princess glanced at him and he looked away quickly. I am not a boy any more. If Ariel could tend to thieves and lepers, the least I can do is not lust after Qhora. Love can be chaste and pure. I must try harder. I must pray harder.
Behind them both, Xiuhcoatl drove the wagon carrying their small bags, the two cages, and the sleeping saber-toothed cat. Atoq had leapt into the cart the moment Lorenzo brought it to the hotel, and after sniffing about in the straw and circling several times, the great cat had collapsed in a huff and was soon dreaming, his paws scratching gently at the floorboards.
The old Aztec warrior had shown little interest in the news that the train had been destroyed, or that the airship had been destroyed, or that dozens of people had been killed, or that they now faced a much longer journey across Marrakesh. Nothing ever seemed to interest or trouble the man, but Lorenzo didn’t think anything of it. Xiuhcoatl had left his homeland in some northern province to serve in the great wars in Jisquntin Suyu, and then pledged his service to a young Incan princess only days before she had been forced to flee the city, the country, and then across the sea to Espana. The Aztec did not speak Quechua, though he seemed to understand enough to obey Lady Qhora’s orders. And he certainly didn’t speak Espani or any other language of the Middle Sea kingdoms. Lorenzo didn’t think anything of that either. But he sometimes envied the solitude that the Aztec must have enjoyed behind the wall of his strange language and his jaguar-skin cloak.
No one gives him a second look, thinking him some dull savage. And no one demands anything of him, except for my lady, Lorenzo reflected. To have such clarity of purpose. To be truly free to ignore the world and all its base distractions, to be totally dedicated to a single task in life. What a paradise that must be.
Ahead, the road angled up slightly and Lorenzo nudged his mare into a canter to reach the top of the rise and look ahead. The highway speared across the plains with uncanny precision, drawn by proud engineers and carved across the land by even prouder engines.
Even their roads are unnatural.
A dozen yards to the right, the train tracks shadowed the road with the same precision, the two rails gleaming in the morning light. Lorenzo tugged the mare’s head over so he could look back at the short distance they had traveled already. Tingis still appeared on the horizon, the spires of the temple and the governor’s estate rising proudly against the pale pink sky. He watched the winds play through the tall grasses for a minute as Lady Qhora rode past, and he was about to turn and follow her when a shimmer in the grass caught his eye.
The wind gusted from left to right, from the sea toward the mountains, and the grasses laid down like willing supplicants, except for one place just a few yards from the edge of the road. Down in the drainage ditch, the grass was rippling from north to south. It was bending toward him. Toward his Qhora.
As the horse-drawn wagon rolled by, Lorenzo said in his broken and unpracticed Quechua, “Xiuhcoatl, there are men following us. Be ready.”
The old Aztec nodded ever so slightly as he drove past, and Lorenzo saw him lift the blanket off the seat beside him to reveal his sword. The hidalgo grimaced at the sight of it. It wasn’t a sword at all, only a wooden club studded with obsidian spikes to create a sort of crude blade along its edges. It weighed half a dozen pounds, requiring both hands even from its grim-faced master, and at its fastest it was still as slow as the moon compared to the shooting star of Lorenzo’s espada. But he had seen men dismembered by that sword, their bones crushed, their flesh shredded, their hot blood gushing in a dozen places at once. Lady Qhora called the obsidian sword a macuahuitl. He had never asked what the word meant.
Lorenzo touched the medallion under his shirt. May the Father, the Mother, and the Son spare me such a fate as the macuahuitl.
As the wagon rolled past, he looked over the side at the sleeping mound of Atoq. The great cat would sleep most of the day before wandering out at evening to hunt. Beside him and their bags of clothing and food, the two small cages clacked and thumped against the far side of the wagon. Inside them, the two saber-toothed cubs swatted at each other through the bars. Behind them, Lorenzo saw the strange ripple in the grassy ditch still bending toward them against the wind.
Who can it be now? Do they mean to rob us, or worse?
Ariel’s pale face drifted across his mind’s eye, and for a moment he couldn’t tell if he had really seen her or only imagined it. He swallowed and blinked back the sudden tears.
