Midway through the afternoon, a long upward slope brought her to a tipping point in the landscape, beyond which lay a dry lake bed so wide she could not see the far side. Clumps of brush dotted the flat. She searched for the golden gleam that must mark the road, but saw only ruts in the hard ground running east and west, so many crisscrossing the dead lake that they tangled like a child’s unsteady weaving.

To the east spun a thread of dust.

To the west, a huge herd of sheep spilled over a distant rise, hounded by riders and dogs. Somewhere, west and north of here, a tribe had set up camp. A moment later, a pair of outriders galloped into view. The two youths circled her at a prudent distance and raced back to their tents. She debated whether to ask for shelter within their camp for the night, but she dared not stop. She had to follow what trail she had, lest she lose Kontas entirely. Turning the gelding, with the piebald in tow, she rode down onto the dead lake and turned east.

Hooves kicked up a fine dust, making her cough. Her eyes watered as particles stung her face. Sound echoed oddly, magnifying the fall of hooves into many more than two horses.

She looked over her shoulder. Four riders followed her, three male and the fourth dressed in female garb, long felt jacket reaching to her knees and a quiver slung by one knee.

“What do you think?” she asked the gelding. She wasn’t in the sanctity of camp, but after all, what would they do to a lone girl? The laws of the gods forbade any insult done to women; that was how it had always been among the tribes. What if they had news of Kontas, or the eastern merchant?

She reined over and waited for them to catch up.

The males—two she recognized as the youths who had first scouted her—pulled up and let their companion approach, as was proper. She was not much older than Kirya, with her golden hair divided into a trident braid and a headdress adorned with silver atop her head to mark that she was married. She wore necklaces of gold and silver and bronze across her chest, displaying her family’s wealth.

“Good riding, stranger,” she said, greeting Kirya. “I am cousin to the headwoman of the Orzhekov tribe. Are you one of the Vidrini?”

“No, I’m Moroshya.”

“I don’t know you,” said the other girl in the formulaic way that meant she’d never heard of that tribe. “This is dangerous ground, between the grass and the border of demon lands. Why do you ride here?”

Kirya saw nothing to distrust in her open face. “The Vidrini raiders stole my young brother. I’ve brought a horse to trade for him, if I can catch the eastern merchant who took him.” She indicated the east and the dying thread of dust spun up from the darkening horizon.