In the soft farmlands that followed the edges of the marsh, Aham-Nishi was a typical Kullan settlement, halfway between a hamlet and a proper stop along the Long Road. The little town was a collection of homes built of tightly bundled reeds, centered around a mud-brick granary. A labyrinthine city of tents around it gave it a much more raucous life. Many were little better than a lean-to, dyed in patterns that indicated their owner and perhaps whatever wares they carried. Beyond that circle to the south were the hide tents of the Sut Resi, painted in bright ocher symbols. 

The sight of a Nadaren banner flying to the north, red as blood, chilled Ilati to the bone. There an encampment of soldiers had settled, though she didn’t dare look closely enough to even pick out figures among those tents. No matter what Eigou said of Ilishu’s conquering fury slumbering in her heart, the pounding in her chest was far more flight than fight. She stepped backwards the moment she realized what those tents were: likely many of the men who had destroyed Shadi. 

 Menes settled a hand on her shoulder, squeezing with a reassuring promise. “We will be careful.”

Ilati nodded. Her fingertips found one of the healed scars on her face, reminding her that these would be easily visible from a distance. If you can remember the why, you can survive, Ilati told herself. Eigou had grown fond of saying that when there was focus, there could be no fear. His perpetual verbal battery had a ring of truth to it. 

The one-eyed sorcerer cleared his throat. “I’d like a drink, and where there is the smell of beer, there is the smell of news.” 

Menes frowned. “There will be soldiers there as well.”

“Then we will keep our eyes to our own business.” Eigou draped an arm around Ilati’s shoulders as they walked, leaving the lead for Ankhu in Menes’s hand. “Do you still want to talk to the Sut Resi? We will have to enter their encampment if so. They keep their wealth in herds and weapons, one of which makes them unpopular with soldiers and merchants alike, so they tend to be off on their own.” 

Ilati pulled in a deep breath. “It seems strange that the Nadaren would permit anyone who does not bend to their will.” 

Eigou chuckled. “The garrison here is likely not large enough to contend with them. The soldiers will do as soldiers do and wait until they are reinforced, by which time at least this tribe of the Sut Resi will likely have moved on. Surely you have heard of the great vexation that is trying to combat them.”

“I heard many curse them for fighting where and when they wished, then vanishing back to their plains whenever it pleased them.” Ilati managed a faint smile. “Quite the raiders.” 

The sorcerer bowed his head in an acknowledging nod. “With Ilishu no longer maintaining a strong defense, Sebet has settled upon bribing them to keep their distance while Sarru deters them with farmers turned soldiers and the occasional bit of magic. Neither solution is a good one, and that vulnerability leaves them weak to Nadaren influence as well.” 

Ilati’s brow furrowed. “Because they cannot focus on both threats at once or because Nadar may promise them a defense against the Sut Resi?” 

Eigou grinned slyly. “Why Ilati, it is almost as though you spent a childhood at court. I imagine you listened more than they gave you credit too. The answer to your question is a simple truth: both. Nysra is no fool and will use the fact that he has proved he can subjugate the mighty. The foolishly optimistic might see him as an antidote to the barbarian hordes, and those too crafty for that game must learn, perhaps the hard way, that they cannot fight both.”

“But if the Sut Resi made peace with them, they could fight Nadar.” 

“A tall order, Ilati.” Caution filled Eigou’s every syllable, which now came more slowly, without a merchant’s patter. “The amount of magic needed to collar the Sut Resi would bleed Kullah as dry as the Desert of Kings, and that is the only way I see such a peace lasting more than a single beat of a fly’s wings.” 

“Collar?”

Eigou pressed his lips together, but did not answer.

“Are you two finished nattering?” The warmth of a summer sun lingered in Menes’s tone, perhaps because he had not heard the last part of the exchange. “It is like traveling with two fishwives.”

They passed beneath the shadow of a red banner, but Ilati was too focused now to tremble in fear. The brewery lay just ahead, a promise of relief to her aching feet and empty stomach even as her mind spun their problems—and Eigou’s silence—like wool. 

