Joach held his breath as another of the beasts appeared, this time closer. It crawled along the sands on his side of the caravan, low, claws scrabbling on the rocks. It paused, perched like some winged carrion hunter atop a large boulder, no more than a stone’s throw from Joach’s position. It lifted its head and drank in the night’s scents. Joach watched pale lips curl back, exposing its sharp fangs. Eyes, so dark that they appeared holes in a skull, gazed at the tiny camp below. A long, forked tongue slithered from its throat and tasted the air.
Muscles tensing, Joach studied the dark rocks on the valley’s far side. The noises of the trundling caravan grew deafening to those who had been hiding in silence for so long. What was Innsu waiting for?
More of the caravan rode into the valley. Another two skal’tum appeared, one riding atop a cage of children who whimpered in mindless terror.
Below, a pair of outriders swept over to Kesla’s campsite and slid from their saddles. The glint of ankle irons flashed in their hands.
Sweet Mother, what is taking them so long?
Joach’s fingers wrapped around the sword hilt in his hand.
Finally a flicker of silver flashed from the dark rocks.
At last—the signal!
Joach tossed aside his cloak and burst into the open with Richald.
The skal’tum perched on the rock swung toward them and hissed, clearly surprised. Joach lifted his sword, and Richald raised his arms, shining bright with elemental power.
High-pitched laughter flowed from the skal’tum’s throat. “Ssso the desert hides some ratsss.” It wheezed, snapping its skeletal wings open. Clawed legs tensed as it prepared to leap. What did the monster have to fear? At night, the skal’tum were protected by dark magicks that made them impervious to swords and blades. In a burst, it hurled itself at them.
Joach rolled backward, and Richald scrambled to the side.
As it flew at them, a larger, darker shape flashed overhead, snatching the skal’tum in midair, like an eagle upon a sparrow. Then it was gone, leaving behind it a roar that deafened the entire valley. Ragnar’k had drawn first blood this night. The broken body of the skal’tum tumbled from the skies to crash atop a wagon, shattering its wheels with the impact.
The dragon’s roar could strip the dark protections from the skal’tum, making them vulnerable. With the way clear, Joach hurried down the hill.
Below, a battle raged. Innsu and the desert warriors attacked the riders and drovers of the caravan with arrows and long, curved swords. Some outlaws, though caught by surprise, were quick to regroup, while others raced past Joach and offered no challenge. It seemed gold did not buy the most stalwart hearts.
Unimpeded, Joach ran down the slope to the campfire. Kesla and Hunt had already dispatched the two scouts and now guarded Sheeshon.
“What took you so long?” Hunt asked as Joach skidded to a stop.
Richald answered. “We were blocked by one of the Dark Lord’s monsters.”
“Ragnar’k killed it,” Joach added, then scooped Sheeshon up under his free arm. He was no skilled swordsman, especially with his left arm. He had one duty this night: to whisk Sheeshon away from the fighting with Kesla. Hunt and Richald would join the battle.
Kesla led the way toward the rocks, while Richald and Hunt headed into the fighting. Joach glanced behind him. Across the way, he saw an outlaw lay a torch to one of the children’s cages, clearly trying to divert the ambushers into rescuing the children. But before the wood could take the flame, the man collapsed, his back feathered with arrows. His torch fell to the sand and went dark.
Closer, a skal’tum fell from the sky to land, broken and bleeding, among the rocks. Joach glanced up. Ragnar’k continued to pick off the monsters while ensuring none escaped by wing to alert Tular.
Kesla suddenly tugged on his elbow. “Run!”
Joach swung around. A pair of wild-eyed malluks thundered toward them, dragging a smashed wagon behind. Joach ran with Sheeshon in his arms and managed by a single step to escape being trampled. They reached the rocks and climbed into their safe embrace to sit out the bloody storm.
In a shallow cave, they found Fess a’Kalar waiting. He sprang to his feet. “Did you find Misha?” he asked hopefully, looking to the bundled form in Joach’s arms.
“Not yet,” Kesla said. “We must first rid the caravan of outlaws and monsters; then we’ll search for your daughter.”
