Daughter of Nomads by Rosanne Hawke

the horse. Then he drew his sword and Jahani gasped. At that moment he looked like a seasoned warrior.
    Within minutes, Azhar was swallowed by the smoke and Jahani felt a sudden wrench in her belly. What would he find? The urge to follow him was stronger than her fear and she pressed Chandi forward.
    Hafeezah cried, ‘Bey ya, no, Jahani! Azhar said—’
    â€˜Why do we always have to do what he says? He’s probably only seen four more summers than me. Isn’t he meant to serve us?’
    Hafeezah pursed her lips. ‘Actually, he offered to guard you.’
    Jahani gave her a perplexed look as she rode past, but she could hear Hafeezah riding behind her. They followed Azhar’s path and a deathly stench enveloped them, like charred meat and hair.
    Jahani coughed as she halted Chandi to take in the scene. For a long moment she sat rigid; it was as if she had been here before. She saw flashes of fire and a tiny girl crawling through smoke, crying and not stopping. Her breaths came faster.
    Her dream.
    Jahani gasped and Hafeezah leaned toward her. ‘What is wrong? Are you unwell?’
    Jahani shook her head. ‘It’s just the burning, the smoke. My throat feels so dry.’
    Azhar raised a hand to keep them quiet. ‘We need to pass through here quickly,’ he whispered. ‘Some dreadful evil has occurred.’
    Their horses trotted slowly through the village. Mud and wooden houses were smouldering, some with their thatch roofs still burning. Azhar searched the area around them for survivors, but there didn’t seem to be anyone about.
    â€˜There’s a girl!’ Jahani cried.
    The child looked about ten summers and sat in the dirt sobbing. Jahani slipped from Chandi and ran over. ‘Where is your mother?’ Jahani asked, putting an arm around her. The girl didn’t stop weeping but pointed toward a temple.
    Azhar sheathed his sword and rode Rakhsh forward at a canter. He jumped to the ground at the temple steps. The door had been barricaded with planks of wood. He ripped them away and smoke billowed out. Azhar disappeared inside.
    â€˜Qhuda be merciful,’ Hafeezah murmured.
    A long minute passed while Jahani held her breath. Finally Azhar emerged, coughing and retching.
    Hafeezah and Jahani stood in silence until he recovered and he walked Rakhsh over to them. Then Jahani asked quietly, ‘There were people?’
    His eyes watered. From smoke or emotion Jahani couldn’t tell.
    â€˜The whole village.’ Azhar wiped his eyes and she could see his hand shaking. ‘All dead.’ He glanced at the girl. ‘I wonder how she escaped.’
    Jahani felt an ache in her throat trying to hold the tears at bay, and then anger rushed in. ‘Who would do this?’
    â€˜Soldiers?’ Hafeezah said, tears falling freely down her face.
    â€˜The mir of this place wouldn’t destroy temples and his subjects, would he?’ Jahani asked. ‘It must be bandits.’
    â€˜This isn’t the first village to suffer this way,’ Azhar said quietly.
    Jahani frowned.
    â€˜The old ways are changing in the mountains,’ he explained.
    â€˜But that’s not possible. Emperor Akbar decreed almost one hundred summers ago that all kingdoms must have religious tolerance.’
    Azhar’s face tightened and Jahani realised he was attempting to control himself. She glanced at him in concern but wasn’t sure how to help.
    Instead she held the girl close and gradually her sobs lessened. She looked up at Hafeezah. ‘Please, Ammi, we can’t leave her here.’ Jahani kept her voice strong.
    Azhar didn’t object. ‘We’ll take her to her relatives.’ He turned to the girl. ‘Can you tell us where they live?’
    The girl shuddered as she drew in a breath.
    Azhar crouched in front of her. ‘You are safe with us. What is your name?’
    â€˜Anjuli Singh.’ It was barely a whisper.
    â€˜And your