The way was rough and travel slow. Though Bghali and Reghimi—the woman who'd counted everyone on the night of the attack, and who Nirithu learned was Lokhior's widow—had remembered to include food in their plans for flight, the fact was that their supplies had been low already, and they were further limited by what they could carry. So they all went hungry, and by the third day even the cries of the smallest children had turned to sullen-eyed acceptance. All of Nirithu's energy that wasn't consumed by simply putting one foot in front of another went to consulting his source about where they might camp that had a source of fresh water, at least, and to trying to coax a little more growth out of whatever edible vegetation they could find. That, and listening the road to try and get some advance warning if anyone was pursuing them, but there was no sign of that.
According to Reghimi, in the ordinary course of things it was a journey of four days between Lame Donkey and the Gmou Dibh compound. As it was, the moon waned, disappeared, and rose again as a thin crescent before they reached it. As they came within sight of it, a sentry gave a shout from the walls, and soon people were spilling out to meet them: sisters, aunts, mothers-in-law, grandfathers, sons. Mostly women, and the men that were there either old, very young, or crippled, with only a handful of warriors to defend them. The former hostages fell into their family's arms, weeping, clinging, and Nirithu and Bghali were left awkwardly on the side, Bghali bouncing the baby on her hip to keep her quiet amidst the fuss.
In bits and pieces on both sides, they exchanged news: how Lokhior and his men were killed, how the hostages escaped Lame Donkey, how there had been arguments among the ranks of the warriors when the summons came from Lord Lirun to the lands of the Gmou Bim.
Finally an old, stooped man who appeared to be some kind of a leader broke from the group and addressed Nirithu. "Lord Nirithu," he said, "I'm grateful—all of the Gmou Dibh are grateful—for your part in restoring our family to us."
"Oh," said Nirithu. "Ah—"
"And of course no one here will harm you—it would be a shame to us, regardless of your legal status. But you must see that we cannot invite you to shelter in our house, or share our bread."
Nirithu couldn't even be angry yet—only stunned. The man turned to Bghali without waiting for a response from Nirithu.
"Lady Bghali, we would be glad to have you and the child as our guests as before."
The baby let out a piercing cry as Bghali's grip on her tightened. "Shall I enter gates that have been barred to my brother? Shall I eat the bread of a pack of belly-crawling vipers? I would rather accept the son of Tilbe's hospitality again than yours!"
"Bghali—" Reghimi started to say.
But Bghali cut her off, snapping, "Don't speak to me."
So the Gmou Dibh went back through their gates and behind their walls, and Nirithu and Bghali were left behind on the road.
"Come," said Bghali, starting to skirt the walls.
"Where are we going?" said Nirithu.
"They won't be using the separate house during a time of siege. And there will be food there, and perhaps a bed or two."
It wasn't a notion that would ever have occurred to Nirithu. It made him uncomfortable, but he'd eaten birds, so he could hardly turn his nose up at food that had been handled by menstruating women. He was too tired and hungry to do anything but follow where Bhgali led. It wasn't long before they found the separate house, a snug, sturdy building nestled in the shade of the walls. Nirithu sank down on one of the beds. Bghali laid the baby down to roll about and kick her legs in the air on the other, while she herself rummaged through boxes, looking for food that had neither gone off nor required any sort of preparation. She came up with some withered dates and strips of dried meat, which Nirithu accepted gratefully.
"Bghali," he said, "why didn't you accept the hospitality of the Gmou Dibh?"
Bghali sighed and unfastened her veil, throwing it on the bed beside her where the baby grabbed it and began playing with the fringes. "I ought to have, I suppose. I might have been able to do something for you, after all. I let my temper get the better of me."
"That's not what I meant," said Nirithu, who was in no position to criticize anyone for letting their temper get the better of them. "I meant—why take my part over theirs? Haven't you thrown your lot in with the Gmou Dibh?"
"Never. I'm a daughter of the Gmou Bim, now and always. They were only—useful to me, for a time. And I to them. But I'm useless now. Thank God!"
Nirithu didn't know how to respond. He finished his dates and chewed his meat slowly, and so did Bghali. The baby began to fuss, and she loosened her robe, shrugged one shoulder out of it, and held the baby to her breast.
