Precious Things

All that Elizha could see was darkness.  
All her ears could hear was the call of the coyote and the crackling of fire.  
All that her fingers could feel was the white sheet that was her covering.
All that her tongue could taste was her dry mouth and the tainted air around her.
All that her nose could smell was smoke.

“Hela!”  Kenya called as she saw Taesmin appear over the top of the dune in front of her.  
His light dust colored clothes made him almost invisible to the sharpest eyes.  “See anything of 
interest?”
Taesmin said not a word as he kicked his warhorse Nightmare to meet her, but raised his 
hand to his mouth in the hand signal for silence.  He guided Nightmare next to Firebreather, 
stopping only when he could easily talk to her quietly.  He looked at her with worry, and despite 
his tan his skin was as white as his cloak.  She instinctively placed a hand on his shoulder in 
support.
“Smoke.”  He whispered to her, unable to look directly at her.  Instead he stared at the 
hand on his shoulder
“Smoke?” She looked at him not understanding his worry.  They were in the Goyta’s 
lands, and many of the tribes often made large bonfires at dusk to ward off the blood-sucking 
insects that raged during these summer nights.  Why was he worried about smoke now? “Why-”
“Lots of smoke, too much for a bonfire…and the stench of spilt blood.”  Taesmin looked 
away as his horse nervously danced beneath him.  Even the warrior beasts they rode were afraid.  
Kenya could relate.
Smoke and blood meant only one thing on the peaceable lands of the Goyta.

Western Raiders were back on the Plains.

Kenya crawled through the tall grass to the top of the hill face.  She tried not to curse as 
the sharp blades of grass whipped back into her face and eyes, sometimes drawing blood.  
Taesmin was maybe used to sneaking up this was to go scouting, but she was rather new at this.   
After all, she was used to scouting in the giant trees of the north, where it was easier to move 
without drawing blood.
She looked up a bit to see Taesmin already perched at the top, his cloak drawn tightly 
around his face.  He, like most Goyta, had hair like a raven’s wing, tightly bound in an intricate 
braid at his back.  Folklore said that the Gods had given the Goyta this hair after mothers kept 
losing their children in the tall grasses.  She remembered with a smile Taesmin has teased her 
when they first went travelling that she would be a perfect scout for the Goyta, since she needn’t 
dye her hair to match the swaying reeds.  She had mocked that the reason he had left the Goyta 
was because he was too vain to dye his for scout duty.
But that was over six years ago, when she had been yet another mercenary working as a 
jewel guard, and Taesmin had been the first Goyta she had seen up close.  No one from her 
township had ever worked with one of grassland nomads, let alone seen the plains that separated 
the Empires of the West and the Kingdoms of the East.  Now she moved around the trails 
guiding through the territories with as much ease as many of the Goyta scouts themselves.  Even 
if many of the Goyta still cursed her for being an outlander when she traveled with Taesmin.
She now understood the reasons why so few Goyta were willing to leave the plains; 
traveling meant the possible outcast from one’s friends and family forever.  She knew that even 
now Taesmin would still have to earn trust from his own brothers, although the tales of his 
heroics even now spread through three different kingdoms.  Only his love of this land kept him 
from leaving it for the high position of Master of the Guard Lord Kennex now offered him.
She suddenly realized that the damp ground was seeping through her linen shirt.  
Although it was summer, the prospect of having to wait in the high grass with a soggy shirt all 
day was not an appealing thought.  Even worse was the thought that she would have to ride with 
a soggy shirt 
“Taesmin,” she whispered now as she shimmed up beside him, “What’s going on?” 
Taesmin turned to speak to her but no words came from him.  In stead a soft, strangled cry fell 
from his lips as he turned back to the vision in front o them. When she turned to see, she had to 
bite her lip to stop from crying out. 
What lay before them was a blazing inferno.  The brightly colored summer tents, like the 
one she had slept in not a week before, burned to black ashes scattered in the wind, consumed by 
spreading fires.  The few horses that had been tethered had caught fire, and turned to charred 
skeletons.  Quietly she turned away as she saw the other skeletons that littered the blackened 
ground.
Taesmin had turned away already, with a gloved hand covering his eyes.  A few tears 
escaped to stream down the tanned cheeks.  She knew nothing she could do could help, and 
turned around to survey the extent of the damage.
A white bundle at the edge of the burning pyre caught her eye.  If she wasn’t mistaken, it 
was squirming.  She had only dealt with Western culture once, when she had been on a campaign 
three years ago, but she knew very well of their custom of child sacrifice.  Without second 
thought she grabbed the whistle around her neck and blew three short blasts.
Taesmin looked at her with straight-faced shock.  “What are you doing!?”  She didn’t 
leave time to explain, grabbing the pommel of the saddle when Firebreather galloped up to meet 
her.  Not bothering to pause the horse, she swung herself by the pommel into the saddle, 
directing the horse with her body towards the dot of white.  As she drew near the flames, 
Firebreather reared at the scorching heat.  “Guess you weren’t named in the literal sense.” Kenya 
muttered and dismounted with a quick jump.
The scorching heat made Kenya stagger.  Shielding her face with her arm, she 
concentrated all her energy in one mad dash forward.  With one motion she ran pivoted, scooped 
up the bundle and sprinted back to Firebreather.  Kenya didn’t bother to hoist herself and the 
bundle onto the saddle; she simply slung the bundle onto the mare’s back and ran with the horse 
until she could swing herself in behind.
“Taesmin! Grab a knife!” She called up to him as she rode back to the hill.  “ I think-
Ah!”
Firebreather bucked, nearly throwing her off, as an arrow flew in front of its nose. The 
mare swerved as another one struck the struck the ground by her hooves.  Kenya held onto the 
bundle with dear life, trying to balance herself and the odd shaped package.
“Kenya RUN!” Taesmin screamed as he mounted Nightmare on the hill behind her, 
drawing his crossbow to defend her.
“Only if you do the same!” She cried as she galloped past him, still dodging the barrage 
of arrows coming at her.  Heeding the idea, Taesmin wheeled Nightmare around and followed 
her, occasionally letting loose a bolt when an arrow fell to close.

