Two Queens (Seven Heavens Book 1) (15 page)

He happily made camp here. He wouldn't know what to do out in the plain: how to find water, firewood, shelter? The river didn't seem so strange now. It brought water and water brought trees and trees, well, trees were very useful things. He wondered if the city had any. He tried boiling water again, with greater success, and munched on his hot oatmeal with berries he found while wading up the river. It was almost a feast. He decided to forgive the river for being so slow and poor tasting.

Early the next day he saw wheel cuts heading west. He was delighted. From all the stories he thought it was much further north: they must have come faster than he thought, or the trip from Darach to the the plain turned more northward then of old. He felt in high spirits, and why not? Kerry was no longer lame, it was beautiful weather, and his belly was full. Well, full enough.

She had been irritable this morning, too. It reminded him of some of the dumber, untrained kardjas they had. He was too much of a herder not to know that not all would be intelligent. That only happened when you had a very large herd and three-quarters of them stayed behind to eat grass and make fleeces.

No, Myra was unequaled in living memory, and her daughter Kerry had received all her intelligence. Orion hoped she wasn't getting stupid, or sick. Of all the foals lost this spring, he knew his father had wept over Myra's the most. And when the merchant had poisoned her and her last year's foal—Orion gritted his teeth and tensed. He must find the merchant for both his parents.

Kerry snorted. “Sorry.” He stopped pressing her with his knees and relaxed into his seat. He knew Paris hadn't murdered his mother, just like Riley hadn't murdered his father. But they would have. In the glory days of Anatolia, theft or kidnap of a noble's kardja was punishable by death. Orion didn't know what he would do when he found the fool who had poisoned their lives, stealing his family's treasures, but he didn't care.

He'd gotten used to the horizon by now. Riding straight for it with the occasional glance at the ground, he felt the breeze tousle his hair. There was nothing between him and his goal, nothing but space they were fast leaving behind.

Darkness came and the twinkling brightness of Hespera rose in the west. He road on into the night.

A few days earlier had Paris descended from the hills. “Enough with trees,” he said, to no one in particular. He let his face feel the free breeze wafting at him and airing his cloak out. He felt the orbed circlet in his pocket and a smile spread across his face. He soon came to the crossing.

His horse sniffed the air. “Smell home, don't you? Far away, on the other side of the yellow graveyard? Smell well. This is the closest we shall get to it.” He wheeled him north and rode on.

On the second day he came to another road. This one too went west. He left the mountains behind and passed town after town, each larger than the last. A day after that he forded the Pisgah, one of the great rivers of Arcadia, and a day later, as sun was setting, beheld the City of Queens on the horizon.

Earlier that day the horizon changed color for Orion. The green fading into blue lost its luster. A dull gray settled in its place, here and there rearing up, breaking the line of the sun-streaked horizon. The grass around him thinned and soon bare patches appeared. Lush pasture grass was swallowed up by dry sage with scattered scraggly bushes.

Orion didn't know what had happened to the landscape. The horizon, by now a bright yellow, gave no hint of when it would end. He turned around. The mountains rose in a blue strip far away, the forest at their base indistinguishable from the grass carpet he'd just left behind. Kerry kept on walking, pace slowed as if contemplating the new scenery, but Orion didn't direct her. He kept on looking back, then looking forward. Where were they? Avallonë had to be ahead: it was west. Perhaps further north than here.

He felt tempted to mark a new course. Northwest seemed right. But the last tracks he'd seen before the wind-shifted sand swallowed them up were very clear: the road ran west. If anything, it had a slight southward tilt. He looked back again. How the cool mountain slopes called to him—he could almost feel their breezes on his neck! He opened his eyes: the wind here slapped sun-scorched sand on his unprotected face.

But he did not know how large this desert was. What if he were to cross it the long way? Worse yet, not have a clear course and go in large circles, wasting valuable days. He was sure the merchant wasn't wasting his. No, it would have to be the road or Darach. And it wasn't Darach.

