The Taglian Territories: Somewhere North of
Charandaprash
The Daughter of
Night actually seemed to be thriving now that the Protector was
stalking them no longer. Narayan was worried.
“You’re always worried,” she chided. She was
happy. Her voice was musical. The light of the campfire made her
eyes sparkle—when it did not make them glow red. “If someone
is after us you worry about getting caught. If we’re safe you
worry about me not being a perfect replica of this image of the
Daughter of Night you’ve invented inside your head. Narayan,
Narayan . . . Papa Narayan, what I want more
than anything is somehow to fix it so you don’t have to do
this anymore. You’ve been the one for so
long . . . You deserve to put it all down now
and relax.”
Narayan knew that was not possible. Never would be. He did not
argue, though. “Then let’s bring on the Year of the
Skulls. Once Kina returns we can loaf for the rest of our
lives.”
The girl shivered, seemed puzzled. Then she shuddered violently.
She grew more pale, leaving Narayan wondering how she managed that
when she was always as pale as death to begin. She stared out into
the night, obviously troubled.
Narayan started to dump dirt—piled there for that purpose—onto
the fire.
The girl said, “It’s too late.”
A huge shape rose behind her—then faded away as though dispersed
by the wind.
“Kid’s right, old man,” said a voice Singh had
not heard for years and was hearing again far sooner than he had
hoped.
Iqbal and Runmust Singh—no relation to Narayan—appeared at the
edge of the firelight, wavering, as though they were a mist
coalescing. Other men appeared behind them, soldiers in a style of
armor Narayan had never seen. Amongst the soldiers he saw drooling
red-eyed beasts of species he had never seen before, either.
Singh’s heart redoubled its wild pounding.
The girl observed, “Now we know why my aunt quit chasing
us.”
Runmust Singh agreed. “Now you know. The Black Company is
back. And we’re not happy.” Runmust was a great shaggy
Shadar whose sheer size was oppressive.
Iqbal Singh smiled, perfect teeth glistening in the middle of
his brushy beard. “This time you’ll have to deal with
your mother and your father.” Iqbal was as shaggy and nearly
as huge as his brother but somehow less intimidating. The girl
remembered him having a wife and several children.
But . . . Did he mean her birth mother? Her
natural father? But they were supposed to be dead.
Her knees went watery. She never had seen her natural
parents.
The living saint was unable to keep his feet. Kina was going to
test him yet again. And he had no energy left to spend in the fight
for his faith. He was too old and too feeble and his faith had worn
too thin.
Runmust gestured. The soldiers closed in. They were careful men
who made certain they did not get between their captives and the
crossbows threatening them. They put the girl’s hands into
wool-stuffed sacks, then bound her wrists behind her. They gagged
her gently, then pulled a loose woolen sack over her head. They
were aware that she might work some witchery.
Narayan they placed up on an extra horse, then tied him into the
saddle. They were doing him no kindness. They were in a hurry. He
would be too slow if they made him walk behind them. They were more
gentle with the girl but her immediate fate was identical.
Their captors were not gratuitously cruel but the girl was sure
that would change when they found themselves with adequate leisure
time. The strange young soldiers in the clacking black armor seemed
highly intrigued by what they could see of her pale beauty.
This was not the way she had imagined herself becoming a woman.
And her imagination had been extremely active for several
years.
The Taglian Territories: Somewhere North of
Charandaprash
The Daughter of
Night actually seemed to be thriving now that the Protector was
stalking them no longer. Narayan was worried.
“You’re always worried,” she chided. She was
happy. Her voice was musical. The light of the campfire made her
eyes sparkle—when it did not make them glow red. “If someone
is after us you worry about getting caught. If we’re safe you
worry about me not being a perfect replica of this image of the
Daughter of Night you’ve invented inside your head. Narayan,
Narayan . . . Papa Narayan, what I want more
than anything is somehow to fix it so you don’t have to do
this anymore. You’ve been the one for so
long . . . You deserve to put it all down now
and relax.”
Narayan knew that was not possible. Never would be. He did not
argue, though. “Then let’s bring on the Year of the
Skulls. Once Kina returns we can loaf for the rest of our
lives.”
The girl shivered, seemed puzzled. Then she shuddered violently.
She grew more pale, leaving Narayan wondering how she managed that
when she was always as pale as death to begin. She stared out into
the night, obviously troubled.
Narayan started to dump dirt—piled there for that purpose—onto
the fire.
The girl said, “It’s too late.”
A huge shape rose behind her—then faded away as though dispersed
by the wind.
“Kid’s right, old man,” said a voice Singh had
not heard for years and was hearing again far sooner than he had
hoped.
Iqbal and Runmust Singh—no relation to Narayan—appeared at the
edge of the firelight, wavering, as though they were a mist
coalescing. Other men appeared behind them, soldiers in a style of
armor Narayan had never seen. Amongst the soldiers he saw drooling
red-eyed beasts of species he had never seen before, either.
Singh’s heart redoubled its wild pounding.
The girl observed, “Now we know why my aunt quit chasing
us.”
Runmust Singh agreed. “Now you know. The Black Company is
back. And we’re not happy.” Runmust was a great shaggy
Shadar whose sheer size was oppressive.
Iqbal Singh smiled, perfect teeth glistening in the middle of
his brushy beard. “This time you’ll have to deal with
your mother and your father.” Iqbal was as shaggy and nearly
as huge as his brother but somehow less intimidating. The girl
remembered him having a wife and several children.
But . . . Did he mean her birth mother? Her
natural father? But they were supposed to be dead.
Her knees went watery. She never had seen her natural
parents.
The living saint was unable to keep his feet. Kina was going to
test him yet again. And he had no energy left to spend in the fight
for his faith. He was too old and too feeble and his faith had worn
too thin.
Runmust gestured. The soldiers closed in. They were careful men
who made certain they did not get between their captives and the
crossbows threatening them. They put the girl’s hands into
wool-stuffed sacks, then bound her wrists behind her. They gagged
her gently, then pulled a loose woolen sack over her head. They
were aware that she might work some witchery.
Narayan they placed up on an extra horse, then tied him into the
saddle. They were doing him no kindness. They were in a hurry. He
would be too slow if they made him walk behind them. They were more
gentle with the girl but her immediate fate was identical.
Their captors were not gratuitously cruel but the girl was sure
that would change when they found themselves with adequate leisure
time. The strange young soldiers in the clacking black armor seemed
highly intrigued by what they could see of her pale beauty.
This was not the way she had imagined herself becoming a woman.
And her imagination had been extremely active for several
years.