Interesting turned out to be the wrong word. Judd and Verne couldn’t contain their agony, groaning into their bedrolls that evening, their backsides aching in ways they had no right to. The nomads had left within the hour of the chief’s call to war and had barely paused for hours except to track the unicorns. While the steppelands were not the most malleable of landscapes, hard and the grasses covering it, wild and wispy, the tracks of a herd of unicorns and stolen horses was impossible not to follow. There were some splatters of green blood, telling of wounded unicorns and the crescent shapes in any ground soft enough to display the track. And because their quarry had nearly twelve hours headway on them, the nomads didn’t stop riding until it was too difficult to make out the tracks in the fading light.

  The nomads rode with saddles but they relied on their legs and balance to keep themselves upright. More than once on the journey had Judd and/or Verne nearly slipped from the back of the stallion who, living up to its reputation, was not content to be relegated to the back of the herd. Xenon was feisty and eager, wanting to charge to the front. Judd was grateful to Mavrish who was astride his own horse, a greying stallion with a mottled back half. He rode beside Judd and Verne, sensing that they were at the extreme edge of their abilities. He wasn’t friendly with them but one grunt from Mavrish to Xenon and it would curb its enthusiasm…until it thought the horse tamer wasn’t looking.

  Judd lay on his front, unable to roll onto his side or his back.

  “I may never sit down again.” He moaned to Verne who was likewise sprawled on his bedroll.

  “I feel like there are two metal rods sticking up through my backside.” Verne muttered. “I thought riding a horse was meant to be noble and elegant…not bloody excruciating. Can’t you stop it from charging ahead? I nearly fell off a half dozen times!”

  “You’re welcome to try to control it.” Judd retorted. “What I wouldn’t give for some of Aalis’ remedies.”

  “And have her rub them on your rump?”

  “No!” Judd sat up then nearly screeched with pain.

  Verne laughed and then winced. “Down, boy…”

  One of the nomads approached, saying something neither of them understood then made it obvious by tossing them pieces of dried meat.

  “Dinner is served.” Judd bit into the meat, trying to tear it with his teeth.

  The nomads were sprawled on a small incline, their horses tethered to stakes driven into the ground. Judd would’ve sworn his mount was giving him unimpressed glares as it supped on the grass. Night had fallen and while it was freezing, there was no rain. The air was so crisp it felt like it might shatter like glass. The stars were dazzling overhead, more numerous in number than Caste’s freckles.

  “Judd,” Verne yawned, “what do you think it was, with the unicorns?”

  “Hmm?

  “Was it a man or was it a monster?”

  “When Suvau was coherent for all of five minutes, he swore it was a man astride a horse.”

  Verne chewed meat over and over, turning it into pulp that he could actually swallow. “A man in league with Maul…is that even possible?”

  Judd mulled this over. “If it had been anyone else, I might have questioned what they’d seen as possibly hysteria induced…but this is Suvau we’re talking about so if he said he saw a man astride a horse, firing an arrow at you, tipped with a unicorn’s horn…”

  Verne forwent the rest of his dried meat, still working on his first mouthful. “I thought monsters were insatiable for human flesh…why aren’t the unicorns turning on him?”

  “There must be a reason.” Judd yawned. “One I suppose we will discover if we ever catch up with the herd. Not that I doubt the nomad’s determination…I’m just hoping my boor battered rump survives it.”

  Suvau had been given strict instructions not to sit up or exert himself…so he only attempted to do so when Yolana wasn’t looking. While the wound was bad, it wasn’t life threatening now that the possibility of infection had been dealt with following Aalis’ very competent administrations. The arrow hadn’t passed all the way through his body or even struck anything important. His right arm had been almost impossible to move for the first two days yet he hadn’t lost control of any of his fingers and Aalis assured him that as the wound healed, he would regain almost all that he had lost to the point that the lack would be unable to be perceived.

  Suvau was already wishing he was there. As glad as he was to have saved Verne’s life, he was not one to lay about and convalesce. But Yolana knew his disposition and she was not a woman to be toyed with. If he had any illusions about possible compromise, they were dashed when she entered the tent, her dark eyes immediately turning flinty at his upright position.

  “Suvau…”

  “I can handle sitting up.” Suvau protested. “Truly, I can. I didn’t use my right,” not that it could have pushed him upright without obscene pain, “and I am tired of lying on my back.”

  Her jaw was tight and she didn’t say anything else. Suvau was surprised at the amount of anger he seemed to feel radiating from her as she walked about the tent. She wasn’t just concerned about him. There was a definite stomp to her step and she was not delicate with the chores she completed. Suvau knew the signs. He’d seen them before and much like before, he struggled to comprehend just what it was he had done to make her angry.

  “Yolana…what is it?” He asked. She shook her head with her back to him. “Yolana, please…what have I done to anger you so?”

