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Four
The small…farmers of Orvilla； twelve of them； had e to the city together with their laden mules and they left Fezana together when the market closed at midday。 One or two might have been inclined to stay and gawk at the soldiers strolling arrogantly about the town； but that would have meant travelling back to the village without the protection of the larger group。 In unsettled country so near to the no…man's…land； and in unsettled times； the pleasures of loitering in the city…or； in the case of some of the men； visiting an interesting suburb just outside the northern walls…could not outweigh the real need for the security of numbers。
Well before the sundown prayers they had all been safely back in Orvilla with the goods they had obtained at the market in exchange for their weekly produce。 As a consequence； none of them had any knowledge of what happened in Fezana that day。 They would learn of it later； by then it would matter rather less。 They would have a catastrophe of their own to deal with。
The raiders from the north…even ignorant villagers could recognize Jaddite horsemen…swept down upon Orvilla at precisely the moment the blue moon rose to join the white one in the summer sky。 It was too precisely calculated not to be a deliberate timing； though to what purpose no one could imagine； after。 Perhaps a whim。 There was nothing whimsical about what happened when the horsemen…at least fifty of them…broke through or leaped over the wooden fence that encircled the houses and outbuildings of the village。 Some twenty families lived in Orvilla。 There were a handful of old swords； a few rusting spears。 A number of mules。 One ox。 Three horses。 Aram ibn Dunash； whose house was by the water mill on the stream； had a bow that had been his father's。
He was the first man to die； trying to nock an arrow with shaking hands as a screaming rider bore down upon him。 The horseman's pike took Aram in the chest and carried him into the wall of his own home。 His wife； unwisely； screamed from inside。 The horseman； hearing that； leaped from his mount and strode into the tiny house。 He was already unbuckling his belt as he ducked through the low door。
A number of houses were quickly fired； and the munal barn。 There was straw in the barn and in midsummer it was dry。 The structure went up in flames with a roar。 The fire must have been visible as far away as Fezana。
Ziri ibn Aram； who liked to sleep on the roof of the barn in summer； leaped down just in time。 The barn was on the far side of the village from the mill and the stream。 He was spared seeing his father die。 Nor had he observed the horseman striding into the home where his pregnant mother and sisters were。 Ziri was fourteen years old。 He would have tried to kill the man with his hands。 He would have died； of course。 As it was； he landed awkwardly at the feet of a laughing Jaddite who was using the flat of his sword to round up all those not killed in the first moments of the attack。 There weren't very many of them； Ziri realized； looking desperately around for his family amid the smoke。 Perhaps twenty people； in all； seemed to be still alive； from a village of more than twice that number。 It was difficult to tell amid the flames。 Orvilla was being consumed in an inferno of fire。
For the raiders； it was a disappointing exercise in some ways。 There was； predictably； no one worth ransoming； not even a country wadji； who might have fetched a price。 Even the brief flurry of bat had been laughable。 The pathetically armed farmers had offered nothing in the way of opposition or training for battle。 There were women of course； but one didn't have to ride this far in the heat of summer to find peasant women for sport。 Only when one man suggested spread…eagling the surviving men…the women were being taken back north； of course…did the prospect of a diversion belatedly emerge。 This was； after all； Al…Rassan。 The half…naked wretches herded together like cattle or sheep were infidels。 This raid could almost be seen as an act of piety。
〃He's right！〃 another man shouted。 〃Spread the bastards on their own beams； then spread their women another way！〃 There was laughter。
With some speed and even a measure of efficiency amid the chaos of fire the raiders began gathering and constructing wooden beams。 The night had begun to show promise of entertainment。 They had plenty of nails。 Meant for shoeing any horses they took on the raid； they would do as well for hammering men to wood。
They had just selected the first of the peasants for nailing…a blank…faced boy who would doubtless have grown up to kill innocent men and women north of the tagra lands…when someone shrieked a grievously tardy warning。
A whirlwind of men on horses thundered in among them； twisting between the fires； carrying swords and using them。 Most of the raiders had dismounted by then； many had laid down their weapons to prepare the diagonal beams for nailing the Asharites。 They were easy prey。 As easy as the villagers had been for them。
The raiders were men of breeding though； not lice…ridden outlaw brigands。 They knew how these things were done； even in Al…Rassan。 Peasants were one thing…on both sides of the no…man's…land…but men of means and status were another。 All over the hamlet of Orvilla； Jaddites began throwing up their hands in submission and loudly voicing the well…known cry： 〃Ransom！ Ransom！〃
Those who were killed in the first sweep of the new horsemen must have died in astonished disbelief。 This was not supposed to happen。 If； before they were dispatched； they realized who had e； that astonishment would likely have been redoubled； but these are not things one can know； with any certainty； of the dead。
Alvar hadn't given the matter any real thought； but he had certainly never imagined that the first man he killed in Al…Rassan would be from Valledo。 The man wasn't even on his horse at the time。 In a way； that didn't feel right； but Lain Nunez's instructions had been precise： kill them until you hear the order to stop。 Every man was fair game except the stocky； black…haired one who would be leading them。 He was to be left for the Captain。
The Captain was in a terrifying state。 He had been from the moment the three riders from Fezana came into the camp with their story。 The fat merchant…Abenmuza； he called himself…had told them what the king of Cartada had ordered done in Fezana that day。 Searching for clues as to how to react； Alvar had looked to his leaders。 If Lain Nunez had seemed indifferent to the bloody tale； almost as if he'd expected such foul deeds here in Al…Rassan； Ser Rodrigo's expression told a different story。 He'd said nothing though； when the merchant finished； save to ask the doctor…her name was Jehane…if she had ever served with a military pany。
〃I have not；〃 she'd murmured calmly； 〃though I'd consider it some other time。 For now； I have my own route to follow。 I'm happy to leave Husari ibn Musa〃…which was evidently the right way to say the name…〃in your pany to pursue his affairs and perhaps your own。 I'll be away； with your leave； in the morning。〃
That unhurried answer； elegantly spoken； went some ways to breaking Alvar's heart。 He was already half in love before she spoke。 He thought the doctor was beautiful。 Her hair…what he could see of it beneath the blue stole wrapped about her shoulders and head…was a rich； dark brown。 Her eyes were enormous； unexpectedly blue in the firelight。 Her voice was the voice Alvar thought he would like to hear speaking when he died； or for the rest of his life。 She was worldly； astonishingly poised； even here in the darkness with fifty riders from the north。 She would think him a child； Alvar knew； and looking at her； he felt like one。
They never knew what the Captain would have replied to her； or even if he had been intending a serious invitation that she join them； because just then Martin said sharply； 〃There's fire。 To the west！〃
〃What will be there？〃 the Captain said to the three Fezanans as they all turned to look。 The flames were spreading already； and they weren't very far away。
It was the woman doctor； not the merchant； who answered。 〃A village。 Orvilla。 I have patients the