Firestorm (20 page)

***

The journey through the Ar Rimal that day took them across a seemingly endless sea of sand. They camped at sunset in a deep depression between two towering hills that provided some shelter from the wind and reflected back a substantial amount of the campfire's warmth. Teague and Raina spoke little to each other as Raina was still incensed over his willing complicity in Bahir's earlier snub of her.

The next morn dawned bright, cloudless, and warm, heralding yet another long, hot day. The Tuarets, however, were unusually jovial, urging their big equs on at as rapid a pace as the animals could manage. They knew they'd reach home today.

By midday, Raina watched as the land began to change once again, easing into a dry, barren expanse-slashed by numerous ravines and rocky, high desert. Large outcroppings of boulders, split and gnarled from the extremes in temperature variations between night and day and the scouring effects of frequent sandstorms, became more and more numerous until she could almost imagine they rode through a forest of stone. Occasional stream beds carved their muddy, meandering way down from the distant mountains.

Gradually, as they moved along, tuberous asphodel bushes and patches of low-growing, spiky glasswort thickets began to fill the terrain. In the deep ravines, desert grass grew profusely where the muddy waters ran. Raina observed it all with a growing sense of wonder. The Ar Rimal had turned, in just a day's journey, from a desolate land into one that could support life.

Near sunset, Bahir sent out two riders. The men galloped off across the now hard-packed desert floor, their huge equs moving with a strangely awkward yet floating beauty, their hoofbeats pounding a loud staccato in the heavy silence of the dying day. Soon, with a series of wild whoops that pierced the deepening twilight, the two Tuarets returned, accompanied by nine or ten others.

Joyous greetings were exchanged. The pace of the returning Tuarets increased until all were loping toward a distant stand of craggy rocks and deep ravines. High atop a particularly large hill where there perched a huge formation of stone resembling a fortress, the flickering light of campfires drew them all. As the equs climbed the steep, twisting path among the rocks, voices lifted in excitement could be heard.

Raina glanced back at Teague, riding behind her. "We'll be hard pressed to escape this place," she called to him in a low voice, "if there's ever a need to do so." His teeth flashed white in the gathering gloom. "I don't plan on staying long. Do you? We've a mission to complete."

She grinned and nodded then turned back to the trail. Up ahead in the dimming light, Raina suddenly caught sight of Bahir's tall, broad-shouldered form. Unease threaded through her. The Tuaret leader had studiously avoided her for the past two days, save for one incident this afternoon, when he'd dropped back from his position at the head of the caravan to ride beside her. That visit, however brief, had unsettled her as none other before.

Raina had shot him a disinterested look, then focused her gaze straight ahead. Bahir, however, wasn't to be thwarted in whatever purpose had brought him to her. "We'll make my camp by nightfall," he'd begun. "So I've heard." Raina hadn't even bothered to grace his comment with a look.

"As a token of my esteem, you and your mate will have your own tent. After the lack of privacy of the past days, I'm certain you'll enjoy the chance for some secluded time together." "Yes, I'm quite certain."

"I've many young men in my camp," he'd gone on to tell her, apparently not at all perturbed by her lack of enthusiasm. "You must try, as best you can, to comport yourself with dignity and restraint. Bring no shame upon your mate."

Anger twined about Raina's gut, clenching it tightly. "And how would I bring shame, Bahir?" she demanded finally meeting his gaze. "Because I've an opinion and a mind of my own? Because I choose to walk among you all as a free woman, rather than hide behind a veil and the confines of a tent?"

His eyes narrowed. "Our women wear no veils, and neither are they confined to a tent. But your opinions aren't appreciated unless requested. And you must defer to your mate in all things."

"And if I don't? What will you do then?"

"I?" He gave a harsh laugh. "I won't have to do anything. But my people will, if and when they begin to question the authenticity of your life-mating. And that can have dire consequences, mirah. Consequences you and your mate might not find pleasant. If he is truly your mate." With that, the Tuaret leader urged his equs forward loping up the line until he once more gained its head.

Her worst fears had come to fruition, Raina thought, as she followed the stream of riders toward the firelight beckoning just beyond the next turn of the trail. Bahir, wily man that he was, had always doubted the veracity of their claim to be life mates. And with that veiled warning earlier he'd brought the issue to a head cautioning her to play the proper mate or risk being given to one of his men as a real mate.

