### Chapter 3: The Weight of Promises
The stars emerged one by one, piercing the velvet sky as Elara leaned against Sarnai's warm flank, the mare's steady breathing a small comfort in the vast silence of the steppe. The poultice seemed to ease Sarnai's pain, but Elara knew it was a temporary reprieve. Without proper rest and clean water, the infection would spread, and no amount of yarrow would save her. The thought clawed at Elara's resolve, but she pushed it down, focusing instead on the flickering constellations above. Her mother had taught her their names—*The Archer*, *The Great Herd*, *The Eternal Flame*—each a guide for wanderers like her. Tonight, they pointed west, toward the Altai Mountains, toward the Horizon Gate.
Elara's fingers traced the worn leather of her pouch, where a small bone amulet rested alongside the last of her provisions. The amulet, carved with the spiraling horns of a ram, had been her father's. "It carries our spirit," Bayar had said, pressing it into her hands the night he died. "Keep it close, and it'll guide you home." Home. The word felt hollow now, with her camp scattered and her family lost to the wind. Yet the amulet's weight grounded her, a reminder of the promises she carried: to find her mother and brother, to reach the Horizon Gate, to outrun the shadow of the Khan's wrath.
A faint rustle broke her thoughts, sharp and deliberate, not the idle stirring of grass. Elara froze, her hand dropping to the short dagger at her hip—a blade too small to do more than delay the inevitable. Sarnai's ears flicked forward, her body tensing beneath Elara's touch. The sound came again, closer now, from the direction of the boulders. Elara's pulse quickened as she scanned the darkness, her eyes straining to pick out shapes in the shadows. The steppe was a traitor's playground, hiding predators both human and beast.
"Who's there?" she called, her voice low but steady, betraying none of the fear coiling in her chest. Silence answered, heavy and oppressive, until a figure stepped from behind the largest boulder, their silhouette slight against the starlight. Elara tightened her grip on the dagger, ready to lunge, but the figure raised both hands, palms open.
"No harm," came a voice, soft and accented, carrying the clipped cadence of the northern tribes. "I'm alone."
Elara didn't lower her blade. "Step closer. Slowly."
The figure obeyed, moving into the faint glow of the stars. It was a girl, no older than Elara's seventeen years, her face sharp and angular, framed by a tangle of dark braids. She wore a patched deel, its edges frayed, and carried a small bow slung across her back. Her eyes, bright and wary, flicked between Elara and Sarnai, lingering on the mare's bandaged wound.
"You're hurt," the girl said, nodding toward Sarnai. "Both of you."
Elara's shoulder ached at the reminder, the pain flaring as she shifted her stance. "We're managing. Who are you, and why are you skulking out here?"
The girl's lips quirked, not quite a smile. "Name's Kael. I'm no skulker, just a scout. Saw your tracks in the riverbed, figured you were running from something—or someone." Her gaze sharpened. "Khan's riders, maybe?"
Elara's jaw tightened. The girl's guess was too close, her presence too convenient. "You ask a lot for someone who hasn't earned my trust."
Kael shrugged, unfazed. "Fair. But you're not the only one dodging hooves out here. The Yenisei tribes are stirring, and the Khan's men are burning camps to flush out rebels. I've seen what they leave behind." Her voice dropped, a shadow crossing her face. "You're headed west, aren't you? To the mountains?"
Elara said nothing, her silence a shield. Kael's knowledge of the riders and the mountains set her nerves on edge, but there was something in the girl's eyes—grief, maybe, or defiance—that felt uncomfortably familiar.
Kael stepped closer, her hands still raised. "I know a path through the foothills, one the riders don't watch. There's a spring not far from here, clean water for your horse. I can take you there, but you'll need to move before dawn. The steppe's crawling with eyes."
"Why help me?" Elara asked, her dagger still poised. "What's in it for you?"
Kael's expression hardened, her voice barely above a whisper. "Because I had a sister once. She rode a mare like yours. The Khan's men didn't spare either of them." She paused, her eyes locking with Elara's. "I don't expect you to trust me, but I'm betting you don't have many choices."
Elara studied her, weighing the risk. Kael could be a trap, a scout for the riders spinning a tale to lure her in. But Sarnai's labored breathing was a ticking clock, and the Altai Mountains were too far to reach alone. If Kael was lying, Elara would deal with it. If she was telling the truth, it might mean survival.
"Lead the way," Elara said finally, sheathing her dagger but keeping her hand close to the hilt. "But if you cross me, you'll regret it."
Kael nodded, a flicker of respect in her eyes. "Noted. Get your mare. We move quiet, and we move now."
As Elara coaxed Sarnai to her feet, the amulet shifted in her pouch, its weight a quiet reminder of her father's words. The steppe stretched endlessly before them, a maze of danger and fleeting hope. With Kael's shadow at her side, Elara took her first step into the unknown, the Horizon Gate calling her forward, even as the riders' threat loomed behind.
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