Page 25

Another battle lost. My son, Constantine, hides from me in his disgrace, for it was his own actions that led us to this folly. Three ingredients, poorly mixed, made for this fine sauce:

Rumour of a nearby tribe, whispered from a passing trader at the camp brothel; liberal libations indiscriminately imbibed; and sprigs of bravado from men fresh off a strumpet, now sent back home where she belongs. A too heady mix, for this untested son of mine.

So they rode out. All hundred of his bodyguard, the cream of my legions, making for this so-called camp in the dead of night. A hundred horses, each one fed their own weight in grain for every league we travel.

Gone.

Wasted.

Seven returned. Were I not so relieved Constantine was among them, he would have received a hiding not felt since his youth. Pride is the little poison, but it is what pulls a man from the gutters. But like all things, it is needed in moderation. Too much, unearned, is the culprit in this.

He has learned his lesson well enough. And I too have learned. It seems, this Rohan is no fool. He too has his spies and agents. He too tracks our movements. It is no coincidence it was my son’s ears that heard tell of this so-called tribe. He has made this personal.

So too will I.

J ai startled awake, a hand on his shoulder drawing him from the depths of sleep. The dim figure of Feng loomed above him, the pre-dawn light casting long shadows across his face. Winter nuzzled her snout against Jai’s cheek, her tongue a cool salve against his sleep-warmed skin.

With a good-natured grumble, Jai indulged the beast, scratching her belly until she gave a sigh of contentment and rolled away.

‘What happened?’ Jai asked, his voice hoarse with sleep.

Feng’s eyes were dark rimmed, but a small, crooked smile played at the corners of his mouth. ‘You succumbed to sleep,’ he said, ‘right after Harleen left. We were talking, and next thing I knew you were snoring. A needed respite, I imagine.’

‘And you’ve been up all night, keeping guard,’ Jai said.

‘On and off,’ Feng confirmed, casting a fond glance at the dragon. ‘Though Winter here proved a worthy sentinel. Nothing to report. There were a couple of men hanging around near the tent; I think they were eavesdropping, nothing more. They got an earful of your snores instead.’

A sigh escaped Jai as he pushed himself up to a sitting position, his eyes searching the emptiness of the tent. Only Sum remained, deep in slumber, and of course, Winter and Feng. He watched as Winter yawned, her jaws snapping shut with an audible clack. His playful days of letting her gnaw at his fingers seemed far behind him; the dragon was growing fast.

He held a fleeting vision of himself, mounted atop Winter, soaring through the sky. But such a future required living long enough to see it.

‘What do we do now?’ Jai asked.

Feng considered this, his brow furrowing as he chewed on his lower lip.

‘A messenger arrived while you slept, bearing news of a Great Council to be held, ostensibly to formally welcome you into the tribe, but I suspect their intentions are less than sincere. If you aim to lay claim to the Kidaran throne, today will be our only opportunity to gather support.’

Jai felt the blood drain from his face.

‘It’s tonight ?’

Feng nodded, his face grim. ‘They don’t want to give you a chance to make your case. They want everyone to decide while you’re still a stranger.’

‘Then they were stupid to leave my quarters so empty,’ Jai said. ‘I have no cause to linger here in the shadows. Let’s step into the light.’

Jai did not wait for Feng’s protest, for he was sick of being cooped up within this empty tent, waiting for an assassin to finish him. These were his kin, his tribe, and he refused to be painted an outcast among them.

Outside, Jai was bracing for a scene of chaos, of the Kidara bustling in preparation for travel. Instead, he was met with a picture of calm. His people moved unhurriedly, each one engrossed in their own tasks or simply strolling and murmuring in relaxed conversation.

‘Why aren’t we on the move?’ Jai asked.

‘Because this place is home to upwards of five thousand souls, perhaps more. The Kidara only move every two days, sometimes three. This is true of all the Great Tribes. That is how the Valor were able to catch up to them. It’s the rhythm of life on the plains – one that keeps smaller tribes from being swallowed by larger ones. The bigger the tribe, the slower they are.’

