Ausma Khan - The Blue Eye

Cassandane stepped closer to Arsalan, not stopping to weigh her words. “Such a course would be disastrous. The Talisman would overrun the gate to pick us off one by one, or they would discover the vulnerability of our inner defenses. If we were able to seal the Emissary Gate before they penetrated through, our numbers would be too small to break through to the valley. Our archers would be killed before they could gain cover. Even if we succeeded, we would only draw in the smallest portion of their army. We’d run out of ammunition before we made any gains. We have to hold our defenses.”

“You sound frightened, Cassandane.”

As he did so often to diminish her command, Maysam omitted her rank.

“Not frightened. Pragmatic.” She straightened her shoulders, glanced at Arsalan again. “Without our archers at the gates, Ashfall is doomed against the Talisman.”

An angry rush of protest in response to Cassandane’s assertion that the city could be held only by a contingent of female archers. The Black Khan’s Nizam had nurtured a quiet revolt against the presence of women in the army, though the Khan himself maintained that the Teerandaz formed a vital arm of their defense. She wondered now, in his absence, if that quiet revolt was gaining strength and would make itself known. Cassandane knew she’d been unwise to challenge these commanders, to make them seem incapable, no matter her private thoughts. But with the evidence right before them, would they risk the future of Ashfall to prove themselves superior to the women who fought at their side?

“You think well of yourself,” Maysam said. “But the Zhayedan have been fighting Ashfall’s wars since long before you were born. We are not in the habit of hiding behind women. Not even those who wear Teerandaz armor.”

His sneering assessment of Cassandane’s uniform was familiar too: the Nizam had viewed it with the same contempt.

“Enough.” Arsalan moved to the windows beyond the war room, tracking the Talisman’s progress. “Their army is in a state of confusion after the attack on their commanders. If there was a time to strike out, it would be now. The Black Khan—the Dark Mage—is in conference with the other Mages. If they can give us cover, we could send Cataphracts out into the open.” He pressed Maysam’s shoulder with one hand. “And only Cataphracts. You have your own corps of archers. You’ve no need of the Teerandaz.”

“I still think the risk is too great,” Cassandane insisted.

She was getting ready to elaborate when Arsalan offered mildly, “Do you, Captain? I was speaking to Maysam.”

There was no mistaking the reproof. Cassandane flushed to the roots of her hair, her smooth dark skin aglow. This was the first time Arsalan had rebuked her in the presence of the other commanders. Maysam was quick to take advantage.

“We stand a better chance with archers from the Teerandaz,” he argued.

But Arsalan overrode Maysam’s objection.

“Nonnegotiable. Captain Cassandane is correct. The Teerandaz must hold the gates. But that doesn’t mean we can’t do a little damage. Instead of the ambush you suggest, consider this.” He pointed to a spot farther south, closer to the Zhayedan Gate. The Talisman had set up camp close to their walls for an ugly and sinister purpose. “You could achieve this, Maysam. With the Teerandaz’s help.”

It took Cassandane the briefest glance at the map to grasp Arsalan’s suggestion. The tightness in her chest loosened. She had deserved his rebuke. She should have known better than to think the Commander of the Zhayedan wouldn’t have planned for every possible contingency before he summoned his council.

“You would mount a rescue of refugees? To what end?” Maysam rolled up the map and tossed it to one side, dismissing the idea. Unfazed by this show of disrespect, Arsalan smoothed it out again, pointing to the area where the Talisman had taken prisoners to use as shields.

Only then did he let his anger show, a cloud darkening his brow. He leaned forward, his face within inches of Maysam’s.

“To this end. We do not abandon the people the Black Khan claims as his own.”

When the council had disbanded in resentful silence, Arsalan called Cassandane back. She turned to face him, her hands clenched on her helmet, steeling herself for a thorough dressing-down. Her shoulders squared, she stared at the Commander’s insignia: a small onyx rook mounted on silver at his neck.

“Forgive me, Commander,” she said quietly. “I know I spoke out of turn.”

His strong hand tilted up her chin, the hint of a smile in his eyes.

“It was a tactic, Cassandane. To pacify Maysam’s pride.”

He dropped his hand, giving her a moment to puzzle his actions through. Startled, she made the connection.

“You aren’t certain of the extent of the Nizam’s influence. But do you suspect traitors within the ranks of the Cataphracts?”

“ Especially within the Cataphracts. If we are betrayed, it will be at their hands.”

“Do you also suspect the Teerandaz?” She was an experienced soldier, but Arsalan’s air of authority coupled with his physical presence made her second-guess herself. She couldn’t help the note of diffidence in her voice or her desire for reassurance.

She drew a silent breath when he brushed his hand against her cheek, a gesture of comradeship, just as he had pressed Maysam’s shoulder in affection.

“Of course not,” he said. “I’ve known you far too long.” His words were grimly pragmatic as he added, “The Nizam held you in disfavor.”

She gave a grim smile of her own. “He thought the Teerandaz should be disbanded. Until he spoke so harshly of our competence, the Zhayedan were wont to treat us with respect.” Then, not wanting to sound as if she pitied herself, when she’d been fortunate enough to have been given Arsalan’s attention, she went on briskly, “Were you serious about the rescue?”

“It stands a greater chance of success than the sortie Maysam had in mind. It will also end any doubt as to where his loyalties lie.”

Cassandane worked through this. “Because he’ll choose his own men, and if he wishes, they’ll be free to defect. We won’t be able to stop him from joining forces with the Talisman.”

Though his eyes were gentle on her face, Arsalan’s response was pure steel.

“I have faith in your aim, Captain, so do not let me down.”

ARIAN SHOOK BACK HER CLOAK TO SHOW THEIR CAPTORS HER CIRCLETS. At once, Sinnia mirrored the gesture. Both women wondered if it would matter, and if there was any hope for Khashayar, their sole remaining escort.

The man in the burnoose paused, his eyes skirting the golden bands. He called another man to stand beside him, his voice rough with command. There were eighteen others gathered on the sand, nineteen including the one who’d spoken. They were dressed in sand-colored cloaks worn over long white thobes, their heads wrapped in red-and-white headcloths. Dark-eyed to a man, their skin was a golden-brown deepened by desert sun, weathered from exposure to its relentless heat. They stood at their ease, their eyes as clear as a desert falcon’s. Nothing in their appearance suggested they were men to fear … save for the whipcord readiness with which they had struck down Khashayar’s men.

“Traders,” Sinnia murmured in Arian’s ear.

The man in the burnoose heard her, his eyes wandering over Sinnia’s face, over the clustered curls that had begun to grow out from her head in tiny spirals. To Sinnia’s surprise, his eyes warmed, as he gave her a slow nod.

“Najashi,” he said with respect, to a murmur from the men behind him. “Companion from the land of the Negus. I do not know the other.”