The Wanderer's Mark: Book Three of Imirillia (The Books of Imirillia 3) Read Online Free Page B

What is her name, Hannia? What about your sister, Laaeitha? She is of little value to Emir. Would her life compensate in payment, I wonder? What about one of the children?”
    The coil of his father’s words seemed to squeeze his chest, and Basaal let his rage show clearly on his face. This was not the man who had shown approval, even love, earlier that same day. This was the beast that had swallowed his father whole, consuming him with its vile power. Now, in the shadows of the deep night, this man did not even look like his father.
    “You see, Basaal,” the emperor continued, “you cannot insulate yourself from consequences any more than you can insulate everything you love…from me.”
    Basaal shook off the hiss of his father’s words. “I will do my duty,” Basaal said, “but do not—I beg you—do not bring any other into your quarrel with me, Father.”
    “Every life you love is entirely in your own hands, Basaal. If you step straight, they will be well. Now, go,” Shaamil said as he waved his hand. “You have five days to prepare your company for the journey south, and then we leave.”
    “We?” Basaal asked.
    “Oh, yes,” Shaamil articulated with force. “I am accompanying you south with six thousand of my own men in case you need help in subjugating Aemogen.”

Chapter Two
     
    The gold and silver patterns of the afta dar began to disappear beneath the rough cloth as Eleanor rubbed it over her already tender skin. It had been more difficult than she’d anticipated to wash the afta dar away despite Hannia’s promise it would be an easy affair. But she knew they did not have much time, exposed as they were beside the silt-filled desert pond.
    Dantib stood, leaning against his staff, appearing to be a patiently waiting herdsman, but Eleanor could read the tension in his face. She scrubbed harder. They had now traveled through the rocky passageways of the eastern desert for three consecutive nights, settling into rock-covered crevices for a few hours during the day before setting out again in the hot sun.
    “In two more days’ time,” Dantib said as he watched behind them, scanning the sand and stones in their rocky upheaval along the horizon line, “we will come to a small village where I have our horses. We will dye your hair there as well, for I dare not stop longer. The Vestan move quickly, and I have no way of knowing what they know.”
    Eleanor pulled off her uncomfortable boots—her heels were covered in blisters—and began to scrub the afta dar from her feet and ankles. It came off easier than it had from her hands.
    “What are the chances,” Eleanor asked as she worked, “that they could have found our trail among so many? As we left Zarbadast, there were streams of travelers, coming and going in every direction.”
    “Yes,” Dantib said, but he did not speak further.
    Eleanor wished she could leave her feet sitting in the mud puddle, but, as soon as the last remnants of the bridal paint had been washed away, she pulled her boots back on and stood, adjusting her rough garments and ensuring her headscarf was in place.
    She rolled her sleeves down until they covered most of her hands, but not before Eleanor looked again at Basaal’s mark on her arm, a reminder that her time in Zarbadast had not been a dream. Eleanor did not quite believe it. These three days in the desert had taken her mind back to crossing the Zeaad and the Aronee. Eleanor’s many days resting in the luxury of the seven palaces seemed too soft for the grittiness of the world to which she had returned.
    “Come,” Dantib said, and they set out again.
    Step after difficult step, they traveled farther east.
    ***
    Neither the quietude of the space nor the firmness of the answer could allay the intense trepidation Basaal felt in his bones. He could not believe what he had just heard.
    He had prayed, seeking guidance, counsel of the Illuminating God. But he had not expected it to come so fast. Nor had he expected it to