Great columns of orange flames roared around the edge of the Sut Resi camp, curling and sweeping along like the speeding of some giant snake's coils. It was thick enough that a horse and rider could not escape, tightening closer and closer as the archers beyond it rained arrows through the flame at the camp.

Save us! Save us! For the love of Zu, please!

Ilati's fingers quivered on her bow. In her ears, she could hear the screaming of the initiates given over to flame in Shadi's temple. The smell of burning flesh and crackling skin sickened her and she hesitated, caught between memory and the reality in front of her.

The scorpion. Think of the scorpion.

What good would her fear do her friends?

The center of camp retaliated against the Nadaren with flurries of arrows, aimed high enough to sweep above the wicker shields and strike the lightly armored archers behind. Ilati gripped her bow tightly and then looked down at her quiver. It was about half full, perhaps some fourteen arrows. That was not enough to make a dent in the enemy, not even if her aim was true and powerful. Her strength would not be enough.

But what of guile? Strength applied with precision, the scorpion's tail flashing towards her throat. She would mirror it, moving lightly across the earth, ready with a lethal sting.

The priestess urged her horse forward, not into the flames, but around the flanks of her foe at a distance where she would not be easily spotted, moving in the darkness. Alanni's child was a waning crescent, barely enough for Ilati herself to see by. She focused now. Every spell had a conjurer, surely, and while he would be guarded heavily, perhaps her luck would hold.

From the side, Ilati looked for a cluster of armored men, using the light of their own fire to illuminate them.

There he was: arms raised, face exultant in triumph, painted in amber by his own flames. He was fixed in his victory, almost motionless and focused on his spell. Ilati's thumb hooked around her string, feeling K'adau's presence for a moment, like the eyes of the scorpion piercing her soul.

She drew her arrow back with vengeful purpose, pulling to her cheek rather than her chin for the extra power. Ilati took careful aim, trying to correct her tendency to fire left of where she was aiming. This shot mattered.

Ilati flicked her index finger and thumb open, letting the string free. An arrow sprouted from the guard just in front of the sorcerer, piercing him in the side. Ilati cursed savagely as the injured man wheeled around to face her. This time, she had over-corrected. She drew a second arrow up and loosed it, hitting a second guard in his shield to no effect. They were likely to identify the direction of the shot ‌quickly, but there was a moment of hesitation.

The priestess wasted no time: she moved, urging her exhausted horse on. They could guess in the dark whether another shot would come. Uncertainty was her ally.

Nadar's sorcerer turned, concentration wavering for just a moment. Flames flickered and fumbled as they lost connection with their wielder.

Through the lesser flames came a surging figure on horseback from the center of the camp, riding with the fury and power of a raging god. The fire lit Artakhshathra's leaping attack with an infernal glow. The great Babak cleared the jump as only a Sut Resi warhorse could. Like a thunderbolt from on high, the cheiftain loosed an arrow with a masterful draw.

Artakhshathra's arrow struck the sorcerer in his eye, burying itself in his skull. The man twitched as he fell to the ground and the flames evaporated in an instant. Sut Resi who had been in the center of camp sprang into motion, firing parting shots if young or injured where they could before retreating into the night. The rest charged after Artakhshathra, their war cries like the screams of hunting hawks.

The Nadaren infantry bunched together more tightly, bracing for what was to come, but Ilati knew the Sut Resi had no intention of closing with them and fighting on the infantry's terms. Instead, the horse warriors drew back into the darkness, angling their bows to rain arrows down like deadly hail on their enemy. There was no organized volley, only an almost continuous loosing of arrows on the Nadaren.

Most of the enemy were occupied, but not all. One of the sorcerer's guards turned and leveled his hands at Ilati with a chant of words of power. An apprentice, something she had foolishly not considered. The earth around her surged upwards, entrapping her horse's legs and then breaking all four at once. With a scream, her mount fell on its side. The dying horse flailed as it pinned Ilati's good side to the earth. More and more of the stone spread, consuming the body of the animal.

A sharp jerk at her back yanked Ilati out from under the fallen horse. Youtab's teeth bit deeply into her cloth and hide clothes, pulling her away from the dying horse.

"Shoot it!" someone shouted.

Ilati fumbled for her bow, snagging it with her fingertips as Youtab bolted. The thundering of the horse's hooves was dangerously close to Ilati now, hitting within inches of her head. There was no saddle on Youtab to grasp, not that Ilati had the strength to pull herself up. The arrow in her leg snagged on the earth and then snapped. Ilati screamed in pain at the savage pull that ripped her wound even more open. Half the arrow in her leg remained, but the side with fletching was gone.

