Azkhantian Tales by Ross Deborah J

Author:Ross, Deborah J. [Ross, Deborah J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: women warriors, strong women characters, Central Asian fantasy, Sword & Sorceress, feminist fiction, adventure fantasy, sword and sorcery
ISBN: 9781611382594
Publisher: Book View Cafe
Published: 2013-06-11T07:00:00+00:00

The Phoenix Blade: A Tale of Gelon

Linned Ar-Veddris arrived home with an Azkhantian horde thundering at her heels.

She had spotted their camp just before twilight from the slopes leading to the Plain of Thirst. She’d planned on camping at the little spring only a league into the Plain. Now a circle of orange pinpoints glimmered against the ghostly pale of the alkali crust. She was too far away to catch the sounds, there would be singing around those fires, and dance, and k’th, fermented camel’s milk, flowing freely. She knew these things because her teachers at Borrenth believed no young woman of noble blood, not matter how impoverished, should be ignorant of her enemies.

Bird of Fire! Studying the encampment, Linned cursed under her breath. Her onager tugged at the heavy braided reins. Linned had pushed it hard, driven by news of her grandfather’s sudden illness and rumors of new Azkhantian raids along the border.

On the vantage point, Xun waited beside her, silent as a lump of granite. Part bodyguard, part chaperon, the giant Pithic slave had been a wargift from the Ar-King to Linned’s grandfather. No one knew why he shaved his head or refused to ride an animal or how old he really was.

She had no choice but to try to sneak past the nomad camp. The Plain of Thirst was narrow here, with Veddris’s rocky pastures only a day’s ride across. Lengthwise to the west lay fields of green-wheat, sorghum, and azimed. A richer prey, but a longer ride.

Linned divided the last of the water between Xun and her onager with the fervent prayer it would carry them through the night. Without a word, Xun reached into her saddlebags, took out her second-best shirt, and ripped it into five pieces. Four he tied around the onager’s feet and the fifth he twisted into a loop around the animal’s nose to prevent it from whinnying in greeting.

They went on foot, leading the onager. Only the muffled sounds of the animal’s hooves and the rustle of Linned’s full riding trousers marred the silence. She could make out the shapes of tents and picket lines of range-toughened ponies. Voices raised in a unified shout around one camp, in rough laughter around another. She couldn’t understand the language, but her blood shivered in her veins at the sound.

Feeling their way on the sandy gravel, they circled the Azkhantian encampment. Once in a while, Xun, who was in the lead, would stop and listen, turning his head as if sensing the direction of the outlying guards.

Nothing and again nothing. Still they kept on going.

Linned thought of the sword strapped to her saddle, the sword she was not permitted to draw. It was men’s magic and forbidden to her. She was skilled enough with lady’s dagger and inata, the curve-blade spear; her teachers had seen to that. But she had never had to use them in mortal combat. She had never been tempered in blood.

At last, the campfires dwindled to pinpricks once more and Linned drew a deep breath.

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