Phoenix Unbound
Page 52

Except for the occasional whicker from the horses and the ceaseless song of the wind, a heavy silence settled around her. Tamura, still shield-clad on her nervously pacing mount, wore an expression of wary shock. The same look was reflected on the faces of the other archers. Gilene’s back prickled, and she pivoted to face the crowd inside the charred ring of grass.
Women clutched crying children or held the reins of blind horses with hands gone white at the knuckles. Their eyes were huge in their faces, some tear-stained, others pale with either terror or wonder.
A shudder racked Gilene, followed by a warning twinge along the underside of her arm. This magic she wrought was only a shadow of what she unleashed in the Pit each year, and the price she’d pay for it temporary. Painful blistering would ease over a couple of days with a soothing poultice. The red thread inside her still streamed and tumbled, undiminished by her careful use of its power combined with that of illusion. She might have cheered the triumph of her plan were she not being suffocated by dozens of Savatar stares.
She concentrated on Saruke. “Did that work? Will it give us enough time to reach camp before they come back?”
Saruke’s smile slowly stretched across her face. “I think it worked fine, Agacin.” She bowed low, and as one, the crowd followed her lead. Gilene gasped, reaching out her hands in a futile bid to stop them.
When they straightened, many wore smiles similar to Azarion’s mother. Saruke turned to them, hands on her hips. “You saw it,” she said in trader’s tongue. “We all saw it. She summoned fire.”
Several nodded and one Savatar woman spoke up, also speaking in trader’s tongue for Gilene’s benefit. “We have to tell the Fire Council.”
Gilene shook her head. She wasn’t ready to face the agacins a second time. “It was only a small fire.”
Saruke bent a doubtful scowl on her. “That was not a small fire.”
“Trust me, it was,” she argued. “If I’m to be tested again by the council, they’ll know my power hasn’t returned fully.”
“But it’s there.” Saruke wouldn’t be swayed. “Look how many of us saw you summon it!” Her smile returned. “You saved us, Agacin.”
A chorus of “Yes” and “Well done!” rose from the crowd, along with applause and cheering. Gilene squirmed inside, mortified at the unwanted attention. A blast of horse breath heated the back of her head. She spun and came face to muzzle with Tamura’s horse.
Azarion’s sister stared down at her, her imperious gaze challenging. She said nothing for long moments before swinging off the saddle to land lightly on her feet. She was of equal height to Gilene, leaner, harder, far more dangerous. Gilene fancied that if the Savatar allowed women to become atamans, this woman would rule a clan of her own.
Tamura bowed low like the others. Her features didn’t lighten or smile, but her gaze was a little less suspicious, a little more admiring. “My brother will be pleased, Agacin.”
A bubble of hysterical laughter filled Gilene’s throat. The danger had passed for now, leaving the aftershock of relief to shatter her nerves. “Well, there is that.”
Satisfied, Tamura barked orders that sent the crowd leaping to do her bidding. Blindfolds were removed from the horses, and children were placed in saddles. Those foodstuffs and supplies they originally planned to abandon were gathered up and loaded onto their mounts.
They traveled back to camp at a fast clip, cutting the ride time by half, unwilling to stop until they were within sight distance of the Kestrel encampment, where a wedge of warriors rode out to meet them.
Excited whoops and hollers filled the air. Gilene, riding in the middle of their group, next to Saruke, had never been happier to see the familiar sight of the Kestrel banner flags fluttering from the peaks of the subchiefs’ and ataman’s qaras or the proud, handsome ex-slave riding toward them.
Tamura rode ahead, guiding her mount to cut across Azarion’s path. He slowed, puzzlement flickering across his face. Gilene couldn’t make out what his sister told him, but she could guess. Azarion sat even straighter in the saddle as Tamura punctuated whatever she said with flamboyant hand gestures. His gaze landed on Gilene riding toward him and stayed. Tamura turned to follow his stare until they were both watching Gilene like two hawks deciding who was going to eat the mouse. Azarion said something to his sister, who nodded, and then tapped his horse into motion.
The clan swarmed the returning riders, the roar of excited voices swirling around them as those who had been with Gilene recounted the tale of their escape to those who remained in camp. Reverent hands lightly touched Gilene’s tunic and legs, the strappings of her low boots, as if by doing so, they could somehow touch her magic itself.
She was blessed multiple times by grateful husbands and fathers who didn’t have to ransom their wives and children back. Some of the women removed brooches from their tunics and earrings from their ears to press them into her hands in gratitude. Gilene sought out Azarion as he slowly pushed his horse forward through the crowd. Help me, she mouthed to him.
He managed to extricate her and Saruke from the crowd with a few whistles and shouts before leading them to their qara. The people followed, and Azarion hustled them into the quiet interior. “They’ll linger for a little while,” he said. “Then go about their business.”
“As they should,” Saruke said as she crouched to start a fire in the qara’s main brazier. “Most of the day is gone, and there are people to feed as always.” She gave Gilene another of her crinkly smiles. “Tonight, I cook something special.”
She shooed them off with the admonishment that she couldn’t work with people hanging over her, and Gilene dropped down to her sleeping pallet to remove her borrowed coat and hat. Azarion followed and crouched down in front of her.
Those bright green eyes, with their long lashes, searched her face. “Well done, Agacin.” The pride and approval in his voice sent a warm glow spreading through her cold limbs.
She took up one of the felt slippers she’d been working on for Tamura. As Azarion said, there was business to tend to, and with Saruke working on their supper, she could see to this task. “It wasn’t much, truly. It was your sister and the other archers who deserve the praise. They held their ground trying to protect us, even though they were easily outnumbered seven to one.” Gilene recalled the six archers facing off against the Saiga warriors. Of the six, four had been women. “Savatar women are fierce warriors.”
Azarion stroked her cheek. “As is this woman of Beroe. The entire camp is talking about the raid and how you chased off the Saiga. Your power has returned then?”
“Only a little.” She stood and gestured for him to follow her to the cook fire. Azarion and Saruke watched, curious, as she waved her palm over the brazier’s diminutive flames, making them jump. “This is the extent of my ability for now.” She noted Saruke’s confusion. “And this is how I can make the flames look bigger with illusion.” Her short incantation turned the merry fire into a jet that shot toward the qara’s peak. Saruke scuttled back on a gasp; Azarion did not, and Gilene suspected he saw through this trickery as easily as he’d seen through all those she’d cast previously. “Your agacins may still not consider it enough to believe I’m one of them.”
“If you show them this, how could they not?”