step. At any moment she expected him to press his wet lips to hers, or fly in a rage and hit her. Her gaze slid to the decanter.

Roark's gaze bore into her own as he offered her bread and wine. She gulped the first few bites, then tried to ignore the gnawing hunger and eat slowly.

The tent flap opened and a soldier entered, signified by the weapons at his belt. As the two men conversed, she eyed the knife wondering if she could get close enough to grab it. Then she caught the word "fire" combined with a hand sign directed at her.

The soldier nodded, then left. Roark finished his wine, stepped closer to her, his expression one of lust and something else Mariah couldn't identify. He touched her hair, rolled a lock between his fingers. She stayed completely still, wondering if she might trick him into removing her chains?

He dropped her hair and made the sign she knew meant fire. Then he pointed at her. "Friend say burn soon," he said slowly.

She felt her blood drain from her face, felt faint. "What friend?" she croaked, mouth dry.

"Tribe leader."

What leader? She must have looked confused because he grinned arrogantly. She choked out, "Salia?" only because Salia had met with the Kahns behind her back, had made some kind of bargain. Had her cousin foreseen this possibility - saw a chance for revenge if she lost the challenge?

He laughed, the sound harsh. He spoke slowly, obviously enjoying her shock. "She say not touch. Bad spell." Roark's eyes narrowed in expressed displeasure while Mariah's mind reeled. "New Chadyk leader too."

"Rathyn's dead?" The words slipped out.

He nodded, his face smug.

She shook her head. "No." Her dream had been too real. But she could sense no deceit in Roark.

He eyed her with leering interest. "Want burn witch... new moon." Roark made a circle with the fingers of one hand and stuck the index finger of his other hand inside it in a crude gesture of sex. "Burn bad spell too, eh?"

Mariah tried to still the pounding of her heart, calm herself. They'd burn her tomorrow night and any bad spells she might cast?

He reached out and slid his hand from her elbow to her shoulder to her breast.

She knocked his hand away, then clenched the chain between her hands. Weak or not, she would defend herself.

Suddenly Angry Eyes stalked in, cutting between Mariah and Roark, and shoving Roarke toward the back of the tent. The woman yelled at him.

He raised his hand and she glared back at him, chin raised, fists clenched. This time, surprisingly, he didn't hit her. He glanced at Mariah, his gaze promising he was not through with her, then barked an order and a soldier came in. The two men spoke rapidly.

The guard led her outside, prodding her between the shoulder blades with his knife point. Back at the weaving tent, she sank down before the same loom. Flames from the torches danced across the tent walls as the six other women watched and murmured.

To calm herself, she forced her hands to move the wood thread cradle back and forth, but the sickness in her stomach spread like a deathly chill.

Roark had said Rathyn was dead. She tried to tell herself it wasn’t true, but a heaviness settled over her. Again and again she passed the thread through the loom while her thoughts roiled. She'd transformed, been captured, for nothing! She hadn't saved him. She choked back sobs, while tears stung her eyes.

Why hadn't Captain Stephanos helped her on the battlefield? He had called her a witch in Rathyn's bed chamber. Asked her to kill Rathyn. Was he the new Chadyk leader? Her head ached and her eyes burned. Anguish ripped through her as more thoughts of her husband, her sister, and Rathyn seeped through her defenses. Oh, Syrith, why?

Her dream came back to her. Was it a Seer's message? She knew it could be, but doubted it was anything but her own wishful thinking. A Syrithian tracker would have found her by now. She estimated there were several hundred Kahns in camp, but only about fifty soldiers. Yet more camps lay further in the desert and some along the coast, above Syrithia. Although the desert Kahns lived differently than their coastal relatives, she knew that like the Syrithian tribes, they banded together for war.

Her people would not attack without an idea of the remaining Kahn numbers. Would Jarad come? Once she would have bet her life on it, on him. Now she wondered if he saw this as a chance to be rid of her.

She sighed, her thoughts whirling like a sandstorm, for some reason uncovering the memory of Rathyn standing beside her on the battlement of the Chadyk castle. His hard muscles had ignited her senses, filled her with an aching need she'd denied. Did the desire she'd seen in his eyes mean anything more than that? After he'd released her she'd believed so. Rathyn, please be alive, she prayed, telling herself her prayer was foolish. She herself had seen Rathyn hit the ground, blood smeared across his face, his body limp.

The shadows lengthened through the tent opening and torches were lit. Tomorrow, she thought, there would be no more pain. Death would be a relief.

Self-anger prodded her. Would she give up now? Would Rathyn want her to give up? What if he lived? Her other visions had been true, why not the dream?

Just the thought lightened her inner darkness. She would find a way to escape, if only to face Rathyn once more. And then what?

The question was like a dunking in cold water after a long spell in the dry heat. Would she make Rathyn her lover, knowing she could not marry him? Would he want more than a night of passion? Perhaps one night would quench the fire between them.

She glanced down at the woven cloth, then shook her head at the notion. She wanted more. Rathyn was a Chadyk Commander of the highest rank. According to Lilas, his men respected him, and his position rivaled the Emperor's. He was wealthy and powerful within the Chadyk Empire. Would he be content to stay with her and her tribe?

No. The answer came swift and painful. Just as she would never be content away from her home. Heart heavy, weary, she stood and followed the women outside where a soldier took her back to her tent. If only she could transform into a horse. The Kahns would never catch her. But she still had twenty more days before the cycle of transformation could be repeated.

That night Mariah dreamed of Rathyn again, heard his voice as he whispered words of love in her language, his tone a soft and gentle hum that caressed her spirit, made her feel as she’d often imagined a woman could feel about her man. "I give to you my soul," he sang, "my life and yours can never be separate no matter the distance between us. My thoughts and yours forever intertwined with Syrith's blessing." And then in Chadyk he said, "I love you, Mariah." And the words seemed so close, so real, she jolted upright, suddenly wide awake, the skin at her neck tingling from his warm breath.

In the darkness nothing moved. Mariah slipped from beneath the rough cover, shivered and gripped her chains so they wouldn't clink. Her heart pounded like a drum in her ears as she stepped toward the opening.

Slowly she pulled back the tent flap, cringing at the slight noise. Almost a full moon shone overhead, offered light. Outside her tent a soldier sat, his gaze riveted on the fire. Half-asleep? She bent slowly, silently, then whipped the chain between her manacles over his head and yanked back hard.

A soft moan escaped his lips as he thrashed and pulled her against his back. Her arms straining against the weight, she tightened her hold. In seconds, he slid to the ground. She loosed the chain and carefully took a step away, every muscle in her body taut as stretched rope, sure each step would be her last.

At each sound in the camp, her heart leapt to her mouth. Which way should she go? In the westward direction only one guard could be seen. Her gaze slid southwest. She knew the Kahn desert lay northeast of Syrithia, but she had no idea how far north or east they'd brought her. She would need to find water quickly to survive.

With longing, she looked toward the penned animals. If the horses or goats made a noise, the guards beside the pen would awaken. As much as she wanted one of the strange humped animals, her chances would be better on foot with a night's head start.

Near the camp perimeter she saw the guard pace to the waste hole. Mariah wrapped her skirt around her thighs and tucked the excess material into her waistband. Drawing closer to her quarry, she crouched beside a tent, then darted to the next one.

As the guard squatted down, she crept close. She used her chain again as a rope and wrapped it around his neck. His hands immediately flew to the metal, but already she had the chain too tight. He staggered to his knees and she fell with him. Her knee against his back, she pressed down, forcing his face into the sand. He squirmed and she pulled harder, her own breath nearly as raspy as his from the strain. Stop struggling! She didn't want to kill him. Abruptly, his body twitched, suddenly sagged beneath her.

Slowly, she released her hold. His chest rose and fell, the sound of each breath alarmingly loud. She took the rope from his belt and tied his hands and feet, cut a piece of cloth from his tunic and gagged his mouth. Next, she took his knife and his water skin. In a half-crouch, she tried to hurry past the waste hole, get over the slight rise, her feet slipping in the sand, her back exposed, the cold night air prickling her skin as well as fear.

She made it over the rise and trudged on. All the while she expected to hear the Kahns' sudden cries of alarm. As the sound of her own ragged breath filled her ears, uninterrupted by shouts, she began to relax and her body found a rhythm.

Yet her thoughts churned like the sand under her feet. She had maybe five hours before sunrise and she was leaving a perfect trail they could follow. She could only hope she'd reach the mountains and find a good hiding place, before they caught up.

As the orange ball of fire rose over the horizon behind her, she stopped to rest. Sitting, she rubbed her calf muscles to relieve the ache. She closed her eyes, said a prayer, and started off again, pacing herself at a fast walk that she knew she could sustain for several days. "I'm going to make it," she murmured over and over. And as first one hour passed, then two, she began to believe it.

But by late-afternoon, a cloud of dust rose far behind her, and she knew the Kahns were following. She broke into a run. If she could stay ahead of them until nightfall, she'd have a chance of losing them before dawn. By then she'd find a place to hide, or reach the mountain range beyond the next huge rise of sand dunes - or be recaptured.

The closer she got to the mountains, the harsher her breath came. The sun was going down! Behind her she could hear the Kahns yell. Her lungs burned as her feet left the sand and slipped on the pebbled dirt of the first mountain's rise. She scrambled upwards, clawing at the loose rocks.

A strange whisper of sound, like wind through trees came at her. Something slipped past her face, jerked tight around her neck. Her body slammed to the ground and rolled back. She clawed at the rope as it jerked again. Breathe! The rope loosened. She gulped air, then saw the four Kahns move in.

#

Rathyn and Lilas rode separately into the Kahn camp. Tied to her mount were things they'd brought to barter. As Lilas led him down the gently sloping dune toward the noise of children, smells of fires and food, conversation, the desire to see burned in him ever brighter. A hush fell and he sensed the Kahns stares, felt uncomfortable under their murmurs of curiosity and speculation. If only he could understand their words!

The tone of the one who addressed Lilas sounded wary. "Sheshs kaya Roark."

I am Roark? Rathyn thought he understood from the cadence.

Lilas answered, speaking easily, her voice a spring rain in the heat. For a moment Rathyn thought of Stephanos and promised himself, given the chance, he would cut out the bastard's heart. More murmurs flowed around him.

Was Mariah there? Could she see him? Lilas had promised to let him know by pulling lightly on his rein. He heard her dismount, heard the clink of metal, but she didn't touch his rein.

Then he heard ragged male yells of fury and glee, and a brief female scream. Syrithian. Mariah? Rathyn cursed his eyes. He was so caught up in listening to the noises of dragging and fighting that he almost missed Lilas's pull on his rein, her soft whisper, "She's here."

His mouth went dry and he froze on his mountain pony. The man Rathyn assumed was the leader, Roark spoke in a loud, angry voice.

Lilas touched Rathyn's hand. He heard skin slap skin, the clink of metal. Lilas’s grip tightened. Was the bastard hitting Mariah? He heard another thud and had an image of Mariah knocked senseless by the Kahn. Rage made him want to fly from his mount and cut the leader's offending hand from his arm. His muscles quivered, but he did not dismount. It would not help Mariah if he were taken captive. He heard the sound of chains, heard another hard slap, another fall. He clenched his jaw until it hurt.

Each time she was hit, she got up. Stay down, he wanted to tell her. Let them think you are beaten! Miraculously, as if she'd heard his thought, she did. The silence lengthened, followed by Roark's brutal laughter.

Lilas spoke, her tone soothing, questioning, offering. She was talking about Mariah. But why?

And then he knew Mariah had seen him. He felt the peculiar prickle of heat in his belly the weight of her eyes always brought. Did she recognize him? Lilas had wrapped him in the long robes of a Kahn nomad trader, covered his head with a turban, and he had a beard. He hadn't bathed in a week. He'd grown used to the bad smell, but he imagined Mariah's reaction, the look of disgust on her face. He felt ridiculous having such thoughts while sitting astride a pony, blind, in the middle of an enemy camp. Who cared whether he had bathed or not?

The bantering note continued in Lilas's and Roark's voice. He seemed to be considering her offer. His tone was agreeable. A few moments later, Lilas tapped Rathyn's leg, a signal to dismount. He did so. He was to be her blind, mute father.

Blindness was easy, but already he'd had to grit his teeth not to call Roark a scurrilous dog for hitting a defenseless woman.

Hardly defenseless, his inner voice whispered recalling how she'd gone for his knife when he'd offered her an opportunity. He'd handed her the bowl of stew to see if she would attack him, had been surprised because he hadn't really thought she would. Now he had a thin scar on his arm for his own overconfidence and his underestimation of her.

Lilas led him and the pony along, her voice ringing, the meaning clear. "Cooking pots, bowls, fine linens..." He’d learned that much of the Kahn language.

People jostled him, murmuring appreciatively, coins jingling, Lilas whispering to him now and then. The smell of meat roasting over a fire filled his nostrils and his stomach rumbled. But his fear for Mariah was far greater than his hunger. What were they doing to her now? Where was she?

He let his hand slide along the pony's back, relieved to find most of the load bartered away. Roark's voice sounded nearby. He heard Lilas approach him with a greeting - offering a gift for Mariah?"

His response sounded like a spiteful growl.

Lilas queried again.

An angry retort.

Tension filled the air. Rathyn slid his hand to his side, curled his fingers around the hilt of his knife. Men's voice rose and fell, arguing with Roark.

Lilas soothing voice broke in. "Ya nakovska na sha yvet." Footsteps moved near him. "Stay still," Lilas murmured, her hand brushing his arm. "I've offered to trade a pony for Mariah. Roark says no, she has caused him much trouble, put a spell on his woman; she must pay. But his men want him to trade her for the pony."

More angry words. Roark's voice roared above the others and immediate silence descended. "Nyetavaya..."

Lilas moved away from Rathyn's side, her response soft and cajoling.

Roark spat, said a few more words, then stomped off.

Damn it, what was happening? Had Lilas failed? Where was Roark going?

"Sit and eat," Lilas whispered, drawing him to the ground and pressing a stick with meat on it into his hand. "I will talk with the women, see if there is some other way to sway their leader."

The meat was tough like animal hide, but he chewed obediently, stifling his frustration as more time dragged by, hating the fact Lilas was facing all the danger while he remained in the background.

By the gods, where was she? He stood and a hand slid across his arm. Startled, he almost cried out Mariah's name.

"No luck," Lilas whispered. "Come. It is siesta. We rest now." She guided him inside a tent. His nose wrinkled at the stale smell of wine and urine. "We're alone, you may speak softly."

"Where's Mariah?"

"She escaped from the camp two days ago. Roark, the leader, sent trackers after her. They recaptured her, brought her back. That's why Roark was so angry. Now she has many guards."

"Why does he care what happens to her?" Rathyn whispered back.

"Roark said he was paid gold to see that the Syrithian demon-witch was kept alive for two weeks, unharmed. If the Chadyk leader did not come to claim her in that time, she was to be burned as a witch. But, Roark said, the demon-witch caused trouble between the him and his woman, cast a spell on her, making her disobedient, and he decided he would not wait for the Chadyk leader to come. Then she escaped. Tonight they plan to burn Mariah alive," Lilas shuddered against him.

Rathyn's gut tightened in a panic.

"Evidently, Roark believes burning Mariah will remove the spell over his woman." A note of failure crept into her voice. "I couldn't press him without risking suspicion."

His shoulder muscles knotted. "It's all right, Lilas. You did the right thing," he whispered. "How much time do we have?"

"Three, four hours," Lilas whispered back, her tone ragged with worry.

"Where are they keeping her?"

"Across the camp in a tent."

"Guards?"

"At least two. I couldn't see inside."

He could almost see Lilas frown inside the tent's darkness. He blinked and wondered at the shadows before his eyes. Not quite light, not quite the pitch black he'd grown accustomed to. He blinked, looked up, then down, and tried to make sense of the shapes. He closed his eyes, the blackness became complete. He opened them, saw shadows. His sight! Surprise and elation shot through him. He sat up, half expecting the movement to clear his vision, but the shadowy forms remained, unidentifiable.

Rathyn felt Lilas's tremor of fear and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring hug. "We'll have to find a way to divert them. Long enough to free Mariah and escape. Do they have many ponies?" He blinked again and again, testing his vision of light and dark blurs.

"Only one old nag, several camels, and some goats," Lilas whispered. Her head became a definite dark shape, then blurred again.

He could definitely distinguish between darkness and light. "Lilas!"

"What?" Lilas sat up next to him.

"I see shadows." He saw the darkness of her palm pass before his eyes and blinked. "Do that again," he ordered.

She did. "Truly, you can see?"

Rathyn nodded.

"Syrith is indeed on our side," she whispered in jubilation.

"I can only see faint forms," Rathyn cautioned, but his excitement mirrored hers. If he could get around on his own, they could split up, rescue Mariah, and perhaps stay alive.

Chapter Eleven

Through the slit in the tent opening Mariah saw a tall stake being pounded into the ground, a pyre of wood and tinder piled around it. As the blood red of the sun spilled across the sand, needles of dread jabbed her stomach. She closed her eyes. The women had left her alone, and the weaving helped her control her fear, but the nearer the time came, the closer panic crept.

Her face ached from the blows Roark had given her. She touched her bruised cheeks gingerly, felt the spongy swelling and dried blood, and grimaced.

Her brain reeled from Lilas’ presence. Why was the servant here? And why with a blind trader? Were they a scouting party? Or had Lilas simply run away from the castle?

A shadow fell before the tent and Mariah jumped back and resumed weaving. Roark entered the tent and drew his sword.

She gripped the thread cradle tight in her hand, and wished she too had a sword.

He yanked her to her feet by the length of chain between her wrist manacles. The metal bit into her flesh, and she held back a cry of pain. His leer twisted his expression, dared her to make a move against him.

She wanted to vomit, disgust and fear eating at her resolve. She had little chance of escape now. Would she have a better chance if she waited?

Suddenly Roark grabbed her shoulders and threw her down. The ground knocked the air from her lungs. Her heart slammed against her chest. She wheezed for breath. With a twisted smile, he tossed his sword to the far side of the tent.

She clasped the wooden cradle like a club as she watched in horror while he unfastened the closure of his pants at his crotch to release his swelling organ. Soon she would be burned alive, but his malevolent sneer told her that he would take his pleasure first.

She scrambled backwards. The tent wall cut off her retreat. Rolling, she stretched her arms toward the sword.

The side of his foot smashed into her stomach. Darkness swirled past her eyes. The thread cradle slipped from her fingers. She convulsed into a protective ball as his foot struck again. Pain shot through her side, stealing her breath. The next kick she blocked with her forearm.

In seconds he straddled her, crushing her elbow beneath one knee. She clawed the ground, threw the small amount of sand she could get at his face.

He snarled, grabbed her wrist in a vice-like grip. He staked her second arm with his other knee. Arms pinned, every move to twist free shot biting pain up to her shoulders. He yanked on her tunic, the fabric digging into her flesh as it ripped down the front, the sound lost beneath a grunt of pleasure. She kicked at his groin and missed. She kicked again, hit his thigh with her knee. The impact only brought a flush of fury washing across his face.

His rough palm slid across her breasts, squeezing them until tears welled in her eyes. His great weight crushed the breath from her lungs as he jerked her skirt up.

A battle cry filled with rage and terror tore from her throat. Her scream seemed to ignite an explosion within her mind. Then she realized the sound came from outside.

She heard the horrible shrieks of animals, muffled cries of alarm. Roark cursed and stood. He worked to refasten his pants, then grabbed his sword.

#

Rathyn heard Mariah scream. Icy tentacles of fear grabbed him. Had Lilas waited too long to create the diversion? Sweat slicked the handle of his knife. He readied himself to take on Roark, half-blind or not. Then he saw the flash of light and heard the animal screams, heard Roark run from the tent, cursing and yelling in the chaos.

He shoved his blade point into the tent wall, sawing the course fabric open. "Mariah?" Rathyn called as he crawled through. Amidst darkness he saw a darker form. Someone huddled on the ground? His heart lurched. "Mariah?" Had Roark ravaged her? Killed her? He sheathed his blade and slithered toward her.

Kneeling, he whispered again, "Mariah?" The figure stirred, sat up. If only he could see better.

"Rathyn!" Joy radiated in her voice. She hurled herself into his arms and nearly knocked him on his back. "You're alive!"

Her feather-soft lips kissed his face as she clung to him. His blood roared in his ears. She trembled and he tightened his hold, slowly getting to his feet, lifting her with him. "Did he - are you all right?" he choked out. He wanted to hold her forever.

She slid her fingers through his hair. "I'm all right."

Relief. Another shriek by the horses snapped him into action. "Lilas is waiting." He led her to the crack of sunlight spilling through the back of the tent. "Lilas has the ponies at the bottom of the dune, west of here." He forced out the rest of the words, "I can't see much. You'll have to lead me."

She stopped. "What? What happened?" He felt her fingers tenderly touch his face.

Tenderly, or with pity? Gently he removed them. "We have to go."

Taking his arm, she led him away from the camp. Her hand was warm and strong within his, reminding him of the time he had seen her on the hill above his first victory battle...

In his mind, he saw her as he had then, under the fiery dark red sun, her body glistening as if dusted with jewels, her silver hair a silk mane gentled by the breeze...

He missed his stride in the hot sand, fell, and rolled. Cursing his imagination, he scrambled to his feet. Mariah's hand clasped his again and urged him forward.

His heart pounded like a drum, faster, faster, as he ran. Any minute he expected to hear the Kahns cries of rage, hear their pursuit. But the horse screams and Kahns angry yells only grew more distant.

A whistle broke the sound of his labored breath. Lilas!

"Hurry!" Lilas helped Rathyn onto the second pony. Rathyn felt the tug of the lead line as she fastened it to her saddle. And then they were moving, Mariah's and Lilas's whispers his only clue that the lump on the other pony's back was the two women. Was Lilas telling Mariah about his eyes?

They rode all night. Only when the ponies were winded and staggering did they stop and dismount. Mariah dropped behind him as a lookout, while Lilas led.

At first walking felt good, but by the time the sun peaked overhead, he was drenched in sweat. He wished only to fall down and sleep. Mariah must be exhausted. He pictured her lovely face drawn, her body slumped forward. They rationed the water, and soon his mouth ached for the precious liquid while his body ached for rest. Still, he knew they could not stop. The Kahns must not get their hands on her again.

Finally, the sand became coarse, rough pebbles that slid under his boots. They were nearing the mountains. They had crossed two days' distance in one.

An exhausted "Wait..." made him turn to see Mariah crumpled on the ground. "Lilas!" Rathyn called to halt the young woman as he released his pony's rein. Squinting under the fierce heat, he moved toward the dark patch behind him.

He blinked as the light seemed to get stronger. The blur of light and dark images clarified into more definite shapes and for the first time he saw color, saw the silver of Mariah's hair.

"Mariah? Are you all right?"

Between ragged breaths she answered, "Yes."

He crouched beside her, wishing he could see more than the blur of her face and hair. "We need to rest," he called to Lilas.

Lilas joined them. "We can't. Not here. We're passing through the mountain ridge Demon's Pass. Once we reach the other side the Kahns will hesitate to follow us. Their stories say the place is haunted and filled with demons and witches who steal souls. We can rest there." She paused to wipe the sweat from her eyes. "We must get past the spots where we can be ambushed. If we walk through the night we should make it past those places safely."

If they walked through the night. How easily she said it. He'd never realized how much endurance the Syrithians had - even Mariah, who'd been half-starved and ill-treated for over a week, was holding up better than he'd expected.

"Mariah will need to ride." Rathyn said.

"We will all ride," Lilas said.

Rathyn helped Mariah to her feet and felt her gentle touch at his temples, around his eyes. Heard the clink of the chains on her wrists and remembered how he'd chained her in her equine form in the tower. "We need to get these off you," he said, wishing he could tear them off.

Her voice came out soft, "Later, when we are safe in the mountains. Sadness crept into her tone, "You were blind?"

"I still am, mostly," Rathyn answered. He was glad he couldn't see her expression. Was it pity or concern he heard in her voice?

He felt her press against him, rest her hands against his chest, lean her head into his shoulder. He held her gently. "Ka-ah-sho-lee-ah, I give you my soul," he said, his throat raw with overwhelming emotion. "Shay-ah-la-ser-ee-lah... You are my life," he half-whispered, half sang the words Lilas had taught him while Mariah pressed against him, unmoving.

"We must go!" Lilas' voice and the touch of her hands as she pulled him from Mariah doused him like an icy river bath. "You'll make me sorry I taught you anything," Lilas said in a stern tone that barely hid humor. "Come!"

Reluctantly, he climbed on his pony, his gaze focused on Mariah's glistening hair, a silver blur of light.

The trail through the hills seemed endless. As soon as they made it to the top of a rise, started down the other side, he saw another. Dampness hung in the air. He nodded off several times, jerking awake abruptly as he started sliding from his pony. A bone-piercing chill crept into his bones as strange cawing sounds broke the quiet. Large birds? Spirit predators? Lilas dismissed the stories about demons and witches as nothing. But were they?

High up in the mountains, they found a small shelter where the ponies could be tied out of sight. So far they'd seen no one.

"We'll have to rest here," Lilas said, her tone optimistic.

He stifled a groan as he slid from his pony, his leg muscles cramping. With blurred vision, he watched Mariah and Lilas spread blankets, then he lay beside the two women. With the warmth of Mariah’s body pressed against his chest, he sank into a dark, dreamless sleep.

#

When he awakened, the two women were up.

Mariah was standing over him, a half-bemused smile on her face. "It's time to go."

A light breeze kissed his face as he smiled up at her. His belly grumbled and he ignored it as he drank in her image, the torn, filthy skirt swaying softly against her supple calves, the ripped tunic tied beneath the full curve of her breasts. Her blue eyes shone, despite the yellowish bruises on her cheeks. He got to his feet, resisting the urge to reach out and stroke her tangled hair, smooth it with his fingers. She was so beautiful.

He smiled at her and at the same time he realized his sight was completely restored. By the gods, he could see!

The healer had told him his sight might return, but Rathyn had held little hope. With a whoop of delight, he jumped to his feet, grabbed Mariah and swung her around. "I can see!" he told her, watching her eyes well up. He kissed her tears away and held her close. "And the fairest vision is the one before me."

She slid her fingertips lightly over his eyelids, then lifted her face toward the sky. "Syrith, goddess of all that is good," she whispered, "I thank you."

Lilas came into view and Rathyn noticed the serving girl stood straighter, radiated more confidence, seemed more capable than before. Her gaze reflected joyful surprise. She too raised her face toward the sky and spoke a prayer.

Mariah hugged him fiercely, still murmuring gratitude to the moon goddess. Then she met his gaze. "Ka-ah-sho-lee-ah," she whispered.

He echoed her, but as Lilas gently drew her away from his embrace, he wondered if it was a vow of gratitude or a vow for the future. As the sun rose, he wondered if Syrith had returned his sight as a sign that Mariah and he were meant to be together.

When they were astride their ponies and on their way again, he rode abreast of Lilas and Mariah so they could talk. "How much farther to the shelter?" He pushed the thought of demons and witches from his mind.

Lilas looked thoughtful. "A few hours. Anna, Jarad, and Nahil will meet us there with food and water."

Rathyn saw Mariah stiffen at Lilas' words. "Who's Jarad?" he asked.

"A council member," Mariah answered softly. Her tone held a note of uncertainty.

Was Jarad someone Mariah cared for? Someone of her tribe that she could marry? He wanted to ask more, but her eyes were lowered, her expression guarded, and he fell silent.

He remembered the softness of her touch, and wondered if his own desire had made him imagine passion instead of friendship. If only he'd been able to see her face more clearly then, he might not now doubt where her feelings lay. But he did doubt, and as the day progressed it made him irritable until he snapped at every comment directed to him. Soon the two women ignored him altogether and he felt slighted.

He was acting like a petulant child, he told himself, but it didn't ease the anger or the gnawing fear beneath it that he had saved Mariah only to have her run to someone else's arms. Maybe Jarad was old like Nahil, the other council member he'd met.

He'd almost convinced himself of this, when they heard a shout in Syrithian and a tall, well-muscled man dressed in a sleeveless tunic and tight breeches which the Syrithians referred to as leggings, bore down on them and swept Mariah from her pony and into his arms.

"Jarad!" Mariah cried, her tone delighted.

"Mariah," Jarad murmured. It was only too clear in Jarad's glittering eyes how he felt about her as he held her in his arms. His gaze lifted to meet Rathyn's, then returned to Mariah’s. Jarad said something in Syrithian to her, she answered, and he released her.

Mariah turned toward Rathyn, a smile on her face. "Jarad, this is Commander Rathyn," she said first in Syrithian, then Chadyk. "Jarad is a council member and friend." She nudged him and he stepped forward, slowly stretched out his hand.

Rathyn stifled the urge to ignore it, and clasped the man's hand. The council member returned his fierce grip. Rathyn couldn't help wondering if this Jarad and Mariah had been lovers. The idea curdled his tongue, made him want to rip off the man’s arm. Instead, he released his hold and faked a smile as Mariah translated Jarad's words, "Thank you for bringing her back to us."

"I owed her a debt, I repaid it."

Mariah frowned at his reply, then turned away and followed Jarad up the trail.

Anna, Nahil and a Syrithian woman, Bahleal, introduced to Rathyn as another of the council, joined them on the winding path and led them to a small plateau that opened into a huge cave on one side and on the other, overlooked the large valley below. In the distance, like a lump of coal, Rathyn could see the blackened battlefield.

"We'll be safe here," Lilas said, joining him.

He nodded, but didn't speak. He'd never felt more alone.

#

Inside the large cave, Rathyn watched as the four Syrithians, Anna, Nahil, Bahleal, and Jarad, prepared an evening meal. He, Lilas, and Mariah sat next to each other in places of honor. Mariah had washed in a shallow pool at the back of the cave and now wore soft blue robes like the others present. Rathyn too had washed and wore his original tunic and leggings, glad to be rid of the smelly Kahn garments. Rubbing the growth of beard on his face, unused to the feel, he longed for a straight blade to shave it off. Syrithian males grew no hair on their faces or chests; Jarad had grinned with amusement when he’d asked for a shaving implement.

Now, his gaze returned again and again to Mariah. Her silver hair, braided and wrapped around her head, gleamed in the flickering torchlight. He could imagine no lovelier crown. He remembered her kiss, her touch, and felt his hunger for her grow as though it were an incurable illness, or a thirst he could never quench.

He turned his attention to the four Syrithians, two men, two women, preparing the food. They worked together like a team of warriors in battle. Rathyn found the comparison disconcerting. He also found it hard to believe Jarad enjoyed cooking and cleaning, but Jarad's tone was jaunty and playful with the other man and two other women and indicated the duty was not an unpleasant one.

Something in Rathyn's expression must have given his thoughts away because when he glanced at Mariah, her gaze was fixed on him, a smile not only on her lips but in her eyes. Was she imagining him doing such menial tasks? "Woman's work!" he muttered under his breath.

Lilas giggled.

Mariah said in a loud voice, "Rathyn would like to try his hand at mixing the corn meal and flattening the cakes."

Anna's forehead furled, her surprise evident. Jarad's gaze found Rathyn's and challenged him to take the bowl he held out.

Annoyed, Rathyn shot a dark look at Mariah, then stood and took the bowl. He stirred in the same fashion Jarad had done. Anna added more corn, Nahil added more oil. The mixture doubled in size. Rathyn's forearm soon burned from forcing the spoon through the heavy dough. "How long must I stir?" he asked, hating the grumpy tone he heard in his voice.

Anna stopped in her preparation of a leafy green plant dish he didn't recognize and pressed her finger against the dough. She nodded. "You can start making the cakes now. Take a fistful and press it as flat and thin as you can." She demonstrated on a round ceramic tile, her fingers expertly manipulating the cornmeal quickly and easily. He did his best to imitate her, yet his first corn cake came out lopsided, more like a pile of dung than a round cake. He knew he was scowling but couldn’t stop.

Anna nodded at Mariah. "Why don't you show him again?"

The next thing he knew, Mariah stood beside him, her ocean blue eyes twinkling with merriment as she whipped out a perfect flat cake. When she smiled at him, Rathyn thought he'd make a thousand more such cakes for another smile like that. By the time he'd emptied the big bowl, he would have sworn he had.

With a sense of accomplishment and belonging that surprised him, he returned to his seat. Soon, everyone was talking and eating, Lilas often pausing to translate for Rathyn so he could understand the flow of conversation.

Lilas said, "Did you know that all present, excluding you and me, are members of the ruling council? Anna asks me to tell you." Lilas added in a whisper, "It is a great honor."

Jarad looked at Rathyn and said in halting Chadyk, "The Kahns stop follow. No like this demon place."

Was Jarad trying to scare him by bringing the subject up? Or did Jarad believe in the demons? Either way, Rathyn was determined not to let it bother him. He took a large bite of corn cake, the light fluffy texture and sweet taste a delight to his tongue. Concentrating on food, he followed little of the conversation until Anna translated, "This was once a burial place for a people no one knows much about. They died. No one knows why. We find traces of them once in a while when we dig in the ground. It is said the dark god, Kleyeth, is strong here." Her face offered no clue as to whether she believed such things or not.

Was he the only one disturbed by the fact they could be sitting on somebody's grave? The corn suddenly felt like a boulder in his stomach.

Nahil spoke to Jarad, then turned to Rathyn, his face reflecting concern. "Your Captain heads back to castle. There are ships there now. In bay."

"The Emperor's ships?" Rathyn pointed to the symbol engraved on his belt buckle. "Do the flags have this picture?"

Jarad conferred with Nahil again. "Nahil says yes."

Rathyn forgot about dark gods and demons. He must reach the castle and take command of one of the ships. Return to Spartyk.

"What is it?" Mariah asked, worry in her eyes.

"I need to go back to Spartyk," he said with a growing sense of urgency. "I need to stop Stephanos and the Emperor."

Mariah's expression became closed, unreadable.

Rathyn glanced at Lilas.

"I told her about the captain," Lilas said.

Mariah asked, "Will the Emperor not try to kill you?"

"Not if I have an army at my back and alliances he would fear. He’d be forced to step down."

"Are you asking for an alliance with us?" Anna broke in, her tone conveying, Haven't we done enough?

