She was older than the other one, hard to tell by how much. Her hair was still bound up, a dark brown color under the dust, and her skin was an indeterminate color of tan. Her eyes had a foreign tilt to them, and as they adjusted to the light they proved to be a strange light grey color. She looked around the tent and spotted the other woman and leaned toward her, and Saul caught her arm.

"Your name," he said shortly in Brindian, "and the name of your mistress."

She drew her chin up. "My name would mean nothing to you. Her name you are not fit to speak."

Saul grinned cheerfully at the woman's haughtiness. "I am not particular, woman. I can come up with one if you prefer. She killed one of my men and wounded another. I'll have no trouble finding things to call her." The woman only glared at him, and his grin faded to a half smile. "You imperialists are all the same, so important to yourselves. Here in the desert you are only women, and women have only one use. Give me your names and perhaps I can find another."

His casual threat was taken to heart, and she dropped her eyes in defeat. "My name is Devona," she said just above a whisper, "and her name is Lady Malorik Kalenisuna." She looked up at him, pleading on her face now. "Please, do not harm her."

For a long moment she just lay there, listening to the voice speak her name and trying her best not to hear it at all. Everything hurt, and she wanted only to fall back into sleep, but visions of battle were swimming insistently behind her eyes and she eventually opened them.

"Reno is dead, Malorik, and we are captive. Say nothing to this man, and when he goes away I will explain."

Reno was dead.

She had seen him wounded, yes, had seen him fall, but it was one thing to think him hurt and another to know him gone. It didn't seem real. He had been with her so long that he seemed invincible; nothing had ever harmed them before, and Devona couldn't possibly be telling her the truth.

Mal searched Devona's face, hoping this was another sort of subterfuge, but it was not. An angry voice spoke nearby, and she swallowed heavily and turned her attention to it. There was a man there, one of the bandits, and suddenly she was furious again.

Devona untied her. Mal was not injured, as far as she could tell, though her muscles were sore and her head was pounding. It took her a moment to compose herself, before she reached out and squeezed the other woman's hand lightly.

The Suna were, amongst others, the greatest force that sought to claim the land that belonged to Malorik's people. It was a battle that had been fought for centuries, and would be fought for centuries more; they gained land, then lost it, back and forth between them over the years. Her own tribe, the Kalion, lived at the divide between continents, and had born the brunt of the struggle for as long as it had existed.

Now, to owe her safety to the pretense of being not only Suna, but also a noblewoman... it was almost unthinkable. Almost. But Mal had nearly the same contempt for her own people, for the ones who had disowned her, and she held alliances with no one but herself. And she wanted to live.

And then they will regret having taken me.

It was a reassuring idea, if not a futile one at this time, and she curled up to rest. After a time her head stopped aching, and she fell asleep again, though not for long. Devona woke her again at the sound of talking outside, and Mal sat up and brushed the dust from her face as the tent door opened and the bandit leader returned.

She looked him over, and under different circumstances would have found him attractive but unremarkable. He was like all men who made their trade traveling through the desert, dark and swarthy and fit, though he was not a clansman. She couldn't decipher his origins, but she didn't care to, and when he met her gaze her eyes narrowed.

He had never seen a female warrior before. He had heard of them from travellers who had seen more of the world than he, but this Malorik was not what he had expected from their descriptions. The women of his village did not fight in battle. It was a man's trait and a man's right to fight in battle. The women of his acquaintance had other, more subtle ways of making their displeasure known, and a woman of breeding would no more draw a sword than she would scrap with a dog in the street.

He had expected that such a female warrior would be a solid mannish giant. This woman was tall for a woman but not overtall. She was built like a woman and not overly muscled, but he'd seen her wield her blades with deadly effect. They were in his tent now. He'd spent time looking them over. They were well-made and balanced, lighter than he would have liked but not so light as he would have thought. They had many nicks and cuts along their blades. They had been used many times and carefully attended. Warrior's weapons. Only an eccentric noblewoman could have indulged such an absurd inclination, to travel armed and alone with only one guard and a single servant.

The sun grew lower in the sky, and the men began to rise. He stood up and nodded to Laro and then moved off to the supplies. The horses had to be fed, and the women as well. The men would eat in the saddle.

He brought the food to the women himself as the others were occupied in breaking down the camp. He stepped into the tent and caught sight of the noblewoman as she sat up, fixed him with a disgusted stare and then turned to her servant and said something disdainful. She was dirty and only half-dressed and any reasonable woman in her state would have been cowering for her fate, but she looked merely irritated.

