“Drink it…all of it!” Aalis threatened with her hands on her hips as Judd, Verne, Giordi and Caste all held their noses and gulped down her hangover cure. “After which, you are all to march the stream and dunk yourselves in!”

  “I’m awake, I swear!” Judd winced, trying to put on a brave face.

  “You stink!” Aalis turned to Suvau. “If they do not wash themselves, make them.”

  “Understood.”

  “Hang on, how come Suvau isn’t in trouble?” Giordi demanded. “He drank as much as the rest of us.”

  “At least he was sober enough to drag all three of you back to the tent. Caste was the only one with any kind of restraint and even he could do with a bath.”

  “Have you any idea how cold that water is?” Caste lamented.

  “Fine,” Yolana ducked her head, bringing the frosted but mostly dry washing into the tent, “tomorrow you can spend an hour knee deep in it, washing everyone’s clothes.”

  Immediately they all bowed their heads, muttered something about being sorry and hurried out of the tent. Aalis turned to Yolana and laughed.

  “Men, not much better than boys.” She sighed and looked around. “Where is Emeri?”

  “She is fine.” Yolana opened her mouth when Aalis put her hand on her arm. “She is fine.”

  Yolana nodded, breathing out a deep sigh. “Thank you.” She whispered.

  “I must return to Nieves and her son. I want to make sure the fever did not return during the night.” Aalis picked up her pack. “The diet of the nomads, while hearty, lacks when it comes to vegetables and fruits. There are essential vitamins in ruffage that the nomads are not ingesting which would help against fevers and boost their immune system.”

  “If you ask me, their ale keeps them healthy. What fever could outlast such fearsome drinking?”

  Aalis nodded and headed out of the tent. In the light of a new day, the boundary of the nomad’s campsite could be seen. It was a palisade, a fence made out of crisscrossed tree trunks, cut into points and driven into the ground. There were two sections that could be detached and removed, providing access in and out but unless you knew where they were, they looked like part of the palisade. Aalis had been told there were at least a dozen of the fenced campsites across the steppelands, even to the edge of nomadic territory. For while the tents, the furs and tapestries, the lines and beams of their homes could be packed up and moved within a few hours, the campsites were permanent fixtures. The nomads travelled from campsite to campsite, wherever their quarry took them.

  And their quarry was horses.

  Every single nomad rode. Even children trotted about on ponies with shaggy manes and mottled coats. From the moment they were born, babies were in their mother’s arms or snuggled in swathes on their backs but always travelled by horse. Even in the womb they were jostled about by the rhythm, more comfortable in the presence of a horse than they were anywhere else. When they could sit up, they began to learn how to grip and ride, to hold themselves across the breadth of a horse’s back until it was second nature.

  Even now a scouting party of nomads was leaving the campsite, a half dozen horses with their riders, heading out to survey the landscape. Not only were they to look out for monsters but they were also hunting for signs of the untamed horses that ran, bred and dominated the steppelands.

  Aalis stepped back, making sure she was out of the way as the scouting party left the campsite, riding horses with leather reins and custom made saddles that looked nothing like a knight’s cumbersome kit. The nomads did not require a saddle to remain upright or steady on the back of their mounts. They were for decoration and comfort but if the need arose, each and every one of them could ride bareback in a moment’s notice.

  She continued her way to Nieves’s tent, ducking inside to check on her patient. She need not have worried. The little boy was sitting up, slurping soup straight from a bowl. A young woman, possibly Nieves’s older sister, stood at Aalis’ arrival and nodded respectfully. Everyone knew the silver dreadlocked healer by now and Aalis was relieved that most communication need not to be spoken.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Caste and Emeri, both with an understanding of ancient Terra, had been able to pick up something of the language and translate it as best they could. If pressed, Aalis thought Caste would have to admit that Emeri was even better than he when it came to adapting to the language…but only if pressed.

  She frowned as she checked her ground herbs, her mind fixed on the red headed cleric.

  He hadn’t said anything about the green nails on her left hand.

  He hadn’t accused her of anything but he was certainly acting distant…

  …yet Aalis wondered if it was not just because of her.

  Whatever ease and friendliness he had developed while in the house of Suvau and Yolana, despite their dark skinned colouring causing deeply embedded racism to surface, disappeared during the monster attack. This puzzled Aalis. Caste had saved Emeri from Jerom’s lustful advance, even to the point of becoming quite badly injured. He had also defended her in front of the entirety of Fort Omra’s military and civilian population, including Sir Fereak and Lady Alonin.

  Yet Caste now avoided Emeri, Suvau and Yolana, reducing his interactions to the barest of essentials.

