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  “The kenda’s forces know how to carry weapons,” Palam said with a puff of pride. “When we add the Kept to their number, the Yakhat will be no match for us. Especially if you can repeat the miracle you performed today of raising a wall of stone behind us.”

  “Ah.” In truth, she probably could not repeat a feat of that magnitude, at least not for a long time. That had been an act of desperation. She had not thought that the Powers could become tired, but when at last she and Sorrow had ceased to raise the wall, her weariness had reached beyond her own bones and into the roots of the earth, where for a little while, the stones stopped their creaking and the earthworms ceased to till, undone by the exhaustion of the Power that animated them. She had come closer to dying then than when the Yakhat warrior had come at her with a knife.

  Bedrolls unfurled and weary bodies stretched out around them. Crickets sang in the grass. Tagoa sat on the grass next to Saotse, and Palam lay down a little further away.

  “So what is our plan now?” Tagoa asked Palam. “Since your first plan was, in your eyes, a total success.”

  “I would ask the Kept what she wants,” he said.

  Saotse coughed and cleared her throat. “I want what we originally called for. To meet up with the kenda and his forces and go out against the Yakhat.”

  “So we return to Ruhasu, then cross in canoes to where the kenda and his forces are gathered,” Tagoa said.

  “Good,” Palam said, his voice honeyed with pride. “I’ll have to send word ahead of us so that the kenda knows who we’re bringing.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Saotse said quietly.

  The conversation ebbed around them, and sleep swallowed her before she was aware of its coming.

  Chapter 18

  Keshlik

  “She’s alive,” Tuulo said. “That’s about all that I can say. She has terrible bruises from her face down to her thighs. But losing the child… That wounded her worse than the horse’s hooves.”

  The silence between Keshlik and Tuulo was as palpable as a skirt of grass. The circle of burnt earth, swept and re-blessed by Dhuja, once again separated them with an impenetrable barrier, and their words seemed to acquire the weight of the earth as they spoke, as if Khou herself opposed their passing. Keshlik felt a deep and unnameable unease. The ground seemed murky and insubstantial beneath his feet, even when the Prasei witch wasn’t using it as a lash against his warriors.

  “I don’t like it,” he said. “I brought her here to protect her from the depredations of the other Yakhat. I didn’t bring her to be trampled by a horse and miscarry.”

  Tuulo sighed and rested her hand on her belly. She, too, seemed distracted, her face clouded by unvoiced thoughts.

  “Are you worried about our child?” Keshlik asked.

  “No,” she said. “I mean, not any more than before. Dhuja brought Uya through labor as best as any midwife could. But still… It had been a long time since I was with a woman giving birth. Is it too girlish to say that I’m afraid?”

  “I wouldn’t know. What goes on in Khou’s circle is beyond my ken.”

  “Khou’s circle, feh. Dhuja says that the woman miscarried because she left Khou’s circle and delivered outside of the blessing. I say that the woman miscarried because a horse tripped over her. Nonetheless, it’s a bad sign. I don’t like it.”

  “You’ll give birth inside the circle.”

  “But its protection was broken. I went outside it. Whether Khou still protects me…”

  He grumbled in frustration. “I can’t tell you anything about that. Isn’t Dhuja the one who knows how to invoke Khou’s blessing?”

  “I’m not asking you to know anything, Keshlik. I’m just—oh, never mind.” Her mouth was twisted down into a half-hidden frown, and she looked away from him, toward the east. A blade of grass spun distractedly in her hand. “Juyut is coming,” she said abruptly.

  Keshlik glanced over. His brother hobbled toward them from the direction of the camp. His steps were cramped by pain, but he walked with his head high, biting his tongue to avoid giving any other hint of the depths of his injury.

  “Well, well,” Tuulo said, raising her voice. “Is that my brother-in-law risen from the dead, or is it another woman waddling with a baby?”

  “Ah, sister-in-law,” Juyut said. “When I was hurt, I had only Dhuja and the other old ladies to comfort me. Now I remember why I was so anxious to get back onto my feet. Otherwise, where would I hear such lovely greetings?”

