Now the fire’s dying flames illuminated anger in her green eyes.
Karada noticed his frown and glanced over her shoulder to see what caused it. She spoke sharply to the hovering girl. Silently, Mara stole away.
“What was that about?” he asked.
“It’s nothing. A girl’s misplaced affection.”
Amero left his sister and caught up with his people outside the nomad camp. The elders chatted idly, still excited by their sudden deliverance.
“The only thing missing,” Amero said, “is Duranix.”
He looked up at the night sky, brightly washed with light by the conjunction of the red and white moons. “I hope he finds what he’s seeking,” he added.
“I hope he kills that green dragon!” Lyopi said.
Amero smiled. “That’s what I meant.”
“I’m not being amusing. If Duranix fails, our battle here means nothing. The green dragon will return and destroy us.”
Amero’s step faltered. What Lyopi said was unbearably true. All their suffering and striving would be for nought if Duranix lost to Sthenn.
They ascended the timber ramp lowered from the wall and reentered the village. Amero bade the elders a good night. He did not accompany Lyopi to her house but walked the streets of Yala-tene for some time, trying to escape the remorseless bonds of her words.
Karada’s head ached from too much heat, noise, and raw cider. She should sleep, but an important task remained undone.
Alone in her dark tent, she removed her heavy riding clothes, sword, and leggings. She washed her hands and face quickly, then donned a clean buckskin shirt and wraparound kilt. Tying the sash in place, she thrust a flint knife behind the knot. When she stepped out again, she found Mara waiting for her.
“Why aren’t you asleep?” she snapped. “If you’re restless, clean my gear for tomorrow!”
“Yes, Karada.”
Walking away, Karada made a silent resolution to do something about the girl. Mara’s excessive devotion had once been amusing. Lately it had become annoying.
Years ago, Karada had found an orphan child wandering the plain and had raised her like a daughter. That orphan was Samtu. Their relationship had been stormy, as Samtu was as strong-willed and fiercely independent as Karada herself. Mara’s slavish worship was another thing entirely.
Thoughts of Mara vanished when she reached her destination. Two nomads guarded the small tent, leaning on their spears. Spotting their chief, they straightened up and hailed her.
“All quiet?” she asked.
“Not a sound’s come out of there,” said the female guard.
“All right. Go elsewhere for a while.”
The guards departed, and she lifted the flap and stepped inside.
“I knew you’d come,” Nacris said. “What took you so long?”
“I had more important things to do.” Karada let the flap fall. There were cutouts in the fabric around the top. The white light of Soli, combined with Lutar’s red glow, gave the tent’s interior a pinkish cast. Karada stood over her crippled captive.
“You must think I’m very dangerous,” said Nacris, lifting the heavy bronze chain coiled around her waist. The other end was attached to a stout wooden stake a pace long, driven into the ground by Pakito. Gesturing at her crippled leg, she added, “You know I can’t run away.”
Karada nudged the chain with her foot. “I learned from the Silvanesti troublesome things are less troubling when you chain them up.”
She sat down cross-legged in front of Nacris, just out of arm’s reach. She and her old foe were of an age, but Nacris’s hard life had taken its toll. Nacris looked years older than her former chief.
Bluntly, Karada spoke her thoughts. “You look like a day-old corpse. What curse has afflicted you?”
“A curse with your name.”
“You made your own misery, woman. Don’t blame it on me.”
Instead of biting back, Nacris smiled. She extended her good leg and stretched luxuriously.
“I’ve learned much in the years since your friend Duranix saw fit to maim me for life. That was the start of my journey to wisdom. It’s taken a long time and much bloodshed, but I’ve nearly reached my goal.”
“What goal?”
“Your humiliation and death.” When her words brought no response from her hated enemy, Nacris added, “And a painful death for all you love, starting with Amero.”
Karada lashed out, taking Nacris by the throat and forcing her down on her back. With her free hand she brought the flint knife to her enemy’s throat.
“I am your death!” Karada snarled. “Why do you think I let you live this long? My warriors could have slain you with your green-skinned killers, but I reserved that deed to myself!”
“Then do it!” Nacris hissed. She continued grinning widely, eyes bulging from their sockets.
Karada let the flint blade bite a little. Nacris felt the sting and started to laugh. Furious, flinging the knife aside, Karada tightened her grip on the woman’s throat.
Nacris’s laughter choked off as the pressure increased. She gasped, “If I die... you’ll never... find... your brother!”
“Fool! Amero lives in spite of your plots!”
“Your other brother!” Nacris gurgled.
The world went black before Nacris’s eyes, and a terrible roaring, as loud as any dragon’s cry, filled her ears. She felt herself falling down a deep pit like the one Sthenn inhabited in his forest lair.
Then the air lightened, and she could see again and breathe. The face of her hated enemy was still above her. Nacris drew in a long, deep breath. Her throat felt as raw as an open wound.
“Speak, hag,” Karada said. “Explain your words, and I’ll grant you the mercy of a swift death.”
After another ragged inhale, Nacris rasped, “Like your dragon’s mercy—flinging me into the lake and breaking my leg in three places.”
She said nothing more, merely struggled back upright and sat glaring at Karada.
The nomad chieftain stood and regarded her without pity. “Why say these things if you don’t care whether I understand you?” she said and turned to go.
“You did have another brother, didn’t you?” Nacris finally murmured.
“What of it? He died long ago, killed by the same yevi pack that slew my father and mother.”
“Did he?” Eyes of bloodshot gray locked with hazel. “Did you see his body? No? You believed Amero dead for many years, too, didn’t you?”
Karada gave a disgusted snort. “Your lies know no limits, viper! I came here to offer you an honorable death, but I see you’re not worthy of it. I think I’ll have Pakito toss you in the lake again. If we tie a stone around your neck, maybe this time you’ll stay down.”
Nacris grinned. “You cannot kill me, Karada. Not while I know something you must find out!”
She continued to shout as Karada lifted the flap and went out. The guards were just returning, and Nacris’s obscene threats against their chief were so awful the two warriors blanched.
“No one else is to see her,” Karada told them. “No one.”
The shouted imprecations grew even louder. “I’ll send wine. Drink it yourselves or give it to her, whichever leads to peace sooner.”
After eating with the villagers, Beramun wandered away. Pleased as she was they’d reached Yala-tene in time, knowing the bloodshed was going to continue tomorrow oppressed her deeply.
Her mission was over, her duty to Amero fulfilled. Zannian’s plans were undone. She once vowed to see him die as payment for the deaths of her family, but her lust for blood had dimmed. Neither a resident of Yala-tene nor a member of Karada’s band, Beramun wanted most to be back on the open plain and far away from the Valley of the Falls.