“I will need to return to the city, to bring word of you,” Sunrider Santali said. “You may accompany us if you wish. But your dragon…she must remain out here.”
Talasha would not have it. “I will stay with her,” she told him. She had to consider the possibility that she would not be welcomed in the city. War did strange things to people, and she would prefer to remain beyond the walls, where she could escape at speed if needed. She pointed toward the pavilion between the two warcamps, a lonely island in a rugged red sea. “We will take cover there, while we wait.”
He looked at it as though it was some foul, cursed place, lip pulling back in distaste. “That tent is tainted, my lady. It harboured men of dishonour and ignoble intent, engaging in their wicked councils. You ought not sully yourself by stepping inside.”
There was clearly a story there. Two armies, separate warcamps, a tent between them for councils. Enemies made friends, she thought, fighting for a common cause. Clearly, it did not go well for them, though. “Life has sullied me enough of late, Sunrider Santali. I do not think that stepping inside a pavilion will do me any harm. We will await you there.”
The tent’s canvas walls were sun-scorched, discoloured here and there, brushed with dust from recent sandstorms. Piles of gritty red sand had begun to accumulate about its edges, and outside, some old posts were hammered into the ground, with hooks for holding lanterns, and holes gouged into the top into which torches could be placed. The interior was large, open, almost empty. There was only a table, and an old iron brazier that someone had tipped over, scattering ash and bits of coal into the floor. There were a few half-burned scraps of parchment there as well, though when she went to inspect them, found the writing smudged and unintelligible.
It was a little cooler inside, and as the sun continued its slow descent the insufferable heat began to wane. Cevi spent the time sitting cross-legged on the table, fanning her face with her hand, and had taken off almost all of her clothes as well. That was all well and good for now, with just the two of them. It would not serve when they had company, though.
That company took a while to arrive. Talasha waited at the flaps, staring out at the plains as they darkened beneath a purple dusk, or with Neyruu, who had curled up outside to rest, in that way of hers, with her long tail and slender neck all tucked in, one large wing draped over her body like a blanket. As soon as she heard anything - the distant cry of an eagle, the far-off howling of a sunwolf - she would raise her head at once, and peer toward the source of the sound.
She did the same when she heard the horses.
Talasha had been sitting up against Neyruu’s flank, drifting in and out of dreams, when Neyruu stirred at the sound and shifted, lifting her head to look west. They were old dreams and new ones. Dreams of Eldurath, and the city aflame. Dreams of the wall of fire, approaching. The princess oft dreamed of Kin’rar too, though perhaps that wasn’t a dream at all. Sometimes as she slept, she would see him, speak to him, hear his counsel and his wisdom. It was as though in her sleep she could connect more fully to the part of Kin’rar’s soul that still lingered deep within Neyruu. Waking, she perceived only a half-heard voice, distant and dull, but sleeping…that was different. In their time together he would help teach her how to build the bond, to make Neyruu whole again, and Talasha as well. He wants us both to be happy, she thought. Sweet Kin’rar. Even in death he cares.
She sat up, rubbing her eyes, squinting out through the twilit lands. The sun had long since left them now and a horned moon was cruising the skies, chased down by a pack of rippling clouds, nipping at its heels like hounds. Neyruu unfurled and stood, stretching her neck to get a better view. The incoming host was larger than the one before, two dozen men approaching by horse and camel, cat and wolf.
Talasha moved at once to her feet and paced briskly back into the pavilion. Cevi had fallen asleep on the table, and in a position hardly considered ladylike. “Cevi, wake up, and put your clothes back on,” she said. “They’re coming. Quickly.”
The girl sat bolt upright, and scrambled to dress, pulling on her sweat-stained, stinking linens, cringing at the stench. Outside, the riders were getting closer, hooves thundering across the plains. Talasha went back out into the moonlight. Above her the stars were waking, blinking to life. No litter, she thought, studying the incoming host. If the Grand Duchess were to come, she would have ridden in a royal carriage or palanquin, but there was no sign of one, and they were moving too quickly regardless.
Cevi joined her outside. “Will they have food, do you think? I’m so hungry, my lady.”
They had scarcely eaten more than a few mouthfuls of berries and wild nuts and the odd boiled root since that greasy trout, and that was long days ago. If Tarran or any of the others had any food on them, the princess never had a chance to find out, not after Neyruu was done. “I would hope so, Cevi,” she said.
They did not have to wait long to find out. Talasha spotted Sunrider Santali again, though he was not in the lead this time, but relegated to a subordinate position. He was one of a half dozen Sunriders, in fact, and there were several Starriders too, slinking along all black and rangy. Paladin knights completed the host, towering on their camels. This time, there were no city guards. Only Lightborn riders and noble knights, rich and powerful. A host fit to greet a royal.
