Fortney sat in a chair next to Kadir's bed. Al-Thabit snoozed in a corner.

  Kadir spent more time sleeping now, than raving. The sanat-magi told her that was a good sign. Fortney suspected they didn't really know, but she hoped they were right.

  She had taken to coming down here to the temple sometimes, to talk to Kadir. In the days since her father had announced his decision to send her away, the palace had been a quiet bustle of activity; a mix of panic and caution, secrecy and effort, and nearly none of it required her presence. She had become withdrawn and quiet. She appreciated the calm placidity of the temple.

  "Father is sending Zamiran with me," she told him. Kadir was sleeping, but she talked to him anyway. "At least, as far as Mirashan. I am happy about that, I suppose. He can continue my training about the sanat-magi. And it will be nice to have a face I know as I travel." Kadir's breathing was hoarse but steady. "He is going to send a cultural attaché as well, to help me get around in Arden, and with the language. The Master of Languages is too frail to make such a journey."

  Kadir's eyes fluttered and opened.

  "Shazedah?"

  "It's me, Kadir. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." She smiled down at his wasted form.

  "I am fine," he said. "I sleep too much." His eyes moved over to her. He seemed lucid, which was good. Though he still fell into delirium sometimes, these days he was mostly lucid.

  "Sleep is good for you," she said. "Zamiran keeps telling me 'sleep is the healer that never sleeps.' And you need to heal."

  "Nonsense," groused the old warrior. "I'm fine. Al-Thabit and I were practicing jumping high kicks right before you came in."

  Fortney laughed gently.

  "Ah, there is the smile of the Shazedah," Kadir said. "A beam as fine as the moon's, to grace my presence."

  "Now you sound like my father. Have you taken up poetry as well?"

  "I may as well," he said. "I'm stuck here in bed with nothing better to do. But it is good to see you smile."

  Fortney's smile slowly faded.

  "I will smile again when I return," she said. "I will smile again when these rebels are crushed and the hashashim are destroyed and I can be back home. I will smile again when things are back to normal."

  Kadir laid a hand on hers.

  "Shazedah... sometimes life changes. What was, will never be again. I say this, not to discourage you, but to strengthen you. You will go to this foreign land and you will return a different person. The palace will be different. The city will be different. But your heart will be stronger, and your head wiser. This I know."

  Fortney nodded, her expression distant and thoughtful.

  "I will accept what you say, mo'abbi, though I do not see it." She sighed. "I do not want to go. I will miss the palace. I will miss all of Baradon: the people and the streets and the houses and even the dust. I will miss mixing words with Barzani the fish-seller. I will miss the clear nights and the full moons. I will miss the barking of the jackals on the plains. I will miss my father. I will miss you, Kadir."

  "And I, you."

  Fortney shrank in on herself a little. She glanced over at Al-Thabit, but he was still asleep.

  "I already miss Bayze Shab," she said. "I... wish I could still protect the people. But even if I stayed..." She lifted her short arm. "I can no longer protect them as I would."

  Kadir grunted and tried to sit up a little.

  "I know your heart aches for the people, Shazedah," he said. "And it is right to do so. Bayze Shab was your strength, but your strength has not left you, only your hand. You are still a warrior."

  "Still," she said. She sighed. "I will be sneaking away from the palace in the dead of night. That does not feel like the actions of a warrior."

  Kadir scoffed. "Hiding your plans from enemies until you can strike them is the core of a warrior," he said. "Still, there are few secrets that cannot escape the palace. But I understand. The Sultan wishes to keep you safe."

  Fortney nodded. "We leave tonight. I... I am glad you are well enough to talk. I came to say goodbye."

  Kadir smiled. "We can never go back to what was, but we can prepare for what will be. Someday, you will return. Someday, the kingdom will be at peace. And someday, I will be strong again, standing by your side. Until then, keep your steel heart. And I will honor that steel heart until you return."

  She leaned forward and awkwardly hugged the grizzled old warrior as he lay in his sick-bed.

  "Get better," she said. "Get better and help my father end this rebellion so that I can come home."

  Kadir's thin arms came up and wrapped around the princess.

  "I will," he said.

  Fortney crept through the city of Baradon with her retinue. She was wrapped in bulky, coarse linen, with a long hood covering her face. The guards and assistants with her moved slowly and quietly. The moon, barely peeking from behind its shadow, shone a dim light on them.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  So large a party could not hope to pass unseen through the Shining City, but they hoped that keeping their identities a secret would help forestall problems.

  Her parting from her father had been long and heartfelt. He'd spent the evening reading her poetry and giving her as much advice as he could think of. He'd wept loudly enough that Fortney grew seriously concerned about the secrecy of their mission.

  The party moved toward the river. They passed by rough mudbrick warehouses and light sheds that housed carts, crates, and the large jars used to move goods in and out of the city. The rank smell of old fish wafted over them as they approached the mighty Shiqu River.

  Stone quays jutted out into the river. The party made their way down one of them. The river was low now in late summer, exposing the stone stairs of the quay. At the bottom was tied up a large, sturdy barge: solid but unassuming.

  They all shuffled onboard. The barge was featureless and flat, with only a slight upturn at either end. It sat low in the water. In spite of the size of the crowd that accompanied the princess, there was plenty of room around them on the otherwise empty barge. They clustered together in the center, with the guards surrounding Fortney.

  The steersman gave a quiet command, and the bargemen untied from the quay and pushed off the wet-slick stone with their long poles, setting the barge free from the land. They pushed their poles repeatedly into the muddy bottom of the river, guiding the vessel toward the middle.

  Finally, the current of the river caught the barge, sweeping them south with a rush of speed. Now freed from having to propel their craft, the bargemen used their poles only to guide and straighten their course.

