John wondered if there had been a single discrete moment when the sharp planes and muscular weight of Ravishan’s naked body had ceased to feel foreign lying against his own bare skin. If so, he hadn’t noticed it. He only knew that now, if he lay down alone, the bed felt empty, and when he didn’t hear Ravishan’s voice, the room seemed too quiet.
"If the attack on Umbhra’ibaye is successful, the Fai’daum will destroy the Great Gate," John said at last. "Even if they rescue Loshai, none of us will be able to go to Nayeshi."
Ravishan lay thoughtfully silent beside him. When he spoke at last, he touched John’s right hand, tracing his callused fingers. "I know Basawar must be cruel compared to Nayeshi. More than anyone, you’ve shown me that things here aren’t the way they should be. But that’s really why we’ve joined the Fai’daum, isn’t it? We’re going to win this war and make Basawar a better land…"
"Yes," John agreed. He’d always understood as much in principal, but now the genuine difference that the Fai’daum revolution could make seemed to suffuse him like a deep drink of fathi. If Basawar was to be his home for the rest of his life, then he needed to stop sulking about all he’d left behind on Nayeshi and start fighting to make Basawar a place where he and Ravishan and Laurie could live their lives.
Beside him Ravishan sighed heavily.
"I know nothing here can possibly compare to Nayeshi – "
John silenced him with a kiss and then drew back.
"Some things are a lot better actually."
After that John found a new drive and certainty in his battle practices. He broke through Arren’s attacks with fast, fluid strikes. He punched through Fai’daum knife blades and flicked the shards of steel from his fingers. There would be black bruises across his hand the next morning but that didn’t matter to him while he fought.
At last Arren called him to a halt. Sweat gleamed across Arren’s dark skin.
"There’s nothing more I can teach you in a practice room," Arren informed him. "You’re ready to fight real enemies outside the Warren."
From behind, John heard the soft clap of gloved hands. He turned and saw Saimura standing in the doorway. His pale skin was still streaked red from the winter cold outside.
"It will be good to have you with us, when we ride for Gisa," Saimura told him. "Lafi’shir will officially announce assignments tonight, but I just wanted you to know that you’ll be joining me in Lafi’shir’s elite unit. Once we’ve escorted the munitions to Gisa, we’ll be kicking up trouble all across the north."
Arren clapped John on the shoulder and beamed at him as if he’d won a prize. But John’s thoughts were of other assignments.
"Do you know if Ravishan – " John began to ask, but Saimura’s sympathetic expression stopped him.
"Sabir wants command of the two ushiri’im. With their skills, I imagine they’ll be dispatched where they’re needed, north or south."
"Of course," John replied, though he dreaded the idea of Ravishan – or Fikiri, for that matter – facing armed soldiers.
But Fikiri and Ravishan possessed such skills: what messenger could outpace them and what spy could be more silent? Certainly, John couldn’t imagine any assassin more dangerous than an ushiri. Of course Sabir would wish to exploit them to the fullest extent.
"Do you know when all this will start?" John asked.
"It’s already begun. Rifles are being loaded even as we speak," Saimura replied. "Tomorrow most of us ride south. If you have goodbyes to say now’s the time."
John excused himself and went to find Ravishan. They stayed together until Tanash summoned them to supper.
At the evening meal when Ji formally introduced Lafi’shir to the gathered Fai’daum, John guessed from most people’s expectant expressions that they already knew the powerfully built bearded ground commander.
"He was one of the men who found you in the snow, wasn’t he?" Ravishan asked John quietly.
John nodded.
Lafi’shir’s unit is famous for striking like lightning and bloodying the Payshmura’s noses before they know what’s hit them, Tanash informed them both in hand signs. Then she added under her breath, "Kansa’s brother, Pirr’tu, is one of them…he’s also an infamous seducer."
A scandalized excitement showed in her expression as she shot a glance to a tall dark man seated just behind Lafi’shir. Pirr’tu offered Tanash an offhanded wave in return.
For his part Lafi’shir signed quickly and curtly as he detailed the divisions of fighters to be sent south as well as those who would accompany the caravans of munitions meant to arm their southern comrades. As Saimura had predicted, Ravishan was to report to Sabir while John remained in the north to harass and distract the Payshmura and their gaun’im allies.
Chapter Eighty-Seven
After only a day escorting the caravan of wagons, Lafi’shir noted John’s ability to move at speed through the dense forest and deep snow drifts that lined the narrow roads they followed through the mountains. Lafi’shir immediately assigned John scouting duty and John found that he took to it.
Three days later, John leaned against the rough bark of a tall pine. Its shadow offered him cover. The wind churned white veils of snow through the air, obscuring the view of the road below. John narrowed his eyes, concentrating. The wind shifted and John had a clear view.
He counted the rashan’im. Ten of them rode in single file through the deep snow. They carried rifles, but not at the ready. Instead their guns were holstered at their backs. Several of the riders tucked their hands, reins and all, into the fronts of their coats.
John willed them to turn down onto the lower road that descended into the valley. The rashan’im rode past the fork and continued up the high road. In an hour they would reach the summit of Whitestone Hill where Lafi’shir’s troops rested.
John turned and sprinted up the hill. The frigid air burned in his lungs. He bounded from the outcropping of a boulder to the narrow goat trail. The hard-packed snow caught him. As he ran, the earth seemed to throw him forward. The wind caught him and lifted each of his wild leaps up the jagged rock face.
He reached the top of Whitestone Hill in a matter of minutes. A snow-covered outcropping of stone thrust out over the narrow road. Beneath the stone stood four of the Fai’daum’s heavy wooden munitions wagons. A corner of the oiled leather tarp that covered the crates of rifles came untied and flapped up in the wind like a startled bird. A young man caught the loose end and roped it back down.
Other men rested behind the wagons, using them as wind breaks. Some huddled close, sharing dry goat meat and keeping as warm as they could without a fire. Others lay curled in their coats, sleeping.
They had been marching three days straight and most of them were too tired to do more than eye John as he rushed past them to Lafi’shir.
"What’s got you running so fast, Jahn?" Lafi’shir only glanced up briefly from his careful work of cleaning a rifle. Two of Lafi’shir’s chosen men stood close at hand. John remembered Pirr’tu from Tanash’s comments about him. The other man, Tai’yu, John recognized by his red hair and hooked nose.
"Ten rashan’im." John bent over, gasping for breath. He wasn’t sure he’d ever moved so fast. The muscles of his thighs felt molten hot. "Bousim men. They’re coming up the high road from the north side."
Both of Lafi’shir’s men looked immediately to their leader. John didn’t know what they could hope to read from the man’s countenance. His heavy beard and thick black brows obscured much of his mouth and eyes. His hands were steady and his motions calm as he finished with the rifle. John thought he might be frowning but he couldn’t be sure.
A few feet away, Saimura stood and then quickly drew closer to Lafi’shir’s side.
"How soon will they get here?" Lafi’shir turned the rifle over in his broad hands. He checked the sights and then tossed it to Saimura. John saw him flash a quick hand sign to Saimura. Yours.
Saimura caught the rifle and silently loaded it with his own strangely carved bullets.