Chapter 2

Amira awoke to the sound of snoring. Her ears buzzed from the loud rumbling noise and her head pounded viciously.

Dazed, she opened her eyes, her blurred vision gradually focusing upon a canvas wall only inches from her face. She wondered who could be making such a racket. Her brain ached at the effort to think. Surely not one of her maids, and if a guard was sleeping at his post outside her chamber, she would have to report him to the king for his laxness.

Yet she wasn't inclined to leave her bed to discover the culprit. Besides her terrible headache, she felt dizzy, and it was comfortable lying here, the furs so soft beneath her.

"Furs?" she breathed, confused.

Her bed had never been covered with animal skins, but a fine silken quilt. And she slept between linen sheets, not under a prickly wool blanket like the one pulled up to her shoulder.

Filled with sudden unease, Amira winced as she slowly raised herself on one elbow. Massaging an aching temple, she looked around the small, shadowy interior.

This wasn't her tent! The space was empty but for this low pile of furs and some wooden barrels stacked against an opposite wall.

A strange roughly dressed man slumped on a bench near the entrance, his arms crossed and his chin resting on his chest. Another snore shattered the stillness and she realized he was fast asleep, his mouth hanging open and drool trickling from one slack corner. Her confusion mounting, Amira thought to rise, but suddenly uproarious laughter sounded just outside the tent. Gasping, she fell back upon the furs as if she had been struck and rolled onto her side, squeezing her eyes shut. Her companion snorted awake, the bench creaking as he shifted his stout bulk and rose.

Amira fought the urge to stiffen as the man nudged her bottom with his toe. She heard him grunt and, to her disgust, break wind as he scratched himself, then he turned abruptly as the tent flaps were thrown aside.

"Still asleep?" The voice was gruff and gravelly, like that of an older man.

So she had been drugged, Amira thought wildly, the dense mist gradually clearing from her brain.

But how? Where was her father? Where was Ejez the chief guard?

Oh, God! Vague memories crowded in upon her and became more vivid . . . her strange weariness, the litter crashing to the ground,

"It's just as well. I've no time for her right now. This trading camp is swarming with eager buyers. Foreign merchants, too. I want to make more sales before we set off again. The journey downriver will be swifter with a few dozen less slaves." The strange looking man said.

"But, Guyy, do you think we should risk another hour's delay? We've already been here since midafternoon and it's nearing sunset. Guards could have been sent out to look for the wench."

The older man gave a dry laugh.

"For a concubine? I doubt it, but if they are, we've managed a good day's lead on any search party. Why do you think we kept our ships so hard to the river until we stopped here?"

She was no concubine! Amira screamed silently, her thoughts reeling. She forced herself to take steady breaths, knowing both men now stood over her.

"Pity she has to lose her tongue, a fine beauty like this," the younger one muttered.

"As a mute, she won't fetch but half the price in the market."

"To hell with your sentiments! The great Prince Amir's soldiers showed no mercy when wielding their knives, accursed butchers! They did the same thing to my sons before both were slain as supposed spies, hacking out their tongues, chopping off their fingers, noses, ears. . ."

Falling silent for a moment, Guyy's roughened voice was bitter when he added,

"That eunuch's mistress paid me well to carry out her orders, and I'll not invite her wrath. Call me when the girl wakes. I'd cut out her tongue now but she'd choke on her own blood."

Horrified, Amira feared her pounding heart would give her away. Gods of my land, please tell her that this was a terrible dream!

Amira banished their hateful image from her mind as the two men, engrossed in a discussion, moved away from her toward the entrance. She half opened her eyes to take a peek at them.

The older one, Guyy, wore a purple silk caftan over his gaunt frame, a stark contrast to the stout guard's coarse woolen shirt and trousers. A close-cropped graying beard covered guyy's  jaw. He looked shrewd, his features angular and pinched, and she stifled her irrational impulse to jump up and tell him that she was no mere concubine but King Aaadil's daughter.

Her only hope lay in escape.

Interminable moments passed while Amira lay upon the furs, her body tense beneath the blanket. She heard the bench creak each time her captor shifted his weight, but she didn't dare look at him, certain that he was watching her. She couldn't have been more astonished when a short while later, a loud, gargling snore burst from his throat. After a third such noise, she dared to raise her head. He was stretched out upon the bench, sleeping again!

Seizing her chance, Amira pushed back the blanket and rose shakily to her feet, fighting the lingering dizziness. For the first time she noticed that her silken clothes had been exchanged for a plain linen tunic and she was barefoot, her slippers gone.

Why, those bastards must have seen her naked! And her a princess!

Refusing to dwell upon the indignity, Amira swallowed hard as she took a few cautious steps to test her wobbly legs. When she felt certain that she wouldn't collapse, she edged stealthily across the tent, all the while keeping a cautious eye upon her prone captor.

She almost jumped through her skin when he snorted and smacked his lips, but he did not waken. Carefully she lifted the flap, peering outside, and was dismayed to see that the camp was abustle with activity, traders haggling everywhere over various goods while groups of silent slaves, mostly women, were being led here and there.

        She also heard muffled male laughter emanating from several tents and occasionally high-pitched squeals that were decidedly female.

But there was one clear advantage. Although the tent was pitched near some larger ones, it was also close to the trees. If she could reach the forest, she could hide near the river and wait for the caravan to pass. The merchant had said there was only a day's lead between any search party and the trading camp. But if she couldn't escape through the front entrance, fearing that she might be seen .

Amira's gaze fell upon the knife protruding from the man's leather belt. Dare she?

Another resounding snore startled her, spurring her into action. With shaking fingers, she crouched beside him and eased the weapon from its sheath, then moved quickly to the rear tent wall. Fortunately the razor-sharp blade slashed through the canvas as silently and smoothly as if the fabric were butter, and falling to her knees, she slipped through the narrow opening.

Her heart beating in her throat, Amira lifted her tunic above her knees and fled, looking neither to the left nor right but dashing straight for the tree line. She was nearly there when her left heel glanced off a jagged rock and, grimacing in pain, she had to hobble the rest of the way. She was almost crying with relief when she safely reached the dense woods. She leaned upon a trunk and paused for a brief instant to catch her breath and inspect her foot.

"By the blood of the gods, where are you flying to, my pretty bird?"

Gasping in fright, Amira glanced up to find a huge trader fastening his breeches as he stepped from behind a tree. Her heart sinking, she realized she had been so preoccupied with her injury that she hadn't noticed the man relieving himself against a gnarled trunk only a few feet away.

"Stay away from me!" she cried when he took a step toward her. Brandishing the knife she still held, she glanced beyond him to the darkening forest and freedom, then met his leering gaze. In the fading light filtering through the leaves, his eyes appeared a pale, chilling blue, and the deep scar bisecting his sparsely bearded cheek only heightened his air of menace. His hair was white-blond and coarse, and he was dressed in fur skins like a barbarian.

"Have you flown from your master's nest?" Ignoring her poised weapon, he advanced another step. His gaze roamed over her, lingering uncomfortably on the rapid rise and fall of her breasts.

"I don't remember seeing you among the other women. If I had, I swear I would have sampled you first.

Craning her neck.