  “I’m pleased to offer any help I can to get you out from under Dhuja’s care,” Tuulo said.

  Juyut grinned. “And I’d offer help of my own, but there’s a matter of this blessed circle between us.”

  “Oh, so now you respect Khou? I don’t recall Juyut being afraid of a little burnt earth before.”

  “Afraid? No. But if you’re not afraid, you could come out here. I’ll bring a horse to help—”

  “Stop,” Keshlik said.

  Awkward silence. Juyut looked away, ashamed.

  “That is not the thing to joke about,” Keshlik said.

  “I’m not hurt,” Tuulo said in a low voice. “And Uya can’t understand anyway.”

  “Well,” Juyut said, “that’s good.”

  It was as close as they were going to get to an apology. “Why are you here, Juyut?” Keshlik asked.

  “Emissaries from the Chalayit are here. They bring urgent news from Prasa.”

  “Bring me to them.” He stood and bowed to his wife. “I have to go, Tuulo.”

  She nodded at him and heaved herself to her feet. “Of course. Go. And don’t forget that I’m still waiting for you to bring me the witch’s eyes.”

  “I haven’t forgotten. It’s going to be harder than I thought, but I’ll get them.” He turned away and helped Juyut limp back to the center of the encampment.

  The fire in the center of the encampment was lit, and the elders of the Khaatat were seated next to two young Chalayit warriors. They rose and saluted as Keshlik approached.

  “Golgoyat is among us,” he said as he took his seat. Juyut settled down next to him. “You have news from Prasa?”

  “We do,” the elder of the Chalayit said. “But dare I ask a question before we begin?”

  “Ask.”

  “What happened here? We barely found the encampment, and when we entered, we found the yurts full of wounded Khaatat and broken spears.”

  “Oh, so you haven’t heard?” He scowled. “Did you notice the new stone ridge that we put up?”

  They stared at him nervously. “We don’t understand, Keshlik.”

  He sighed. “The city-dwellers have a witch. We lost half of a raiding party when she struck us, making the ground split open and swallow our warriors.” He omitted Juyut’s part, and he felt his brother stiffen then relax at the silent omission. “She attacked our encampment this morning and was driven off only after a grievous fight. As she and her party retreated, they raised the stone spine that you see to the west to protect their escape.”

  The Chalayit went wide-eyed with shock. “The ridge of stone to your west is four miles long,” the younger said. “The witch called that out of the earth?”

  “It was complete in less time than it would take a hawk to fly its length. But don’t fear. The witch will be slain. We’ve already shown that we can drive her off. When we finally get to her, I’ll pluck her eyes out and give them to my wife, and she’ll give them to our son as toys.”

  The elder Chalayit cleared his throat. “I hope you’re right, Keshlik, because we bring more news to disturb you. An enormous army is coming up from the south. We left to tell you as soon as our scouts reached the city.”

  He clenched his fists and swallowed a curse. “How far out?”

  “The scouts were eight days’ ride from the city when they saw the army. We reached you t
wo days after they brought word to Prasa.”

  “Ten days,” Keshlik said. “Were the forces mounted?”

  “The scouts saw ponies pulling carts and wheeled chariots, but not mounts. Like the ponies of Prasa, the ponies of the army are small and long-haired, suitable for pulling a load but not much use for riding.”

  So they would move slowly. He couldn’t be sure, of course, but he doubted that they could move with even half of the speed of his mounts, which meant that he still had time. Fortunately, the tribes had not spread out much since the sack of Prasa, so they would be quick to gather. He would be leaving Tuulo, though. A hollow feeling of frustration and disappointment soured his gut. “Juyut,” he said, “call together our fastest riders. Tell them that the warriors of all of the tribes are to gather in Prasa, just as when we took the city.”

  “Yes.” Juyut rose and walked away with steps that nearly hid his limp.

  Keshlik turned back to the Chalayit. “So tell me. How far have your scouts gone, and what have they seen?”