She should be grateful to him for the admonition, she well knew, but she wasn't. It was but his way of "taming" her, as he'd once said she needed. Of intimidating her into acting the proper woman.

Defiance warred with caution as Raina followed the men up the last incline and into a large, open area sheltered on all sides by rock walls. She scanned the enclosure and counted at least fifty black, woven capra-hair tents, staked out in clusters of two or more dwellings.

Family units, Raina realized, making for at least ten to twenty individual clans within the tribe.

Campfires burned before each cluster of tents. Women squatted before the fires, cooking the evening meal. Some wore black headcloths over which red or green scarves trimmed in bits of aureum thread were tied around the top of their heads and brows. Others chose to go uncovered their dark hair flowing, unbound about their shoulders and down their backs. All were dressed in long, flowing robes of deep blue and black, cinched at the waists by colorful woven belts and decorated with equally colorful stripes sewn in decorative swirls onto the robes.

Children and an assortment of small, yapping canus ran about, wending their way through the equs to welcome the returning riders who'd halted and were beginning to dismount. Raina sat there atop her equs, unsure what to do next. Bahir leaped down from his own mount and strode back to where she and Teague waited.

"Come," he said, extending his hand to her. "I'd introduce you to my family and have you join us for the evening meal, before showing you and your mate where you'll sleep this night."

Raina eyed his proffered hand. Did he think her so helpless, after all she and Teague had been through of late, that she couldn't climb down unaided from her own equs? The answer, however, was obvious. He cared not a whit for her abilities. He but tested her willingness to heed his advice on proper feminine conduct.

She shot him a venomous look, but accepted his hand without protest or comment and slid off her equs. Bahir waited until Teague was off his mount—Rand's carrying case clutched in his hand—then turned and, clasping

Raina's hand firmly in his, escorted her across the camp to the largest and most ornately decorated tent.

A woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties bent over a cook pot before the solitary tent. When she noted their approach she straightened, calmly awaiting them. She was slender, her light brown hair unbound and falling to the middle of her back. The leaping flames of her campfire distorted her features. Still, Raina couldn't help but think she somehow looked familiar.

That sense of familiarity solidified into recognition as Bahir drew up before the woman, Raina's hand still in his. Bright blue eyes in a plain but sweetly feminine face widened as the woman seemed to recognize Raina at the same moment the warrior woman recognized her. It was Najirah, a girlhood friend from her days living in the royal city of Ksathra. Najirah, who now lived the simple life of a Tuaret, instead of in the opulent luxury of the royal city.

"Raina," Bahir said, his mouth quirking in wry amusement as the two women took their shocked fill of each other, "this is Najirah, my second wife. Najirah, this is Raina, a female of great courage and no small amount of independence." He motioned for Teague to step forward. "And this is her mate, Teague Tremayne. They'll be our guests this eve, and for all the days to come that they wish to partake of our hospitality."

Najirah nodded a greeting to Raina, then turned to Teague, a smile of welcome on her lips. As she did she gave a small start. Her eyes widened once more and she paled.

"My lord," she whispered, her voice gone tight and low. "My lord . . ."

Thirteen

Teague froze. His glance locked with Najirah's, hard, piercing, and filled with a veiled warning. Did she know? But how? How? He'd been but a lad when he'd left Incendra. Surely he'd changed enough in appearance . . .

But what had his mother once said about women? That they "could look into the hearts and minds of men and see them for who and what they truly were"?

Best to pretend ignorance of the woman's deferential greeting, Teague swiftly decided. Best to take command of the situation before it disintegrated into total chaos. He strode up, slung Rand's carrying pack over his shoulder, and took Najirah's hand in his. "I'm honored finally to make your acquaintance, femina. Though both Raina and myself are simple wayfarers and come from distant lands, your mate and your people have treated us with the utmost kindness and consideration. I accept your hospitality with great pleasure."

As she stared up at him, confusion darkened Najirah's bright blue eyes. She scanned his face intently, her soft, full mouth tightening in deep consideration, then shrugged, as if tossing aside whatever she'd been contemplating. "My husband and I are honored as well that you would accept the simple hospitality of our home," she finally replied in the cool, carefully modulated tones of a woman of breeding.