Their sorcerer stopped in the street before they could reach the brewery and fished out his coin purse. He pulled out a few copper pieces, rough and irregular, but still valuable. The rest stayed in the pouch, dropped into Menes’s hand. “Get food, drink, and anything else we might need. I will see about finding a place in the caravansary near the Sut Resi. If you don’t bring me back a vessel of beer, I will take it out of your hide, o leopard of Magan.”

Menes bowed his head to the sorcerer, still smiling faintly. “Very well. We will behave.” 

“I know one of you is certain to,” Eigou muttered before leading Ankhu and the cart away.

“Will he be alright?” Ilati’s stomach knotted in worry. 

“He is safe as an ill-tempered asp surrounded by mice,” the charioteer assured her, his hand gentle on her shoulder as he nudged her to move on. “Even the Nadaren and the Sut Resi will leave him be or face consequences they are woefully unprepared for.” 

The answer made sense to Ilati. No story suggested that sorcerers were easy to be rid of, and their ire was legendary. “And us?” 

Menes nudged her shoulder with his own. “What do a lioness and a leopard have to fear, ey?” 

They rounded the corner before the brewery and came face to face with four Nadaren soldiers. Dark curled beards cut into that stylized square, the foreign men were tall and powerfully built, with flint-hard faces covered in scars. One seized Ilati before she could even react, pulling her into him. “You’ll do, scarred or not,” he growled, hands roving aggressively. 

Two of his brothers stepped between him and Menes, their hands falling to their weapons as they grinned. “How much for your harlot?” one asked. 

It was a scene that could have come straight out of her nightmares. Ilati sucked in a breath and twisted her wrist to free a hand, cold dread pounding through her veins. She knew she would not escape by just writhing. She grabbed the curved knife stuffed through her assailant’s sash, drawing it in one quick motion. The grip was big for her hand, but would fit well enough.

…a flash of bronze, then so much blood…

Ilati put the point of the blade not against his armored chest, but straight towards his eye, forcing him to recoil backwards and release her. A sudden anger flooded through her. Never again. “My price you cannot afford.” She kept the blade leveled at the one who had grabbed her in an unspoken threat.

Menes stepped in at an angle towards one of the soldiers between him and Ilati, punching hard at the soldier’s face instead of his armored body. The charioteer’s scarred knuckles slammed hard into the chin of the man, a powerful uppercut that cracked the soldier’s jaw shut and sent him spilling to the ground. He wouldn’t be down forever, but it was a brutal hit. The warrior pivoted on the ball of his foot, putting his back against Ilati’s to focus on the other. “I am here!” he roared, more to remind Ilati than frighten the soldiers. 

The warriors of Nadar drew their wicked blades, all too familiar to the priestess. They circled like a pack, trying to deceive the pair’s sense of distance, spiraling in closer. Menes kept them at bay with his hands out in a boxer’s stance. Ilati gripped the knife, but its threat was not enough to save her. The tallest of them stepped in close, wrenching the blade out of her hand. He backhanded her across the face and used the force to throw her to the ground, still gripping her wrist. Ilati saw stars for a moment, but the moment her vision cleared, she looked up at Nysra’s hound. Even a blue sky was not enough to tell her that she was far from the temple. Fear left her with trembling limbs, but they were trembling limbs that could still be compelled into motion.

Ilati kicked hard into the side of his knee with all the force she could muster, digging her fingers into the rutted earth for purchase. He twisted, falling to save his knee before it could snap as it tried to bend in a way it wasn’t meant to. He would be limping for days at least. 

Behind her, Menes parried his enemy’s blade with one hide-covered arm, the thick leopard’s fur sheltering his dark skin from the hissing cut. He shot in under the man’s sword arm, arms looping around a leg in a quick upset that left the Nadaren soldier slammed down onto his back, gasping for air. 

An arrow sprouted out of the ground beside the Nadaren soldier picking himself up from his stumble. The other who was focused on Ilati, the one who had first grabbed her, had to recoil back behind the corner to avoid a warning shot that wasn’t really a warning shot. Both arrows flew nearly in the same instant, but when Ilati turned to look, there was only one archer: a Sut Resi on horseback. 