Their leader she knew from previous visits, a man she had met on several occasions in the past, and one well-known all across the south, and perhaps the north as well. The Moonriders of the Lumaran Empire were famed warriors, after all, a rare breed, as fearless as they were formidable. This one had a distinguished face, very noble, with flowing white hair and a trim grey beard that hugged his jaw. About his shoulders fluttered feathers of pristine white and silver over a suit of glorious scalemail armour. Talasha remembered first seeing him when he came to visit her grandfather King Tellion in Eldurath, travelling in a grand delegation that included many of the noblest Lumosi and Solasi Lightborn across all the empire, from Solapia and Aramatia, Pisek and Lumara and the outlying islands as well. He rode his moonbear then, she recalled. It had been Talasha’s first time seeing one, and as a young girl, the most awe-inspiring moment of her life. Even to this day she remembered it.
Iziah Hasham did not ride a moonbear anymore, however. Hothror had perished at the Battle of Burning Rock, and ever since then Hasham had worn only his mantle of Moonlord, not Moonrider. In that guise he chose to ride a glorious white warhorse, as grand in stature as he was, one of the most beautiful stallions Talasha had ever laid eyes on. She smiled to see him again. If she was not able to visit with the Grand Duchess herself, Lord Hasham was the next best thing.
He dismounted from his horse, stepping up to her, as his host came to a stop behind him. Though old now, he still seemed so grand in stature compared to most. He reminds me of Ulrik, she thought. Men said Ulrik Marak and Amron Daecar were much alike, two bastions of north and south, but Iziah Hasham was just as imposing, even in his senior years.
“Your Highness,” he said, bowing low. His voice was strong and clear. “It is a great pleasure to see you again.”
“And you, my lord. A pleasure indeed.”
He smiled. “How long has it been?”
“Years. Four, by my count.”
“Only four? Time passes more quickly as you grow older, Princess Talasha. You’ll learn that one day, I hope.”
Talasha was not yet thirty, though felt old enough. Living to be of an age with Iziah Hasham felt a long way off, in these dark times. “My lord. I was told by Sunrider Santali that Lady Safina has been taken ill. What is it that ails her?”
“A great many things,” the moonlord said, sombre. “There is a cancer in her, the physicians say, that no surgery can solve. She has her good days and her bad days, my lady. Today is a bad one, I regret to say.”
“That is most sad to hear.” Talasha dipped her eyes. “Are there no other treatments that may help?”
“At this stage, that would seem unlikely. The Wise Eagle prays for her nightly from his roost, though, and the city gathers to join him. He claims it will help lift the sickness from her flesh, and cleanse her soul of all malady.”
She detected the doubt in this voice, thick as mud. “I will pray for her as well.”
“Thank you, my lady.” The old moonlord glanced behind him. “Samir tells me you came to share in her counsel? Is there anything I can help you with?”
She wasn’t certain, in truth, though Iziah Hasham had always been deep in Safina Nemati’s counsel, her trusted friend and commander. If Safina knows anything, it’s likely Iziah does too. “I have some questions, my lord. Perhaps you may be able to supply some answers.”
“Of course. What questions, pray tell?”
Not here, she thought. There were far too many ears and eyes about, and this was a conversation to be had in private. “Will you join me in the pavilion, Iziah? I would prefer to speak alone.”
He raised a grey eyebrow. “The palace would be better, my lady. I have already commanded that apartments be made ready for you and your handmaiden on the upper tier. A bath is being prepared. Food laid out. Take your time. Rest if you need to. We can talk whenever you are ready.”
“I’m ready now,” Talasha said. “And I don’t think Cevi can wait that long to eat. Did you bring any food with you?”
“We did. But there really is no need to…”
“My lord. Please. Would you step inside the pavilion with me?” Tempting as his offer was, Talasha had not come here to stay. A soft bed, warm bath, new clothes, bellies full of food. She knew where that led. We’ll never want to leave.
Lord Hasham looked at the pavilion in much the same manner as Sunrider Santali had. “I hope you know what transpired in there?”
She had some of it figured out by now. There had been some tattered old banners and bits of torn tent spread about in the two abandoned siege camps, and their colours gave them away. The Tukorans had pitched to the south, with an Aramatian host to the north. She supposed the latter must have been led by a disgruntled Patriot of Lumara, someone eager to take control of the Duchy, and that could only mean the Solasi Sunlord, Elio Krator. She had met him as well, during previous visits here, and never liked him. “I have an idea,” is all she said.
The moonlord snorted. “I should have that pavilion torn down and burned,” he said.
“Why haven’t you?”
