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am, if I live, I
will forget you.“
    “I will look for you,” Arevin said, and he would promise no more.
    Snake picked up her pony’s lead, and started across the desert.
     

Chapter 2
    « ^ »
    Mist rose in a white streak against darkness. The cobra hissed, swaying, and
Sand echoed her with his warning rattle. Then Snake heard the hoofbeats, muffled
by the desert, and felt them through her palms. Slapping the ground, she winced
and sucked in her breath. Around the double puncture where the sand viper had
bitten her, her hand was black-and-blue from knuckles to wrist. Only the
bruise’s edges had faded. She cradled her aching right hand in her lap and twice
slapped the ground with her left. Sand’s rattling lost its frantic sound and the
diamondback slid toward her from a warm shelf of black volcanic stone. Snake
slapped the ground twice again. Mist, sensing the vibrations, soothed by the
familiarity of the signal, lowered her body slowly and relaxed her hood.
    The hoofbeats stopped. Snake heard voices from the camp farther along the
edge of the oasis, a cluster of black-on-black tents obscured by an outcropping
of rock. Sand wrapped himself around her forearm and Mist crawled up and across
her shoulders. Grass should be coiled around her wrist or around her throat like
an emerald necklace, but Grass was gone. Grass was dead.
    The rider urged the horse toward her. Meager light from bioluminescent
lanterns and the cloud-covered moon glistened on droplets as the bay horse
splashed through the shallows of the oasis. It breathed in heavy snorts through
distended nostrils. The reins had worked sweat to foam on its neck. Firelight
flickered scarlet against the gold bridle and highlighted the rider’s face.
    “Healer?”
    She rose. “My name is Snake.” Perhaps she had no right to call herself that
any longer, but she would not go back to her child-name.
    “I am Merideth.” The rider swung down and approached, but stopped when Mist
raised her head.
    “She won’t strike,” Snake said.
    Merideth came closer. “One of my partners is injured. Will you come?”
    Snake had to put effort into answering without hesitation. “Yes, of course.”
Her fear of being asked to aid someone who was dying and of being unable to do
anything to help at all was very strong. She knelt to put Mist and Sand into the
leather case. They slid against her hands, their cool scales forming intricate
patterns on her fingertips.
    “My pony’s lame, I’ll have to borrow a horse—” Squirrel, her tiger-pony, was
corralled at the camp where Merideth had stopped a moment before. Snake did not
need to worry about her pony, for Grum the caravannaire took good care of him;
her grandchildren fed and brushed him royally. Grum would see to Squirrel’s
reshoeing if a blacksmith came while Snake was gone, and Snake thought Grum
would lend her a horse.
    “There’s no time,” Merideth said. “Those desert nags are no good for speed.
My mare will carry us both.”
    Merideth’s mare was breathing normally, despite the sweat drying on her
shoulders. She stood with her head up, ears pricked, neck arched. She was,
indeed, an impressive animal, of higher breeding than the caravan ponies, much
taller than Squirrel. While the rider’s clothes were plain, the horse’s
equipment was heavily ornamented.
    Snake closed the leather case and put on the new robes and headcloth Arevin’s
people had given her. She was grateful to them for the clothes, at least, for
the strong delicate material was excellent protection against the heat and sand
and dust.
    Merideth mounted, freed the stirrup, reached for Snake’s hand. But when Snake
approached, the horse flared her nostrils and shied at the musky smell of
serpents. Beneath Merideth’s gentle hands she stood still but did not calm.
Snake swung up behind the saddle. The horse’s muscles bunched and the mare
sprang into a gallop, splashing through the water. Spray touched