  She tilted her head back and gave a mocking laugh. “Oh Suvau…for a brilliant mind you can be such a fool.”

  “True enough.” Suvau admitted and she looked at him, his heart aching at the sorrow in her expression. “Yolana,” he reached out his left arm towards her, “please…tell me.”

  She licked her lips and he could see the deep well of emotion was bubbling to the surface. “You think a wife can see her husband, bleeding, broken…clawing at the wound because of the way it burns…and not become upset?”

  Suvau closed his eyes. “I am sorry my actions caused you to be distressed, my love,” he murmured, “I could not reach Verne in time…”

  “I am not angry that you saved her life,” Yolana snapped, “I am angry that you ordered me to stay behind!”

  Suvau blinked, astonished. “You’re angry because I insisted on your safety?!” Yolana folded her arms. “Yolana, as intimidating as you are in the kitchen, you have no fighting experience! You could have been killed!”

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  “Says the man who was pierced with an arrow!”

  Suvau was growing frustrated. “What would you have had me do, Yolana? Cower in the tent while the nomads and our friends were slaughtered?”

  “Like you ordered me to do!” Yolana’s hands went to her hips. “You could have died!”

  “At least Emeri would still have you!” Suvau returned and Yolana stepped back, her hand over her breast. Suvau paused and breathed. “Yolana,” he said softly, “I went out there knowing that if I fell, Emeri would still have her mother.”

  “You think she only needs me?”

  “No,” Suvau shook his head, “but given the choice, I would not let her become an orphan.” Tears began to stream down Yolana’s face. Suvau reached out again and this time she slid her fingers into his palm. “My love, oh my love…I would not leave you willingly.”

  “I know,” Yolana knelt beside him, “but three times in barely a month I thought I had lost you…” Suvau silenced her fears by kissing her. And the kiss deepened with purpose. Yolana drew back. “You,” she admonished softly and without true heat, her breath quickening, “are supposed to be resting.”

  “I swear I will not leave my bed…” Suvau’s eyes were burning with intent. Yolana only hesitated a moment before kissing him again, their arms and hands clutching at each other. Recovery took a backseat to the need a husband had for his wife and his wife’s desperation to be as close to him as possible.

  They forgot that the tent was not exactly private but then their daughter was no stranger to their love for each other. Emeri hadn’t stepped one foot inside the tent when she’d recognised the sounds of her parent’s intimacy. She immediately backed out and made sure the flap of the tent was securely closed then found a place to sit, far enough that she couldn’t hear anything and close enough to keep watch which turned out to be fortuitous as Caste arrived only minutes later.

  “I wouldn’t go in there,” Emeri warned. Caste jumped, not having noticed her sitting off to the side. He drew back from the tent, eyes down and awkward. “What is it you wanted?” She asked. Caste stammered and faltered. Emeri’s jaw tightened. “What? Can’t look at me now? Will my Maul gaze stain your soul?” Caste’s head lifted and she caught a brief glimpse of shame and turned away. “What are you after?”

  “I was looking for Aalis.” Caste said so softly she had to strain to hear it.

  “I think she’s checking on her patients.” Emeri stood up. “Take my place here and I’ll go look for her.”

  Caste nodded and let her go by without another word.

  Emeri huffed, clenching and unclenching her hands as she strode across the nomad campsite. Without many of their warriors in the camp, it was a great deal quieter than normal. The children were starting to venture out to play again but she could see that the violent invasion of their home had deeply unsettled them. Emeri dodged around a game of pigskin, kicking the saggy ball out of her way and the children darted after it. She checked in Nieves’ tent and another tent where she knew some of the injured were convalescing but there was no Aalis. However, one of the nomads recognised what Emeri was asking and pointed her in the direction Aalis had gone.

  Emeri traced Aalis to a quiet corner of the nomad’s campsite where she found Aalis on her knees, vomiting.

  “Aalis?” She exclaimed, darting forward.

  “Please,” Aalis held out her hand and Emeri stopped, “stay back.”

  Emeri did so, fidgeting with nervousness and concern. Aalis took several deep, shuddering breaths, clutching a post of the fence to help her to rise. She kicked dirt over the pool of vomit and wiped at her mouth.

  “Aalis…are you ill?”

  “No,” Aalis turned to her and Emeri was immediately concerned about the sallow tint of her skin, “just tired.”

  “Have you slept?”

  “Here and there.” Aalis shook her head, her dreadlocks looking more wild than ever. “There were so many wounded…”

  “Killing yourself is not a good way to seek revenge.” Emeri said sternly. “You need to rest.”

  “I will,” Aalis promised then sighed, “but first…were you looking for me?”

  “Oh,” Emeri closed her eyes, “Caste was looking for you but I’m sure it can wait.”

