Tashi, meanwhile, sat beside the giant, letting his friendly talk wash over her. He let her mumble her prayers at the appointed time, did not mock or try to startle her. He just occasionally stroked her hair as if he could not believe its color and had to test that it was real.
She spent the time meditating on her anger. The
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murder of those two men in the forest had shocked her deeply. She was angry with her abductors, but most of her rage was directed at all Gerfalians, and one in particular. No one need have died if they had done their job of guarding her properly. How like Prince Ramil's people to let the caravan over the border without even a proper search! The prince had been useless as she anticipated and now seemed quite content to sit fraternizing with Orboyd when he should be doing something before they got too far from Gerfal. What it was exactly she expected him to do, she didn't know, but something, anything!
"Gordoc, do you know where we are going?" she asked hours later.
The giant almost dropped his reins, so surprised was he to hear his little travelling companion speak. She had a nice voice too--soft and gentle.
"We're going to meet him," he replied. "That's all I know."
"Who's him?"
"The master."
"Do you know his name?"
"Aw, little one, I can't tell you that." Gordoc passed her an apple.
Tashi twisted it in her fingers. "Can you tell me if he is a big master, like King Lagan, or a little master, like Orboyd?"
Gordoc chuckled. "You're trying to catch me out, aren't you? Well, he's nothing like Orboyd. Much, much bigger. But never you mind, you'll meet him soon enough."
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Ramil persuaded Orboyd to let him join the Princess for a short time that evening as they made camp. When he approached her spot by the tiger wagon, he found she no longer ate alone. Tighe, Pashvin, and Gordoc sat around her with their bowls, watching her like an audience, even
exchanging critical observations about her performance of the ritual.
"She did that one beautifully," remarked Tighe as Tashi made a sinuous gesture with her hands.
"I thought yesterday's was a little more pronounced," Pashvin noted with the air of an expert. "Today's is more subtle."
"She does everything beautifully," breathed an enraptured Gordoc.
Ramil sat down quietly and waited for her to finish. He admired her concentration with all these onlookers. Finally, he recognized the Crescent words of completion, having heard them often enough from the delegation.
"As the Goddess wills," he muttered in Common.
Tashi folded her hands in her lap.
"Do you mock me for praying, Prince Ramil?" she asked.
"No, I thought I was being polite." Did she have to be so hostile? he wondered.
"I was told by your prime minister that you say 'God willing.'"
"We do, but I was trying to . . . oh, does it matter?"
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Ramil felt exasperated: he'd extended the olive branch only to have it snapped.
"Actually, it does matter," Tashi said simply. She was feeling more at peace with the world now that she had done her prayers. "My beliefs are important to me and if you are treating them with respect that . . . well, that's an improvement."
Was it possible? Had a glimmer of a smile just appeared on her lips? Ramil thought.
"Now, you're laughing at me, Princess," said Ramil. "You think me an ignorant boor."
"You are an ignorant boor, Prince Ramil."
Gordoc's mouth was hanging open. "She speaks so well, doesn't she, Pashvin?"
The tiger tamer nodded, fascinated by the exchange.
"Was that a joke at my expense, Your Highness?" Ramil asked.
"I thought you were the expert on jokes. You tell me." Tashi picked up her bowl and began eating.
"When you put it like that, then I suppose, no, it wasn't really a joke because it's true." Ramil stretched out on the grass. "I'm a disgrace to my name. Been drunk half the time ever since I was told I was to marry you. Managed to insult you and all your countrymen from the moment of our first meeting--if not before. Add all that up and I suppose it does equal ignorant boor."
His honesty pulled on a thread in the knot of anger inside her, loosening it a little. She hadn't expected him to see himself so clearly.
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"I'm sorry you hated the idea of marrying me, Your Highness. I wasn't that keen on marrying you either," she admitted.
"I can imagine," Ramil said dryly.
Their eyes met for the first time in understanding.
"It seems as though that will no longer be a problem for either of us.
Someone has other plans," she said.
