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Authors: Troy Denning
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saddle. He touched the stain and found it warm and sticky. Musalim’s blood, he guessed. Lander dropped the dazed beast’s reins and drew his sword.
When he turned back toward the place from which Musalim’s camel had come, the Harper glimpsed a shadow rising out of the sand. It was about the size of a man, but the legs and arms seemed to stick from the body at peculiar angles, like a reptile’s.
Lander needed to see no more to know that Musalim, and probably Bhadla too, had ridden into an ambush. The Sembian slapped the flat of his sword against his camel’s shoulder, but the sluggish beast refused to charge. The shadow raised a crossbow and a pair of yellow, egg-shaped eyes flashed in the dark night.
The bolt took Lander below the right collarbone, nearly knocking him from his saddle. His arm went numb, and the sword dropped from his hand. Grasping the reins with his left hand, the Sembian jerked his camel around. The beast reacted slowly, resentful of Lander’s harsh manipulations. Two more shadows rose out of the blowing sand.
“Turn, you stubborn scion of Malar! “
A bolt struck the camel’s flank, and Lander felt the beast quiver. It decided to obey and sprang away with the proper sense of urgency.
The wounded Harper dropped the reins and slumped forward, sprawling face-down over the beast’s hump. Agony assaulted him in crashing waves, but Lander hardly realized it. He was only dimly aware of his knees squeezing his mount’s hump and the fingers of his good hand clutching its coat. Lander could not tell how long the camel continued to gallop. He knew only the agony in his chest, the warm wetness trickling down his arm, and the black waves assaulting his mind.
Eventually, the camel slowed to a trot. It could have been hours after the ambush or just minutes. Lander could not tell. He tried to sit upright and realized the effort would leave him unconscious. He settled for holding on.
At last the camel collapsed. It did not he down or even
stop moving. The beast just belched forth a plaintive moan, stumbled once on its buckling legs, then, in midstride, it pitched Lander face-first into the sand.
They lay together in a twisted heap, the camel wheezing in shallow gasps and Lander moaning in disjointed pain. The sand worked its way into their wounds and welled up against their windward sides, but neither the man nor the beast showed any sign of caring. Soon, the camel stopped panting, and Lander was alone in the storm.
Four
By dawn the god of tempests, Kozah, had vented his wrath. The storm died, leaving a hot, dreary calm in its place. The heavy, windborne sand dropped back to the ground, but a pall of silt lingered
high in the heavens, diffusing At’ar’s morning radiance and setting the eastern horizon ablaze with crimson light. Ruha knew it would be many more days before the dust returned to the ground and Kozah’s mark disappeared from the morning sky.
The widow went to the oasis pond and knelt at its edge, then rinsed the night’s grit from her mouth. She and Kadumi had spent the night huddled under the remnants of her khreima, but the wind had worked its way under the heavy camelhair tarp, covering her aba with sand and coating her nose and mouth with dust. More than once during the night, she had awakened with the feeling of being suffocated and found herself spitting out a mouthful of powdery silt.
Kadumi came and stood behind Ruha until she put her
veil back in place, then kneeled beside her and splashed water over his grimy face. “Kozah must be angry with At’ar again;” the boy said. “Maybe he saw the faithless harlot entering N’asr’s tent. I have not seen such a storm in a year.” He looked toward the camp.
The boy’s camels were couched near where he and Ruha had slept, though so much sand had gathered against their windward sides that they looked more like a string of miniature dunes than a line of dromedaries. Beyond the halfburied beasts, the fallen tents of
When he turned back toward the place from which Musalim’s camel had come, the Harper glimpsed a shadow rising out of the sand. It was about the size of a man, but the legs and arms seemed to stick from the body at peculiar angles, like a reptile’s.
Lander needed to see no more to know that Musalim, and probably Bhadla too, had ridden into an ambush. The Sembian slapped the flat of his sword against his camel’s shoulder, but the sluggish beast refused to charge. The shadow raised a crossbow and a pair of yellow, egg-shaped eyes flashed in the dark night.
The bolt took Lander below the right collarbone, nearly knocking him from his saddle. His arm went numb, and the sword dropped from his hand. Grasping the reins with his left hand, the Sembian jerked his camel around. The beast reacted slowly, resentful of Lander’s harsh manipulations. Two more shadows rose out of the blowing sand.
“Turn, you stubborn scion of Malar! “
A bolt struck the camel’s flank, and Lander felt the beast quiver. It decided to obey and sprang away with the proper sense of urgency.
The wounded Harper dropped the reins and slumped forward, sprawling face-down over the beast’s hump. Agony assaulted him in crashing waves, but Lander hardly realized it. He was only dimly aware of his knees squeezing his mount’s hump and the fingers of his good hand clutching its coat. Lander could not tell how long the camel continued to gallop. He knew only the agony in his chest, the warm wetness trickling down his arm, and the black waves assaulting his mind.
Eventually, the camel slowed to a trot. It could have been hours after the ambush or just minutes. Lander could not tell. He tried to sit upright and realized the effort would leave him unconscious. He settled for holding on.
At last the camel collapsed. It did not he down or even
stop moving. The beast just belched forth a plaintive moan, stumbled once on its buckling legs, then, in midstride, it pitched Lander face-first into the sand.
They lay together in a twisted heap, the camel wheezing in shallow gasps and Lander moaning in disjointed pain. The sand worked its way into their wounds and welled up against their windward sides, but neither the man nor the beast showed any sign of caring. Soon, the camel stopped panting, and Lander was alone in the storm.
Four
By dawn the god of tempests, Kozah, had vented his wrath. The storm died, leaving a hot, dreary calm in its place. The heavy, windborne sand dropped back to the ground, but a pall of silt lingered
high in the heavens, diffusing At’ar’s morning radiance and setting the eastern horizon ablaze with crimson light. Ruha knew it would be many more days before the dust returned to the ground and Kozah’s mark disappeared from the morning sky.
The widow went to the oasis pond and knelt at its edge, then rinsed the night’s grit from her mouth. She and Kadumi had spent the night huddled under the remnants of her khreima, but the wind had worked its way under the heavy camelhair tarp, covering her aba with sand and coating her nose and mouth with dust. More than once during the night, she had awakened with the feeling of being suffocated and found herself spitting out a mouthful of powdery silt.
Kadumi came and stood behind Ruha until she put her
veil back in place, then kneeled beside her and splashed water over his grimy face. “Kozah must be angry with At’ar again;” the boy said. “Maybe he saw the faithless harlot entering N’asr’s tent. I have not seen such a storm in a year.” He looked toward the camp.
The boy’s camels were couched near where he and Ruha had slept, though so much sand had gathered against their windward sides that they looked more like a string of miniature dunes than a line of dromedaries. Beyond the halfburied beasts, the fallen tents of
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