Chapter Six

Twenty days after leaving Orenheart, the royal party crossed Arcspan, the ancient bridge-like tract of land that connected their part of the world to Kurabar and the mysterious lands further inland, fittingly named the Scorched Land. As the temperature climbed markedly, Edmon, like his warriors, had already divested himself of his cloak and helmet. Maeve too had removed her cloak and, instead of her sturdy riding gown, was now wearing a light, milky-white tunic over a skirt the colour of moss.

Wondering at his breathlessness, Evalan was gripped by an urge to leap off his horse and race over the flat, alien terrain. The few trees he saw were strange indeed. Some stood tall and lean with needle-like leaves while others had few leaves but enlarged trunks. Apart from the golden grass that covered the horses’ lower legs, there was little else in the way of vegetation; the road itself was scarcely more than a glorified path. Evalan wondered what the rest of the Scorched Land was like where the heat was said to be nigh on unbearable.

“Our escort, my lord,” said Geren.

Only then did Evalan notice the group mounted on grey horses, waiting for them under the shade of a needle-like tree. All he could see of them were their eyes for they were swathed in copious amounts of light coloured cloth. One addressed Edmon, his speech unusual yet somehow musical; Evalan wasn’t surprised when his father answered in kind.

They followed as their escort led them along the road, edged with tall grass. Far from being monotonous, however, the terrain was broken by billowing, colourful tents. Cheery, dark-skinned people came pouring out of each one, waving and calling to the visitors. They insisted on sharing their water, and even though the royal party had sufficient, they made a point of stopping to accept the selfless hospitality.

Evalan realised that the women, in their long, dark dresses and headscarves, hung back. Still, he couldn’t help staring at the intricate silver jewellery that hung around their necks, jingled on their wrists, and all but covered their ears. It was mainly the men and children who approached the strangers. And even they were worth staring at: the men’s headgear of cloth failed to cover the large earrings they sported; the long sleeves of their hooded robes were short enough to display solid bangles. And the children... their heads remained uncovered, showing off hoop earrings that seemed larger than those of the women; they also wore intricately designed, rope-like chains.

The royal party continued on their way. The sun rose higher, the temperature rose with it, and Evalan’s excitement wilted. He was beginning to think he would surely melt in the heat, despite the lightness of his plain shirt and trousers. Then, to his relief, the party stopped by another group of tents where they would be resting for the remainder of the day and night.

Evalan frowned and thrust his lower lip out when, because of his young age, he was ushered to the women’s tent along with his mother. But his sour mood evaporated as he entered the voluminous tent. The sandy floor was covered with cloth, which in turn was covered with plump, sumptuous cushions. The poles that held the tent erect were festooned with coloured cloth. Lamps, glinting with coloured glass, hung low from the ceiling. And, best of all, low tables, laden with bread and various tempting delicacies; their aromas made his mouth water. The only thing that marred his enjoyment was the appearance of a scorpion, which was dispatched, with little ceremony, by a hefty older woman. 

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Dawn was on the verge of breaking when the royal party took their leave. They made faster progress, travelling in the cool of the early morning. Before long, Evalan was rewarded with his first sight of Kurabar. Squat white buildings, topped with spiralling towers, reflected the blush of the rising sun. He noticed there were more vegetation and trees closer to the city. And there was no wall encircling it.

The royal party was escorted straight in, along broad walkways. Evalan craned his neck this way and that, desperate not to miss anything. His ill-concealed excitement caused his usually docile horse to respond in kind; it tossed its head, stepping sideways into Edmon’s stallion.

A frown crumpling his brow, Edmon reached over and grabbed the smaller horse’s reins, steadying it.

Evalan struggled to quieten his horse; but he couldn’t contain his grin, no matter how hard he tried. This area that they were traversing was quiet enough, but the countless alleys branching off it so obviously led to unseen places, which teased him with exotic sounds of unfamiliar languages and animal-like noises. Not to mention the scents that filled his nostrils.

A significant number of people, mostly men, lined the route leading to the large, extensive array of buildings. They stood with arms crossed, staring as the procession passed. Evalan’s smile faded; their silence was unnerving. He shivered despite the heat. And when he saw his parents’ puzzled glances, his anxiety only grew.

Geren was the first to notice the Horseclan as they entered the courtyard; Edmon echoed his surprised exclamation before slowly dismounting.

“Edmon. You are here.”

They turned as a tall, lean man came striding towards them. He was robed in white, which accentuated his dark brown skin. His white headgear was held in place by a rope of red and gold; large gold earrings glinted from his ears.

“Finlonel, old friend.” Edmon grasped the Kurabaran’s outstretched arm in greeting.

Having met the leader of Kurabar before, Evalan remembered him as a man with a ready smile; yet now that smile was nowhere to be seen.