"So it would appear." Ramil rose. "Princess." He bowed and returned to the fire.
Through her eyelashes, Tashi watched him go. Perhaps he was not all bad.
She remembered that he had tried to take the punishment for her yesterday and given her his cloak. He did appear to be attempting, as far as it was in his nature, to be polite to her. Added to that, he was the closest thing she had to an ally in the camp if they were to get free.
Escape? Was it possible? She thought about the road they had come down today: a harsh road through the mountains. Even if she did slip away, she'd not get very far on foot before she was caught. Still, she'd have to try as soon as an opportunity offered. Whatever lay at the end of this journey was unlikely to be good news for her or her people.
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Chapter 5
From his vantage point on Orboyd's wagon, Ramil had been eyeing the circus horses for some miles now. He knew that he would have to make an attempt to escape before they left the mountain passes. He could ride swiftly, use the difficult terrain to his advantage, get back over the border without being overtaken. The leggy grey at the back of the string looked the most promising but Ramil had a nagging doubt about the gelding's stamina. He might do better on that solid-looking piebald, particularly as the first part of the journey would be uphill.
The only problem was the Princess. She couldn't ride and she would slow him down. He knew that he had to leave her behind if he stood any chance of succeeding, and yet--
Your duty is to Gerfal, the Prince told himself. And if you want to help the Princess, you 'd do better escaping to fetch an army than riding blindly into Brigard just to keep her company. He still felt rotten that he had to make the decision to abandon her. It wasn't very heroic.
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The caravan stopped for the noon meal. Ramil wandered casually over to the horses. He could feel Orboyd watching his every move so he tried to look as aimless as possible. The piebald pricked his ears forward and snorted, smelling the horse-knowledge on the human. Ramil stood forehead to forehead with the beast, searching for that shared peace that was the beginning of all rider and horse partnerships among his mother's people.
The circus folk and Tashi stopped their preparations for the meal to watch.
"What are you doing to my horse, Your Highness?" Orboyd asked suspiciously.
Ramil stood up straight. "Ever had trick riding in your circus, Orboyd?"
The chief shook his head. "No, but I've seen it down south."
"Perhaps you should think about it. Shall I show you?"
"You, a prince, show us trick riding? Now that I have to see!" Orboyd laughed.
Ramil shrugged good-humoredly. He intended to display some of the skills every cavalry officer in Gerfal learned as a cadet. If the circus folk thought these trick riding, that was all right by him.
Orboyd strode forward and untied the piebald. "The name's Flea."
Ramil quickly saddled up and began a warm-up circuit of the meadow where they had stopped the wagons. It had been absurdly easy so far. No one else was mounted. There was nothing to stop him galloping away. What he needed now was a distraction.
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"Go on then, Your Highness, show us what you can do!" called Orboyd, watching him with his hands on his hips. As Ramil
completed a circuit, he noticed that the chief had a crossbow at his feet. Perhaps Orboyd was not as careless as Ramil had thought. He wouldn't get far with a bolt lodged between his shoulders.
Rising first into a crouch, then into a standing position, Ramil continued to gallop Flea round in circles. His perfect balance brought a smattering of applause.
That's nothing, thought Ramil. Wait until you see this.
Placing his hands on either side of the saddle, he slowly turned upside down, now riding in a headstand. Next he rode cross-legged facing
backwards, then hanging upside down under the horse. He was enjoying showing off but all the while he was alert for his opportunity.
Suddenly, the display was interrupted by a shout from Gordoc: "Where's the Princess?"
The attention of the circus folk snapped away from Ramil. Orboyd grabbed his bow from the ground and began firing off questions and orders.
"Where's the witch? Didn't you tie her up when we stopped, you fool? Find her!"
The men scattered in all directions. Ramil couldn't believe his luck: the Princess had provided him with the perfect distraction. Swinging up to a secure seat in the saddle, he urged the horse forward and galloped up the mountain road.
"Stop him!" yelled Orboyd, realizing his second prisoner was on the loose.
