Naamah's Curse - Jacqueline Carey [174]
Although I had no appetite, I tried to force myself to eat, reckoning I needed my strength. In contrast, Amrita ate more heartily than I’d ever seen her.
“Stop worrying, Moirin,” she said, pressing a bit of flatbread with curried lamb and tangy achar on me. “Whatever will happen tomorrow, will happen. It does no good to worry about it.”
I sighed. “I know.”
“So young to be carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders!” Amrita teased me gently, coaxing a reluctant smile from me. “I think you have been doing just that for far too long, young goddess,” she added in a more serious tone. “But you are not alone here. I am with you, and Hasan Dar and his men will protect your life as my own.”
My throat tightened, and tears stung my eyes. “Thank you, my lady Amrita.”
I was grateful, so very grateful to her; and yet I wished she were a thousand miles away, because if any harm befell this kind, beautiful, and brave Rani whom I had grown so quickly to love, I would spend the rest of my life regretting it.
I prayed it would not.
SIXTY-TWO
On the morrow, our reduced company of twelve set out for the plateau. Hasan Dar and his men left their swords behind, carrying only small knives concealed within their sashed belts. It was assumed that the Falconer’s men would do the same, and worse.
I wished I had my bow, but it would have been impossible to hide.
Our path grew steeper as we climbed higher, and the air began to grow thinner. I felt dizzy at the lack, dizzy with the memory of mountain-sickness and fever, dizzy with the bright clamor of my diadh-anam, growing more and more insistent with each hour that passed.
Bao’s name echoed in my thoughts like a drumbeat, over and over.
My aching heart felt too big for my chest, like it might burst its confines and shatter my bones.
I breathed the Breath of Earth’s Pulse, grounding myself. Remembering Master Lo’s teaching, I let one thought rise from another, trying not to chase them and drive myself mad with worry. I concentrated on the path, on the bobbing ears of my saddle-horse Lady, well rested and restored from her ordeal in the Abode of the Gods.
By late morning, we spotted the peak known as Sleeping Calf Rock, a jutting outcropping of stone shaped for all the world like a yak calf lying in slumber, its head stretched out and its legs folded beneath its body.
An hour later, we gained the plateau that lay beneath it. To all appearances, it was empty, an expanse of grassy meadow with a thick copse of spruce trees on the southwestern verge. I couldn’t help but glance in that direction. Assuming our battalion of fifty archers was concealed within the dense copse, they were well hidden.
Gods, I hoped they were there.
Hasan Dar had a silver pipe that gave a shrill whistle on a chain around his neck. When he blew it, it would be the signal for our archers to emerge. He had argued in favor of doing so the instant the Falconer Tarik Khaga and his men were in range, ambushing them without bothering to parley with them.
The Rani Amrita had refused. “All this has come about because of Moirin and her young man,” she had said firmly in her musical voice. “I fear if we do not give her the chance to save him, we defy the will of the gods.”
Now, I shivered, praying that the gods did indeed intend for me to free my stubborn peasant-boy from this mess. I pushed away the memory of the boy-monk in Rasa bidding me to rescue the tulku Laysa. I could only bear so many burdens at once.
We took a position in the open meadow some hundred paces beyond the copse where our archers were hidden. Hasan Dar bowed to the Rani from his saddle, his palms pressed together,