“What’s going on?” asked Edmon softly; Evalan craned forward, desperate not to miss anything. “Where’s Gwilliyn?” He referred to the leader’s wife who was always present to greet the royal party.

Before Finlonel could answer, another spoke.

“Edmon.”

“Brishan.”

Evalan’s eyes widened. Even though he’d never met him, he recognised the name.

The chief of the nomadic Horseclan approached slowly. “It has been many moons... my friend.”

“Yes, it has.” Edmon shortened the distance between them and extended his arm.

Brishan stared at it as if trying to decide what to do, then hesitantly reached out.

By now, Evalan’s mouth was hanging open. This was the first time he’d seen a true Horseclan. The chief’s rose-tinged fair skin contrasted sharply with his dark beard and long, dark hair, accentuating his dark, deep-set eyes. His clothes were simple: plain long-sleeved shirt and long loose trousers tucked into mid-length boots.

The Horseclan lived further north, away from Arcspan, following the horse-herds that roamed the grassy plains they called Talapac-Nuna, the Land of Wolf and Eagle. Supreme horsemen, they made their living taming and selling horses mainly to the Kurabarans and Edmon’s people.

“There is trouble, Edmon. That is why Brishan is here.”

“What sort of trouble?”

The tall man averted his gaze. “Eoli has run away,” he whispered.

“Run away?” Maeve stepped forward, her hands clasped to her chest. “But why?” Eoli was Finlonel’s daughter, his only child.

“That is not all–”

“She has run with my fool of a brother.”

Edmon stared at Brishan. “What?”

Evalan’s gaze flicked between the adults, taking in the looks of shock, disbelief, barely concealed anger and... shame. He remembered Eoli; in some ways, she reminded him of Leah, and not just because they were the same age. He frowned for he couldn’t imagine Leah running away from home... with anyone. He wondered if the leaders were going to work out a plan of action; he couldn’t wait to be part of it.

Then he was being ushered away with his mother to the women’s quarters. “But, Mother, I want to–”

“Hush, Evalan. You can’t go with your father. You’re not old enough to join the men.”

He dragged himself behind her, even as he kept looking over his shoulder at his father’s disappearing figure. They were led through wide corridors with sparse furnishings, past countless doorways until finally huge, intricately carved dark wood doors were slowly pushed open to admit them. It wasn’t difficult to identify the leader’s wife amongst the many women present, in various stages of doom and lamentation.

Their robes were all of a similar design but whereas the others wore dark colours, Gwilliyn’s was a vibrant blue and richly embellished with fine embroidery of red and yellow. Her glossy black hair was covered with a headscarf; long gold and silver earrings peeked out from under it. The jewellery around her neck was solid silver, held together with thick red cord; smaller silver discs interspersed with colourful beads lay closer to her neck. No bracelets covered her arms, but many silver rings glinted on her fingers.

Evalan hung back as Maeve rushed to Gwilliyn’s side and embraced the weeping woman. He refused to make eye contact with anyone, intent on sulking because he was being forced to keep company with sad-eyed women. With a heavy sigh, he flung himself onto a pile of plump, inviting cushions. Without meaning to, he found himself listening to his mother and Gwilliyn.

Evalan’s bad mood gradually dissipated when he realised they were talking of Eoli. Sitting up, he inclined his head slightly in their direction. Apparently, Eoli had met Brishan’s brother, Youd, not many months ago when she’d accompanied her father to an informal meeting with the Horseclan. She’d seemed taken with the young man, more than five years her senior, but no one had thought anything of it.

Until yesterday. Youd had turned up unexpectedly and tried to talk to Finlonel about taking Eoli as his bride. But the older man had refused. Many angry words had been exchanged, and during the night, Eoli and Youd had crept away and fled inland.

“How could we have agreed, Maeve, without angering Brishan? Youd is already betrothed. The poor girl had been promised to him while still a child and is there, at their home, waiting for him.”

“Oh, Gwilliyn–”

“Finlonel is furious with Eoli and I cannot blame him. I also am angry. She has brought shame to our family’s name. But I am scared also. I fear for their safety. There is nothing where they are going but unforgiving heat and endlessly moving sands. I want them found, yet I dread to think what my husband will do when they are brought home... if they are brought home...” Once again, she covered her face as tears fell anew.

Maeve put her arm around her friend. “Hush, Gwilliyn. We must believe... we must have faith that our people will find them. Amongst your people, there are such splendid trackers. I’m sure it won’t be long before they’re found.”

Hugging himself, Evalan stared at the two women. For some reason, he wanted his mother’s arms around him, to reassure him. He couldn’t begin to fathom what could possibly possess anyone to run from their loving family into obvious danger. And that inability to understand scared him.