The woman—immediately identifiable as female because the wrap down from one shoulder left her right breast bare—let out the sharp hunting whoop of her people. Blue tattoos decorated the narrow angles of her face and the right half of her head where it was shaved bare along the part line of her hair. A single long braid spilled down her back, woven with owl feathers, almost bleached to gold by the sun. She perched with hawkish intensity on her gray stallion, a vicious grin on her face that barely reached her eyes. “Run little hound pups,” the Sut Resi said in heavily accented Kullan. “Tell your masters that you brave warriors were overcome by two women and a cat.” 

Menes spun to face the woman, though he didn’t put his back to the man he had on the ground. He took his moment to assess the situation. 

One of the men spat at the horse warrior. “This is not over, bitch.” 

The Sut Resi woman laughed. “Save your breath for begging the mercy of your commander. Go, or we will slay you where you stand and all of the People will turn against you.” The way her fingers caressed the fletching of her arrows, it was clear she was hungrily anticipating a brutal end to the Nadaren.

Menes stepped off the one he had pinned and helped Ilati up, still wary. 

The four soldiers slunk off like jackals robbed of their kill and their dignity. Joy soared through Ilati’s heart. They could be beaten. She turned to the strange Sut Resi woman. “Thank you for your timely aid.” 

“Agreed.” Menes spoke with caution, but not hesitation. “The reputation of your people is no exaggeration.”

The woman shook her head. “You saw nothing. I could have left them all with feathers enough to fly before they could have closed the distance.” For a boast, it sounded dangerously matter-of-fact. 

Her horse huffed as if in agreement, stomping his hoof. The beast was regal in his dappled grey, intelligent eyes studying the small group. His neck was a graceful arch, with a sharp-featured head and strange patterns dyed into his hair. 

“Settle, Araxa,” the woman said in her own language, swinging down from the saddle. She was less imposing beside her horse, but not by much. 

“Your horse is beautiful,” Ilati said in the Sut Resi tongue without thinking. 

Both Menes and the woman looked startled. It was well known that the civilized people of Kullah thought the language of such barbarians beneath them. The Sut Resi rider knew nothing of her origin, however, which was perhaps why Menes looked the more surprised out of the two.

“You speak?” the woman said. 

“Poets should know many tongues,” Ilati said in Sut Resi. She had never spent any time studying the language, however, or hearing it. This was clearly a gift from K’adau. She picked up the curved bronze knife that the soldier had left, trying not to think about the temple again. 

The Sut Resi grinned. “Well done, little sister. Your first battle, clearly, but you showed fire.” Then she looked over at Menes, speaking in Kullan again so he would understand. “You protect your poet decently, cat, but she could use some lessons.” 

Menes lowered his eyes. “It would be more polite for you to watch who you call cat.” He adjusted the leopard skin, checking it for damage. “You do not understand what you speak of.” 

“I know better than most.” The horse warrior brushed her hand down her mount’s neck. 

Ilati cleared her throat. Now she had more questions, but they would likely not be answered for some time. “Do you have a name that you are willing to share, nomad of the Sut Resi?” 

The stranger glanced over, her strange eyes meeting Ilati’s. They were almond-shaped and heavily hooded, almost sleepy and of a color seldom seen in the lands of Kullah: lapis lazuli blue. “I do. You may call me Shir Del. My companion is Araxa, bravest and wisest of all his kind.” 

Ilati held out her hand. It was Kullan, but the woman clearly understood the gesture and answered in kind, hand rough from a bowstring when it clasped Ilati’s forearm. “My friend is named Menes,” the priestess said. “I am Ilati.” She had promised to use the name Hedu in civilized company while near the Nadaren, but the Sut Resi were very particular about lying if the stories were true.

Shir Del’s gaze seemed to pierce Ilati’s soul. “You’re braver than you look.” She glanced over at Menes. “One of his soft women?” 