The skateboat pilot’s face was pale with worry. “I saw those monsters.” He hid his face in his hands. “My little Misha . . .”
Joach settled Sheeshon down. She sucked her thumb and stared wide-eyed at all around her. Joach placed a hand on the pilot’s shoulder. “We’ll get your daughter safely back into your arms.”
Fess turned his face to hide his tears, then moved away. “I cannot sit idle and wait. I must offer what help I can.” Fess stumbled away, a dagger in his hands.
“Don’t.” Joach stepped after him. “You don’t have to fight.”
The man stared at Joach, an incredulous look on his face. “It is my daughter out there.”
Joach opened his mouth to argue, but found no words. He watched Fess disappear into the shadows. Joach turned away with a shake of his head. “Fess is no warrior.”
Kesla nodded. “But he is a father.” She pulled Sheeshon into her lap and gently cradled her, rocking ever so slightly.
Joach took up watch with his sword. Among the rocks, the sounds of battle were muted, but he could still hear the screams of terrified children. It was an awful sound. He could only imagine how much worse it must sound to the father of one of these children.
Kesla sighed behind him. “We might rescue the children from what awaits them in Tular, but we can’t ever rescue them from this night.”
Joach understood and remained silent. The horrors here would last a lifetime. Even Sheeshon stared wide-eyed into the night, cringing whenever the sounds of battle grew closer. Kesla met his gaze over her head.
Joach sought some way to distract the child. He ran a finger over his sword, slicing a tiny cut. He leaned over the floor of their little cave and squeezed a thick drop from his finger into the sand.
“What are you doing?” Kesla asked.
“Shhh . . .” Joach sat back and sighed out his breath, extending his senses. On the long trek to Aii’shan, Shaman Parthus had taught Joach how to pierce through the veil between the real and the dream desert by focusing on the magick in his blood.
Joach stared at the red drop resting atop the sand. As he watched, it slowly sank between the grains. Joach allowed his thoughts and a bit of his spirit to follow the blood down into the sand. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the rocks vanish and the dream desert open up around him, glowing softly into the distance. As he stared, the drop of blood grew brighter, becoming more real. Shaman Parthus had told him how one’s attention could give substance to what was figment. Joach did that now, feeding a small bit of himself into the drop of blood and willing it to change.
Distantly he heard a small gasp from Kesla. Joach continued to work in silence, concentrating. Once done, Joach pulled himself back to the world of rocks and wind. At the entrance of the cave, a rose of sculpted sandstone stood mute watch. Joach waved a hand over it, touching the threads of power that still linked him to the dream desert. The rose’s petals slowly bloomed open in the moonlight.
Joach heard Sheeshon giggle. He turned and saw her eyes bright upon his creation. “Pretty,” she whispered, and reached out to it.
“Careful, honey,” Kesla warned.
Joach waved to Sheeshon. “It’s all right.”
Sheeshon reached and plucked the rose from the sand. As the stem broke, the rose fell back to sand, falling away. She stared wide-eyed at the trick, then looked up at Joach with a twinge of guilt.
He patted her hand, dusting the silt from her fingers, then kissed their tips. “Don’t worry, Sheeshon. Dreams aren’t supposed to last forever.”
She grinned at him, then snuggle
d against Kesla, who wrapped her arms around the girl.
Joach met Kesla’s soft smile of appreciation. Maybe dreams aren’t supposed to last forever, he thought as he stared at her, but while they’re here, maybe you should appreciate and cherish them.
Slowly he sank back and joined Kesla. Together they watched over Sheeshon. And sometime during that long night, Joach found his fingers wrapped in Kesla’s, the child guarded between them.
Finally, the scrape of heel on rock sounded. Joach jerked up, sword in hand. Hunt pushed forward. His cloak was stained in blood. He leaned on a rock. “Sheeshon?”
“She sleeps,” Kesla said.
“Have we won?” Joach asked.
Hunt nodded. “The caravan is ours.”