  The younger looked to the elder, who answered somewhat reluctantly. “We have had scouts as many as ten days to the south of Prasa, exploring the hilly land and the farms there. But as you commanded, we have refrained from raiding south of the river and kept most of our warriors in Prasa to defend the city. We found no cities in this area, only a multitude of villages and hamlets surrounded by little fields of corn. But there is a wide road that goes south from Prasa beginning at the stone bridge, broad and hard. This is the road that the army approaches on.”

  “Is it open grassland like these plains? Or is it like the mossy forest surrounding Prasa?”

  “More like the forest of Prasa, though much more of it has been cleared for fields.”

  “Will our riders be hemmed in by the trees, then?”

  “Not if we make battle in an appropriate place.”

  He smiled at them. “I wasn’t expecting such auspicious news.”

  “Auspicious?” Both of the Chalayit looked at him incredulously. “But an army of that size—”

  “Is like a tree waiting to be felled by the Yakhat axe. We’ve taken on armies of city-dwellers before. This is not a new challenge for the Yakhat.” Unlike the earth witch. “Listen, tonight you are our guests. But tomorrow, you’ll ride like the wind back to Prasa, and bring this message to the commanders of the Chalayit warriors there: Keep only the smallest possible force in Prasa to prevent the city from being taken. With every other warrior, form a vanguard and delay the approach of the army from the south. When I arrive with the rest of the Yakhat forces, we’ll discuss a plan for the actual battle.”

  The messengers nodded. “As you command, Keshlik.”

  He stood to his feet. “For tonight, I propose a feast. Are you tired? Are you hungry?”

  They glanced at each other warily, as if afraid of a trick. “We’ve ridden hard to reach you,” the younger one offered.

  “Our Khaatat warriors also deserve a feast, after the shame of our first defeat and our success in driving off the witch. So tonight we’ll slaughter two calves and gorge ourselves on fat and butter.”

  “As you command,” the older one said, with more relish than before.

  “Very good. One of our women will find you a place to rest until then. Tomorrow, after we’ve eaten and slept, you two can fly back to Prasa, and we will strike the camp. The Khaatat will be coming to Prasa.”

  If the city-dwellers were raising armies from the south, he needed his camp at the most defensible position behind the line of battle. And also—he realized this was the most important reason, though he would not say it to any of the others—he wanted Tuulo closer to him. They would fight just a short ride from where she waited. And he could return as soon as the word reached him that she had given birth.

  Perhaps Dhuja would worry about leaving Khou’s circle again. But then again, if the circle had already been breached once, then they might as well burn a new one.

  Chapter 19

  Saotse

  The water that they crossed was murky and cold with the trembling of the Powers. Oarsa stirred in the deeps, as if readying to breach Saotse’s defenses like a whale breaking the surface of the waters. But not yet. He was still far off, and as for Saotse, the earth, the soil, and the ground were her comfort and her friend.

  With great relief she heard the gravel biting at the belly of the canoe and the voices of the Ruhasei barking orders to leave the boats, come up on the shore, carry packs, move forward. A core of men remained to paddle the canoes back across the bay to Ruhasu, where they would take up the next wave of fighters and refugees answering the kenda’s call. Saotse, Tagoa, Palam, and the rest in their group did not wait for them. The kenda was waiting, and Palam was impatient.

  They traveled for a day on foot. When the group moved slowly, Saotse walked, her feet in moccasins to shield her from Sorrow’s touch, and when they hurried, she was carried. They passed through a land of fragrant spruces and ferns, the twin of the north shore of the bay, gradually rising from the salty mist of the seashore to the drier, sun-lapped inland. The land was sprinkled with the villages and fields of the southern Prasei. A crooked little deer trail through the woods was the closest thing to a road.

  The people they passed called out to them, “Are you going to the kenda?”

  “Yes,” Palam called back, “and we’re bringing one of the Kept.”

  Guffaws of disbelief followed them, but Saotse was content to remain silent. Let the peasants of the forest laugh. She was going to meet the kenda.

  The first night, they stopped in a larger village and begged shelter, in the name of the kenda and the Kept. The poor villagers openly disbelieved the messenger’s claims about Saotse, but they sheltered them anyway.

