Phoenix Unbound by Grace Draven

Author:Grace Draven
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2018-09-24T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

Azarion led two horses toward the outskirts of the camp as the women and children dismantled the qaras and packed the felt coverings and frames into waiting wagons. Clan Kestrel prepared for its summer move east and deeper into the Sky Below where pastures untouched by sheep waited to be grazed. All the Savatar clans did the same, staking their claims to ancestral grazing lands and reviving the annual summer trade markets with the Goban people at the base of the Gamir Mountains.

He spotted his sister not far from the camp, astride a gray mare, talking to other riders. They had argued good-naturedly earlier in the day over who would help the drovers move the sheep herds and who would capture the wild mares and foals to replenish the camp’s milk supply before they decamped.

They had resorted to a child’s game of slap-knuckle to decide who got first choice of tasks, and Azarion won. Tamura had grumbled over her loss but set out to meet up with other riders and join the drovers bringing in the sheep. Azarion whistled sharply as he walked the pair of horses past their little group and gave Tamura a cheerful wave. She responded with a rude hand gesture and stuck her tongue out at him before tapping her heels into her mount’s sides to gallop away with her companions.

The ataman’s qara would be the last one dismantled and the first to go up when they arrived at the new camp spot. Karsas had announced the plan to move three days prior, and since then the camp had been a frenzy of activity and noise as wagons were lined up and qaras broken down into stacks of lattice, poles, and folded felt. Karsas had watched it all in indolent splendor from his seat on a rug in front of his qara’s door.

As if conjured by Azarion’s thoughts, the ataman suddenly stepped out from the shadow of a still-standing qara and blocked Azarion’s path. He wore a tunic in need of washing, and his eyes held the glassy sheen of inebriation. The strong fumes of fermentation drifting off his breath made Azarion turn his face away and cough.

What Karsas’s gaze lacked in sober clarity, it more than made up for in malice. “Did you really think that little trick you pulled with the Fire Council would actually work?”

Azarion didn’t try to pretend he didn’t understand his cousin’s question. This confrontation had been a fortnight in the making, ever since Gilene had failed to garner status of agacin from the Fire Council. Ever since Azarion had first passed through the Veil and returned to the Sky Below and the clan of his birth.

“Gilene walked through the Fire Veil and didn’t burn. She may have failed the test, but Agna has noted and blessed her.”

Karsas snorted. “Sorcerous trick from some renegade wizard taught to a Kraelian whore in exchange for her favors. Agna doesn’t bless those who don’t worship her.”

Azarion’s hand settled on his knife handle where it rose from its sheath.

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