The woman Devona nodded grimly to her mistress and then turned to him, and he handed her the single wooden plate. "Eat fast," he said without preamble, and looked at Malorik again, more boldly. She did not look his way, and he tired of her nonsense and left the tent to attend to his horse. When he returned the food was gone, and both the Lady Malorik and Devona stood ready to depart. He eyed the former's bare legs and smirked. She couldn't ride like that, not unless she wanted burns from the saddle, and yet she hadn't asked for her clothing or anything else.

"Let's go," he ordered, and the lady started toward the exit. Her woman Devona stopped her, and the lady turned a glare on her servant. Devona flinched, but spoke directly to Saul. "Bring my lady her clothing, captain," she said beseechingly. Malorik turned her glare on Saul then, who laughed at her and went to fetch the woman's leather trousers from his horse and brought them back. The women were no longer facing each other, and Devona was holding her cheek and looking crestfallen.

It was not hard to show disdain for him, to be disgusted at his little show of power and his eyes on her. It was harder to treat Devona as a servant, for Malorik had no tolerance for slavery, but she had agreed to follow the woman's direction and so she would. Still, it seemed to have worked, for the man brought her clothes at Devona's request, and Mal would have smiled at her if he hadn't been watching.

He led them outside, but stopped her from following Devona. "No, my lady. You ride with me." She looked at his hand on her arm, and then up to his face, meeting his gaze without a word until he tugged her over to his horse. It was not just pretense that made her want to assert her own will, and she pulled her arm from his grasp and swung up into the saddle without his help. He followed suit, settling in behind her, and looped an arm around her waist. She frowned, but didn't say anything.

They began to move. Malorik counted seven other mercenaries, all on horseback, and all were armed. She watched the line for awhile, devising ridiculous strategies to attack, imagining what they might do for escape, although she knew it was pointless. It was only a way to pass the time, to keep her mind from Reno, but even that failed eventually, and she began to search for another diversion.

"Is this what you do for trade, sandrat? Kidnap women in hopes for gold?"

They stopped once during the night to rest the horses and then continued, and he pushed the group well past daybreak before he finally called a halt. Part of it was his eagerness to return to Guildsport and be rid of his cargo, but he also wanted his men too tired to make trouble over the women. Four of those left were new to his band and he chose not to test their resolve.

It was almost nice to have no duties; the men set up the tents and unloaded the gear and she had only to stand and watch them. Devona found her half-asleep on her feet, and hustled her into the tent left for them. She was still playing along with their game, calling her Lady and tending to her like a nursemaid, and Mal slapped at her hand in irritation and frowned.

"Stop that. I would not have you be my servant, even in pretending." She was exhausted and, now, unreasonably angry, her voice harsh. Even under the best of circumstances she wouldn't have tolerated the show of servitude for long, and this was not the best of circumstances. "It is barbaric and you are as much a noble as I am. Speak for me, if you will, but I will not treat you like a slave."

"Reno and I have traveled many places and I have always been the only woman. Merchants, rangers, mercenaries... they are like I am." She rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes. "Had they not killed Reno, I would not hate them."

She was so tired that she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer, but sleep would not come, and it felt alien and hollow without Reno beside her. It had been easier to bury her grief when there was her survival to worry about, but now there was nothing but hours upon hours before the sun set, and all she could think about was him.

And for him she cried, for all those hours, silently and without stopping. Outside the tent the sky grew brighter and then darker, and when Devona woke to the sounds of the mercenaries moving about camp, Malorik was still sitting beside her. Her eyes were clear, and she even managed a wan smile.

Laro was waiting for him by the horses, and Saul hung the skin from his saddle and began tightening the straps. "Well?"

"There will be trouble," Laro said wearily. "Tatchi and Wexx. The other plainsman is indifferent. Rhodos shows an interest, but he'll follow you." Saul waited, and Laro continued reluctantly. "Vidon is angry, Saul. She killed his brother. He no longer cares about the gold."

Saul grimaced. "Then he no longer stands watch, not until we reach Guildsport and the bounty is collected."

Laro nodded. "And the others?"

"Break them up."

His second moved away from the horses and Saul finished with the saddle. Already these women were not worth the trouble. He understood Vidon's anger. It was honorable to die in battle, but what honor was there in being cut down by a woman? Vidon's older brother had been a skilled swordsman, a true warrior. It was unfair that he had met such an end, and unfair to ask Vidon to help escort his brother's killer across the desert unharmed, but Saul did not have men to spare to send Vidon on ahead.