"Because—because you have a daughter," said Nirithu finally. "But why—didn't you want to be the mother of the Commander? What else was all this for?"
"I did." Bghali leaned her head against the wall and let her eyes fall closed. "People thought twice before crossing Grandmother, didn't they? But I'm tired, Nirithu. When Miren died, and Shuni was grieving—you were all grieving, I suppose. But I hated that I'd left Shuni all alone."
"It was hard for her," Nirithu said. "She was already out of favor, because she'd spoken out for you—"
"She—!" Bghali's eyes flew open and she pressed a hand to her mouth. It took her a moment to recover. "What good did she think it would do me? I wish she hadn't. Useless to wish, I know." She sighed. "And then we removed to Lame Donkey, and it seemed foolish to me even at the time, but I could do nothing about it. When my daughter was born I was furious—nothing was going right. And then the birds came. And I wished I was at home, rather than in the house of my enemies, eating their bread."
"You—where did you hear my lament?"
"It traveled," Bghali said simply. "And I was glad then that I had a daughter. Because if I had a son, I would have had to use him. As I had been used. And—as I had used the Commander."
Nirithu looked away. He opened his mouth, and the question that had been in his mind since that day fell out. "How could you do it, Bghali?"
"You cannot think I liked it! But I told myself: am I not a child of the Gmou Bim? My father and brothers kill men in battle, surely I can do this. And also, I told myself: a minute, and it is over. There, I was wrong. It has never been over. A few days after Pili was born, and I had already forgotten the pain of childbirth, but this—the tremor in his voice when he said don't, and I told him to be quiet, and he—"
"I assure you," said Nirithu tightly, "my lord hasn't forgotten it either."
"It's useless to wish I hadn't done it," said Bghali softly, for the baby had fallen asleep and Bghali once more settled her in the bed, curled next to her body. "But I'm sorry, truly. Can you not forgive me?"
"For whatever harm you've caused me," said Nirithu, "I do. But as for my lord—"
"Since he has no armor to carry, you bear his grudges for him instead?"
"Because he cannot carry them himself. Yes. I cannot—I've tried to tear you out of my heart, and I've failed, but—never hurt him again."
"Believe me," said Bghali, "I have no wish to."
Nirithu snorted. "Not now. But if you once again saw some advantage to yourself—" Though it had never truly been about advantage for Bghali, had it? It was as he'd said to Biyubh—she has never let anything stop her, when she is angry enough. And yet, when they'd killed the messenger, it had been Bghali and not Nirithu who'd decided that they must let the Sword of God live for the sake of the hostages. "Maybe you have changed," he said at length. "For my part, however, I would rather you never had another opportunity."
Bghali shrugged unhappily and said nothing, and presently her eyes closed again and she began to snore quietly, sitting against the wall as she was. It was only midday, but Nirithu was about to do likewise—only he thought he would lie down first—when there was a hesitant call from outside.
"Lord Nirithu? Lady Bghali?"
Nirithu was tempted to ignore it. Using the separate house and its supplies was one thing, and letting anyone see him do it was another—but embarrassment was something else he couldn't afford. He stepped out of the door and saw a young warrior leading a horse.
"Oh, you are there! Aunt Reghimi said—but I hadn't quite believed—" The warrior stood some distance away, skittish, as if the contamination of this place would affect him too. "You—you don't remember me? My name is Dighluor son of Ramiphim, and I was once your brother Miren's armor-bearer."
"Of course!" He bore little resemblance to the gangly half-grown boy, ragged and wounded, that Nirithu had encountered on the road more than a year ago, but it was the same Dighluor.
"I cannot go against Elder Jichughi's word. But you lent me a horse once, and now I'm returning it." He dropped the horse's reins and turned back to the Gmou Dibh compound, adding over his shoulder as he went, "And that's all. Understand?"
"Perfectly," said Nirithu. The horse stamped uncertainly, half-turning as if to follow Dighluor, and Nirithu called softly, "Hello there, pretty girl." It shied back as he approached, but eventually stood still enough to sniff at his offered hand, and then to nose at his chest, at which point he grabbed the reins and looped them around his arm while he examined the contents of the saddlebags. There were flatbreads and fried chickpeas, and a full waterskin. Blankets.
Bghali came out of the separate house, yawning and fastening her veil while the baby clung to her shoulder. "What's happening, Nirithu?"