That strange connection burned between Ilati and the divine-blooded horse. Not once did Youtab step on her, even as the canter became a gallop. It was agony to be dragged and pummeled across the grass, but it grew thick enough to hit only the occasional stone. Ilat felt her ribs crack against one and cried out in a ragged bark.

Soon the Nadaren and their raging sorcerer’s apprentice were behind. The Sut Resi appeared out of the darkness in a tight mass of riders, no doubt readying themselves for either retaliation or retreat.

Artakhshathra spotted her approach and pivoted, bringing his fatal bow to bear on her just as Youtab dropped her and stopped.

"It is Ilati!" Eigou called from Artakhshathra's side. Ankhu the mule was apparently braver than the priestess had credited him for, to stand beside a warhorse.

"Follow!" Artakhshathra pointed to the west even as he turned to fire a last shot into the mass of Nadaren. "We go!" Even he, greatest of warriors, was not so arrogant as to think his people could fight this enemy in a pitched battle. The power of the Sut Resi was in their motion. No doubt they would have their revenge, with ambushes of their own.

Ilati tried to get to her feet and fumbled, catching hold of Eigou's saddle to save herself. The old man pulled her onto the mule's back behind him with surprising strength. Even with her anger towards the old man, the help was welcome. As the haze of battle cleared more and more from her thoughts, more and more pain came rushing in. She bit her lower lip until it bled to avoid crying out in pain because of her leg. She and Eigou followed Artakhshathra, one hand covering the gash along her side from the wide, sharp head of a bronze arrow.

They rode on for at least another league before Artakhshathra turned his horse, his bow still in his hand. Ilati saw the gleam of his thumb ring beneath the crescent moon and the true face of the man even if it was half lost to shadow: a towering, vengeful rage. "Did you bring those men to us, priestess?" His voice rumbled from his chest like an earthquake.

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The wounded priestess shook her head. "Eigou sent me on a fool's errand," she said through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the faintness creeping into her consciousness. When she looked down at her leg, dark streaks had stained most of it. She bled every time the arrow bumped away from the blood vessels it had gashed. Ilati glared at the back of Eigou's head. "Nadaren came upon me at your dried up well."

"It was dry?" Eigou's shoulders slumped visibly. "Why would he..." He seemed to collect his thoughts quickly, a humorless smile twisting his lips into some parody of amusement. "I suppose I should have expected it. He was not a sharing man."

"Speak plainly, sorcerer," Artakhshathra ground out. "They should not have known the course we were taking across Kullah."

"They have spies everywhere their dark birds fly." Eigou scratched at his beard. "I sent Ilati to find a sacred site, one apparently destroyed. I had hoped she could drink from the knowledge within and glimpse into the future herself. It seems the last one I took to that well made certain that no other would have its powers."

Ilati thought of the dark bird she had seen and the malevolent intelligence in its eyes. "They knew I was there."

"Perhaps they sought it too. Stories take longer to die out than wells take to fill in. It doesn't matter." The sorcerer sighed, his solitary eye glancing at the ground. "We will find another way to awaken what is within you."

"K'adau spoke with me." The priestess steadied herself by gripping the saddle. "She showed me a scorpion..."

Shir Del and her daughter appeared with a thundering of hooves, both pale under moonlight as they approached from the poet's wounded side. "Ilati!" Roshanak called out in a voice tight with fear.

Ilati was far too aware of Artakhshathra's eyes on her to admit pain or even injury. A silent suffering was preferable to disappointing the man. "It is nothing."

The chieftain nudged his horse, circling around to observe the wound. "That is a Nadaren arrow." A flood of hostility ebbed from his voice and his shoulders relaxed. "They would not shoot their own."

"We should tend to it," Shir Del said. Beneath her, Araxa stomped his hooves and pawed at the earth, ready for the next challenge.

Artakhshathra turned his horse and his face away. "We have leagues to go before dawn."

Shir Del scowled. Eigou nudged his mule into motion and the priestess had to actively ignore the pain such a motion sent through her calf. The warrior woman followed them with a deepening anger. "You do not need to kill yourself for him, Ilati."

"She is not one of us, Shir Del." The chieftain's words struck bluntly, like the blow of a mace. "She was not in the battle."

The warrior woman bristled. "Let me at least bind it or she will die of bleeding."

"Fine."

Ilati looked down at her savaged leg, holding her bloody, cracked ribs. The gleam of wet, exposed muscle sent a frisson of terror down her spine. Was this how she would die?

No, she told herself, as long as Nysra rules, you cannot lie down and die.

The priestess grit her teeth as Shir Del bandaged her leg tightly enough to stop the bleeding. She felt weak and dizzy, only able to cling to Eigou's back like a sick child carried to one who knew oils.