The next morning Paris, having passed through several small towns and within sight of countless villages and hamlets in the rolling hills, approached the city. Walls shone white and red pennants fluttered. A half a dozen guards stood leaning on their weapons near the gate, none so much as looking at Paris as he approached. He rode through and after a few twists and turns later stopped at a well-stocked alehouse. Handing the reins over to the stable boy he looked about. He could see the palace rising above the intervening buildings, no change visible in the ten years since he'd been here. He clutched his pocket and kissed what lay in there. “Good day, and well met.” He nodded at one of the towers.

A passerby looked at him strangely. He scowled back and the freeman, if one could trust his clothes, glanced away and hurried his step a bit. Paris smoothed out his clothes, telling himself it would be safe, and went inside.

Orion woke up coughing. He keeled over and retched, trying to get the sand out of his air pipe. A couple contortions dealt with the worst; then it was on to spitting and grimacing. He grabbed some water to rinse his mouth out. Right before spitting he took another look at the flask in his hand. He made himself swallow the water.

Half of it went down, then he gave up, coughing and spitting the rest out. Kerry looked at him while chewing her cud. “You laugh now,” then gave up speaking.

The wind was whipping little eddies of sand here and there. He reminded himself not to yawn without precaution. He got Kerry up and they went on their way, no desire to eat in this desolate place. He was glad they did: hours later the sun beat down on them mercilessly and he found partial shelter next to a boulder. There was even a little mud at its base.

Evening brought relief. They traveled far into the night. Orion had no idea when this sea of gold would end. He wished it, yearned for it, expected it the next hour then the next then the next. He didn't mind exhaustion. Any less time in this accursed place would be worth it.

The next morning was worse. His mouth had dried in the night. Trying to drink cracked and bloodied his lips. He knew what a full day of this would be like. At first light he woke and resolved not to let any hour be wasted save the absolute least sleep required. He look some light cloth—a kerchief of his mother's—and bound it about his face. That felt better.

He dreamed of pouring water over himself or, better yet, jumping in a pool, but the water did not present itself. As the hours passed he dreamed of a single cloud coming to give just a hint of shade, anything less than the full sunlight. But that did not come either.

That night he couldn't stop himself. He drank the last of his water. Kerry had had none for two full days. Well girl, his lips moved a bit but no noise other than air came out, here's to hoping tomorrow's the last day. Despite having rocked half-asleep on Kerry all day he was severely fatigued. Thirst robbed him of any deep sleep but what he got was enough. He hoped.

Paris sat in the corner table far from the door. He ordered veal, a favorite from childhood. Well, not quite. He found the meat disgusting. But it was expensive and only the successful could afford it. He pretended not to notice when a scullery maid was sent out the door and sneaked back in some time later. She thought he didn't see the steak in her hands, steak just purchased from next door. He smiled. Time someone took trouble for him.

He bit into red grapes, some of the last of the season. Juice ran down his chin. Ahh, the days when he thought, as was the joke told to young boys, that this would turn one's beard red bringing good fortune. His beard was still black and far too long. A barber was next, after sleeping—in a real bed, no less. He had money left, much more than expected, the ring without expenditure of coin, and would not make a novice's error.

No, it was worth a few days to freshen up. Eat well, sleep well. Clean shave. New wardrobe. Exult in his position. He crushed more grapes in his mouth, juice spurting deliciously. He wiped his nose with his sleeve. Why not?

Orion woke up without sand in his mouth. It was in the rest of his clothes but he hadn't choked on it. A fair trade. Stripping and shaking the sand out was but the work of a moment. He almost felt comfortable. He dressed and got Kerry up.

She groaned and rose. He took a look at her. Was there something different, around her eyes? Just sleep. Or thirst. He felt it too.