He took the rations from his horse and headed for the noblewoman's tent. She and the slave were already awake and dressed, and he stopped for a moment when he saw her. She was standing next to her slave and regarding him coldly. Her hair was plaited back away from her face, and despite the dirt on her clothing and the ragged edges of the cloak he'd given her she looked every bit a noble.

The woman stumbled and caught herself and turned to face him, and for a moment he thought she might actually be ready to fight him there in front of his men, but then the slave was there speaking to her mistress is soft, pleading tones in that damnable Suna with her hand on the woman's shoulder. The lady glared at him while her slave chattered at her, and when he reached for her again she pulled away and he hit her across the cheek with the back of his hand.

She was seething with fury; hatred toward him for hitting her, hatred toward his men for seeing it, and hatred toward Devona for stopping her. If the other woman had not been there she would have fought him tooth and nail, and to allow his mistreatment of her without a protest was weak. It made her feel small and impotent and she hated him for that, too, so much that she burned with it.

Several times she nearly threw caution to the wind and attacked him regardless of the consequences. It would almost be worth injury or death, almost, but there was the chance that she would not succeed in killing him first, and it was not a chance she would take. There would be time, she told herself, once they were free, and she had her blades, and then he would regret touching her.

The sun rose, and they stopped, and she swept from the horse without so much as a glance at him. She wanted him to know that nothing he did to her would make him significant, and her eyes were cold and flat until she was safe in the tent and he could not see them.

She walked in behind Malorik and waited until the tent flap was closed and then reached out to unfasten the woman's cloak and stated the obvious.

He continued to look at her with an unreadable expression, and she continued to stare flatly past him until he eventually handed the plate to Devona and stalked out. His retreat made her feel triumphant, for some reason, and she gave the other woman a smug smile.

Vidon did not join in the laughter. The boy had been easy to like before, clumsy and good-natured and eager to follow his brother's shadow. Now when his work was done he sat and spoke to no one. Saul watched Laro try to engage him and fail, and decided that if the boy showed no sign of improving tomorrow that he would speak to him.

Saul caught one of them across the throat, but there his easy luck ended and he was driven back by two of them with ready blades. One of them cut into his arm and he hissed in pain and turned his horse. The next blow landed on his horse's shoulder. The animal screamed and shied away and another slash missed his neck. He yanked the reins around and his wounded mount stumbled back toward the enemy, and he swung his sword low and gashed the other rider's horse across the face. It reared and threw him, and the hooves of Saul's horse trampled him into the dirt before he could gain his feet.

The second clansman was a short distance away engaged with Laro. There was a stiffness to his second's movements that made him kick his horse harder than necessary, and he ran the man through and shoved him off his horse to clear his blade. Laro was still in his saddle, and Saul did not have time to examine him.

Wexx and Rhodos were still on their horses and three Freyet faced them. Tatchi was on foot and faced two of the desert people also on the ground. Saul urged his bloody horse forward and took on one of the horsemen. The other man was frightened and exhausted, and Saul brought him down quickly. Wexx had dispatched one of the remaining riders and was assisting Rhodos with the other. Saul heard a cry and looked the other way to see Tatchi disarmed and on the ground before the last clansmen with no horse. They were too far for Saul to save his man, but he dug his heels in anyway. The pair approached with agonizing slowness and the clansman drew his arm back to bring his bloody blade down on Tatchi and paused. His body jerked and he fell, and behind him the Lady Malorik yanked the two clan shortswords out of the corpse and brought them up to guard herself. Her slave stood behind her.

There was a pause, and then chaos began, mercenaries and clansmen alike drawing their swords and charging in to fight. Mal looked back at Devona, and then walked out before the woman could convince her otherwise.

It was not a difficult decision to make, but a matter of the lesser of two evils. If the Freyet won, they would kill her and Devona. If the mercenaries won, then everything would continue as before, and they would have their chance to escape. A little voice added, And then we can kill them ourselves, and Mal took two short swords off a nearby corpse and waded in.

The battle was nearing its end, but one of the Freyet had a mercenary down on the ground and unarmed, and was preparing to finish him. Everyone was shouting and there were too many men riding around on horses for her to know if someone else would reach him in time, so with a curse she threw herself forward. The clansman had his sword in the air when she thrust both her blades into his back, and by the time he fell she was grinning.