Joach and Kesla walked back out of the rocks, while Hunt picked up Sheeshon. She woke sleepily, smiled at Hunt, and hugged him tight around the neck. Joach noticed the hard man soften, saw the pain in his eyes mute. As a group, they continued back to the sand.
Joach stared at the carnage below. Both men and beasts lay bleeding in the sand. Across the valley, Ragnar’k landed and perched on the ridge. The moans and sobs filled the valley.
“The children are free,” Hunt said.
Joach shook his head. These children would never be truly free after this night. He stared at a group of them cowering beside a broken wagon, bleeding, crying, and terrified.
“What about Misha, the pilot’s daughter?” Kesla asked. “Was she found safe?”
“Yes,” Hunt said.
Joach recognized the pang of sorrow in the Dre’rendi’s voice and turned to face him.
Hunt hung his head. “Her father was killed. Fess attacked one of the skal’tum as it tore into a cartload of children. He died before Ragnar’k could come to his aid, but his death was not in vain. His attack managed to delay the monster long enough for the dragon to save the children.”
Kesla turned away, a hand over her mouth.
Hunt continued. “One of the skateboat’s crew has promised to take the child to her aunt and uncle.”
Joach closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He pictured the man’s haunted face as he strode into the darkness.
Innsu strode up to them. “The outlaws have been either slain or driven into the sands. Once we regroup the caravan, we should be under way for Tular by daybreak.”
Joach sheathed his sword. “No.”
Eyes swung in his direction.
He faced them with a deep frown. “These children have suffered enough.” He turned to Hunt. “I want you and the warriors to take all the children away from here. Now. Keep them safe.”
Innsu protested. “But we’ll need the caravan to hide our approach—”
“No. I won’t hide behind these children. Fess a’Kalar spoke truly. We have no right to do this.”
“But we saved them,” Innsu continued to argue.
Joach laughed, but it was a pained sound even to his own ears. “We saved no one here.” He moved away. “Hunt, gather the men and head out as soon as the sun rises.”
“It will be done,” Hunt said.
“Then what are we going to do when we reach Tular?” Innsu asked angrily.
Kesla answered. “We’ll find a way inside without being seen. We’re assassins, are we not?”
Her words shamed Innsu into silence.
Kesla strode to Joach’s side.
He turned and stared into her twilight eyes and knew his decision was the right one—not because she represented the dream of the desert, but because her eyes glowed with the simple compassion and concern of a woman.
Joach bent down and kissed her deeply. He felt her flinch in surprise for a moment, then wilt into his embrace. They clung to each other, a simple acknowledgment of life—and maybe even of love.
19
AS TWILIGHT SPREAD over the desert, Sy-wen rode atop her dragon, sweeping along the deep shadows of the Southwall. The immense sandstone structure stretched higher than Ragnar’k could fly, but its surface was far from smooth. Sections lay crumbled into a rocky scarp at the base, while countless sandstorms had pitted its face. In addition, old scars from ancient wars had burned the red rock black for large swaths. These signs of old battle grew in number as they swept toward the ruins of Tular.
We come to city, my bonded, Ragnar’k sent to her.
The dragon’s vision was keener than hers. But she closed her eyes and shared his sight.
Ahead, it looked as if some giant had taken a hammer and struck the Southwall a great blow. Boulders and huge chunks of sandstone lay jumbled at the base of the wall. The pile climbed halfway up the immense wall. Only as they swept closer did it become clear that the tumbled boulders were in fact once a great city. The remains of a half-circle curtain wall enclosed the debris. One watchtower still stood near the front, but its crenellated top had been worn by winds into a rough nub, and its base had been burned as black as the Aii’-shan sea. Within the walls, the remains of immense buildings and spires could be seen poking from the sandy dunes that had blown into the ruined city. It was as if the desert were trying to erase these scoured ruins.
“Keep to shadows, Ragnar’k,” Sy-wen whispered into the wind, but she knew the dragon heard her thoughts. “We don’t want to stir this nest.”
