“And how will we tackle the Sachakans?” Narvelan asked. Sabin frowned. “From what we know from scouts’ reports and villager’s stories we are equal in number to the invading force, but are we equal in strength? Those of us who fought at Tecurren will be diminished in strength, though the generosity of the villagers will have compensated a little for that. The Sachakans, however, have taken the strength of whole towns. I do not like our chances.” He shook his head. “For now we should do what we can to help here. People may be buried or trapped. I will contact the king using our code of mental communication again. Be ready to leave at any time.”
As the magicians split apart and headed in all directions, Dakon looked for Jayan and Tessia. Neither was standing behind him. He scanned the village square and eventually located the pair sitting either side of a small boy several paces away.
As he drew closer he realised the child was wounded and Tessia was treating him. Jayan had the boy’s arm cradled in a bundle of cloth. Despite the support, the forearm was bent at an unnatural angle. Tessia touched the skin gently.
Then, as Dakon watched, the arm slowly unbent.
The boy cried out in pain and surprise, then burst into tears. Tessia quickly cast about, then drew a fragment of wood towards her with magic. Splinters flew off and the fragment split into two. She took the pieces, wrapped them in cloth, then instructed Jayan to hold them in place as she bound them to the boy’s arm.
As Tessia consoled the boy, telling him what the supports did and how long to keep them on, Jayan looked up and blinked in surprise as he saw Dakon.
Nevertheless, Jayan’s involvement was interesting. The young man barely left Tessia’s side now. Dakon suspected he saw himself as her protector, but perhaps there was more to it. Perhaps Jayan understood how important Tessia’s use of magic in healing could be, and was trying to give her the chance to keep developing her skill. He found he could manage a smile.
The first thing Stara did when she woke was to marvel that she had been asleep at all. Her last memory of the night before was of telling Vora she would probably lie awake all night as she lay down on the bed. Instead she was blinking and rubbing her eyes, feeling disappointingly fresh and rested.
A familiar figure prostrated herself on the floor, her knees cracking audibly.
“Did you put a herb in my drink?” Stara asked, sitting up.
“You said you wished today would hurry up and be over, mistress,” Vora replied as she rose to her feet. “Did the time speed by as you wished?”
“Yes. You’re an evil woman, Vora. And I’m going to miss you.” The old woman smiled. “Come on then, mistress. Let’s get you washed and dressed. I’ve brought your wedding wrap.”
Stara couldn’t help feeling a small thrill of excitement, but it was followed by a more familiar annoyance and frustration. In Elyne, a bride spent weeks with her mother, sisters – if she had them – and friends selecting fabric, embellishments and a design for her wedding dress. In Sachaka women wore yet another wrap, though for once it was a sober colour, and a headdress to which a veil had been attached. This traditional wedding costume had barely changed for centuries.
Stara rose and eyed the bundle of black cloth in Vora’s hands. “Let’s see it, then.”
As the woman let the wrap unfurl, Stara caught a ripple of tiny reflections. She moved closer and examined the cloth. Fine stitchwork covered the front, incorporating countless tiny black disc-like beads.
“Pretty,” she said. “Elyne women would love this. I wonder why it has never made it to market?”
“Because it is only used on wedding gowns,” Vora told her. “The quans are carved from quannen shell. It’s a slow process and the shell is rare, so they are very expensive. It is also traditional to reuse those on a mother’s gown for her daughter’s. But since your mother took hers to Elyne with her, your father had to buy new quans for this one.”
“That was generous, considering he thinks I’m of no value as a wife.” Stara straightened and moved to the washbasin. Her stomach had started doing that sickening fluttering and sinking thing again. “Either that, or he was forced to because he doesn’t dare tell my mother he’s marrying me off.”
“I doubt any message would get to your mother at the moment,” Vora reminded her.
Stara sighed. “No. Blasted war.” She stripped off her night-clothes and washed, then let Vora envelop her in the wrap. The slave fussed with Stara’s hair, arranging and pinning it carefully. When she was satisfied, she stepped back and looked Stara over.
“You look beautiful, mistress,” she said, then shook her head. “You look beautiful when you first wake up, in a bad mood and your hair a-tangle. I only have to make you look like a bride. Ah, I wish my orders were always this easy to follow.”
Stara had noticed that Vora had placed a large box on the table. Now the old woman opened it and lifted out a heavy mass of cascading cloth and jewels. The cloth was gauzy and covered in an elaborate pattern of quans.
“This is the headdress,” the slave explained, then let it fall back into the box. “Before I put it on, would you like something to eat?”
Feeling her stomach clench, Stara shook her head. “No.”
“How about a little juice?” Vora moved to a side table and picked up a glass jug. “I brought some in case.”
Stara shrugged. She accepted the glass of juice the slave poured for her and sipped. Against her expectations, her stomach did not rebel. She felt a cool, calm sensation spread through her, and looked at the drink speculatively.
“Did you put herbs in this as well?”
Vora smiled. “No, but creamflower and pachi juice are known to be soothing.” She eyed Stara. “Drink up. We don’t have all morning.”
As she continued to sip, Stara looked around the room. Vora had assured her that the few possessions she’d brought with her from Elyne – mostly mementos to remind her of her mother and friends – would be sent to her new home, along with all the clothing that had been made for her since she arrived. As she swallowed the last of the juice she took her last look at the rooms she’d lived in these last few months.
Then she turned away and handed Vora the empty glass. The woman put it aside and returned to the headdress. She lifted it out, carefully raising the cloth at the front. Stara had to bend over so the woman could slip it on over her head. At once Stara felt stifled. She could barely see through the cloth, and her own breath quickly warmed the air within the canopy.
“Stop tugging at it,” Vora said. “You’ll pull it out of place.”
“I can’t see.”
“It will be easier when we get outside.”
“Will the ceremony happen outside?”
“No.”
“How am I going to avoid tripping over or walking into walls?”
“Walk slowly. I’ll tug on your gown to direct you. On the left side if you need to go that way, and vice versa.”
“And if I need to stop?”
“In the middle.”
“And if I need to move again?”
