Bloodsongs by Robin W Bailey Page B

when they’d hauled her from the pit.
    Samidar lashed out with the edge of her hand, made hard contact, and was rewarded with a loud grunt. With an effort, then, she fought free of the haze that filled her head.
    â€œTamen!” she cried, at last recognizing her savior. She peered at what he had forced into her right hand. Reins, she realized. Tamen had tried to mount her on a horse. She threw her arms about his neck and kissed the cheek that glowed redly from her blow. “What have you done, old man?”
    â€œGiven ye a chance.” he answered shortly. “Now get on that beast an’ get out o’ here. I didn’t gut them four without witnesses, an’ even if they don’t squeal, them’s goin’ ta be foun’ pretty quick. Come on, woman, ride!”
    â€œYou’ve got to come, too!” she insisted. “You can’t stay now!”
    â€œI gotta wife,” he said curtly. “An old buzzard wi’ not a hair on her head, which is why ye never seen her. But I can’t leave her alone. I’ll trust the townsfolk not ta tell on me, then I’ll get us both out tonight. She don’ mind goin’ out at night, long as she wears a hat.”
    â€œI’ll pay you back,” she promised hastily, mounting the horse. “I’ll find a way.” She arranged her skirts so the saddle leather didn’t chafe her thighs.
    â€œJust go fast,” he told her. “None o’ us like what them soldiers did ta yer boy. I heard ‘bout that farmer they burned out a few days back. Didn’t believe it till I saw what they did ta ye.”
    â€œThere’re two sides in every war, Tamen,” she warned him. “Keep your eyes open and believe nothing. And be sure you get out of town tonight.”
    He slapped the horse’s rump. The animal raced up the alley, took the corner so sharply she nearly tumbled from the saddle. She grabbed a handful of mane and righted herself and headed for the gate. She risked a glance over her shoulder. Incredibly, not a soldier was in sight, though a few heads poked from half-shuttered windows.
    She had Yorul to thank, she realized. Keleds buried their dead as quickly as possible, believing if the sun rose or set on an uninterred corpse, the spirit would punish the living. Of course, most of his men would be preparing his funeral. Because of Yorul no one blocked her way. She smiled at the irony of that.
    Past the four bodies she rode, through the gate. At the last instant, her hand shot out. She grasped the end of the rope that was meant to hang her, and she whipped it free, then discarded it, leaving it on the road in the dust of her passing.
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    Chapter Four
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    Dreams of our youth and memories past,   We who were first now we are last;   Though we are old still we are strong,   But who will remember when we sing the last song?
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    The rains that had threatened for days came that night. They fell in torrential sheets, battering the earth. The branches of trees, heavy with water, bowed to the ground. Rain pummeled the grasses flat, splashed in thick, muddy puddles, ran in swift streams down the slightest inclines. Flatlands shimmered with new lake surfaces.
    Stark lightning flared purple, sometimes white, behind thick, dark clouds. Thunder shivered the air.
    Samidar rode out of the hills, miserable. Her hair was plastered to her face; her thick skirts clung to her legs and to the sides and rump of her horse. Water dripped from her lashes. She wiped constantly at her eyes to clear her vision. The rain stung like icy needles, and her thin tunic provided no warmth.
    The horse glopped along in the black muck that had once been a road. She could feel the poor beast tremble between her thighs. It carried its head low; water rilled through its sodden mane.
    The weather forced her to follow the road. It was too dark, and the rain fell too heavily to let her see far ahead. At a better time