Though they faced another cold night, Shetia was too frightened to build a campfire. She and Ulan faced despair and starvation in the tangled trees of an enclosed canyon. The two huddled together, trying to keep warm, shivering as much from fear of being caught by Aidenists as from the chill in the air.
They were both woefully unskilled in making a rough camp. Being married to Tukar had not been full of extravagances, but she had never been forced to hunt her own food or build a fire out of dry brush. So far, she had kept the two of them alive, just barely, but they wouldn’t last many more days.
Somehow, even without a telltale fire to draw his attention, their old household slave managed to track them down. “I brought blankets.” Firun extended ragged swatches of cloth. “I’m sorry that I could find nothing better, my Lady. They are the same blankets given to slaves in the barracks.”
Though they were thin, dirty, and probably lice-ridden, Shetia made no complaints. “Thank you, Firun. This will keep us alive for a while longer.” She wrapped one around Ulan’s shoulders and the boy pulled it close, crouching down.
Shetia swallowed a hard lump of fear in her throat, knowing that if Firun could find them, so might someone else, but he reassured her. “No one is searching for you. They believe they’ve rounded up all the Urabans at Gremurr, and Destrar Broeck does not suspect you’re hiding in the hills.”
The boy’s puppy came forward, wagging its tail with such vigor that it seemed to be shivering. Scrawny now, it licked Firun’s hand, obviously recognizing the old man.
He patted the dog and nudged it toward Ulan, who enfolded it in the blankets. “You always treated me well enough, my Lady. I know you weren’t responsible for the wars of your people. And Tukar tried to do his best.”
“Did you bring any food?” Ulan piped up. “I found berries this afternoon, and some flowers that Mother said we could eat, but they tasted bitter. I’m still hungry.”
“I brought what little food I could smuggle out, young man.” The household servant looked sad. “Many storehouses were destroyed by the mammoths and the fires, and no more Uraban supply ships have arrived. We’ll have a hard time of it when winter sets in. Destrar Siescu just delivered a load with his supply train, but even the Aidenist rations are still tight.”
“I feel no sympathy for them,” Shetia snapped. “They destroy whatever they touch, and they didn’t care who they hurt. They took everything that was ours. They had no right!”
“Now, we don’t want to argue about that, my Lady.” Firun’s tone was cool as he unwrapped lumps of hard bread, three scrawny carrots, some nuts, and a wedge of moldy goat’s cheese. “I certainly don’t blame you and the boy, but your people did build these mines on Tierran soil and forced Aidenist prisoners to work them. The queen is justified in taking back her own territory and freeing her subjects.”
Shetia bit her tongue, remembering that despite his present kindness Firun was still a Tierran who believed in the Fishhook.
Ulan looked at the food eagerly. “What can we feed my dog?”
“A good dog can hunt his own dinner,” Firun said. “This food is just for you, to keep you strong and healthy.”
But the boy was adamant. “I need to feed my dog!” He broke off a chunk of bread and extended it to the thin puppy, who gulped it down. “Maybe I can sneak into their camp one night and take some food.”
Firun and Shetia reacted with alarm. The old servant said, “Don’t even talk like that, boy! Destrar Broeck has guards, and Siescu just brought more soldiers and workers from Corag along with his supplies. It’s a very dangerous time.”
Ulan continued to look defiant and pulled the thin blanket tighter around himself. He muttered in a surly voice, “Nobody wanted the Aidenists here anyway. My father would have driven them away, but the Aidenists brought monsters! Who can fight against monsters?”
While fleeing the villa, Shetia and her son had witnessed a little of the mayhem as the invaders swept through the camp. The two had run madly into the wooded hills and heard only the distance-faded din, but Shetia imagined what must have happened there.
“Do you have any word of my father?” Ulan pressed. “He was in the camp—they must have found him! He would have fought. I’ll bet the Aidenist commander captured him.”
Firun looked away, evading the direct answer. “There was great turmoil, young man.”
“But he was in charge of the Gremurr mines! A very important man.”
The old slave hesitated. “Yes, your father was a very important man. He was the brother of the soldan-shah. Even in the heat of war, there are certain expectations of civilized behavior among rival leaders. He…has been sent back to Olabar.” He clamped his lips shut.
Ulan seemed to accept the answer and sat back, content, but Shetia heard something in the old man’s voice. She clenched her fists, pressed her lips together, and sobbed quietly so that her son would not hear her.