Menes tensed and spoke with firmness that even a flood would not budge. “No. I am her guardian. That is all.”

Ilati found it immensely comforting. It seemed that everything Eigou had said about the charioteer being a fast friend was true. 

Shir Del gestured towards the brewery, grinning slightly. “Drink? You owe me at least one horn for stepping in to save your hides.” 

“What about your friend?” Menes motioned to Araxa. 

The wild woman smiled, pushing at the beast’s nose with affection. “Go home,” she said in her own tongue. Everything about her seemed softer when she was focused on her animal companion. 

Araxa let out an affectionate huff and bumped Shir Del’s shoulder with his nose before trotting back towards the Sut Resi tents. No one was likely to try to steal him with those bold black tribal markings in his fur. His people were wild and savage, as deadly as demons when their blood was fired up. It was not safe to be their enemy.

Ilati had heard the stories. Like a crashing wave, the Sut Resi had struck Kullah and been dashed to pieces, but the rock of her father’s kingdom had partially crumbled under that assault. Nadar would soon learn the dangers the tribes posed, as the new masters of the land between the rivers. 

“Do you often intervene in quarrels with the Nadaren?” Menes asked. He seemed unsettled by the woman, though Ilati wasn’t certain if that was caused by Shir Del’s immodesty or her comments earlier. He did give her the same deferential lowering of the eyes that he gave Ilati, however. 

The warrior laughed as she swaggered along beside them, the bones in her legs curved after a lifetime spent in the saddle, her feet narrow from never knowing her weight. “There is a certain pleasure in shaming them, but no.” 

Ilati wished she had even half the bravery that Shir Del did. “So why intervene now?”

The inside of the reed-built inn was dim, lit only by a number of sesame oil lamps, and mercifully cool. Menes let out a breath of relief as they stepped out of the sunlight.

“Curiosity. Neither of you are what you appear.” Shir Del took a seat at a small corner table wedged in close to the brewing vats. The other people here to buy beer scattered to avoid coming anywhere near one of the feared tribal warriors, creating a fair amount of privacy.

“I suppose that depends on what we appear to be.” Ilati almost froze under Shir Del’s scrutiny. There was something about Shir Del’s gaze that reminded her of Eigou’s. The priestess kept talking to cover her own nerves. “Nadar’s soldiers will come after us. Their pride cannot allow such an obvious slight.” 

“It is so. That is why I suggested a drink.” Shir Del grinned. “I have only had beer a few times. I would have it again before departing. Like all flies, the cowards gain strength in numbers. It is better to move on than deal with maggots. One’s arm gets tired of thrashing them eventually.”

Menes sighed almost despairingly. “The charms of your people are not overstated.” 

Shir Del shrugged. “Because what I say is true? Let others flap their idle gums hedging and appeasing.  Such is a game for jackals and vultures, those too weak to hunt for their own food.” 

Ilati took a deep breath. “Could we speak to your leader, Shir Del?”

The horse warrior’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. “A dangerous request. Few outsiders are worthy enough of his attention to gain an audience.” 

“You were curious,” Menes said. “Perhaps he would find us interesting enough to talk to.” 

Shir Del shook her head. “He has not seen you as I have seen you. He would not know that you are what you are, because he has not seen both halves of the whole.”

“What do you mean?” Ilati asked.

The Sut Resi woman’s gaze flicked over to the boy approaching with a clay vessel of beer. “Artakhshathra has not seen your spirits in dreams. I have.”  

Menes almost dropped the pouch as he tried to fish out a copper bit for the child, jaw locking up for a moment. Then it relaxed, but he still spoke in a soft and worried tone. “What?” 

Ilati understood the concern. For this stranger to have seen them and recognize them as the same as their dreaming selves…that was quite the feat of magic. “Perhaps this would be a conversation better had with Eigou.” She put a comforting hand on Menes’s shoulder to get him to relax.

“Probably,” Menes agreed. 

Shir Del grabbed the clay pot of beer and rose to her feet. “Then let us be off in search of this Eigou. I would like answers to your mysteries.”