"If I don't smash the Emperor, he'll send more armies, take more slaves, make Stephanos commander over all his forces. And Stephanos would be happy to burn you all as witches." Rathyn paused. He had to convince them! Forcefully, he added, "Marcus the Butcher was one of the Emperor's favorite commanders."

Mariah blanched.

Rathyn continued. "From what I now know of Stephanos, he would have no compunction against wiping out Syrithians and Kahns alike. Perhaps that is what he's promised the Emperor, to stamp out any threat against the Empire."

Mariah asked in a strong tone, "What do you want us to do?"

Rathyn cast an assessing glance at Jarad, then met Mariah's gaze again. "I want a written agreement between me and you. The document must state the size of an army you would provide should I need your help against the Emperor, and the recompense you would expect. Since the exact number of Syrithians has never been known, I would suggest you exaggerate the size of an army you can provide, and the resources at your disposal."

He took a breath, "And I would need to take a small army with me back to Spartyk to show my strength and yours."

"What about the Emperor's army?" Mariah asked.

Rathyn thought of his supporters in the Senate, and among the people. "I believe that if they are forced to choose, they will follow me."

"What compensation would you offer us?" Anna interpreted for Nahil.

"A part of the Chadyk Empire." Rathyn thought quickly. "The three ships in the bay, the castle, and livestock, and representation in Spartyk when the Emperor is dethroned."

Jarad's eyes brightened at the mention of the ships. Rathyn knew the Syrithians had only small boats to travel up and down the coast.

"Who would take the Emperor's place?" Mariah asked.

Rathyn thought of himself, the dream he'd left behind beckoning him once more. But would the Senate accept him? He considered his dead wife's father, Tchelak. Tchelak had been like a father to Rathyn even before Rathyn married his daughter. He was a member of the Senate, now powerless under the Emperor's rule. But if Rathyn could defeat the Emperor, restore the Senate, Tchelak would support Rathyn's rule. With Tchelak leading the Senate; they would be a good team.

Thinking of Tchelak, Rathyn said, "I know an honorable man who would do well as a leader of the Chadyk Empire. He is honest, forthright, and incorruptible."

"You?" Mariah asked in an unreadable tone.

Rathyn forced a laugh. Had she read his thoughts? "I would not sing my virtues so readily, Your Majesty." Mariah's eyebrows raised at his use of the Chadyk title. Uncomfortable, because he felt everyone knew he loved Mariah and disapproved, Rathyn stood. "I know you will need to discuss this, but I hope you can give me an answer by morning."

As he grabbed a torch and left the cave, he reminded himself once again that Mariah was a queen. After seeing Jarad and Mariah greet each other he'd vowed to remember she was unattainable. But his common sense warred with his desire. Oh, he wanted her. Now more than ever.

Out on the small plateau the wind howled in gusts that threatened to extinguish the torch. A full moon shone overhead, but Rathyn focused on the valley below, now a blanket of darkness in which the only discernible shapes were the mountains that rose out of the charcoal night. If he became Emperor, Syrithian law might be satisfied regarding who Mariah could marry. Once he dreamed of being Emperor. Was it too late?

What if she married Jarad while he was gone?

Take her and a Syrithian army with you, a part of him replied.

How easily his mind produced answers. But were they the best ones? The right ones? He paced along the edge of the plateau and paused, remembering the first time Mariah had stood in his bed chamber, her blue eyes flashing with the silver fire of defiance, her queenly bearing intimidating. He knew so little about her. His thoughts turned to the secret name she'd said all Syrithians had. He wanted to know Mariah's second name and whisper it to her as he made love to her.

"Rathyn?"

He turned at her voice. The torchlight sent flickers of yellow and orange spilling across her face. Her expression was somber. He saw no answer to his plea for an alliance in her face. He noticed she had several blankets over her arm. She's come to ask me to sleep outside, away from the council. Away from her and Jarad. His jaw tightened until he thought he'd crack a tooth.

Mariah glanced back toward the lighted cave. Two silhouettes stood in the doorway. Rathyn recognized the shapes of Anna and Jarad.

"Come. There is another cave nearby." She took the torch from his hand, the brief touch of her fingers enough to send warmth surging through his body. He followed, aware of others watching. She's a queen, they seemed to warn.

The narrow path sported small rocks and loose gravel that made each step treacherous. They descended fifty feet. He could hear no movement or talk from the people they'd left behind.

Finally, Mariah paused and held up the torch, revealing a long, narrow crawl space between the rocky wall. She slithered through first. He slid in, wedged his fingers in small cracks and dragged himself toward the other side. He exhaled and pulled himself out of the fissure.

Inside, the cave opened up into a high-vaulted chamber. She shoved the torch between two rocks and then shook out a blanket. He picked up the second blanket and copied her movements. A smile that threatened to melt his insides to putty lit her face. She knelt down and closed her eyes.

A prayer? He knelt down beside her, his knee inches from hers, his shoulder and hip grazing hers and heightening his physical awareness of her, while his eyes feasted on the sensual line of her lips, the silver tips of her otherwise dark eyelashes as they lay against skin whose softness he'd touched only briefly.

He longed for so much more, and his hunger so long unfulfilled now burned like flames that soon would rage out of control. His gaze slid down the slender column of her graceful neck to the full swell of her breasts.

She's a queen. The reminder brought him to his feet. He wasn't an emperor - yet. He stepped quietly toward the entrance, intending to leave before he behaved inappropriately.

"Rathyn?" He heard the rustle of Mariah's robes as she came after him, but he did not turn. If he looked at her again, smelled the tempting perfume of her skin, he would make love to her and damn the consequences.

"I'm going outside," he said over his shoulder. Her next words stopped him mid-stride.

"Why do you run away?" Her voice broke off and he felt her presence behind him, her breath on the back of his neck. "Ka-ah-sho-lee-ah," she whispered.

Her hands slid beneath his arms, across his chest. Through the fabric of his tunic he felt her breasts pressed against his back, felt her quiver.

He turned, wondering if he were dreaming as she stepped away, then slowly unfastened her robes and pushed them from her shoulders. His mouth grew drier than the desert sand. She was the well he would drink from. He stripped off his tunic and leggings, liking the admiration that glimmered in her eyes as he stood nude before her. Her gaze fell to his erection and she swallowed. A flush of desire stained her cheeks. She glided toward him as if in a dream. "Follow me." Taking his hand, she urged him toward the back of the cave where it was dark.

He pulled back. "I want to stay in the light. I want to see you." He wanted to treasure every flicker of pleasure that crossed her face, see every silky inch of her skin before he claimed her.

"We will come back," Mariah promised enigmatically.

Curious, Rathyn followed, squeezing through a crevice in the cave wall, sliding along a passageway so narrow he found himself praying he didn't get stuck or leave his manhood behind. But the mud-lined walls were damp. Mud oozed across his skin, between his fingers and toes, slick, slippery; he squeezed through.

Soon they were in another cavern where a torch burned. Its light reflected off the smooth cave floor. Overhead, like inverted kingly monuments, hung huge stalactites.

Blankets lay neatly folded at the crevice opening along with a small bar of soap. Mariah's feet disappeared into the floor of the cave. He moved to grab her as he heard splashing. The sound startled him. She dropped down, and he realized a pool of water covered the cave floor. Her head vanishing underwater, then reappeared as a glimmer of hair and flesh, arms working, pulling her to the center of the cave where she tread water. Rathyn took a deep bracing breath, then dove in after her. He came up from the cold with a gasp and then swam straight out to the center. Where was she?

Turning toward a splash to his left, he saw her seated on the edge of the pool, her calves and feet in the water, the ripe contours of her body accentuated by the torchlight.

She held out the bar of soap as Rathyn swam over, found he could touch bottom and stood.

"Come, I will wash you," she said, slipping back into the water. She pulled him toward the center of the pool, stopping when the water lapped at her breasts. Her silver braid trailed across her shoulder and floated on the glimmering dark like a sensuous snake.

He gritted his teeth as the water slid over his hips, cooling his arousal. Mariah's eyes sparkled with mischief as she lathered the soap in her palms and rubbed the suds over his hair, then his face and the beard he'd acquired. Ducking under water, he rinsed the soap from both.

Then he took the soap from her hand. "My turn," he said, liking the happiness shining in her eyes. She unbraided her hair and he caressed her head with his fingers as he lathered her long tresses, then her neck and shoulders. She shivered as he slid his hands to her breasts and gently washed the tender skin with his soapy hands. Sliding his lips to the back of her ear, he laved and nibbled the lobe. A moan caught in her throat, the tiny sound making him crave more. Cupping her breasts, his thumb teasing her nipples, he kissed her neck. She moaned again and leaned against him, turning into his arms. Murmuring his name, she wrapped her legs around his waist, and lifted her lips to meet his.

Open. Hot. Wet. The heat of her mouth tasted sweeter than he remembered. But now she strained to pull him closer not push him away. Her tongue moved over his, transmitting her need, her desire. He was rock hard, every inch of his body craving hers as he buried his hands in her hair, tasting her lips over and over again. Yet he held back, wanting to savor every sensation, every erotic sound she made, every heated touch. She was a goddess, half water, half woman in the torchlight, and he was a god.

He broke from her mouth, sliding his lips across her cheek to her neck, tasting the salt on her skin, inhaling the tangy scent of her body. He tasted his way to the valley between her breasts. She shuddered as he sucked on the hardened bud of each soft mound. Her legs tightened around his hips. "So beautiful," he told her as he lifted her in his arms and carried her from the water to the blankets. He stared down at her shadowed eyes, her body awash with glimmers of light, her love, he thought, the most precious gift she could give.

"I love you," he whispered as he lay down beside her and ran his fingers along her exquisite cheekbones, down the perfect curve of her neck. He kissed her gently, wanting to last as long as possible with her, to make love to her until she begged for release.

She leaned into him, her mouth seeking his, her tongue exploring, filling him with the taste of her. Her breasts rubbed his chest, her hands stroked his back, sliding up and down, up and down, driving him crazy with desire.

He fought for control as she pushed him on his back and trailed kisses down his neck. But when she caressed his nipples, then covered one with her hot mouth he reached for her hips.

She pulled away and slid lower. He had thought to make her crazy with desire for him, but what she did now tore moans from his throat, the pleasure building into a need he couldn't contain.

"Mariah," he hoarsely whispered her name as he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her up. He thought he would burst as he covered her lips with his, tasted his arousal and her sweetness.

He parted the soft folds of skin between her thighs, felt her wetness and slid inside the tight, hot channel with a ragged groan. She was so moist, so ready for him. He left the sweetness of her mouth and moved to first one breast, then the other, teasing the sensitive skin with his teeth, exulting as she writhed against him, her strong grip pulling him deeper.

Rathyn shuddered as he moved within her, back and forth, his pace building until he couldn't stand another second. She arched against him, and cried his name again and again as he filled her with his seed, cried his name like a lover's promise.

He embraced her afterwards and for a long time neither spoke. How could he put into words what he'd never expected could happen between a man and a woman? This kind of union was the love of poets - and even with his wife he'd not felt this depth of giving, openness. She'd opened herself to him in a way that spoke of total trust, complete acceptance. She held back nothing. The power of her love humbled him even as he craved to taste it again, know the reality of such trust over and over.

She shifted her head on his arm, the movement slight, yet making him feel a distance between them. "I love you, Rathyn," she whispered.

But he heard not the words of a lover but the word goodbye in her confession. He pulled one arm free and sat up so that he could see her face. "Ka-ah-sho-lee-ah," he answered. "I give to you my soul," he repeated in his tongue and then he leaned over and claimed her mouth, kissing away the hesitancy he sensed. He would make love to her until she changed her mind about goodbye.

They were meant to be together and by Tyryk and all the gods they would be.

Soon she was wantonly pulling his hips towards hers.

"Not yet," he said, resisting. He slid lower, kissed her inner thighs, then gently probed the hot, slick folds of skin between her legs. Mariah jerked in climax to his kiss. He carefully slid a finger into the moist channel open to him, felt it clench around him. His own body reacted, firing the blood in his veins. Her fingers pulled on his hair, his arms, drawing him away from the damp juncture and back to her lips. As he plundered her mouth, she guided him inside her.

"Now!" she cried.

Rathyn thought he'd die from pleasure as he lost himself in her. His climax followed hers and as he sank his head against her shoulder he heard her whisper, "My love..." and this time her words held longing.

He sighed and closed his eyes.

#

Mariah lay awake long after Rathyn slept, watching the rise and fall of his chest, listening to each soft exhale, marveling at how much desire this man wove through her with just one gentle caress of his strong hands.

The lessons from her mother on what would please a man, so long ago learned, but never employed, had filled her mind and body with the flowing sensuality of the goddess, heightening her awareness of his delight from her touch. And with his every groan of pleasure, she’d wanted to elicit more, experience at least this once the goddess’s great gift of passion and love so long denied by her empty marriage.

Now, bittersweet tears stung her eyes. She squeezed her eyes closed and willed herself to sleep.

Chapter Twelve

Rathyn sat up in the dim light, stretched out his arm and came fully awake. The blanket was cold where Mariah had lain. "Mariah?" Silence.

He remembered their lovemaking and felt heat surge in his groin. She'd been so incredibly responsive, so sleek and soft, like a rapturous melody he wanted to sing forever.

He missed her as though years separated them instead of hours, and a shadow of foreboding crept into his thoughts. Last night he sensed "goodbye" in her voice, and tried with his love-making to change her mind. Had he? Was she with the council?

He loved her.... The wondrous acknowledgment combined with the physical passion staggered him. It also frightened him - because he felt vulnerable. What would life be without her? Even now she could be with the other council members discussing his plea for an alliance. Surely, she would want it as much as he. His shoulders tightened. He needed the council's help in order to destroy Stephanos and the Emperor, and gain a chance for Mariah's hand.

He folded the blankets and took them with him. Squeezing through the damp, narrow crevice to the outer cave chamber left him streaked with mud. Near where he'd left his clothes, he found a basin of water, a shard of mirror and a Chadyk razor. He shaved, then bathed, his breath quickening from the cold liquid and the sting of the frigid air.

With quick, fluid motions he yanked on his tunic and leggings. The cloth stuck to his damp skin and reminded him of how nicely the tunic and leggings Mariah had worn had outlined her curves. He would like her to wear such garments again, but only for him. When he could enjoy the sensual pleasure of peeling them off.

Outside, a bitter wind whipped his hair, stung his face, and drove thoughts of making love from his mind. He wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and stared at the clear view beneath him.

The blackened field, like an empty eye socket, stared back at him. Around it, the beauty of the white-speckled mountains gleamed like polished bone, a skull that drew him in. Everywhere he looked he saw death in the valley, and the sky was a gray barren patch overhead. The emptiness touched him and he had the thought that this was how life would be without Mariah - hard and barren, hollow, unfilled.

His warm breath formed wispy clouds that followed him as he turned and started the sharp ascent to the high cave where he might find the council. And he felt a strange mixture of expectancy and dread.

#

Inside the large cave, Rathyn found the Syrithian council seated in a circle, their hands joined, their voices a soft murmur of prayer, their eyes focused on a small central fire.

Lilas, wrapped in dark robes, stopped him near the entry. "The council is casting a Seer's prayer. You must not interrupt." Something in her tone alerted him. As he paused, he sensed the tension between council members.

He touched Lilas's arm and gestured toward the outside. With a nod, she grabbed a blanket, wrapped it about her shoulders, then followed him out to the ledge. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Lilas shrugged. "I am not sure. I only know Mariah is upset. They all seem shaken and I do not understand why."

"Here you are!" Anna's harsh utterance of the Chadyk words cut their conversation short. "The council wishes to speak with you, Commander. Now."

She turned her back and disappeared inside the cave before he could respond. His jaw tightened in anger. He had lashed a soldier before for such insolence.

But she was Mariah's mother. With an effort, he stifled his annoyance, offered Lilas his arm, and ushered her back to the cave's warmth. The fire had been doused and most of the smoke was sucked out by the cold wind. Torches on the back wall remained lit and cast long shadows toward the opening. Rathyn surreptitiously studied each council member as he joined the circle.

Nahil appeared ashen-faced, old, tired, and sad. Rathyn's gaze moved on. Jarad's mouth was a straight furious line. The shorter woman, Bahleal, who thus far had said little in his presence, appeared to be in a trance, her eyes wide open and unblinking. Anna's brow was wrinkled, her eyebrows drawn together in a frown of worry. Finally, his gaze sought Mariah's. The hint of a smile showed in her eyes but it quickly disappeared. He couldn't read her somber expression.

"We have discussed your request, Commander," Mariah said, her voice full of authority. "However, a problem has arisen. Our oldest council member died early this morning."

Anna cut in. "He was murdered! And now the council cannot make an agreement until a new member is chosen!" Her eyes flashed, as though to accuse Rathyn of fault as she continued, "Bahleal, who has the Seer's gift, touched his thoughts last night and told him of your request, Commander. He said he would meditate on it and have his answer ready before morning. When she tried to touch him again - " Her voice cracked with grief.

Mariah interrupted. "A member of Herodotus’ tribe must be chosen to take his place."

All knew something Rathyn did not. His nape hairs stood on end. "Do you know who the murderer was? Was he caught?"

Mariah glanced at Bahleal who slowly shook her head. "We know only that the murderer is someone of Herodotus’ tribe."

Through Bahleal? Rathyn wondered.

"There is more," Mariah said. Her gaze flickered from Jarad to Rathyn as though they shared some secret. "The law states we cannot make an alliance without a full council, and full agreement. But we cannot initiate a new council member from the Fire Tribe until we know who the murderer is."

"You think the murderer wishes to sit on the council?" Rathyn asked.

Jarad's mouth tightened. Rathyn followed his gaze to Bahleal. The woman nodded.

Rathyn leaned forward. "Once the ships leave the harbor I won't have any way to stop Stephanos or the Emperor from forming a larger army and returning to wipe us out. If I can reach my men, tell them we have an alliance, I know they will follow me. We can crush Stephanos. Now. The men will be committed. Then we'll take the Emperor. We can't waste time."

In the sing-song quality of her language, Mariah spoke. Lilas knelt next to Rathyn and translated softly. "There is a ceremony in which an outsider can claim membership to a tribe. Once accepted by the tribe, the outsider is considered Syrithian in all ways. The outsider can join the council, marry any Syrithian per custom, and share in all secrets. Because you have been here and cannot be responsible for Herodotus’ death, you could become a member and fulfill the law. With Bahleal's guidance we can hold the ceremony here. Tonight."

He stared at Mariah. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"Shhh - don't interrupt," Lilas chided.

"Why?" he insisted.

Mariah's expression grew more severe. She said in Chadyk, "The way is dangerous, Commander, and I would never have considered it or spoken of it had not Bahleal had a vision in which she saw you beside me at council in Herodotus’ robes."

"She saw my future?"

"She saw a possible outcome," Mariah answered softly. "Many outcomes are held in the future. Nothing is ever secure."

Rathyn wondered what he would have to do, for do it he would. With Mariah at his side he would settle his account with Stephanos and the Chadyk Emperor, put his father-in-law, Tchelak and the Senate back into mutual control of the empire, with himself as ruler. Then he and Mariah could have a family. Was that what he wanted? Imagining Mariah carrying his child elated him, made him willing to risk anything and everything for a future with her. "I will go through the ceremony. Become Syrithian."

Nahil cleared his throat and spoke in Syrithian to Mariah. She listened, talked to Jarad, frowned briefly, then met Rathyn's gaze again.

"Nahil has reminded me that we must have a Sho-ta first, and that outsiders may not be present."

From an earlier conversation with Lilas, Rathyn knew the Sho-tah ceremony had to do with touching the spirits of the dead.

Nahil spoke softly again. Mariah nodded and stood. "It is time. Please go to the valley and wait. Lilas has offered to accompany you." The lines of Mariah's face were tight, strained. Was she worried?

Rathyn stood, "Yes, Your Majesty." His gaze held hers. Her hair was loosely plaited, flowing like a silver river over her shoulder and down to her waist. The silky rope reminded him of their night together. He imagined her flowery scent, then the smell of him on her skin. Heat seared through him. A flush touched Mariah's cheeks, told him that despite her fears, she too, remembered. It made it easier to leave when he wanted to stay. He followed Lilas from the cave.

#

Mariah watched Rathyn leave with Lilas and choked on words to call him back. Needing a man so much was hardly queen-like, yet she couldn't deny Rathyn. Just thinking of their night together brought back the scent of him, the taste and texture of his skin, the strength of his magnificent body joining with hers. So much power, and so much tenderness. She longed to follow him, explain more fully why she'd never told him about the ceremony that could make him Syrithian. Even now, after Bahleal's vision, the thought of what Rathyn would face made her stomach knot. If he failed, would he go mad as the legends claimed?

Her thoughts whirled. It had been so long since an outsider had joined a tribe; no one who lived now had witnessed such a thing. All that remained was a brief writing, and stories several generations old. All confirmed the outcome of failure: insanity. But a great deal depended on the Seer, Mariah thought, her gaze straying from council member to council member. Although Bahleal was wise, a good guide, would that be enough? If only her daughter, Salia were here. But then Salia was banished - would never help.

"Mariah?" Bahleal's voice snapped her from her fears. "I am ready for the Sho-tah."

Mariah's gaze fixed on the Seer. A hint of the older woman's inner experience showed in her eyes. They glistened with an inner darkness. Mariah nodded.

The fire was re-lit. Bahleal held the council's attention as she lifted a small black leather pouch from the concealing folds of her robes. Black for the earth, and for death. She sprinkled a handful of gray dust-like powder on the flames. Ground from bones? Mariah wasn't sure. The fire blazed high, snapping and hissing like a snake. Bahleal's expression remained fixed as the powerful odor, the smell of a stagnant and rotted forest, musty and dank, rose above her.

The pouch went back beneath her robe. Another was withdrawn, this time bright yellow for re-birth. The fire did not react to the crushed bark and leaves dumped from the pouch, but a sweet smell of new grass and Spring mixed with the previous smell. Mariah breathed deeply, felt her head lighten, her thoughts whirl, her eyes sting.

A third pouch, white for the moon, appeared in Bahleal's hand. She dumped a small stream of what looked like sand into her palm. The contents sparkled, a gift from Syrith, ground from a rare stone found along the coast. This, the final element, combined with the other two, would strengthen the mental bonds of the council, allow them the ultimate knowledge; that of death, and bring them close to its domain.

Mentally touching the dead was said to be dangerous. In Mariah’s lifetime it had never been attempted. It was said that one could be trapped with the dead, and forever held in the dark God, Kleyeth's, grip. That if any would pass through his realm, he would exact payment. Although, she saw Syrith as the source of all power, even darkness, she half-believed in Kleyeth. But her mother and the rest of the council - except Jarad, who professed to believe in nothing - feared the dark God's power.

One at a time, Mariah saw the gazes of the council fix on the flames. Bahleal began to chant, the words soft, replacing their doubts and fears with hope in her power to guide them through the dead's dominion.

If they could discover who murdered Herodotus, Rathyn need not go through the ceremony. If she helped Rathyn unseat the Chadyk Emperor, she would see Rathyn on the throne instead of this Tchelak he'd spoken of, and she would marry Rathyn....

"Sa-Herodotus, ish-ee-ma?" Bahleal cried what the council wanted to know: Who had slain Herodotus?

The rest of her words swam behind Mariah's closed eyes as she joined the rest of the council's murmuring, her thoughts drifting with theirs, following Bahleal's direction. A sudden light-headedness took her soaring above the chamber, above the cave, the clouds. A deep breath filled her with peace, and a feeling of overwhelming love. She sensed the others were with her. They were one.

Then she plummeted. The earth rushed up at her. A scream lodged in her throat as she hit the ground, passed through it, became buried in it. The smell of the rich earth closed over her with smothering darkness.

Mariah shivered. Black cold everywhere. Blinded, she sought the mental touch of the others, felt nothing but an icy chill. Numbness set in. She tried to speak Bahleal's name and could not, tried to move her frozen limbs and found it impossible. Slowly the inky stillness lightened, while her body became heavy, pressing her down, down into the dark realm she'd entered. I'm dead. Inside Herodotus. I must see. As though peering through a smoky veil, she saw movement. Saw the murderer's hand, and a flash of yellow. A jewel? Clothing? She struggled to hang onto her sight. But everything turned dim, murky, a fog of shadows. And within the shadows she saw a dark shape, not human, not animal, but it struck a shaft of terror through her.

For a moment she felt frozen, unable to breathe. Then she sensed the mental thread that tied her to the council, heard the council members voices calling. The thread stretched. On one side the dark shape pulled, on the other side, the council. Bahleal's face floated before her. Light shot from her skin and for a moment the thing that reached for Mariah retreated. Then the thread grew taut again. Would it snap? Would Kleyeth claim her, keep her in the Dark World?

Mariah swallowed, felt the pressure of hands on her chest, pushing her lungs. She wheezed, coughed, and struggled against the lingering dark shape. Slowly the looming shadow receded.

Jarad's concerned face filled her vision. He cradled her head. "You're all right!" he said with obvious relief.

She inhaled deeply, striving for calm, knowing she’d brushed by death. A part of her mind reflected on her vision, the flash of yellow which had to do with the hand that had murdered Herodotus. Although she had not seen a face, she suspected Salia. Her cousin had conspired to kill her, had allied herself with the Kahns. Did she still hope to rule Syrithia? All her thoughts shot through her mind in an instant of clarity that vanished as she tried to sit up and her muscles trembled, the dark shadow of Kleyeth stealing over her mind.

Mariah stretched her hand toward Bahleal. "Help me - "

A strangled cry escaped the old woman's lips. Her hands clawed at the air like a dying bird. The wrinkled skin of her face deepened, grooves etched in her flesh. She struggled to speak. Suddenly she pointed at Mariah. "You must... love...enough...." Her breath rattled and her flesh shriveled as if eaten by invisible flames. Her bones protruded grotesquely. She coughed, gurgled, "Kleyeth!" then toppled.

Jarad caught her. Anna knelt beside the Seer and pressed a cold cloth to her face, her lips. Nahil said a prayer as Mariah watched Bahleal spasm. Then the woman stilled.

Mariah wanted to avert her eyes, but could not. Her throat constricted.

Jarad's wide-eyed stare mirrored her own horror and disbelief. He gently laid the Seer to rest against the cavern floor, and put a blanket over her. "She is dead."

Nahil sighed. He alone did not look surprised. Sadness etched in his face, he lead them in a quick prayer to speed Bahleal's spirit on her way to Syrith's domain. When he finished, he said to Mariah so that all could hear, "Bahleal told me that you have the gift of Sight. She said I should tell you that you are the one to lead the commander through the dark places where he will find his secret name and become one of us. She said we should follow the commander and trust his judgment as well as our own, and Syrith's will would be done."

Bahleal had known she would die during the Sho-tah. Mariah swallowed in dismay. She was not trained for this. She could handle a sword, a knife, physical combat, but this was different.

Was it? A part of her disagreed. Any kind of combat included mental preparation, focus of mind and body.

She did not want to risk Rathyn's life.

You do not want to face Kleyeth again. The truth cracked like a whip through her brain. Yes, she thought, her mouth going dry, her bones quivering. She was afraid.

But she knew Rathyn would insist on going through with the ceremony, she'd seen the love in his dark eyes. A love that promised he would do everything in his power to be with her.

Chapter Thirteen

The valley wore a dark red halo as the sun set. Rathyn spent the entire day walking aimlessly across the blackened fields with Lilas. At first she spoke softly, told him he must eat nothing this day in preparation for the Syrithian ceremony, that he must let the tension flow out from his body with his steps, become one with everything around him, and seek tranquillity, then she fell silent.

A huge mound, where the burned remains of the dead had been stacked and buried, lay at the opening of the pass. It had only been three weeks since the battle, his blindness, Mariah's rescue. Where was tranquillity in this desolate place? He couldn't seem to focus, and he asked Lilas about the ceremony.

She hesitated. "I know little about it. Only childish stories of demons..." She bit her lip, her gaze uncertain. "I don't know..." She moved ahead of him.

He felt like a warrior preparing for a battle with an unknown foe, and it unnerved him. He must trust in himself, and in Mariah. Thoughts of Mariah sparked images of her in her horse shape. What would it be like to run faster than any man, feel the wind fly across his face, hear his hooves pound the ground, eat up the land with each powerful stride? He remembered the sensations of power astride Mariah's equine form, their bodies blended together in a different way than lovemaking yet just as connected, just as real. What would it be like to race beside her, two horses with no responsibilities, no cares but those of daily life? He kicked a chunk of burnt, twisted metal, told himself such ruminations were ridiculous, and walked on.

Once, he heard the lone cry of a large bird overhead, and it seemed an omen. But of good or ill? As the sun set, horizontal bands of crimson running into purple-black, he dwelt on the Sho-Tah. Why was it taking so long?

"Commander?" Lilas touched his arm, brought his gaze from the dark line of mountains. "We must go back now."

So she had been keeping track of time. Rathyn nodded, suddenly realizing how hungry and tired he was. All day he'd felt like a lion on the prowl, stopping only when Lilas requested it, restless energy urging him on. Other than their two brief conversations, she'd become a quiet shadow behind him or beside him. He smiled at her, grateful she had not distracted him from the day's silence with meaningless prattle, or sought to advise him on how to find inner tranquillity. Letting his thoughts drift had given him some semblance of peace. He hoped that would be enough.

He turned and led the way back. At the base of the mountain he lit the torch and began his ascent up the steep path, Lilas behind him. As they approached the first ledge, near where he and Mariah had spent the previous night, he thought of their lovemaking and paused. Would he hold her again? The night's wind had died, but the cold seemed deep and penetrating, ominous.

They reached the uppermost cave. A fire burned within, the flames nearly licking the high ceiling in an envelope of heat he could feel, yet he smelled winter and death inside. Everyone wore subdued expressions and seemed intent on their tasks. He glanced at Lilas who shook her head and remained near the entrance. He glimpsed Mariah near the back of the cave and started toward her.

Jarad stepped in his way. "She is busy," he said haltingly in Chadyk. "Wait."

He tensed. "What is going on?"

Anna gestured him to one side of the fire. He could not see what lay in the gloom beyond the glare of flames. "My daughter will speak with you in a moment. She is preparing for the Syr-teh-kley, the passing of your soul through the dwelling places of the Goddess... and the God. One must fast the day of the ceremony and be of one mind, body, and spirit for the crossing." Her ancient eyes searched his face, measured him. Did he see dislike or doubt in their silver-blue depths? He wasn't sure. She said, "If you return, you will be Syrithian, for the Goddess will have shown her favor."

If he returned? Did the old woman hope he would fail? Her tone was ambivalent, and this was the longest speech Anna had ever given him. He felt a prickling of fear. What was this sirtaclay ceremony? Mariah had said it was dangerous. His gaze moved past Anna, drawn by the glimmer of the flames dancing across Mariah's braided crown. She stood with her back to him, her body swaying slightly, her shoulders lifting in a rhythm of deep meditative breaths. Could she feel him watching her, drinking in the curves of her back, her waist, her hips? If he made it through the ceremony they could marry. If he didn't... The hollowness in his stomach expanded, engulfing him. Not so long ago he had longed to die. Now....

As though becoming aware of his fear, the rhythm in Mariah's breathing broke. She pivoted, offered him a brief smile as though to reassure, but the smile didn't light her eyes. They remained cool blue glaciers, tense like her body. He watched her shoulders come down slightly in relaxation, her smile fade to a line of calm. She glided forward, touched Anna on the arm. The old woman joined Nahil and Jarad on the other side of the fire. Beyond them lay the still body of the other old woman, the Seer, Bahleal. Dead? A chill settled across his shoulders.

Mariah seemed to study him from some distant place and Rathyn felt alone amidst things he didn't understand. Yet, from the promise in her eyes and the heavy sigh she uttered as she silently remained inches away, he knew understanding would come, and that she feared what lay ahead. Finally, she said, "The Sir-teh-kley will begin. We will eat in celebration when it is finished."

She took his hands in hers, held them tight a moment. "Ka-ah-sho-lee-ah," she whispered, a tremor in her voice. Then she motioned Rathyn to sit beside her at the fire.

The others sat also. Her face became a smooth, ivory mask, her eyes focused on the flames, hardly blinking. The others cast nervous glances at Rathyn, which he pretended to ignore by keeping his gaze on Mariah.

She spoke in Chadyk. "Each tribe tells a legend to its young, of how Syrith chose her people and gave them the blessing: the mark of transformation, the gift of strength and wisdom, so that those younger and weaker might be carried by those who could transform, that we might fly like the wind to escape our enemies." She fingered a leather pouch by her knee, loosened the laces and sprinkled a whitish powder over the flames.

A woodsy fragrance filled the air. While hunger gnawed at his stomach, his mind buzzed with disjointed thoughts.

Mariah's calm explanation continued, "Unseen enemies, enemies lurking in the spirit world cause sickness of the mind. These are controlled by the God Kleyeth. To become Syrithian, you must pass through the spirit domains, face whatever lies within, capture your secret name, and return." She opened a second pouch and sprinkled it over the flames. No scent, but a thin mist rose like vapor over a bog, casting a thin white veil over them all.

The strangeness of it all made his head swim, his tongue feel thick as he murmured, "How can I pass through a God's or Goddess' domain when I am neither?"

A worried smile. "I will guide you." A tremor entered her voice. "Close your eyes now. Breathe deeply."

Rathyn complied, heard a sizzle as something more was thrown upon the flames. He smelled damp, mold, earth, then felt the flames expand, grow close. Sweat dripped down his forehead with the lightness of a spider. It trickled into his eyes and stung. He swiped the dampness away, trying to concentrate on the blackness behind his eyelids that held a white dot. As Mariah's voice sang words he didn't understand, the white swelled like a brilliant jewel catching light, blinding him before everything went dark. The darkness was alive, throbbing in time with the beating of his heart, running with river currents that shifted with his every thought. A pinpoint of radiance, a far distant star at the end of a dark tunnel appeared. Images, silhouettes, moved on the periphery of his vision. Like an incoming tide, they washed toward him, crowding him in vivid pictures of himself in the past or in a future he had yet to make:

On his knees, the broken, mutilated body of his sister in his arms.

In his first battle, his heart frozen in panic, overwhelmed. Then the fear of death forced a stroke of defense. His training kept him alive. Success filled him with confidence in his own strength and power. The confidence raised him high above his station through his prowess with the sword and his ability to inspire men to follow him.