  “No…he does not do trivial.” Aalis took her water pouch and gulped the final mouthful down, washing the vile taste from her mouth. “Where was he?”

  “Playing guard out the front of the tent.” Emeri caught Aalis’ questioning look as they began to cross the campsite. “I think my father is feeling better...”

  “Ah,” Aalis blushed, “well…it is nice to know that they love each other.” She saw Emeri’s grimace. “You do not approve?”

  “It’s not that.” Emeri insisted. “My parents have always been very tactile and deeply committed to each other…I guess…I just never thought anyone would ever think of me that way.” She shuddered. “Not in a way I would welcome…and now I’m all on my own…”

  “No man is better than the wrong man.” Aalis assured her.

  “I suppose.”

  “And while I know it feels like nothing will change…at least for now you are with people who care about you.”

  Emeri caught sight of Caste. He had abandoned his post and was coming towards them, his eyes darting away from Emeri and she found herself wanting to grind her teeth.

  “Or barely tolerate…excuse me.”

  Aalis watched her go, perhaps storm off would be a better description, concerned and confused. She turned to ask Caste what he wanted when he caught sight of him gazing at the fleeing back of Emeri with a great deal of guilt on his face. Aalis looked between them, biting her bottom lip.

  “Caste,” she said softly and he turned to her, “Emeri said you were looking for me.”

  “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I just wanted to know…or ask…how long should we be waiting here for?”

  Aalis blinked. “Until Judd and Verne return.”

  “What if they don’t? What if they’re dead?” Caste wrung his hands nervously. “We’ve been with these people for a week…how long until we give up?”

  Aalis felt angry at the question and went to snap when she paused. Caste was clutching the pendant of Astaril, the four pointed star in the circle that was the symbol of the Order of the Grail. His knuckles were white and he was oozing fear. Not disdain or impatience. Fear.

  “I am worried about them too,” she offered gently and his green eyes fluttered briefly to hers then looked away, “it is highly unlikely that all the nomads and Judd and Verne would be killed in the offensive attack. We will wait until Suvau is able to travel and if they have not returned…we will decide on a course of action then. Will that suffice?”

  Caste nodded, turned and left. Aalis watched him go, worried about the little cleric who was quite the fish out of water. She imagined that he hadn’t felt safe since he’d left Astaril.

  Her water pouch was empty so she left the campsite and walked to the stream. The gate had been destroyed in the unicorn attack but the nomads who remained behind had done their best to construct a temporary one. Because they were still reeling from the ferocity of the monsters, which was rather alarming as the nomads were not strangers to Maul’s mad creations, the gate remained shut however it was easy enough for a single person to squeeze past it. Aalis strode to the stream and filled her water pouch, closing it tightly. She stood up and saw Giordi standing on a piece of flat land, bow in his hands, firing arrow after arrow at a target on a tree. When he had exhausted all his arrows he collected them, returned to his place, took three steps back and continued to aim for the target.

  Aalis approached him quietly, surprised at the intensity on his face. For the blonde haired, cherub countenanced minstrel, such grim determination was almost alarming.

  “Verne would be impressed that you are practicing without being bullied into it.” She remarked.

  Giordi gave a small smile. “Well…every bullseye I get, he’s supposed to have a drink with me.”

  Aalis blinked, watching Giordi fire. “Perhaps if Verne was here I would believe you. But he is not here to hold you accountable…”

  Giordi sighed and lowered his arms. “Judd was right.”

  “Judd?” He nodded. “About what?”

  “That I’m useless.”

  Aalis huffed and put her hands on her hips. “Judd never said you were useless.”

  “He said I did not pull my weight.”

  “In a battle! He was concerned that if you were to continue to follow him around, you would be put in danger and unable to defend yourself.”

  “Which is exactly what happened three nights ago!” Giordi exclaimed and Aalis was taken aback. “Those unicorns attacked and what did Judd, Verne and Suvau do? They buckled on their armour and leapt into the fray! Maul, even you ran into battle! What did I do?” Giordi took another arrow and aimed. “Nothing of consequence.”

  “You saved Verne’s life! He said you knocked him out of the way from being impaled!”

  “My actions didn’t save us. If not for Suvau, we’d both be dead.”

  Aalis studied Giordi, surprised and more than a little stunned by his lament. Giordi continued to fire the arrows until they were spent. She reached out to grasp his arm before he could stride away and collect them.

  “Giordi…”

  “You can’t heal everyone, Aalis,” he said, shaking off her grip, “especially not from the revelation of their own uselessness.”

  Aalis closed her eyes. The vision of his body, broken and dead, run through with a sword after his shield was broken and shattered on the ground beside him, returned to her.

  What were they being inexplicably prepared for?

  Just what was it they were being driven towards?