Glenda Larke - Stormlord rising

Fortunately, he was fully occupied with his men. Warriors from outside Ravard's tribe were not happy at being led by a man so young, in a retreat from a battlefield where almost two thousand of their warriors lay dead. Ravard had to act now to consolidate his position, and she saw little of him. They reached Qanatend in the mid-afternoon under a blazing sun.

When Ryka saw the city walls ahead of her, ringed by bab groves, she could only feel relief. Sunlord, how she needed some rest! The southern gate was directly ahead of them at the end of the track, and the gates were closed. Towers on the walls were tall enough to overlook the bab groves, and beyond them the city rose to the top of the conical hill where the city's waterhall and its windmills for raising the water were located. Immediately below was Qanatend Hall, where Moiqa had once lived with Iani and Lyneth.

As they rode the last of the track, the gates swung open. Ryka, sitting behind Ravard, holding Khedrim, had to peer around him to see what was happening. To her mild surprise a group of Reduners rode out toward them, some sort of welcoming party, she assumed. Simultaneously, the walls came alive as tens of men lined up behind the daub parapet.

Ravard jerked in surprise. "What the-" he began and hauled on the reins to halt his mount.

Kher Medrim, the Warrior Son, who was riding next to him, looked across uneasily and said, "They must have every man we left behind up there on the walls!"

"And some," Ravard muttered, frowning.

Ryka squinted to see better. The wall bristled with spears as if they were making it clear they were well armed. Even more odd was what she noticed next. The person in the lead of the group coming toward them appeared to be a child. When she stared harder, Ryka realized she was actually an old hump-backed woman, small in size because she was wizened and shrunken with age.

"Who the sands is that?" Kher Medrim asked. "There are no Reduner women in Qanatend!"

"There certainly weren't a few days ago. Go back through the men," Ravard said quietly. "There is something odd here, and I can't smell what it is yet. Warn everyone to be on the alert. Weapons at the ready. Put a watch on all sides and tell the rearguard to scatter through the trees in case anyone comes at us from behind."

Medrim nodded. The others on his pede dismounted at his request, and he rode back through the column. Ravard gestured to the men now on foot to line up on each side of him. He then turned to Ryka. "Get down and stand over there at the side of the track. I think there's trouble, and I don't want either of you hurt."

She nodded and did as he asked.

The riders from the city continued to approach. Four pedes headed the group, each with only the driver. Thirty bladesmen and chalamen followed on foot. When they were within twenty paces, two of the riders detached and rode ahead another ten paces. The woman and a tall man.

Ryka shaded her eyes with a hand, squinting in her attempt to recognize them. The woman she didn't think she had ever met. Strangely, she rode a packpede, not a myriapede, and it dwarfed her, accentuating her small stature. The man… his red hair was short and lacked the braids and beads of a Reduner warrior. His face was scarred.

Deep within Ryka a sob swelled but was not voiced. Kaneth.

It was Kaneth. Fear and delight warred with astonishment. Disbelief. He was with the Reduners? No, wait. That wasn't possible. Then-?

The old woman: she must be Vara Redmane, of course. Which meant Kaneth had not tried to head south for the Scarpen but had sought Vara's rebels, and then together they had taken Qanatend. I'll be withering waterless. That rangy bastard of a husband of mine, he always does like to do the unexpected.

Hope went to her head like the strongest of amber taken on an empty stomach. She could hardly contain the bubble of laughter, or joy, that begged to explode from her lips. She wanted to say aloud to Khedrim, "Look! That's your father!"

She edged off the track back into the first line of bab trees, and while Ravard was still in shock, she took a few steps closer to the rebels. Toward Kaneth.

And then another thought, less happy. Or is he still Uthardim? Please remember me, love. I am bringing you your son.

He had not noticed her, or rather perhaps he'd made nothing of the Reduner woman with an anonymous bundle in her arms.

There was a time when you knew my water, she thought numbly.

"Kher Ravard," Kaneth said in Reduner, and his voice held authority. "You are not welcome here. This city is returned to the Scarpen. The warriors you left behind are either dead or gone back to their dunes. As you must go now. We are several thousand strong, all well armed. We have ziggers. Release those you have, and ours fly from the walls to you."

His Reduner had improved considerably since she had last heard him use it, but still she wondered: several thousand men? Was he getting his numbers mixed up?

Without waiting for Ravard to reply, he continued, "We are fresh and our men-"

"-and women!" Vara added in Reduner.

"-are spoiling for a fight." He exchanged a grin with the old woman and switched to the Quartern tongue. "You may have more men, but our armsmen want to end the Watergatherer's dominance of the dunes. And seeing as you are here, I guess you have lost the battle against the stormlord. I don't see the sandmaster. Is he dead?"

"I am sandmaster of the Watergatherer!" Ravard snapped in Reduner. "I rule the dunes now."

Kaneth continued in his own language. "If you mount a siege here, how long before the stormlord and his men appear behind you? You would be the insect crushed beneath our feet. Go, while you still can."

Why is he giving them a chance? They are tired and wounded and demoralized. Perhaps he doesn't know how badly they have been defeated… Her thoughts jumbled, Ryka edged further and further away from Ravard and unstoppered the water skin she carried. No, he's not an idiot. He has a reason for not attacking. Or Vara Redmane does. Don't bother with that now, you sun-fried woman. Just get out of here! She poised herself to run to him.

Ravard yelled at her. "Garnet! Stop where you are!"

Kaneth's head jerked her way. And he tensed in the saddle, his spine rigid, his hands tight on the reins. His eyes bored into hers. Astonishment-no, shock-drained color from his face. He appeared to be rendered speechless, incapable of movement.

Ryka whirled to face Ravard. Drawing herself up, holding her chin high, she spoke in the Reduner tongue, wanting him to know exactly what she was. "This ends here, Mica Flint. I am no slave of yours. I am Lord Ryka Feldspar, of Breccia." She pulled the water out of the water skin into the air and kept it hovering in the air between them.

"No," he whispered, the sound strangled in the back of his throat. "That's not possible."

"Uthardim is my husband and he will pull the earth from beneath your feet if you lay a hand on me again. Remember what he did to Davim's tents in your encampment."

Color drained from Ravard's face, then rushed back, darkening his features. Fury flashed in his eyes. He leaped to his feet on the back of his mount, his spear poised to throw. Instantly she sent the water to hover at his cheek. When he tried to bat it away with a hand, his fingers ran through it without effect.

A murmur of fear and anger swept the Reduner ranks. Men hefted their spears, awaiting the word to kill. To kill her. To kill Kaneth. Uthardim.

Behind Kaneth, his men edged closer to him and Vara. A mix of ex-slaves Ryka knew and Reduners she didn't. She recognized Elmar on the pede that moved up to Kaneth's side.

"You're a single breath away from death," she yelled, still in Reduner so his men would all understand. She touched the water to his cheek. "Think before you move a finger. I can smother you with just this much water, and I can take the water of any man who thinks to spear me."