Desert Wind Read online

  Continuing to watch the palanquin, Ardalan saw the curtain pull back and an elegantly clad leg ending in golden boots was thrust from the litter. Bright blue silk heavily embroidered with golden thread adorned the pants of the maharaja as he was helped from the palanquin. Upon his head was a striking gold turban with a sapphire the size of a chicken egg in the center that shone like a beacon atop his head. His bearded face was as stern as any the prince had seen upon his own father’s hawklike visage.

  “My father is quite a fashion plate,” Sitara remarked quietly. “He loves jewelry.”

  “He looks mad as hell,” Halim commented.

  “You would too if some man was abducting your daughter at sword point,” Ardalan reminded him.

  Before the maharaja’s feet touched the ground, a man rushed forward and rolled out a red carpet upon which the Kishnu ruler could stand.

  Bhaskar had reached the assembly on the hill and jumped from his horse, rushing forward to fall to one knee—head bowed—before the maharaja. As he spoke, his words hardened the anger that was already on the ruler’s face to a brittle, seething rage that was palpable even from a distance.

  “He is telling my father that our marriage was consummated,” Sitara told her husband.

  Ardalan looked around at her. “How would he know? Who would have told him?”

  “No one needed to tell him, my Prince. One look at my face would have been sufficient for Bhaskar to know,” she replied.

  “Oh that’s just wonderful,” Sabir growled. “Let’s be sure the man knows his daughter has been royally screwed.”

  “Sabir!” Ardalan bellowed, made furious by his friend’s rudeness.

  Sitara had seen her father’s head snap around when her husband had shouted. She saw him take a step closer to the edge of the hill. His eyes met hers, and in those eyes she saw something she had hoped not to see. She bowed her head beneath her father’s misery.

  “Either keep your mouth shut or by the Prophet I will carve your tongue from you myself!” Ardalan warned.

  Sabir looked hurt by the reprimand, his face a crimson stain. He nodded his agreement to the warning.

  Ardalan had not missed the look the maharaja had given his daughter. He backed up his horse until he was closer to her. “Why is he looking at you in that way, milady?” he asked.

  A single tear fell down Sitara’s cheek. “Because he knows I did not fight you. He knows I went willingly to your bed.”

  “Did he expect you to fight me?”

  “Aye,” she said. “To defend my honor I should have, but…”

  “But?” he pressed.

  She looked up at him. “I wanted you, milord. More than anything, I wanted you. From the first moment I touched you, I knew you were my destined one.”

  There was no missing the love that shone in Sitara’s eyes. Halim saw it and Sabir saw it, as well. Ardalan not only saw it, he felt it to the depths of his soul. His wife was handing him a gift he had not dared to hope she would ever bestow upon him. She had given him her body, but what choice had he given her but to do so? It was obvious to him that she found him attractive and he had reveled in that knowledge for he thought her the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He had hoped with time she would come to accept him as her mate, but to love him? Love had never once crossed his mind.

  “I will never give you up,” Ardalan stated, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Never!”

  Sitara watched her husband kick his mount into motion, heading up the serpentine road that led to the massed troops awaiting him. Saying a quick prayer to Karuna, the goddess of compassion, she begged for her husband’s life. Hers did not matter, but above all else, she wanted Ardalan to survive this day.

  Chapter Eight

  The maharaja’s eyes narrowed as he watched the despoiler of his beloved daughter coming up the hillside. Sitara was surrounded by men, swords clutched in their hands, but The Evil One was alone, his bodyguards racing to catch up with him.

  “We can take him,” Sahan said to his ruler.

  “I gave my word,” the maharaja reminded the younger man. “He and his men will have safe passage to the coast.”

  “I demand satisfaction for what he has done to my beloved!” Sahan snapped, forgetting himself in his anger.

  “And satisfaction you will have,” the maharaja said, “but not today.”

  “Once he is in Asaraba, it will be difficult for us to take him,” Sahan said.