The man on the ground stared up at her, and she would have said something, but the captain rode up and swung off his horse. Mal turned her attention to him, still with the smile on her face, the smile that reminded him that she was as dangerous as he. Her eyes shone with it as he approached her, and they were only a few paces apart when he stopped.

"Drop them," he said, and her smile grew.

And now you remember that I am not simply some woman to disregard. Perhaps you will not forget it again.

The quiet plainsman Amel was dead, a sword still lodged in his chest. Verol lay unmoving on his stomach, and when Saul turned him over blood trickled sluggishly from his slashed throat. Tatchi had a minor leg wound, and Wexx and Rhodos were nicked but relatively unharmed. Laro was still in his saddle and lay over the head of his horse, and Rhodos helped Saul take him down. He'd taken a sword in the side; it was an ugly wound, and the blood that came from it was deadly black. Laro was senseless and water did not wake him; still, Saul had Rhodos clean the wound and bind it while the others dismantled the camp. Vidon rode in on a lathered horse while Rhodos was at his task, leading another animal behind him. One of the riders had taken flight and Vidon had given chase. None of the eleven Freyet clansmen had survived to report their presence, but Saul would not stay here at the oasis for more to come and wipe them out.

Saul had Vidon round up the horses. They had twelve beasts and only seven riders, but of those twelve three were too injured to be of use and they were all too exhausted to run. He had the men redistribute the packs between the animals and instructed Rhodos to make a travois out of one of the tents for Laro. Rhodos said nothing and Saul knew it was hopeless, but he would not leave Laro behind while the man still breathed. The dead men they left where they lay. Saul would not announce their survival by digging graves.

They would have won, regardless of her assistance, and she should have seen that from the beginning. It would have been better to let the Freyet whittle down their numbers, leaving fewer men to guard her and more opportunity to escape. She tried to console herself with the thought that it would have been pointless anyway, that she could not kill five or six men on her own and that they would have simply killed her instead, but she knew that there might have been a chance. They were wounded, tired, unexpecting. There might have been a chance.

It was that thought that kept her gaze forward and down. Mal did not want to look at Devona, to see what the other woman thought of her now. She did not want to look at the mercenaries either, and it did not take looking, anyway, to know what they were thinking.

He set Rhodos on first watch with Wexx and took the second himself with Vidon, hoping the younger man would speak while the others slept. Vidon said not a word, though his anger appeared to have cooled a bit. Vidon had been with Saul for three years, longer now than any that had survived, but he was still the youngest of the remaining mercenaries. Wexx and Tatchi were plainsmen, but Vidon and Rhodos were from the same network of villages scattered within the Sleeping Mountains that Saul was. Vidon's older brother Nolen had been a good friend, and Saul had allowed Vidon when he was little more than a boy over the objections of his men and his own misgivings. The others had grown accustomed to treating him as the least experienced, and it occurred to Saul now as he sat watch with Vidon that he might have judged him too harshly. Vidon had not complained that Rhodos had taken the place of second, and his grief over his brother had worn on him. Perhaps he could still make this right.

The next evening when the horses were rested and fed he gave the horse that had belonged to the noblewoman's guard to Vidon. It was a fine animal and Vidon accepted it gravely. They had horses enough now for all to ride, and so the women were placed on horses of their own. Saul gave the noblewoman's reins to Vidon and the slave's to Rhodos, and there was a measure of satisfaction in Vidon's eyes that gave Saul some hope.

Instead, she spent the nights lost in thought. It did not escape her notice that the captain had given Reno's mount to the man whose brother she'd killed, and it would have infuriated her, but she was too tired to care. She had reached some sort of exhausted apathy, that made her indifferent to what would happen now and what their future held for them. It was a dangerous state to be in, this lack of concern for self or safety, but Malorik did not act on any rash ideas, and so the time went by without conflict.

One morning she woke, and turned to look at Devona. The other woman was always the first awake in the mornings, always the first ready, but today she was huddled beneath her cloak. Mal sat up and laid a hand on her shoulder, and then shook her gently, but the only response she received was a quiet moan.

Something was wrong.

Immediately she was in front of Devona, looking her over and trying to wake her. Her skin was cold and clammy, and she appeared feverish, her face flushed and yet pale underneath. Finally she opened her eyes, and when she struggled to sit up, Mal helped her and then covered her with her own cloak. "I'll get you some water," she said reassuringly, and was almost to the tent door when the captain walked in.