  The barge continued down the river in the night, parsang after parsang. Clusters of reeds and small villages dotted the banks, but these swept by, barely visible in the dim moonlight. The odor of pitch and raw wood from the newly-built barge overcame the smells of nature and the river.

  After an hour, the steersman called out quietly to his men. The bargemen began guiding the barge out of the current, and closer to the western shore of the river. Nearer the land, the craft slowed, but still drifted steadily southward. At last a small light appeared: a pair of torches, stuck in the mud on the banks of the river. With quiet but excited chatter, the bargemen pushed the barge closer to the shore. It finally lodged in the thick mud of the riverbank.

  One of the guards whistled, and figures appeared from the darkness along the riverbank. They laid a path of wooden planks from the barge to solid ground. Fortney and her retinue carefully left the barge and filed onto the soft earth of the river plains.

  The soldiers lead them away from the river. The retinue followed the soldiers, and soon came upon a caravan.

  A collection of carts, horses, and soldiers awaited them in the caravan. The horses quietly knickered. The still, humid air wrapped them in the evening chill.

  One of the linen-cloaked travelers bowed to Fortney and drew back his hood. It was Zamiran.

  "Come, Shazedah. We want to put many parsang between ourselves and the river before morning. We are away from Baradon, but we are near the border with Damasar. It is best to avoid eyes until we are west of the Zahr River."

  Fortney nodded silently and followed the pale priest to a luxurious traveling-wagon. It had solid wooden wheels and high wooden sides, with curtains creating a private kind of rolling tent. She climbed inside.

  The interior was pitch-black. She felt her way over to a padded bench of some kind, lay down, and fell into a deep slumber that was not disrupted in the slightest when the wagon began to move.

  Fortney blinked awake early the next morning. The traveling-wagon was filled with diffuse light as the sun poured its rays through the thick curtains of the wagon.

  She sat up, wincing. It took her a moment to re-orient herself.

  The interior of the wagon was cramped but well-appointed. There was the padded sleeping bench she was sitting on, and a few chests with clothes and food. There was a small washbasin and a bronze hand mirror on one of the chests. The floor of the wagon even had a carpet laid out on it.

  The curtains shook and swayed as the wagon rattled and banged roughly across the ground. Fortney stretched and yawned. She must have been more tired than she realized, to sleep through such rough travel. She stood, her legs naturally rolling with the cart's rough movement. Scrubbing her hand through her hair, she made her way to the front of the wagon and poked her head out through the curtains.

  The retinue was traveling across a grassy plain, sparsely dotted with short trees. Around the wagon were supply carts, horses, and Namar?nian soldiers armed with long spears. Servants and attendants walked along as well. Some carried sacks of goods, others simply traveled.

  "Ah, the Shazedah awakes," said Zamiran. He was walking alongside the wagon. "We have some food, give me a moment and I will bring it to you in your wagon."

  Fortney stepped out and hopped down off the wagon, jogging as she hit the ground.

  "I will walk," she said.

  Zamiran walked over and spoke with some of the servants. They quickly put together a small bundle, which he brought back to Fortney.

  "Here, Shazedah, we have barley flatbread with dried dates, and some mutton jerky."

  She took the proffered food, tore off a bite of the jerky and chewed, staring at the ground thoughtfully.

  "I was surprised to hear that you were joining the journey, Zamiran," she said finally. "I did not think you were the type to enjoy travel."

  Zamiran smiled, but it had a fixed, forced quality.

  "Ahahah. Your father, ah, was very pleased at my work with healing you, so he included me in your traveling retinue. I... believe he intended it as some sort of reward."

  Fortney looked at the pale priest. She tried to give him an encouraging smile, but she did not have it in her to do so.

  "Well, it's a relief to me to have a friendly face to travel with," she said. "Thank you."

  "I am pleased to please the Shazedah," he intoned. Fortney shook her head. No matter what Zamiran was saying, he always managed to sound like he did in the ceremonies, when he was telling the cautionary tales of the Catastrophes. She looked up at the sun.

  "Where are we?" she asked.

  "We are just north of Damasar," Zamiran said. "We will travel west as quickly as we can, and we should reach the Zahr river in five days or so. Once we are past the headwaters of the Zahr, we will aim southwest, over the plains toward Mirashan. Then through the jungles of Mirashan to the port city of Zar-andūz. From there, we will take a ship across the Nūn Sea to Arden."

  Fortney nodded, her eyes unfocused, staring at the ground.

  "Every step takes me a parsang further from my home," she said quietly. She glanced over at her missing arm. "A parsang further from who I am."

  Zamiran gave her a smile, only slightly spoiled by the worry in the rest of his expression.

  "Do not fear, Shazedah," he said. "It will only be for a time. You will be back sooner than you realize." In a desperate bid to mitigate Fortney's evident sadness, he cast about with his limited interpersonal skills. "It will not be so bad," he said. "Arden is a wonderful, vibrant country, filled with fascinating things. You will see. Your father even sent along a cultural attaché to help you navigate their society. All will be well." He turned to one of the servants. "Go and fetch the attaché so the princess can meet him."

  The servant scurried away. Fortney trudged along beside the cart. Her shoulders were hunched, her face fallen, and every line of her painted with despair. Zamiran fretted, anxious to ease her spirit.

  The servant returned, followed by a dark-skinned man.

  "Ah, Shazedah," he said, bowing low before her. "Long have I served in your father's court, and now I am overwhelmed with honor to serve you directly." He looked up at her with crystal-blue eyes and a huge, toothy grin.

  "I am Rami Al-Sahir, and I will help you in Arden," he said.

  - FROM RUNNING THE BLOCK TO OWNING IT -

  - [SURVIVE] - [BUILD] - [CONQUER] -