  “Are you not up to the challenge, Sahan?” the maharaja asked. He turned to stare at the man who wished to take his place. “Show me your ingenuity. Give me reason to declare you my rightful heir when I have gone on to my reward.”

  “The thought of Sitara in the infidel’s land makes my blood boil,” Sahan said.

  Turning back to get a good look at the man his people called The Evil One, the maharaja folded his hands over his large belly. “No one has said Sitara will ever cross the sea to that wicked land, Sahan. Now go with Airavata and do whatever he tells you to and have patience.” He looked at Bhaskar. “Some things take time.”

  Bhaskar bowed deeply and walked back to his horse. He swung into the saddle and was waiting for Prince Ardalan when the Asaraban crested the hill. He positioned his horse so the prince could not get past him.

  Halim and Sabir had raced up the hill, their mounts lathered as they attempted to reach Ardalan’s side, to be at his back if the Kishnu attacked him, but they were surprised to see the men on the hill fanning back, opening a pathway for them while at the same time blocking Ardalan’s way to the maharaja.

  “Don’t you ever do that again!” Halim hissed in Asaraban. “You took ten years off my life!”

  Ardalan said nothing. His gaze was locked with the maharaja’s. Even though they were at least a hundred feet apart, he could feel the chill of the older man’s stare. There was more than hatred aimed at him from those black eyes. There was a promise, a vow that the prince would pay for having dared to cross Bhishma Santhanam.

  “If looks could kill,” Sabir said then shuddered. He had drawn his sword but the men who had fanned back from them still had theirs in their scabbards. No one was making a threatening move toward them, but Sabir continued to tightly grip his weapon.

  Sitara was surrounded by six men as she came up the hillside. She was careful not to give her father’s men any reason to attack Ardalan or his troops by walking her horse up the side of the hill instead of at the gallop she would have preferred. She made sure she stayed within the perimeter of the grim-faced warriors escorting her, their weapons brandished. Without looking, she knew there were archers behind her whose arrows were aimed at her back, though she knew her husband had ordered the stance for no other reason than to intimidate her father’s men.

  When Sitara was at his side, Ardalan kicked his mount into a trot, his lady close behind him, Halim and Sabir flanking them, Sitara’s escorts right behind. He did not turn to glance back at the Kishnu warriors. His heart was pounding, his hands on the reins slick with sweat. The feeling of something crawling down his back was still there and he had to steel himself to keep his eyes on the road ahead.

  Bhaskar was out in front, his horse at a steady trot. The bodyguard was riding with one hand braced on his thigh, heading across the brow of the hill as though he were out for no more than a leisurely jaunt. He looked neither to the left nor the right, his behavior betraying no deceit.

  “Are they keeping in position?” Ardalan asked Halim.

  The captain turned to look behind them. “Aye. They haven’t moved that I can tell.”

  Sitara’s nervousness was increasing the farther they rode away from her father and his troops. She had seen Sahan riding off with a group of men, and why that should bother her, she did not know. There was something Sahan had said that had her concerned but she could not remember what it was. It was there in the darkness of her mind, just out of reach, skittering away each time she searched for it, and it was niggling like a pesky gnat drawn to an oozing scab.


  The foothills of Mount Canesk swept as far as the eye could see to the east and west, delineated by the gloom of the rainy skies. Softly round, covered in scrub grass and littered with scree, the path over which Ardalan and his men rode was open to the sky, no places behind which attackers could be hiding. As they rode—glancing over their shoulders at the mass of warriors who still sat their position with the maharaja—the Asarabans began to feel less unsettled. The danger it seemed, was staying behind them and they would be allowed to leave Kishnu without a fight.

  “My Prince?” Sitara called out.

  Ardalan turned in the saddle, reining in his mount as his bride motioned that she wanted to speak to him. “Aye, milady?”

  Her nerves were rubbed raw with unease. Even her skin felt prickled by whatever restlessness and disquiet was making itself known. She had a crick in her neck from looking behind her to ascertain the position of her father’s men. That they had held their position did not reassure her.