Gently, she slipped her hand from his and gestured to the large cushions placed on a woven grass mat near the fire. "Please, if you would recline, I will bring you cool water to wash your hands and face. The meal will be ready soon."

Teague nodded and looked over at Bahir. The Tuaret nodded in response to Najirah's invitation, then shed his headcloth and cloak and handed it to his wife. Garbed only in his long white tunic, he walked over, lowered himself to the mat, and leaned upon one of the cushions.

The monk followed suit, removing his own headcloth and cloak. Then, after a moment's hesitation and a gaze that cautioned Raina not to refuse, he handed her his clothing. Setting Rand's case beside another brightly colored cushion, Teague joined Bahir on the mat.

Raina accepted the items with a raised brow, but no protest. Walking over to Najirah, she forced a bright smile. "I'm not familiar with all the nuances of your tribes' customs, but I'd like to help. Pray guide me, if you will."

Najirah, who'd been furtively but unwaveringly watching Teague, jerked her attention back to Raina. "Customs?" Comprehension dawned. "Ah, yes. Come,"—she made a quick motion with her hand—"and I'll show you where to put your mate's things in our tent. Then, if you don't mind, could you help by offering the men the wash water while I finish preparing the meal?"

As she talked, Najirah led Raina into the tent. She didn't stop, however, until they were nearly at the back of the shelter. Then, in a quick move, she stopped, turned, and grabbed Raina by the arm.

"By the firestorms," she whispered, a joyous excitement lighting her eyes and voice. "Is it really you, Raina? I thought never to see you again, after that day I helped smuggle you onto that space freighter leaving Incendra. Why did you come back? And who is that man Bahir claims is your mate? He reminds me of—"

She stopped short and blushed. "I-I beg pardon. My courtesy is lacking, to intrude into your private matters in so forward a manner."

Raina laughed softly and gave her a big hug. "I'm as glad to see you as you are me," she said, finally leaning back and releasing Najirah. "And I came because Teague and I were sent here on a mission of vital importance to the Imperium."

Najirah eyed her. "Indeed?"

"Indeed," Raina smilingly agreed. "But that can be explained further later. Suffice it to say that besides you, Bahir is the only one who knows our true purpose here, and that is how it must remain."

"I understand." The brown-haired woman paused. "This man, the one you call Teague, your mate—how long have you known him?"

Her question sent a ripple of unease through Raina. Why would Najirah care how long she'd known Teague? A little voice warned her to proceed with care. Though she and Najirah had been the closest of friends, that had been over fifteen cycles ago. Much had changed since then. Najirah's loyalties were to Bahir now. And Bahir already knew or suspected more than Raina wished.

"Teague?" She found sudden interest in the fine braid edging his cloak. "Cycles now. We grew up together, or, rather, since the time I arrived on Bellator." She lifted her gaze and met Najirah's squarely. "Why do you ask?"

A troubled look flared in the other woman's eyes.

"He reminds me of someone, a boy who lived in Ksathra, in the royal palace, before you came to live there." She hesitated, then sighed and shook her head. "I'm most likely mistaken, but he looks so much like . . ." Her voice faded.

Something in Najirah's tone, in her words, gave Raina pause. Her gaze narrowed. "Yes, go on," she prodded. "Who does Teague remind you of? Who does he look like?"

Najirah eyed her in puzzlement. "Don't you know? Hasn't he told you? You're his mate, after all."

Exasperation filled Raina. "Even mates have secrets from each other." She decided to risk revealing a tiny bit of what she'd gleaned in the past weeks, if only to encourage Najirah's confidence. "I will admit, though, that Teague's past isn't something he has shared with me. At least, not all of it."

Bahir's wife exhaled a deep breath, nodding in apparent understanding of the vagaries of husbands. "Well, I wouldn't say this to just anyone, for I got the distinct impression he didn't wish anyone to know, but since you're his mate . . ."

"Yes?"

"He reminds me of the crown prince Tarik, of the Royal House of Shatrevar," Najirah whispered in a conspiratorial tone, leaning close, as if fearing she might be overheard. "And he looks just like his father, the old king."