The Shattered Chain by Marion Zimmer Bradley

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    Gently, Melora loosed Rohana’s hands and the contact lessened. “It is easy to see you know little of the Dry Towns. May you never have cause to know more! I would have been expected to ride, even nearer to my time than this. Don’t worry about me, breda.” Her voice broke in a sob. “Oh, it is so good, just to speak to you in our own tongue. …”
    Rohana was desperately uneasy about her; she was not highly skilled in midwifery, but as mistress of Ardais she had seen many births; she knew Melora needed rest and care. But the Amazons, at Kindra’s signal, were already mounting again, and indeed there seemed no choice.
    Kindra came to inspect, briefly, Nira’s bandaged wound. “So far there is no sign of pursuit, but with dawn someone will certainly find Jalak—or his corpse. And I would greatly prefer not to fight Jalak’s men, or end my days chained in a Shainsa brothel.”
    Even in the dim light Melora’s smile was perceptible. “It may be there will be no pursuit; most likely Jalak’s heirs have found him dead and are already squabbling over his property and his wives, and the tenancy of the Great House. The last thing they would want would be to recapture a son of his with a valid claim!”
    “Aldones grant it be so,” said Kindra, “yet some kinsman of Jalak might seek kihar by avenging him—or some rival might want to make very sure any son with a valid claim did not survive him.”
    Melora gave Rohana’s hands a convulsive squeeze, but her voice was calm. “I can ride as far as I must.” Her eyes went to her sleeping daughter. “Can I have her with me on my own saddle?”
    “Lady, you are heavy; your horse should not carry such a doubled weight,” Kindra said. “Those of us who ride lightest will take turns to carry her, so that she can sleep a little longer. Can she ride? We have a spare horse for her, if she can sit alone on a saddle.”
    “She could ride almost as soon as she could walk, mestra.”
    “That will do for when she wakes, then; for now, she can sleep,” said Kindra, and lifted Jaelle, still sleeping, to her own saddle; she clambered up beside her, while Rohana assisted her cousin to mount. She was fearfully clumsy, and seemed unsteady in the saddle, but Rohana said nothing. There was nothing to say; Kindra was right and they both knew it. She gathered up her own reins, took the reins of Melora’s horse to lead it onward across the desert.
    Melora was gazing wistfully toward the sunrise. “At this hour, I always long for—oh, I don’t know—some snow, or rain, anything but the eternal sand and hot dry wind.”
    Rohana said softly, “If the Gods will, breda, within a tenday you will be back again in our hills and see the snow at every sunrise.” Melora smiled, but shook her head. “I can ride now, and guide my own horse, if you think it better.”
    “Let me lead it, for now at least,” Rohana said, and Melora nodded and leaned back in her saddle, bracing herself as best she could against the motion of the beast.
    The sun rose, and Rohana saw, as the miles went by under the feet of their horses that the character of the land had changed. Flat, barren sand-desert had given way to low, rolling hills as far as the eye could see, and a low scruffy ground cover of thorn-trees and gray feathery spicebush. At first the smell was pleasant, but after a few hours of riding through it, Rohana felt that if she ever again ate spice bread at Midwinter Festival it would choke her. Her throat was dry; she almost regretted the wine she had not been able to drink. Hour by hour Melora seemed more unsteady in her saddle, but she made no word of complaint. Indeed, she did not speak at all, riding head down, her face stony-gray with effort and patience.
    As the sun climbed the light grew fiercer, and the heat. Some of the Amazons drew loose folds of their shifts or tunics over their heads; Rohana did likewise, finding the heat preferable to the direct glare. She was beginning to