  “I feel great apprehension, milord,” she told her husband as she reined in next to him. “Something isn’t right.”

  Ardalan looked past her. “The warriors are where we left then, sweeting. I know they could still ride down upon us, but we are only a few miles from the coastline. We could outrun them if need be.” His gaze swept over his men who had halted behind him, their mounts nervously prancing, no doubt feeling the unease of their riders.

  Sitara tucked her lower lip between her teeth. “No, they will not come after us,” she said. “The threat is not behind us.”

  “You fear it is before us?” he pressed.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I just have a feeling that all is not as it should be.”

  He held her gaze for a moment then put two fingers to his mouth. A piercing whistle broke the stillness of the early morning and Sabir turned his mount to canter up to them.

  “Aye, Your Grace?” the young major said.

  “Have two of your men scout ahead. Princess Sitara is restless and to tell the truth, I feel something isn’t right, as well.”

  “So do I,” Sabir agreed. He called two of the soldiers over to them and ordered them to ride on ahead. “Make sure the ships are where they should be and no attackers are lurking about.”

  As the men went galloping past Bhaskar, the bodyguard barely glanced at them. He kept the same leisurely, steady pace.

  “He’s too calm by far,” Sabir remarked. “I don’t like it.”

  “Neither do I,” Ardalan replied. “Ride back among the men. Tell them to stand ready should the need arise.”

  As Sabir walked his horse among the column of soldiers, Ardalan leaned over in his saddle and kissed his wife on the cheek. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her not to worry, but he could see from her eyes it would be a waste of breath. He left her in the midst of the guards who had once more circled her and rode back to Halim.

  “What’s wrong?” Halim asked quietly.

  “She senses something,” Ardalan replied, not knowing what else to say.

  “I’ve a wicked feeling gouging at my innards,” Halim confessed. “The closer we come to the coast, the deeper that gouging.”

  “There is nowhere between here and the coast for attackers to hide, but there are low dunes along the beach behind which a horse could be concealed,” the prince stated. “Not many horses, though. Perhaps half a dozen at most.”

  “Aye, but what of archers?” Halim questioned. “I’m thinking if we are going to meet trouble, it will be from archers.”

  “Even so, how many archers can you secrete behind those dunes?” Ardalan asked.

  “It only takes one master archer to pierce your heart, my Prince,” Halim told him. “If and when an attack comes, it will be directed at you.”

  “You may be right,” Ardalan allowed.

  “Perhaps you and your lady should move back to the middle of our men. If we are set upon, that will give us a better chance of defeating our attackers and keeping the two of you safe,” Halim suggested.

  Halim was fifteen years Ardalan’s senior and had earned his spurs long before Ardalan could sit a pony. The man was a master tactician and a soldier’s soldier but his stubbornness and quickness to argue with authority had busted him down in rank several times. He had survived many battles in his fifty-two years and had the scars to prove it. When it came to matters of logistics, Ardalan bowed to his captain’s expertise.

  “Just don’t allow yourself to be vented, my friend,” Ardalan said, and reached out to take Halim’s arm in a warrior’s salute.

  “May the Wind be at your back, my Prince,” Halim answered.

  Sitara watched as her husband wheeled his horse around and came trotting back to her. Halim had taken the lead, Sabir galloping past to join up with him. She felt a measure of relief that Ardalan was no longer at the head of the troops and when he joined her, she reached out, needing to touch him.

  He was on her left side and he took her hand, bringing it to his lips. The touch of her flesh—warm in the cool of the morning—gave him a feeling of peace he could not have explained should anyone have asked.

  For twenty more minutes the column of men rode toward the seacoast. Overhead, the rain clouds had grown darker with the threat of a deluge. In the distance, lightning stitched across the gray corduroy of the sky and an occasional low boom of thunder could be heard echoing toward them. When the two scouts Sabir had sent out were seen coming toward them, more than one sigh of relief was released in the still, morning air.

  “Looks like everything is all right ahead,” Halim said.