Standing over the grave of his wife and stillborn child, consumed by grief.

A blind veteran, old and gray, he begged on the steps of the Emperor's temple.

A man stripped of his rank, his possessions, convicted of treason, sentenced to death on a pike.

And finally, the man he was now, holding Mariah in his arms, her flesh warm against his, soft and yielding.

"May Syrith test you now." Mariah's voice drifted into his consciousness and separated his essence, his consciousness, from his physical being. Beneath him an unmoving mannequin of flesh remained, while a thread of blue light glistened between the physical and the ethereal. Joining him, Mariah's spiritual form, a bright bubble of luminescence that smelled of flowers and a dusky sweetness, urged him from the cave toward the glittering stars overhead. But the thread of blue light that tied him to his body made him turn back. Instinctively he knew that if he moved higher he might remain adrift, cut off from his physical body. He felt a raw fear, a tightness in his being. His choice: go back now, or follow Mariah. Which choice led to victory?

His heart said to follow Mariah. He did.

He left his body behind, yet he still felt clothed in skin, still had physical sensations. By Mariah's side, he forgot his questions. The glittering night sky and her presence lulled him. He drank in the quiet beauty, felt love expand in his heart and radiate with a need to give to her all he could, and accept all that she was. But a dark kernel within himself balked at acceptance, reasserted his rights: he was man, stronger, dominant, she should meet his needs, his wants, his desires.

The brightness of the stars vanished. New images swirled around him. Images of women whose beauty surpassed Mariah's took his breath away. He reached for them, wanted them. Their intimate touch was fire and ice, and exquisite agony, an unending embrace. Ah, the texture of skin, the feathery brush of hair, the soft give of warm lips. Each touch staked a claim. He writhed in ecstasy, hot naked flesh entwined with his. Over and over... they stroked him, kissed him, pleasured him, yet his own response lessened. He looked in one woman's eyes wanting more, saw a vacant emptiness, like lumps of dull coal. Rathyn shivered. His fantasy was a nightmare of emptiness! He was nothing to them, just as they were nothing to him. He thought of all the times in his youth when he'd used women in such a fashion and felt shame, sorrow, regret.

"Mariah!" he called her name and the women vanished, left him in total darkness. Alone. "Mariah!"

He was blind again. Panic rippled over him and he stifled it. He had to keep his wits.

The sound of breathing, soft, rhythmic, threatening lurked nearby. A new wave of panic hit. He reached for his sword and knife, but his hands passed through the leather-wrapped hilt and both weapons remained sheathed. He was ethereal, despite the acuteness of his senses; the metallic taste of fear that filled his mouth, the raw physical sensations he possessed. He felt as though the hairs on the back of his neck rose.

"Mariah?" he called. Already the women seemed just a bad dream. But where was Mariah? What was out there? Images of demons filled his mind. Gleaming skeletal bodies, pale yellow wolf-like fangs, red-veined human eyes, dry leather-like bat wings, and bloodied razor-sharp nails. The breathing drew closer, sounded almost raspy. Warm breath danced across his neck. Saliva dripped from incisors, each drip a stinging, irritating, wasp against his ghostly flesh. The burning pinpoints cooled, gave him momentary respite, then became the tips of fierce claws which pricked deeper no matter which way he turned or how he tried to defend himself. Damp warmth trickled across his flesh as the claws drew blood.

The noisy inhalations multiplied like moths drawn to flame, surrounding him. Fur brushed across his arm. Fetid breath closed in, then withdrew. Rathyn's throat constricted. Was his mind the only weapon he had? Could that stop him from being ripped to shreds? Hands gripped him. He tried to jerk free as hot, wet mouths locked on his skin, and sucked blood.

"Don't be afraid." A voice like Mariah's whispered into his ear, but there was a savage mockery in her tone and the smell and warmth of her breath was that of the monsters. "You can't run," she taunted as he twisted free.

Anger replaced fear. "I may not have a weapon, but I will not run!" he shouted.

Disembodied laughter. "Oh?" A raspy caricature of Mariah's voice questioned.

Dim light filtered from above him, showered the surrounding space with gray shadows, outlined before him the silhouette of a armor-clad woman. Like a silver blade, she stood tall and straight, her head and body covered by chain mail, her face half-masked by metal, silvery wisps of hair escaping over her shoulders. She held a broad sword in her hands.

"Mariah?"

She lunged and struck at him with her silver blade.

He raised his arm, felt the weight of a shield as it took her blow. Leather-wrapped metal lay in his other hand as he raised it, the familiar weight of his sword now in his grasp. This was impossible.

"It is I," she said as she swung again.

He parried her stroke. He would not fight.

"It's what you want," she said, moving closer, feinting left, engaging his mind to anticipate her next stroke. "It's what you've always wanted."

Rathyn automatically blocked her blow, and swung his sword.

It struck her shield, slid off, nicked the back of her hand and drew a fine bead of blood. The Syrithian battle cry sounded all around him, a deafening roar.

What was he doing?

She swung at him, her blade smaller and lighter than his, yet just as expertly wielded. As he shifted his shield to block the blow, she pivoted on one foot and brought the blade slashing again.

Fiery pain bit through his arm, made him want to drop the shield. He saw her next blow coming and tried to dodge it. Too slow. Her blade drew more blood. It flowed down his arm, a warm river that weakened his grip on the shield. It slipped from his fingers. Using both hands, he lifted his sword.

Mariah pulled back and threw her own shield away as well. "You have superior strength, but I have quickness and stamina. Who will win?"

How could she be so calm? Callous? What of their love? Did she love him at all? And then he turned the question around. Did he love her?

The question burned behind his eyes as visions of Mariah flashed through his consciousness. He thought of her fighting the Kahns to save his life. She had not asked him to change before she did so. She had asked nothing of him yet had been ready to lay down her life. Could he do less?

Rathyn threw down his sword as Mariah raised hers.

"You will die," she whispered. With both hands wrapped around the golden hilt, she swung her sword, biceps taut, stretched, her entire body behind the killing blow. It cut through his side, caught on his ribs and stuck. She jerked it free. Rathyn staggered, fell to one knee, got back up, not really feeling any pain, just amazement, disbelief.

"Pick up your sword," she coaxed. "You can still win."

He watched her lift her sword, his heart hammering against his chest. "I love you, Mariah." She swung the blade.

He never felt the final blow. Instead he felt a lifting of himself and the soothing balm of night air, the music of soft voices filled with love. He was flying. He opened his eyes, saw Mariah beside him, both of them once more in the glory of the midnight and diamond sky.

This Mariah was his and he knew it by the love shining in her eyes, the wonder as she spoke his name, "Rathyn?" Her voice embraced him, caressed him with a bounty of acceptance. "You brought us back together. You defeated the demon."

He wondered how he'd known what to do. Had his love guided him? Or Mariah's? It didn't matter. "This is all in my mind, isn't it?"

She hesitated, "Yes."

"But it can still affect me?"

"Yes."

In the darkness, all he saw was a sphere of light mirroring himself, yet he felt her squeeze his hand. "Sha-ay-jat, Demon Conqueror," she whispered. Her thoughts and his touched and he knew this was his secret name.

He also knew hers. "Sha-ay-ter-ah, Night Conqueror," he murmured her secret name as a prayer, feeling as though he and Mariah were stars in an endless sky. Never had he felt such closeness to another human being, such a bond of love and respect. Far beneath them, he saw the cave where their bodies were, where they would soon resume a life together. Happiness welled in his chest, filled him with gratitude for this victory.

Before he could formulate all that he felt into words, something jerked her from his grasp, hurling her off an invisible precipice. Like a falling star, she plummeted to earth.

Mariah's scream echoed. "Kleyeth!"

For a second, he stared after her, stunned. Then he leaped. He would not lose her now! Even though he feared death, life without her would be worse. The air rushed over the skin he did not have, yet keenly felt, brought tears to his eyes with a raw, stinging reality. He reached for the hurtling beacon ahead of him, straining, stretching, almost touching her. His fingers grazed her warmth, then he gasped as something grabbed him, smothering him as though a blanket had been thrown over his head and tightened at the neck.

A demon? He twisted against his captor's hold. His breath caught in his throat as he fought the strangling grip. Whatever held him breathed fire, every touch seared his skin, roasted his flesh. I am the Demon Conqueror! Yet every move only brought more agony. His lungs ached for air while the rest of him burned like a torch. This was more than a demon! How did he fight this?

The fiery thing held him in its claw like a worm. It hissed in his ears, drowning out all sound but the sound of its icy voice. "I am death."

Chapter Fourteen

Mariah screamed Kleyeth's name as the dark God tore her from Rathyn's grasp. Dragged into a black hole, she gagged, the air thick and constricting, hardness beneath her that felt like ground. Although she had no body, she felt more alive, more physically present than ever.

She touched her eyelids, reassuring herself her eyes were open, angry at herself for letting down her guard before she'd entered her body. Someone was using their power against her. She suspected Salia.

Had Rathyn made it back? She turned in the dark, strained her ears to hear. Nothing. "Rathyn!" As soon as she yelled his name the silence gobbled it up. She remembered Bahleal's final words, "You must... love...enough...." Love what? Who? Myself? Rathyn? No answers, only frustration.

Frustration wouldn't help. She focused on Syrith, but felt only a moment of peace. Fear swallowed it, ran its icy fingers across her body, whispering that her worst dreams were here, just beyond her touch. Waiting....

She was afraid to close her eyes, afraid to keep them open. It was as though she stood on the eve of battle, every nuance within her bright, vivid, riveting.

And then she heard a far off echo. She got to her feet. Arms straight out, she moved cautiously forward, sliding her feet along whatever lay beneath her. It felt like rough stone. The echo grew louder with each sliding step she took until finally she understood the words.

"I am death!" a harsh voice thundered.

A flash of fire burst up before her, shooting from the ground like a bloody fountain. It sprayed her ethereal body with hot sticky liquid, drenched her in the bittersweet odor of decaying life. That she could smell, surprised her. All of her senses were strangely acute.

Out of the depths of the fire a form emerged, monstrous, grotesque in its near human likeness, malformed, its flesh raw, flayed open, crawling with maggots and thriving disease, throwing a putrid scent she couldn't escape. Its vomitous waste covered her bloody skin. She felt it eating away at her. A small clump of her hair fell away. She stared as more followed, fell around her ghostly feet like strands of spider's web. She remembered how Bahleal had aged as she died. Had she looked upon this creature? Was this Kleyeth?

"Mariah?" Her name had come out of nowhere, in a gasp of pain.

She froze. Rathyn?

Oh Syrith, had it come from the thing? It threw off heat like a fire a thousand times greater than any she'd known. She wanted to turn. Run. Escape, before what was happening here touched her earthly form. She could feel Kleyeth's power stretching, reaching, striving to grasp not only her mind but her body.

The creature's head-like appendage moved from side to side. The slash of its mouth opened, closed. "Mariah!" Rathyn’s voice.

She shook her head in horror. Was it already too late? What had he become? A fiery wind whipped around her, burning, tearing, gouging. She must go back. But she hesitated, torn by her love for Rathyn. She couldn't leave him, no matter what he was.

The red light around her intensified as the fiery being closed in. She stood still, poised, a sense of serenity engulfing her. The thing picked her up in its huge, malformed, claw-like hand and breathed the fires of death upon her. Oh, Syrith, the pain.... Burning! She stared into the cold eyes of death and saw within it Rathyn's still form. She would not give up. She clung to consciousness. "I love you," she cried, as the fires consumed her, taking her beyond the agony. And then she reached out and embraced the creature even as the marrow of her bones burned away.

#

A cocoon of darkness and cold enfolded Rathyn. Was he dead? As if in answer, he felt the weight of his arms and legs as they shook, felt his muscles contract. A spasm of pain rippled down his back and brought him sitting upright, squinting against the harsh light of flames. He jerked his head, sure the thing had him in its grasp, and gaped at Jarad's concerned expression. Was he back? As what? He brought his hands up, staring at them in wonder, relieved the claw-like appendages were gone.

"Mariah?" He saw her blanketed form and stood. The other council members sought to hold him back. "Let go!" he commanded. They did.

He knelt beside her. Ignoring the dark look her mother, Anna, gave him, he focused on the rise and fall of Mariah's chest and felt relief, then fear. In his mind he saw the demon monster he had fought. It had absorbed his very soul and held him captive. Mariah had opened her arms to it. Had she taken his place? "Why doesn't she awaken?"

Anna shook her head, her tone a mix of anger and fear. "My daughter lives, caught between our world and the next. Only the most powerful of Seers can bring her back."

"What about the old woman, Bahleal?"

Anna shook her head. "She is dead."

"There must be someone else?" Surely Mariah's own mother would not give up.

"Salia," Nahil murmured.

Jarad grunted as though saying "impossible" but added nothing.

Rathyn recalled the name of the Seer, Stephanos's Syrithian spy. If she would betray her people for gold, then he would give her everything he had, persuade her with greed to save Mariah. "Take me to this Salia. I will convince her!"

Uneasy looks passed between Anna, Nahil and Jarad. Anna nodded and they quickly packed everything into bundles. Anna slung two blanket rolls across her back. Rathyn thought of the steep trail that wound down the mountain. He would need his hands. He went back inside, and carefully balanced Mariah on one shoulder then had Jarad tether her wrists and ankles loosely together, her head hanging down over his chest, her legs across his back.

Muscles straining, toes gripping the rocks, Rathyn carefully picked his way down the mountain, Anna, Nahil in front, Jarad and Lilas behind, Jarad catching and righting him when he slipped on the rough path. At the bottom, sweat dripping into his eyes, he shifted Mariah into his arms.

He caught Jarad staring at him, a strange look of wonder on his face.

"What?" Rathyn demanded, impatiently. They were wasting time.

Anna, Nahil, and Lilas all stared at him too. Anna came over and brushed his hair back off his brow with her wrinkled hands, traced what felt like a half-circle on his forehead. She murmured something in Syrithian to the others. More talk flew back and forth, excited, hurried, awed.

"Damn it - what is wrong?" he demanded.

Finally, Anna spoke to him in Chadyk. "You are the first male, and the first outsider, to pass through the spirit-world and claim Syrithian rights. We are staring because you now bear the sign of Syrith, the same as my daughter's and those of us who can change shape. It has been hundreds of years since a man wore the sign of Syrith’s blessing, and we wonder what it means."

Change shape! By the gods, could it be true? "I can transform?" Rathyn asked, dumbfounded.

The four conversed, then Anna spoke. "We don't know. Your mark does not show except under the full moon. Ours is always present. Nahil thinks you should not attempt a transformation until we are no longer in a hurry, in case you can't..."

Three worried frowns peered at him. Impatience flickered in Jarad's eyes.

"What?" Rathyn questioned.

"Transformation is dangerous. A woman who is with child can lose her babe. An adolescent attempting transformation her first time can be trapped in the horse form. There are stories of those of our race long ago trapped into a shape of half-horse, half-human. Only a strong Seer is supposed to be able to guide such a one back. We do not know the risks to a man...."

Jarad touched Anna's shoulder. "We must go on."

Reluctantly, Rathyn agreed. He wanted to try the power, searched within himself for some kernel of difference, some sensation or essence that would assure him he had changed. But he felt nothing new.

As he carried Mariah across the valley, he murmured to her about the mark he now bore. "Perhaps someday we will race the wind together, you and I." He told her of their destination, about anything and everything. As he passed beneath Golgath's pass, he wondered if he were crazy to be so sure she would not die. But he was sure. Was this certainty another gift of Syrith?

The trail to the river was wide and open under the full moon, and he kept a fast pace, feeling vulnerable and uneasy. Far in the distance, lonely night birds broke the quiet.

Sometime during the night, he became aware of a new sound, like a strong wind blowing across a vast cornfield. Rushing water. Deep. Fast. The river must have swelled from the melting snow. He pushed the worry from his mind.

He shifted Mariah's weight to his left arm and chest, easing the slow burn of his right biceps. Within minutes his left started to ache. He focused on the horizon. The first twinges of dawn hung like a graying mist along the edge of the earth.

He tried to console himself with thoughts of the cold, clear water that would soon slake his thirst.

Early morning turned to afternoon. No one spoke. The ache in his left arm increased into a burn. He marched resolutely forward, sweat continuously dripping into his eyes and down his neck. His skin itched.

Like a shimmering ribbon, the river finally came into view. As they neared it, he could hear Mariah's breath, harsh and labored, feel her twitch in his arms as though locked in some silent struggle. "Stay with me, Sha-ay-ter-ah, Night Conqueror." He kissed her brow as he knelt upon the grassy riverbank.

The others wore expressions of weariness as they dropped their backs and sank to the knees.

"How much farther to the Fire Tribe?" Rathyn croaked. He felt spent, exhausted, hot needles driving through his muscles as he stretched his arms for the first time in twelve hours. By Tyryk, Syrith, and all the gods, he was tired!

They had perhaps a half hour to sunset. Could they cross before darkness fell? Could they afford to wait? He brushed his lips across Mariah's. They were cool. A trickle of fear crept down his spine. He was losing her! He pressed his ear to her chest, felt the faint beat of her heart.

Weary, Rathyn sank down beside Mariah on the shaded grass and eyed the others. Lilas and the two old ones looked haggard with exhaustion. Jarad alone looked ready to go on.

He addressed the younger man. "Why don't we find the Fire Tribe, get Salia and bring her back? The rest can stay here with Mariah."

Jarad glanced at Anna who nodded. "Just remember, Commander, Salia fought Mariah for leadership of our people and lost. She has no love for my daughter. Bahleal, her mother, might have persuaded her to help, but she is dead."

He felt his jaw tighten and a surge of determination. "I will persuade her."

A spark of humor touched Anna's voice. "Somehow, I believe you will."

A night bird announced the approaching dawn with its song, it's trill chirps echoing Anna. You will, you will, it seemed to say.

Gratitude crept into her voice, "You have sustained my daughter this far... I thank you." She rose and surprisingly motioned him to his feet. "May Syrith keep you." And then she hugged him, a brief, formal embrace, but a display he'd never expected.

Without another word, he turned and led Jarad down the bank and plunged into the water. The first two steps were easy, the icy cold refreshing. The next step brought the water to his hips, and the current pulled at him, and sucked at his feet. The bottom was slick and rocky. He jammed his feet between the crevices for leverage. If he fell he'd be washed downstream or the current would push him to the wrong bank. He took two more steps, bringing the current chest level. His feet and legs quickly numbed, and his breath froze in his lungs. How deep was it? He slid his foot out further, and the water moved up another inch. Another step, another inch. Finally, at the top of his shoulders, the rapids leveled out. He glanced back. Jarad was an arms-length behind, gritting his teeth.

Rathyn slid his foot forward, curled his toes down and shoved his heel between two rocks. Then his left foot. Right. Left. Over half way. The water moved down an inch. Another.

The shadows lengthened across the water. Tree roots stuck out of the eroding bank, long skinny arms nearly close enough to reach. Just two more steps. The current now cut across his chest. He slid his foot forward, found a toe hold, brought his other foot forward. His rock support slipped sideways. Cold water slapped him in the face.

The current snatched at him with greedy fingers. He was aware of Jarad moving toward him. Sputtering, he got one foot under him and shoved forward, straining for Jarad's hand. Their fingers caught and Jarad lunged to the bank edge, dragging them both up the side to fall like dying fish in the muddy reeds.

A moment later, still breathing hard, he scrambled to the top, and shook the water from his hair.

Jarad scrambled after him, stared back across the river and waved they were all right. The graying sky said night was not far off. Rathyn plunged into the forest's dense shadows, following Jarad, uncomfortable under the leafy canopy. He and his men had always skirted the unknown forest and its Syrithian inhabitants. Too many Chadyks had disappeared forever here.

The air grew cold. Although Jarad seemed at ease, Rathyn tensed every time a strange sound broke the quiet. He felt surrounded by danger, unable to shake the sensation of being a moving target. He was a Chadyk, looked it with his dark hair, the dark stubble at his chin and great size. A Syrithian arrow could easily take him down before questions were asked, explanations made.

Just as obviously, he was with a Syrithian council member. Would a tracker or guard shoot first, then ask questions or not? As the dark trees grew closer together, shutting out most of the last rays of the sun, Jarad paused. The path branched.

"What's wrong?" Rathyn asked.

"The Fire Tribe is near. There should be watchers." With quiet, carefully placed steps, he led the way up a rise. At the top, the last of the sun's rays edged the horizon like a bloody furrow. Beyond it lay what appeared to be a black shadow cast up the earth.

Not a shadow, Rathyn realized as Jarad slowed. Burnt ground, charred black. Steam rising up like breath from the jaws of a great beast.

His throat constricted as he followed Jarad.

A wave of heat hit him as the wind shifted. Flies buzzed. He covered his nose as the stench of scorched flesh assaulted him, his gaze arrested on a severed arm nearby. The camp had been decimated by sword and fire.

Stephanos. He knew it. Sickened, he walked cautiously through the burnt out camp, peering into blackened remnants of tents. He felt the embers and knew the attackers had only left a few hours before. He heard a soft sound. Whirling, he pulled his knife, only to find Jarad bending over an old man who was still in one piece.

"He's alive!" Jarad cried as he cradled the man's blackened head. He must have been set on fire and left for dead, Rathyn thought, his stomach roiling.

Kneeling, Rathyn said, "Ask him about Salia. Where is she?"

Jarad spoke in a soft sing-song tone as he gently brushed back the old man's half-burned hair. The old man responded, spoke slowly, each word accompanied by wheezing. The word "Chadyk and Salia" leapt at Rathyn and he tightened his hold on his knife hilt while the old man said more, then gasped, agony written in his face.

Jarad gently lay the old man on the ground, took out his knife and with a quick thrust to the heart, ended the Syrithian's agony. His gaze, aflame with hatred, met Rathyn's. "The Chadyk Captain and some Kahns took them by surprise. Everyone was killed. Except Salia. They took her with them." He held up his blade. "By our law, you are Syrithian now. You must avenge them." His expression challenged Rathyn.

He nodded, feeling the same heat he saw in Jarad's eyes. "We'll need to stop Stephanos from reaching the castle. And rescue Salia before then."

Or it will be too late, hung in the air unspoken between them.

Chapter Fifteen

Mariah spun through the blackness, her eyelids sealed by Kleyeth's dark will. He seemed to whisper to her in Rathyn's voice, telling her of his love, of all they would do together, of what she meant to him. Rathyn's voice in this dark place confused her. Had Kleyeth claimed him? Was the dark god using him now? Or had her sacrifice freed him completely from Kleyeth's grasp? Suspended in time and place, she felt numb, glad for the relief from the burning, consuming flames that had devoured her ethereal flesh.

For now, she held Kleyeth at bay, while the dark god strained to touch her earthly flesh and claim it, so it could then claim her soul. Could she make it back to Rathyn?

"I am Sha-ay-ter-ah, the Night Conqueror," she said, gaining a moment of power. "I will fight this enemy with Syrith's light." She envisioned the moon goddess' light upon her face, her body. The vision gave her continued strength to resist the dark god.

Rathyn, she prayed, let me come back to you.

#

On the narrow trail, Rathyn ran behind Jarad, but kept pace. He and Jarad had already caught up to Anna, Nahil, and Lilas to tell them what had happened; the three had made a litter and were now carrying Mariah down river where they expected to meet runners from the Wind Tribe. By some miracle, Mariah continued to breathe. Rathyn hoped that with Jarad's help cutting through the forest, he could catch Stephanos and his men before they reached the castle and the waiting ships.

Would he fight and kill the men who once fought beside him? He glanced at the shadowy back of Jarad's slender figure moving rhythmically along a path Rathyn could barely discern. Jarad would have no compunction against slaughtering Stephanos's men. Rathyn hoped to sneak into camp, rescue Salia, and get out without an alarm being raised. Once they made it back into the forest, they could lose anyone who pursued them.

His breath rasped as thoughts of the Seer brought another question to Rathyn's mind: would gold be enough to persuade the Seer to help Mariah? Hopefully she would be grateful for her rescue and willing to help. He slackened his pace.

Rathyn heard bird calls, and the far-off pounding rhythm of water, Syrith Falls, where later he was to rejoin Mariah and the others, Salia in tow. His hands tightened. Jarad paused, and Rathyn asked, "How does Salia feel about the Chadyks?"

Jarad grinned. "Hates them worse than Mariah."

Then she wouldn't help for his sake. It bothered him that Stephanos had spared her. No matter what Jarad thought, could this Salia have allied herself with him? "Does she have the ability to change shape?"

Jarad shrugged, took a drink from his water gourd and replaced it at his waist. "Yes. One who bears the mark can only transform once every moon cycle." His tone was doubtful, as if he too wondered why Salia hadn't escaped.

Rathyn took a long, cool draught of water, wiped the sweat from his forehead, then studied the sky. The stars overhead had grown faint. He figured they'd traveled five or six miles since leaving Mariah and the others. Sounds of horses drifted on the breeze. They were getting close to the Chadyk camp.

A whisper of voices lifted above the other night sounds; a man's harsh laugh, a woman's angry cry. Rathyn stiffened as he recognized Stephanos's voice. He glanced at Jarad, wishing he could see the man's face, read his expression. A faint nod told him Jarad had heard. Rathyn brought his finger to his lips, then gestured Jarad close. "There'll be at least two sentries posted around the camp."

Jarad pulled his knife from its scabbard, the wide, serrated blade glinting as he held it up. "I'll take care of them."

Rathyn shook his head. "Someone might wonder where they are - sound an alarm. We're better off sneaking past them. If Stephanos has camp set up as usual, he'll have the Seer in the most protected place, with a guard posted nearby."

Would he have to kill Salia's guard? Rathyn hoped not. "If the sentries spot us and sound the alarm, I'll do everything I can to get you and Salia free. You can take her to Mariah."

Jarad stood silent a moment. "We should leave you behind?"

"Yes, if it means your escape."

Jarad's eyebrows rose. "What will your men do to you?"

Rathyn hesitated. If they believed he was a traitor, he'd be impaled on a pike or crucified for treason. "Let’s hope I won’t have to find out." He pushed his worries aside and followed Jarad down the brush-edged trail. The breeze picked up, rustling the trees overhead. They were drawing close to the edge of the forest. Jarad's lead slowed to silent, carefully placed steps. Rathyn held his breath as he listened. He heard soft footfalls and regular breathing off to his left. Dropping to a crouch, he signaled Jarad to hide.

A sentry passed within a man's length of Rathyn, kept on going, his pace tired, posture relaxed. They didn't expect any trouble. Good.

He crept after the soldier, looped his arm around the man's throat and yanked him to the ground. The soldier thrashed and kicked. Rathyn pulled hard against the man's larynx, careful not to overdo the pressure. He wanted an unconscious man, not a dead one. The soldier heaved, then fell limp against Rathyn's chest.

Jarad crept up. "I thought you said - "

"I know," Rathyn snapped in a low voice, cutting off Jarad's words. "But he's your size."

Minutes later, Jarad stood, dressed in the brass breastplate, red cap and red-plumed helmet of the guard. They left the unconscious sentry tied and gagged in the brush.

Rathyn whispered, "See who's inside the tents. Get the Seer if you can. If anyone stops you, salute, like this," Rathyn demonstrated the quick arm snap of a sentry, "and keep going."

Jarad nodded and followed the sentry's path. He would have to circle around part of the camp, then step between the sleeping soldiers to get to the tents.

Rathyn waited until Jarad was gone, then got down on his belly so he could get closer to the camp. The damp ground soaked him to the skin as he slithered toward the camp sounds. Pausing beneath foliage, he strained to see. The camp lay in a thirty-yard clearing, three tents pitched in the center on the far side of a blazing fire. Beyond the tents lay a row of sleeping silhouettes. On Rathyn's side of the fire, scattered silhouettes of sleeping soldiers dotted the ground.

He figured the Seer would be held in the unmarked center tent, between the purple-flagged Commander's tent and the red-flagged second in command's. Would Salia be the only one? Or had Stephanos taken several prisoners? Stephanos had called Mariah a witch, had wanted her burned. Why would he spare the Seer's life unless she'd convinced him she still had value - or he wanted her?

Rathyn watched as Jarad crossed toward the tents. He was fifteen yards away now in plain sight. As long as he stayed away from the fire which might reveal the silvery tint of his skin and hair, he would pass.

No one stirred. Jarad stopped outside the red-flagged tent.

Rathyn held his breath as Jarad pulled back the canvas flap and glanced inside. He shook his head slightly, dropped the flap, and moved on.

From the farthest tent, Rathyn heard Stephanos's voice, his words slurred. By the gods, was he drunk? Rathyn quickly squelched his flash of elation. He would celebrate only when he'd succeeded.

Jarad stood behind the middle tent. "Hurry," Rathyn murmured softly to himself as the flap opened from the middle tent. A soldier exited and paused. Rathyn's pulse raced.

Jarad snapped to attention and stepped carefully between the sleeping soldiers. He turned on his heel and strode away from the fire toward the darker perimeter. The soldier stared after Jarad, puzzlement written in the lines of his face. Rathyn stepped from his cover and made his way through the sprawled groups of slumbering men. He had to draw the soldier's attention from Jarad.

As Rathyn closed in on the fire, the man turned and Rathyn saw his face. Lieutenant Gathias. Shock widened his eyes. His mouth dropped. "Commander?" He mouthed the word as he made an X-ing sign, his expression wrestling between awe and fear.

Did Gathias think him a ghost?

Brandishing his sword, Gathias trod on a sleeping soldier who grumbled and slowly sat up.

Rathyn turned and ran. Through the tangle of vines, he searched for Jarad, but the Syrithian had vanished. Footsteps closed in and he whirled to face Gathias who froze, sword high.

Resisting the desire to unsheathe his knife, he waited, breath held.

Gathias slowly lowered his sword. "You're no ghost."

"No," Rathyn agreed. "Still alive, I'm afraid."

"You gave me a fright," Gathias said, puzzlement in his tone as well as relief. "I thought I'd gone crazy. First, seeing a Syrithian dressed as a Chadyk sentry, then you. The commander, uh, Stephanos said you were dead."

Rathyn raised his eyebrows. He had known Gathias to be a honest and well-trained soldier, had fought with him in Spartyk. But could he trust him? He didn't have much choice. "How many men are in camp?" He heard voices closing in and motioned to Gathias to follow him further into the woods.

Gathias matched Rathyn's stride. "Stephanos sent most of the men ahead to prepare the ships for departure. There are fifty men in camp now."

Hope flared in Rathyn. Fifty men. Perhaps they would follow him against Stephanos. "Why did you attack the Syrithian camp?"

Gathias wore an unhappy expression. "Stephanos said you'd been murdered by the Syrithians. We joined with the Kahns and attacked them." Gathias swallowed, his gaze down. "It was a bloody slaughter."

"Why did he spare the woman?"

Gathias glanced toward the camp. "I don't know. She came into our camp the night before we attacked and asked to talk with the commander. Later, Stephanos ordered her protection."

Did she betray her people? What game was she playing?

Gathias questioned Rathyn in a low voice. "Where have you been, sir? Stephanos has made an alliance with the Kahns in the Emperor's name. He wants to wipe out all the Syrithians."

Rathyn stifled a surge of rage. There would be time for Stephanos later. Right now he had to get the Seer and save Mariah. "How many prisoners did Stephanos take?"

Gathias swallowed. "He took only the woman," he said, his hands clenching at his sides. "The Kahns and a few of our soldiers wiped out the rest."

Rathyn gripped his knife hilt. "I'll kill him."

Gathias's lips curled. "I'd like to see that."

"But not yet." Rathyn's thoughts churned. The first light of dawn was spreading its wings. In a few minutes it would be impossible to sneak through the camp. "Is the Seer with Stephanos now?"

"Yes."

"Are they alone?"

Gathias scowled. "Yes."

"Where are the Kahns?"

"Gone back to the desert."

"I need the Seer's help, Gathias. I need to get her out of here, send her down river to a small Syrithian party. Also warn them about the Kahns. I came here with a Syrithian council member. I need to find him." He ran his fingers through his hair, feeling overwhelmed. Then he thought of Mariah. She needed him. The luxury of worry would have to wait. He gripped Gathias’s shoulder. "I want you to talk to the men, see where their sympathies lie, with me, or Stephanos and the Emperor." He pushed away thoughts of being skewered like a live pig on a spit for treason.

The beginnings of a plan steadied him. He would send Jarad to warn Anna and the others about the Kahns. Then he and Gathias would rescue Salia....

Soldier's cries of "Syrithian!" broke the night.

Jarad! He tensed, his hand going to his knife, tightening around the hilt. Had Jarad run into a sentry? "Come on, Gathias!" He headed toward the camp.

Through the brush cover, in the middle of the camp, he saw Jarad, half-standing, held by two sentries, flanked by two more soldiers. Stephanos and the Seer, small by Syrithian standards but with the same distinctive silvery skin and hair, faced Jarad. Stephanos pulled his sword, the movement slightly off-kilter. Was he drunk? Or was it a trick of the fire light?

The woman grabbed Stephanos's arm. "No!"

He threw her off with an angry curse and brought his sword up, the movement more precise this time.

Rathyn stepped from cover, yelling, "Hold!" The men closest to him gasped. Across the clearing, his name raced like a whispered echo from man to man. Most saluted as he strode past. He noted the faces of those who did not. Adrenaline surged, swept away his fatigue.

Stephanos’s jaw dropped, then snapped closed. He offered a mocking salute, his sword still in hand, his words running together. "So, you're alive. And you've regained your eyesight."

The Seer scrambled to her feet and backed away until a Chadyk soldier grabbed her arm. Stephanos gestured at the soldier and he dragged her back into Stephanos's tent.

Rathyn glanced at the faces of the men nearby; they wore expressions ranging from surprise to watchfulness. They had sworn to obey the Emperor and his Commanders. Who would they follow now? He was still the Emperor's Supreme Commander. "I've returned to take command."

Stephanos's gaze narrowed, "You have no command. You're dead!" He swung at Rathyn's head, missed by nearly a foot, and swung again.

"Here, Commander!" Gathias called. Rathyn caught the lieutenant's sword and brought it up in time to stop Stephanos's next blow, which came within a thumb’s width of his head.

Soldiers drew back. They would follow whoever won.

