Hoolies, they were using my own horse against me!
Tariq had the stud’s lead-rope, ponying him off his saddle. I turned my head very carefully and discovered Del was attached to her gelding the same way I was locked onto the stud. Her face was turned to the other side. Hamzah was leading her horse. “Bascha?”
Del shifted, managed to look at me. Relief flooded her voice. “Thank the gods, you’re all right!”
“Well. Kind of. I wish they’d just chopped off my head.”
She grimaced, resting the side of her face against her gelding’s mane. “I didn’t see what they did to you. Someone was sitting on me. But you should be gratified to know it took four men to get your dead weight into the saddle and chained.”
“Then gratified I am. We’ll celebrate later. How are you?”
“Uncomfortable.”
Understatement. I closed my eyes. The rocking motion of the stud coupled with an abdomen on top of a pommel and a head throbbing from two blows, not to mention the chiming of the chains, rendered me nauseated. With small shifts of my weight, I attempted to lift myself off the pommel just a bit to relieve my abdomen. I was unsuccessful. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt so sick or hurt this much.
Well, the latter might be an exaggeration. I’d been the victim of too many captivities, maimings, and wounds to know for certain. They kind of ran together. But it was nearly impossible to breathe with so much weight pressed over the pommel. At the rate we were going, that pommel might well rub itself through my belly and out the other side.
I heard Del muttering to herself. Her face was turned away from me again. “You all right?” I asked.
“No.” She repositioned her head to look at me. “No more than you are.”
“But you were swearing. You never swear. I distinctly remember hearing a bad word in there.”
She gulped. Her face had taken on a grayish cast. “That man…he squashed me nearly flat. And now this.” She closed her eyes. “What’s wrong with throwing us sideways across a saddle? That’s an effective way to control us.”
Hamzah, ponying Del’s horse, laughed. “This is the way Umir wanted you transported.”
“Then he should have to ride this way. Just once.” I was as belligerent as I could be under the circumstances.
“No, Umir’s giving the orders, not taking them. I think he’ll skip riding in this position.”
“Can we?” I asked.
Hamzah glanced back, grinning. “I take orders, too.”
“Can we at least stop? For a moment? Let me settle my belly? I really don’t want to vomit all over the stud’s neck.”
“Vomit all you like,” Hamzah said cheerfully.
Del said, “There may be two of us getting sick. Would Umir wish us to arrive with vomit all over our horses and all over us?”
It was Tariq’s turn to laugh. “Umir doesn’t care how you arrive, so long as you do. Vomit as much as you’d like.”
He wasn’t joking. Neither was I. My mouth flooded with saliva and last night’s dinner began a slow crawl up my gullet. I really didn’t want to throw up in front of these men. And the stud deserved better. I swallowed, tried to remain just as still as I could. Didn’t want to make even the smallest movement. Inside my head, I began to sing a ridiculous little song I’d made up for Sula one day. She liked it so much and demanded I sing it so frequently that I was sorry I’d ever invented it. But that ridiculous little song might be the saving of me. Or at least of my head and belly.
When finally, finally, we reached Umir’s big desert palace, I had indeed been sick to my stomach. My head hurt so damn much and with that pommel digging into my belly, I’d really had no choice. All I could do was try to avoid splattering the stud and myself. To my surprise, I was fairly successful.
Hamzah had taken Del’s gelding up in front of the stud, so we couldn’t even talk anymore. She shifted position as best she could several times, but I don’t know how successful she was at easing the discomfort. I’d begun sucking in my gut as best I could to relieve some of the pressure on my abdomen, but it was impossible to do so for very long because of the stud’s motion. I wondered why Umir had seen fit to ask we be transported in such a painful way. But then, we had managed to defeat him several times; maybe this was a sort of revenge. He’d never been inclined that way whenever we met; Umir was an elegant man who liked to collect very rare items. He wasn’t one for torture. He hadn’t even referred to me as a captive when I very much was; I was his ‘guest.’ Of course my putting a spell on the book so he couldn’t open it had likely infuriated him. I could imagine him trying every day to find a way to open the book. Which wasn’t possible. Such frustration. Possibly even fury.
At some point he’d decided that as I’d locked the book against him, I could unlock it. And here we were, Del and I.
The problem was, I couldn’t open the book anymore. I’d surrendered all my magic. I couldn’t read the book, couldn’t cast any spells, couldn’t do anything at all that involved magic. I was empty of it. I’d poured all of it into Samiel, my jivatma, my Northern blooding-blade, and then I broke the sword. It lay within the fallen chimney near the canyon, along with Del’s Boreal, equally broken.
Samiel’s destruction meant my freedom. Empty of the magic that would have killed me in ten years, I would see my daughter grow up. I would see Neesha marry and raise children, no matter what he might think now. The future lay before me, and it would be a long one.
Well, if no one killed me before I actually experienced that future.
Walls surrounded Umir’s white-painted palace. Once through the iron gates, we entered a lovely courtyard, thick with blooming gardens, trees, vines; exquisite tile, and a fantastical fountain. The place hadn’t changed.
Hooves clopped on pavement. Del and I were stopped. One of the men dismounted and went into the palace, came out not long afterward. He spoke to Hamzah, who was, apparently, the leader of this expedition.
Hamzah nodded, looked at his men. “He wishes us inside. We’re to take them into the larger reception room. We’re to get them off the horses, but keep them shackled.” He dismounted and turned to Del. He unlocked the chain running beneath the gelding’s neck and the one beneath his belly. Del did not immediately sit up. Hamzah caught an arm and jerked her down out of the saddle.
It was then we saw the blood. The saddle was soaked with it. Del, as she was manhandled, nearly fell to the paving stones. Hamzah and another caught her by the arms and held her up. Her legs folded beneath her.
“Get me down!” I shouted. “Get me down from here. She’s hurt. She’s bleeding. Get me off this horse!”
Del’s head lolled. Her face was very pale, even her lips. Ah hoolies, bascha! “Get me down!”
Hamzah and the others were clearly shocked. As they held her on her feet, blood dribbled down her legs. But Hamzah looked up at me, then switched his gaze to Tariq. “Leave him there. Don’t unshackle him yet. And keep hold of that stallion! Don’t let him loose, or he’ll be as hard to handle as his rider.”