Free Steles of the Sky by Elizabeth Bear

Temur’s grandfather, Ato Tesefahun, had given her. Hsiung wore only his robes, much-mended sandals on his broad, soft-looking feet. Tolui held his shallow tasseled drum by the crosspiece at the back, wearing a coat the color of the Eternal Sky hung with strings of mirrors and sky-blue knots. And Hrahima looked as Hrahima always looked, naked except for the harness that held her rope, her wallet, and her knives.
    Samarkar’s armor rustled as she squared her shoulders. Temur’s mood must have transferred itself to Bansh, as the bay mare tossed her head against the iron nosepiece of her bridle and thumped the earth with her white fore hoof once—twice—stiff-legged. She glanced around for her foal; Afrit stood unhappily beside Hsiung, tugging at the rope that held his halter. Hrahima’s ears twitched forward, focused with predator intensity on the space between the pillars, which for now showed only the forest beyond.
    Hsiung patted the wizard on the small of the back, and Samarkar started forward.
    She raised one arm toward the doorway and showed it her palm, naked within the half-gauntlets that protected the backs of her hands. She stepped forward, bowed before the empty space, and when she straightened made a gesture as if depressing the handle of an Uthman-style latching door.
    A cool black shimmer swept across the doorway, as if someone had let fall a gauzy curtain sewn with sparkles. It moved faintly, as if a breeze stirred the curtain. Temur heard the sound of wind from beyond and only then realized how silent the empty, daylit jungle really was. He’d grown accustomed to its absences so fast.
    The wind from beyond the door was icy and wet and bore the scent of snow. “Careful passing through—”
    Samarkar shook her head. She hunched forward, the hand that had been extended resting on a framing pillar, her head hanging. Even the warm light of the Qersnyk sun could not quite wash the reflected green shining from Hsiung’s eyes from the curves of her armor.
    “Helmet,” she managed.
    Hsiung handed off Afrit’s lead rope to Hrahima and knelt beside her, supporting her, levering the thing off before Temur had quite realized he needed to dismount—and so Temur stayed frozen in the saddle, Bansh increasingly restive as his hands squeezed hard on the reins. Hsiung dropped the helm and got an arm across Samarkar’s breastplate as she leaned forward in his arms, vomiting hard. A thin sour-smelling stream of liquid was all that resulted, though she retched again and again.
    The barrel-bodied, thick-armed monk bore her up easily, armor and all—which was good, because she leaned on him with some force. When she finally got a breath, she half-straightened, then pressed her hand to her stomach again. “Owwww.”
    “Samarkar—”
    She wiped her mouth on her palm. “You go through, Temur,” she said. “We should see what we’re at risk of, anyway. And I”—she gagged, swallowed, retched again—“am very glad indeed that I did not eat much breakfast. I’d hate to … waste food.”
    He wanted to stay, to dismount, to put his arms around her. But he heard the jangle of Tolui shifting his weight, and felt Samarkar’s gaze upon him like a hand.
    Hrahima flexed one set of claws and examined them. “Do you suppose al-Sepehr’s eyes glow green when we do magic?”
    “If so,” Temur said, “I hope it keeps him up at night as well.”
    He shouldered his bow, stroked a hand down his mare’s shining neck, and sent her forward through the veil.

 
    6
    There was a covered wagon set aside for Yangchen and Tsechen to sleep in, with their ladies beneath. It was guarded night and day because it also held what remained of the royal wardrobes and crown jewels. Largely, Yangchen and Tsechen went about their business there in mutually agreed-upon silence, and slept against opposite sides.
    In the swallowing dark within the heavy carpet-hung walls, Yangchen lay alone and warm and listened to her sister-wife’s