Ramil ducked. A crossbow bolt whistled overhead and quivered in the trunk of a pine
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tree. He was out of range before Orboyd had a chance to reload.
The road switchbacked steeply up the mountain. Ramil pushed the horse as hard as he dared, sending stones clattering back down the cliffside. He could see the caravan stranded in the meadow behind him--the men running about in confusion, hurrying to saddle horses to come in pursuit of him, others searching for the Princess. He muttered a quick prayer for her protection. She stood little chance of escape unless she was good at concealing herself, but he could do nothing for her.
As he turned the last corner to the top of the ridge, a terrified, piercing scream rent the air, echoing off the mountainside. Startled, Ramil reined his horse to a stop. Down in the meadow below, a man in scarlet was dragging a girl along by her hair.
Orboyd raised his eyes to the figure on horseback high up on the road above.
"Prince Ramil," he shouted, "if you take one step further, I'll kill the Blue Crescent witch, I swear I will!" He shook his captive viciously.
Ramil hesitated. He could see his pursuers were closing in, their horses making good speed up the slope. He had to leave now if he wanted to escape.
Gordoc strode into the meadow, pushing his way past the men who'd
recaptured the Princess. "Give her to me!" he bellowed. "Don't you dare hurt her!"
Orboyd did not take his eyes off Ramil. "Boys, sit on him."
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The three acrobats leapt on Gordoc's back and wrestled him to the ground.
He yelled in fury but could not dislodge them.
"Don't make me kill her, Prince. I'm a peaceful man!" Orboyd shouted. He twisted his fist more tightly in Tashi's hair and brandished his knife.
Ramil closed his eyes and cursed. He'd seen the results of Orboyd's love of peace: two bodies in the Royal Forest. There was no choice. It was one thing to ride off leaving her to take her own chance, it was another to be knowingly responsible for her death. He nudged Flea round, walking him back down the path. As he did so, four riders galloped round the bend and tugged him from the saddle. Tying his hands in front of him, they forced him to run behind them back down the road.
The camp was eerily silent when Ramil stumbled into the meadow. Gordoc was col apsed against the wheel of his wagon, sobbing. There was no sign of the Princess. Orboyd marched up to Ramil and struck him hard across the face, still clutching the hilt of his knife.
"I thought we had an understanding! I told you to play by my rules and no one gets hurt!"
"I will not apologize for trying to escape. It is my duty as a prince of Gerfal to make the attempt," Ramil said proudly, but his heart was in the grip of fear.
Where was the Princess? Why was Gordoc crying? Orboyd hadn't killed her after all, had he?
"And now I'll be in trouble because I was supposed to deliver you both without damage." Orboyd cursed and shoved the knife back in the sheath on his belt.
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"What have you done with the Princess?" Ramil's tone was menacing, but he'd never felt more powerless.
Orboyd ignored him. He turned to the rest of his band. "We're leaving. Hitch up the wagons. As for you, Prince Ramil, as you have so much energy for escaping, you can walk." He seized the end of the rope tying Ramil's hands together and lashed it to his wagon. "We'll see after thirty miles if you still think it a good idea to steal one of my horses."
Tashi's eyes fluttered open and closed again. She was confused, for a moment thinking she was back on board the flagship as everything around her was rocking and swaying. She plucked at her covers and found, not the fine spun woollen blanket off her bed in the royal cabin, but a matted fur.
Memory came back in painful fragments. Ramil had been showing off on that horse, acting more like a circus boy than a prince of the realm, but she'd used the distraction to slip into the wood. Unfortunately, she'd not got far before Gordoc noticed she was gone. Recalling how she had scaled trees to get away from trouble as a child, she had tried climbing one of the pines by the roadside. She'd seen Ramil ride by without so much as a look behind him and realized that he had a much better chance of success than she had.