  “Let’s hope so,” Sabir said, rubbing his neck.

  Saqlain Abdul Qadir was young but he was a good scout, a watchful and precise man whose ability to assess a situation quickly and with confidence had earned him high marks with both Sabir and Halim. The man who had ridden out with him was Saqlain’s cousin Khalid and he too was a cautious soldier. As the two reined in before Halim and Sabir, they were smiling.

  “We checked the beach,” Saqlain said. “Up and down both sides. There are no attackers lurking about. We found no tracks in the sand, either.”

  “There are dunes—” Halim began.

  Khalid nodded. “That was the first place we looked. No tracks.”

  “The ships are docked where we left them. I waved to the watch,” Saqlain said. “He waved back. All is well, Captain.”

  “No other ships in the bay?” Sabir pressed.

  “Only our six dhows and the Serenian barkentine upon which His Grace sailed,” Khalid replied.

  “They were dropping the rowboats from the barkentine when we left,” Saqlain informed them.

  “Just the thought of boarding our mounts on those boats then winching them up to the deck makes my head hurt,” Sabir said. “It is time-consuming and something tells me the longer we stay here, the closer to disaster we come.”

  “You are suggesting we leave the horses here?” Halim inquired. “His Grace will most certainly not appreciate being told he must leave his treasured Malahk here. He’s had that stallion since it was a foal.”

  Sabir rolled his eyes. “Fine, then we’ll board that damned Rysalian beast but leave the rest.”

  Neither Saqlian nor Kahlid seemed happy with the idea, but they knew better than to question their major. They looked to Halim.

  “As much as it irritates me that I must leave my gelding,” Halim said, “I too believe time is of the essence. Let the men know we will not be taking our mounts onto the ships.”

  Sabir let out an obviously relieved breath. “And that they are to make haste in getting into the small boats. Make sure they keep their weapons handy, especially so the archers and lancers.”

  “Aye, Major,” Saqlain said, and he and Kahlid took opposite sides of the column to inform the men about what would be happening.

  Sitara looked at her husband when they overheard the orders being given to the men around them. “If the scouts found no evidence of an ambush, why are we leaving the h
orses behind, milord?” she asked him.

  “This is Sabir’s doing, I’ll warrant,” Ardalan said on a long sigh. “He is getting more like his old grandmother with each passing day. I swear the man sees conspiracies in every falling leaf.”

  “Your beast is too fine an animal to leave here,” Sitara said.

  “I have no intention of leaving Malahk here,” her husband assured her. “Even if I have to swim him out to the ship myself!”

  Sitara smiled at his mutinous look, but something he said had scratched at the worry in her mind. Her brows drew together as she tried to capture the elusive concern that would not let her rest.

  “How much farther to the coast now?” she asked.

  “If I remember correctly, perhaps ten, maybe fifteen minutes,” he replied. “I can smell the salt, can’t you?”

  Sitara drew in a deep breath, closing her eyes to the faint scent that tickled her nose. “Aye, I can.” She turned to him, her gaze bright. “I’ve never seen the ocean.”

  “Then the sight of it should be a treat,” Ardalan said. He frowned. “Do you know how to swim?”

  She shook her head. “No. My father would not allow it, although my mother has tried many times to get him to allow us to be taught. She has always feared the monsoons, the floods, and thought we should know how to at least float.”

  “She’s right,” he said. “I have a keep near Donkoor and there’s a pond close by. I’ll teach you.”

  “You will?” she asked, squealing like a child.

  Bhaskar whipped his head around at the sound. His eyes narrowed dangerously, but when there was laughter coming from the princess, he seemed to relax.

  “Did you see that?” Sabir asked Halim.

  “Aye, I saw it.”

  “If he makes one false move, Halim, I swear I will gut him,” Sabir swore. “I care not for the way he looks at Ardalan.”

  “I believe he was sent to protect the princess,” Halim commented. “If he gets the chance, he might try to spirit her away. Best you watch out for that and not worry about spilling his innards.”