  What had happened to Caste?

  A hand touched hers and Aalis looked up, having become lost in her thoughts. The older sister pointed to Aalis’ left and she turned to see Nieves smiling at her, gesturing for her to come. Aalis stood and followed her into the private chambers of the chieftain’s wife. Laying on her bed was a gown in a similarly traditional style of the nomads yet more elaborate. It was ivory in colour, the bodice stitched in dark grey, words in ancient Terra and beaded detail, a thin, braided strap that joined one side to the other that looped around the back of the neck. The line of the bodice was decorated with a series of tassels and beads, over the top of layer upon layer of beautifully stitched fabric in differing patterns but similar colouring, cascading down to the hem at the bottom. There were sleeves attached, linked to the line of the bodice near the top of the bustline with more braided ivory, around the upper arms and joined at the back. With more tassels and beads they were attached to even more layers of fabric for the sleeves. Sitting on the floor was a pair of boots that matched the style of the outfit, lined with fur.

  “It is lovely.” Aalis gushed sincerely, hoping her appreciation of the beautiful garment was understood even if the words were not. Nieves nodded and gestured to it. Aalis hesitated. “I do not understand.” Nieves frowned then pointed at the dress then at Aalis. Aalis gasped. “No, no, I could not possibly…”

  Nieves put her hand against Aalis’ lips, stopping the refusal. Her eyes, slate blue with deathly seriousness in them, gazed at the young healer.

  “My…son…live.” She said in a deep voice.

  Aalis bit back her protestations, recognising the deep love a mother had for her son. “I understand.” She looked at the gown in trepidation. “I…do not know…how…”

  Nieves smiled. “Show. Show.”

  Judd dunked his head into the water of the stream then flicked it out, letting the water trickle down his body, unable to keep from grimacing. To say what it felt like would have been redundant. It felt like exactly what it was. Ice water down his neck. He peered at Suvau who stood over them, arms folded, watching them washing themselves.

  “I’m starting to regret bringing you with me.” He muttered in jest…but only just.

  “You’ll thank me later when you don’t reek of ale. Go on.” Suvau chuckled.

  Judd knelt again and thrashed his head in the water then stood up, raking his hands through his curls. They all suffered the same brutal ice water treatment. Verne hissed sharply, Giordi hollered and not with any of his usual eloquence while Caste’s teeth chattered so hard, he couldn’t form a single complaint.

  “Come on then,” Suvau barked, “back to the tent to get changed. Move!”

  They jogged to the campsite which was not far away, dodging the riders who were coming back from their morning patrol and slipped inside the gate before it closed. Inside their tent there was no attempt at modesty as they all flung off their damp clothes, scrambling for their dry and, by comparison, warm garments. Judd’s fingers shook as he did up the ties of his trousers.

  “I’ll never drink again…” He vowed, shivering.

  “That’s what you said yesterday,” Verne said from behind the partition, “and the day before…and the day before that.”

  “I know…but this time I mean it.” Judd breathed out a deep sigh now that he was dressed. He sat down and put his boots back on with dry socks. “She’s fortunate I do not end up with pneumonia.”

  “If you did, she’d cure you.”

  “As long as my throat as not suffered,” Giordi lamented, “my voice is my provider!”

  “I thought your cherub curls brought in more than your singing and playing.” Caste muttered, heaving a cloak around his shoulders.

  “True,” Giordi sighed, “many minstrels have gotten by with a lot less talent.” Verne looked at Judd with a raised eyebrow. They were both surprised by Giordi’s oddly melancholic statement. He was not just acting sad. He seemed genuinely downcast. Before they could comment on it, Giordi shook it off and turned to Verne. “Well…come on then.”

  “Come on what?”

  “Aren’t I overdue for an archery session?”

  Verne nodded. “You are indeed.” They picked up their bows and arrows and headed outside.

  “What will you do today, Judd LaMogre?” Suvau asked.

  “Well, as much as I am enjoying the company of the nomads, it doesn’t seem to have brought us any closer to finding a unicorn.” Judd looked at Caste. “We need to talk to Mavrish again.”

  “Oh not the horse wrangler…” Caste moaned. “I swear he understands everything I say yet insists on acting like he doesn’t.”

  “Maybe it’s his way of keeping trade secrets to himself.” Suvau patted him on the shoulder, nearly knocking Caste off his feet.

  “If we don’t have any luck today, we might have to farewell the nomads tomorrow and strike out on our own.” Judd promised. “Come on, Caste. I can’t do this without you.”

  Caste gritted his teeth and stomped after him. “Wouldn’t kill you to say that more.”