Still, she had managed to lodge herself up in the branches, hoping it would not occur to the circus people that a princess would climb trees. But her white dress had given her away. She was seen almost immediately by the 90
acrobats. They had jumped onto each other's shoulders and pulled her down as easily as harvesters picking an apple. Then Orboyd had stormed over and started beating her; he appeared in his anger to have lost all self-control. She thought he was going to kill her. He had dragged her back to the meadow on her knees, shouted to the Prince to return, then--
Then what?
Tashi touched the bandage on her head. She must have been knocked out.
She didn't know if the Prince had escaped or not. Had he come back or had he ridden on? He'd probably have gone on, got out of this madness and be well on his way to the border by now. She wished him luck.
In the grip of a low fever, Tashi lay on the pile of furs. As the miles rumbled by, she watched the accoutrements of the fortune teller's art sway around her--a glittering ball, a dried snake skin, hanks of unidentified hair, a string of bones. To her eyes, it seemed barbaric, like something from a winter fireside story of witchcraft and evil spirits. Had she fallen into one of these tales?
Had the Mother abandoned her to the evil ones?
Tears leaked from the corners of Tashi's eyes as she tried to remember her prayers. Too weak to do the ritual properly, she cried her prayer silently as she had done as a child when she'd woken from a nightmare. But it was no use. The Mother had never felt more distant, more unloving.
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For the next few days the circus wound its way down to the plains of Brigard.
Ramil was exhausted with walking, almost asleep on his feet for much of the time. Orboyd had stopped speaking to him, appearing to regard the escape as a personal slight on his hospitality. Mountain scenery gave way to craggy hills, rough grass, and poor pasture. They passed more people: shepherds with faces tanned like old leather, messengers on fleet-footed horses, farmers travelling to local markets. Ramil found it odd to see life going on as normal for all these Brigardians. The locals spared a puzzled glance for the dusty young man stumbling on behind the lead wagon, but were really more interested in catching a glimpse of the tiger, or seeing the acrobats limber up. Living in a land under occupation by Fergox Spearthrower's armies, it was usually best not to ask too many questions.
Ramil noticed that the number of soldiers on the roads increased the further in
to Brigard they travelled. He racked his brains to remember the detailed maps he'd seen of this part of the world. The nearest town of any
significance was Felixholt, a semi-fortified settlement commanding the head of the valley. In friendlier times, it had been a frequent destination for Gerfalian merchants, but since the occupation, Brigard no longer welcomed traders from outside Spearthrower's empire. Stuck out on the northernmost edge of the warlord's lands, Felixholt must be suffering; market days would now be sad affairs.
The cart rose to the top of the last hill before the
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valley and Ramil received an unpleasant shock. The pastures around Felixholt were covered with tents-- a canvas city to house an army. He had little experience of warfare but he could tell that this wasn't just a contingent to maintain the occupation; this was an invasion force. Gerfal must be next on Fergox's list of targets. Ramil cursed his evil fortune. He now had an even more pressing duty than escape: he had to get a message to his father--his country had to be warned.
The circus was waved through all checkpoints on the way to the town. It was no comfort to find that they were expected. As Ramil stumbled nearer, he saw the high stone wall that enclosed the holt. On the peak stood a nobleman's modest castle overlooking the brick and thatched dwellings of the townsfolk. Not a grand place, but today a vast imperial flag flapped over the tallest tower. Staring at the banner with sinking heart, Ramil realized that his assumptions about the abduction were all wrong. If the flag meant what he thought, the motivation had been political, not greed for a ransom.
When the caravan approached within a bowshot of the walls, the big wooden gates of Felixholt opened and a party of some sixty cavalrymen on tough shaggy horses clattered out, forming two rows on either side of the road. All the soldiers looked battle-hardened, stern-faced, and few were unscarred. They wore red leather armor and carried round shields and short spears. Many had long plaited beards threaded with scarlet cord--the sign among Fergox Spearthrower's
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elite troops of the number of heads they had collected in the Empire's wars.
Ramil began to have a clearer idea as to who might be commanding this army. Though his despair deepened with the knowledge, he stood up