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They rode most of the day through the forest, emerging from the trees at sunset onto a road rutted deep and overgrown with grass. “Do you recognize any of this?” Anhuset asked her companion.
Erostis stood up in the stirrups to survey their surroundings, and to her relief, gave a certain nod. “Yes. If we keep to a steady trot, we'll reach a spot where the road splits into two. One leads to High Salure, the other curves west toward Saggara.”
If the road wasn't in such poor shape, she would have urged Magas into a full gallop, to eat up the distance and shorten the time it took to reach Saggara. Her patience had worn thin as they'd picked their way through the wood, every moment spent there punctuated by the memory of Serovek's face when he told her and Tionfa that he intended to turn himself over to Rodan's troops without a fight—grim, resolute and worst of all, accepting of the possibility of a death he didn't deserve for crimes he didn't commit. She admired his nobility and still wanted to punch him for it.
That mocking inner voice spoke up once more to vex her.You're afraid.
“Of course I'm afraid,” she muttered under her breath, but fear had never slowed her down, much less stopped her. It was only a weakness if one allowed it to lead instead of follow, and the only two things Anhuset followed were her reason and Brishen Khaskem. Gods be damned if she was going to race to Saggara only to wait there, pacing a trench into the floor wondering what was happening to Serovek. She set a faster pace for Magas, and Erostis matched her, taking his horse on the other side of the path where the grass had rooted and the ground beneath was more level than that rutted by countless wheels.
Erostis predicted correctly and they reached the split in the road close to nightfall. Anhuset pulled back her hood, no longer plagued by the bright light of day. Erostis nodded in the direction of Saggara. “Methinks we'll part company here, sha-Anhuset.”
She wasn't surprised by his announcement. If he were still in poor shape from his injuries, she'd insist on him returning with her, but he looked none the worse for their journey except for a bit of stiffness in the way he held one shoulder. Still, she'd offer him the option of accompanying her if he wished. “The margrave wanted you to travel with me. If Bryzant is in control of High Salure or even acting the puppet to another controlling it for your king, you'll be imprisoned if caught. Or killed.”
He shrugged. “I'll take the risk. I'm more useful to his lordship there, and I can help without going anywhere near the fortress itself. I know enough people in the surrounding villages who'll help and feed information to me. I can even send someone to Saggara with news if you wish it, and no one at High Salure will know.”
It was a good idea and one she embraced. She tossed him the pack, weighted with a supply of road rations. “Take this.”
He caught it neatly in his arms. “What about you?”
“I'm not the one still convalescing and getting my strength back. You need it more than I do, and I can hunt.” She offered him the Kai salute. “Good luck to us both.”
He returned it with a Beladine one. “Sha-Anhuset, it has been a privilege to travel and fight alongside you.”
With a last wave, he turned the gelding and continued down the path that would eventually take him to High Salure and its surrounding territories. Her vision sharpened with the falling light. The less traveled path she took leveled out, and she put Magas back into a steady canter, feeling the earth beneath them gently descend toward the distant plain below.
The days it took to reach Saggara stretched for eternity, though her reason told her she made good time. She rested Magas when necessary, foraged or hunted only when her belly tried to gnaw its way to her backbone, and dozed for no more than an hour or two during the day, resolutely shoving back the memories of her time with the margrave at the monastery and the worries that plagued her now over his fate.
By her best guess, she was a day out from Saggara when she spotted a lone rider taking one of the roads that led to the ferry Serovek's original party had used to get them down the Absu. She recognized the rider's posture and as they rode closer to where she watched, half hidden by an outcropping of rock and trees, she recognized the rider himself. Ogran.
“You murdering piece of shit,” she said through clenched teeth. Cold fury washed over her.
Her claws bit into her palms with the urge to split the lying, betraying bastard from gullet to bollocks. She had no doubt he'd turned on his unwary traveling companions the instant they were out of Serovek's sight, killing them without hesitation. The gods only knew where he'd tossed their corpses.
Had he returned to the valley to ascertain the fate of the rest of Serovek's party and report back to Bryzant? Anhuset smiled thinly. His unfortunate comrades wouldn't be the only ones never to reach their destination.
In no hurry, he kept a leisurely pace on the road. Anhuset eased Magas back into the trees before dismounting and tying his reins to a low branch. She'd cover more ground and make less noise on foot. Keeping parallel to the road, she raced through the forest, descending slope so that by the time she was even with the road, she was ahead of her prey, waiting.
She hurtled out of the concealing tree line so fast Ogran only had time to jerk in the saddle and grunt before she leaped on him, her weight and momentum throwing him clear of the horse to land on his back with Anhuset atop him. The horse bolted, leaving its stunned rider behind.
Ogran howled when she struck him, breaking his nose. Blood spurted from his nostrils, and she shoved his arms down when he grabbed for his face, pinning both under her knees. “Who paid you to betray the margrave, maggot?” Anhuset knew the answer, but she wanted to hear him say it.
He struggled under her, glaring and spitting expletives at her. She grabbed his head by his ears and slammed it back into the dirt, hard enough to make him see stars but not enough to crack his skull. His breathing turned to gurgling gasps when she laid her palm against his throat and pressed just enough to feel his larynx spasm. “I will break every bone in your body, one by one, Ogran, and then I will gut you like a fish if you don't answer me. Who paid you?” She wanted to hear him say it so she could force-feed the words back to him.
“Bryzant,” he finally said on a wheezy gasp. “High Salure's steward.”
Anhuset lifted her palm, and Ogran inhaled a deep breath. Even bloodied and pinned with a vision of Death looming over him, he still glared at her. While she couldn't always read emotion in the bizarre movement and coloration of human eyes, she recognized hatred when she saw it. “Figures you'd manage to survive, you yellow-eyed hedge whore,” he spat.
If he thought to offend her with vulgar disparagement, he was sadly mistaken. She'd played drinking games with her fellow Kai soldiers that centered around the exchange of creative insults that would set his ears on fire. “Worse luck for you, isn't it, maggot?” she said. “What did you do with the bodies of the men you killed?” She didn't bother askingifhe killed the other three Serovek sent with him. She knew he did. She struck him across one cheek. “Weson?” A second strike on the opposite cheek as he spewed even more invectives. “Ardwin?” A third strike. “Jannir?” She raised her hand, threatening a forth.
“Enough!” he shouted, cheeks stained scarlet from her blows. “I'll take you to them if you promise not to kill me and get off me.”
Liar, she thought.
She stood up, stepping out of the range of a swinging fist or kick. He scrambled to his feet, and she waited to see if he'd try to run. He didn't, and that told her what she needed to know. “Who's the closest and where did you leave him?” she asked. The question simply bought time. She was saddened and angered to have her supposition about the fate of the three men verified, but she couldn't recover their bodies, not now, even if Ogran had actually told her the truth.
His lip curled into a sneer. “Weson,” he said. “We teamed up together.” He pointed down the road where his horse had bolted. “Another two leagues that way. I left him in the trees.”
After all this time there probably wasn't much left of Weson thanks to the elements and scavengers, but Anhuset pretended to consider. “My horse isn't far,” she said. “I ride there; you walk ahead of me.” She deliberately turned her back to him, ears perked as she put four steps between them and quietly pulled one of her knives from its sheath. Ogran was right-handed, like everyone in their earlier party except Erostis. She'd noted those details for each man, knowledge that always came in handy whether or not you fought with a comrade-in-arms or an adversary.