Tired as he was, Rathyn figured Stephanos was drunk enough to make it an easy fight. But much as he hated the man, he could not, in clear conscience kill him.

Each time Stephanos swung, Rathyn parried the blow or side-stepped it altogether. Doggedly, Stephanos continued, until sweat plastered his blonde hair to his skull, poured down his face, and stained his purple tunic. Gasping in the morning sunlight, he tried to run Rathyn through, missed, and fell.

A few open jeers erupted from the men.

Red fury stained his face and neck. With his sword as a prop, he staggered to his feet, then swung it in an arc at Rathyn's head. Rathyn cleared the blade by inches.

"Die, damn you!" Stephanos screamed. He swung again and fell.

Rathyn gestured at Gathias. "Put Captain Stephanos in leg-irons and under guard for treason and murder."

Gathias nodded, gestured at two soldiers who yanked a groaning Stephanos to his feet.

"Damn you!" Stephanos screamed. "My father will have your head! I swear it!"

Rathyn signaled Stephanos's captors to stop. "You're the Emperor’s bastard?" Could it be true or was this a trick to save his neck?

Stephanos's eyes flickered in alarm, then his face became stony, as though fear sapped his drunkenness.

He needed no other answer. "Keep him alive."

The two men dragged Stephanos into the middle tent.

Rathyn faced the thirty men before him. "I've made peace with the Syrithians. As Supreme Commander I have placed the Emperor's son under arrest."

A few snickers came amidst the somber expressions.

"Get ready to move out. We're going back to Spartyk! I've had enough of foreign soil, enough of the Emperor's treachery!"

No one moved. Rathyn tightened his grip on the sword. "When was the last time you were paid?" He pulled the leather pouch from beneath his tunic, took from it the folded letter with the Emperor's seal. He carefully smoothed it open and held it up. "The Emperor has decreed that we should stay here and take this land as payment for our efforts! That we should become farmers!"

A roar erupted. Those closest to Rathyn studied the paper. Eyes narrowed in anger. "It's true," raced from mouth to mouth.

Gathias stepped forward, snapped a perfect salute and raising his fist, yelled, "Hail Commander Rathyn!"

Rathyn clapped Gathias on the back and raised the sword over his head. "When we arrive, we will send the Emperor the only kind of message he understands, his bastard's head on a pike!"

A rousing cheer erupted, and more followed.

"Down with Stephanos and the Emperor!" Gathias rallied. The men joined in.

Gratified and relieved, but knowing it was only the beginning, Rathyn smiled in approval. "Move out!" The men obeyed and he felt a surge of pride.

He studied Jarad who now stood straight and tall. Other than a few bruises he appeared intact. "Untie his hands. He is our ally." Briefly Rathyn explained about the Kahns, then commanded, "Bring the woman out."

The Seer twisted and yanked against the two men who dragged her forward. Shorter than Mariah, with overflowing curves that would entice a man to ruin, she exuded sexuality and guile and reminded Rathyn of a beautiful but deadly snake. When she stood before him, her lips a petulant line, he studied the Seer and felt a stab of guilt. He'd promised Mariah's mother he'd gain the Seer's cooperation and save Mariah. But Jarad's capture had forced him to take command. He couldn't leave until he knew where he stood with all the troops, not just this small band. The Seer stared at him with scorn, her chin tilted defiantly.

"Mariah is trapped in the spirit-world. Anna says you alone can bring her back."

Poison flashed in the Seer's ice-blue eyes. "She is beyond help."

Jarad raised his hand. "You lie, Salia! You can save her!"

Rathyn shot back. "If you cannot, then why should I spare your life?"

Salia straightened, thrusting out her breasts so that they pulled the fabric of her robes apart, exposing a great deal of cleavage and tempting flesh. "I said she is beyond help. All but mine."

She would have the men rioting to take her! Rathyn reached out and jerked her robe together, then stepped back. "What would you ask of me, to save Mariah's life?"

She gave him a shrewd look. "You are Syrithian now, is that not so?"

Rathyn wondered what the men would make of this piece of information. Could they see the faint mark of Syrith on his brow? "Yes," he said.

Jarad shifted from foot to foot.

Gathias's face remained unchanged, but he too shifted on his feet, as though uneasy.

"When you claim the Chadyk Empire as your own, will you claim Syrithia as well?"

Rathyn didn't answer.

"I see the truth in your eyes." Salia's lips curled slightly. "I will save Mariah - if you will promise that the day you assume the Chadyk throne, you will marry me and make me Queen over both Empires."

Shocked, Rathyn worked to keep his face immobile. He'd expected desire for gold, jewels, but this....

Salia smirked. "Time grows short, Commander. Mariah's life is slipping away. Soon, even I won't be able to bring her back."

Her words sank into Rathyn's mind like talons as he frantically searched for some other solution.

Jarad stared at Salia. "You would wed a Chadyk?"

The Seer threw Jarad a contemptuous look, her words filled with bitter victory. "I would have my revenge, Jarad. Mariah will live. But she will lose the things she holds most dear - the man she loves, and her rule."

"Our people would never follow you against her," Jarad spat.

"Commander Rathyn is Syrithian." Salia shot back. "She will never fight him for the throne."

By the gods, it sounded as if Salia had this planned! As sunlight spread across the camp, Rathyn struggled to find another alternative. He felt caught in a web, no way to cut free. If only there were more time! Thoughts warring within him, he withdrew his sword, placed the tip against the ground. Mariah forgive me. Carefully, he pressed his index finger to the edge, felt the sharp sting as his blood oozed slowly from the cut onto the blade. He held up his hand. "By my blood, on the honor of my family name, and on my honor as a soldier, I do swear, the day I assume the Chadyk throne I will wed thee, and make thee my Queen." He prayed the day would never come.

Salia stepped closer and pressed her finger against the blade, drawing blood. "By your covenant, I will save Mariah."

He addressed Gathias. "How many horses can we spare and still get back to the castle and the ships before the week's end?"

Gathias thought for a moment, then grinned. "If Stephanos walks, or runs...one."

Rathyn nodded at Jarad. "Lt. Gathias will give you a mount. Take Salia and be sure she keeps her vow." He held Jarad's gaze. "If she fails, then you are free to do as Syrithian law decrees."

He turned to Salia. "You were Stephanos's spy and you murdered Herodotus, did you not?"

Her face paled at his guess, answer enough in the silence.

Jarad's face flamed and his hands formed fists at his sides, "Herodotus never harmed anyone!" What else had this Seer done? Rathyn wondered. Was she powerful enough to save Mariah?

The thought of Mariah dead brought a flutter of panic. He pushed it down, and said to Jarad, "If she succeeds in saving Mariah, she is under my protection and the protection of the Chadyk Empire." Telling himself he would find a way to undo his vow, he waved Jarad and Salia on their way.

Chapter Sixteen

Sometime during Mariah's struggle, the darkness turned to quicksand, black, hungry, unending. She was dying, suffocating! The more she squirmed and reached for air, the more it pressed against her, clogging her nostrils, filling her mouth. She gagged and spat, gagged again. "Syrith help me!"

But instead of Syrith, she felt Salia's presence. Dark, malignant, malice etched in her expression. "I would see you dead," she whispered. "But this way is better."

A chill, like the cold edge of a knife, ran down her spine. Abruptly, the pressure on her chest eased, the sticky blackness withdrew. She inhaled and felt her strength return - as though Kleyeth's hold had been torn away.

She tried to open her eyes and was surprised at success. The late afternoon sun blinded her. She was on the ground, her head in someone's lap. Was Salia here? No, no it was just a dream. Salia had been banished. The thought reassured her. She shaded her eyes with a hand, saw the blurred image of her mother.

Anna's voice offered a grateful prayer, her touch gentle and comforting as she stroked Mariah's head. "You are back, my daughter-queen." Her voice trembled. "I thought I had lost you. That you had joined your sister, Terah, in Syrith's arms."

Mariah sought her mother's hand, squeezed it, thinking that her mother, too, had many losses over the years, yet remained steadfast in her belief in Syrith and Syrith's good.

She blinked, willing her eyes to adjust to the sunlight as she sat up. Thoughts of Rathyn intruded on the seldom shared closeness with her mother. "Rathyn?" she rasped. The effort sapped her strength. She was so weak! Her muscles ached.

Anna's voice continued to soothe, "He is fine, daughter. He has taken command of his men and will meet us on the coast."

Relieved, yet longing to see him, hold him, Mariah sank into her mother's arms. Rathyn was all right. On the periphery of her vision, she saw Jarad, Lilas, and Nahil, felt gratitude that they were well and with her.

A shadow crossed her face and she looked up. "Salia?" No! She shook her head to clear the hateful vision from her eyes.

But Salia’s image only grew clearer. "I have brought you back from Kleyeth's grasp," she said, lips curled slightly, hinting at a smirk.

Panic formed in Mariah’s chest and expanded, making it hard to breath. "Why?" Her cousin hated her. Rathyn was alive, but this was wrong!

Salia's lips broke into a haughty smile, her eyes glittering malevolently. "You are no longer - "

"We must move on," Jarad stepped forward, cut Salia off, his brow furrowed, eyes angry.

Salia's silver-blue eyes flashed. "Don't interrupt me again, Jarad!" A threat lay underneath the command.

Jarad lifted his hand to strike her, and slowly lowered it.

Salia shrank back, then laughed, the sound bitter. "You'll pay for that."

His gaze strayed to Mariah. She'd never seen him so furious.

"Why is Salia allowed to speak?" she rasped.

Jarad shook his head.

Anna said soothingly, "We'll talk later."

Too tired to argue, Mariah nodded reluctantly.

Nahil spoke in a flat voice. "The Wind Tribe sent two scouts. Also messengers to the Earth and Water Tribes are on their way. We will all meet with Rathyn in the forest at Ishian's Spring, near the castle."

The spring named for her husband. A wave of sorrow washed over her and she pushed it down. Later she would weep for all those lost in the war. But a skeptical voice deep inside asked, when? and she had no answer.

Was she wrong to love a Chadyk? Such love had caused her only grief. Yet the goddess loved all her creations; she made no distinction between Syrithian or Chadyk - or Kahn. Syrith loved all. Syrith was love.

Jarad said, "Come," and exchanged a look at Anna that alarmed Mariah. "What is it?" she demanded as Jarad and Anna helped her stand. Her legs trembled.

"She has a right to know," Salia said, oozing sweetness, like honey smeared over poison.

Fear stabbed Mariah like a knife. It had to do with Rathyn. She knew it. "Tell me!"

Jarad silenced Salia, his face inflamed with barely bridled rage. His words cut through the morning air, daggers of fury. "Salia," he spat her name, "agreed to bring you back from the spirit-world - in exchange for a vow from Rathyn." He paused, his jaw tight, his expression pitying as his gaze met Mariah's. Her stomach clenched.

He lowered his voice as though that might soften the blow. "Rathyn has sworn to marry Salia when he becomes Emperor and make her his queen."

Mariah reeled, caught herself, straightened, fought the roaring in her ears that threatened to drown her. A horse whinnied nearby and Nahil's soothing voice quieted it. She locked eyes with Salia, her cousin's expression full of triumph. Gripping her mother's arm, Mariah lifted her head, pushed the shock down.

"Congratulations." She forced out the word. She'd die before she'd give Salia the satisfaction of seeing her anguish. But inside her heart railed, Rathyn, you should have let me die! Once a man or woman pledged their life to another, they were considered married. To dishonor the pledge would be to dishonor herself and not only her tribe, but all the tribes, for she was queen.

Nahil led a Chadyk warhorse over. It prodded the ground. "We must go," Anna said softly. "We only have the one horse - unless you can transform?"

Mariah shook her head. "I am too weak."

"We need another mount," Jarad demanded, his narrowed gaze locked on Salia, his lips curved with the hint of a challenge.

Salia glared back, didn't move.

Jarad's jaw tightened. "If you won't transform, you can walk. Perhaps the Kahns will catch you...." his voice trailed off. "Or have you lost the power?" his words jabbed.

Salia's face suddenly suffused with blood, her fingers clenching at her robes, then smoothing the fabric with careful precision. "Be careful what you say. I might leave you here."

Jarad's eyes burned, spoiling for a fight. "Try it!"

Mariah had seen enough. "Stop it! Both of you!" She turned to Salia. "Jarad's right. We need two horses or some of us will have to walk - including you."

Salia threw a last dark look at Jarad, then moved back and closed her eyes. Soon her body began to glow, then the light grew blinding.

Mariah shielded her eyes, waiting for the change - but it did not come!

Salia shrieked, "No!" and stared at her hands in disbelief. "Noooo!" She lifted her gaze, locked onto Mariah. "I have lost the power to transform! Kleyeth released you and took my power!"

With a rush of satisfaction, Mariah stared at Salia's forehead. The silver crescent moon - mark of Syrith - had vanished with the light. Were her visionary powers gone as well? What did it mean? Had Kleyeth taken Mariah's mark too?

Salia's face darkened. Then she lifted her chin. "It won't matter when I'm queen." A tight smile formed on her face. She turned to the northwest and began walking with long angry strides the path they would all take.

"You are unchanged, daughter," her mother whispered as though to comfort her. But a deep chill worked its way through Mariah's skin, a foreboding that made her fear for her people and their future.

Jarad helped her to the massive Chadyk animal. "He had no choice, Mariah," he said.

She could not respond. What was there to say? Salia might as well have ripped out her heart. Overwhelmed by her churning emotions, Mariah mounted, the effort making her muscles quiver. She had risked her life to save Rathyn - now he had pledged the rest of his life to Salia - to save Mariah. She would rather be dead. She choked back bitter tears. Anna climbed up behind her and took the reins.

Nahil joined Anna and her on the horse's back. Anna urged the horse forward. Mariah saw Lilas take Jarad's hand and squeeze it, and felt a flash of hope for him. Perhaps his bitterness had found an end.

Would hers? She stared at Salia's back. Damn her! Mariah's thoughts twisted. Never had she heard of such a thing as the loss of Syrith's sign. What did it mean? Ruminating on possibilities, none which felt right, Mariah nodded wearily, then closed her eyes and let her chin rest against her chest. She dozed to the rhythmic movement of the horse's flanks beneath her and despite Salia's victory, dreamed of being in Rathyn’s arms.

#

Leading his men toward the castle, conflict clawed at Rathyn. Not knowing if Mariah lived, each day's travel became an exhaustive effort to block her from his mind by testing his endurance - and that of the fifty men that followed him - to resist the deep need to go after her and assure himself she was all right. Gathias talked to him as Stephanos used to do - as a friend as well as second in command - while Stephanos uttered curses and threats whenever Rathyn drew near.

On the fourth day, he and his men finally reached the castle. On their return, he had Gathias assemble all the men in the courtyard beneath the parapet, leaving only a skeleton crew aboard each of the four ships in the harbor.

This would be his first appearance before the entire army since his blindness, and he was nervous. The men knew he'd made a pact with the Syrithians; knew Stephanos was proclaiming himself the Emperor's son and claiming protection. Stephanos was also throwing out promises of unending rewards for the person who freed him. Rathyn knew what he must do.

He stood on the open parapet above the bailey and raised his arm in a signal of silence. The hundreds of expectant faces glimmered with sweat under the afternoon sun. Perspiration dripped between his shoulder blades under his brass armor, his mouth dry. He brought his left hand up to his sword, rested it on the smooth leather-bound hilt. It was good to have it there again. He cleared his throat, glanced down at Gathias and nodded.

Two sentries brought Stephanos from the tower. He wore his breastplate and helmet bearing his captain's insignia. The men parted around him like wind-blown reeds. Finally, the captain stood directly below Rathyn, looking up at him, his face full of unbridled hatred.

"Stephanos, you have been charged with treason: planning and attempting to murder your commander; consorting with our ancient enemy, the Kahns; and breaking treaty with the Syrithians. All charges are punishable by death." Rathyn paused. "Is there any reason I should spare you?"

Stephanos shook off the two men flanking him. At a gesture from Rathyn the sentries stepped back, gave Stephanos a small clearing of space. "I have told you! I am the king's son! I carry out his orders! It is you who have committed treason - and any who follow you!"

Some of the men nodded at Stephanos's words. Rathyn could almost hear their thoughts: did they want to go against the Emperor? What if Rathyn were defeated? They too would be charged with treason....

Rathyn lifted his voice. "The Emperor has betrayed our trust. He would leave us here to farm for a living!"

A louder murmur swept through the throng. "I ain't no slave!" No soldier would willingly lose his position and the bit of power that came with it.

Stephanos face reddened with fury.

Come on, say it....

"I am the true Commander here!" Stephanos proclaimed to those nearest him. He glanced at Rathyn. "If I had a sword you would not defeat me now!"

Rathyn challenged, "If you had not been drunk, you mean?!" His voice cracked like a whip. He nodded at Gathias.

The men's faces were captured, expectant, as Gathias tossed a sword toward Stephanos. It landed with a thud at the man’s feet. Tension thickened like an invisible fog as Stephanos hesitated, his face reflecting surprise. With a hint of reluctance, he retrieved the heavy blade.

Rathyn leaped down the steps two at a time. At the bottom, he pulled his broadsword free and met Stephanos in the center of the bailey. They circled each other. Rathyn spoke, his voice low, "I once called you friend. Swear allegiance to me against the Emperor and I will spare your life."

"Never. You would take my birthright!" Stephanos swung, hit Rathyn's sword and drove him back a step.

Turning sideways, Rathyn slipped past Stephanos and circled again. "Then die."

The men had moved back, allowing them a wider area in which to maneuver. He waited, watching Stephanos's eyes to anticipate the next blow. Stephanos had youth on his side, Rathyn experience and greater strength. Stepping forward, the captain shot sideways, then brought his blade down at Rathyn's head. Rathyn swung his sword up to meet it, the sound of metal clanging in his ears. The blades slid, sparks flew, hilt caught hilt.

Rathyn pressed down from his superior height toward Stephanos's torso. Stephanos forearms bulged as he held Rathyn's sword in check, then he dropped down and whirled away. Rathyn's blade slipped free. He lunged, whipping his sword around and lashing down toward Stephanos's head. The captain jerked back. Rathyn's blade glanced off his shoulder just above the breastplate fastener, drawing blood and a murmur of approval from the men.

As though to belittle the wound, Stephanos beat at Rathyn with his sword, blow after crushing blow that Rathyn either parried or blocked. But despite Rathyn's effort to conserve strength, his breath soon rasped in his ears.

The silence in the bailey grew deafening as the captain heaved his blade up yet again. Sweat-soaked, chest heaving, Stephanos swung.

Rathyn blocked him and shoved him backward. The captain faltered to one leg, regained his footing and brought his sword up as Rathyn's came down. Rathyn looked into his betrayer's eyes as their swords locked, each man pressing toward the other's vitals.

Rathyn tightened his grip around the hilt as though to crush it in his hand. Abruptly, he whirled backwards, came around, his blade swinging high with all his force behind it.

Stephanos's eyes widened. His weapon was too low and he knew it. Panicked, he wrenched it higher. Rathyn slammed his blade against Stephanos's sword. It flew from the man's grasp. As Stephanos lunged for the hilt, Rathyn heaved his sword around again. He slashed sideways, severing the captain's head from his body. Like a ball, it thudded to the dirt, rolled to a stop with the boyish face upward. Blood seeped into the dirt. A second of realization showed in Stephanos's eyes before they dulled to lifelessness.

Euphoric from his triumph, yet sickened by it as well, Rathyn knew he had to play out the scene. He picked up the head by the hair and held it high. "And so shall I vanquish the Emperor!"

Cheers erupted. He dropped the captain’s severed head and held his sword aloft. The men rushed to lift him on their shoulders. He smiled. He was the forger of a new empire.

For a moment he relished his victory, and the victory he hoped for against the Emperor. Then he thought of what that would mean. Sha-ay-jat, the Demon Conqueror, would marry Salia. He pushed the thought away. The future was not immutable. Perhaps Salia could be persuaded to take gold instead of marriage once she stepped on Chadyk soil and realized the people there would not easily accept her. "Ready the ships. We sail in two days - at dawn."

On his feet again, Rathyn sought Gathias in the crowd, found him and grinned. Here was a true friend, and a loyal one. "Ready a personal guard to accompany me into the forest. We have a meeting with the Syrithians - and a war to plan."

Gathias snapped a perfect salute. "Yes, sir."

Once he was alone in his chambers in the keep, Rathyn allowed himself the gift of thinking of Mariah. "Sha-ay-ter-ah, Night Conqueror," he whispered as he gently caressed her in his mind, felt her passionate embrace as she arched beneath him, desire and love locked in her eyes, making him ache for her. "I pray that you have conquered death and will understand that I did what I must. And that somehow, I will find a way to be with you."

But his heart was heavy as he mounted a dark bay-colored mare under the late afternoon sun, and rode with Gathias and four others across the drawbridge, past the stockade, through the tall green grass, and into the forest. If Mariah lived, she would be furious at him - for he knew if she pledged herself to another, even to save his life, he would be. Victory over the Emperor would be a bitter triumph. Yet he must protect her and her people from the Emperor, and the only way was by taking the throne.

Chapter Seventeen

Mariah stood between Jarad and Nahil as the runner they'd sent out led Rathyn and his men into the Wind Tribe's camp. A ghost of a moon shone behind filmy clouds and the stars seemed dim as she told herself Rathyn belonged to another. Yet her heart leapt as he slid from his horse and stepped forward. A gentle, tender lover, and a fierce warrior. Her throat tightened.

With a formal gesture, she held out her hand in greeting, determined to keep him at arm's length. He brought her hand to his lips and her pulse raced as his lips warmed her flesh, lingered overlong. She snatched her hand away, afraid to speak, lest her voice give away her feelings.

"Your Majesty," Rathyn said with a formal bow that hid his expression. Did she imagine displeasure in his tone? Did he think she would be happy he had saved her?

When he straightened his face was unreadable, his dark eyes veiled. His cool gaze twisted her heart, made her want to lash out, rage, because she loved him, wanted him, and they had no future. He had given it to Salia. She blinked away tears, tightened her jaw. I would gladly give up my queenship for Rathyn. The thought came from nowhere, startling her. Was it because she no longer had a choice? The day Rathyn defeated the Chadyk Emperor, she would lose him and, unless she wanted another war, her rule as well.

She took a deep breath, exhaled, managed to produce words as cool as his. "Commander," she found it hard to meet his gaze, to not answer the plea in their sable depths. "We have prepared food for you and your men. Afterwards, the council will meet with you and your second in command in the center tent." Glad for the chance to move, she gestured toward the largest tent as she turned and led Rathyn and his men past smaller ones. Over her shoulder she said, "We will eat near the spring, in the open, in honor of Syrith and the treaty."

Rathyn drew abreast of her. "May I walk with you, your Majesty?"

She felt her mouth tighten as his shoulder brushed hers, unbidden images of their lovemaking filling her mind, warming her from head to toe. She felt as though her jaw would break as she nodded regally, while she wanted to say, No, stay away, before I change my mind and dishonor myself and my tribe by ignoring the vow you have made to Salia. As the trail grew narrow, his arm brushed hers, and she longed to feel it encircle her waist.

"I've missed you," he said in a low voice.

When she didn't respond, he took her arm as though to guide her, and pulled her closer. "Tell me what you would have done!" His voice cracked.

She jerked free, scalded by his touch as well as his words. Jarad, Nahil, her mother, and Rathyn's men had dropped far back on the trail, were obscured by trees and vegetation. "I would have laid down my life for you - saved you any way I could," she admitted. "But now that I live, I must watch you with another for the rest of my life - and I cannot - " She caught her breath as Rathyn grabbed her arm again, bringing her to a standstill. He wrapped her in his arms and crushed her to him, covering her lips with his.

His passion kindled her own, drove away thoughts of honor and duty. Her mind cried this was madness as his lips devoured her mouth, claiming her heart and soul with his touch. She needed him, wanted him... His hand strayed to her breast, teasing her, making her ache for him to fill her. Then the greenery came into view, the smell of the trees mixed with Rathyn's scent brought back awareness of where they were, who she was, what she was. Trembling, she shoved him away, whirled and ran, her passion turning to salty tears as she neared the spring. Using her robe, she dried her cheeks, forced her lips to smile as she followed the path into the clearing where Rathyn and his men were expected.

Feeling the watchful eyes of those preparing the food at the fires nearby, Mariah tried to relax, inhaling and exhaling several times as she repeated Syrith's prayer in her mind. Hiding her stormy emotions with stoicism, she busied herself confirming that all was ready.

A rough hewn table and benches had been placed in a large clearing, branches of the surrounding ancient oaks laced overhead. Four fires, one for each tribe, burned brightly, one to each side of the table.

Men and women worked together, scurrying to put final touches to the bowls of steaming food, and fill the goblets with fresh water from the spring, the spring that now held her husband's spirit. She felt an ache for his comforting embrace and was amazed to taste new tears. If he wasn’t drunk he would have held and soothed her. All her sorrows choked her.

Could she dishonor Syrith, her tribe, go to Rathyn and take whatever he would offer? Disgust filled her - she would betray the truth and herself? A pledge was sacred above all else.

Kleyeth must be laughing. She closed away such thoughts. Despair rose like bile in her mouth, leaving a bitter taste. What did she have to live for? Another tear trickled, its damp trail sliding across her skin.

Curious gazes cast her way made her wipe her face hastily and move to the water's edge. There she knelt down and said a prayer for Rathyn and herself, then for her sister, her husband; that Syrith would give them a new and better life.

Bitterness made her want to scream, What life?

In answer, a spark of heat flickered deep in her belly. It warmed her, spreading slowly until her skin tingled all over. Such a strange sensation. She stood, turning her senses inward, skimming through her body for the source. Shock struck first, then elation, even as she questioned. Did she carry Rathyn's child? Could it be true? She lifted her face toward Syrith's soft light, asking for confirmation.

The answer came like a touch from the goddess, warming her belly like the touch of Rathyn's hand. It was true! Sweet Syrith, giver of all life! She felt radiant with newfound gratitude. She would lose her reign and Rathyn upon his victory - for she would not entertain the thought that he might lose, nor would she fight for her rule - and she would be free to raise her child as any common mother, not torn between motherly desires and queenly duties as her own mother had been.

A light touch brought her out of her reverie. "Daughter - I called but you did not answer. Are you all right?"

She smiled at her mother and hugged her. "I am fine."

Anna studied her, concern turning to a smile, as though pleased by what she saw. "Syrith has blessed you...."

Did she have the Seer's gift? No, her mother had always understood her daughters. Mariah felt a pang of worry. Rathyn might give up his dream to be Emperor if he knew. She could see him grow to resent, even hate her and the child. She touched her mother's arm. "You must tell no one."

Her mother's eyes questioned, but she nodded. "As you wish."

Footsteps and a ripple of murmurs interrupted. Rathyn appeared. Would their child have his great size and beauty? For she thought him beautiful. Beautiful, powerful, gentle, her mind sang his praises, each one a knife in her heart for the loss of him, and a blessing for the promise to the child she carried.

Jarad stood beside him. The two were like night and moon, Rathyn tan and dark, Jarad, silver and fair. She frowned. Jarad was holding back information about Salia. But what could it be? Although he admitted he had not told her everything that happened during the time he spent with Rathyn, he would say only that Rathyn must be the one to speak about Salia, for she was under his protection. That thought made Mariah curl her fingers into fists.

Jarad's gaze glittered with admiration in the firelight as he spoke to Rathyn, the two men's body language showing a mutual respect. Jarad liked Rathyn! Dumbfounded, Mariah followed the two men with her gaze. Rathyn's eyes remained fixed on Jarad as though no one else were there. His bearing reminded her of a proud hawk.

Small, delicate Lilas interrupted their conversation and ushered them toward the table, Rathyn smiling warmly at her. Jarad's expression softened to one Mariah interpreted as loving. Happiness shone in both their faces and Mariah felt a twinge of envy. That explained the new softness to Jarad’s expression. Locking her emotions away, she glided forward, aware of everyone's eyes following her as she moved to the head of the table and asked that Rathyn introduce himself and his five men.

"Lt. Gathias is my Second Commander," Rathyn gestured toward the dark-haired, grizzly, middle-aged man who she remembered from the castle, and who, for some unfathomable reason, reminded her of her father. She heard Rathyn introduce the next man, and the next, but through a mist of time and space. The Seer's black void closed in. She drifted with it.

Slowly, her eyes adjusted to seeing in the place of visions. Two torches burned in darkness, held in her father's hands. The right torch bore Syrith's mark, the crescent moon, carved in the wood, and the left, the Chadyk mark for a word she thought meant explorer or wanderer. Two flames shot skyward from the torches and out of each stepped a figure. On the right, a woman, on the left a man. Then Syrith's torch extinguished while the other became brighter until it exploded, showering the ground with sparks that continued to burn.

Syrith and her people would be absorbed into the Chadyk empire. But what of the two figures; Rathyn and herself? Why had her father held the torches and why did the lieutenant remind her of him? The black began to fade into gray shadows.

"Your Majesty?" Rathyn's concerned voice brought her out of the mist, while questions whirled in her mind. She blinked, realized he had finished with the introductions. Hiding her uneasiness, she smiled at his men and gestured for everyone to be seated.

Avoiding Rathyn's gaze throughout the meal she said little, preoccupied by the disconcerting vision and what she thought it might mean. The end of her people, and the expansion of the Chadyk empire?

Murmuring an excuse, she left the table as soon as she could politely do so and headed back down the trail to the camp, her thoughts churning. How many women bore children in this generation? Less than the last. And those with Syrith's mark grew fewer with each issue. Salia had lost the mark and her power altogether. And now this vision. If only she could talk to Rathyn, share her fears, her doubts, confusion. She hurried on. She needed to escape Rathyn's nearness, his watchful gaze, needed to regain her equilibrium before the council meeting. For then she would carry out her queenly duties, make demands Rathyn might not like, offer him the support he sought. And pledge her people to a war that would lead to their extinction? Foreboding filled her.

#

Rathyn watched Mariah leave, saw disapproval or concern on several council members' faces. He leaned toward the next table and tapped Jarad on the arm. "I'd like to talk with you."

Jarad's eyebrows rose, but he nodded and stood.

Rathyn turned to Gathias. "Stay here. I'll be back."

Gathias nodded.

Rathyn led Jarad down the grassy embankment to the brook, crossed its shallow water and climbed to the top of the other side. Assured now of not being overheard, he asked, "What happened at the table? Mariah looked ill. Is she all right?"

Jarad sighed, his tone reluctant, "She wore the veil of a Seer and had a vision. I think she saw something that upset her." He shrugged. "She left." His expression reflected frustration. "You should talk to her."

"She won't talk to me!"

Jarad gave him a pitying look. "I'm sorry...." He headed back to the table.

Rathyn watched him, feeling angrier with each passing second. He did what had to be done! Why didn't she see that? Splashing across the brook, he stalked up the bank, gestured at Gathias, who joined him. "I'm going ahead to talk to Mariah alone. Give us some time before you and the others come."

Gathias' eyes questioned Rathyn's, but he nodded. "Yes, sir."

He ignored the doubtful look and left. Each stride down the path stirred his anger. He had saved her life! He loved her! She loved him! He could marry Salia, fulfill his vow, and live with Mariah. And have bastard children, unacknowledged like the Emperor's son? his inner voice whispered. Rathyn slowed as the camp of tents came into view. In his world bastards had no place, were little better than slaves. So were women.

He could change that. He would be king. But he knew the thought was crazy. Change like that took generations to accomplish. Even his own men would turn against him if he proposed to give women and bastard children rights.

Near the central fire, he stopped a young boy, asked haltingly in Syrithian, "Where is Mariah?" The boy giggled at Rathyn's attempt, but pointed at the large tent where the council was to meet shortly.

Curious stares followed him, but no one tried to stop him from entering the tent. Inside a torch burned. Mariah was alone, seated on one of many pillows strewn around a low table, her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling softly. He remembered her locked in the spirit-world and his stomach clenched. She was alive and he would never be sorry for that!

Her eyes opened, met his. Dismay showed in her trembling lips as she smiled. Like a bird taking flight, she rose gracefully to her feet. "Where are the others?"

He closed the distance between them. "They're coming later. But before they do, I want you to know, I don't regret what I did! I'd do it again!"

A flicker of sorrow showed in her eyes, then her gaze grew distant as though she'd retreated to some far off place in her mind.

"Damn it, I love you! That will never change!" He pulled her into his arms, the feel of her intoxicating, hardly aware of anything except the need to make love to her and make her declare her love for him. "I am not married yet," he whispered as he kissed her brow, her ear, her neck. She didn't resist, but neither did she respond. "Somehow I will find a way for us, Mariah! You must believe that...."

He captured her mouth, covering her lips and coaxing them apart with heated kisses, tasting what he'd dreamed of for so long. He stroked her back, her waist, memorizing each curve with his fingers. Deepening the kiss, he filled her mouth with his tongue, flicking and teasing, determined to get a response.

She shuddered against him. Blood pounded in his temples, need exploding in his veins like black powder. He was hard and hot and ready. She moaned as he pulled her robes apart, baring her breasts. Cupping one, he thumbed the tender tip until she threw her head back and arched against him. He took a nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his teeth until another shudder took her. With a groan caught in his throat, he lifted his head and claimed her mouth again.

"Rathyn - " she moaned his name like a protest. One he sought to smother. Trembling in his arms, she turned her head. A ragged whisper tore from her throat, a freezing, scalding tide of despair and desire, "Please, stop...." It took him a moment to realize she was shoving at his chest.

He tightened his hold, determined to make her give in. Their gazes locked. The anguish in her face pierced his heart.

She pushed free, stumbled backwards, and turned away.

He waited.

She remained still.

"Mariah?"

A small sigh escaped her lips as she faced him again, her expression determined, aloof. Her gaze met his. A flicker of hopelessness deep in the silvery blue of her eyes became steel. In a regal, dismissive tone, she said, "It's over, Rathyn."

The words were hard, implacable. My God, he would not beg! He backed away, quelling the sudden urge to lash out. Jaw tight, he said in a frighteningly calm voice he hardly recognized as his own, "I'll join my men, and the other council members." His gaze fell to her disheveled robes, the soft curve of her breast partially exposed, and he said in a more derisive tone than he intended, "I'll give you a few minutes to - prepare - for the meeting."

Scarlet stained her cheeks.