  Saotse refused to do a demonstration. “I am tired,” she said, “and Sorrow rests in preparation for the battle to come.” She didn’t add that she doubted she could perform any demonstration without damaging the village.

  The second and third days were much the same, passing through the alternating coolness of tree shadows and warm, fragrant stretches of cornfields at the edge of villages. They passed an outpost of the kenda, from which Palam dispatched couriers telling of their approach. They met other refugees of Prasa along the road and shared terrible stories of the city’s fall. The lodges of their hosts were awash in remembered blood. This shared remembrance, more than any of the promises of the kenda’s support, was what endeared them to their hosts.

  Around noon of the fourth day, Tagoa stopped suddenly in the path. “What is that?”

  Saotse heard only the grinding of wheels on the path approaching them, like the sound of a cart, but with the tinkling of bells. The footfalls of the group around her fell silent.

  Palam laughed. “Have none of you ever seen a chariot before?”

  A voice like an oak beam battered the air, speaking in heavily accented Praseo: “We come in the name of the kenda of Kendilar. Is the Kept of the unknown Power among you?”

  Saotse crept forward a few steps with Tagoa guiding her elbow. “I am she.”

  Silence hung in the air. Perhaps he disbelieved her. Twice she heard Palam open his mouth as if to say something, but twice he shut it again.

  “Is this your entire party?” the speaker asked.

  “There are others from Ruhasu,” Palam said, “but they lag us by half a day.”

  This seemed to satisfy the other. “Come then, Grandmother. The kenda has sent a chariot and spears to carry you in honor to his side.”

  Tagoa touched her shoulder. “A little bit ahead is the chariot,” he whispered. “It’s a wide chair mounted on wheels as if it were a cart, with two horses pulling it. I’ll guide you into it.”

  He led her toward the sound of the bells and the smell of horses, up a precarious step, and onto a little bench, wide enough for her but no other. She felt no reins. Was
she supposed to drive this device herself? All around her, the voices of the rest of the party moved forward, wondering and muttering at the strange device and the Yivrian soldiers. Tagoa let go of her hand.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, frantic.

  “I’m right here,” he said, resting a hand on her shoulder.

  The leader of the soldiers tutted, and the chariot lurched forward. Bells on the reins tinkled like rain on water. The chariot swayed slightly as they moved, lurching and bouncing over the ruts in the road. Once her nervousness subsided, Saotse began to enjoy the chariot. It was easier than walking and more dignified than being carried. The rocking of the wheels and the gentle swaying of the reins established a comfortable rhythm.

  The chariot traveled with the group for the rest of the day, until they reached and relied upon another village’s hospitality. The villagers greeted the growing party with weariness, and Saotse heard them muttering about having to house the kenda’s guard again. But based on what the kenda’s men said, tomorrow Saotse and her companions would reach the camp.

  It was afternoon the next day when Tagoa said to Saotse, “I believe that we’re coming close.”

  She heard murmuring among the kenda’s men. They halted in a place where the voices of soldiers were thick and stern, where a tense discussion in Yivrian passed between the chariot driver and the guards. Then they passed beyond the sentries, and Tagoa let out a gasp that carried even over the creaking of the chariot’s wheels.

  “What do you see?” she asked.

  “An army… I’ve never seen anything like it. I see spears like the blades of grass in a field. The forces are camped in groups, with banners over the top of them painted with totems and names. There must be, oh, a hundred different banners, with a hundred men under every banner. Over there—is that it? What else could it be? I think I see the kenda’s pavilion.”

  The sound-stifling canopy of the forest fell away from them, and Saotse heard the murmur of people crowded together like nesting gulls. It was like the furor of the market, a froth of speech and smoke, but bigger, as if the market had gone mad and spilled itself over the entire breadth of the city. The encampment assaulted her nose: unwashed men crowded together like cornstalks, smoking campfires with fat sizzling in pans, the odor of horses and hay, grass and pine trampled underfoot, and open latrines putrefying in the sun.