‘I guess you know this from your merchanting days, huh?’ Jai asked.

Feng chose silence over an answer, his eyes fixed on the sprawling camp around them. Jai followed his gaze.

Yesterday had been a whirlwind, but he had only caught a glimpse of the beating heart of the Kidara. Barely a stone’s throw away lay the bustling plaza at the core of the moving city.

‘Should we bring Winter?’ Jai asked.

‘I would suggest otherwise,’ replied Feng, his voice conciliatory. ‘Yes, they all know about your dragon totem. But today, they need to perceive you as one of their own, a true Kidaran. You can’t be seen as a pampered princeling flaunting his foreign beast. That’s exactly what Nazeem wants you to do. Why do you think he left you with so few comforts? He wants everyone to see Winter on the streets.’

Feng’s words stung, but it was a harsh truth that Jai had to grudgingly accept. Today, he was a Sithian prince, not Jai the Sabine. He relayed his thoughts to Winter, who had been observing them keenly from the tent’s entrance. With a reluctant mewl, the dragon retreated back into the safety of the canvas shelter.

Nazeem wouldn’t expect him to go out without her to protect him. But Jai doubted a rushed murder attempt in broad daylight. No, this would have to be done quietly, with a well-placed assassin and a ready scapegoat. That would take time.

‘Come,’ Jai growled, his gaze steady. ‘Nazeem be damned. Let’s meet my kin.’

Side by side, they navigated the labyrinthine arrangement of tents, the bustling plaza gradually unrolling before them like a Phoenixian rug.

This was the true heart of the camp. There were baths at its edge, for Jai could see plumes of steam ascending into the sky, their privacy maintained by veils of fine netting, fresh-planted saplings and bamboo. Here, the structures also had a woven roof, as if to trap the steam. And, as was everything here, they were far larger than that of the Valor.

So too were there further differences, for there were great reed mats that covered much of the ground, where clusters of seasoned men and women sat hunched in circles, gnarled fingers working their way through mounds of fresh harvest: onions, garlic and various tubers were methodically peeled and chopped, while stalks of fresh leaves were stripped and prepped.

In another part of the plaza, the mature shoots of spring grass were piled in sacks, their seed-laden heads ground into a fine powder by scores of children with mortar and pestle. The soft, rhythmic whisper of stone against stone was almost calming. Others mixed them with milk and water, before slapping them on steaming-hot stones, making great piles of flatbreads.

Still more churned milk in buckets, or sieved milky barrels for white nuggets of curds, pressing them into squares between tightened boards.

The foods’ scents were so strong that it made Jai almost sick with hunger, his empty stomach twisting and churning.

Not a morsel of food had been sent to him the previous night, in stark contrast to Nazeem’s earlier show of friendship and guidance. It seemed the pretence had evaporated just as quickly as it had been established, particularly after Feng and Harleen had visited his tent.

Nazeem was nothing if not a shrewd operator; Jai was beginning to appreciate the depth of his cunning.

But Jai was determined to surprise him.

His gaze was drawn to the heart of the plaza, where a large ring was rapidly becoming the focus of attention. Encircled by woven grasses, the space was easily twice the size of the Valor’s fighting circle. Already, the ring was starting to throng with men and women, their hands clutching the tell-tale bamboo poles of Talvir.

For all his savvy, Nazeem would have no idea that Jai had not idly spent his time among the Valor. That he had immersed himself in their culture, their language, their ways. Despite the differences of the Tainted, Jai knew Talvir was a shared bond across the Great Steppe. And that meant he could show he was as much a Sithian as a son of Rohan should be.

So let Nazeem believe he was orchestrating a moment of humiliation. Jai was about to turn the tables. With determination tugging his lips tight, he made his way towards the growing crowd, ready to show them not only the Kidaran prince returned from exile, but the seasoned fighter who had survived far worse than a pampered upbringing.

This was his chance to prove his worth to them, in a language they all understood – the dance of Talvir.