He turned, fingers clenched into fists, waited a moment hoping she would speak, stop him. Then he shoved aside the tent flap and left, a bitter taste in his mouth, his nostrils full of her dusky scent, his body aching for release.

Chapter Eighteen

Mariah felt her face flame as Rathyn stalked from the tent. She quickly rearranged her robes, but her emotions remained tremulous. How dare he? His expression and tone had been insulting - mean. But his dark eyes had reflected pain. She'd hurt him, he'd hurt her. Oh Syrith, help her! But she felt no answering whisper of emotion or inner voice, no Seer's vision to comfort her. She was alone.

But no, she wasn't. At the thought of the child she carried, a fierce determination filled her to survive this war and all it might inflict and raise the child on her own.

A part of her mocked such a vow. The child could be stillborn. Or she might lose it during the next few months to the heat sickness that burned unborn females with Syrith's mark. Even if it lived, Rathyn might learn of it, and want to raise it in Spartyk as heir to the throne. Then Salia would raise her child. The vision came back to her, herself pregnant, a Syrithian knife stabbing her in the back.

"No!" Mariah swore aloud. She would leave the four tribes and go hide among the Syrithians known as Wanderers before she would allow Salia near her and her child.

Even though you believe Rathyn will emerge victorious, you don't know, her inner voice whispered. The future is like water, a rock thrown in the present affects it. Things change.

Did she hear a warning or just her own fears? She shrugged them off, straightened and pushed back the tent flap.

The other council members, Nahil, Jarad, Anna, and Bahleal's replacement, stood near the central fire with Rathyn and his Lieutenant. Mariah called her mother's name. Anna led them inside, where they sat around the table, Mariah at one end, Rathyn at the other. She felt the heat of his gaze and met it with her own cool one, hoping he could not see how much his angry expression wounded her. "Commander and council member Rathyn, Lt. Gathias," Mariah acknowledged them, introduced the others for Gathias's benefit, then plunged ahead. "Since we have little time, we will not follow all the customary rituals a treaty entails." She gave Rathyn a small smile. Was it as grim as she felt? "We will help you fight the Emperor, Commander. In return we want a written statement that ensures Syrithian land stays in Syrithian hands. It cannot be bought or sold by you or any Chadyk." Mariah nodded at Nahil.

The old man pulled out a rolled parchment and spread it on the table. "This is a map of the land we want."

Rathyn studied it a moment. The muscles along his neck grew taut. "This includes the castle here on the coast, and the garrison in the hills. We have always manned those outposts. Surely if we are allies, this can continue."

Mariah leaned forward. "Syrithians can occupy the castle and the garrison instead of Chadyks. We can give warning if the Kahns attack."

Rathyn's eyes darkened. "So, we won't be needed once we defeat the Emperor? We stay on our land, you stay on yours?"

Mariah saw his hand tighten into a fist around his sword hilt. He was furious, as she knew he would be. She nodded at Jarad, who laid another parchment on top of the map. Mariah said in the haughtiest tone she could muster. "We have four tribes: Wind, Fire, Water, and Earth. Most of the Fire Tribe died fighting your men and the Kahns. As an informal member of the Fire Tribe, you have the right to sit at council and cast your vote, nothing more."

Rathyn's jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, surprising her. She'd expected a verbal assault.

She continued, "Each tribe has a core of one to three hundred people with additional Wanderers, perhaps ten percent of our population who often go beyond our formal borders." She paused. "This is our pledge to you, Commander: We offer you nine hundred warriors. The rest, a few hundred or so, will remain here to protect those too old or too young to defend themselves should the Kahns attack."

She saw calculation in Rathyn's eyes. Were their numbers enough? How large an army could the Emperor command? She added, "We will also provision our warriors: food, clothing, weapons. Approximately one hundred fifty warriors will transform into the horse shape should the need arise. A small number of women with that capability will stay behind - again for defensive reasons."

Rathyn smiled rather unpleasantly, his gaze sharp. "You are not planning to accompany me to Spartyk, are you?" His hard expression said he was not going to let her escape him.

She kept her regal bearing, despite a part of her that wanted to explain. "Salia and Jarad will go with you. I will be needed here." On a ship she might not be able to hide the child growing within her.

Rathyn stood, eyes flashing with anger.

Lieutenant Gathias jumped to his feet.

Mariah stood also.

Rathyn's words came hard and fast, "I will accept your terms, and pledge my future aid should the Kahns attack Syrithia. But I require insurance that your people will follow me." He paused, "I insist you accompany the Syrithian warriors to Spartyk - on my ship." The last three words were a harsh demand.

Her nails dug into her palms. "Son of a Kahn Dog!" She hurled the retort in Syrithian.

The tension around the table rose like a tidal wave.

Rathyn's gaze narrowed. She saw the knowledge in his eyes, he knew an insult when he heard one - even in another tongue.

Anna spoke in a soothing tone, "My daughter says that she and the rest of the council will need time to talk about this. Because you are also a Chadyk Commander we would ask that you excuse us."

Rathyn hiked an eyebrow in disbelief, then nodded, turned abruptly, and left. His Lieutenant did the same.

Mariah exploded, "Mother, how could you! I said no such thing! And there is nothing to talk about! I will not go to Spartyk!"

Anna's blue eyes became steel. "A queen must lead her people. You cannot abdicate your responsibilities - for any reason." She held up her hand in a placating gesture. "However, I think Lilas and Jarad should accompany you as two of your personal guards. To protect you - and the baby."

Damn her meddling! Mariah glared, but her mother was implacable.

Jarad gasped. "You carry the commander's child?"

Nahil didn't give Mariah a chance to answer. "He should be told."

Mariah shook her head. "I would not have him give up his dream of conquest for me, or the babe."

Nahil's lined face wore an expression of skepticism. "Are you so sure you know his dreams?"

Rathyn was a king among men. He commanded respect and loyalty. His eyes lit with passion when he spoke about fighting the Emperor and replacing him. "I'm sure," Mariah said confidently.

Nahil shook his head. "Sometimes motives are hidden - even from ourselves."

She couldn’t hold back the snarl in her tone, "Why is everyone suddenly questioning my judgment - and favoring Rathyn's? He is a Chadyk, for Syrith's sake!"

Anna shook her head. "No. He is blessed by Syrith. He alone of all men bear her mark. He is Syrithian in his heart, no matter how he appears."

Mariah stared. "He has Syrith's mark? Why didn't I see it? Why didn't you tell me before now?"

Anna smiled. "It is faint. A glimmer of silver barely visible unless you’re looking for it." She patted Mariah's hand. "I did not tell you because I wanted to understand it first. I have asked all the old ones if such a thing has ever happened before. There are stories, legends of Syrithian males who bore Syrith’s mark hundreds of years ago. But never an outsider. Your Commander is unique."

Mariah was stunned. Yet did it change anything? He was still pledged to Salia. She felt a scowl pulled at her lips as she thought of the council members all meddling in her affairs.

Her mother seemed to sense her thought. "We only seek to advise you to the best of our abilities, my dear."

Mariah pulled her hand away, angry again. "Don't patronize me, mother!"

Anna's gaze narrowed. "Whether you tell Rathyn about the child is your choice. As to the terms of his treaty, I ask for a vote."

Jarad avoided Mariah's gaze as he spoke, "I accept the commander's terms."

Nahil shook his head at Mariah, rebuke in his ancient eyes, "I too vote to accept the commander's terms."

Bahleal's replacement echoed Nahil's words.

Her mother smiled. "I add my vote to the others. And we know how the commander will vote."

Furious, Mariah stalked from the tent and sent a runner to find Rathyn and his Lieutenant and ask them to return.

Rathyn's lips curled with satisfaction and his dark gaze challenged hers as she told him the decision. His voice held a note of triumph. "If Lilas can accompany me back to the castle, I will draw up a treaty written in both languages to sign, and return with it tomorrow. The ships will depart at dawn the day after. With careful provisions and sleeping arrangements we can take half your people with us by ship. Lt. Gathias and Jarad will lead the other half over the land route."

"Jarad will be part of my personal guard on the ship," Mariah stated flatly. If Rathyn thought he could bed her on his ship and thus change her mind about being his consort, that should make her position clear. He had pledged himself to Salia, he could damn well keep his pledge. Or did Chadyks honor only the vows they wished to keep?

Rathyn arched an eyebrow. "Surely you can trust me to keep you safe?" He looked smug.

Had he charmed the council just for this reason - to have her as his mistress, and gain the throne? Mariah's frustration became angry blocks of suspicion, but she was helpless to change or undo what he had done.

Her mother answered before Mariah thought of a suitable retort to Rathyn’s question, "Of course my daughter trusts you with her safety, Commander. But are you sure your duties aboard ship won't interfere with the responsibility?"

Rathyn's gaze showed respect. "What would you suggest, Madam?"

Mariah crossed her arms. "Yes what?"

Anna smiled serenely. "I will accompany my daughter in Jarad's place."

"Mother, you can't - "

Rathyn cut her off. "I think that's a fine idea."

Mariah clenched her hands into fists, but said nothing else.

Rathyn bowed slightly to Mariah and the others, then left. The rest of the council followed, leaving her alone. Still angry at her mother, she paced back and forth, her fingers itching to strangle someone, hit something. If she didn't know better, she'd swear Rathyn and her mother liked each other! "They probably plotted the whole thing!" she murmured. But she was determined, he would not be alone with her on the ship, and he would not learn about his child until the future was complete. If he chose the throne and married Salia, so be it. She would keep his child secret.

Secrets have a way of becoming known, her inner voice warned. Already all the council except Rathyn knew. What if Salia learned of her child - convinced Rathyn they should raise it? As the king he could do whatever he wished, couldn't he?

Mariah's hand strayed to where she normally wore her dagger. She would kill Salia before she'd let her cousin raise her child. But perhaps Kleyeth had taken Salia's Seer's abilities as well as her shape-changing power. That would make her less of a threat.

Her thoughts churning, she went to find Jarad, to talk to him as she once had. But Jarad had left, accompanying Lilas, Rathyn and his men back to the castle. And Nahil wanted to confer about who should stay, who should go over land, who go by ship? She stayed up late into the night, making and reviewing decisions until exhaustion forced her to bed. As soon as her head touched the pillow, sleep came, dark and dreamless.

Chapter Nineteen

Rathyn escorted Salia onto the main deck of the lead ship, pointing out the long sleek lines of oars that protruded from below. A heavy railing enclosed an area large enough for the men to exercise in fair weather; extra supplies were stored on the smaller, upper deck. It also served as a lookout perch. The larger hull could house the rowers and soldiers.

Many of the ship's modern advantages were of Rathyn's design and he took pride in them. Yet Salia took little notice, her face a mask of dislike that made him wonder if she hated all Chadyks or him in particular. Why then had she gone to Stephanos? For protection only? He should have found out before he killed him.

When he touched her back, to guide her to the steps, she flinched and pulled away. Irritated, he said in a low voice the rest of their entourage wouldn't hear, "Why do you wish to marry me if you hate me so?"

Salia's eyes flashed and her lush mouth tightened into a line of contempt. "Hate you? Perhaps I do. But I loath Mariah more. She's too soft a leader. Willing to compromise our beliefs and risk our lives for her own gain." Her gaze clouded for a moment, then cleared. "Now she will lose the power she holds so dear," her mouth twisted, "and she'll lose it through you, the man she loves."

He had never hit a woman in his life, but he itched to slap the malignant look from Salia's face. With a quick gesture, he dismissed the men at attention on deck, and led Salia down the narrow stairway to his cabin.

As he closed the door, he grudgingly admitted she was attractive. Full-figured, and shorter than most Syrithian women, still her features reminded him of Mariah, her cousin. She sparked a physical reaction that quickly died when he saw the raw hatred burning in the depths of her silvery eyes.

"Are you sure Mariah cares that much for me?" he drawled as though he and Mariah merely played a game. "Perhaps she wants my cooperation and has ensured it by gaining my - affection."

Salia frowned. "Of course I'm sure." But uncertainty flickered in her expression.

Could he convince her that he and Mariah cared nothing for each other? Get her to release him from his vow? "You will make a lovely queen," he said, stepping behind her and lightly touching her arms, sliding his hands to her waist. A kiss might convince her he cared little for Mariah.

She whirled and drew a knife from the folds of her gown. "Stay away! Touch me again and you'll taste this."

Rathyn tensed, he was not about to let her dictate terms to him. He took a step toward her. His jaw tightened as the blade whipped past his chest. Once Mariah had spoken and acted like this - tried to kill him. But he had felt compassion for her.

She feinted to his left and lashed upwards, toward his stomach. He dropped to one knee and caught her arm under his, trapping it as he grappled for the knife. Salia jerked and nearly broke free, her strength a surprise. The blade tip snagged his tunic, ripped it. Catching her wrist, he twisted it back until she released the blade with a cry of rage. She sank down, her weight pulling him with her. He felt her leg slide beneath his and twist. Damn. Falling with her, he took the impact with his shoulder and quickly rolled on top of her as she strained to reach the blade. She squirmed under him, her arm stretching toward it.

"If you kill me, you will be executed on this ship," he said in a harsh tone. "Hardly the revenge you plan."

Salia glared at him, but ceased her struggle. "Let go!" she snarled.

He gave her a dark smile. "When I am King and you are Queen, I will expect you to share my bed, fulfill your duties as wife and ruler, and produce an heir."

Her mouth became a murderous line. "I'd rather be dead," she spat, "than lie with a Chadyk."

Rathyn pressed against her, letting her feel his muscled strength. "Did you not lie with Captain Stephanos to gain his protection?"

Her eyes widened in answer. "That drunken pig?"

So what had she bartered with? He stifled the urge to ask, reminding himself he had a role to play. Looking down into her sulky features, he warned again, "If I marry you, I will expect a wife!"

He kissed her roughly and in one quick move, stood, lifting her with him and tossing her on the narrow pallet. Towering over her as though he'd take her by force, he whispered, "Perhaps I will be Mariah's revenge." He pinned her beneath him again, disliking this part he played. "Perhaps she's made fools of us both. You will suffer my touch while I dream of another in your place."

Getting to his feet, he stood over her. "When we are married, I will fill you with my seed. I won't care if you like it."

She blanched.

He retrieved her knife, thrust it in his belt and stalked from the cabin, slamming the door behind him. But instead of feeling good, he felt like dung. By the gods, to be married to her would be like facing the dark God, Kleyeth, day and night.

Mariah once looked at him as Salia did, he told himself, but instead of finding comfort he wondered, Did Mariah care for him? Or was power her real goal? By Tyryk and all the Gods, how could he doubt his own experience, the passion they'd shared? He raced up the stairs, leaving his suspicions behind.

A few minutes later, Salia appeared on deck and demanded to travel with Gathias and Jarad over land. Hiding his satisfaction, Rathyn agreed with a fake snarl of anger, then leered suggestively, his gaze raking Salia's body. She returned the look with loathing, picked up her robes and scurried after Gathias as he left the ship.

Rathyn watched. Maybe she'd have a fatal accident as she traveled the treacherous overland route. He sighed. He'd told Gathias to protect her - if Gathias reached Spartyk alive so would she.

#

At edge of the ship, Rathyn peered off the port bow into darkness, the smell of the sea welcome. Everyone was below deck. He heard the continuous splash of the manned oars, knew they were making good time, yet felt despondent. At sea for two weeks, he had still to see Mariah alone, and their parried words, veiled insults tired him. He'd saved her life, temporarily gotten rid of Salia, and she was damned ungrateful!

Until he won this war - which still had to be fought - and became Emperor, he did not have to marry the Seer, and he would not be breaking his vow by making love to Mariah or making her his consort. Or was Salia right, and Mariah really after the Queenship?

He paced along the ship's edge, restless. He could hardly ask Mariah if she loved him, or convince her of his feelings - not with her mother, Lilas, or that damned Syrithian guard, Vishad, always present. Vishad had sharp eyes and a quick wit. The Syrithian guard resembled Jarad and Rathyn felt envious of the time the guard spent with Mariah.

The soft sound of footsteps interrupted his contemplation. He nodded as Lilas and Anna approached. "Madam Anna, Lilas, good evening. I trust Mariah found supper agreeable and is feeling better?"

A furtive look passed between the two women. Rathyn gritted his teeth. Was Mariah's womanly illness a lie? Because his wife had suffered the terrible pains the Syrithians called Kleyeth's curse, he'd accepted Anna's statement that Mariah also suffered thus. Were they conspiring to keep him and Mariah apart?

Anna spoke in a firm, clear voice with no hint of deviousness, "My daughter is asleep. Vishad is with her."

"How nice," he said harshly. He clamped his jaw tight as jealousy stirred again.

In two or three days they would reach the bay of Cyclosha, take the harbor village, and remain for a week to give Gathias time to cross the hills on the other side of Spartyk.

Anna coughed and Rathyn's thoughts turned to Mariah again. "If you will excuse me?" He didn't wait for an answer, but strode below deck to the small cabin at the back which he usually occupied with his second in command. He'd given the space over to Mariah and her "personal guards." At night Vishad slept outside the door while Rathyn joined his men and the male Syrithian warriors. The Syrithian women slept together behind the galley. Quarters were cramped, and tempers rising. Including his.

He rapped on the cabin door, then went in, knowing it was rude not to wait for a summons, but his need to see her dictated action.

Mariah lay on her side, facing away from the door. Vishad jumped from his seat beside her, his perpetual frown in place, his hand on the hilt of his knife.

"I'll take over," Rathyn commanded. Vishad's duties as guard were a guise to keep him away. Mariah was as capable of defending herself as any man. He refused to believe her monthly cycle had incapacitated her. It was time to end the charade.

Vishad's frown deepened.

Mariah's arm moved. She rolled over, still covered in blankets, and sat up slowly. She spoke to Vishad, "Join Mother and Lilas on deck, please." The guard bowed slightly and left. Mariah challenged Rathyn, "So you would protect me as I sleep?"

Rathyn stepped closer to the bed. The tilt of her chin reminded him of Salia's defiance, only it was softer somehow. "I would do more than that, and you know it."

His fingers itched to bury themselves in the silken mane of her loose hair, stroke her satin skin and pleasure her until she begged for release. Once she had stood before him naked, desire reflected in every nuance. Now she hid from him as though he would take by force what she had once given. She wore enough blankets to hide every womanly curve. He wondered again, had she been manipulating him?

With casual pretense, he sat in Vishad's place.

Mariah's silver-blue eyes glimmered, some unreadable emotion in their depths. "Is there something else you wish to say?"

A sigh caught in his throat as he noticed the pinched features, the wan face. She did look ill. He felt a stab of guilt. "Go to sleep."

A reluctant expression on her face, she lay back down, this time facing the door, her legs curled, eyes open, watching him. He played with the pair of dice on the small board and wondered if he'd ever figure out the damned Syrithian game. The dice rattled as he tossed them; they landed, a pair of sixes. He'd seen Vishad exclaim over such a roll. Now if he only knew what to do with the pegs Vishad moved as part of the game.

A small sigh escaped Mariah's lips. He smiled at her, feeling a well of tenderness at the sight of her swaddled form. Suddenly, eyes wide, she pushed up to one elbow. "The bucket!"

He grabbed it and held it as she heaved remnants of her supper. Again and again she vomited, until finally with a moan, she sank back against the pallet, her face tear-streaked, her forehead damp with sweat. Rathyn leaned forward, touched her cheek. Her skin was hot as fire. "By the Gods, what's wrong?"

Mariah shook her head slightly as though the ordeal had taken all her strength, and closed her eyes with a moan.

Hurriedly, he put the bucket outside the door, retrieved a cloth from the bowl of water near the bed and gently cleaned her face.

Her eyes remained closed, and her breathing labored. He touched her hot forehead and alarm surged in his gut. He raced to get Anna.

At the top of the stairs he heard her and Lilas talking to Vishad. Anna's voice carried on the wind. "She needs to tell him. Give her time."

He nearly flew across the deck. "Tell me what?"

Three startled faces stared.

Rathyn stared back. "That she's ill? That this curse of Kleyeth's is more than you implied?" He answered his own question. "She's burning up with fever! How long has she been like this?"

Lilas lowered her gaze. Vishad's perpetual frown increased. Anna met Rathyn's gaze, her expression unscathed. "My daughter will recover, Commander. Do not worry. Her condition is temporary. All Syrithian women who bear the mark of Syrith go through this from time to time."

"You're certain?" Rathyn persisted, not quite convinced by her confident tone.

"Yes. It is not fatal or permanently disabling. But it may weaken my daughter for a few days yet."

Rathyn knew deception when he heard it - half-truths too. Yet something in the old woman's face made him hold his tongue. He nodded. "I will accept your explanation for now. But if her condition worsens....

Anna didn't react to his threat, but smiled encouragingly and touched his arm in an uncharacteristic gesture of friendship. She said good-night - in Syrithian.

Surprised, Rathyn watched the three disappear below deck. When he'd promised not to let Mariah die he'd gained Anna's approval. Anna reminded him of his own mother. Though she'd looked nothing like Anna, he remembered her having the same inner strength. It made him want to trust her. Pensive and worried, he strode to the edge of the massive ship.

He'd lost his first wife in childbirth and his father-in-law, Tchelak, had sustained him. His only family left in the Chadyk empire. But would a Chadyk understand Rathyn's love for a Syrithian witch?

More than a year had passed since he and Tchelak last met. He smiled at the memory. They'd talked the night away. When Rathyn told him he'd accepted the Emperor's commission to go to Syrithia and make peace with the barbarian queen, Tchelak had chided, "You were a good husband to my daughter," touched Rathyn's shoulder and added, "You can't run from grief, Rathyn." A bittersweet smile spoke volumes of the older man's sorrow. He'd lost a wife, then his daughter and newborn grandson. Yet Rathyn couldn't stay, couldn't stand to listen to another acquaintance utter a sympathetic platitude. Nor could he stand the uncomfortable tension that lay between him and his friends as they floundered with condolences. He knew many thought he overreacted. She is just a woman after all, their expressions said. Damn it, she was more than that to him!

Tchelak had cut into Rathyn's roiling thoughts. "The Empire needs your leadership. The people, the armies, everyone respects you, would follow you. The Emperor's depravity grows with each passing day as he sucks away the Senate's power."

Rathyn had read treason in his father-in-law's fox-like gaze. He'd ignored the implied offer and run. Now he was going back. Was it too late?

He glanced up at the twinkling pattern of stars and wished for Gathias's or Jarad's company. Both men were easy to talk to - though sometimes Rathyn wasn't sure how much of the language Jarad understood.

His brow furrowed as his thoughts turned to Mariah again. Was her condition only temporary as Anna said? A Syrithian female illness? Did Mariah love him? Doubt tormented him. He gripped the hard wood railing and swore. He worried worse than a woman! A Chadyk woman, his inner voice amended.

Under the force of the wind, he leaned over the edge and inhaled the briny smell. The salt spray stung his face, drenched his tunic and leggings. Three more days at this pace and they would be ashore. He would have a Chadyk doctor examine Mariah.

That decided, he headed below to take over at the front of the oars. He needed the physical release - even if the men thought it odd. Then he would catch his ration of sleep.

A gust of wind followed him down the stairs, whipped his hair and flattened his damp clothes against his body, sending a shiver down his spine. Three more days - and he would be on his way to Spartyk.

#

Mariah heard the cabin door close, listened to Rathyn's receding footsteps, and tried to call out to him, but her throat ached and her stomach roiled. If she moved she'd heave again. By the goddess she'd never been sick like this. Sometimes bearing the mark of Syrith and having the ability to transform to her equine shape felt a curse. Did that mean she carried a daughter? In spite of her nausea, she felt excitement. Kleyeth's curse rarely struck the mother of an unborn son - only daughters. The daughter that would carry on her line. Oh Syrith, she prayed, bless this child.

"Daughter-queen?" her mother called through the door.

Mariah forced a raspy word from her throat. "Enter."

Her mother's soothing hand touched her forehead. "You are still burning up, Mariah. I thought last night the cycle had broken. But it's begun again."

Mariah forced her eyes open, blinked into focus the blurred, concerned faces of her mother, Lilas, and Vishad. Her mother spoke to the other two. "Go tell Rathyn we need help to get her on deck. It's cooler up there. We'll soak her robes with sea water."

A flash of alarm struck Mariah as her mother's fingers tightened on her arm and pulled her up. She did not want Rathyn to see her slightly rounded belly. "No! Get someone else!"

Vishad stopped at the door.

Anna leaned close, "Rathyn commands this ship. You can't hide this from him forever. Tell him now!"

Tears stung her eyes. "No."

Love shone in Anna's gaze, but her voice came out low, tainted with a note of fear that spiraled through Mariah's stomach. "If we can't cool you down, the fever might take your daughter from your womb."

Mariah couldn't bear the thought of losing the child now. Summoning strength, she threw her legs over the edge of the pallet and struggled to her feet, Vishad on one side, Lilas and Anna on the other. "I can make it."

Her legs threatened to buckle with each step. At the top of the stairs, she clung to the rail for support while her mother, Lilas and Vishad poured buckets of water over her, soaking her robes and hair. Every bucket shocked her. Shaking uncontrollably, she gasped for breath as the cold and trembling stole it away. Her fingers felt like claws as she clung to her mother and the deck rail.

Finally, her mother pressed her dry, cold palm against Mariah's cheek, and nodded. "It's working. We'll soak you once more and then you can sleep."

By the time she sank onto the pallet, her hands and feet were numb, her bones cold as ice, and the darkness of sleep overtook her within minutes.

Throughout the next few days she was vaguely aware of being fed, having the bedding changed, and finally of being carried on a litter off the ship and into daylight.

When she awoke, sunlight warmed her skin, the smell of spring flowers and grass filled her nostrils, and Rathyn's voice caressed her ears, fine and soft as a feather.

"I want her to see a doctor."

Her mother's voice responded. "She is fine now. The cycle is over. When she wakes she will need a few days to regain her strength, that is all."

Mariah sat up, her palms tickled by blades of grass, her eyes dazzled by wild flowers of a variety she didn't know, as far as her eyes could see. Her mother and Rathyn stood at her feet. She saw no one else. "We're here?" she croaked.

Rathyn crouched and handed her a water gourd. The water cooled her throat, tasting sweet. She took another long swallow as he spoke, "Yes. We're here." His voice rang with pride at his homecoming, while the gentle touch of his hand rested on her arm.

She handed the water back, watched as he slipped the cord across his broad shoulders and felt grateful at his solicitude. "Where is everyone?"

"Over the hill. We set up camp in the village. Your mother said you were coming out of your illness. I brought you here because it is more restful."

With every ounce of strength she had she struggled to her feet. Lightheaded, she swayed. He steadied her arm, his grip warm and strong. The tenderness in his gaze unsettled her. She almost put his hand on her belly and told him of their child. Her head cleared and she stepped away, sank down onto the thick grass. She was so weak. "I'd like to sit. If you'll join me." Her words included her mother.

Rathyn nodded and sat beside her, his proximity disturbing.

Her mother gestured toward the hill's rise. "I'll leave you two alone." She gave Mariah a smile of encouragement, then followed a narrow path uphill. Mariah felt abandoned.

Rathyn called, "We'll return before supper."

Mariah pushed the feeling aside, studied the countryside, wondered at its quiet beauty. So this was Rathyn’s homeland. Why had he left it? Would he ever want to leave again? Did she harbor a fool's hope?

He touched her arm and pointed off to her left. "The village where I was born lies that way - two days' march. The Kahns destroyed it years ago, murdered my family, friends..." He paused. "I wasn't going to bring up the past." His gaze held hers. "When I am with you I want to share my every thought. I want to know yours."

What did he see in her eyes? How could she possibly share her thoughts when they might sway him to act differently? When he might someday blame her for the loss of an Empire she was sure he would win?

"You honor me." The words came out stilted and her heart wrenched at the disappointment in his gaze. "What do you want, Commander? What is your greatest desire?" Her stomach tightened as she waited for his answer.

He leaned over and kissed her, the pressure of his lips gentle, tender, evocative. She froze, willing herself not to respond, not to give in. Pulling back, his dark gaze elusive, he replied, "What do you want, your Majesty?"

She hesitated, then sidestepped, "Titles are for formal occasions. Or do you wish me to call you Commander at all times?" She glanced at him and saw his gaze linger at her full breasts. Her slightly rounded stomach lay hidden beneath her robes. Hunger blossomed in his dark eyes.

"You know what I want, Mariah," Rathyn said softly. "And this game of titles won't change that."

"But you want to be king...." Deny it.

His gaze skidded from her to the rolling hills and beyond, lingering on the ocean and the sun's golden halo splashed over the waters. "Yes... when I realized that I could challenge the Emperor and win, that I was so close..." He looked at her again. "I know I can make a difference, change things...."

She lowered her eyelids, wanting to hide her heartbreak. He would be a great leader.

Rathyn covered her hand with his. "Whatever title I carry, it won't change how I feel."

Her skin tingled, the warmth spreading like an incurable illness. In another second she would be in his arms. She pulled her hand from beneath his and crossed her arms. Had the air grown cold or just her? "Feelings can change," she murmured, telling herself he would forget her once he won the crown and assumed rule.

His expression darkened. "Are you saying you don't love me any more?"

"Love is not a ruler's prerogative," she stated, thinking of her first husband. She turned away from Rathyn's discerning gaze, ignoring the ache in her heart.

A horn sounded in the distance, drawing his attention. "A messenger comes. It must be from Tchelak." He stood and helped her to her feet, offering his arm for support. "We will talk again."

The words were more a threat than a promise. Did he really think he could change her mind about living with him without Syrith's blessing? At the top of the hill, she studied the determined, chiseled lines of his face and followed his dark gaze to the approaching foot soldier.

Beyond the man, she saw the clustered small stone houses with thatched roofs of the Chadyk village - structures much sturdier and more long-term than the tents her people used. Between the houses and beyond them temporary lean-to shelters had been erected for Rathyn, his men, and her warriors.

Men and women milled about at the edge of the village, while Chadyk soldiers in complete uniform lined up and saluted at Rathyn's approach. The women's heights reminded Mariah of Syrithian adolescents before their final adult growth, a head shorter than most of her people and herself.

The messenger blocked her view as he saluted. In a Seer's flash, she knew Tchelak would give Rathyn his support, knew also the messenger came from Lieutenant Gathias. Gathias was ahead of schedule, had covered five days' ground in two. A mental image of Salia complaining about the driving pace, the dust and dirt, and lack of respectful admiration, made Mariah smile. The flashes of future-seeing no longer unnerved her as they once had.

Rathyn's voice cut into her thoughts. "Tell the men we leave in an hour."

Apprehension stabbed at her. Had time run out for them?

#

A small contingent of Chadyk soldiers and ten Syrithian warriors remained in the village with Mariah, Anna, and Lilas. For two days, Mariah rested, regaining her strength. Rathyn had ordered her to stay until he sent a messenger. Would she see him again?

She should have told him she loved him - given him at least that.

He and Lieutenant Gathias would meet in five days. Battle lines drawn, the country quartered and divided into enemy or friend, they would test allegiances as they surged toward the Capital. The faster Rathyn moved, the better his chances. If he could sweep up the middle of the country to Spartyk, catch the Emperor before he summoned aid from his allies, Rathyn could crush the regime in one blow.

Ignoring the soldier assigned to escort her, Mariah walked through the camp. As she passed, Chadyk women stared and made the sign of an X across their chests. "Witch!" they whispered and snatched children from her path. "The barbarian queen is a shapechanging demon." They hated and feared her. Her people captured and sent to Spartyk as slaves had been tortured or burned to death for casting spells of illness and madness.

If only she was a witch, she could destroy Salia and the Emperor with a spell. The rueful thought brought a smile to her lips even as she eyed the women surreptitiously. More made X-ing signs over their hearts before withdrawing into doorways.

How could Chadyk women be happy living like obedient dogs to their male masters? The concept rankled as did the idea of remaining there to live with Rathyn - should they find a way to be together. Could she stand to live among such a superstitious people? She lengthened her stride.

Lilas joined her. With a companion, the sun seemed warmer, the sky brighter.

Mariah said in Syrithian, "Why do the women not join together and force their husbands and their leaders to acknowledge them as people?"

Lilas's expression reflected a wisdom that went beyond her fifteen years. "Some are happy. It is their place. They are taken care of, have no worries but pleasing their husbands. Many are the true masters of the household and can be crueler than the men. Especially to servants and slaves."

Mariah found it hard to believe. Yet Lilas had grown up in a Chadyk household.

Lilas dropped her voice. "The people don't like us here. One of the soldiers is afraid they might attack. There is talk of burning you."

Mariah felt her lips curl. "But not you?"

Lilas's eyebrows rose. "Maybe being a Kahn bastard has a good side."

How could they be joking about this? Mariah hugged Lilas with a spontaneity she'd lost years before. It caught her off guard. Lilas wore a look of misguided worship. "What else does the soldier say?" Mariah asked, resuming a more queenly stance.

"He knows a short cut to the capital and is willing to take us."

"Even though Rathyn told us to wait?"

"He says Rathyn's first order was to ensure your safety." Lilas's eyes questioned Mariah's determination to go after Rathyn and join him in battle.

She kept a blank face, hiding her doubts. Her legs still trembled after only a few hours walk. And as long as she was pregnant she did not have the freedom of transformation, could not run with the wind without risking the loss of her child. "Thank you, Lilas. I plan to leave in two days. Tell mother - if she hasn't decided to stay with what's-his-name." Mariah frowned, thinking of how her mother had struck up a conversation with a traveling Chadyk merchant the day before. He had laughed at the idea of Syrithian witches, claimed to have sailed across the world and seen many wondrous sights. Claimed Anna was such a sight to his old, tired eyes. Now they spent all their time talking.

Lilas laughed. "Your mother only plays coquette. It is all in fun. The man is a gentle soul. Not like most who live here. He's besotted, I think."

Mariah felt the corners of her lips curl. "The man is a fool and makes my mother appear one also!" But she couldn't hold back an answering grin.

#

That night, Mariah dreamed of Rathyn standing on a vast grassy plain, his battle armor gleaming, his helmet's purple plume rippling in the breeze, his sword raised in victory. The cries of the wounded echoed in the background, and his dark eyes reflected an anguish that contradicted the jubilation of his pose.