Only long after the sun had set did they bother to rest their mounts.  Kenya sat dazed for a 
moment, unwilling to return the thought of the destruction behind them.  Saddle soreness soon 
brought her back to her senses; she hadn’t don’t a stunt like that since she left Gehensa’s Drakes 
two years ago.  As she stretched in the saddle she remembered the poor bundle in front of her.
Taesmin was one step ahead of her, and guided Nightmare close enough to cut the free 
the now dusty white sheet, shifting the package into his lap.  This was rather difficult, as it was 
the size of one of their sleeping rolls.  As carefully as he possibly could, Taesmin unwrapped the 
bundle from the sheet.  “Ah!” he breathed in with a sharp breath.
Kenya peered over his shoulder.  Amidst the white cloth a youngster no older than three 
seasons stared up at them with anxious eyes.  What surprised her was the fact that the child 
seemed sexless in its tattered clothing and mussed up hair.  It wore the customary Goyta 
clothing, but its hair was streaked with white. The eyes that dripped soft streams were almond 
shaped black, not the standard green-blues of the Goyta.  Who was this child?
Neither Kenya nor Taesmin had time to say anything though before the child fell forward 
into Taesmin’s chest and let loose an enormous sob.

“Poor thing has wore itself out crying.” Taesmin whispered across the fire, as Kenya 
tucked the sleeping child into her bedroll.  
“Not a thing.  A girl.” She didn’t take her eyes off the poor girl.  “Do you think she’s all 
that’s left?”
Taesmin tilted his head in thought, as he rummaged for some rations. “No,” He said, 
throwing her a meat pastry, “I don’t think she was part of the tribe that was raided. It wasn’t a 
tribe, anyway, just a trading party.  I think she was a slave.”  Taesmin looked at the pastry at the 
end of his stick.
“A slave for sacrifice. Huh.” Kenya whispered, tasting her pastry with a few quick 
nibbles.  “Funny, I thought they wouldn’t think of murdering their own blood.”
“Maybe; but she’s definitely has Goyta parentage.  It’s not uncommon to reject tainted 
blood; we used to do it before the reform.” He slid his dinner off the branch, blowing on it to 
cool off the bubbling juices inside.
At the smell of hot food, the young tot sat up in the bedroll. “Food?” she said, looking at 
the round flat biscuits in their hands.
“Yes, Food.” Taesmin smiled. “Want some?”
The girl brightened at the thought.  Then, after pausing, she crawled over to Taesmin and 
bowed her head, her hands outstretched in a cup shape in front.  “Scrap please.”
He had not expected such a sad gesture.  “Hey,” he said, tapping her head lightly, “we 
won’t hurt you.  You can sit up and eat with us.”
The child sprang up with surprise.  “Eat…with you?  You are Himelin too?” She looked 
at them quizzically.
“Not Himelin.  We’re friends.  You can eat with us; no Meakim around here.” Kenya 
smiled at the child, holding out a small warm pastry.  The girl hesitated before taking the biscuit 
and sitting down to eat next to Taesmin.
“Himelin? Meakim?” Taesmin looked to Kenya for translation.
“Slave and captors.  I picked it up from one of the trainers in the Drakes.  She must have 
had to beg for he food every night, and eat with her fellow slaves after the raiders finished.  Poor 
child; she learned the hard way to care for precious things.”  
“Precious things, indeed.” Taesmin looked down at the girl, who had quietly begun 
nibbling the edges of the biscuit.  “What your name?”
“Elizha.  Three seasons old.”  She held up three fingers to him, baring he small teeth in a 
smile.
“Well, Elizha, you better eat that fast before it gets cold!”
And Elizha did promptly that.

“It’s a good two weeks ride to the next tribe.  We’ve got more than enough rations for it 
though if we hunt some every two days.  But we better be careful, they could still be following 
us.” Taesmin turned to Kenya as she mounted Firebreather.
“And then what?” Kenya said, swinging herself into place.  “Give her to the tribe’s 
council as an orphan?”
“Maybe.  I’m not really sure.” Taesmin looked down at Elizha, who was seated before 
him in the saddle.  “She’s growing on me.  Fast.”
“Me too.” Kenya replied, give Elizha piece of knotted leather to play with.  “Who knows, 
we might find a relative…”
“…Or she might stay with us.” Taesmin looked out onto the distance, smiling. “Who 
knows, indeed.”