THAT NIGHT, she scraped away dirt to open a gap under the taut hem of the staked tent. She rolled off the pallet on which she slept, pulled what gear was left her against her torso, and squeezed into the open air. She squirmed on her stomach between tents and under wagons to the horse lines. It was easy to pick out the pretty mare. She whispered and coaxed her way along the lines without disturbing the other horses, and whispered and coaxed her way beyond the lines with the mare trusting her enough to come along after. The guards had fires lit at the van and rear, but the center remained murky. She led the mare out without being noticed, and for a long time they walked. Even out of the sight of camp they walked slowly because there wasn’t much more than a quarter moon shining over the pale earth. The mare was uncomfortable walking in such poor light, but she trusted Kirya enough to attempt the journey. Anyway the ground was so flat that mostly they had only to avoid the occasional snackling stand of thorny brush and the seams and cracks that rutted the earth.

She heard the horns before dawn. There was, of course, nowhere to hide, so as soon as the landscape turned from night to gray she swung up on the mare and pushed westward. Dust soon coated her face and her tongue. The mare had a strong disposition and an eager heart, and for a while Kirya thought she might manage her escape, but the old man sent the Qin soldiers after her with spare mounts, and if anyone could ride as well as a tribeswoman, it was their old enemy, the Qin.

In the end, when they caught up and surrounded her, she was too proud to weep or struggle. They did not laugh or show any sign of triumph. They kept their distance and offered her some dignity, that she might ride the blown mare slowly back to the caravan.

When they rode up to the tail of the caravan, every man there who could, turned to watch as the old man rode out to meet them. He had a whip in his hand. He slashed her across the shoulders so hard she screamed from the shock as pain cut deep. But even dizzied and stunned, she did not fall from the mare’s back.

Not until he brought the whip down a second time, and a third and fourth and fifth and more. The pain of lashing washed her entire body and her hands went numb and her legs lost all feeling. She tumbled to the ground, and struck her head.

A silver mist, sparkling with bright flecks of burning ash, swallowed her in its pale wings. She blacked out.

VOMITING, SHE CAME to, the vile liquid spilling down her chin. She was splayed on her stomach on the hard floorboards of one of the wagons. Sun shone in her eyes, making her gag and retch.