On the tip of his sword clung a piece of bright yellow fabric, Salia's tribal color, the sheer material flattened by the wind. Suddenly it fanned out revealing a Syrithian bridal veil. The moans of agony became cheers of goodwill as he slashed the gauzy fabric. A roar of triumph. A good omen. Elated, she watched, a ghostly apparition no one could see.

The wind whipped faster, stronger, and Rathyn's sword flew from his grasp, landing straight up in the soil. She gasped as though a blade had pierced her heart, felt the pain radiate downwards, become the tight, rippling cramps of childbirth. No, it was too soon! Oh Syrith, she was losing the baby!

A cool touch to her shoulder took the pain away. But when she looked up in her dream she saw no one there. Then, behind Rathyn, she saw he sister, Terah, motion, "Follow me." Into Syrith's domain? She remembered her mother's vision and Terah's promise that they would soon be united. Were she and the baby dying?

Suddenly Salia's gloating face appeared above the horizon, blocking Mariah's sight of Terah. Salia presided over the entire corpse-littered plain like an obscene goddess thirsty for blood.

A strip of yellow fluttered to the ground like an autumn leaf. As it touched the earth, a wet, deep red smear seeped across the ground. The crimson spread with dark, greedy fingers, widened, deepened. Blood flowed like a river, then a lake, then became a roaring ocean that engulfed Rathyn who struggled against the tide.

Rathyn! Her scream caught in her throat. New pain drove through her abdomen like a fist. She huddled into a fetal ball, gasping, sucking for air as her chest constricted. Although caught in the dream and the ripping, clawing pains, she fought to reach his hand. Her fingers brushed his, caught in a tenuous hold that seemed to keep him afloat on the red sea. With his touch, the clenching, tearing pain inside her stilled. Straining toward him, she tightened her grip. They would make it!

Tears of relief welled in her eyes, spilled down her cheeks, wet and cold.

Suddenly Salia appeared. Her foot came down on Mariah's hand, crushing her bones. Rathyn's fingers slipped away as she tried to fight the pain and hang on. Her name spilled from his lips before he disappeared beneath the writhing red foam. Salia smirked. The dark God Kleyeth's power shone in Salia's insane gaze. Why had Mariah never seen it before? Her cousin would weave Rathyn and the Empire's destruction even if it meant her own.

She tried to move, failed. Then she saw her dead husband's ghostly form beyond Salia and Rathyn's. His gentle voice rang with urgency and fear. "Stop Salia," he said. "My blood, and the blood of Herodotus covers her hands."

His voice echoed amidst Salia's bloody storm. The murdered council member's voice joined Ishian's. And then the red waves closed over her.

Mariah awakened suddenly, gasping for breath, her hands automatically rubbing her stomach, reassuring herself the baby was all right. In the cloying darkness, Ishian’s accusation left a bitter taste in her mouth. She sat up, wide awake, shaken.

Salia sent Ishian to his death? Had she persuaded him with her Seer's touch to sneak into the castle and try to free everyone? Even as she questioned, a vision of Salia encouraging Ishian to go to his death filled her mind. Salia had set him up to be killed. Her cousin's hatred bore down on her chest in a landslide of memories and emotions. "Come on, Mariah, let's go exploring!... You can do it Mariah!..." Salia had once encouraged her, loved her. They had grown up together, playing and laughing, sharing stories and triumphs. But when Mariah became Queen-chosen everything had changed.

Sorrow and outrage filled her with fierce determination. Rested or not, she would join Rathyn, see his victory, and tell him of their child, of this dream. And after Rathyn fulfilled his marriage vow to Salia, Mariah would not rest until she saw Salia beheaded for treachery.

Not even a Queen was above the law. But first she must have proof that what her dream had shown was true.

Chapter Twenty

Rathyn looked out over the grassland plain. Beyond it lay the great walls of Spartyk. In the morning his future would be decided. The Emperor had turned down his treaty and demanded he surrender, then secretly issued a reward for Rathyn's head. Rathyn felt a grim smile pull at his lips. He'd sent the Emperor Stephanos's blackened head and signet ring as reply.

Surrounded by the hundreds of men who'd sworn their allegiance, his confidence surged. He itched for battle. But as he wove among the men, exchanging words of encouragement, his mind filled with thoughts of Mariah. Did she miss him? Did their one night of passion torment her too? He dreamed of her every night.

Salia painted Mariah with a different brush. Salia spit venom, he reminded himself. Yet his last conversation with Mariah had sown seeds of doubt. Had she merely been infatuated with him because of his Command? Had she seen him as a way to gain power over two lands instead of one?

He found Jarad with the rest of the Syrithian division. He and Vishad were talking as they sharpened their swords. Rathyn pulled Jarad aside, still hoping to find a way to avoid his vow. Jarad glanced at the others, busy preparing arrows, polishing spears, shields, helmets, and armor. Excitement gleamed in his silver-blue eyes.

Rathyn asked, "Do you remember when I made my vow to Salia?"

The spark of excitement in Jarad's eyes died, his expression drawing into lines of dislike. The young Syrithian's command of the Chadyk language had grown and he conversed more fluently. "Yes, I remember."

Rathyn lowered his voice. "She as much as admitted murdering your council member, Herodotus."

Jarad shook his head. "With her silence only. She did not admit it. Is it not necessary in your world for an admission, and proof of guilt?"

As Emperor, Rathyn knew he might sway the Senate to do his bidding, but he could not stomach the idea of "fixing" Salia's execution. He needed proof - preferably for crimes against a Chadyk.

Jarad said, "In Syrithia, the council would listen to our story. A Seer would touch each of us with her thoughts and search for truth. Then she would declare guilt or innocence and the council would decide punishment. We have no other Seer with us. And Salia is the most powerful Seer of the tribes."

"What about Mariah?"

Jarad sighed. "She has the gift, but she is not trained. She almost died using it."

Rathyn's shoulders tightened, he wanted to pummel Salia into submission. "Damn the blasted vow! There must be a way out!"

Jarad's face sparked with sympathy, then he bent and resumed work on his sword.

Embarrassed at his display of temper, needing something to do, Rathyn pulled his knife from his belt and sharpened its edge while thoughts of Mariah consumed him, distracted him from battle preparations. He felt as foolish as the day he'd first seen her in the clearing at the top of the knoll, a magical, mystical being, her nude body gleaming under the dying sun, softness and muscle intertwined in a delicate balance that he ached to feel under his hands. Her long tresses a cascade of radiant silk he imagined smelled like the fragrant yellow wildflowers that grew along the edge of the water.

The desire to hold her in his arms and make love to her still gripped him in a power he could not break - did not want to break. Heat surged in his loins as he stroked her mental image.

Mariah, Magic Wind and Sha-ay-ter-ah, Night Conqueror. Woman above all women. She had conquered him and he admitted it, to himself. He would love her forever. He felt renewed courage, hope, and determination as the camp sounds and soldiers' movements crept back into his consciousness. Somehow he would find a way for them to be together.

He glanced around at the Syrithian camp, looked beyond it to his own men, took in the familiar scene and no longer found it fulfilling. Like tarnished brass, commanding an army had lost its allure. He felt Jarad's watchful gaze and wondered if the young man would live through tomorrow, wondered if he himself would?

All his scouts had given him the same information. He and the Emperor were well matched.

He gripped Jarad's shoulder. "If I fall in battle, I want you to get Mariah and the others back to Syrithia."

Jarad nodded.

Grateful, Rathyn said, "Tell her I never stopped loving her."

"You will tell her."

He felt a hopeful grin tug at his mouth. "After the battle."

Jarad grinned too, his expression brotherly and warm. "As Syrith wills, so it shall be. May She be with us tomorrow." He hugged Rathyn. Rathyn returned the hug, swallowing his emotions and the thought that he belonged more with Jarad and the Syrithians than his own people. In his heart, he prayed to the gods of both lands.

#

The next morning broke damp and gray. Thunderstorm clouds blackened the sky, filled the air with torpid, swampy warmth. He and Lieutenant Gathias rose early, donned their brass armor and helmets and walked through the lines of men, uttering rousing words, sparking shouts of confidence and loyalty. Swords gleamed, shields shone like mirrors, and soldiers' faces reflected confidence as Rathyn and Gathias worked their way toward the front line. It was time.

He eyed his men, grateful for their belief and support. Today he would be crowned Emperor, or die. All his hopes and dreams hung in the balance of one battle. Sweat dampened his brow, ran down his neck. He took a deep breath, steadied himself, the metallic taste of fear and excitement on his tongue. Sounds of soldiers ready for battle drifted on the sweltering breeze.

"Hail to the commander!"

The soldier's yell brought a smile to his lips. Soon, the words became a battle cry and a roar of challenge rolled across the huge field. Another. Then another.

Excitement fluttered through him as he signaled Gathias. A sweep of arms passed the sign down the lines of men. "Forward!" The roar engulfed him as men surged behind him, jostling, and propelling him forward on his mount.

Another wave of shouts shot from the other direction as the Emperor's men, most on foot, some on horseback, rushed through the grass. The field became alive with motion.

Gathias at his side, Rathyn urged his horse into the colliding mass of flesh and armor. Gripping his sword tight, he swung it in big, heavy arcs that drove back the onslaught. He struck down his first opponent with a broad sweep that cut the man's unprotected middle. Blood spattered his clothes. The coppery, sickening smell in his nostrils, he urged his horse forward.

Three more of the Emperor's soldiers rushed him. His horse screamed and reared. He swung his shield into the first soldier's face, and caught the sword of the second with his own. But the third soldier slashed Rathyn's mount across the neck, splattering blood everywhere. The beast toppled.

The battlefield spun. Rathyn hit the ground hard, his sword jarred from his fingers, landing in the grass half an arms length away. Sucking for air, he heaved his shield up to block an attacker's blade. It slammed against his shield again while he strained with his free arm for the hilt of his sword. The horse's dead weight held his leg. He yanked, pulled partially free of the blood-slicked corpse, then felt the burning sting of a superficial cut across his shoulder blade.

Pull! his brain screamed as he turned on his side, using his shield for protection again. The next blow clanged in his ears.

"Gathias!" he yelled.

The lieutenant's blade came to his defense, bought Rathyn the precious time he needed to work his calf and foot free.

He grabbed his sword and staggered to his feet. Regaining his equilibrium, he blocked a blow from a new opponent, then slashed crosswise. The man screamed, grabbing his stomach, blood gushing through his fingers.

All around he heard the cries of his men, rallying, urging him on. His strength renewed, fire in his veins, he hacked his way through the soldiers in his path.

The Emperor's purple standard was within fifty paces now.

Rathyn drove recklessly on toward the purple flag which flew above a great white horse and its helmeted rider. Gathias stayed with him. Were his other men behind him or was he moving too quickly? He didn't stop to look. He couldn't. This was the end. All he had striven for. Today a Chadyk/Syrithian alliance would be mortared together permanently. He would win the throne, or he would die.

#

Mariah pushed herself to the end of her endurance to get to the battle in time. Now, the two forces clashed and she wanted to scream Rathyn's name, as though her voice would offer protection. From her vantage point on the small rise above the battlefield, she could see him working a path toward the Emperor. But he pushed forward too quickly, leaving his protection behind.

If only she had more strength, could wield a sword! But she had little reserve left. She'd found Jarad, and now leaned upon his arm.

"Help him!" she implored.

Jarad looked torn. "He told me to keep you safe."

Mariah gestured at her mother, Lilas, and three other Syrithian soldiers with her. "I am well guarded." Her eyes beseeched him. "Please...."

"He won't thank me," Jarad grumbled as he pulled his sword and ran down the slope and into the fighting mass.

Did she send him to his death? Sweat slicked her palms as she watched, hands clenched, throat tight.

Frantically, she looked for Rathyn, was astonished to see him break through the guards circling the Emperor. Two guards fell.

On horseback, the Emperor loomed above Rathyn, his gold helmet flashing in the daylight. She gasped as Rathyn barely dodged the rearing horse's massive hooves. Silver hooves. The color drew her attention to the horse's pure white coat and silver mane. A Syrithian steed!

Every family line blessed by Syrith had a distinctive color and marking. This was Mariah's own! Shock and wonder struck. Her sister Terah? Impossible.

She pulled from her mother's grasp. "I've got to get closer!" Although her mother's eyes questioned, she helped Mariah down the slope to a new vantage point. The small band of Syrithian soldiers flanked her protectively. Mariah strained to see.

Was it Syrith's mark on the horse's forehead or the flash of a weapon?

The silver crescent blazed as the clouds shifted, sunlight streaming down. Mariah gaped. Salia had told her Terah committed suicide after Marcus the Butcher raped her. Was it more of Salia's lies?

Dear Syrith! Let Terah be alive!

She dropped to her knees and focused her Seer's touch on the horse and the consciousness she hoped to find within its form. If Terah lived. Those who remained in the horse form for months could lose their human memories and their ability to change back. Two years had passed since Terah's capture.

Like an arrow, she touched the core within the Emperor's steed, sent a mental image of herself and the sister she remembered so lovingly, offering strength to transform.

Suddenly the Emperor screamed in rage, the horse no longer responding to his spurred heels. The horse resisted the jerk of its bridle, bucked, reared and bucked again, throwing the Emperor to the ground. White light shot from the horse's body.

Momentarily blinded, Mariah covered her eyes. Her mother gasped, "Terah!"

The light flickered, receded, revealing the familiar statuesque form of her sister, who swayed on her feet, then crumpled to the ground. For a second, time stood still, the Emperor, Rathyn, the men nearest to them, staring at the nude young woman curled in a fetal ball on the bloody field.

"Witch!" The Emperor brought up his sword and swung it at Terah's inert form.

Mariah screamed.

Rathyn lunged, taking the blow with his shield.

She spotted Jarad on the other side of Rathyn. As Rathyn fought the Emperor, Jarad scooped Terah's limp form up and threw her over his shoulder. With Gathias, he slashed his way toward the edge of the battlefield.

"Help Jarad!" Mariah directed two of her Syrithian guards. Reluctantly she moved back, away from the fighting to a safer spot where she watched.

Through the fray, Jarad made slow headway. Rathyn, slashing and dodging gallantly, was surrounded and outnumbered. Her stomach clenched.

"Traitor!" The Emperor's yell echoed across the field as he swung his gleaming sword at Rathyn's head.

Mariah dug her fingernails into her palm as Rathyn ducked the blow, then traded several more. The soldiers around him moved back, surprising her. Had Rathyn's fighting prowess won converts? More and more soldiers paused in battle, watching the two leaders struggle.

Metal smashed against metal, hard, crushing blows that could cleave a man's flesh. The Emperor returned every stroke Rathyn gave. The circle around the two men grew larger.

Rathyn and the Emperor parried one another, then exchanged one hammering blow after another. She imagined their breath raspy, burning their lungs as they both began to stumble, exhausted. The opposing armies came to a standstill, a quiet hush fell over the field as all waited for the outcome.

Sweat-drenched, muscles taut, chest heaving, Rathyn abandoned his shield. Mariah sensed his desperation and bit back a cry as the Emperor's blade slammed against Rathyn's helmet. He dropped to one knee, staggered, and fell onto his back.

Mariah started forward, was restrained by her mother and the guards.

"You will never reach him in time," her mother said.

She could not tear her gaze from the scene. Move Rathyn! Get up!

The Emperor hefted his sword, the action slowed by fatigue. Dropping to one knee, he raised his arms for the killing blow. Mariah bit back a cry. Suddenly Rathyn jerked his blade up, drove the tip through the Emperor's neck as the Emperor's sword slashed down.

Rathyn! Blood sprayed his armor, reminding Mariah of her dream. But was it Rathyn's blood, the Emperor's, or both?

The men roared in approval. But for who?

She twisted her robe between her fingers wanting desperately to run down to Rathyn and throw herself across his prone body. But she had to think of the child - keep it safe.

One of Rathyn's soldier's reached down and pulled him to his feet. He reeled, then stood fast and raised his sword overhead.

Mariah clasped her mother’s arm, crying, "Oh Syrith, thank you!"

First one of the Emperor's soldiers, then another, slowly all over the bloody field, threw down their swords in defeat. They knelt before Rathyn, a pledge of fealty in their posture and on their lips.

Rathyn nodded, almost in wonder, then he smiled and motioned them to their feet. "To the City!" His words were soon replaced by an undisciplined roar. Men rushed to his side, lifted him and carried him across the field and down toward the massive city walls.

"Rathyn! Rathyn!" Mariah heard with mixed emotions as she treaded carefully down the slope. She found Jarad and hesitated over her sister's inert body, torn by the urge to follow the man she loved. But first she must make sure Terah was all right. With her Seer's vision she probed, found the mental core of Terah safe within her center. I will return, sister, she promised. Lifting her robes to her knees, she hurried after Rathyn, but the crush of men blocked her way.

Her mother pulled on her arm. "Wait!"

The wind carried chants of Rathyn's name. She glanced up as he and the troops streamed beneath the gates of the walled city. "No!" She shook off her mother's arm. "You stay here with Terah and the others. "I have to go. I have to tell him of our child." Images from her dream filled her mind. Salia's vengeful face made her stomach knot with foreboding. Her inner voice whispered, Hurry!

Her mother took off her hooded cloak and wrapped it around Mariah's shoulders. "Be careful, my daughter."

"I will," Mariah promised, wondering what she was rushing toward and how she would stop Salia. She had no proof against her cousin except the words of her dream. Words the Chadyks and Chadyk law would never accept. She hugged her mother, then turned to face her future.

Chapter Twenty One

Jostled from side to side, Rathyn was carried on the shoulders of his men, their cries of victory ringing in his ears. Exhilarated, he felt like he was soaring above the clouds. He reached down to clasp hands, wish people well.

Syrithian cries rose behind him. Like eagles they claimed victory too. Twisting, he searched the crowd for Mariah, wanting to share his triumph with her, make the victory complete. He'd glimpsed her once, up on the knoll, a tall silver-haired reed amidst smaller ones. After he'd told her to stay in Cyclosha!

But his ire that she'd ignored his orders, had put herself in danger, was mixed with joy. She'd come after him. Didn't this prove her love?

Yes, he told himself. Yes.

He promised himself that he would find her later when the furor died, and convince her to stay with him. He might have to marry Salia, but he did not have to live with her.

Another surge of elation sent his spirits soaring. His thoughts reeled with visions of the palace; the throne. He'd done it! Emperor Rathyn! Once it had been a secret dream, one he'd abandoned in his grief over the loss of his wife and child. Now he'd claimed the vision! He yelled along with his men, words of victory, thanks to the gods.

Rathyn's men carried him down the main cobbled road. Many of the people cheered, heartening him. Things will change for the better, he promised them in his heart. For Chadyks and Syrithians.

The soldiers set him down on the top step of the huge stone palace. The massive brass doors stood open in welcome. The ten senators, including his father-in-law Tchelak, all went down on one knee in recognition and acceptance of his victory. Tchelak's doing, no doubt.

His men followed suit, then the people crowding behind the soldiers fell to their knees. All except a silver-haired Syrithian woman. His heart leaped as the figure moved through the crowd toward the palace steps. At the bottom, she lifted her face and his joy plummeted. Salia! Behind her, a head-shaved Chadyk priest followed, his face an unhappy mask, his eyes uncertain.

Syrithian warriors in the crowd yelled the victory cry, others Salia's name. "Queen Salia!" someone called out. More voices echoed it.

Rathyn felt trapped by Salia's silvery eyes, the determined look on her face. By the gods, didn't she realize this was not the time - that the people needed to adjust to the idea of a foreign queen?

At the top of the steps, the priest eyeing Salia, signed for protection against demons and witches and moved closer to Rathyn.

Salia, seeming oblivious to the fear she inspired, smiled. "I have found a priest to marry us according to Chadyk law. I demand you fulfill your vow."

Tchelak stepped up beside Rathyn, his voice a harsh, urgent whisper. "You cannot marry a Syrithian witch! The people will turn against you!"

Rathyn hesitated, tied by his vow and Salia's malignant gaze. Send her away, his inner voice whispered. He was Emperor now; he could do as he liked - fulfill the vow in his own time, not hers.

Tchelak continued, "You need everyone's support. Their cooperation. People fear they will lose their Syrithian slaves. And they believe those with the mark on their forehead are witches. You must wait!"

Rathyn was torn by what could well cause an uprising against him and what he knew to be honorable and right. "I made a vow to her, Tchelak," he said, his throat tight. Damn Salia. He wished he could wrap his hands around her throat and choke the life from her. He sighed instead. "I must honor it."

Tchelak gripped his arm. "Not now!"

Rathyn looked out at the crowd, at the sprinkling of Syrithian warriors who watched - and waited. They knew of the vow and honored truth above all things. If he ignored Salia now, they might turn against him, and he still needed Syrithia's support against the Kahns.

Grim faced, he gestured to the priest and prayed Mariah would not find out until he could tell her himself. "Marry us," he snapped. Before he changed his mind and dishonored his family name, himself, and his future children for all of their days. For the gods cursed one who broke a vow.

He took Salia's hand and repeated the priest's hurried words, the sounds meaningless. Emptiness crept into his heart and he could scarcely believe what he was doing.

Salia repeated the words as the priest stuttered through the lines.

Rathyn growled the final response while Salia gloated.

Her hand on his arm, he turned to face the crowd. Except for Gathias who understood, disbelief showed on the faces of the Chadyks. He could have wept for the promise he had made. Yet his vow had saved Mariah's life. He would make it again should the choice arise.

Below him a woman's anguished cry cut through the crowd. People drew back around her as she threw back her hood. Mariah! Her stricken eyes locked with his, her grief a knife in his gut. Why didn't you wait? her gaze asked.

I had no choice! he wanted to yell. "Forgive me!" he whispered, emotions choking him.

As he drank in her anguished eyes, she pulled the cloak over her head and disappeared into the crowd. He wanted to follow her, sweep her into his arms, tell her he loved her.

Salia's nails dug into his arm. "She has lost, and so have you," she hissed.

Rathyn shook off her hold, his hands clenched in rage, itching to strike her. He gestured at two guards. "Take her to the royal bed chamber. It is time to beget an heir."

Salia's gaze widened, her expression panicked. Had she believed his threat of force empty? At the time he himself had thought it so. Now rage consumed him, made him need to lash out.

He had whipped men for less than taking a woman against her will, a part of him protested. Still, once a man married a woman she became his property. He could do with her whatever he pleased - short of murder - which was precisely what he wanted at this moment. Disgusted at his ugly thoughts, he watched as two soldiers escorted Salia through the palace doors.

"Lt. Gathias!"

Gathias climbed the steps and saluted.

"Find Mariah and see that she and her family are protected. That they have everything they need." He skimmed the crowd. Where had she gone? He told himself Gathias would find her. Then he would persuade her to stay with him.

As he turned, whispers arose, like the stench of blood layered on dungeon stone centuries old. "He married a witch.... He's under her spell.... That's why the Syrithians helped him, because he does their bidding...."

A chill worked its way down his back as he motioned the senators to follow him through the open palace doors. He felt as though someone had slipped a blade between his ribs and skewered his heart. Much had changed in Spartyk while he'd been gone. Syrithians had been regarded as a curiosity, their magical abilities considered witchery by some but not all. Most had laughed at the superstitious murmuring of the lower classes. In Syrithia he'd learned shape-changing and future-seeing were true. He saw them as abilities, not crimes. But could he convince anyone here?

Their stories of witches and demons had grown into a serious threat. The grim look on Tchelak's face spoke of disaster. Had he turned his one true supporter on the Senate into an enemy?

#

Mariah shoved her way through the crowd, hurried down the street and past the great wall, Rathyn and Salia's images burning in her mind. She would flee to Syrithia, away from all the dark suspicious looks. Away from the harsh, threatening Chadyk whispers. Away from the pain of Rathyn's union with her cousin. Away from a land that treated women like animals.

Away, away....

Tears streaked her face, a wet rain she couldn't outrun. If not for her unborn child she might have thrown herself in front of the crowd and confessed to witchery, accusing Salia as well and brought them both a horrible death at the stake. She hated this place, these people, but most of all she hated Salia's hand on Rathyn's arm, the gloating smile on her face.

She hurried through the city, intent on leaving the fearful stares and threatening whispers behind. Her hand strayed to the knife hilt at her waist as she maneuvered through the throng. Suddenly a hand caught her shoulder, whirling her around.

She gasped, her heart slamming against her chest. "Lt. Gathias!"

He inclined his head. "Lady. The Emperor has commanded me to see to your safety."

Shaken, Mariah accepted his offered arm. "Jarad and the others are waiting for me outside the city gate."

Gathias' grizzled expression flashed with incredulity. "You came in alone?"

"Yes."

He shook his head. "These are strange, crazy times, Lady. Syrithians are not safe."

"We are your allies. We fought beside you in battle."

"I know this. So do my men. But many soldiers have traveled little, know nothing of the world outside their villages and towns. They are superstitious and gullible."

Mariah nodded. "Don't worry, Gathias. We are leaving Spartyk. Going back to Syrithia. I told Jarad to spread the word that all who wish to leave should meet in ten days at the harbor town where we first camped."

Gathias paused mid-stride, his expression concerned. She stopped beside him.

"What?"

"Rathyn will not be pleased to learn you are leaving."

Mariah lifted her chin, felt a surge of defiance. "I am not pleased to see him married to my cousin. Nor am I pleased to walk on pitted, rocky roads amidst people who leer and make signs against me."

"Pitted roads!" Gathias looked injured. "These are the finest roads in the world!"

Mariah resumed her stride, forcing Gathias to hurry after her. "I'm going home!" More tears burned her eyes. Annoyed at herself, she brushed them away, cast a sidelong glance at him. "Will you arrange for ships to take us back?"

Gathias nodded, his agreement reluctant. "As you wish, Lady." His troubled expression suddenly brightened and his step lightened. "Perhaps the commander will not be displeased after all. The Empress is not kindly disposed toward you or your mother, and it might be wisest and safest for you to go immediately." He nodded, satisfied with his own words.

Mariah's mouth hardened into a line of skepticism. Rathyn obviously thought he could fulfill his vow and still have her. She had told him it was impossible, wrong, went against her every belief and value.

He had saved her life. And payment had been rendered. Unless she could find proof of murder against Salia, proof the Chadyks would accept, she and Rathyn's time was gone.

Chapter Twenty Two

Rathyn talked with the Senators for hours, calming their fears, explaining his actions. But he could see they still did not understand why he had saved Mariah, or why he'd honored his vow to a barbarian witch. Even Tchelak looked at Rathyn as though he'd gone mad. Had he? He felt bedeviled, unable to rest, tired from fighting, and from explaining himself to an assembly of aristocrats, most of whom had never carried a sword!

Lieutenant Gathias interrupted the meeting, gave Rathyn respite. He clapped Gathias on the shoulder, then drew him into the hall.

Gathias looked as though he had yet to fight a battle. He cleared his throat and shifted nervously from foot to foot. "Mariah left the city with Jarad, her mother, her sister, and Lilas. They're headed for Cyclosha and the ships."

Damn the confounded woman! Rathyn took a deep breath.

"She thought it best, sir, uh, your Majesty. Because of the Empress's ill will toward her and her mother."

Teeth clenched, Rathyn swallowed his fury, pacing up and down the hall until he could talk in a reasonable tone. She would not get away so easily. "Go after her and keep her in Cyclosha until I arrive, Gathias."

Gathias bowed, his grizzled features resigned. "Yes, sir, your Majesty."

"Sir or Commander is fine, Gathias."

He nodded. "Yes, Commander."

Rathyn waited for the salute and when it didn't come, barked, "What?"

"How do I keep her in Cyclosha? Lock up her and the others?"

Rathyn's patience snapped, yet he managed to whisper. "Do whatever it takes! But make sure she's comfortable and keep her there!"

Gathias saluted. "Yes, sir."

Filled with unexpressed frustration, Rathyn dismissed the Senators before he said something he'd regret. After promising to dine with Tchelak the next evening, for the first time he passed under the golden wings that graced the door to the Emperor's private chambers.

The opulence astounded him. Two marble steps down to a palatial floor of polished tiles depicting the favor of the Gods on the Emperor, led him to a massive writing desk which faced the doorway. Two uncomfortable looking chairs faced the desk. For private audiences. A special occasion only those in favor might enjoy.

Today he'd won the privilege. Rathyn felt a bitter smile pull at his lips as he removed his purple cape, undid the brass breastplate. From the other side of the room, across the intricate carpet, two young, pretty, female attendants rushed forward to take his armor.

He asked their names, then dismissed them, wanting time alone. He moved past a divan, several lounges and chairs, a massive marble fireplace to another door. It stood ajar.

The bed chamber? He pushed the door wide, revealing a bed wide enough to accommodate four people, its frame glistening under sunlight from several high windows. Massive bed posts rose upwards as though to touch the sky, ivory inlaid with gold, carvings which invoked the blessings of the gods for a fruitful union.

He thought of the Emperor's lack of offspring, of Salia as the new Empress, and wondered if the bed were cursed.

Stepping through the doorway, Salia's two guards saluted. Rathyn dismissed them to the outer chamber. The thick door closed behind him. In one sweeping glance, he took in the many scrolls shelved along one wall, the fireplace, smaller than in the other room, but still impressive, the blood red carpet beneath the bed.

At the window, motionless, facing him, stood Salia. The urge to throttle her still burned in his veins. He paced toward the bed, then around it, all the while keeping her in the periphery of his vision.

She still wore the Syrithian tribal robes. Bright yellow, they were loose, flowing to her ankles. How many weapons had she hidden in the deceptive folds?

He itched to threaten her and find out. Or lift his hand and make her cower before him, strip away the smooth mask she now wore. He wanted the satisfaction of unleashing his rage.

She remained frozen, like a deer on the alert who knows danger is near.

Instead, he moved to the other side of the room where double doors slid open easily under his touch. The faint smell of sulfur filled his nostrils, made him breathe through his mouth. He inhaled warm, moist air. A light haze of steam hung suspended over a bath pool twice the size of the bed. Pink marble lay smooth as a frozen pond beneath his boots. It graced the walls, and ceiling too, glimmering with gold veins.

Ten women and four adolescent boys stood along the nearest wall. They rushed forward and dropped to their knees on the first of three steps. "Your Majesty." Their voices echoed in the cavernous room, the sound of bubbling water a strange backdrop. A natural spring. Rumors said it was quite invigorating.

He stifled his curiosity. He still had to deal with Salia. "I will be gone several days. See that the Lady Salia is bathed and dressed properly when I return. She is to remain in these rooms, a guard present whenever I am not. If she refuses to cooperate, you have my permission to enlist the guards help so that you may complete your tasks."

Their eyes wide, they stood and bowed. The oldest, a woman probably in her forties, stepped forward. "Is there anything else we can do, your Majesty?"

Rathyn eyed the towels neatly folded along one wall. "Yes. I'm going to bathe. I'd like clean clothes set out, suitable for travel. And a meal prepared. I'll eat in an hour. In the antechamber."

It had been a long time since he'd been part of a household, issued orders to servants. His wife had taken care of many of these things, anticipating what would please him. No doubt Salia would have to be taught her duties. A surge of resentment made him wave his arm at the servants. "Go on! Leave me!"

They scurried from the room.

Rathyn yanked off his blood-stained clothes, his body bruised, stiff and sore, every ache magnified by the pain in his heart. The wounded look in Mariah's eyes hurt him more than any nick and scrape he'd received in battle.

He inhaled the sharp sulfur odor until the nasal sting faded. He told himself he would see her soon and gradually the memory of her eyes faded. Sinking into the warm bubbling water, a sigh escaped his lips as the gentle warmth caressed and soothed him.

Damn, he'd promised to dine with Tchelak tomorrow night - he couldn't leave yet.

He tried to console himself with the thought that Gathias would keep Mariah there until he arrived. It brought little comfort.

The sound of the doors being pulled back brought his eyes open, his hand strayed to his weapons beside the pool.

Salia and two serving girls entered. Her expression was unreadable, while the servants' feelings were quite clear in the way one knotted her fingers together, the other twisting at her robe. They were frightened.

"Madam?" Rathyn questioned.

Salia nodded at the girls, who hesitantly unfastened the yellow robes and pulled them off.

Anger surged through him at the sight of Salia's nude body. What was she up to now? Willing to do her marital duty? Or some other game?

He motioned to the nearest serving girl. "Take my weapons and see they're cleaned and locked in my personal chest. My men should have brought it in by now." He took the key from his neck and held it out. "Return the key to the chamber guard. I'll get it later."

The girl nodded and then both servants scurried away, closing the door behind them.

Salia stood in languid repose, then swung her hips suggestively as she moved to the water's edge.

Suspicious, Rathyn watched and waited in silence. Shorter than Mariah, none the less Salia had the same silvery hair and silver-blue eyes. He could almost see Mariah in the steamy haze. His throat tightened, his mouth suddenly dry. His body betrayed him and he was glad the frothing water hid his physical reaction to her full curves.

"Wine, my husband?" Salia murmured as she gestured toward the table and goblets in the corner. Although her tone sounded appropriate, he had the feeling she hid a smirk behind her downcast eyes.

"Yes," he rasped, unable to tear his gaze away from the well-rounded buttocks that moved enticingly as she turned her back to him. She was his wife. Yet the lust he felt tasted like poison on his tongue.

Salia turned, arching her back slightly, thrusting out her full, voluptuous breasts. They jiggled and held his gaze as she returned. She leaned over and held out a goblet.

Tell her to leave, his inner voice warned. "You drink from it first," he commanded, banishing the warning.

Salia drank. He watched as she swallowed. Then the tip of her tongue snaked out, licking the moisture from her lips. She moved to the side steps that led into the pool and slowly waded in, the water rising until it lapped at the silvery juncture between her thighs.

His blood raced. He took the goblet, drank a long swallow to wash away the draught in his mouth, then set it down and reached for her. If she thought to amuse herself at his expense she had a lesson coming.

The silvery glow of her eyes darkened to a smoky blue as he cupped her breasts and kneaded the soft, tender flesh. Mariah's eyes had turned a deeper blue when he'd made love with her. He banished the comparison.

Knees bent, his groin aching, he pulled her onto his lap, slid one hand to her center and stroked her repeatedly. When he tried to kiss her, she turned her head. "Take me, Rathyn, as is your right. But do not try to pleasure me, for there is no love in this union." And then she dragged her nails across his back, the pain sharp and deep.