Sy-wen studied the ruins of Tular. She saw no sign of movement, no sign that anything still occupied the city. But she also spotted the worn wagon trails that led through the broken gates and wound through the city. The trail of the old caravans crossed the city and disappeared into the yawning maw of a tunnel in the wall itself. From this height, Sy-wen could make out the carved figures of a man and a woman, done in relief at the tunnel’s entrance, arms linked over the entrance in a clear gesture of welcome. Sy-wen imagined it was one of the last gentle images the children of the deserts ever saw before being swallowed away into the darkness.
She leaned closer to Ragnar’k to share the heat of the dragon, but still could not suppress a shudder.
The desert squirms, Ragnar’k said. He directed their shared sight below.
At first, Sy-wen did not understand what he meant—then she saw it, too. Around the base of the outer wall and stretching a good quarter league into the surrounding desert, the sands churned and roiled like living flesh. She silently urged the dragon to circle lower.
Tilting on a wing, Ragnar’k angled in a steep glide that swept them lower, almost to the heights of the tumbled ruins. As they coursed by, the source of the strange phenomenon became clear. The sands around Tular churned with the thrashing bodies of hundreds—no, thousands—of desert sharks. Sy-wen remembered the small school that had attacked them near the crash site of the Eagle’s Fury and felt her limbs go cold.
There were so many. How could anyone hope to cross this treacherous moat?
She guided Ragnar’k up into the sky. No wonder there were no eyes on the walls. The sands themselves would shear the flesh from your bones if you dared approach without permission.
“Hurry. We must complete our duty and return.”
Ragnar’k grunted his understanding and climbed higher and away. The two had been sent forth with the sun’s setting to spy upon the ruins, to gain as much insight as possible into its defenses. Meanwhile, the others rested amid a crumbled section of the wall about three leagues from Tular.
But the reconnaissance of Tular was not her only duty.
After sending Hunt off with the children at dawn, the group had set a hard pace around the shores of Aii’shan, reaching the Southwall as the sun set. The plan was to enter Tular at midnight—but once inside, a distraction would be needed to buy them time to find the Basilisk Gate and destroy it.
The original plan had been to coordinate a simultaneous attack on Tular. Desert warriors, numbering over a thousand, marched around the far side of Aii’shan, approaching Tular from the opposite direction. Their forces would attack when the moon reached the highest point in the sky. It was Sy-wen’s duty to play pigeon this night and deliver the detailed plan
to the commander of the desert warriors.
Fires in the desert, Ragnar’k sent to her.
She turned her attention back outward. Far ahead, in the shadow of the Southwall, a hundred fires could be seen, spreading out as far as the shore of Aii’shan. It had to be the encamped desert forces. Ragnar’k sensed her urgency and swept more swiftly toward the gathered men.
But as they neared the site, what had appeared to be campfires were in fact massive bonfires. With Ragnar’k’s keen vision, she could make out men staked within the flames, bodies contorted by the searing heat. By the glow of the bonfires, she spotted pale, winged creatures—skal’tum—and other strange beasts crawling among the dead. Desert scorpions the size of small dogs skittered atop the corpses. From the sands, snakes as thick around as her waist writhed up, bellies bulging with their swallowed prey. And here, too, sand sharks dove and gnashed in the blood-soaked sands. Throughout the carnage, rats and carrion birds feasted on all that was left, covering bodies from head to foot, fighting for a bite of flesh.
Without being told, Ragnar’k swung away and swept far out over Aii’shan on the way back to join their party. There would be no other attack on Tular. They were on their own this night. Wordlessly, Ragnar’k glided back in a wide circle as tears clouded Sy-wen’s eyes. The image of the slaughter would live long in her heart, but she allowed it to steel her, too. The horror that roosted in Tular had to be destroyed.
In silence, they flew the final leagues and dove to land in the sands near where the group was hidden. Innsu rose from his hiding place, bow in hand. He whistled to the others.
From the rocks, Joach, Kesla, and Richald appeared. Sy-wen stared at their numbers. Six. How could so few win where a thousand warriors had failed?
Sometimes the smallest fish escapes between the teeth of the shark.
Sy-wen patted the neck of her large companion, hoping he was right.
Kesla must have sensed her despondency. “What’s wrong? You’re back much earlier than we expected you.”