The Bloodprint [antikvár]

1 Seven. Eight. Six. Arian traced the numbers in the sand. She was crouched behind a dusty ridge, surveying the land ahead. The wide, flat plains extended in every direction, broken in places by sparse shrubs, the faintest traces of greenery and life. She passed her field glasses to the coal-skinned woman perched to her right. "Do you see it?" "Yes. Four Talisman. Two at the front, two at the back. And a boy who takes the tally." "Yes." Arian's voice was thoughtful. "They beat him nearly as much as they beat the women." The other woman stretched to her full height. She summoned the horses with a low whistle. "It doesn't seem to have taught him any kindness. His whip is as swift and furious as theirs. What is your judgment, Arian?" Arian was the older of the two women, also the more seasoned. She carried the senior rank. Companion. First Orálist. "We do what we always do with slave-chains—we break them. Get ready to ride, Sinnia." Through the eerie quiet and the dust, the khamsa mares ap-