Red rage poured behind his eyes. The bitch had mauled him! Grabbing her, he turned and shoved her against the pool's marble wall. He took her with quick, angry thrusts. She didn't resist, just moaned once, and clawed at his back and shoulders until he captured her hands in his. The need for release and vengeance consumed him, drowned out his sense of right and wrong.

With a final thrust he sagged against her pliant flesh. Slowly he withdrew. Salia's eyes glittered, her teeth bared in an unpleasant grimace.

Ashamed, Rathyn glared at her, then climbed from the pool and grabbed a towel. At the door, he turned. "I will never touch you again." But the hollow words, although heartfelt, did little to appease his inner sense of guilt.

Salia laughed. "I carry your seed, Rathyn. Remember that."

Her words and demeaning laughter followed him into the bed chamber and wrapped him in foreboding as well as disgust. He'd betrayed Mariah's love.

#

Seated around an open fire with her mother, Lilas and Jarad beside her, Mariah listened to Terah's stuttering attempts to speak. Her sister, now fifteen, once so bright, talkative, so gifted.... Tears coursed down Mariah's cheeks at Terah's difficulties; her baby sister moved awkwardly, as though learning simple physical actions for the first time. She didn't always understand what was said to her, unless it was repeated in Chadyk, and often withdrew to some distant place in her mind, her eyes blank, body immobile. A Seer's place? Mariah didn't know.

Over the dry rustling sound of wind through long grass, she heard the murmur of voices - Nahil's and the three Syrithian soldiers who guarded the small camp.

Although Syrithia had helped Rathyn win the Empire, the Chadyks both feared and reviled them. She and the others had decided their best course would be to avoid the small villages, camp just out of sight of the road, and keep guard.

The second day of travel from Spartyk slowed to a crawl when Terah suddenly collapsed, unseeing, unresponsive to the call of her name or Mariah's touch. They carried her.

Tonight, she twitched uncontrollably in her sleep, screamed unintelligible sounds of terror, then abruptly awakened and struggled against Jarad's arms until Mariah's voice soothed her. Now, everyone was awake.

Mariah stirred the fire. If only Rathyn's arms offered strength and comfort instead of Jarad's. In the flickering firelight, she kept seeing Salia on Rathyn's arm, their images shadowy in her mind. Realizing Jarad was watching her, she wished she could feel romantic about him instead of Rathyn. As Lilas knelt beside Jarad, he slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. Love danced in their exchanged smiles. She closed her eyes against the sight, wanting to rail against Rathyn even as she wished him beside her, his strong arms wrapped around her to offer warmth and support.

But Terah needed her now. Mariah focused on her sister. "Do you remember the day the Chadyks captured you? Salia said you were taken before Marcus the Butcher." And ravaged. "She said you jumped from the tower onto the rocks below."

Terah shook her head. "No jump." The muscles in her face tightened in concentration. She closed her eyes. Perspiration beaded on her brow. Her lips trembled. "I c-c-can't re-member." Terah sobbed, flung her arms in frustration. "Help me. Use the Seer-touch."

The last time almost killed her. Mariah swallowed her trepidation. Leaning forward, she touched her sister's arm. "How did you know I have the Seer's power? I told no one until six months ago."

Eyes cloudy, Terah shuddered. "I d-dreamed of you... Him. S-s-salia."

"Rathyn?" Mariah wondered aloud.

Terah nodded, clutching Mariah's hand in hers, the grip painful.

Jarad spoke. "What kind of dreams?"

"B-blank. C-c-cloudy." Terah's slightly tilted eyes entreated Mariah's help.

Anna nodded in silence as Mariah glanced at her. Terah nodded too.

"Past-seeing can restore your memory, but it can also damage your mind if I push too hard. You must help me and tell me if I'm going too fast, if you need to rest, or stop. I will try to gauge your reactions, but I have only the knowledge of one who has observed the Seer's part, heard it explained. I have never looked into the past with Syrith's power."

A sober smile broke across Terah's elfin face. "I u-u-under, understand the r-r-risks."

A full moon shone down overhead, the goddess’s sign of power. Mariah would claim that power now. "Move back," she directed everyone, except her sister. Taking Terah's hands in hers, palms up, she began the descent of breaths.

"My breath will be yours," Mariah chanted. "And I will be guided by Syrith and Her divine wisdom. We will journey together, sisters of blood and spirit, forever linked, future, present, past. Strength, courage, and hope are we to each other."

Mariah watched as Terah's eyelids drooped, head nodded, shoulders slumped. Her own eyelids felt heavy and she let them close, joining her sister in the trance.

"Do you hear my voice, Terah?" she asked softly.

"Yes."

No stuttering. Good. "Are you comfortable?"

"Yes."

"Can you remember the first battle you were in?"

No response. She reached out with her Seer's vision and touched the darkness in her sister's mind, feeling fear.

"You are safe now, Terah. All that happened over the last two years is done. Gone. It cannot hurt you anymore."

A whisper. "I know."

Mariah squeezed her hand. "I had you stay behind the lines with the youngest warriors so that you might learn without great risk. Salia accused me of being overprotective. But I only wanted you to be safe."

She felt Terah nod. Saw her sister's memories as they swept backwards in time to when Marcus the Butcher sought to enslave them all....

Chapter Twenty Three

The battle against the Chadyks began near the castle on the grassy outskirts of the forest. Deep within the dark leafy canopy, thirteen-year-old Terah/Mariah trembled with excitement, but also felt keen disappointment at being left with the youngsters under Salia's care.

She knew how to trip up a soldier and where to stick her knife. So what if she had yet to draw blood? Determined to join the battle, she searched for her cousin to make her plea. Salia liked her. She would listen.

Terah zigzagged through the large group of children, feeling grown-up and wishing she were beside her sister. Everyone over-protected her. All because she would be the next Queen if Mariah died before bearing a child-daughter.

A furtive movement on the periphery of Terah's vision drew her attention. Salia? She almost called out to her, but some sixth sense stopped her. She slipped from the group and followed Salia's scurrying figure through the trees. Where was Salia going?

Salia circled through the forest toward the Chadyk line. Terah's stomach tightened. When Salia stopped and glanced back, Terah hid as her sister had taught her, straight and still as the silver-bark tree. Salia went on. Terah crept behind.

Near the brook which Mariah recognized as Ishian's Spring, she watched through her sister's eyes as Salia moved stealthily toward a Chadyk soldier. Alone.

Marcus the Butcher. Mariah recognized the man's craggy features although he didn't wear the purple cloak and Commander's insignia.

Terah's stomach clenched, but this was her chance to prove herself. She circled in the other direction, intent on helping Salia capture or kill the Chadyk. Mariah would be so proud! Hand on her knife, she crouched behind a bramble bush and waited for Salia's attack.

But Salia stepped into the Chadyk's sight and smiled.

Confused, Terah's breath caught in her throat as Salia pulled a scroll from her robes. "Here is a map of our winter encampments. I have marked where the new camps will be in the spring." She paused to open the scroll and point out several places. Marcus put the map in his boot.

Salia face glimmered, the lines of her face arranged seductively. Her lips parted. She brushed her breasts against his chest. "Soon we shall be together."

Marcus caught her hair and pulled her head back roughly. He kissed her, one hand sliding beneath her robes to fondle her. "And you will be my queen," he rasped. His hand dropped to the fabric of her skirt and lifted it.

She pulled away, a knife suddenly in her hands, her voice taunting, "Not yet, Marcus. You shall have me when our bargain is sealed by a priest, according to Chadyk law."

His narrowed gaze fixed on the blade. "You'd better be worth it."

Salia's lips curled. "So had you. You're not king yet."

Marcus’s face hardened into a scowl. "When the Emperor gets my message for more soldiers and help, he will be forced to come - and I will kill him and take the throne."

"What of this other Commander whose power is as great as your own?" Salia asked, sheathing her knife beneath her robe. "My Seer's vision tells me he too could win the crown."

Marcus's gaze narrowed even more. "Rathyn?"

Salia smirked. "Emperor Rathyn - if he isn't stopped."

Marcus stared down at her, shadows distorting his face. "The poison you gave me is in Spartyk by now. Soon it will take care of Rathyn and his line."

Terah didn't understand the Chadyk words, but Mariah did. What had happened to the poison? Rathyn had said his wife had died in childbirth along with his unborn son.

Terah inched back from her cover. She had to tell the others, warn them! A twig snapped under her heel. Her heart leaped to her throat as Marcus whirled. His dark, flat, nightmare eyes locked on her.

She froze, panicked at the chillingly confident smile that curled his lips as his hand moved slowly to the whip at his belt. Mariah wanted to make Terah run, but couldn't.

He took a step. Another.

Fear shot through Terah, erupted as the whip unrolled from Marcus's hand like a snake. She scrambled upright and turned. The whip cracked.

It lashed across her back, snapped around her side, jerked her to the ground. A slow burn stung her skin. She sank into shock, unprepared for the pain. She closed her eyes, willing the fire and fear away, sucking for air, trying to think.

Marcus's cruel fingers caught her wrists. Her eyes flew open as he yanked her upright and twisted her against him, slapping his palm against her mouth, muffling her scream.

Use your weight and his. Trip him. How many times had Mariah taught Terah that?

As though she'd heard, Terah bent one leg and kicked with the other. Marcus swore, recovering too quickly for her to get free. Twisting, she brought him to the ground, but he dragged her with him. His weight bore down on hers, pinned her.

"Salia, help me!" Terah struggled as the swearing Chadyk yanked at her leggings, his intent all too clear.

"Stop it, Marcus!" Salia hissed. "She's a child! Besides, someone might hear."

With her Seer's touch, Salia urged, "When he stands, change to a horse, Terah. Remain one and he won't fill you with his seed."

Marcus rose, keeping Terah clamped in an iron grip. The look he gave Salia was murderous. Terah tried to twist free, but his hold around her waist tightened. "She's a beauty, this one." He ran a hand through her hair. "Ripe for the plucking. And I mean to be the first." His dark eyes challenged Salia's. "And last."

"Salia?" Terah cried in terror, not understanding the words, but recognizing Marcus's hardness pressing against her thigh. Her thoughts churned, made transformation impossible.

Mariah felt a red fury. Salia had betrayed her own people long before Rathyn came. The vision-experience started to fade. Mariah caught her breath, calmed herself. She willed the vision back to life. She had to know the rest.

Salia touched Terah's face, her gaze momentarily apologetic, then she fixed Marcus with a hard look. "This is not the best place to be caught with your breeches open, Marcus."

He considered a moment, then said, "Tie and gag her then."

Salia did.

Marcus held Terah against him as she squirmed fruitlessly. Closing her eyes, she tried to transform. Failed.

Salia gestured at Terah. "What are you going to do?"

Marcus ran his hand over Terah's budding breasts, and down her belly, a nasty smile on his face. "I'll take her with me." His expression turned smug, enjoying the discomfort on Salia's face. "Perhaps I will send her to the emperor as a gift - perhaps." He slung Terah up over his shoulder like a bundle, knocking the air from her lungs. "This one's capture will be a good reason for my brief disappearance from the battle." He strode off.

Terah lifted her head, saw Salia watching.

"Help me!" The words were muffled against her gag.

Salia turned away.

The vision faded to black.

Mariah spun in the darkness, slowly came back within herself, became aware of Terah's smaller hands still clasped tight within her own, their breath one.

Slowly she separated completely from her sister, calmed her, reassured her. What had happened to Terah at Marcus the Butcher's hands? She was fairly sure she knew. She felt cold all over, yet burned inside with the desire for revenge against Salia, Marcus and his people. Yet Marcus had been killed in battle before he could carry out his plan.

Opening her eyes, she found her sister's gaze fixed on some distant spot. Tears slid down Terah's cheeks as Anna rocked her gently to and fro like a small child.

"My daughter, my daughter..." Anna crooned softly, her voiced cracking with emotion.

Mariah wanted to run from her sister's pain, just as she'd run from Rathyn and Salia. But the knowledge of Salia and Marcus the Butcher's conspiracy kept her frozen, her angry thoughts spiraling in greater and greater circles.

Salia was responsible for Terah's capture. She had conspired with a known enemy, betrayed her people. The blood of Ishian and Herodotus stained her hands.

With Terah's testimony, Salia could be found guilty of murder according to Syrithian law, but what about Chadyk law?

Mariah stood slowly. She and the rest of the council - except Rathyn - had to talk. If Mariah could convince Nahil, Anna, and Jarad to stay and demand Syrithian justice, they could win the right to execute Salia for murder.

#

Under the unwelcome and cold morning rain, Mariah, Nahil, Anna, and Jarad headed for Spartyk again, accompanied by Lilas and the three Syrithian soldiers. Along the way, Mariah met many Syrithians headed for Cyclosha. She bid them wait outside the harbor village for Lieutenant Gathias, who would arrange their passage back to Syrithia.

She did not say they might soon be at war with the Chadyk Empire again. They would know soon enough. She hoped Rathyn and the Senate would honor her request and not force her hand. Surely there was no love lost for Salia or any who bore the Syrithian mark. Yet the fear from her dream lingered; that she might yet be too late to stop her cousin.

As the sun lowered toward the horizon, Lieutenant Gathias and a small contingent of soldiers met Mariah's entourage on the road. Gathias' expression reflected surprise at her news that she had changed her mind and now wanted to talk to Rathyn. "The commander will be pleased."

Only until he learns why, Mariah thought, watching as Gathias detached half his men to go on to Cyclosha and secure ships for the Syrithian warriors who wished to return home.

He and the rest of his soldiers escorted Mariah and Terah into Spartyk, taking them directly to the palace.

Mariah found the huge marble columns, vast ceilings and intricate tiled floors overwhelming and cold. She missed Syrithia, her tribe's summer camp, the sounds of birds and animals, the smell of earth. Waiting for Rathyn in what she assumed was some kind of council room, she paced around the massive table and chairs with long strides while Terah sat in a chair and watched.

She whirled at the sound of the door. Lieutenant Gathias and someone she didn't know followed Rathyn into the room.

Rathyn motioned her over. "Mariah." His tone was formal. Forced.

A knot formed in her stomach. Something was amiss.

"Senator Tchelak, this is Queen Mariah, the Syrithian leader I told you about."

The senator inclined his head only slightly, his gray eyes suspicious. Almost an insult, Mariah thought. She inclined hers in the same way.

"Your Majesty," he said, his voice soft yet strong.

"Senator." Mariah had thought she would meet Rathyn alone - at least at first. Puzzled, she waited. The silence lengthened.

Rathyn gestured toward the table. "This is where the Senate meets. Please sit. Lt. Gathias said you have some matter of urgency to discuss?"

Mariah nodded, grateful the lieutenant had laid the groundwork. "I have brought a witness who can testify that Salia has committed treason against Syrithia, and is guilty of murder."

The senator held up his hand, stopping her. "Unless the crime is against a Chadyk, it is not punishable here."

Mariah gave him a cold, confident look, her voice flat. "We are your allies. I am even willing to abdicate my rule and name the Emperor as successor. But first, we demand Syrithian justice - or our alliance is ended."

The senator said nothing, yet she noticed a gleam of respect in his gaze.

Rathyn stepped closer to Mariah. His dark brows were drawn as though questioning her.

I know what I'm doing, she wanted to tell him.

Uneasiness flickered in the velvet depths of his ebony eyes. He looked away.

She felt her mouth tighten. Why was he so unhappy? Salia must pay for her crimes. The tribes would demand her death. The absurd notion he might care for Salia in some measure entered her mind, but she dismissed it.

Senator Tchelak frowned. "I'm listening," he said, the tone impatient.

Mariah collected her thoughts. "Salia conspired with your Commander Marcus to kill the Emperor and take the throne. That is treason against a Chadyk."

"A Chadyk now dead," Tchelak answered. But curiosity sparked in his aged face. "Who is this witness against the Empress?"

Mariah went to her sister, took her arm, helped her to rise. Terah looked young and vulnerable, like a trembling colt, her hand tight around Mariah's. Not proud and straight as I was at fifteen. This is what Salia has done. She realized Rathyn did not recognize Terah as the girl who transformed during the battle.

She started to speak, but Terah cut Mariah off, her voice strong, making Mariah proud. "I am Princess Terah of the Wind Tribe. It is I who accuse Salia!"

Tchelak came over and studied her. Measuring her as a witness? "And how did you come by this knowledge?"

"I followed Salia to a secret meeting with C-Commander Marcus. I heard their plans. Then I was captured - and sent here to Spartyk as a slave. I transformed, claimed my horse spirit for protection and have only just assumed my true womanly shape."

Terah flinched as Tchelak touched her gently on the shoulder. "You will have to stand before the Senate, the Emperor, and - the woman, Salia, now the Empress - to make your accusation. Can you do that?"

Gaze steady, she nodded.

His expression warmed. "You remind me of my daughter."

Rathyn's eyes showed surprise. High praise from the Senator? Mariah wondered.

Tchelak addressed Mariah, "If we put the Empress on trial, hear the evidence, will this satisfy you? Will you honor the alliance you made with Emperor Rathyn, name him your successor, no matter the outcome?"

Mariah knew this was the best she would get and nodded slowly.

"Good." The senator said.

Rathyn's expression remained unfathomable. He said to Mariah. "Why don't you take your sister to the rooms prepared for you, then join us for a meal - if you wish."

Mariah nodded, wondering at his lack of enthusiasm as she guided her sister after the waiting servant.

She stayed awake in their rooms until late into the night, expecting Rathyn to come to her - to talk or press his suit. She fell asleep waiting, only to wake hours later by the sound of scratching at her locked door.

"Rathyn?" she murmured, sitting up, her gaze going from the flickering candle, barely alive, to her sister sleeping soundly on the bed.

The scratching, metal against metal, broke the quiet again, then stopped. She watched as someone pushed the door open a crack.

Mouth dry, Mariah crept behind the door, and pulled her knife free. Her thoughts jumped from the expectation of Rathyn to the possibility of Salia - here to murder the one who would testify against her.

The dark shape moved into the room and Mariah leaped even as the familiar size of the intruder registered, the broad shoulders, narrow waist and bulging musculature. At the last second she shifted her blade, but still knocked him to the floor.

Rathyn's gasp as he hit the tile, became an angry oath. "What are you doing awake?" He shoved her sideways, then moving with her weight, trapped her beneath him. Everywhere they touched she felt flame. The irritation in his eyes turned to desire.

"Rathyn..." Her heart hammered against her chest. She could feel his racing pulse, as though it wanted to catch hers.

"Mariah," he breathed her name as a wonder, his touch like the heat of the desert sun. He shifted his weight, but prolonged the intimate contact. She wanted to kiss him, pull away his clothes, stroke him, and love him with all of her being.

He stood up slowly, helped her to her feet, then took a step back, as though he didn't want her. "There are guards outside the door, you needn't have worried." He offered her a wry grin. "I'm sorry if I alarmed you."

The stilted words confused her. "You're lucky I didn't kill you," she half-teased, longing for his caress, waiting for him to bridge the inches between them. He could have made love to her on the floor and she would have welcomed him, shared the joy of their child. What had changed?

He made no move to touch her. "Senator Tchelak just left. The trial will be at first light." He brought his hands up, almost touched her shoulders, then dropped them back to his sides. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

Mariah felt a surge of anger. "Would you rather I ran away? Salia left my sister in the hands of that butcher, and she knew - " She couldn’t finish, nor could she banish the awful image of Marcus raping her sister.

"I don't want you to be hurt." In the flickering candle light Rathyn's face twisted, anguish and fury intertwined. He brushed his raven hair back from his face with seeming impatience.

The shimmering crescent moon of Syrith shone on his forehead, dimly outlined in the faint moonlight streaming through the window. She'd forgotten that Rathyn had the mark.

Was it truly the sign of Syrith, earned by his passage through Kleyeth's domain? She had never heard of anyone surviving the passage before him. She knew of no male who'd ever worn Syrith's mark before--only vague legends. It seemed strange to see it now - on the man she loved so much. And it made her feel closer to him.

Should she tell him of their child?

Not yet, her mind whispered. Wait until Salia's fate is decided.

Rathyn remained still, his gaze locked on her, full of yearning and some other emotion she was uncertain about. Regret? Shame?

Mariah felt as though an invisible wall stood between her and Rathyn. It puzzled her. "You are unhappy? She deserves death."

Rathyn hesitated. "Senator Tchelak and the others do not like threats - but your sister impressed Tchelak, that's good. And they dislike Salia." He paused. "They have a great deal of power. Will you break the alliance if they refuse to hand Salia over? Would you really fight them? Me?"

She ignored his questions. "Are you saying you would defend Salia?"

Rathyn sighed, the sound tired, frustrated. "I don't know...."

She felt her jaw drop. What did that mean?

Terah stirred in her sleep, sighed, and slowly sat up, interrupting the conversation.

Rathyn lit a new candle while Mariah went to the bedside, her concern for her sister temporarily pushing away the churning fears Rathyn's ambivalence brought up. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

Terah shrugged. "I am ready." Her gaze fixed on Rathyn as he moved to the door.

He paused. "The guards will escort you to the senate room when it is time." Irony tinged his next words. "In the meantime, I must arrest my wife and place her under guard."

Once more, his gaze locked on hers. She sensed an underlying message in his dark eyes, sensed a myriad of conflicting feelings simmering beneath his skin. But before she could sort through it, clarify what her Seer's touch revealed, the barrier he'd erected between them was back in place. He closed the door.

The lock clicked.

Terah squeezed her hand. Mariah leaned against her little sister and hugged her close, feeling lonely in spite of the comfort offered.

Her heart and soul belonged to Rathyn, always would, and this strange distance between them, when always before she had erected walls which he had tried to cross, made her uneasy.

He was uncomfortable around her. Didn't want to be alone with her. Why?

He was acting like a guilty man.

But guilty of what?

Apprehension rippled through her. Thoughts of Salia rose unbidden into her mind. She pushed the vision of her cousin's face away. But it left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Chapter Twenty Four

Salia was a murderess. A traitor. The words snaked through Rathyn's mind and into his body like venom. As he made his way through the vast palace halls, he imagined choking the life from his new wife, tearing her limb from limb. When he'd looked at Mariah he'd seen Salia's face and felt his own betrayal. He couldn't kill the memory of his own treasonous lust and Salia's last triumphant words that now haunted him as he made his way toward their bedchamber with three soldiers behind him to arrest her.

I carry your seed, Rathyn, she'd said. The memory of her laughter buzzed in his head like plaguing gnats.

Did she carry his seed? His child in her belly? Or was it another lie? If so, how could he find out without waiting until her woman's blood came?

He was prepared to hand her over to Mariah and her people, to carry out whatever sentence they proscribed. If she was not with child. And if she was? He had no answer except the chilling sense of things sweeping out of his control. He pushed down the kernel of panic in his gut. He was a soldier, a leader, a king. He would solve this problem.

His steps slowed as he passed an open second-story window at the front of the palace. Angry chants could still be heard. Did people never sleep?

Since he'd married Salia, a group of city folk had remained in front of the palace shouting curses, calling for a rebellion, calling for the Senators to take over. Like a pack of snarling dogs, all they needed was a bone and they'd erupt in a feeding frenzy. Already he'd heard rumors that Senator Dylan secretly encouraged them.

Had the Senator encouraged the defacement of the palace steps with dung and all the crude threats against their Syrithian allies? Rathyn felt as though his hands were tied. Arresting a hundred or more citizens during his first week of rule was not what he wanted.

What would happen if he pronounced Salia guilty, then refused to hand her over? No one would understand. Unless he told them. He could already imagine the stricken look in Mariah's eyes. And he couldn't bear it.

His footsteps and those of the three soldiers behind him, echoed on the tile as he approached the door to his chambers. The two soldiers outside the entrance saluted. The three behind Rathyn followed through the antechamber to the bedchamber.

Salia lay in the massive bed, a candle burning, eyes veiled by half-lowered lids, reminding him of a cat as she sat up, her breasts covered only by a sheer gown that hid nothing.

The three soldiers paused by the door and made an X-ing sign for protection against witchery.

"You there," Rathyn commanded the two maid servants, "see the Empress is dressed and escort her to the antechamber."

He whirled and left before Salia could utter a word, wondering what she would say when he accused her.

By the gods, he had to tell Mariah the truth, he thought. Before Salia did.

Moments later, the doors from the bedchamber opened and Salia came out, covered from neck to ankle by the same yellow robes she'd removed in front of him two days before. They only served to remind Rathyn of her seduction and his own inexcusable behavior. He felt wretched and mentally cursed himself, then her. "Salia, you have been accused of treason and murder against your people, and mine. You are under arrest."

A guard stepped forward and locked manacles on her wrists. For a second she looked stunned, her composure cracked. But her voice was firm and even. "Who accuses me?"

"Princess Terah of the Wind Tribe."

Her silvery eyes widened in disbelief. "Terah is dead!"

Rathyn gestured at the guards. "Then in a few hours you will talk to her spirit."

They led Salia from the room. She would not like the dungeon, he thought with satisfaction. If only he could be sure she did not carry his child. Then he would gladly see her pay for her crimes. How would the senators react to Mariah's demand? If Rathyn acted in accordance with the senators would he gain their support? He desperately needed it until the country quieted in their vehemence against the Syrithians.

He felt as though he'd stepped into a hornet's nest and would be stung to death at any moment.

#

The twelve Senators sat in their respective chairs on one side of the room, their white formal togas glistening under the morning sunlight streaming through the windows. Rathyn sat in the center, his armored breastplate heavy, the formal purple cape hot on his back. Sweat dampened his gold tunic. It was going to be a hot day. Not the best of omens, he thought, wishing for a cool breeze.

Terah and Mariah, dressed in loose ceremonial robes of blue and silver matching their eyes, stood to his right. On his left, chained, Salia faced him, in the yellow robe, flanked by the three guards, defiance etched in her expression.

In a preemptive move, weasel-faced Senator Dylan spoke. "Am I to understand the Syrithian 'lady' Mariah has demanded this trial, and we've agreed?" His tone was incredulous. His glance raked across Mariah, her sister and Salia, his mouth a sneering, disrespectful line.

Rathyn gave Dylan a cold look. "Queen Mariah and her sister are our allies. Her Majesty has saved my life on several occasions, risking her own." He flung the next words like a challenge. "You will show her the same respect you show me." He brought his hand to the hilt of his sword.

Dylan frowned, but didn't argue. He was a politician, not a military man. "My apologies, your Majesty," he muttered.

Rathyn turned his attention to his wife. "Salia, you are accused of betraying your people to Marcus, the deceased commander of the Chadyk outpost in Syrithia. You are accused as well, of aiding in the kidnapping of Princess Terah, arranging the murder of the council member, Herodotus. How say you?"

She cast a sideways glance at Mariah, hate in her eyes. "I am guilty, my husband, of helping your people against mine."

Her easy answer surprised him. The senators murmured amongst themselves. It was a smart move. She forestalled Terah's testimony which had moved Senator Tchelak to praise the princess. And Salia had pointed out that her crimes had helped the Chadyks during a time of war. Would the Senate punish Salia for such crimes? Would they consider banishing Salia to Syrithia? Would that satisfy Mariah?

But he read the need for justice in Mariah's eyes. Banishment would not be enough.

If only Mariah could prove Salia had murdered an innocent Chadyk. Someone of standing in the senators' eyes. Then nothing could save her from execution.

Mariah stepped forward with her sister, and bowed slightly. "Emperor Rathyn, Senators, my sister and I would like to speak."

Senator Dylan answered, "The Empress has admitted to helping us. That is not a crime here." He paused. "But witchery is." He leaned forward. "Is she a witch?"

Rathyn started to speak. Senator Tchelak's impatient voice cut him off. "We will deal with witchery later. I want to hear Princess Terah's testimony."

Rathyn nodded. "I too wish to hear it." He hoped it would give him some way to help her.

Terah began her story well, answered the Senators' questions with an anguished honesty that Rathyn found painful to watch. Salia expression reflected boredom, her mouth a relaxed line of contempt. Terah continued, repeating the Chadyk words she'd memorized and now understood.

"Salia put her knife away and asked Commander Marcus, 'What of this other Commander whose power is as great as your own? My Seer's vision tells me he too could win the crown.'

Marcus' said, 'Rathyn?'

Salia said, 'Emperor Rathyn - if he isn't stopped.'

The commander said, 'The poison you gave me is in Spartyk by now. Soon it will take care of Rathyn and his line....'"

Rathyn saw a flicker of fear in Salia's silvery eyes. Their gazes locked and for a second panic sparked in her expression before she resumed the same sneering mask.

Why was she afraid? The poison had never made it to his household or he'd be dead. His wife and child would have died before the birthing process... unless the poison brought on the early childbirth....

Rathyn felt as pale as the marble beneath his feet as the possibility grew in his thoughts.

Terah finished her story. The room was silent.

Had death brushed by him and he hadn't even known? How, in his own household? Who could have administered the poison? One of his servants? By the gods, if it were true, he would slay the one responsible!

He stared at Salia, the blunt edges of his fingernails digging into his palms. He felt physically ill as the word "poison" filled his mind, his wife's horrible death screams rising from the dark place in his mind, reminding him of the pain she had suffered.

Salia paled, looked tense. Frightened? Rathyn wondered. Nothing else said before had made her react. But Terah's account of the conversation obviously did.

Rathyn addressed Terah. "Salia gave Marcus a poison meant for me?"

Terah nodded. "Yes, your Majesty."

Senator Tchelak blanched and his voice shook slightly with emotion. "Do you know what happened to that poison?"

Senator Dylan plunged in. "Obviously it never made it here or Emperor Rathyn would be dead instead of sitting on the throne." Who cares, his tone said.

Rathyn glanced at Mariah. She seemed surprised at the amount of interest in the poison. But he could see her mind sifting through the facts just as his was. Her narrowed gaze focused on Salia.

Excitement and dread stabbed Rathyn as he addressed Senator Tchelak. "Are all the servants from my household still under your care?"

Tchelak nodded. "They are."

Rathyn motioned to Gathias, who had remained by the door. He slowly unfurled his fingers as he spoke. "I want all the servants questioned. Immediately." He stood. "This trial will resume in two hours."

He fixed his gaze on Salia. "Take her back to her cell." He wanted to leap forward and strangle her, the certainty that she somehow helped murder his wife and unborn son taking hold in his mind. It made sense only because he saw Salia's fear behind the hate-filled mask she wore. And because Salia had not wanted Terah to speak.

#

The next hour felt like a hundred to Rathyn. He dismissed everyone and waited alone in the senate chamber, pacing, feeling hemmed in by the massive walls, wondering who in his household might have betrayed him, telling himself he was jumping to conclusions, yet such a jump explained Salia's fear, the panic in her eyes.

His thoughts meandered. He had treated his servants well. They had loved his wife, Tchelak's daughter. At least that was what he'd believed.

He went over the last days of his wife's life, searching for a clue to something he'd missed, something to substantiate the jump his mind had made. He remembered being called away unexpectedly because a small band of thieves were causing havoc in the villages outside of Spartyk. His wife had been only a month from her birth time. Remembering his return home the next day, Rathyn's gut twisted. The birthing had come early, a bad sign. Soon his wife's agonized screams had echoed throughout the house. They seared through his mind again, fresh and horrible.

The door to the Senate chamber burst open, pulling him from the memory. Gathias entered, dragging behind him a man-servant who had been a gift from the Emperor when Rathyn married. Old and frightened, he fell to Rathyn's feet. "Please, your Majesty, show mercy!"

Rathyn threw a questioning glance at Gathias.

Gathias smiled and made a cutting gesture across his throat. He'd threatened the servants and their families with death and someone had turned this man in. "This one admits to administering poison to your food." Gathias stepped forward, grabbed the man by the back of his clothes and dragged him to his feet. "Tell him!"

The man shrank within his clothes. "I had no choice! Marcus sent the poison. He wrote that the Emperor wanted Rathyn dead, that I could earn a reward, or be punished. I had to do it - only you were called away before the meal, and she and the babe - "

Rathyn drew his sword as tears fell from the old man's eyes. Anger, disgust, pity moved through him. He slowly sheathed the weapon, his mind reeling.

"Gathias, call everyone back."

Gathias saluted and left.

The old man groveled at Rathyn's feet. "Please show mercy."

Sickened, Rathyn said, "You showed no mercy to my wife, my unborn son." He sighed. "You tell the truth and your family will not be harmed. Your death will be quick."

The old man looked up at Rathyn, fearful gratitude in his eyes.

After everyone had resumed their place, the old man stuttered through his story. A soldier under Commander Marcus's command had paid him to poison the household grain. Everyone was to die - it would look like a terrible sickness. But he couldn't do it - kill everyone. Instead, he put the poison only in Rathyn's evening meal.

"But you never came! Just the mistress. She said you were called away. I tried to take your plate, but she said no, she was hungry enough for three. I - I didn't know what to do...." The man-servant hung his head.

Rathyn itched to cleave the man in two, wanted vengeance for his wife and unborn son. He forced his hand to relax around his sword hilt and signaled Gathias to take the old man away.

Rathyn fixed Salia with a cold stare. She would not escape so easily.

But her gaze challenged his. I carry your seed, Rathyn, her silver-blue eyes said. I carry your seed....

He stood abruptly. "I accuse you of conspiring with Commander Marcus to murder my deceased wife and son, daughter and grandson of Senator Tchelak. How do you plead?"

The blood drained from Salia's face, but she remained steady. "Not guilty, my husband."

"You deny the servant's words and the words of Princess Terah?"

"Terah was a child when Marcus captured her," she said loudly, her voice hot with denial. She faced Terah, who grasped the back of a chair, knuckles white. Mariah touched her sister's arm.

Salia continued. "She knew only a few words of Chadyk. She misunderstood."

Mariah responded hotly, "You foresaw Rathyn as a possible threat to Marcus's power, the power you coveted."

Salia pulled from her guards. "You lie! You're jealous of me, and my position!" She turned to the senators and Rathyn, her gaze sweeping across the group and finally resting on him. "She is using this farce of a story for revenge!"

Afraid she'd say more, Rathyn gestured at the two soldiers who flanked Salia. They grabbed her arms and pulled her back to her place.

Rathyn fixed her with a hard gaze. "I find you guilty of conspiring to murder my wife and unborn son. How do the senators vote?"

Twelve heads turned away from Salia, shutting her off from mercy.

Rathyn nodded. "Sentencing will be made tomorrow morning."