"I have a friend left among the Gmou Dibh, it seems. How careless of him to have left all these supplies in the saddlebags by accident." He tore off a piece of flatbread and handed it to her. "Reghir was right. Miren did have an eye for personnel."
And had Reghir also been right about why Miren had recruited Nirithu? It didn't bear thinking about.
"Well, this will make travel easier," said Bghali, stroking the horse's shoulder. "But where can we go?"
"My lord will be trying to bring the children to the queen and her army, since the palace is clearly too treacherous for them," said Nirithu. "So that's where I'm going. You can come if you like. I don't know how my lady will receive you if we do catch up with her, but…"
"But I've burned all my other bridges," Bghali finished for him wryly. "Perhaps if I'd gotten an answer to my last letter to Horuri—it hardly matters now. Yes. Let's go."
She helped him into the saddle, and then he had as pure a moment of panic as he'd ever felt when she handed the baby to him while she mounted up behind. The child started shrieking as soon as she left Bghali's arms, and she wriggled and kicked, and if Nirithu should drop her from the height of horseback—
"It's all right, you can give her back now," Bghali said as she settled herself, her voice full of laughter. She was laughing at him. Well, let her—as long as he didn't have to hold the child any longer.
From Gmou Dibh lands, it was less than a day's ride to the river road. They passed villages, farms and sheepfolds, but it wasn't until they made the river crossing that they began to hear news of the queen's passage. She was heading towards Hegvi, but skirting close to the lands of the Gmou Bim, which tallied with what she'd said when she first marched forth from the palace: And as for the Gmou Bim—they will fly to my fist when I call them. Or they will fall as well. The Gmou Dibh had answered Nirithu's father's mustering call, and it seemed likely that the Gmou Hisol had as well. A dread settled in Nirithu's stomach, next to the one he carried for Risokh, that it would be war after all between the queen and his family.
The road confirmed for Nirithu what they heard; it wouldn't forget soon the tread of so many feet, horses, carts, elephants. Every afternoon and evening when he checked, the memories were fresher. And then one day, when they'd almost overtaken the queen's army, he felt traces of another passage, faint and insignificant in comparison, but very dear to Nirithu, and even more recent.
"He's here," Nirithu said, rising to his feet and brushing grit from his hands. "A few hours ahead, at most."
Bghali didn't answer, but she made no objection to cutting their afternoon rest short. The baby had grown used to napping on horseback; in fact she seemed to prefer it. After that, it wasn't long before they were stopped by an outrider wearing royal badges demanding to know their business. Nirithu produced his commission, much battered and worn, which nevertheless proved good enough to satisfy the outrider, and he escorted them to the camp. The army had grown since Nirithu had last seen it, and it spread out over a field, canvas tents and silk tents and herds of animals churning up mud. In the center, in a cleared area near the most splendidly colored tent of all, there appeared to be some sort of commotion, though Nirithu was too far away to see or hear what it was about. The walls of home were just faintly visible on the horizon: distant, yet seemingly close enough to touch.
Riding into camp itself, the whole place was in confusion. It was only with difficulty that Nirithu managed to find a groom to take their horse in hand; clearly to find out any news he would have to go to the source. He and Bghali made their way through the crowds gathered by the temporary courtyard until they couldn't anymore, and when Nirithu saw some onlookers climbing to the top of an overturned cart for a better view, he pushed in among them.
Risokh was there, as travel-worn and underfed as Nirithu, but whole—if there was any way he could have, Nirithu would have run to him. As it was, he had to satisfy himself with what his eyes could see. Risokh held in his arms a young boy with a splinted leg—the king. Lord Yilem dashed forward and hid himself in his mother's skirts, while Lady Dipu tried to maintain a somewhat bedraggled dignity. Someone, a physician by looks of him, rushed in with a camp stool and Risokh set the king down on it while the physician knelt to examine his leg. As far as Nirithu could see, it was a fine bit of improvised field medicine, and he felt absurdly proud that Risokh must have learned it from him, in the days when they were making their living as traveling physicians.
The queen sank down beside the king too, touching his face, his shoulder, as if to reassure herself of his solidity, while Lord Yilem pressed himself against her side, and with her other hand, she clung to one of Lady Dipu's. "Commander Risokh," she said without rising. "What would you ask of me? Name your reward, and I will grant it."