Ariel, can you see me? Are you watching over me in this strange land?
Only the wind answered him. Lorenzo turned his mare back up the road and came alongside Qhora. “I’d like to put some distance between us and the city before the morning travelers come out. I’d rather they not see us. They might be tempted to rob us, and I’d rather not leave a trail bodies from Tingis to Orossa.”
“If the queen of Marrakesh knew how to provide for her people, or how to police her people, we wouldn’t have to leave a trail of bodies wherever we go,” Qhora said. She glanced at him and her face softened. “But we are here in the name of Prince Valero. For his sake, we will try not to kill too many Mazighs.”
“Thank you, my love.” He nudged his mare into a quick trot just as Wayra broke into a sprint and dashed away down the road with a squawk and a hiss. Glancing back, he saw Xiuhcoatl whip his draft horse into a slightly quicker pace, which would leave him far behind both the hidalgo and the princess in just a few minutes. Lorenzo sighed and lashed his mare into a gallop. “Qhora!”
It took almost three minutes to catch up to the giant bird and catch the princess’s attention. She reined in Wayra and stared down at her escort as he explained the need to stay together with the wagon. As he spoke, he could see the impatience and frustration in her narrowed eyes and pressed lips, but she did not argue as she turned back to join the wagon, which was now hidden by another rise in the highway.
A deep-throated growl echoed across the plain and Lorenzo kicked his horse into another gallop as they passed back over the last hill and saw the old Aztec standing in the wagon’s seat, his obsidian sword glinting in the early morning light. The saber-toothed cat crouched on the ground beside the wagon, terrifying the draft horse into a constant stream of whinnies and sidesteps, slowly pulling the wagon away to escape the growling cat. At the opposite side of the road, two men in faded brown uniforms stood knee-deep in the grass with shining revolvers in their hands.
Lorenzo swallowed. Guns. “Qhora, stay back!” He charged down the hillside and whipped his espada free. Oh Ariel, if I survive this I swear I will never leave home again!
Xiuhcoatl shouted something in Nahuatl that no one within four thousand miles could understand as he jumped down to the ground beside Atoq, brandishing his weapon in a two-handed grip. The huge cat dashed forward to swipe at the first gunman, who stumbled back and fell into the ditch, disappearing under the tall grass. Atoq snarled and paced back to the wagon.
The yards quickly vanished beneath his horse’s hooves and Lorenzo passed his sword to his left hand. With a flick of his wrist, the hidalgo slashed the gunman’s shoulder as he galloped by and heard the revolver clatter on the hard-packed dirt and gravel of the road. Wheeling around, Lorenzo saw the man clutching his arm and jumping back down into the ditch, and the two men scrambled back the way they had come through the waving grasses. When they were out of sight, Lorenzo sheathed his espada and trotted back to the wagon, pausing to hop down and retrieve the dropped revolver. Xiuhcoatl was roughly stroking the cat’s head and patting his side. Atoq purred, butting his head against the man’s hand. And then the cat circled to the back of the wagon, leapt up into the straw, and flopped down again beside the caged cubs.
To his relief, Lorenzo saw that the princess had stayed at the top of the hill, sitting in her strange saddle on her strange beast, the feathers of her cloak fluttering in the cool morning breeze.
The old Aztec warrior dropped onto his seat, picked up the reins, and got the wagon moving again. Lorenzo rode beside him to the top of the rise and Lady Qhora fell into step beside him.
After a moment she said, “They had guns.”
“Soldiers, judging from their uniforms,” he said. “Deserters, maybe.”
“They had guns, Enzo.” She glanced at him. “They might have killed you. We’ve talked about this. You need to be more careful. You can’t fight guns with a sword.”
He said, “No, but I can fight men with a sword.”
“You didn’t kill them. You should have.” Her voice quavered, or at least he thought it did. “Deserters are traitors. Killing them would have been a service to the Mazigh queen.”
Was she this bloodthirsty when we first met? I don’t remember. But that was another life for both of us, in another world. So much has happened, so much has changed. I could never explain to her why I spared these two, or those three men last night. She wouldn’t understand.
