'Stop talkin' like that,' she ordered. 'You'll feel better in the morning.'
He shook his head. 'It's over, Beth. I'm hanging by a thread. Tell me? Please?'
'Tell you what?'
'Just tell me…' His eyes closed and his breathing became shallow.
She held his hand to her breast and leaned in close. 'I love you, Sean. I do. God knows I do. Now please get well.'
He had slipped away in the night while the children were sleeping. Beth sat with him for some time, but then considered the effect on the children of seeing their father's corpse. So she had dragged the body from the wagon and dug a grave on the hillside while they slept.
Lost in her memories now she did not hear Mary approach. The child laid her hand on her mother's shoulder and Beth turned and instinctively took her in her arms.
'Don't fret, Mary love. Nothing's going to happen.'
'I miss my Pa. I wish we were still back home.'
'I know,' said Beth, stroking the child's long auburn hair. 'But if wishes were horses then beggars would ride. We just got to move on.' She pushed the girl from her. 'Now, it's important you remember what I showed you today, and do it. There's no tellin' how many bad men there are
'twixt here and Pilgrim's Valley. And I need you, Mary. Can I trust you?'
'Sure you can, Ma.'
'Good girl. Now get to bed.'
Beth stayed awake for several hours, listening to the wind over the grass of the plain, watching the stars gliding by.
Two hours before dawn she woke Mary. 'Don't fall asleep, girl. You watch for any riders and wake me if you see them.' Then she lay down and fell into a dreamless sleep. It seemed to last for only a few moments before Mary was shaking her, but the sun was clearing the eastern horizon as Beth blinked and pushed one hand through her blonde hair.
'Riders, Ma. I think it's the same men.' 'Get in the wagon. And remember what I told you.' Beth lifted the flintlock pistol and cocked both barrels; then she hid the gun once more in the folds of her skirt and scanned the group for sign of Harry. He wasn't with them. She took a deep breath and steadied herself as the horsemen thundered into the camp and the man she remembered as Quint leapt from the saddle.
'Now, Missy,' he said. 'We'll have a little of what old Harry enjoyed.'
Beth raised the flintlock. Quint stopped in his tracks. She loosed the first barrel and the ball took Quint just above his nose, ploughing through his skull. He fell back into the dust with blood pumping from a fatal wound in his head as Beth stepped forward.
The sudden explosion had alarmed the horses and the four remaining riders fought to setde them as Quint's mount galloped out over the plain. In the silence that followed, the men glanced at one another. Beth's voice cut into them.
'You whoresons have two choices: ride, or die. And make the choice fast. I start shooting when I stop speaking.' The gun rose and pointed at the nearest man. 'Whoa there, lady!' the rider shouted.
'I'm leaving.' 'You can't take all of us, bitch!' shouted another, spurring his horse. But a tremendous explosion came from the wagon and the brigand was whipped from the saddle, half his head blown away.
'Any other doubters?' asked Beth. 'Move!' The three survivors dragged on the reins and galloped away. Beth ran to the wagon, took her powder horn and reloaded the flintlock. Mary climbed down from the tailboard with the shortened rifle in her arms.
'You did well, Mary,' said Beth, ramming home the wad over the ball and charge. 'I'm proud of you.'
She took the rifle and leaned it against the wagon, then cradled the trembling child in her arms.
'There, there. It's all right. Go and sit at the front; don't look at them.' Beth guided Mary to the driving platform and helped her up, then walked back to the bodies. Unbuckling Quint's pistol belt, she strapped it to her own waist and then searched the body for powder and ammunition.
She found a small hide sack of caps and transferred them to the wagon, then took a second pistol from the other body and hid it behind the driver's seat. Scan McAdam had never been able to afford a revolving pistol; now they had two. Beth gathered the oxen, hitched them to the wagon and then walked to the brigand's horse, a bay mare, and pulled herself into the saddle.
Awkwardly she rode alongside where Mary sat.
'Take up the reins, child. And let's move.'
Samuel clambered up beside Mary and grinned at his mother. 'You look just like a brigand, Ma.'
Beth smiled back at him, then transferred her gaze to Mary who was sitting white-faced, staring ahead.
'Take the reins, Mary, goddammit!' The girl flinched and unhooked them from the brake. 'Now let's go!' Mary flicked the reins and Beth rode up alongside the lead ox and whacked her palm across its rump.
High above, the carrion birds had begun to circle.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Nu-Khasisatra reached the old stone circle an hour before dawn. He waited, hidden in the trees, searching for any guards who might be patrolling here, but there were none that he could see.
Under the bright moonlight he studied the words on the parchment, memorising them. Then, Stone in hand, he ran from the trees on to the open ground before the circle.
At once there was a diin, piercing whistle. Shadows darted for him and a woman's voice cried out: 'Alive! Take him alive!'
Nu sprinted for the stone circle, its tall grey slabs promising sanctuary. A reptilean figure in black armour ran into his path but Nu swung his huge fist into the creature's face, dashing him to the grass. Hurdling the falling body, he made it to the shadows of the stones. Once there, he swung to see more Daggers closing on him.
He lifted his hand. 'Barak naizi tor lemmesr he shouted. Lightning flashed across his eyes, blinding him, and his mind was filled with whirling colours. All sense of weight and strength left him, and he tumbled like a wind-blown feather into a storm. Widi a sickening lurch he felt the ground under his feet, stumbled and fell. His eyes opened, but at first he could see nodiing save flickering lights. Then his vision cleared and he found himself in a small clearing. Close by was a dead man, his face hideously burnt. Nu got to his feet and moved to the body. The man was wearing strange apparel and he studied it; the clothing was unlike anydiing he had encountered.
He walked out of the clearing and stared at the surrounding landscape. There was no city of Balacris, no view of a distant ocean. Grasslands drifted to a blurred horizon where jagged mountains soared to meet the sky.
Returning to the clearing, Nu sat and examined his Stone. The black veins in the gold had swelled. He had no way of knowing how much power the journey had sucked from the Sipstrassi.
Moving to his knees, Nu-Khasisatra began to pray. For some time he gave thanks for his deliverance from the hands of Sharazad and her Daggers; then he asked for his family to be protected. Finally he sought the silerice in which the voice of God could be heard.
The wind whispered about him, but he heard no words within it. Sunlight bathed his face, but no visions came. At last he stood. It would be safer, he knew, if his clothing matched that of the people of this land. The Stone glowed warm in his hand, and his robes and cloak shimmered and changed. Now he was wearing trousers and boots, shirt and long jacket identical to those of the dead man.
'Be careful, Nu,' he warned himself. 'Do not waste the power.'
He recalled the words of Bali: 'Seek the Sword of God.' He had no idea in which direction to travel, but looking down at the ground he saw the tracks of a horse, heading towards the mountains. With no other omen to guide him, Nu-Khasisatra followed them.
Sharazad sat at an ornate table, her ice-blue eyes locked to the face of Pashad, wife of the traitor Nu-Khasisatra.
'You denounced your husband yesterday. Why?'