Roshanak grabbed her bow, miraculously intact despite the divine-blooded horse's frenzied rescue. "Youtab saved you, Ilati?"

Ilati nodded and looked over at the mare. Feral beauty gazed back, hooves and mouth spattered with blood. The intensity of Youtab's eyes spoke of an entire world of fire within. "Thank you."

Instead of the war dance or shying away, Youtab leaned her head close.

The priestess expected to be bitten if she wasn't careful, so she ran her hand across the mare's neck in a tentative touch. Youtab was sleek and almost soft, with solid muscle beneath. Her hot blood clearly burned after battle, because the warmth almost felt like a fever. Ilati felt a crackle of connection as she touched the horse and the weight of the gods' eyes bearing down on her with a fated gaze.

Whatever was coming, they both had a role to play, perhaps even together. It lasted only a moment before Youtab stepped away, leaving her with Eigou and the others.

Ilati tightened her grip on their sorcerer, putting her lips near his ear to speak without being overheard. "You promised to tell me of my grandfather, Eigou, and how you knew him."

"I did." Eigou's even tone betrayed nothing of his feelings on the matter. "When we have stopped, I will speak of it. That leg of yours needs proper tending first, as does that gash across your ribs."

Ilati knew he had a point. Even the smallest battle wound could spell death, if infection made its home there, and her wounds were not small. Walking would be impossible. Even so, she found his answer unsatisfying. "Eigou, you promised me." She clung tighter, partially to deal with the dizziness and partially for emphasis.

"Do you compel me, o lioness?" Eigou asked. The question seemed light as a feather, but Ilati felt a tension in it, like a snake coiled for a strike.

Ilati had never seen Eigou pushed to the limits of his patience, yet something about this did. Words burned on her tongue to repeat the demand, but something in her whispered that this was not the time. "I only remind you of your promise."

Something in the old man eased, and the invisible threat in the air subsided. "Good." He cleared his throat. "Do you know the tale of the Monster of the Great Forest?"

"As much as any proud child of Shadi," Ilati murmured. "It is a tale of the golden days of Ilishu, when he was a boy."

"A boy born to battle and brazenness. In those days, none touched the trees nor entered the forest, for it was the realm of a powerful beast placed there by the gods to keep the cedars for themselves, carved from the very heartwood of the oldest tree. Only Ilishu dared go where all others feared to tread."

Ilati frowned slightly when the old man began to recount the story. The sorcerer had a purpose, but it was as opaque as Eigou himself. "And so he went into the forest and slew the beast. What is the point of the digression, clever one?"

As if he had not heard her, Eigou continued, "Proud Ilishu walked the dark paths beneath the cedars and shouted out his challenge. The beast appeared and charged the boy, but Ilishu was already stronger than most. He wrestled it into submission, gouging its eye. It was only then that he realized the nature of the creature, not so different from his own. This guardian, sacred as the wood the gods carved it of, was a nameless thing, yet knew the names of all things in the natural world. What did Ilishu do? He named it and in doing so, ended its free connection with the world." Eigou's tone sharpened like a knife. "You see, Ilati, there are many ways to kill a beast."

"That is not the story my grandfather used to regale Kia and Duga with," Ilati said slowly, almost chewing over her thoughts as she spoke. It was a welcome distraction from the pain. "Nor what my father had me commit to clay. If the beast was not slain, what became of it?"

"Ilishu took it with him to Shadi and tamed it. The beast cut its nails and hair, learned to dress and speak the tongue of men instead of the speech of gods, and became a man."

...gouging its eye…

The priestess's eyes widened. "Eigou, are you saying—"

"For many years, the beast followed Ilishu more faithfully than a hound," Eigou said, again as if she hadn't spoken. "But the hearts of men are dark with pride and selfish love of power. Even such faithful beasts can be spurned and whipped when they growl at their master's abuses."

"You were that beast."

"It is a fine story." Eigou's voice was smooth as a river stone and just as hard. "Like all stories, it is a fire's shadows dancing on a cave wall. The one who perceives those umbral figures judges for themselves what is true and what is invention."

Ilati sighed. "And what of merely speaking the truth?"

"A man can tell what he knows to be true while absolutely believing a thing that is wrong. Is that a lie? Again, it is in the mind of the listener that such things are evaluated, not the speaker's. He knows only what he knows."

This sparring with words felt like another of Eigou's tests. "You are trying to distract me from your story, because there is truth woven into it. I feel it."

"Perhaps." The old man shifted his grip on the reins of the mule. "I tell you what you will understand, piece by piece. You may decide for yourself if such things are true or not."

Just like that, the conversation closed.