“What do you mean you won’t let me?”

The man before Aisha remained stone faced. He had been paid off with the fatty cheek meat of the sand snake to bolster his subservience to Medorosa, and now he stood like a wall before her. “The battlefield is no place for a woman.”

She ground her teeth. The Cynizia around her were sprawled across cloaks and blankets, stomachs fat from beer and meat. They snored and let their mouths gape open like an invite to all the insects of the desert. She had been quarantined to one corner of the small camp, where the more trustworthy men still stayed up with pepper-leaf candles and whetstones to occupy their hands. They were old friends of her brother, and she knew most of them by name.

Her guard was one of the few men with armor of his own, as it were. Many had plundered armor from the slain auxiliaries in Puerto Faro, but the combat damage and proper fitting gave most of the Cynizia a dishevelled look, even before the sun got to them. Travelling at night would have served them better, but the chase gave few options. To stave off the heat, her guard wore but a mesh of linked metal disks, like crude mail. The brass shone like mirrors, pushing the heat back off of him, while a small turban served as a helm; and to hide his balding.

That did not mean she liked any of her brother’s comrades. For years, she had felt their lingering gazes and watched as they supplicated to her brother and father to win their favor. To her eyes, they were as transparent with their lustful greed as the waters of the Tavina. “Am I a prisoner here, or have I come of my own free will? This war is my brother’s, you realize.”

The man frowned. “All who have sworn themselves to his cause may call the war their own. We will bring justice to the Vassish.”

She leaned in and bared her teeth. “And what part of that includes telling me where I can and can’t go? I’m not married to you, Almir.”

The man’s frown deepened and he sighed. “No, and you’ve rejected me three times over the years. I’m well aware of that Aisha-ima. But, if your brother were here now, he would be telling you to stay put and get some sleep; and he does have the right to order you to do that. Does he not?”

She wanted nothing more than to deny the truth of it, but that would have forced her hand too quickly. Instead, she pulled out the siege weapons. “Almir, you can either get out of my way right now, or I will tell everyone how you were crying and clutching my dress the day before your eighteenth.”

Almir’s eyes opened, his sclera exposing his fear.

She grinned. “What were those things you were promising me? That you’d climb the tallest peaks of the Ash Mountains to fetch for me the-”

“Aisha-ima!” he cut in, cheeks burning. “That was years ago. Do not insinuate I still do such foolish things.”

“I was just going to let everyone know what you did in the past. Wasn’t going to say anything at all about what you do nowadays.” She held up both of her palms, tilting from one side to the other like the scales of justice.

Almir broke. “We will go together then. I cannot let you go unattended.”

She sighed. “Fine.”

The Vassish still had scouts hiding in the darkness. Their blue cloaks had been stained by the sand and let them move as shadows between the dunes. Almir came as vigil, with a hunting bow clasped in his hands. The thing was small; designed for felling migratory birds. It wouldn’t pierce Vassish armor, but the sharpened tips could still rip through skin and flesh.

With a protector at her side, some of the others watched them go but did not interfere. Aisha set her sights on the dwindling glow of the silver mine and set off down the tracks her brother had left behind. Rather than footsteps for the wind to consume, they had brought horse and cart, like the crudest sand chariot, and left deep ruts in their wake.

Medorosa had good reason for this odd behavior. While using his stigmata, the leader of the Cynizia may as well have been dead to the world. He had about him his best warriors, but should they be stuck in place to protect his body, they would have stood no chance. Thus, his body was loaded to the cart like a hearse.

Almir’s hand gripped Aisha’s arm and tore her to the ground. Surprise did not even let her shout before she hit the sand and felt the man’s arm across her shoulders. She scrambled in the cold sand, thrashing as it got in her hair and within her dress. Almir hushed her and shoved her aside so that he could crawl forward. He left her behind and crept to the crest of the slope and peered over. Knocking an arrow, he locked his gaze on some distant shadow.

“They’re gone.”

Aisha hammered her fist into the back of his thigh. “You could have used your words!”

The man whined and clutched his cramping muscle. “There was no time! They might have spotted you or heard me. Do you want to bring the Vassish down on us while our friends are so far behind?”

Something crashed to the sand behind her with an explosion of wind. Her hair broke free of all restraint, flying in front of her face as her silk hairband fluttered away.

Almir shouted, Vassish scouts forgotten, and twisted around to aim his arrow at the arrival.

“Pathetic,” Golden, the Divine Beast, said. The force of will imbued into that word struck Almir like chains. The bird preened as the bow was forced down, and then his blood-soaked maw turned to Aisha. “And here I thought I had found two lost souls. Instead, I find an ambitious bard on the eve of battle, going ahead of her forces.”

“Bard?” Aisha asked, glaring back at the bird. “Who says bard anymore? At least call me a poet.”

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For a moment, Golden was shocked silent. With the blood of half a dozen mine guards still stuck to beak and feather, he drew himself up to his utmost height and said, “Impudent girl. You should be blessed that you’re even allowed to ply your trade. Poetry is the craft of men. Do not think so highly of yourself because you can sing the rhymes of your betters.”

In defense of Golden; he was in fact several centuries old and by his nature, not a frequenter of festivals and taverns. His exposure to music and recitation was limited to what the temples put on for him, which were in turn shackled by tradition. Aisha, of course, had composed many a piece herself, and had been taught by women and men both. It had become fashionable in Giordana of the last hundred years that a woman’s beauty could be enhanced by any beauty she could produce.

Aisha didn’t rise to the indignant provocation. “You’re the one that has been circling the skies, yes?”

“The divine bird!” Almir gasped out, and pressed his hands together. The faithful man shut his eyes and bent over till his forehead touched the sand. “What a blessing.”