Salia jerked against her guards as they dragged her toward the door. "And what of your unborn son, Rathyn!"

Mariah gasped.

Rathyn's chest constricted. "Take Salia out!" he ordered, feeling lower than a worm under Mariah's shocked gaze. He wanted to deny it - to plead for forgiveness - to tell her it meant nothing, was worse than nothing, what he’d done. He choked on the words.

Without a sound, Mariah clutched her sister's arm and they left the room.

Salia doesn't carry my seed, he told himself as the senators fixed their eyes on him. But doubt remained.

Tchelak spoke first. "Let her burn to death. She who murdered my daughter and grandson."

Dylan nodded. "If she is a witch, then her powers will burn with her."

The others nodded their agreement "It will appease the people if she is publicly sentenced and burned at the stake," one of the senators said.

A murmur of assent followed. Twelve pairs of eyes looked to Rathyn.

What could he say? "She murdered my wife, my unborn son. I too want her to pay. But what if she carries my seed?"

Tchelak face reddened, the vein on his neck stood out. "So, you have lain with the witch?"

Rathyn forced his voice into a blandness he didn't feel. "She is my wife. It is my duty to beget an heir." It was an answer they would understand.

Tchelak shook his head. "I still say she should be burned. Now."

Senator Dylan agreed. The other senators looked uncomfortable. But they slowly consented.

Rathyn frowned, feeling trapped, hating it. "I must know if she is with child."

Tchelak's face hardened. "And then what? You forget her crimes and pardon her? Or wait until she bears the child and then put the mother to death?"

Rathyn had no answer.

"Put her to death now," Tchelak insisted. "It will be better not to know."

Rathyn needed the senators cooperation. Damn them! "Give me two days. The Syrithian Queen, Mariah, may be able to tell if Salia is with child." The thought of asking for Mariah's help made him squirm, but he would do everything in his power to save his own blood. "If Salia is not, she will burn at the stake, if she is, she will burn after she gives birth to the child."

Reluctantly, Tchelak and the others agreed.

Tchelak left Rathyn with a whispered warning. "The people are on the verge of rebelling against you. Dylan calls you a witch-lover and wants to replace you. These two days may be enough to take you down."

As though he'd heard from across the room, Senator Dylan's cold smile fixed on Rathyn.

Two days. With an inner dread and shame, Rathyn headed for Mariah's quarters. He would have to ask for her forgiveness, and more difficult, ask for her help. The gods help him, he could not let Salia die if she carried his child.

#

Mariah heard the knock at her door, opened it and came face to face with Rathyn. Wearing only a thin chemise, she almost shut the door on him.

"I need to talk to you," he pleaded. "Alone." His expression was determined, tense.

Even now, in the face of his betrayal, she felt her heart twist with love. As she allowed Rathyn entry, she glanced at Terah, "Please wait in the adjoining room." With a somber nod, her sister did as she bid.

When they were alone, she turned and motioned toward the two bedside chairs. Rathyn took one, his gaze lingering on her. She started to reach for her robes laid out on the bed, then stopped.

Rathyn's gaze moved from her full breasts to her rounded stomach, clearly outlined by the sheer material. She was nearly four months with child now. She stroked her belly, needing the soothing motion and the calm that it brought as Rathyn's gaze narrowed.

She watched with trepidation as wonder appeared in his midnight eyes. When he focused on her face, searching it, every line in his expression questioned her.

Would it have made a difference if she'd told him of their child before? Was she in some part responsible for his betrayal? Could she trust him again? Would he trust her? The questions built in her mind as the silence lengthened. Finally, she said what she should have said months earlier. "Yes, Rathyn, I carry your child."

The questioning wonder in his expression turned to accusation. The corded muscles of his neck tightened. "Why did you hide this from me?"

She shook her head. "I was afraid it would influence your decisions - change your mind about fighting for the throne. I was afraid that if you gave up your dream, someday you would blame me."

His hands curled around the ornately carved armrest, knuckles white. "Of course it would have influenced my decision!" he exploded. "By the gods, why didn't you tell me?"

He sprang from the chair and paced the room, stopped, started to speak, paced some more, until the veins alongside his neck relaxed. Finally, he took a deep breath and sat again.

His words came out half-strangled by a tone of remorse. "I took Salia." His gaze lowered to the floor as though he couldn't bear to look into Mariah's eyes. "A union of hate. But a union nonetheless."

When he looked up, Mariah's breath caught in her chest. How could he look so handsome in his regret? How could she love him still? "What if Salia does carry your seed?" Her words were disjointed to her ears, yet strangely calm. The pain would come later, she realized.

"Damn it, I don't know!" His expression was tortured. "I was angry when I took her. I wanted to punish her!"

Yes, Mariah thought. Salia would have hated his touch, and yet would have gloated over it as well. If she could beget Rathyn's child she'd have a hold over him. Until Rathyn died from some malady. For Salia must have that planned too. Only Salia hadn't planned on Terah surviving, transforming, remembering.

Mariah wondered, if she had told Rathyn about their unborn child would it have changed things? Prevented his marriage to Salia? She stood up. "Let me see her. If a new spark of life is within, my Seer's vision will reveal it." And then what? She pushed the worry aside.

In silence, head bent, Rathyn led the way across a huge courtyard to where prisoners were housed. From the horse stables, she smelled hay, alfalfa, new grass. But the sweet smells didn't obliterate her inner turmoil, or the noises of unrest outside the palace walls. The people's anger had escalated. She paused with Rathyn as two soldiers yelled at the crowd to disperse. Jeers and swearing erupted. Rathyn's hand tightened on her arm. A new fear threaded its way down her spine, that of being caught in a mob.

Rathyn pulled her close, his stance protective as he guided her on. She took a breath of relief behind the solid door of the prison - and gagged on the stench of urine, feces, stale vomit. She covered her nose.

The stone building, although above ground, reminded her of the Chadyk castle dungeon. There were few prisoners. Her gaze slid across the wall manacles, whips, swords, and other implements of torture she'd never seen before. Sickened, she turned away.

The two guards within the dank walls saluted at Rathyn's approach. He stopped outside Salia's cell. "Unlock the door and bring her out."

They did.

Mariah met Salia's malignant gaze with a flat expression.

"Hold her arms," Rathyn commanded.

Salia tried to jerk free as Mariah held out her hand, touched her cousin's belly. Howling curses, Salia tried to squirm free.

Mariah probed with her mind for the sign of life she sought. It wasn't there. Salia was lying. She exhaled slowly, relieved. She said to Rathyn. "She is not with child."

Mariah stepped back, and started to turn.

Salia yelled, broke one arm free and kicked, her heel striking Mariah's side. Agony exploded within Mariah's stomach. She sucked in her breath, falling. For an instant, she remembered her vision-dream, the blood, the pain, the loss of her child. Then the stone wall rose out of nowhere. Sparks of pain shot through her head, took everything out of focus. Her legs buckled. She slipped to the ground.

"Damn it! Get Salia back in the cell!" Rathyn's yell was strangely distant. She felt his light touch. His tone softened, "Mariah?"

She wanted to answer, but couldn't find the strength.

"Sweet Syrith protect you," he whispered. She felt him lift her. His arms, his masculine smell, his strength, all comforted her. Through a blur of shallow breaths that brought shooting pains across her back and belly, she heard the guards dragging Salia away, Salia screaming Syrithian curses.

Minutes later, Rathyn laid Mariah on a bed, gently pressed his palm to her womb. "I've sent for a doctor. Do you know where your mother is?" He looked stricken.

"I told her - go home." she managed. Her mother had finally agreed to wait in Cyclosha.

Face a mask of self-recrimination, he kissed her hand, his lips warm, eyes brimming with tears. She'd never seen him cry. But as his tears splashed against her flesh, they meant more than she could say.

"I'll be fine," she murmured. "The baby too... we just had the wind knocked out of us...." But she cradled her stomach protectively, the blood of her vision swimming before her eyes. Darkness seeped over her, pulling her downward, and away from Rathyn’s touch.

Chapter Twenty Five

Mariah awoke to the sounds of screams, pounding feet, metal clanging against metal. Wasn't the battle over? She felt confused. Alone. Where was she? Not in her chambers with Terah.

Clutching her abdomen, she got up slowly, then remembered Salia, the kick, falling. But she hadn't lost the baby. Her back cramped as she moved, tenderness in her shoulder and hip made her catch her breath as she threw on a cloak and reached for her knife.

Someone pounded on the door. Scuffling followed. Yells. The door burst open. Rathyn and two harried guards. "There's an uprising. Syrithians are being killed, burned... I've got to get you out of the city!"

Mariah accepted Rathyn's encircling arm, lifting and propelling into the hall. "Where's Terah?" she asked, suddenly realizing she had no idea what had happened to her sister.

"She's with Gathias. We'll meet them at the stables. We need horses or we'll never get through the crowd!"

Feeling as if semi-conscious and dreaming, lost in a fog, Mariah stepped over the staring bloodless face of a dead man atop a heap of city folk in the hall near her door.

One arm protectively across her stomach, she half-walked, half-ran beside Rathyn, through the maze of corridors while howls of rage and screams of fear bounced off the walls. Inside? Outside? She wasn’t sure.

Rathyn held his sword, she held her knife. The two guards covered their backs.

At the end of the hall, four men armed with swords and sticks blocked their way. Blood was spattered across their clothes. Too late Mariah pulled the hood of her cloak over her head.

"It's a witch!" one man cried, exploding into action. His sword crashed against Rathyn's.

Mariah ducked, fending off an attacker swinging a bludgeon. If he struck her, struck the baby.... No! No one would harm her child! Adrenaline strengthened her grip on her knife. She deflected his blow and slashed. The man lost his balance. He fell face down with a curse. But before she could press her advantage, he was on his feet again, the bludgeon swinging. Pain struck her wrist, shot up her arm. The knife clattered against the wall. She stumbled to one knee and brought her arm up to take the next blow, a scream lodged in her throat.

Suddenly Rathyn stood between her and her attacker, took the blow with his sword. With a cry of rage, he swung again and hewed the man in two. Blood spattered across her cloak and down her arm, a warm, sticky trail.

He turned to her, his eyes anxious. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head, feeling sick, their three attackers dead.

Taking her arm, he guided her forward. "Stay close to me," he ordered as they raced toward the massive doorway ahead.

To the courtyard? The open space seemed vast, endless. How would they get across? It sounded like an army outside. Shouts of "Burn the witch! Burn 'em all!" echoed. She ran to the small window beside the door. Several steps down on the far side of the prison the courtyard beckoned, and beyond that, the stables. Flames licked the stalls and wood structures. Horses whinnied in terror. People screamed. The prison door had been torn off its hinges, and soldiers were outnumbered three to one.

"Rathyn, they're burning the stables, taking the horses! There's too many outside the door, we can't go this way! I don't see Terah!" She shouted, the din outside growing.

Rathyn cursed. "We'll never get through the mob on foot! If they see your hair you're dead!"

He sent one soldier down the hall to check the kitchens and the side door. "The front's barricaded, and I posted soldiers at the balconies and any place people might slip through."

But the mob had already broken through. Mariah said, "We don't have long."

Rathyn looked at her. "Can you transform? I could send the guards out to distract whoever's closest, then lead you out, fight off any attackers and get you out of the city."

Mariah shook her head. "I'm with child. Transforming would kill the babe."

Rathyn swallowed, tightened his hold on his sword. "Then we'll just have to fight our way out."

"Commander!" Gathias' welcome voice brought Mariah whirling. Terah was with him, white-faced under the hood of her cloak, clutching his arm with one hand, her knife with the others. "We got out, but the horses were scattered, impossible to catch. I set fires to keep the mob busy, but it won't last long."

Mariah's thoughts churned, fear in her gut. But she had an idea. "Rathyn, you bear Syrith's mark. You might be able to transform."

"How?"

"Take off your weapons and your clothes and stand there. Visualize your spirit body in a new form." She pointed near the door. "Terah, stand with me. Gathias, take his things and stay back."

Rathyn met her gaze, his mouth an questioning line.

"You must believe!"

"Stripping with a mob waiting to tear me apart is hardly sane," he protested.

"You won't be naked for long," she promised. "And Terah and I can escape on your back before we’re spotted as Syrithians."

His eyebrows rose, but he handed his weapons to Gathias, then his clothes. Gathias bundled them into a pack and swung it onto his back.

She focused all her thoughts on Rathyn. "Close your eyes, Rathyn, and concentrate on me, my voice. Nothing else." Sweet Syrith, would it work? She could not transform, neither could Terah for another moon cycle. It had to be Rathyn.

She whispered to Terah, telling her to help Rathyn focus, to see the horse shape in his mind and become it, accept it, feel it.

Wide-eyed, Terah nodded. Mariah closed her eyes, closed out the shouts in the courtyard, closed out everything but the vision of moonlight gracing Rathyn's forehead, illuminating the crescent moon, beginning the transformation. In her own mind he became a great black horse, more magnificent than any other. She touched Rathyn's mind with the image. You are turning to mist, she told him with her thoughts. Melting into particles so small they can't be seen. Changing, rebuilding, becoming.

The mental thread between her and Rathyn thickened, tightened, brought them closer. She slowly opened her eyes, heat like the sudden rise of the sun, touching her skin, warming her. Rathyn glowed. The white light brightened, blinded her a moment, then slowly faded. It was working!

No! She gaped, shocked. What had she done! As though wrapped in mist, Rathyn's human torso glimmered joined at the waist to the huge body of a black stallion.

Syrith, help him! Mariah closed her eyes and willed every ounce of strength to Rathyn, willed the rest of him to change. She called to Terah, help him!

Afraid of what she would see, she slowly opened her eyes. Now the hulking black stallion stood complete before her, its dark coat shining, black mane a wild tangle as it snorted and stomped its hooves with impatience.

She heard Gathias' quick intake of breath. Saw the awe as he stepped forward. "Commander?"

Mariah stared, disbelief turning to wonder. "He can't talk. Come on. We have to get out of here."

"Can he change back?" The lieutenant asked.

"Yes," Mariah said with more confidence than she felt. She really had no idea.

Gathias helped Mariah onto Rathyn's back, then Terah.

"Create a diversion of some sort, then bang on the door," Mariah directed. "When we ride out, we won't stop."

Gathias gaze said he didn't expect to follow, but he added gamely, "Then I'll get me a mount and catch up to you."

"If you get waylaid, we'll wait a day in Cyclosha," Mariah said. She leaned down and kissed his leathery cheek. "Thank you, Gathias."

He guffawed and then strode for the side door, sword in hand.

Rathyn paced in a circle around the huge entry, his hooves clip-clopping, his powerful muscles tense beneath her own. She patted his neck in an effort to calm him, said soothing words to her sister that she didn't quite believe. Then she heard a terrible high-pitched scream. A Syrithian war cry. Salia!

Had the people taken her from the prison? Or had Gathias brought her out to serve as the "distraction" he'd promised?

Disembodied voices yelled gleefully about a burning.

Gathias voice rang out, "Commander, hurry now!"

Terah slid from Rathyn's back and managed to shove the bar from the door so Gathias could push it open. His face was red, a small cut on his cheek, his tunic soaked with blood. People surged in.

Mariah pulled her sister back up and Rathyn moved into the fringes of the crowd. The swarming mob erected a huge pile of kindling and wood.

Again she heard the Syrithian war cry, this time like a gasp of pain. She searched the crowd as Rathyn forced his way slowly through the throng.

Several men lifted a thick post over the kindling platform and fixed it in place.

As Rathyn moved past the courtyard wall, bringing them closer to the stake, she saw Salia caught in the hands of the mob, her robe torn, face bruised.

This is my victory, Mariah tried to tell herself as Salia was dragged, kicking and screaming, spitting curses, toward the post. Her hands were tied behind her, then fastened to the stake.

And then she looked across the throng, desperation in her eyes, imploring Mariah for help. She deserved death - but not this way, at the hands of a Chadyk mob. Using her legs, she urged Rathyn to change direction, take them closer to the stake.

He tossed his head and stomped backwards.

A torch was lit. Then another.

Flames crackled the kindling like dried corn popping in the fire. Salia jerked against her bonds. "I am not the only Syrithian witch here," she yelled as the flames licked at the soles of her feet.

Some of the jeering died down and Mariah felt a trickle of dread.

Salia commanded, "See the woman on the great black horse. She too is a witch!"

No!

Chadyks turned.

Rathyn reared, scattering the mob. He plunged past them. Hands tore at Mariah, her sister, tried to pull them down. She clung to Rathyn's mane as he exploded into a gallop on the cobblestones.

Salia screamed, a cry of rage and pain. Mariah glanced back, saw the red gold heat shoot up Salia's body, devouring the trail of ripped clothing. Suddenly the fire hissed, and flames leaped to her head which became a sizzling torch. Her hideous, pitiful cries lingered.

Stomach roiling, Mariah turned her head and clamped her teeth shut against the need to heave. She focused on Rathyn's muscles as they stretched and tightened beneath her. He was carrying them away, taking them through a maze of dirt alleys and side roads to evade their pursuers, always heading toward the city walls and the main gate.

Salia's cries echoed in Mariah's ears. Such a horrible death! But Salia had made the choice. Numb, she gripped Rathyn's forelock and held on, people, houses, plants all a blur.

As they approached the city gate, Rathyn slowed to a stop, and she looked ahead. Her stomach clenched. No traditional welcoming soldiers in sight, no Syrithian soldiers either, only plain-clothed folk.

"My Lady!" Gathias' voice came from behind. "Wait!" He rode up on a small mare.

"Gathias!" Mariah felt a surge of relief that Rathyn’s second in command had made it!

The lieutenant got off his mare. "Follow me." They headed straight for the gate.

"Have your weapons ready," Gathias whispered.

A heavyset man stepped out of the shadows beneath the barred gateway. "Who are you and where are you going?" Four other men came out, flanking Mariah and her party.

"Who wants to know?" Gathias snapped back.

Mariah was all too aware of the stares lingering on her and her sister, as well as on the insignia of Gathias's uniform.

Someone laughed, the sound grim instead of merry. Another man, short and slight, stepped forward and joined the first. "Quite a mess, eh, Gathias?"

"Lt. Annias?"

Mariah heard the uncertainty in Gathias' voice and knew the man was not to be trusted.

"Aye, it's me, Gathias. Captain of the new guard. For the new Emperor!"

Gathias raised his brows. "Oh, and who might that be?"

Another unpleasant laugh. "Senator Dylan."

Rathyn pawed the ground with his hooves.

"A magnificent animal you got there. Who be the riders?" Annias stepped closer. Mariah lowered her head further, concealing her features in the shadow of her hood.

Three other men edged forward, and Mariah realized there were very few guarding the gate.

Annias, reached up and yanked at her cloak.

Mariah snatched at it. Her fingers closed on air.

He dropped the cloak to the ground. "Well, what have we here? The witch queen." He gloated, "I'll give her a good poke." The other men smirked. He added in an arrogant tone, "Marcus got the best lot with her sister - but he wouldn't share. Don't worry, I will."

Enraged, Mariah slid from Rathyn's back, clenching the hilt of her dagger. Let him try.

Rathyn reared, driving the other men back as she advanced on foot. This Chadyk slime was hers.

One of Annias' comrades fell beneath Rathyn's powerful hooves, his screams abruptly ending in a whimpering gurgle. The sound distracted Annias. She leaped, knocked his arm back and plunged her dagger into his chest with all her might. He tried to lift his sword, then dropped it, his eyes widening in shock. His jaw dropped open as she jerked the blade free and let him fall. "May you rot in Kleyeth's domain for eternity!"

Rathyn reared again.

Gathias brandished his sword.

With screeches of fear, the one remaining man ran off.

She sheathed her knife, then slipped her arm over Rathyn's neck, clinging to him for support, her legs threatening to buckle, her energy gone. Gathias and Terah hurried to the gate, strained against the heavy wooden bar, slowly inching it above the grooved slats. It thudded to the ground.

Gathias ran back and helped her upon Rathyn's back, then Terah. He spit when he realized his own little mare had run away. Shoving the gate open, he followed them through on foot.

On the other side Rathyn paused. She looked back. A mob approached, a hurling, churning mass of seething hatred. Gathias climbed on Rathyn's back along with her and Terah.

Rathyn neighed as though to protest the additional rider, the sound like a groan. But he shot forward so suddenly Mariah almost lost her hold on his ebony mane. Enraged yells from the Chadyks followed, then grew distant. Still, she wished they were already on a ship bound for Syrithia. Too much could happen in four or five day's travel.

Rathyn's thick muscles bunched beneath hers, and she felt a part of him as he galloped, his hooves striking the ground with the sound of thunder, his heart pounding a rhythm she could feel pulsing in her veins. They were one as any Syrithian horse and rider; a unit of blended muscles and strength, thought and function, breath and life. The threatening cries behind drifted into silence. Her fear ebbed, became awe at the power and sense of connection she felt. She and Rathyn, together in a way she’d never known.

Finally, sweat-soaked, Rathyn left the road, headed for the trickling sound of a stream. Lightheaded, she wondered if he had felt this exhilaration upon her back, the sense of oneness and purpose?

Gathias, Terah, then Mariah slid from Rathyn's back. For the moment they were safe.

"Can you change him back now?" Gathias asked.

Mariah closed her eyes, touched Rathyn's thoughts, offered her help, but he didn't respond. She shook her head. "His will keeps him from transforming. He must let go to return to his old form. He is not ready." She watched him drink, admiring the powerful war horse he'd become. Black as midnight, his color suited Sha-ay-jat, Demon Conqueror.

"Rathyn, we should go on."

He tossed his great horse head and waited.

"Makes me think of the first time he talked to you My Lady, when you were in your horse shape in the tower. Everyone thought him crazy. I feel foolish now, even though I saw him change with my own eyes."

Mariah remembered the tower, the chains, the smell of straw, Rathyn's determined voice growing frustrated with her silence. She could have told him later that horses don't talk, even magical ones. Now she smiled at Gathias and swung up onto Rathyn's back once more. "We ride to Cyclosha. I believe that is the commander's wish. Hopefully we'll find my mother and the others there."

The horse snorted and pawed the ground impatiently.

"As you say, My Lady." Gathias climbed on last. "Good thing this horse's got a big rear end," Gathias added.

Rathyn whinnied and nearly shook Gathias off.

"Just a joke, sir," Gathias said hastily.

Rathyn snorted again. Then they were off.

#

For five days and nights they traveled, catching small game, eating wild berries and fruits. They stayed off the road, avoiding everyone until they neared Cyclosha.

Only then did they travel on the road. Lieutenant Gathias walked a pace in front of Rathyn. Mariah and Terah rode.

As the harbor came into sight, Mariah searched for the ships. She saw none. Her heart sank.

Hunger gnawed at her belly, thirst at her mouth. The ships had water and supplies.

Rathyn paused mid-stride and remained still.

"It's time." Mariah slid from his back as Gathias helped her sister down. Lightly Mariah touched Rathyn's thoughts, thanked him for his gift of himself. Then she bowed her head and waited, a tiny kernel of fear lodged in her stomach. Would he change back?

She gripped Terah's hand and focused her energy on Rathyn, on his man's shape. Slowly, the shape fleshed out in her mind, so real she could reach out and touch him. Light flashed, blinding her for a moment. Then it dimmed suddenly. Too soon! She'd lost the image of his human form!

Rathyn snorted unhappily.

She glanced at Gathias's expectant face and fear trickled down her back as Rathyn pawed the ground.

Terah squeezed her hand. Stifling fear, Mariah said, "Try again. Terah, help me concentrate on his human form to bring it out. Rathyn, you must see yourself as you want to be."

She closed her eyes and willed Rathyn's human image to fill her mind, saw his strong brow and chiseled features, his long dark hair and midnight eyes. Light radiated from the image in her mind, shot behind her eyelids until she felt the heat expanding all around her.

Terah's fingers tightened around hers.

She heard Gathias gasp.

Afraid Rathyn might be trapped in the horse shape, or worse, be half man, half horse, afraid she'd been wrong, afraid she'd lost him, Mariah opened her eyes.

Rathyn stood naked before her. Muscles rippling, his long, dark mane trailed over his shoulders, the ebony hair on his chest spiraled down to his groin.

Gathias cleared his throat. "Here 're your clothes, sir." He handed the leather breeches and wool tunic to Rathyn.

Rathyn pulled the tunic over his head. "You're a good man, Gathias." His strong movements indicated the shape change had invigorated him, unlike Syrithian women.

Mesmerized by his flexing muscles, the hard, defined lines of his abdomen, she couldn’t tear her gaze away. His met hers as he pulled on his breeches and he grinned, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

Dressed, he looked as she first remembered when she'd seen him on the knoll, pale and dark shadows highlighted by the fiery sun's decent. Handsome, willful, stubborn, but with the heart of a Syrithian warrior. Despite all that had happened, or because of it, she loved him. Would always love him.

"There's a ship, sir!" Gathias' voice drew Rathyn's gaze and banished the memory with momentary excitement.

She followed the line of Gathias's arm, saw the speck of a ship grow larger, cutting through the ocean water, its sail billowing.

"Someone has signaled it," she said, pointing to the circle of figures near the beach and the smoke of a fire.

Rathyn nodded. "Let's join them." He held out his hand and she took it. For the first time, she felt the baby within her kick, several hard jabs that made her gasp - with joy.

She put Rathyn's hand to her belly so that he could feel.

He beamed, love and pride lighting his eyes. "A fine, strong son we will have, Beloved."

Mariah raised her eyebrows. "A son?"

Terah giggled behind her.

"Our child is a child-daughter, Rathyn. Blessed by Syrith. A strong warrior woman she will be."

Rathyn's expression froze. Then a slow smile tugged at his lips, warming her to her toes. "As long as she's like her mother."

"Always the statesman," Gathias joked. "Do you realize you've lost the throne," he said to Rathyn.

Rathyn's gaze narrowed, and Mariah's heart lurched at what she read in his eyes. Someday he would return to claim the empire. But that day could be a long way off. She would accept their time together as a gift.

Gathias didn't wait for Rathyn's response to his proclamation, but addressed Mariah, "and you've kept yours, My Lady."

Mariah thought of her duties as ruler, the irreplaceable losses she'd felt as a queen. She shook her head. "I don't want to rule. My sister will take my place."

Terah gasped, and then she straightened, head tall, shoulders back, body poised regally. Mariah saw herself in Terah and felt pride in her sister's strength and courage. Terah would make a wise queen.

Rathyn's gaze silently questioned her statement as he ushered them forward. "Later, we will talk," she promised softly.

As they drew closer to the small camp, Rathyn brought his right hand to his knife hilt. Mariah tensed, ready to fight if necessary.

One of the group stood, stared at them, too far away for Mariah to see clearly. But when he moved she recognized his gait, the swing of his arms. She gave a whoop of delight. "Jarad!"

He ran toward her and she broke from Rathyn to embrace him. "You're alive. Where are the others? Mother? Lilas?"

"They are on board the ship. It was safer to have them wait further out in the harbor where the villagers couldn't cause any damage or be a threat." He held her at arms-length. "You look tired. Come. Eat. Then we'll join our shipmates. Sail home."

No words had ever sounded so good to Mariah. She met Rathyn's gaze. "Can you be happy in Syrithia, Beloved?"

He came to her, touched her shoulders. "For now, I'll be happy anywhere with you."

Lieutenant Gathias cleared his throat. "Sir?"

"Yes, Gathias?"

The lieutenant's stomach growled.

"Hungry, Gathias?"

"Yes, sir."

Rathyn laughed. "So am I." But he looked at Mariah, his ebony eyes melting her insides, heating her middle, igniting a different hunger within her.

She stepped into his open arms, returning the smoldering look. "As am I."

The End

Read below for a special sneak peek at the second book in Louise Crawford’s fantasy trilogy, Rhiannon:

RHIANNON

Prologue

The summer night air crackled with an excitement Mir shared as she slipped from the castle’s secret exit, eased from the hedges and pulled her cloak more closely about her. Hurrying through the vast canopy of tents that more resembled a military outpost than a village, she scanned the group of soldiers for her representative, a Syrithian who collected the wagers and knew her only as a Chadyk warrior. Later the man would take his cut and distribute the rest to those in need. The arrangement added to Mir’s odd reputation, and had worked well since her first appearance a year ago.

"Mir has my bet," a gnarly Chadyk male voice bellowed. "He always wins."

"This new challenger beat my finest fighter," a Syrithian-accented voice warned. "He may best Mir tonight."

"If Mir shows," another voice said.

"He’ll show," someone else responded.

If you only knew, she thought. Biting back a smile that would not match the stern warrior she portrayed, she used a low, gruff voice to identify herself as Mir to the guard, then slipped through the back of the huge torchlit tent where the crowd had gathered.

The guard, as always, gave her a curious once over, seeing, she supposed, what everyone else did--a masked soldier, tall and slim as a youth, wearing boots, leggings, tunic and the padded vest and handwraps allowed in combat challenges.

No one knew her true name, and the fear of discovery shadowed her forays into the village, yet she felt compelled to prove herself as a great warrior--even if it must be in secret. She threw off her cloak, touched her fingertips to her mask and tested the knot at the back of her head to make certain it remained secure. If anyone saw her face or hair, guessed she was the princess and her father learned of it, he would never forgive his embarrassment before the Chadyk senate. Chadyk women did not carry weapons or dress in men’s clothes. And her mother--Syrithians valued truth above all else. Her mother might never forgive such deceit.

Speculations circulated around her, whispers that Mir belonged to the Chadyk elite command who resided inside the castle walls. Now that the Chadyk empire and Syrithia were under one rule, many commanders had little to do but serve as escorts or oversee the border guards who ensured Kahn raiders did not cross Chadyk or Syrithian grounds. These challenge fights were a way for soldiers to stay in shape and maintain their agility in hand-to-hand combat.

She moved through the crowd to the edge of the cleared area. Here she and another would fight until one of them slammed a fist to the ground in submission or was dragged from the circle unconscious.

At the other end of the tent, the crowd parted. The challenger, wearing only leggings and boots, his hands wrapped for protection, stepped inside the circle. In four strides he crossed to the center of the dirt-packed ground and inclined his head, his gray eyes watchful, alert, his chestnut brown hair pulled back in a tight braid at the neck.

Mir studied him, aware the scrutiny went both ways. The man was slightly taller, much broader in the shoulders and heavily muscled. His darkly tanned skin appeared cast in bronze in the glowing torchlights. A Chadyk, she thought, holding back a smile. She enjoyed besting Chadyk soldiers--they allowed no women in their ranks and treated females like servants most of the time, or like fine tapestries they could show off when they wished. Her father said change would come slowly and by example, but thus far she saw little indication the Chadyks would ever esteem women as much as they did men.

The challenger held out his hands, palms up to indicate he was ready. She tugged on her belt to ensure it would keep her vest secured, took one step forward, then tapped her fists to his in ritual.

The drumming began, a loud bass sound that sent a quiver of anticipation up her spine. She loved that here, in this ring, she found a sense of peace that eluded her in her daily life. During a contest she forgot her title and the responsibilities it entailed. Here, all that mattered was her next feint, her next block, her next blow.

The drumming stopped. As the gray-eyed challenger hunched forward and circled left, she wondered if tonight might be different. The man moved with an agility that belied his thickly muscled frame. His piercing eyes roved from her head to her feet, taking in all of her, not just her wrapped hands. He sidestepped with an athlete’s grace, the way he moved suggestive of Syrithian training, not Chadyk. Intrigued, she mirrored his move, then slid sideways anticipating his two front jabs.

His knuckles whisked by her cheek. She snapped her forearm down to block his second blow, then drove her fist into his open side. The impact jarred her shoulder, but didn’t move him. It was like hitting a tree trunk.

The crowd roared in approval. She threw another jab, this time toward his jaw. He blocked it, then shifted his weight from front foot to back, moving out of arm’s reach. They circled each other again. The night air grew warm from the crush of onlookers. Sweat trickled down her back and between her breasts.

She lunged forward. He sidestepped and danced away. They continued to circle. He reminded her of a hawk soaring high above the desert plain, complacently waiting for his prey to make a mistake.

Why did his gaze unsettle her so?

She spun forward, feigned a jab and kicked. He ducked, and the toe of her boot skimmed across his hair. Leaping right and twisting, he landed a backfist to her shoulder before she could retreat. Her arm throbbed as she danced away. Angry at herself for underestimating his speed, she clutched her arm a moment as though it were damaged.

#

Alexi circled the fighter known as Mir and frowned. His backfist had not made solid impact. Instinct said to go for the same shoulder and render the arm useless. Some other part of him said to wait--that Mir would expect it. Mir had managed to land one jab--Alexi did not plan to allow another.

More accustomed to using his arms and fists for combat than his legs or feet, he nevertheless had been well-trained to defend against both. He continued to circle and study his opponent.

The crowd began to jeer. Contempt washed over him. The Chadyk dogs and Syrithian devils had the gall to yell insults but not the courage to step inside the circle.

Mir lunged with a series of quick jabs, landing one to his abdomen. It had been a long time since anyone had landed more than one blow against him. Surprised, he bent as though stunned. Reading Mir’s next move, he dropped to one knee. Mir’s foot grazed the top of his head. Alexi blocked the second kick and shoved Mir’s leg sideways and off balance. The fighter regained his footing before Alexi could take advantage.

Mir had the wiry strength of a Syrithian or Goth, yet had neither the silvery-blue eyes and sparkly skin of a Syrithian, or the ebony skin and eyes of a Goth, but had the brown eyes of his own people. The idea that he might be fighting one of his own clansmen, a Kahn spy, surfaced as he dodged the next blow and he felt a twinge of anxiety. He sensed no recognition, however. No, his secret was safe. He lunged forward, faked a jab, then stepped in low and close. An elbow strike to the solar plexus would force Mir to lower his defense. Then one good punch to the jaw would finish him.

Mir shifted sideways.

Alexi missed the solar plexus, his elbow jabbing into Mir’s thick chest padding. The soft give beneath the vest defied reason. So did his opponent’s gasp of pain. It was a poorly landed blow.

Mir retreated.

The crowd’s betting erupted with higher stakes.

Alexi forgot to follow through with a backfist and stared dumbfounded at what his brain was telling him. This was no Kahn spy. He was fighting a woman!

Too late, he saw the blur of her foot. Her heel slammed into his jaw. The ground spun and everything turned dark.