Orion checked Kerry's eyes throughout the day. Once he pulled back the half-closed lids. She didn't let him do that twice. They did look different. He began to worry, not knowing whether he worried because it was serious or because he wanted something to think about to stop from going mad. Her pace was as steady as before, just no spring in her step.

He had an idea. Dismounting he cast off the saddle. He had a cloak that served as a light cushion, not needed elsewhere in this heat. The saddle wasn't much weight, not even one stone, but he imagined he felt a difference.

He cried. Without tears. Who was he to face a desert? As if discarding a saddle would help. He should have turned around, waited for the next caravan of merchants, anything but this. He felt his death coming.

Kerry took little training: some time before noon, she found a place she liked and stopped. Orion had no clue why. There was no shade. It was like anywhere else. Why did it take a couple dozen steps in a circle, a sniff, then the process repeated a hundred paces later? On the fourth try she was satisfied. Or had given up.

She snorted when he didn't dismount. Sorry, sorry, princess. He started to get off but fell instead. Ouch. He lay where he fell. As the sand flicked at him he clambered over the lying kardja and crouched in her wind shadow.

He shoved his face against her side and tucked his hands beneath. A moment later he moved, the warmth emanating from her body too much. Orion felt like the baker had grabbed him and shoved him by the neck into his cavernous oven. He rocked back and forth, wishing for relief.

Thirteen

Something niggled at the back of Orion's mind. He wondered what it was. Something was strange, different. Almost as if... his hands twitched, and he felt it again. He bent his thought to his fingertips and probed. There it was. A solid lump, just beneath the surface.

Was it disease? Did this explain the change in her eyes? He felt all around it. He touched it again, this time looking at Kerry. Her eyes were shut and her ears made no sign. He prodded it harder. She paid no more attention than she would if he were brushing her right now.

Hmm. Doesn't seem to hurt her. He slid his hand sideways, stroking her coat. Good thing it doesn't grow much until later in the year, he thought. Anytime a kardja was off her feed her coat would suffer. He couldn't imagine how hot she must be in it. Since the harsh grasses on the eastern edge Kerry had found a single cactus to gnaw. Definitely not enough food.

His fingers twitched. There it was again. He must have moved his hand, because... No! There were two of them. His fingers ran like disturbed spiders over her. Nothing on her back, nor side, just these two and... his fingers kept finding more and more.

He fell on his arms and laughed, or would have. Under the circumstances he just breathed the hot air in and out. “Pregnant! Why didn't you tell me?” How could he make a pedigree for the foal? He felt her abdomen. Nothing yet.

He thought over the preceding weeks. Her irritableness. Hmm. When had she been with other kardja... must have been his first days in Darach. “You're a mother!” he croaked out. He stroked her head. She was not impressed, ducking her head away then trying to fall asleep again.

He felt the burgeoning teats again. Here, in the harshest of environments, he felt the joy and wonder of the preparation for new life. A stone sank into his stomach. He shouldn't be riding her. She should be drinking, and drinking in large quantities. Eating fresh grass.

She was old enough to bear, he was sure. His father hadn't bred her last year. Too many mothers were at risk at that age. Breeding hadn't even crossed Orion's mind this year. Too much going on.

Too much going on. Why didn't he turn back? They could have found the merchant later. The ring—what hopes did he really have of finding it? The man was sure to have friends and he—what did he have except a few stories? A childhood friend of a queen's from many years ago—what if she weren't queen anymore?

His parents were dead, both of them. He'd left Devlin behind in his pathetic speech to Enda. Why not Astra? She was even more different than his father. He had no ring. So? What was it but a piece of jewelry his mother adored? He had a kardja, perhaps the finest now living. One that would have held her head high even among Liam's throngs.

A thought hit him. This was the desert Liam had passed through. He was too far south. What had the tales said? Seven days. Bards seemed to like that number, so you couldn't be sure. So they were barely halfway through. If they went as fast as that army of old had.

And they were now three. He thought no more of the heat that midday, just of the maddening expanse that still lay before him.