“Yes, I have been watching this performance between merchant and gambler; the pursuit of a debtor by his creditor, each paying with blood to buy honor.”

“Is that all the great emissary of the Shepherd has to say about that? It’s your teachings my brother thinks he’s following.”

Golden settled himself back a degree. “The Shepherd is not a war goddess. We do not teach the ways of violence. If Medorosa were following her teachings, then he would have travelled directly to King Arandall and brought his charges in writing. Something far older has gripped that boy; the demon known as hatred.”

Almir lifted his head, the wrap of his headdress slipping as he gaped at the bird. “This is a sworn vendetta! He bloodied himself with his honor blade. I watched it myself.”

Golden tilted his head at the man. “A custom of your people; not of my goddess’ teachings. Do not thrust this upon me. By all means however, cut each other down. I will be here to see your souls return to the Shepherd’s embrace.” Golden thought very highly of himself, though I suspect at the time, Shepherd had forgotten he even existed.

Aisha felt a trembling like drums through the sand. It came from the direction of the silver mine, so close that she could hear the bark of orders between the Vassish. “Horses.”

“A skirmish it seems. I wonder; who will live and who will die?” Golden mused, his gaze across the dunes to where Lieutenant Tyrion and his men charged.

“Won’t you do something? If you do not approve of the fighting, then why don’t you do something to stop it?” Aisha begged, for she had already perceived that the charge was against her brother; an attempt to end his life.

Golden turned his gaze back to her. His motivation was a selfish one; the blood and meat of the slain given up to him. He had already been bought and would do no such thing. “Why do you ask me that question? Shouldn’t you ask yourself?” With that, he pumped his wings, against gusting sand and wind across the two of them. He took to the skies, vanishing among the stars.

“Come on. My brother needs us,” Aisha said, returning to her feet. She had a great many bracelets upon her wrist, one of which was leather which she tugged off and used to bind her hair once more.

Almir got to his feet like a man just woken from a dream. While she was still brushing sand from her hair, he asked, “Are you going to try to put a stop to this? Do you mean to break your brother’s vendetta?”

“Don’t be stupid. You and I both know that won’t happen. They’re about to be attacked though. What if he gets injured.”

She set off, and Almir followed behind. Upon the open desert surrounding the silver mine, they were able to see the chase between Lieutenant Tyrion--though she did not know who he was at the time--and her brother. Three horsemen charging between the dunes, giving chase to Medorosa’s poor chariot. The Vassish on the sides could hardly urge their beasts forward, but their leader rode upon a proper warhorse. He had a shield in one hand, and a spear in the other.

When Medorosa’s bodyguards loosed arrows at them, they fell either in the sand, or struck the leader’s shield. The noise was like the tapping of pebbles against a window, at the distance from which Aisha watched, but every shaft carried a flicker of death with it.

“Why do they not have bows of their own?”

Almir stepped in behind her, the two of them sheltering within the shadow of an exposed rock. “The archers were in their own division of Raymi’s army. These men had been given leave from the fighting; a time in the city to rest and regain their strength. They are but swordsmen; which is why we will be able to crush them.”

Aisha chewed her lip as she saw the cart-chariot wheel and turn away from the light oasis of the silver mine. “If they had archers of their own, my brother would already be dead.”

“But, they do not,” Almir said.

Her brother had brought five men with him. Small, and lightly armored, they were riding double on a pair of horses, the fifth on the cart with him. They lured the Vassish further and further into the dark, until the four on horseback stopped and turned to face them. The men at the back of the saddle dropped to their feet and drew steel. They had the advantage only barely, and needed to buy time for the slow cart to escape back to the Cynizia camp.

“They’re going to die,” Aisha whispered.

Almir shook his head. “They would not have stayed if they thought they would die. They outnumber the Vassish.”

Aisha knew better. The Cynizia loosed another volley of arrows at the charging Vassish. Bolts struck shields, but some struck the chests of the horses. The beasts cried out and faltered. The Cynizia cheered defiance. The leader of the Vassish was thrown free when his warhorse lost footing and fell, but he landed on his feet in a charge. Their cheers ended when he met them with the point of his spear.

Aisha closed her eyes and turned away as Tyrion assaulted the Cynizia. She could hear the clash of steel, the screams of dying pain, and the panicked storming of hooves. She heard him scream, “Medorosa!” When she opened her eyes again, the four Cynizia were dead, and the two seated Vassish were charging after her brother.

Almir muttered a prayer, and jumped up from his hiding spot. He took aim and loosed an arrow at the approaching soldiers. The shaft struck one of them in the chest, catching the man by surprise. The Vassish faltered and shouted, taking gauge again of their distance to safety.

“Please, go back,” Aisha pleaded under her breath, and they did. The Vassish turned back and rode to their leader once more.

“Here!” Almir bellowed, and the cart with her brother shifted course.

“Get on, get on!” the driver shouted as he slowed beside them. “That fucking monster isn’t human!”

Aisha and Almir jumped into the back, beside her brother. The man had been tied in place, lest he slip free of the cart. When she put her hand to his chest, his eyes opened. His lips snarled. “Cockroach.” Then he saw his sister and her guard with him. “What happened?”

“You’ve underestimated them, brother. They have stigmata too. Don’t you think you should reconsider this thing?”

“Just because they have stigmata doesn’t mean they are undefeatable! I just have to figure out that commander’s ability and I can beat it,” Medorosa shouted back.

Aisha pounded him in the chest with her fist. Tears swelled in her eyes. “You just got four of your friends killed! They died protecting you because you made them think they were a match for the Vassish!”

Medorosa’s response to her choked in his throat. The knot inside him strangled his words as Aisha began to sob. He pulled her into an embrace, but his gaze never strayed from the distant glow of the silver mine. “Don’t worry, Sis. I won’t lose.”