Risokh looked down at her, speechless. Nirithu knew that look. Exalted. Open, like a flower to the sun.
Oh, my lady, he thought. Don't offer that.
Once she'd charged Nirithu with keeping Risokh away from her. But there was nothing he could do to interfere now.
"I want," said Risokh, his words so quiet that it seemed the entire camp was holding its breath in order to hear them, "I want the Gmou Bim."
"The Gmou Bim?" said the queen.
"The Gmou Bim," said Risokh. "Whole, safe, and free."
"Why? They abandoned you for dead for fifteen years, and drove you into exile almost as soon as you returned. You came to my gates asking for refuge because they sought your life. What is the Gmou Bim to you, that you should plead for their lives?"
"I'm their Commander," said Risokh. "You gave them to me. How could I betray them?"
"You don't know what you're asking," said the queen. "Ask for something else."
Risokh shook his head. "You're right, my lady, I'm sure. I understand very little most of the time, and if you can't give them to me, you can't. But there's nothing else I want."
"Then you will have them. Whole, safe, and free. I swear it on my soul."
The queen turned her attention from Risokh and back to her children. The physician and a couple of assistants helped them to the royal tent, and the entire army, as it seemed, let out its breath. And Risokh turned and saw Nirithu at his perch on top of the cart.
The was nothing exalted or otherworldly about how Risokh looked then, it was only that his smile was brighter than Nirithu had ever seen it. "Nirithu!" he cried, and Nirithu jumped down from the cart, and the crowds, already beginning to disperse, parted for them.
"You're alive! You're well! You look well, anyway," Risokh corrected himself. "Are you well? I thought I'd sent you to your death and I would never have forgiven myself—did you warn the Gmou Dibh women in time?"
Nirithu laughed. His face hurt from it. He hadn't known he could be this happy. "They didn't need my warning. They hardly needed me at all—they saved themselves." And then there was Bghali—but she wasn't there, whether she'd made herself scarce from a previously unplumbed well of tact, or whether she was avoiding Risokh for her own reasons. Nirithu didn't care which. He'd have to tell Risokh about her and the baby eventually, but he wanted this moment for himself. "Who cares what I did? My lord, you're like a hero from an ancient story—you saved the Gmou Pilor!"
"Did I?" Risokh suddenly looked troubled. "I only asked for the Gmou Bim. Should I have—"
"That doesn't matter. If the Gmou Bim were destroyed, how long could any Piloruun live in this country? Those that were not killed or driven into exile, or into taking up the Walkers' Path—who would visit them at new moon, who would teach their children the law, who would they marry their daughters to? But now this may be a good place for the Gmou Pilor for another two hundred years." Now it was Nirithu's turn to sigh. "That is, if my lady keeps her word."
"She swore it on her soul," said Risokh.
And who knew what that meant, to a Walker? Maybe only another Walker. All the same, Nirithu thought he knew what it meant to the queen. "I don't think she would lie. But events may run out of her control. I'm afraid, my lord—" He didn't know how to finish his thought, and only repeated, "I'm afraid."
"Oh," said Risokh. "I thought that was only me, being me."
"No," said Nirithu.
Everyone had seen the queen offer Risokh whatever he wanted, so he and Nirithu were given one of silk tents, with carpets on the ground and enough room to stand and mattresses that were almost as fine as what they'd slept on in the palace. Someone must have been turned out to make room for them, but that wasn't Nirithu's problem. His problem was to find something to eat for himself and for Risokh, so he tracked down the mess and packed up a basket of dinner. On his way back to the tent where Risokh was waiting, he saw Bghali settling herself with ill grace in among the camp followers, and once again caught sight of the walls of home: close enough to touch, impossibly distant, no doubt with an armed camp much like this one spread out by their base.
"My lady was right about one thing," Nirithu said when he returned. "What have the Gmou Bim ever done for you?"
Risokh accepted the basket Nirithu held, frowning as if he were considering the question seriously. "Well, just now," he said, "the Gmou Bim brought me dinner."
Nirithu felt himself flush straight down to his chest. He had to swallow the tightness out of his throat before he could say anything, and then it was only: "I—it's not worth mentioning, my lord."
And then he fled the tent to the cool air outside to eat his own.